by Steven Brust
Miklós nodded. "Go on."
"I—I think she is the Demon Goddess."
He nodded again. Somehow, he had almost known what she would say. He remembered Bölk, on the Riverbank near the old oak; "You must defeat her," he had said.
"Bölk agrees with you," Miklós told Brigitta.
"What?" She was suddenly alert.
"Bölk has said that I must defeat the Demon Goddess. I don't know what he means. I guess I thought—no, hoped—that he was speaking metaphorically. It seems he wasn't."
She shook her head. "I have never thought of her as anyone to be defeated, or, well, as anything. I've never heard of her actually manifesting herself, except in tales as old as the mountains."
"There are László's dreams."
"Anyone can have dreams."
"Sent by the Goddess?"
"How do you know?"
"I guess—you're right, I don't. But it's been accepted in our family for so long that the Goddess speaks to us in dreams, that—I don't know."
"I've seen that," said Brigitta. "You—that is, your family—prays to the Goddess, asks her for things as if she might give them. Outside of the Palace, it isn't that way at all. Most people seem not to really believe in her—or, at least, she has no part in their lives."
"I know."
"Why is it different here?"
"Because of our traditions that she is the guardian of the family and of the kingdom."
"But why do you believe that?"
Miklós shook his head. "There is so much. Growing up with the belief, I suppose. And the dreams. I—I don't know. I can't accept the possibility that she isn't real."
"And yet, you are to defeat her?"
Miklós said, "I wouldn't know how to even begin. The idea isn't frightening, Brigitta, it's absurd."
"Yes. But Bölk—"
"I know, I know." He looked at the tree once more. It was daylight outside and a clear day. The tree shimmered with green.
Miklós said, "I found Bölk tied up when I went out to see him this morning. And guarded."
Brigitta gasped. "Tied up? Who did it?"
"László and Sándor."
"Why?"
"It seems Bölk said something about the Demon Goddess. Neither of them would like that. The guards tried to stop me from helping him. When they failed, I am certain they must have alerted László and Sándor, but neither have spoken to me about it."
"Did you free him?"
"I tried. But before I could, he freed himself. Isn't that odd? If he could have freed himself any time, why did he wait?"
"To show you something?"
"Undoubtedly. But what?"
"I don't know. Did you talk about the tree?"
"Yes. Bölk doesn't know what it is, either. He certainly seems intrigued by it, though."
"Humph. Intrigued. That is a great help." She smiled. He grinned with her. She continued, "Bölk always knows more than he tells, doesn't he?"
"You speak as if I know him. I don't really. But no, I don't think what you say is right. I think he tells us everything he knows as clearly as he can, and sometimes we just can't understand him. Whether that is our fault or his doesn't much matter."
"All right," said Brigitta. "But what do we do?"
"I don't know. I'll ask you another one, though."
"Yes?"
Miklós told her of Sándor's offer to him. Her eyes grew wide. "Miklós," she said when he had finished, "you must refuse."
"Why?"
"I don't know. But you must."
He studied her, standing near the window, hidden from the neck down by foliage. Her eyes were almost burning, and for a moment he had the sick fear that she was developing brain fever. He turned his head and said in a whisper, "What is happening to us?"
She came over and sat next to him, putting a hand on his. "I don't know, Miklós."
He looked into her eyes, and his earlier experiences came rushing back to him. Before he could stop himself, he brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it. "Come with me," said someone speaking with his voice, his lips, his heart. He stood up. She followed him out of the room and down into the cellars. He led her past the dangling roots, now as thick as his wrist, and to the door he had made years and years ago, that led out to the Riverbank.
Trembling, and with his heart throbbing, Miklós led her to a place hidden by reeds and rushes. He said, in a voice barely above a whisper, "You are the only one I've ever shown this place to."
She nodded and looked around, and seemed to understand. They moved in among the rushes and out of the sun. Brigitta removed her cloak and spread it on the ground, then stood motionless as Miklós undid the clasps of her garments, letting them fall as they would. Naked, she stood before him. Miklós thought his heart would break, and he nearly wept as he gazed upon her. He moaned softly and came to her.
She made gentle sounds into his ear as she helped him to remove his garments, then they lay together on her cloak. Slowly, she taught him the games of love, and he taught her of an innocence she had never known.
The reeds swayed above them, but there was no wind to stir them.
INTERLUDE
Enclosed now on all sides, it found that it had grown up in a cage. It gently tested the boundaries, and considered.
The roots dug deeper, finding wet, fertile soil in abundance. The leaves soaked up sunlight from the window and moisture from the River. The base of the stem grew thick, as a jumper preparing to leap.
Yet, still nothing had happened.
There was, around it, a growing sense of expectation, of readiness, that was becoming almost frustration. It could not tell that powers had been used, spells cast, and the walls built up against it. It would not have cared if it knew. It awaited a signal, a sign, the waving of a flag, before it would pit its still untried strength against a structure built by man.
And this, in itself, was yet another danger—for strength that is left unused can turn upon itself, and the urge for growth that is confined can become cancerous, and stagnant air breeds rot and decay.
Helpless in its majestic strength, it waited, as it must, unable to break out of its shell. Waiting, with the patience of history, for the single, not-quite-inevitable crack.
TWELVE
The Cellar
I will be Queen!
She sat in her chamber and demanded of herself an end to the melancholy that gripped her. She clutched her fan tighter and stared down at it, hating the urge to weep that came upon her, even now, years later. It couldn't last. It couldn't.
I will be Queen!
But even this couldn't end the spell. She would just have to wait for it to run its course. They were becoming less frequent now, at least…
She looked at the fan: petal-shaped, of white lace with tiny wires running through it to hold it firm, made for the blistering, breeze-less midsummer of the Grimtail Fissure. He is gone, she told herself. Forget him. You saw him die, at your very feet. She shuddered and clutched herself, trying in vain to exorcise the image. She had received the last smile from his lips and the fan from his hand.
I was a child! she cried out silently. I didn't know what I was doing! Nothing answered her. She stared at the fan once more, closed her eyes, and waited for it to pass.
After a time she repaired to the dressing table and did what was needful to her face. She stood, wrapped her arms about her waist, and breathed deeply. Then she passed through the curtain of her chamber and into the hallway to face the world again. It was nearly time to dine.
She entered the Great Hall on her way to the informal dining room. She was struck at once by the silence there; the Hall filled with people not speaking. Her eyes were drawn to one corner where László, Sándor, and Miklós stood. Even from as far away as she was, she could see that wizard and King were glaring at the Prince, and the Prince was glaring back.
As she walked toward them, Andor approached and said, "Perhaps you shouldn't disturb—"
She brushed him off. Vilmos and Viktor stood
side by side, a little way off. In a whisper, she said, "What is it, Vilmos?" He shook his head, which could mean anything. She went over to the trio, then, and László turned to her.
"Perhaps later," he said. "This isn't—"
"What is the problem?"
"Perhaps later," he repeated.
Miklós turned his bright, warm eyes to her speculatively. "Have you met my horse?" he asked.
"Miklós," said László in a warning tone.
Something deeply buried in Mariska wanted her to encourage these two in their conflict, but she was aware of that side of herself and stepped on it firmly. I will be Queen!
She nodded. "Very well." She made motions to Andor and Vilmos, then led them into the dining room. She glanced back at László. The look he gave her combined gratitude with pride. She could ask for no better.
She instructed the manservant—what was his name? Máté—to bring them a light wine. As it was being poured, she looked around for something to talk about, but Andor started in.
"You know," he said, "what they are speaking about?"
"No. But I am certain I will be told later. Do you like the wine?"
"Huh? Oh, it's fine."
She glanced at Vilmos, who was grinning. He drained his glass and poured himself another before Máté could do it for him.
"Are the repairs to the Palace going well, Vilmos?" She asked. "I am told that you are undertaking many of them yourself."
He grunted. "All right."
"I think it very important," she continued. "It isn't just its appearance, you know. I think there are parts of the Palace that aren't sound. We must strengthen and repair them. Don't you think?"
Vilmos grunted again. "I've been doing that all my life," he said.
"Yes, I know. László has spoken highly of your skill."
"That isn't what he should be doing," said Andor, glaring at the giant.
Mariska kept her voice pleasant and conversational. "Oh? Why is that, Andor?"
"The Goddess has spoken to László of the danger to the Palace, and she meant that tree that is growing in Miklós's room. Vilmos could tear its roots out, but he won't."
Mariska smiled. "Well, I am certain that he has good reason not to. Now—"
"Nonsense!" said Andor. "He just won't do it. He says he can't do it."
"Well, Andor, if he can't, then—"
"It isn't lack of strength, it is lack of dedication. He has fought the Goddess all his life. Because he is strong, he feels he needs nothing but strength. He—"
"I am quite certain that, whatever his reasons, they are good ones. Máté, may I have—thank you."
"But the tree is—"
"Have you considered, Andor, that if the walls and ceilings of that room were made strong enough, the tree would not be able to go through them. Then it would die on its own. Sándor has been putting forth his power to strengthen the walls—"
There was a snort from Vilmos. Mariska considered, then chose to ignore it. "—and if Vilmos will lend his help to the workmen we are hiring, I am certain this will solve the problem."
Andor stared into his wine. "What does László say to this?"
Mariska shifted uncomfortably but decided on the truth. "He isn't certain about it. He has, however, had Sándor put forth his powers. That means he thinks it at least worth the attempt."
Andor fell silent. Vilmos poured the rest of the bottle into his glass. Máté left to bring another.
"Well, Vilmos?" said Mariska.
"Well what?"
"Will you help?"
"Of course," he said moodily. "I've already agreed to. I've begun. Today I put support beams in the corners of Miklós's room. Tomorrow I will help the workmen who are connecting beams along them, to prop up the ceiling. Then I'll—"
"I'm sorry," said Mariska. "I hadn't known that you had begun."
He grunted. Then he said, "What about my norska?"
Puzzled, Mariska said, "What about them?"
"László said that after you are married, you may not want norska in the Palace."
Still more puzzled, she said, "When did he say that?"
"I don't know. A while ago."
"But Vilmos, you know I love your norska."
Andor sniffed. "Norska! Is that all you can think about?"
Vilmos looked at him and blinked twice. "What else is there?"
"What else? The Palace! The kingdom! The Goddess! All of us are—"
"Brother," said Vilmos softly, "I begin to tire of this." Andor quickly looked to Mariska for support, though he must have known he would get none. Mariska met his eyes but said nothing. He slapped his hands on the table and stood up.
"Máté," he called. "I will eat in the Great Hall this evening."
"Yes, my Prince," said the servant. Andor left without another word.
"I am sorry," said Vilmos after a moment. "I became angry. I should apologize to him."
"As you think best," said Mariska, "but I wouldn't."
"No," said Vilmos thoughtfully. "You wouldn't, would you?" Before Mariska could ask him what he meant by that, or even decide if she wanted to, László and Miklós entered the room. They took their normal seats in silence. László stared at his plate. Miklós was tight-lipped and almost glaring.
Juliska appeared at that moment to clear away Andor's plate. László said, "What happened?"
"Andor wishes to eat in the Great Hall this evening."
"Yes. I saw him return there and seat himself. Why?"
Vilmos spoke up before she could. "I offended him. I am sorry. I will apologize to him after dinner."
László made no answer, and the look he gave Vilmos was unreadable.
The soup Juliska brought out then was Ambrus's famous sheep soup, thick with meat, eggs, vegetables, and smoked bacon. Mariska was glad she had not seen it being dished out, for László had told her that Ambrus's secret was to leave the sheep's head in the soup pot while it cooked, and she didn't think the sight would have helped her eat. It was also spicier than she was yet used to, but she had made up her mind to acquire the taste for food as her new family liked it, rather than trying to use her influence to have it prepared more mildly. She promised herself, however, that she would have her father's chef send her recipes for palacsinták. No one made them like Hanna.
She looked up from her soup and found László looking at her, as if trying to read her face. She gave him a quick smile and, suddenly nervous, returned to her food.
László cleared his throat and said, "What have you been talking about?"
"The Palace, of course," said Mariska.
"Ah. Of course."
"I asked Vilmos to help with some of the work, but he said that he had already agreed—and begun, in fact."
"Yes," said László. "I should have told you."
"It's all right," she said. The artificiality of the conversation made her uncomfortable, and it was building. But it was not for nothing that she was the daughter of a Count—and a Countess. The best thing about being Queen, she had written to her father, was that she would no longer be called Countess. That title was her mother's, and would always be her mother's. Mariska could see her clearly, though she had been only a child when "the Goddess had called her."
Miklós interrupted her thoughts. "Tell me," he said, fixing those oddly compelling eyes on her, "when you first looked at the tree…"
"I remember," she said carefully. She shot a quick glance at László and saw that the muscles of his neck were tense as he watched Miklós. She had the sudden urge to rub them and smiled to herself.
"You said something to Brigitta," Miklós continued. "Something about the tree serving no purpose. What did you mean?"
Mariska took more soup to give herself time to think. Had she really said that? How foolish. She must have been distracted. She cursed to herself, but was careful not to let any of it show.
"Are you certain that is what I said?"
"Something like that."
No, the tree wasn't neces
sary. The changes she required around the Palace could have been brought about without it. But how could she explain that? They would see her as manipulative, or worse.
"I can't imagine what I might have been thinking about," she said. "The soup is excellent, isn't it?" This last was addressed to László, so she could see how he was reacting. Poor László. He was, for the most part, a fine King, but he could never keep what he was thinking about from jumping up off his face. None of these people could. It must be a family trait. Now, she could see that he was bothered by Miklós's question. Well, no doubt, being who he was, he would ask her about it later. She must have an answer ready by then.
Miklós was still looking at her, frowning, but he finally turned his attention to his soup. Another thing about this family; with the exception of Andor, they were all patient men. Miklós wouldn't forget either, nor would he be as easily satisfied as László.
The King said, "So, Mariska, you still think we can solve the problem of the tree by strengthening the walls around it, eh?"
She nodded. "Yes. And more, I think that is the only solution. I, like the rest of you, would like to learn what is causing this, but we can see that every other action is closed to us. It may be difficult—this is an old building, and to strengthen it will be a difficult choice, but there is nothing else we can do."
"Viktor doesn't agree with you, you know."
"I know Viktor," she said tightly. The force of her feelings about the captain accidentally slipped out in her tone of voice. László looked at her sharply.
"What do you mean?"
Over the mountain with it, then. "He considers you a fool, László. Have an eye on him. Not everything he thinks is mirrored in his face. He controls the Palace Guards. More, he is a closer friend with Henrik than you know."
László put his spoon down. "What are you saying?"
"I don't trust him," she said. Now that she had begun, there was no going back. "I have seen how he looks at you when you aren't watching, and Henrik controls the army."
László glared at her. "What does this have to do with anything?"
"It means that he may very well be plotting something against you."
"'May very well doesn't mean much. Have you any proof of these charges?"
