Trickster's Queen

by Tamora Pierce

  At the end of it, Nawat held Aly's face in his hands. “I am no longer a crow who turned into a man, Aly Bright Eyes,” he told her soberly. “I am a man who can be a crow at need, but I am still a man, and I love you. I have seen so many people die since I left you. I do not want to wait for priests to say words or for you to want chicks. If I go to the Peaceful Realms tomorrow, or the day after, I want to go with the taste of you on my lips.”

  He kissed her again, slowly, folding her into an embrace that left her breathless. Aly had time to gasp when he pressed his mouth against the tender skin on her neck and collar- bone. Dizzy, she suddenly realized that he'd undone her sash.

  “Um, wait,” she said, her voice wobbling.

  “No,” he replied, gently placing the sash, and its cache of knives, out of their way. “No more waiting, Aly.”

  “I didn't mean that kind of waiting, exactly,” Aly told him, holding him at arm's length. Nawat lifted the arm, kissing the inside of her wrist, then the inside of her elbow. I had no notion those areas were so sensitive, she thought giddily. “Nawat, stop. There's, um, a thing, for us females. . . .” He was kissing her palm. It was very distracting. “Nawat, we can't bring chicks into the world, I'm not ready, we're not, and well, there's a thing women wear, only I haven't got one.” Babbling again, observed that cool corner of her brain. “Until we have a safe nest, I can't—not without that charm.”

  Nawat smiled and pulled something from his pocket. It shone gold and shimmered silver with its touch of magic. “My fighters told me,” he explained as he draped the anti-pregnancy charm around her neck. “It is a thing women put on, until they want chicks,” he said, laughter in his dark eyes.

  “Oh,” Aly said weakly. “That, well, that changes some things, definitely—”

  Nawat kissed her again. This time his free hand worked at the tie of her sarong. Aly couldn't help him. She was too busy undoing his belt.

  “I want to always have the taste of you on my lips,” Nawat whispered as they sank onto the floor.

  Aly slept, the first deep sleep she'd had in a long time. She woke to find Nawat setting a pallet on the floor beside her. He'd brought a lamp and a blanket as well. Eyeing the lamp, she murmured, “It's night?”

  “Nearly midnight. Ulasim said to let you rest.” Nawat knelt beside her and cupped her cheek with his hand. “I did not think it would hurt you. Lovemaking.”

  She smiled at him. “It often hurts the first time, when you're a girl. So I've been told.”

  “Only the first time?” Nawat asked.

  She kissed his palm. “I think so.”

  “Then perhaps we should try again,” Nawat said gravely, bending down to kiss Aly.

  She nodded vigorously until their lips met.

  17

  MOURNING

  Aly opened her eyes. She was curled inside the curve of Nawat's body, his arm over her waist. On the floor next to their pallet was an audience: a few miniature kudarung and five crows, all watching with fascination. Warm lips met the back of her neck, raising goose bumps on her body.

  “What time is it?” Aly inquired drowsily.

  A crow made the sound for “before the sun rises.”

  “If the sun is not awake, I am not awake,” Aly said. She turned under the blanket to burrow her face into Nawat's shoulder.

  “Go away,” he told the others.

  It only then occurred to Aly that the crows and the kudarung could not have entered through closed shutters or a closed door. She sat up quickly. The door was open, but the frame was not empty. A number of weary yet fascinated faces—Ulasim's, Junai's, Yoyox's, Boulaj's, and Kioka's—looked down at them. Aly was grateful that Nawat had left her in the blanket as he proceeded to dress.

  She raised an eyebrow at their audience. “Enjoying the view?” she inquired.

  Yoyox grinned. “Actually, yes.”

  “I enjoyed the other view,” said Kioka, watching Nawat pull on his shirt.

  Aly glared at her. “I know a hundred different ways to make you disappear,” she warned the young woman.

  “This is all as beautiful as the flowers of spring,” observed Ulasim. “Nawat, where are your warriors?”

  Nawat kissed Aly gently, then straightened. “Thirty miles north, sir,” he replied, a soldier in answer to his general. “I brought two hundred and fifty, as many as could be spared. They should be on the outskirts of the city by tonight.”

  “Come give me what news you have,” Ulasim ordered, beckoning. “You may settle romantic matters later. The regents have decided they no longer need a Rittevon male to rule.” He shooed the others away from the door and led Nawat across the hall. Nawat closed the door. Aly scowled at it, remembering it should have been locked. “This is the problem with training people to open locks,” she complained as she dressed. “They can turn what you taught them against you.” As she picked up her darking necklace, Trick and Secret poked out their heads. “Human lovemaking looks silly,” Secret told Aly.

  “Darking way more sensible,” added Trick.

  Aly settled them around her neck. “Our way is more fun,” she replied absently, her mind on the rebellion. Getting up to wrap her sarong, she stared at the map that marked the path of the war. As soon as her sash was arranged, she set a pin for Nawat's warriors, on their way to Rajmuat.

  What had possessed the regents to kill those boys? she wondered. Now, when they are stretched so thin? They will lie and say it was the storm, but who will believe them? Do they think people will accept them on the throne? They'll have to fight, and they haven't got the soldiers.

  The numbness of the day before was gone. Her heart still ached for Elsren and the others, but she could wall it off to consider her next move. Sitting at her desk, she began to pore over the reports she had not yet reviewed, looking for signs of weakness and for ideas. It took the breakfast gong to break through her concentration. She was ravenous.

  She could not have forgotten their loss even if she had wanted to. In the servants' mess hall she saw black armbands everywhere, and eyes still red and swollen from weeping. Talk was kept quiet. Chenaol had retreated inside herself, dishing out food as if she didn't even care what it was. Aly simply accepted her bowl and did not try to distract the cook. When Nawat came to eat beside her, they slid together until their legs touched and ate in silence.

  Once the meal was done Aly went upstairs to get clean clothes. “She slept on a trundle bed in Her Grace's room,” Boulaj said when Aly asked for Dove. She was shaking out black clothing for Dove to wear. “So did Lady Nuritin. I'm glad Nawat came back.”

  Aly, caught as she wrapped a clean sarong around her, blinked. “I know I am, but why are you?” she asked, startled.

  “You seemed a little lost after he left,” Boulaj explained. “Not lost as a spy, but lost as a woman. As if he'd taken a piece of you away that you needed. He has changed.”

  Aly tucked her fresh sarong, remembering that man's look, and those very male kisses. “I, um, hadn't noticed. Much.” She began to wrap her sash. “How is Her Grace?”

  “Her Grace is livid,” Winnamine said coldly from the door. Aly turned to face her. Dove and Nuritin stood behind Winnamine, watching her. “Her Grace wants to know why the god sent you to this house, Aly.”

  Aly swallowed. You should have expected this, she told herself.

  Winnamine continued, “Where is our great destiny that was promised by the god? Can it be the god meant my husband and son to die? That my little boy had to drown so the regents would take power and the throne would be strong? Was that it?” Her eyes were overbright, but no tears fell. Aly was certain that the duchess had no tears left.

  Gently Aly said, “No, Your Grace.” The sight of her pain made her stomach knot. “There is no greatness in what happened to Elsren, or to the duke. I'm afraid the gods don't care what makes their servants happy. They see only what they desire. We are tools to their ends.”

  “You speak knowledgeably about gods,” the duchess said bitterly. “You
know a great many, do you?”

  “I have seen the god-touched in Tortall, Your Grace,” Aly replied, thinking of her parents and Aunt Daine. “They did not look entirely happy. They looked—driven, at times. As the god drives me.”

  Winnamine turned, nearly colliding with Nuritin and Dove. They moved out of her way just in time and followed her back to her rooms.

  “That's the problem with luarin,” Boulaj observed softly. “They think gods have rules and follow them. They should dedicate their lives to the Trickster, as we do. They would not be comfortable, but they would not have this illusion that life is supposed to make sense, either.”

  “Thinking of trying for the priesthood?” Aly wanted to know. She blinked rapidly. She would not cry, not for the duchess, or the Balitang family, or herself. The time for tears was over.

  “To be a raka under the luarin is to be a priest of the Trickster,” replied Boulaj. “Will you help me fold this sheet?”

  Aly and Boulaj straightened Dove's chambers, then Aly went back downstairs. She met Quedanga in the hall that led to her workroom. “I left the night's gleanings on your table, and I rolled up your pallet,” the housekeeper said. “The city is quiet—there is little to pass on. I think we are all in shock.”

  “Thanks, Quedanga,” Aly said. “It won't last, you know.”

  “I know.” Quedanga's grin showed a wolfish number of teeth. “And then the raka's time will come.”

  And then the raka's time may come, Aly replied silently. Imajane and Rubinyan have opened the door for it, but it is not yet set in stone.

  She went to her table and began to make her way through the heap of news Quedanga had collected from her own network within the city. Aly wasn't sure how long she worked before the runner Wayan rapped on the frame of the door. When Aly nodded, she came over to lean against Aly affectionately. She opened her hand to show a folded piece of paper, sealed with a blank circle of wax.

  “A man at the servants' gate gave me this for you,” she said. “He said it was from his master.”

  “Is he waiting for a reply?” Aly inquired. She inspected the note to see if the wax had been tampered with. She had taught her people ways to remove wax seals, but she also knew how to tell if somebody had been playing with one. This note had not been opened.

  Wayan shook her head. “He gave me a silver gigit and left.”

  Aly kissed the girl's cheek. “Then you don't need a tip from me. Scamper.”

  Giggling, Wayan left. Aly got to her feet and locked her door before she heated a thin knife and slid the hot metal under the seal. The note popped open.

  That boat came apart in the first big wave. They didn't need a storm that sank a number of other ships, too. Whatever it is that you intend to do, I am your man.—T.S.

  Only one T.S. that she knew of would send her such a message: Taybur Sibigat. The regents—now the monarchs—had made a stupid mistake in killing the boy king he had loved. Aly was certain that Sibigat had been meant to drown, and just as sure that he had noticed that.

  Aly ran her fingers over her darking necklace as she tucked the message back into her sash. She would keep this to herself for the present. The time would come soon when she would ask Taybur to make good on his promise. At this point, they both needed him to remain where he was and do his job. History was rife with palace revolts spearheaded by the very fighters who were there to protect the rulers.

  They never should have killed his king, thought Aly as she returned to her work.

  Two quick raps and an open slap on her door told Aly she was wanted in the meeting room. She locked her workroom and went in. Her pack, from Boulaj to Yoyox, waited there for her. They all watched her with bright attention, that look of hounds who had at last caught the scent.

  Aly closed and locked the door, then settled in a chair. “We're in mourning,” she stated.

  “We would like our own way to mourn,” said Jimarn. “Guide us, Duani.”

  “You've been doing this for a while,” Aly pointed out. “Surely you don't need me.”

  Atisa rolled her eyes. “You're being aggravating.”

  “Sometimes aggravation is the irritant that forces a result,” Aly replied quickly, then sighed. “My goodness. You young people are so impatient.”

  “We know you,” Olkey explained patiently as he popped a snow pea into his mouth. “Knowing you, we decided you probably have a list of things to tidy up in that clever head of yours. Lazy children that we are, we'd rather you did the thinking, and we handled the details.”

  Aly twiddled her thumbs, staring at the ceiling. This was what she had been working for since the fall before: the time when their minds and hers would work to reach the same place at the same time. I've done well with them, she told herself. It's time for them to see what they can do.

  “I don't know how this can be, but the naval shipyards are a mess,” she remarked at last. “All that wood and tar, all those ships being repaired. What if company comes to call?”

  “That's a big one,” said Guchol. “That will take work.” Aly raised an eyebrow. Guchol responded to her unspoken question. “We can do it,” she said hurriedly. “There are some knots to untie, though.”

  “Come to me if you need help,” Aly said.

  “I don't want to burn ships,” Junai snapped. Like Boulaj, she had been closer to the family than the others, which meant that she had known Elsren. “I want them scared.”

  “People are very scared by bad things that seem to have come out of nowhere,” Aly observed, her gaze back on the ceiling. “Things like a basket of rats in a closed bedroom. Or a dead rat.” She looked at Junai and Boulaj. “A dead rat appears on the streets of the Windward District, where folk think they are so safe . . . it frightens them.”

  Boulaj and Junai exchanged bright-eyed glances. “We can do that,” Boulaj said. “At night, once the house is abed.”

  “What about the regents?” demanded Lokak, dark eyes hard. “When do we strike them?”

  “Giant-killing is tricky,” Aly replied, knowing Lokak had spoken for the pack. “If you go for his eyes, he kills you by stepping on you. Instead you cut his legs from under him. With a weak army and navy, the new monarchs will struggle to protect themselves. Duke Nomru's estates have risen on his behalf against the Crown. His New Majesty needs more troops, but he doesn't have enough for Malubesang and the other rebellions. He'll have to scramble. As he does, he and his queen will be vulnerable. Our general can see that day come. He'll let us know when it is time. For now, we help him by doing what we have trained to do.”

  Most of them gathered around Guchol. As they whispered, Aly returned to her workroom. It would be foolish to suggest anything to them, when she didn't know the shipyard and they did. She would leave the list of Sevmire's spies in the Windward District out where Junai or Boulaj could find it. If they could pick her lock to see who had kept her in her workroom all night, they could pick it to find the list, too.

  Back at her worktable, Aly set her darking necklace on its surface. “What happened while I was—occupied?” she asked them.

  “Royal tax collector for all of Lombyn is dead,” Trick announced. “Royal governor of Malubesang is missing.”

  Aly nodded. “Very good. Is that it?”

  “For yesterday, with Rubinyan and Imajane,” said Trick.

  “What of my friend Sevmire?” Aly wanted to know.

  “Bean say he draws up list of possible enemies,” piped Secret. “Balitangs on it. Also Fonfalas. Also Engan.”

  “Also Obemaek,” Trick added. “Sevmire asleep now.”

  “He drink too much wine,” Secret explained. “He drools on desk.”

  “Bean ask, can he take list away from Sevmire?” Trick relayed.

  Aly stretched. “Sevmire will just make another one.”

  “But he will wake up with dry quill and open ink bottle and no list,” explained Secret. “Bean say, he will search everywhere, and then he will think someone took it.”

  “Bean
say, Sevmire will twitch and drink and suspect his people,” added Trick. “He will think they try to take his place with Rubinyan. Bean say—says,” it corrected itself, to Aly's surprise, “that Sevmire worries all the time about everything. Bean says, if he worries more, he trusts people less.”

  So not only have I taught them to be spies, but it seems they're also learning to speak more like human beings, Aly mused. I wonder if this is a good thing or a bad one? “Tell Bean that by all means it should take the list if it can,” she said. “And if Bean can think of more things to do to Sevmire without getting caught, it shouldn't worry about asking, just go ahead.” I do it for my pack, she told herself. I can surely let the darkings off the leash as well.

  After a moment Trick said, “Bean is very happy. He takes list into Sevmire's dung room.”

  “He will drop it in the dung pit,” explained Secret.

  Aly nodded. She loved their term for a privy. And a dung pit is where Sevmire himself belongs, she thought. Where they all belong.

  She worked on papers until her belly reminded her that she had missed lunch. Out she went, in search of cold meat, bread, and some fruit. Once she had her meal in her hands, she went out into the garden to the Pavilion of Secrets. She wanted some time alone, to think in privacy of the wonderful things that had happened the night before. She knew moments like that were stolen from time, and she did not want to forget any of it. Leaning into a corner of the pavilion, she closed her eyes to remember, and dozed. When the food tumbled from her hands to the ground, the miniature kudarung swooped in for the feast.

  She woke to their whickering and a shadow that loomed over her. Her senses identified a large body between her and escape. Aly was on her feet with two knives in her hands before she realized it was Ulasim.

  He crouched to pet the clamoring kudarung around his legs and looked at Aly with appreciation. “That was very quick for someone who just woke up,” he remarked. “It is as I always suspected—you sleep with one eyelid cracked.”