by Joseph Lallo
Through the glass wall of the main entrance Jevaithi spotted a sled in the street, surrounded by yet more guards. Were all these Knights going to come with her? There wouldn’t be anyone left to guard the palace. Never mind her desire for an unobtrusive visit. She was going out, that was the important thing. Once she was amongst the people, she would try to stay there as long as possible.
As they were about to leave the atrium, a stiff grey-haired man came up to Rider Cornatan.
“You’re going out?” he said in a low voice and his eyes flashed hidden meaning. He was a Senior Knight, with golden stripes for years of service on his collar. There were more stripes than times Jevaithi had celebrated her birthday.
Rider Cornatan nodded curtly. “Newlight festival.”
“When are you back?”
“Why? Anything wrong?”
“Well—about the young lad you brought in last night . . .” Then he must have realised Jevaithi could hear what he said and he lowered his voice. They stopped walking. Jevaithi stopped, too, a few paces off.
The two men exchanged a few comments in voices too low for her to hear. Rider Cornatan’s eyes widened briefly then he turned to Jevaithi.
“Continue on to the sled, Your Highness, I will be there soon.”
Jevaithi didn’t move.
Rider Cornatan raised his eyebrows in a way he did when he was annoyed.
“I said I will be there soon.”
“I am the Queen. I have a right to hear what is going on in my city, don’t I? So I think I’d rather stay and hear about this problem.”
“Your Highness, it’s only a minor thing and not important enough even to discuss in the Knights’ Council. It’s certainly not important enough to delay our trip. You might miss the races.” He turned to the Senior Knight. “We will discuss this later.”
The man gave a stiff nod, but Jevaithi didn’t miss the tightly-pressed lips. He obviously didn’t think it was a minor concern. She wondered if it had anything to do with increase of the golden rays of icefire she had noticed. If so, it wasn’t unimportant to her either. Or maybe it had something to do with the more than fifty criminals the Knights had caught in Bordertown. One of her guards had let slip that information, but Rider Cornatan hadn’t wanted to tell her why those people had been caught and what they had done.
“I think I should like to attend when the Knights’ Council sits next,” she said.
Rider Cornatan turned to her, his expression stiff. “We should start to think in that direction, yes, but I’m not sure you need to be introduced to the politics of running the land just yet.”
Politics? There were the Knights and the Knights. What was so hard about that?
“I want to.”
“We shall see.”
He kept his face neutral, since he could hardly berate her with all these people present, but he would probably like to do so if the twitch of a muscle in his neck was anything to go by.
Her people were her protection. Once she was back in her prison, she would suffer. She thought of the gull’s tail feather on the leather strap around her neck. The token suddenly felt heavy as stone. Suppose Rider Cornatan was to take her up on her advertisement tonight . . .
Quite a crowd had gathered to watch in the street. Held back by a couple of Knights, the people were all nobles of the City of Glass, dressed in their fine furs and gaudy head-dresses. Women wore face paint and jewellery.
As soon as Jevaithi stepped out the door, a cheer went up.
She waved to the people as she had been taught. A Knight spread sand from a bucket so she didn’t slip in the snow. Another held open the door to the carriage. She climbed up the steps and settled on the bench next to Rider Cornatan.
The sled was huge and white, drawn by four bears. Their white fur shone and was washed and groomed to perfection. They even had jewels even on their collars and harnesses, which were made from red leather. One of the palace guards sat in the driver’s seat. Two Knights stood on the front runners, and two behind, all prominently displaying weapons. So she was to have four minders, and Rider Cornatan, and the driver, who would stay with the sled. She could handle that.
With a flick of the reins the bears loped into action and started moving down the street. Jevaithi saw herself in the sled reflected in the glass facades of the buildings that lined the street. Pompous entrances were guarded by sculptures carved of molten glass. Behind the windows, racks of the finest clothing by the city’s finest leather workers, or brightly-lit benches with swathes of green plants. Customers stood in line for attendants to cut their fresh vegetables. No such things as mundane shops here. Through another window, customers sat drinking from bronze-coloured cups on dainty tables surrounding a giant glass sculpture of a dragon.
The going was slow in the streets. The Knights had to motion aside people, who then crowded along the street and in porches. They cheered. Jevaithi waved and smiled. A young man ran with the sled offering a tray of biscuits. They looked wonderful, but Rider Cornatan’s sharp glance stopped her taking one. They could be poisoned after all. Silly. She didn’t care. If she died today, she would die having fun. Fifteen years old, and she didn’t care if she never saw the sun rise on another day. If she died, she would have denied the Knight’s Council the pleasure of using her body to further their aims. If she died, it would be without having a Senior Knight’s handprints all over her and his child in her belly. If she died, it would be because she wanted to, not because anyone said so. Although, of course, there were better things than dying, and possibly other ways to escape her fate.
Escape. The taste of the word on her tongue was like that of a rare exotic fruit. Being out here amongst the people almost felt as good as escape.
They passed the city gates and the bears moved at full speed. The white plains spread out before her. Sunlight poured gold over the snow, casting long shadows and millions of glittering gem-like crystals.
An icy breeze bit into Jevaithi’s cheeks. Her maids would probably complain about what it did to her skin, but she didn’t care; she felt alive. Out there waited young men who didn’t yet know the newly blooded virgin who would throw herself at their feet. She’d take herself off into one of the melteries, she’d dance, she’d flirt, and when the young man took the bait, she’d make sure it was out in the open, when none of the Senior Knights could make a scene.
Escape.
The jumble of low buildings that was the Outer City grew on the horizon at the same speed with which the excitement bloomed in her heart.
The buildings had been designed by locals and the people called them limpets. She had never been inside one—another task to add to her list of things to do after she ascended the throne on her birthday.
Before long, she could make out the colourful tents that had been set up on the plain and the fences for the animals. No Legless Lions yet, but one of her maids told her this morning that the festivities included a Legless Lion race. She would have to see that. Legless Lions were fun to watch when they ran on their flippers.
A number of eagles rose from the festival grounds. Knights in the saddles rode with quiet confidence. Low and gliding, they escorted the sled towards the tents. More guards. She’d escape them all.
Children ran out onto the plain, cheering and shouting when they met the sled. They ran along, stumbling through the snow to keep up with the bears. Their faces were red; their eyes shone with wonder. Jevaithi smiled at them and waved. The kids laughed and waved back, excitement in their eyes. She could hear their young voices, Mother, I saw the Queen today. What would it be like to be one of these kids, to live anonymously, to ride sleds down the hill, to build snow castles, to just walk around here without anyone watching.
The sled passed a fence and then they were amongst the festivities. The driver slowed the bears to a walking pace. The audience grew quickly. People ran through the pens, poked their heads out of tents, came with their families. Faces bright with happiness. The driver s
tood up on his seat and shouted, “Make way for Queen Jevaithi of the City of Glass!”
More and more people gathered along the sides, cheering and shouting. Someone started a chant, Jevaithi, Jevaithi, and before long everyone was shouting her name. Jevaithi waved until her arm ached. These people were her safety shield.
The sled came to a halt.
Rider Cornatan jumped off first and bowed, holding out his hand. “Your Highness.”
If he was still angry about her insistence to attend the Knights’ Council, he didn’t show it.
Jevaithi stepped from the sled onto hard frozen ground where again a Knight was spreading sand. They sweep the ground I walk on. Rider Cornatan held out his arm to support her, but she waved it away. Her new boots were soft and warm. She wanted to walk in the snow, away from all these eyes. She wanted to run, be alone and free. She wanted to slip and fall, tumble in the snow. It looked soft.
But more Knights were coming up to her, all older men with lots of gold on their collars.
“How wonderful of you to grace us with a visit,” a Knight said. She couldn’t see his face because he bowed so deeply.
“Thank you for receiving me.” She had to stay polite and formal, oh so boring.
“I have had the honour of being appointed as your guide, Your Highness. What would you like to see first?” He was still speaking to the snow at his feet.
“I should like to see the flying races,” Jevaithi said.
“The eagle race pens are on the other side of the festival grounds,” the Knight said.
“Then I shall walk there.”
Rider Cornatan bent to her, whispering, “Your Highness, I don’t think—”
“Walking is healthy.”
He didn’t dare protest.
“Lead the way, my good Knight,” she said to the guide.
The guards cleared a path through the crowd. People crowded along the sides. Burly merchants, mothers with children, all chanting. Jevaithi, Jevaithi.
Jevaithi smiled and waved. She stopped to admire a young mother’s baby, stroking the little head with hair soft as fur. A young man—the woman’s older son?—stood, red-faced slaving over a vat of steaming oil. Whatever he sold, the smell made her mouth water.
“Rider Cornatan, I’d like to have some of what he’s cooking.”
“It’s saltmeat,” he hissed at her shoulder. “You can’t eat that, Your Highness.”
“Why not?” She breathed the delicious scent that rose from the pot. The young man blushed furiously. He was perhaps only a few years older than her. Did he see her feather?
“Yes, I will have some,” Jevaithi said in a clear voice.
The man scrambled to ladle a spoonful of steaming meat into a bag. Jevaithi reached forward, but a Knight had already taken the bag.
“With the compliments of my family, Your Highness.”
“No, I won’t have that. I’m a decent person. Pay him, Rider Cornatan.”
He did. Unfortunately Jevaithi couldn’t see the look on his face.
The Knight held the bag for her while she slipped the glove off her left hand to pick up a piece of meat.
“Do you want some?” she asked him.
His face radiated distaste. “Your Highness, you may want to be careful what you eat. This is the Outer City, and it’s not as clean as—”
She put the meat in her mouth. It was very salty and crispy, but hot and spicy. The taste exploded on her tongue. The taste of freedom.
“I shall be just fine.” Anything that was this salty couldn’t possibly be contaminated anyway.
By the time the group had made their way across the chaos of the festival grounds, the bag was empty. She had eaten half of it, and offered the other half to children along the way. Those children now followed the parade, along with hundreds of other people. Some came up offering her presents. A young merchant boy ran up to her and gave her a shawl made of thin silk. It was a beautiful thing, and he insisted that she keep it and that he didn’t want to be paid for it. If his mother, who wove the silk, heard that the queen was wearing her work, the light might return to her eyes.
Jevaithi found it hard to keep her composure. These people loved her more than she had loved them. These were her people, not the Knights.
They arrived at the eagle pens.
Hemmed in by a frame of temporary metal fencing stood at least fifty eagles, magnificent creatures with gleaming white feathered heads, bright yellow beaks and strong and tawny-coloured wings. The beasts fidgeted and flapped, no doubt sensing the tension and activity around them. Each eagle was being attended by its young Knight. Most of them were Apprentices, boys of between fourteen and seventeen years of age. As old as she was. What would it be like, to fly on the back of an eagle? Did girls ever do that? They should have female Knights. There were enough women in the city who were not fertile and lived as grumpy old maids. She should propose that, the first time she attended the Knight’s Council. That would get those old men talking.
To the left of the pens was the official starting point, a square arena outlined by red paint in the snow.
Someone had made a viewing stand out of pieces of fencing. There were two benches, covered by bear skins and even a frame for a canopy, in case of snow.
This was where Rider Cornatan led her. Jevaithi felt embarrassed. Someone had made this just for her? She sat down, wrapping the furs around her legs. The Knights stood at attention. Rider Cornatan remained standing next to her.
A cheer went up around the pen. Eagles flapped and squawked, disturbed by the noise, which prompted their handlers to pull on reins while ducking out of the way of flapping wings.
“What are rules for the race?” she asked the Knight guide.
He bowed. “The contestants had a preliminary race the day before yesterday.” She wished he would stand up straight and look at her. “The Knights you see here are the ones who came through that selection, the finest in the land. They fly in teams of two where they have to pass a message cylinder between them twelve times, and be the first team back here. If they drop the cylinder, they’re out of the race. If they make an improper change, they’re out as well. They’re flying a distance of twenty miles. Part of it will be over ocean and dangerous terrain—”
A blast from a horn drowned out his words.
Something was happening in the pens. Each young Knight had untied his eagle and was leading his bird forward by the reins. Some birds walked stately, others found it necessary to snap and hiss at their neighbours. Silver coins glistened on the birds’ harnesses. Bells tinkled on the reins. One Knight had painted gold spots on the bird’s beak.
Jevaithi had been to the eyrie a few times, but she had never seen the birds so magnificently attired. Each Knight was dressed in a thick shorthair cloak and immaculate red tunic. They had keen eyes and proud faces, the sons of the city’s nobles.
As they filed past, and lined up in the starting area, a young man amongst them drew Jevaithi’s attention. He stood straight-backed and proud. His glossy black hair was tied in a plait. He wore no jewellery, unlike most other Apprentices, nothing that wasn’t part of the uniform. His hands were red and rough from riding, his gaze was serious. He didn’t wave at parents or wink at girls.
As she watched, a single strand of golden light snaked over his right leg.
She realised with a shock. He’s Imperfect. How was that possible? All her life, she’d been told Imperfect children were killed after birth.
And there he was, looking at her, as if he knew . . . or felt . . . or saw what she hid, just like she saw what he was trying to hide.
The Knight next to her was still explaining the rules, but his words slid past her.
The Apprentice was about her age, teamed up with a boy taller and broader than him but much coarser in features, although this boy also stared at her, and at Rider Cornatan. Rider Cornatan even winked at him.
An older Knight blew a whistle. All the riders m
ounted their birds. Some put their foot in the stirrup and swung the other leg over. Some, like the Imperfect Apprentice, let their eagles crouch first. He definitely had only one leg, although it was cleverly concealed by a boot on the end of what she presumed was a wooden peg. Now that she was aware of it, she noticed the golden glow around his leg more clearly. Clever. Even his trouser leg stood up as if there was a proper lower limb inside. No one would notice. No one but her.
A second whistle sounded. Eagles poised, their wings spread. The crowd grew quiet. The Knights gripped their reins. The Imperfect rider glanced at her. Jevaithi couldn’t contain a smile. He met her eyes squarely. He had heavy eyebrows, high cheekbones and full lips. His skin was pale with a tinge of red excitement. One corner of his mouth curled up, leaving a dimple in his cheek.
Jevaithi slid her hand up to her throat, pulling the feather out from under her cloak, but at that moment, there was another blast of the horn and the Knights were off with a flurry of flapping wings.
“It will be a while before they return,” Rider Cornatan said, while Jevaithi looked after the eagle silhouettes which were fast getting smaller. “We could meet some of the Senior Knights.”
“Let them come here,” she said. “I’ll wait.”
She’d wait however long was necessary to see that young man return.
Rider Cornatan raised his eyebrows.
“If I am to choose a Queen’s Champion as you said, I better watch the riders.”
Rider Cornatan seemed happy with that response. She guessed it made protecting her easier for him. He sat down next to her, and said in a low voice, “On the subject of the Queen’s Champion, Your Highness, I shall point out to you which Apprentice has the highest points score.”
“You already know that? Before the race has even finished? That’s not how it should be done. I read the rules and it says the Queen or her representative can choose from all participants, as long as they completed the race and made all twelve changes. It is the tradition that the Champion is chosen from the first five, although my mother chose a different Apprentice on at least one occasion. The Queen’s Champion is about fairness and skill.”
