For the challenges to her rule, Dove sent out troops led by Fesgao, Nomru, and others. Nawat, who wore a multicolored, incredibly gaudy necklace these days, as did every crow Aly saw, also went out to persuade the fighters to stop. As summer deepened and began to wane, crops were far more important than battle. By the end of August most of the Isles had decided to see how they'd manage with a half-raka queen. Only Ikang and parts of Malubesang and Lombyn continued to resist.
Aly worked even harder than she had before the fighting. Rubinyan's old study, with its well-executed maps and many useful books, became her office. Soon she had to clear rooms on either side to make space for her deputies, Vitorcine, Yoyox, Olkey, and Atisa. They took in the information that arrived each day and rendered it in a form that could be presented to Dove and her counselors. When she could leave things in their hands, Aly ventured out into the Isles, turning the spies of the raka conspiracy into her agents. She chose people from every walk of life. By the start of September she had broken the Kingdom into districts and appointed an agent to take charge of each.
One September morning she woke up—she had fallen asleep on her desktop again—to find Trick squeaking in her ear and Dove settled in a chair in front of her desk. Aly, her brain muddled, struggled to push herself to her feet.
“Stop that,” Dove said crossly. “When was the last time you slept in a bed, not at your desk?”
Aly yawned. “Recently, Your Majesty.”
“When was the last time you saw Nawat?”
Aly grinned. “Very recently, Your Majesty.” She touched the antipregnancy charm he'd given to her. She wore it on a chain long enough that she could tuck it into her breast band under her sarong.
“Better. When are you getting married?”
“Before I lay eggs,” Aly said, awake at last. “Why is Your Majesty asking me these questions?”
“Do you plan to nest here or at home?” Dove wanted to know. “Because of all those I have worked with, you are the only one who hasn't sworn to me. Are you going back to Tortall?”
Aly bit her lip. Why couldn't Dove have started this after Aly had spent a night sleeping in a bed? At last she replied, “I wouldn't sell your secrets to other realms, Your Majesty.”
“That isn't why I'm asking,” Dove snapped. Secret squeaked from its position around her throat. She and the small darking had been inseparable since their first meeting, just like Aly and Trick. “I'm sorry, Secret. But really, Aly, one moment you're braiding my hair and the next you're at least a table length away, giving reports. It's not the same.” She looked down at her bronze silk lap. “I thought you were my friend,” she added quietly. “I still need a friend.”
Aly sighed. It was time to make choices about her future. “Taybur would do very well as your new spymaster,” she said, shuffling papers. “He's got the right shifty turn of mind.”
“Until the Isles are at peace, I need Taybur with the Queen's Guard,” retorted Dove. “He's thorough. If I'm to visit some of the Isles next week, I want him preparing the way. I want you for spymaster.”
Aly looked at her sadly. “There are things about me you don't know,” she told Dove, her belly clenched with tension. “Things that make it impossible for me to be your spy-master. Things that as your permanent spymaster I must tell you.”
“Oh, stop bouncing and say it.” Kyprioth appeared in a window seat, dressed in a jacket and sarong like woven copper, jangling with jewelry. “You know you want to.”
Aly scowled at him. “I thought you were going to be really large if you won.”
“I am large,” retorted the god. “This is only the part you see. I imbue this palace with my essence, every stone and every drop. My visit will do wonders for the flowers.”
Aly propped her chin on her hand. “So does manure,” she observed.
Kyprioth chuckled. “Whyever would you want to leave me, my dear? We're made for each other, in a god-to-servant way.” He looked at Dove. “I see you're removing those statues of my sister and brother outside.” His face lit with anticipation. “Will you have them melted down?”
“Perhaps you can afford to offend them,” Dove replied. “I can't. They're going to the temples of Mithros and the Goddess in Rajmuat, as is proper. Do you want me to put up a statue to you? Our custom says it's very unlucky.”
“Put a statue up of me? Nonsense,” scoffed the god. “I am multitudes. You see but one of my faces. I am—”
“Vast,” Aly interrupted. “Yes, you've mentioned it.”
“So when's the big day?” Kyprioth asked Dove, unmoved by Aly's sarcasm. “When is my queen to be crowned?”
“The day after Midwinter,” Dove replied, a smile tweaking her mouth. “So my official reign begins with the rebirth of the year.”
“With the rebirth of the sun,” the god corrected her. “Not that I begrudge him, poor fellow. He still hasn't gotten his shield back. That thief I got is truly talented.” He raised an eyebrow. “Ah. A summons.” He looked at Aly, black eyes dancing. “If she's crowned at Midwinter, the foreign delegations will have to come by the end of October and stay the season,” he pointed out. “Your monarchs are sending their very favorite people. You had better hurry up and tell her.” He vanished, leaving a thin layer of copper sparkles where he'd sat.
“What did he mean by that?” Dove wanted to know.
Aly had a very bad feeling. “I'd like to tell Winna at the same time, if I may,” she said wearily. “I think you both should hear it from me. Trick?”
Trick sat up on her shoulder. “She comes,” it said. Like the other darkings given to specific people, Winnamine's had chosen to remain with her as the duchess took over the running of the domestic side of the palace. She had long since ordered Aly to call her by her nickname.
Waiting for her, Aly and Dove talked over plans for Dove's visit to the nearby Isles. The chief problem lay in finding ways for her attendants to keep up, since she would be riding the winged stallion she had named Kypry. “I just won't land until I know the place is safe,” she was telling Aly as Winnamine swept in.
The duchess had set a new fashion, wearing her darking as a glossy band twined throughout her hair. Other ladies of Dove's new court were trying the same style, without success, since a darking could grip better than a satin ribbon. “Midget says you two want to discuss something with me,” she said as she settled into a chair. “It's not bad news from the outer Isles, is it?”
“You should wait,” said Trick. “Fesgao and Chenaol come, too. We told them.”
“Why?” Aly wanted to know.
“The darkings are right,” said Dove. “They were with us at the beginning. They should hear whatever it is, too.”
Aly changed position, hiding the fact that she was making sure the knives in her sash and under the top of her desk were ready to hand. Sheer self-preservation had made her flinch from telling members of the old raka conspiracy. Of all the people Aly had dealt with since her arrival in the Isles, she felt they had the most right to be vexed when they learned the truth about her.
“While we're waiting,” the duchess said, pulling a folded parchment from a pocket. Dove and Aly recognized the bold writing right away.
“Sarai!” cried Dove, and grabbed the letter.
As Dove read greedily, Winna told Aly, “They married when they reached Carthak. Sarai is expecting a child next spring.” She smiled, her lips trembling. “If it is a boy, they do mean to name him Mequen. They won't be here for the coronation, but they promise to visit as soon as it's safe.”
Chenaol arrived from the kitchens, her arms covered to the elbows in flour. Dove had pressed her to accept a more important position, but the raka had refused flatly. Her place was in the kitchen, she'd told Dove. If people wanted to talk weapons, they would find her there.
Fesgao was not far behind the cook. As commander of the queen's armies, he kept an office at the headquarters building near the Rittevon enclosure. He had settled into his work, spending his days like Aly, sorting t
hrough papers to decide what mattered and what did not. He'd told Aly that he looked forward to Dove's trip as a break from documents.
When the door was closed behind them, Aly took a deep breath. “Your Majesty, friends,” she said quietly, her hands resting on her sash, “I cannot be your spymaster. I am the daughter and granddaughter of Tortall's spymasters, and the daughter of Tortall's King's Champion. The god did not teach me most of what I know—I learned it at my father's knee. I am not working on Tortall's behalf. Kyprioth claimed me after I'd foolishly left my home, and set me to work with you. That is the truth of it.” She looked down, listening for the slightest hint of movement. The knives in her sash were the quickest to reach, but if it was Fesgao who came for her, she'd need the sword secured under the desktop.
For a very long moment, much too long for Aly's taste, no one spoke or moved. Then Chenaol hoisted herself to her feet. “If that's all, I've got two wagonloads of flour coming from Digger Brothers' mill. I want them to explain how I found gravel stitched into the bottoms of the bags last time. Then I need to decide how much I'll take out of them in blood.”
Aly stared at her. “That's it?” she demanded, shocked. “Or will I find you waiting for me in some dark night with one of those thousand and three new carving knives you bought for the kitchens?”
Chenaol rolled her eyes. “Half for the kitchen, half for the armory,” she explained. “Why should I care? The god picked you. How many times do you have to prove whose side you're on? Oh, I remember—you've already done that.” She stomped out.
Fesgao called after her, “Wait.” To Aly he said, “She's right, you know. The god wouldn't saddle us with someone who worked for a rival country. I wonder what happens now. Will your father spank you for playing with the neighbors?” He followed Chenaol. “I thought I asked for a thousand knives for the armory,” he told her.
“Five hundred is what you get with the treasury in the mess it is,” they heard her reply. “Talk to Quedanga, if you want to hear her moan about all the money spent on food supplies for those whose crops didn't make it.”
Aly blinked, then looked at Winna and Dove. “Maybe the god's recommendation is good enough for you, Your Majesty,” she said to the queen. To the duchess she respected she added, “But, Your Grace . . .”
Winnamine smiled and rose to her feet. “Chenaol is right. You have more than proved who has your allegiance, Aly.” She came over and leaned down, in a puff of lily-of-the-valley scent, to kiss Aly's cheek. “I would hate to force you to choose between your family and us, but it goes without saying that we need you more.” She smiled at Dove and left them, gently closing the door behind her.
Aly looked at Dove.
“Are you going to be my spymaster or not?” demanded the younger girl. “Winna's right. We need you more. We met your father, didn't we? Last year, at Tanair. Only he said he was a merchant.”
“Your Majesty, he lies,” Aly said, shaking her head with regret. “He lies all the time. I think sometimes he lies just to stay in practice.”
Dove smiled and stood. “And to protect his daughter, alone in the enemy's country,” she pointed out. “Will you be my spymaster, please? I still do need a friend.”
Aly got up and walked over to her, then knelt, took Dove's hand, and pressed her forehead against the younger girl's fingers. “I will serve you all my days, Your Majesty,” she told Dove softly, meaning it with her whole heart. Then she looked up. “You're wearing five rings. You promised you'd never wear more than three.”
Dove giggled. “Boulaj says they look nice.” The young woman had decided that she liked the post of bodyguard-maid and kept it.
“She's Kyprin,” Aly scolded. “They think twelve necklaces on one neck is nice.”
Dove pulled a ring off, a gold band with a piece of basalt set in it. Embedded in the smooth, matte black stone was a small copper kudarung. “Then here,” she said, holding the ring worn by her personal household to Aly. “You wear this one.”
For once Aly had nothing to say. She could only nod, and slide the ring onto her index finger.
Someone pounded on the door. “Your Majesty!” called Nuritin, pronouncing each word with care. “You have an audience in the Throne Hall this morning. Will you be late to your own audience?”
Dove grimaced and walked out to meet her obligations.
Aly looked at her jumbled desk. “Well,” she said wearily, “if I'm staying, I'd better recruit some more help.”
The day after the end of Midwinter, the Throne Hall of the royal palace blazed with the light cast by a thousand lamps and candles. It glittered on gold and silver jewelry, hoards of gemstones, silks and satins, and in the hundreds of pairs of eyes that were fixed on the dais. Incense rose to form clouds against the high ceilings, scenting the air. Chimes tinkled as breezes moved through the hall.
Taybur Sibigat, captain of the Queen's Guard, knelt on the second-highest step of the dais, holding a cushion above his head. On it shone gold shaped as a crowned headdress at the front, with a spray of copper sprigs at the back, each dangling gold drops. Copper drops hung from a forehead plate. Dovasary Haiming Temaida Balitang, dressed all in silver satin patterned in black, reached for the Crown, made from old descriptions to look like the original Crown of the Isles. With hands that trembled, she raised it for her audience to see, then carefully lowered it to rest on her own head. It was how the Kyprin queens had always been crowned, since no one wanted to offend their peculiar god by claiming his priesthood.
The onlookers, noble and common born, sent up a thunder of applause and cheers that startled the small winged horses from the beams overhead. They swooped around the new queen, who stood there patiently, waiting for quiet.
To the side, tucked into the shadow of a pillar, her spymaster leaned against Nawat Crow with a happy sigh.
EPILOGUE
At the Kudarung Inn
Rajmuat in the Copper Isles
April 2, 464 H.E.
In the morning the Tortallan delegation would sail home, with reports for their monarchs on the new queen and her government. For this occasion some of its members had taken a private room for a very private dinner. Their two local guests came separately, one as a crow who changed into human form once he reached his father-in-law's chambers. Aly came disguised as a Carthaki lady, complete with veils.
She and Nawat sat at the table with her family, everyone full of good food and busy with lively talk. Aly, whose morning sickness extended sometimes to evenings, had contented herself with a mild broth and fruit juices. She looked frequently at the slight swell of her belly, mystified by the thought that another human being was taking shape beneath her navel.
She sat between her father, George Cooper, baron of Pirate's Swoop, and her mother, Alanna the Lioness, lady knight and King's Champion of Tortall. From that position she could look at her brothers. Alan wore a squire's gear. His knight-master had allowed him to carry word to his parents that it was time to come home, and to attend his twin's wedding before he returned with them. Thom was bouncing Sarralyn Salmalín on his knee, explaining to the two-year-old the difference between a star and a moon, while Sarra beamed up at him. Next to him Veralidaine Salmalín, known as Daine the Wildmage, gently rocked baby Rikash and talked softly with the crowd of darkings assembled on the table before her. Her husband, the mage Numair, was deep in conversation with Aly's grandfather, Tortall's official spymaster, Myles of Olau. Eleni, lady of Olau, discussed bird lice cures with Nawat.
“Well, I never thought you would do it,” Alanna remarked as she sat back in her chair.
Aly gave an inward sigh, certain she was about to get a speech in how she ought to behave. “Do what, Mother?” she asked, keeping the impatience from her voice. It's the last time I'll see her, she scolded herself. I can take a little lecture from her, surely.
“Find a cause that caught you up and gripped you in your very veins,” Alanna replied quietly, her eyes on the raka tapestries on the walls. “Find some passion that would
consume you. Make you a fool with the rest of us fools.”
“I'm hardly consumed,” Aly began to say. Then she looked at her mother, at the lines at the corners of her mother's famed violet eyes, at the blue pearl drops hanging from her ears, Aly's Midwinter gift, at the callused and scarred hands that Alanna had folded on the table. Slowly Aly's sense of reality overcame her. Her mouth twitched. Her mother was right. Aly had found something to consume her, even if she didn't show it as her mother did. “Have I ever mentioned that I hate it when you're right?” she asked instead.
Alanna shook her head. “No, I don't believe you have. As far as I could tell, you never thought I was right.”
Another bubble of vexation fizzed up out of Aly's belly and popped. She could see a smile tugging her mother's lips. “Since you mention it, no. Except now, Mother.” She offered her hand.
Alanna took it and kissed Aly on the cheek. “Goddess bless you each and every day,” she whispered. “The Great Mother is surely too wise to hold a grudge simply because you helped her brother.”
Finally Aly and Nawat had to go, or fall asleep on the table. Aly took leave of her family, hugging everyone hard, fixing their faces in her mind. She saved her father for last. Standing on tiptoe, she whispered, “Da, I'd like all of your agents out of the Isles by the end of the month. Elsewise I'll arrest them and ship them home.”
George looked down at his daughter, his eyes lighting up with amusement. He raised an eyebrow at her.
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