her instruments 02 - rose point
Page 15
“Good night, Lady.”
The bed in the room was not just large enough for six. It was also tall enough to merit a tiny set of wooden steps, elaborately painted with columns of purple hyacinths and intertwined jasmine flowers. Reese stopped at the threshold of the room and remarked to Allacazam, “You’d think they were tall enough without having to make their furniture high too.”
Allacazam had no opinion on this, save a faint drowsiness. She set him on the mattress and let herself stroke the fabric of the coverlet: flowers and arabesques embroidered with gleaming floss on a purple fabric that was too soft to the touch to also be so glossy. The rest of the room gave the same impression of opulence, from the densely woven rug to the gilded and elaborately carved furniture.
Someone had laid in a fire for her, and she changed near it because it was too cold in any other part of the room. Why didn’t they heat this place? What good was such a beautiful residence if it was uncomfortable? It made no sense. After rushing across the chilled floor, Reese climbed into her bed and found it warm. Puzzled, she crawled all over it, hanging over its edge, until she spied the hint of a handle protruding from beneath the mattress. And then she sat back, holding the covers up to her chest. She looked from the fireplace to the pitcher and bowl she’d dismissed as ornamental on the side table. When Allacazam rolled into her lap and muzzily sent a curl of a query into her mind, she said, “They don’t have lights. They don’t have heat. They don’t have sinks. Freedom, they probably don’t have indoor plumbing.” Her skin prickled. “And apparently those Tam-illee are their only way off-world.”
The Flitzbe wondered why this was important, an impression she derived from birds he populated a tree with, all of them cocking their heads at her.
“It would be one thing if they chose to live like this,” she told him, reluctantly lying down. It was a very soft bed, but even the softest bed was unlike her swinging hammock. “But what if it’s not a choice?”
To that, Allacazam had no wisdom to offer. She sighed and murmured, “Just don’t get lost on this thing. It’s the size of a cargo hold.”
A tinkle of chimes in her head. She smiled and drowsed off.
She was not quite so sanguine when she met Hirianthial downstairs the following day, just before dawn.
“It doesn’t matter how expensive your sheets are,” she said, “or even how palatial your bathtub is, if what you use for a water closet can still be called a water closet.”
He remained composed but she thought she saw a twitch at the corner of his mouth. “I regret the facilities did not meet with your approval, Captain.” Before she could speak again, he handed her a spill of dark brown cloth. “I assume you have no coat? It’s cold out. You’ll want something.”
“And this is ‘something’?” Reese breathed. It was a cloak, but like no cloak she’d ever seen, lined on the inside in fur the same deep brown as the fabric. “Oh no. It’s too beautiful to wear. It’ll get dirty!”
“Then someone will clean it,” he said gently. At her wide-eyed look, he said, “As you said yourself, ah? Someone does the laundry.”
“Right,” Reese said, flushing. She drew the cloak around her shoulders. The clasp in the front was a lozenge of bronze metal with a hippogriff relief and she stroked it with her fingers once. “It really is warm.” She looked all the way down at her feet and added ruefully, “If a little too long.”
“No doubt if you stay you can have one made to your measure,” Hirianthial said. “Shall we? It is not a long ride, but we don’t want to be late for our appointments.”
“Right,” she said. “I... don’t guess this thing has a pocket for my data tablet.”
“No,” he said, and the amusement was more obvious now. “But there should be one on the inside for envelopes that might suffice.”
Reese checked, and he was right. “You people must write a lot.”
He said nothing to that, which didn’t surprise her.
Outside, there were—inevitably—horses. Reese could barely make them out against the dimness. As Hirianthial talked with the men holding the animals for them, she looked up and inhaled. When had she ever been out this early on a planet? The sky was a deep shade of gray tinged with lavender, and there was a smell... not like flowers, or water, or anything she could name, except to call it newness. And it was so still, after living with the noise of a ship for so long, so still that the noise of the horses lifting their hooves was muffled and distant, as if silence could have a weight.
“Shall I help you up?” Hirianthial asked in a low voice as the first horse was led to her. Did he notice it, too, the quiet? Of course he must.
Reese shook herself and eyed the animal. “No, I think I got this.” She grasped the saddle horn, put her foot in the stirrup, and shoved the cloak out of the way when it fouled her first try. Her second was successful, if utterly without grace. “There. I got it.” She patted the animal’s neck. “Not so bad once you’re used to it.”
He threw her cloak over the back of the horse and arranged it around her. “Put your hood up, Lady.”
“The hood?” Reese glanced over her shoulder at it. “Is it going to be that cold?”
“It is,” he said. “And also, some discretion is to be advised.”
“Right,” she muttered, and couldn’t tell if she resented the idea or found it unsettling. As she pulled the hood up the wind flattened its fur-lined interior against her cheek, convincing her that she cared a lot less about tender Eldritch sensibilities than she did about not feeling the cold.
The ride felt long; her placid horse was easy to handle but not very quick, and while the cloak shielded most of her body, somehow the wind found its way to every unprotected cranny: her wrists, her hands, her chin, her shins and feet. By the time Hirianthial reined his horse to a halt, Reese didn’t need to be told to keep her head down. Tucking her entire body into the smallest space possible was her first priority. She heard murmured conversation in a language she couldn’t understand, and then they were riding past great stone walls, through a fretwork gate tall enough to drive a cargo loader through. That was just enough preparation for the palace, which even in the uncertain gray dark of the time before dawn was... huge. Reese had the impression of endless flanks of ghostly pale stone worked with statues and reliefs.
“How many people live here?” Reese asked, stunned.
“Enough to maintain it and the royal family,” Hirianthial said. “But it is mostly function and guest space. And much guest space is needed.”
He held her horse while she dismounted beneath the watchful eyes of several guards. Reese wondered if they needed to be protected from the sight of her too, but Hirianthial seemed unconcerned about their reactions. He led her up a set of stairs to doors sized for giants, and then they were inside a warmly lit hall, a severe palette change from the dim gray outdoors. Here it was brilliant creamy stone and warm golden light, high distant ceilings spangled with ochre shadows.
“Here we part,” Hirianthial said. “But I will come for you when I am done with my engagement.”
“How do I know where to go?” Reese asked. There were guards stationed at intervals, but not one of them was looking at her. “Is there really no one to announce people? We just walk in?”
“It is too early, Lady. Visitation is not permitted before select hours save by invitation... and we are expected. You see, here are the pages.”
Down the hall came slim Eldritch youths in blue and silver livery, elegant and light on their feet. They separated in a maneuver that seemed choreographed, one stopping before Hirianthial and the other before her. She sought any sign of alarm in his face and saw none: only a smooth mask.
“If you will, Lady,” said the youth.
Reese hesitated, and Hirianthial said, “Go on, Captain. It’s safe.”
“All right,” she said. “I guess I’ll see you later.” She nodded to the page. “Let’s go.”
“This way, Lady.”
Obscured by the dim glow of
the lamps, the wide halls Reese passed through were something out of a book. There were patterns inlaid in the stone floor, and the high ceilings were coffered and painted in deep blues and gold and white. The tapestries that hung from the walls, if they were handmade, were probably worth more than Reese could have earned in a year—or five—and there were recesses with statues, and paintings that glistened in the low light with their linseed oil finishes, and alcoves with more of the delicate painted furniture with embroidered upholstery. The implied wealth was so dizzying she almost ran into the page when he stopped before a set of double doors. She looked up and found two guards studying her, and she froze. Unlike the guards at the palace’s entrance, they were dressed heel to crown in white, with a single red strip lining the neck of their shirts. Memory intruded, brought her the image of Hirianthial awaiting her in the Earthrise’s bay with Bryer: exact same outfit, if without the blood-colored trim.
They scrutinized her and then without uttering a word opened one of the doors. The page continued; so did she. But she glanced back at the closing door and wondered what the hell that had meant.
“Here, Lady,” the page said, interrupting her thoughts. He had brought her to an open door through which spilled the flickering illumination of a fire.
“Thanks,” Reese said, and cleared her throat before stepping inside.
The woman sitting by the fire was everything Reese had expected from a painting of a queen of a fairy tale race, with the weight of the beige gown, embroidered with pearls that had probably been caught, not cultured, to the elaborately braided hair and the slim band of a crown that ran over her brow. It wasn’t until the woman looked up that Reese saw what a painting would have left out: the incisive gaze, the perfect posture and the controlled elegance of her movements as she set her teacup down, and the steel implied by the whole.
None of that mattered quite as much as the shock of recognizing her face. She looked like Hirianthial. A lot like Hirianthial. She also spoke flawless Universal.
“Captain Eddings! Please, join me.”
Reese hastened to bow. “Ah, Your Majesty, thank you—“
“None of that now. I have been looking forward to this since I sent you that first message years ago. You needn’t bow, alet… you are not one of my subjects to be scraping the floor for me. Come by the fire, you must be cold.”
Reese tentatively sat across from her and unclasped the cloak, letting it fall back. She found the Queen studying her with interest, and with no hint of xenophobia at all. They regarded for one another for several moments, and then… they both grinned at the same time.
“Do you approve of what you see?” the Queen asked, amused.
“You look like I imagined,” Reese admitted. And then asked, a little shy, “Do I?”
“Exactly as I hoped,” the Queen said, reaching for the pot.
“Are you really going to pour for me?” Reese asked, appalled. When the woman paused, she said, “You’re a queen!”
“And I was a hoyden before I was an heir, and a rebellious maiden when I was, and I fear I have not changed overmuch,” the Queen said with a laugh. “Please, relax, Captain. There’s no reason for us to stand on formalities. In fact, call me Liolesa if you like. And I shall call you--”
“Reese,” Reese said. “If you’re sure—“
“Completely,” Liolesa said, filling their cups. “I hope you like a varied morning meal. I have ordered one prepared, not knowing what you eat to break your fast.”
“Chalk tablets, for most of my adult life,” Reese said ruefully. “Or protein bars.”
Liolesa chuckled softly. “So much trouble, then?”
“With money?” Reese said. She shook her head. “Always.”
“I know the feeling.” Liolesa took up her cup. When Reese didn’t, she raised her perfect brows. “You think otherwise?”
Saying ‘yes’ seemed rude, so Reese said, “I hope your revenue problems aren’t so dire they won’t mean you’re interested in what I’ve brought to sell you….”
“Ah, yes,” Liolesa said. “Do tell? We have some time before they bring the food if you prefer to do business beforehand. You mentioned it would be of particular interest.”
Reese drew in a breath. She was surprised at how anxious she was to find out if all the suffering Hirianthial had undergone because she’d decided to lay over at Kerayle could be redeemed, even a little. She brought her tablet out, set it on the table between them and activated the advertising materials the Kesh had sent with her. The tablet’s emitter built a miniature horse for them, jogging in place, pausing, shaking its forelock from its face. It had a glossy white hide and mane of waving silver, like something out of a romance.
The Queen had frozen in place. Then she reached forward and turned the tablet slowly. “Is this what I think it is?”
“There’s this colony… they’re breeding back all the Terran purebred horses,” Reese said. “They said they could sell some to the right buyers. I thought maybe you would be the right buyers.”
“And would they have, say, draft horses?”
“Probably,” Reese said, though she hadn’t the faintest notion what differentiated a draft horse from a normal one. “They said they had everything, though they were starting with these.”
The other woman stared at the trotting horse for long enough that Reese offered, “I could set the emitter to life-size? Or if you have a gem grid I could sync the tablet to, it could even do solidigraphic data.” She glanced at the floor and said, “Ah... if you have a gem grid.”
“We are a society that needs horses,” Liolesa said. “Not wants, Theresa. Needs. It would be a startling thing to find a gem grid anywhere on this world.”
“Except maybe in the Queen’s rooms?” Reese said. “Given that she keeps company with an entire clan of Tam-illee somehow....”
“Ah?” The other woman looked up, drawn from whatever thoughts she’d been contemplating. She laughed. “You have me there, yes. Though there is no gem grid here—we have no infrastructure to support it. We have to fall back on older-fashioned means.” She glanced at the horse dancing on the table. “Yes, I would be interested in horses. Shall we discuss it in depth now?”
“Sure,” Reese said, wondering what a bargaining session with a queen would be like. Glancing at the stern lines of Liolesa’s face and quickness of the humor in her eyes, she got the feeling it was going to be… interesting.
There were two men in the room to which the page brought Hirianthial, one standing and the other seated by the fire. The former was a youth in the robes of an acolyte of the God, his aura a darting brightness of blue and green thoughts, wholesome but charged with the nervous energy of a adolescent forced to stand still for too long. The latter was an elder priest, nearly lost in the weight of his robes, with an aura so tranquil it evoked deep waters.
“The Lord Hirianthial,” the page announced, and withdrew, the door shutting softly behind him.
“Elder,” Hirianthial said, inclining his head to the priest. “Novice.”
The priest studied him with interested eyes. “So, here you are, then. Do you know why you are here?”
The question was so like the ones his tutors had offered him as a child that Hirianthial couldn’t help a smile. “To serve life?”
“Directly from scripture,” the priest said with a grin. “But you’re not here to please me with your recall, my son.”
“Very well, Elder,” Hirianthial said, sobering. “I am here because I have developed powers that may make me unfit for that service.”
“That is what the Queen has asked me to evaluate,” the priest said. “We shall do that now.”
“Now?” Hirianthial asked, startled.
“Now,” the priest agreed, and tucked his hidden hands further into his sleeves. “I would like to take a nap. Please demonstrate your powers by assisting me.”
Hirianthial stared at him, despite the impropriety. “You… would like me to cause you to lose consciousness?”
Hirianthial looked at the boy, incredulous. “You? What special talent fits you for the task of helping a man being attacked by a mind-mage?”
Solemnly, the youth said, “I can run very fast.”
He laughed then, unwillingly perhaps, but still. To the priest: “I’m not sure I can safely do what you ask. You may be hurt. Or even die.”
“Then I die,” the priest said. “And we have all learned something. But I do not think I shall die today.” He shifted on the cushion, closed his eyes. “Proceed.”
Faced with such trust, Hirianthial could do nothing but obey despite his dismay at the command. He considered the tranquility of that aura and then reached toward it until he could feel it against his palms, as tangibly as if he held a glass ornament. He suggested to it that it might part, and it peeled away beneath his attention; closing his eyes, he focused on what he might find beneath. Thoughts, yes, peaceful and slow and unconcerned. Under the thoughts, something else, something truer, a source of light, strong as a flame. To dim it without extinguishing it... he cupped it and exhaled, a sigh born of his own exhaustion and resignation, and knew when he’d succeeded.
There was more there, though, a distracting distant sparkle, like the sun shining off caltrops. That he followed to its source in the body: arthritis, born of an auto-immune response, something he’d realized while studying off-world was the source of many afflictions suffered by his kind. He swept the offending glints away as he withdrew, and found himself again in his body with the priest sleeping peacefully across from him.
And then he fell, and would have struck the unforgiving ground had not a chair appeared beneath him with a scraping squeal against the floor. As he looked up, disoriented, the novice said, “You were falling, Lord.”
“I suppose I was,” Hirianthial said. His hands were shaking, and he felt weak with... hunger? And fatigue. “You are as quick as you promised.”