by Liam Reese
“Glad, because if they had, the townspeople might have come and dragged you out,” said Berren. “Everything kept going wrong, you see, and they were desperate for an answer, for a reason, for a scapegoat. Sometimes it was a two-headed cat or something like that. I think that only happened once. For a while it was me, when I decided I wanted to be a part of the family I belonged to — nobody liked that. I kept quiet once I figured it out, and that was the end of that. Of course, once Graic went to work for the castle, it was all princess fever — the Royals were going to save us.” He waved his arms exaggeratedly and rolled his eyes. “But that could only last so long.”
“And then what?”
Berren leaned forward on the horse and heaved a sigh. “And then things like blighted crops, and babies dying mysteriously in the night, and your parents’ house burning down with both of them still in it.”
Thorn looked about himself. The memories surged and waned, triggered by a corner there, a weather-beaten sign there. Somewhere off to the left, then, would have been the little house in which he had spent the first five years or so of his life. He could still picture the dirt floors, the low ceiling with black beams, the big rough-furred dog that knocked him gently down and licked his face.
He swallowed.
“Do you believe it?” he said. “Do you believe that this town is cursed? Or that — that I cursed it?”
“Some say we got on the wrong side of an illusionist,” said Berren. “Others that we were unlucky. Me, I say that we were no more and no less lucky than any other town. Sometimes life just does you no favors, and no one’s to blame.” He nodded in front of them and clicked with his tongue at the horse. “Here’s me. And I see the sheep are out.”
Then there was nothing for it but to help him down from the horse, help him round up the sheep and watch him count them all, knowing their names and smoothing his hand over their wool. Thorn marveled at the affection with which he regarded these dirty, unprepossessing creatures. It took some time to see to them, to find and thank and also lecture the boy who had been watching them in the meantime, and to open up and air out the dank little shed in which Berren usually slept, often accompanied by his flock, or at least those who could fit into it with him. Berren got a little fire going and parceled out the last meager means of the provisions they had brought.
“It’ll be dark soon,” he said through a mouthful of hard brown bread. “You’re welcome to stay the night here, if you would like — I don’t know where else you would go, to be honest — and I won’t stir till morning.” He gestured to his leg. “This needs a bit more seeing to than I’m able to handle.”
Thorn nodded at him. “Thank you, I — I think I should go and just see. Just to —” He shrugged, unsure of what else to say. “If no one else will be there to wait for her —”
Berren nodded at him.
“It could be any day now,” he said. “I don’t reckon anyone other than her parents kept close track of which day it was — and the rest of the town might never have really believed that that pretty little sapling in the woods was ever Elseth to begin with. So, don’t expect much.”
“I don’t expect anything,” said Thorn sharply, surprising himself with his own vehemence. He raised a hand to his forehead and felt his fingers trembling. “I mean,” he said, trying to get control of himself, “there isn’t much that the people could do, anyway. There isn’t much that anyone can do, except try to be there and help her, if we can.”
Berren looked at him closely and nodded.
“You carry a lot of anger for someone so young,” he said. “I’m not saying it’s wrong — you were treated badly, and no mistake — but there’s a caution in it. Anger never did anyone much good when it had been kept long enough to go bad. All that happens is your insides fester — and people here are good people, even if they have been so wrong.”
“Thank you,” said Thorn, stiffly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
He shouldered his pack again, gave a speculative look to the horse, then changed his mind and decided to walk. It wasn’t far to the clearing. He had run it, carrying the sleeping girl in his arms, in less than five minutes.
He could still feel the weight of her, the phantom weight of a dying Elseth, draped across his arms and fading with each beat of her heart.
He shook the reverie off and settled into a steady pace. He would be in the clearing in ten minutes; then there was plenty of time for a reverie, if it absolutely insisted on happening.
There was no better place for it, either.
The clearing, much like the town, was almost exactly as he remembered it, except smaller. There was the ring of trees, nearly perfectly circular, all overarching to almost meet in the middle. And right at the center, protected and watched over by the benevolent forest in which Thorn had grown up, was the young tree he himself had planted.
It was a sapling no longer; seven years had seen it grow, though at a much slower pace than he would have thought. It stood a few feet taller than he did, now, and before — he was quite sure that it had reached only to his knee, though he had to admit that his memory was not as accurate as it might have been. Some things stood out sharply, however — the feeling of power and light pulsing through his hand and into Elseth. The calm clarity of her eyes as she looked up at him.
You cannot Forge someone into something they do not want to be.
He went to his knees beside the little tree, reached out with careful, reverent fingertips to brush the smooth pale bark. He didn’t know what sort it was, but it was pretty and delicate, and the branches were growing up and outward and strong. He had the strongest urge to weep, but it was for joy.
“I’m here now,” he whispered to her. “It’s time to wake up.”
It was, indeed, inside of a week when the reply came from the King of Elgodon.
“Did they have it ready and waiting?” Irae asked, looking at the roll of paper in disbelief. “I can’t believe they were able to get it back so quickly.”
“Mm, perhaps there was a carrier pigeon involved,” suggested Sir Merundi. She looked up at him, and he smiled apologetically. “No, that was a joke.”
“Well, goodness, don’t apologize for making a joke. We need more of them in these stressful days.” She unrolled the message and scanned it quickly, searching for the end result amidst the formal language. When she found it, her breath escaped her, and she could feel her heart speed up.
“Your Majesty?” said Sir Merundi, with evident concern. “What is it?”
He stepped up to stand at her side, and she handed the paper up to him.
“He declines to meet to re-negotiate terms,” she said. “It’s either agree to the peace treaty established with my uncle, or nothing.”
“I see.” He perched his spectacles on his nose and read through the missive. “And it looks as though it is going to be nothing, doesn’t it?”
“I couldn’t very well agree to terms that I wasn’t privy to, could I?”
“No, of course not. It is a shame, though, that it has gone this far.” He snapped his fingers at a page and handed the paper to him. “Things have been rocky between Elgodon and Ainsea for years, and it was a ray of light to have the peace treaty even suggested, much less signed.”
She lifted her hands and let them fall into her lap, frustrated.
“To be sure, but I didn’t ask to be deposed, you know. What did you expect me to do? Cave to whatever was asked of me?”
“Cave?” he repeated, shaking his head. “Certainly not. You’re far too strong for that — Ainsea is far too strong for that. But I did, perhaps, hope for a bit of caution.”
“You don’t like how I spoke to him.”
“I had hoped that you would suggest your own terms for the ambassador to take back to the king.”
“Equal terms should have been a given. I don’t know what my uncle was getting out of his deal personally, but King Lehan should know that things would have changed when the rightful ruler is back on the throne.”
“Certainly, my lady, but it never does any harm to tread carefully when you’re engaging in diplomatic relations —”
“Is that what you call it?” demanded Irae, gripping the armrests of the throne with both hands. “Engaging in diplomatic relations? I call it being held at sword point. I call it manipulation — blackmail! Threats!”
“All one and the same,” said Merundi, and she was really growing quite tired of that faint smile.
“I would convene a meeting of the Council,” she said, “if we had yet reached the point of actually appointing any. I believe you like being the only one I can turn to for advice.”
He dropped his gaze from hers immediately and turned to sit on the steps leading to the throne.
“If my service does not satisfy you, and if you have reason to doubt my loyalty and faithfulness, by all means, you have only to tell me and I will retire. I want nothing other than to serve the crown, as I have done all my life till now.”
Somehow this meek and subservient attitude irritated Irae even further, and she was about to tell him so when the big double doors at the end of the hall opened with a bang. She jumped.
“Oh, hell!”
“Not yet,” said Graic, who had entered bearing a tea tray with no tea on it. She carried it up to the throne and presented it to Irae. “Here you are, my lovely, it is time for you to take a bit of refreshment.”
Irae dropped her head for a moment to regain her composure, then managed a smile as she raised her head again.
“Thank you, Graic,” she said.
“What am I here for?” said Graic, echoing her smile, though Irae wasn’t sure if that was a rhetorical answer to her thanks, or a genuine question. The old woman turned and spied Sir Merundi, who was smiling his gentle smile at her. “Ah! David. Kiss your grandmother. I’ve come a long way to visit you and the little ones.”
Sir Merundi, who had known Graic quite as long as Irae, who had no little ones, and whose name was not David, obediently stood and bent to kiss her on the wizened cheek. Graic chuckled and patted his arm.
“Such a good boy,” she said fondly.
“Graic, have you seen Lully anywhere?” Irae asked her former nurse. “I haven’t seen her for a day now, and I’m worried.”
“Have you asked about her?” said Graic, busying herself with her empty tea tray.
“Well,” said Irae, taken aback, “I suppose — not exactly asked. I’ve been a little busy, you know. Being queen, and everything. But I have been looking for her at dinner, and she’s nowhere to be found.”
“My advice is to ask,” said the ancient one. “That girl is usually just a question away. If you never question her, she’ll never show.”
She patted Irae on the head, fondly, stopped a moment to straighten the crown, and then tottered back down the steps and towards the doors again. Irae watched her go and sighed. The interruption had lessened the tension between her and her councilman; the interruption and seeing him pretend to be a nonexistent grandson named David. It was endearing, really.
“Sweet old Graic,” she said. “She’s right, I suppose. I should just ask for Lully if I want to speak to her. Funny, isn’t it, how she can be so spot on even when she’s —”
“Mad as a march hare?” suggested Merundi. “Not that I mind. She’s — kind.”
“Mm. True. And there are worse things than being mad. Anyway, she’s only woolgathering. That’s perfectly natural at her age.”
“Indeed, no harm was done,” said her councilman. “Just so long as you don’t try to make a Council member of her.”
“Really?” said Irae. “I think she would do quite well, all things considered. Especially since my Council consists of little other than your august presence.”
“I’d rather you promote Lully.”
She raised her eyebrows at him.
“She’s very smart, that young woman,” he said. “Reminds me of my wife when she was young. You could do worse than have her at your side.”
“An unconventional point of view, for a noble.”
“Ah, well,” said Sir Merundi, smiling a little more genuinely this time, “there’s not really much that’s noble about me, after all.”
The doors opened once more, with slightly less of a disturbance this time, and a page rushed in, bowing only haphazardly. He was one of the senior pages and had known Irae almost as long as she’d been alive.
“My lady,” he gasped, “news from the town. The messenger from Elgodon has brought more than just the communication to the crown.”
She sat back and tried to breathe slowly past the feeling of compression in her lungs, as though someone had taken them in hand and squeezed. She recognized the feeling of impending doom; she had had cause to feel it often enough before.
“What is it?”
“The king of Elgodon has sent an announcement to be read to the town. He says that the peace treaty has been broken, and that —” The page stopped and swallowed hard, eyes darting away from hers. “And that your reign is a false one. He claims that King Lev is the one and only December regent, and offers his support in his exile until such a time as he can regain the throne.”
Just once, Irae thought, it would be a comfort if her feeling of impending doom was wrong, or misfiring in some way. Just once, she wanted things to carry on smoothly, rather than — like this.
She swallowed past the lump in her throat.
“Thank you, Henmey.”
The senior page bowed again and faded back out through the doors. Irae put an elbow on the throne and leaned her chin in her hand.
“Well,” she said. “Dear dear.”
“Fighting words from Elgodon.”
“Indeed.” Her heart was still pumping, faster and faster, but she was conscious of the beginning of a curious feeling of elation — here was a new challenge. Just when she was starting to feel that the endless diplomatic relations that made up being regent were more than she could handle. “If he thinks he’s going to wait for my uncle to come out of exile and turn to him for help and comfort, he’s got a long wait ahead of him.”
“I worry over what impact this may have on the people.”
“They will rally to my side.”
“Eventually, perhaps —”
She looked up at him. “Eventually?”
“I fear, my lady,” said Merundi, his brow wrinkled, “that we are first going to have a little bit of trouble. The heart of the people has been wrapped up in the hope of peace. If they believe that you are the one who has taken it away from them, they may not be so ready to condemn your uncle and follow you.”
Irae nodded and felt the weight of her crown, her halo, pressing against her, pressing down on her.
“We are strong,” she said. “We will weather the storm.”
Lully sulked through the streets of Balfour town, at a loss as to what to do. Berren was gone — Ruben had gone off in a huff, declaring that he would spend the next year in the desert writing an epic poem about their adventures and then they would be sorry — Graic was, well, Graic. With Irae fixated on being aloof, queenly, and self-righteous, there was nothing to be done with her short of strict avoidance. Thorn had gone to do her bidding as per usual, and there was nobody else to keep Lully company. She realized that she had not felt quite this alone for a very long time.
She didn’t like the feeling.
She found herself wandering into the King’s Court area, where once upon a time she and Calara and a few others from the kitchens had spent the night in an alleyway when they’d been locked out of the castle because of an early curfew during a threat of invasion from Elgodon. She smiled reminiscently at the Calendar, the dingy little public house that had caused all the trouble. Well, Myfird and Daven had been the real cause of it; such handsome boys. What had ever happened to them? Well, there was no use crying over spilled boyfriends, was there?
On a whim, she went into the Calendar to see if it had changed in the last few years.
It seemed to have ch
anged owners, as it was cleaner and brighter — or, at least, someone had decided that they cared after all. There was even a new-ish coat of paint on the walls, and the cobwebs had been dusted from the corners and the beams. There were few patrons at this relatively early hour of the day, but the barkeep was hard at work. Lully eyed the handful of men who sat in various places around the dim interior and went to the counter to ask for a mug of ale.
The barkeep eyed her.
“Here on your own, are you?”
“Yes, very much so,” said Lully, “not that it’s any of your business.”
The barkeep shrugged a little.
“I like to keep an eye on any women who come in here. A sort of protection.”
“I’ll keep an eye on myself, thank you very much,” said Lully, taking her mug of ale and hefting it in both hands. It looked darker than she had expected — but then, her memory of this place wasn’t the clearest. She cast a glance to the left, then to the right; there was a young man standing toward the end of the bar where it ran up against the wall. It wasn’t a big place, so he wasn’t too terribly far from her. She lifted her mug in his direction, and he lifted his back.
“Before you ask,” she said, “yes, I’m alone, but no, I’m not lonely.”
“Oh, good,” he said. “I had wondered.” He moved down toward her a pace or two, stopping about five feet away. He had a face that was unremarkable except for the prominence of his nose, which looked as though it may have been broken at some point in the past and set unevenly. His hair was a nondescript reddish brown, he was a nondescript medium height, and when he smiled at her he revealed small, even, white teeth in an otherwise nondescript smile. “You work at the castle, don’t you?”
She straightened up her back and frowned at him. “How did you know?”
He shrugged. “A lucky guess. You don’t look like you work for any of the nobles, and you’re clearly a kitchen maid.”
“Oh yes? And how would you know that?”
He nodded at her waist. “Still wearing your apron.”
“Oh.” She had meant to take that off. She must have left the castle in more of a flurry than she realized. She untied it now, and folded it neatly, setting it on the counter beside her. “Well. You’re very observant, aren’t you?”
