The Tears of the Rose

by Jeffe Kennedy

  “All this time, I left them alone, until those upstart Tala infected my daughter’s mind, making her betray us all. She could have been our key into Annfwn. You were to bring her here, in chains or dead if necessary—do you care to explain your failure?”

  I bit one knuckle to keep from gasping at that. Ursula flicked an unreadable glance at me.

  “The guerrilla tactics they used made our regiments easy targets for their attacks, as I understand was also true at the Siege of Windroven. Once we were deep in the hills and forests, the landscape became their ally and our enemy. We could not pursue effectively, for their speed and ability to hide outmatched us. There seems to be only one entrance to Annfwn—through Odfell’s Pass—but the way is steep, narrow, and treacherous.”

  “Obstacles only.”

  Ursula inclined her head. “Just so. But the kicker was the magic. It’s true. None can cross the border—it’s like a glass wall.”

  Uorsin tapped thick fingers on the desk and snorted. “Nonsense.”

  “What magics did Salena use that secured your victories?” Ursula retorted.

  “They may have sealed off that border once, but it can’t be anymore. Once your mother left Annfwn, she made it that if any of them left, they could not get back in. Obviously, they crossed out and took Andi back in with them. Therefore, the border is open.”

  “That was when they lacked Salena to work the magic.” Ursula’s gray eyes unfocused, as if she replayed the scene in her head. “Now they have Andi.”

  “I find it difficult to believe that my least worthy daughter wields so much power.” But Uorsin’s eyes strayed to the window, and I thought I caught the wintery shiver of fear deep in his heart, a rime of frost on the walls shadowed from the sun. “Besides, I am not without resources. The Twelve Kingdoms are not the entire world and the Tala are not the only monsters in it.”

  “High King Uorsin.” Ursula’s frost of unease tinged the air. “Surely you’re not considering—”

  “What I do or don’t consider is not the business of anyone here. I am the High King and I alone decide! And I will have Annfwn, one way or another.”

  “How? Andi—and Annfwn—are lost forever. We must move forward without them.”

  Uorsin turned to her, the ice of his fear balling into meaty rage. “This is your great lack, daughter. Why you cannot be my heir. You are too easily cowed. You have a woman’s softness, a female need to give up in the face of adversity. If you cannot take Annfwn, then you will never hold the Twelve Kingdoms.”

  “Is that a challenge, Your Highness?”

  “It’s a command.” Uorsin held up both hands palm up. “You may believe I hold the Twelve in the palms of my hands, cradling them like a benevolent father. It’s time you face the truth of it.” He curled his fingers into fists, until the knuckles whitened. “This—this—is how you hold the lands together. They may struggle to escape as we speak, but they cannot. Will you break the grip that holds our peace?”

  “Erich?” Ursula asked.

  “Of course.” Uorsin dropped his hands to the desk and stood, leaning on it so that he and Ursula were within striking distance of each other, Derodotur and I flanking them like decorative bookends. Derodotur caught my eye with a subtle half smile, as if he thought it, too. “Erich thinks to snap his leash. He sees me as weakened by this.”

  “And the others?”

  “Aerron, Elcinea, and Nemeth follow along, like starving vultures thinking to pick over the corpses.”

  “But not Duranor? That surprises me.”

  “Not openly. Stefan thinks to lull me with his dancing attendance and protestations of loyalty.”

  “He’s waiting. Waiting to see how far the others get. Then he’ll choose sides—or wait for us to falter in fighting each other and swoop in to take the throne for himself.”

  “Just so.” Uorsin nodded. They’d clicked into their old ways, so much alike. Andi and I had never been able to follow their strategy debates. Uorsin and his firstborn had always been that way, as if they thought with the same mind.

  She’d made him forget, I realized. Somehow Ursula had become his right arm again, without him being aware. If I were smart, I’d step in, to secure the High Throne for my son or daughter. For Avonlidgh and Hugh. Glorianna wanted Annfwn, and here, this, was my opportunity to act. She’d guided me here, to be present for this moment, so I could advise the High King and be the one to lead the Twelve Kingdoms into the peace and bounty that was our destiny.

  “Annfwn should be ours,” I blurted. Ursula’s and Uorsin’s heads swiveled toward me, at identical angles. Derodotur stared between them, a slight figure, adding up numbers in his head. I’d just changed the equation. “Now is the time for us to move. Glorianna wills it so.”

  Uorsin chuckled, but laughing at me. “And do you propose to waltz up to the border and ask for it, like you asked for that pony? Didn’t Glorianna will that also?”

  My lips trembled with the hurt, but I firmed them, pressing them together as I’d seen Ursula do. It helped. Maybe I’d made up a few tales in the past. I had changed. If I needed to prove myself as Glorianna’s avatar, so be it. “If Andi had it in her blood to handle this magic border, then I might, also. But I have Glorianna on my side. Annfwn is the answer to everything—we can feed our people, appease Erich, and avenge Hugh.”

  “What do you propose to do, Amelia?” Ursula posed it as a question, but her voice contained a warning. I ignored it.

  “I will go to Annfwn and prove that I can cross this border.”

  “And then what?”

  I had no idea. Drag Andi back, kicking and screaming? Kill her?

  “Glorianna will guide me.”

  Uorsin frowned in thought. “Should you travel in your delicate condition, though?” He worried for the babe more than for me—and I smelled his fresh hope, his bright interest. I could be more than the pretty, affectionate daughter. I would succeed where Ursula had failed. Risking a glance at her, I found her eyes grave, nearly sad. Did she mourn for her own lost throne or for Andi’s demise?

  Either way, in the flush of the moment, I didn’t care.

  “Ursula dragged me all the way here, didn’t she? I can travel to Annfwn and play spy. Then I’ll be at Windroven in plenty of time to grow heavy and have my lying-in.”

  10

  “No.” Uorsin sat heavily, gaze wandering to my midsection.

  It was getting old quickly, people looking at only that part of me. “We cannot risk my heir. You may travel to Windroven and there only.”

  “But, Father!” The protest burst out of me. I’d been so sure that I could give him what he wanted most. It was a mistake, because his brow knotted, the sense of thunder booming through the room.

  “Argue and you will be confined to Ordnung until the child is safely birthed!”

  “An excellent call, Your Highness,” Derodotur inserted himself deftly, distracting the King’s anger.

  “Do you imagine I need your approval?” Uorsin glared at the slight man who’d been with him before even our mother.

  “I think you’re most wise to see that sending Princess Amelia back to Windroven will demonstrate confidence in the peace and stability of the realm. Avonlidgh must be loyal, if you trust them with the safekeeping of your daughter and heir.”

  “Am I still heir in the interim?” Ursula inquired, in the same tone that she might ask whether we thought it might snow tonight.

  Uorsin shuffled a scroll on his desk to the side. “I have no choice there, do I?”

  “Well, you could make Amelia regent for the impending heir,” Ursula pointed out. “Though, hmm.” She tapped a finger on her chin, ostentatiously thoughtful. “That could be problematic if Old Erich passes or cedes the crown of Avonlidgh to her. Then she’d be Queen and regent of the Twelve Kingdoms. Likely the High Throne would indeed move from Ordnung then.”

  Uorsin’s head swiveled and he fixed an impatient—and betrayed—look on me. As if I’d already done what Ursula suggested
. She met my gaze over his head. Not smug, but with the confidence of a fighter who knows she’s stronger.

  “You are heir until the babe is born.” Uorsin unrolled the scroll and scrawled a note on it. “At that point, I shall be regent and raise the boy myself. At Ordnung.” He looked to me for my curtsy of acquiescence and I gave it.

  “But”—he pointed a finger at me—“you would do well to speak to Old Erich. Calm him down. Ensure his loyalty to my throne. I shall hold you personally responsible for his actions—and those of his rebellious cohort.”

  How in Glorianna’s name could I possibly do that? I’d sunk myself, for sure. Ursula watched me process it with a serene expression, though I thought she must be dancing inside at outmaneuvering my pitiful efforts.

  “Yes, High King,” I said, curtsying again. Nothing else I could do. I missed Hugh with a sharp pang and a stab of anger. If he hadn’t died, I would never have left Windroven or tried to play these games. Already I’d failed my son and Glorianna’s cause.

  “Run along, Ami, and plan your departure. I want Erich out of my court and away from easy access to his would-be allies. You can at least be useful there. Ursula, you stay. We have more to discuss.”

  Dismissed, I hurried down the hall. It was ever this way—me sent from the room while the grown-ups discussed the important things. My face felt hot and I gripped the fabric of my skirts, to keep from tripping on the lacy hem, yes, but also to keep my hands from shaking.

  My few ladies who remained at Ordnung looked up from their sewing projects, startled, when I rushed into the rooms. Dulcinor put down the fabric she had been embroidering with Glorianna roses and came to me. “Your Highness! Is aught amiss? Is it the babe? I’ll get you a cool cloth for your forehead, though you know it’s impossible to get the maids to bring truly cold water here. I tell them, ‘Fetch it directly from the deep well and don’t dawdle on the way by the fire,’ but it never seems to penetrate their thick heads. Truly I don’t know why—”

  “I’m taking a nap,” I interrupted her. A memory of Andi pretending to throttle Dulcinor behind her back flashed through my mind and I split out a slice of my fury for her and her betrayal. “We leave for Windroven tomorrow. All of you—go do whatever it is you do to get us ready to leave.”

  “Ladies Raylea and Abaigeal are still visiting their families and—”

  “Then send them a message. Or they can catch up. High King’s command.” The words tasted bitter in my mouth, and my ladies exchanged speculative looks. Careless of me. They’d all think I was in disfavor. I’d have to be sure to cozy up to the King tonight, to make it clear that I was still his favorite. I knew how to do that much. Smile. Be lovely and sweet. Precious princess. My only talent and worth.

  “Where is Marin?” I asked. Her usual rocker was empty and her knitting bag nowhere in sight.

  “I haven’t seen her, Your Highness,” Dulcinor answered.

  “Though, you know, I find her commoner ways are not exactly the thing—”

  “Somebody find her for me. Tell her I need tea.”

  They fluttered about, gathering up their needlework, too savvy to discuss our sudden departure yet. No, they’d wait to gossip about me once they were out of earshot. That’s how I’d always done it.

  Once they’d left me to blessed silence, I prowled my mother’s rooms, restless and with no idea how to console myself. I’d always taken comfort and pleasure in the company of my ladies, but now I wanted only to be alone. Or in Marin’s restful presence. Andi always said that’s why she preferred to ride, to get away from the castle and all the chattering people, and I’d never understood.

  I saw them together. I could see they loved each other before Andi said so. Ursula’s words trickled through my head. How could that be so? Love was what Hugh and I had shared—something noble, pure, and good. Surely she couldn’t love such a beast. Likewise, a soulless demon like Rayfe couldn’t possibly feel the tenderer emotions. But the way she’d looked during the siege returned to me. Little expressions, vague deflections. She’d asked Hugh relentlessly about a gift Rayfe kept trying to send her.

  And she hadn’t talked to me about it. Not really.

  I’d thought she hated the enemy as much as we did. That traitorous blood must have been turning her even then. Our mother’s blood. That mark that made her different and foul. I needed to understand what it all meant. Then I’d know what to do, how to think and feel. Surely if I could piece the puzzle together, I wouldn’t be so storm tossed. I wanted my old serenity again.

  I wanted Hugh back.

  I could see they loved each other. That was my true love that Andi slaughtered and took for herself. It made sense—as if true love was a jewel to be shared among the three of us. I’d had it and Andi had been jealous. I remembered well the way she’d gazed on Hugh, how she’d flirted with him. Then she killed him and took the love for herself.

  With a screech of rage, I pulled a set of books from the shelf and flung them to the floor. Their pages rustled like bat wings in the caves under Windroven and they lay in a gratifyingly scattered chaotic pattern. But they didn’t hold the answers I sought. No, only one person knew Andi’s secrets. Ones about our mother, I felt sure.

  I needed that stupid doll. Another thing that Andi had that I didn’t. If it truly existed, which I doubted. I searched the room, looking for things that might have stayed during the long years since my mother’s death. But very little seemed to be actually hers. Ursula once said that our father had burned Salena’s things after her death.

  I could understand that desire. For surely he’d loved her and grieved over her loss.

  Going to the door, I opened it to find the page stationed outside. He beamed at me, an angelic little boy, and I ruffled his hair, slipping into the role of the most beautiful princess easily. Happily he ran off to do his errand for me.

  I went back to pulling books off the shelves, letting them fall where they might. When Dafne arrived, she gasped at the disarray and I felt briefly guilty. But I shouldn’t. They were only books, and I should be more important.

  “I need your help.”

  “Certainly, Princess!” She hastened to the books, smoothing their crumpled pages and stacking them carefully.

  “Not those. They don’t matter.”

  She obeyed, leaving them reluctantly. And that White Monk said I had no power. He didn’t know what power was. Andi had left her little puppet of a librarian under my hand and I would treat her as I liked.

  For the moment, however, sugar would get me further with her. I would make Dafne into my friend. Then she’d want to tell me all of Andi’s silly secrets. The ones she should have told me, her baby sister, first.

  So I smiled at Dafne and rushed over to pick up some of the books. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it. I was looking for something and I confess I became most distraught—I don’t understand what’s wrong with me.” If I could have worked up a single, lovely tear, I would have.

  She fell for it, anyway, laying a gentle hand over mine. “You rest, Princess Amelia. I’ll get the books straightened up. It’s perfectly understandable. You’ve been through so much, and all the women say that the babe growing in you makes everything feel ever so much more.”

  Was that true? The sensation of being dashed from one emotion to the next came from the child? I’d have to ask Marin. Who should have been here by now. Surely the White Monk had been overstating and Kir would simply have spoken with her. Perhaps detained her for prayers. I tamped down the worry and gave Dafne my most appealing smile, the one that melted any heart.

  “Will you help me find something?”

  “Of course, Princess. What is it?”

  “Do you remember the doll Andi had? She brought it with her to Windroven.”

  “That your mother made? Yes. I packed it for her to take to Annfwn when she married King Rayfe.”

  “She sent me a message.” I wrung my fingers together, looking sorrowful, my eyes wide for best appeal. “That she thinks our mo
ther made me one, too. I keep thinking that if I could only find it, that somehow . . .” I broke off, faking a little sob, surprised to find that it felt quite real.

  “Don’t you worry, Princess.” Dafne clutched a stack of books to her breast, face earnest with sympathy. It made me wish that she actually was my friend and cared about me. “There are trunks stored from that era. I’ll look for it.”

  “Oh, thank you! But . . . we leave tomorrow. Will there be time?”

  Dafne’s brow knitted in thought. Did no one ever tell these girls about wrinkles? “I’m not certain. That’s not long to look.”

  “But you’ll try? I can’t leave without knowing!” That may have overplayed it, as my temper came through. Too much anger, not enough pitifulness. Dafne gazed at me with a carefully blank expression that nevertheless saw right through me.

  “Perhaps some of your ladies could help me search. That would—”

  “No!” I realized I’d clenched my fists and had to relax my hands. Where was Marin and that thrice-damned tea? “I, ah, don’t want anyone else to know.” The excuse sounded as weak as my trailing words, but Dafne nodded as if it made sense. I suppose it was true. Had my sisters been born with the ability to be secretive and devious? I seemed to lack all skill at it.

  “Then I suppose you must help me.” Dafne stacked the books with neat precision.

  “Me?”

  She revealed nothing, but I smelled her amusement. “Yes. Unless you trust another to send in your place?”

  For some odd reason, I thought of the White Monk. Absurd idea. He seemed to hold me in the greatest contempt. Why in the Twelve Kingdoms would I ever think to trust him with such an errand? Not that I trusted Dafne. No, that was true power—knowing that you held someone’s future in your grip, so they could not betray you. Ever so much more reliable.

  “Fine.” I started for the door, but Dafne didn’t move. “Aren’t you coming? I don’t know the way.”