by Simon Brown
The last district, which surrounded the great harbor like the dirt ring left in a washtub, was comprised of hovels crammed between warehouses. Many of its inhabitants slept in the open, scrounging what cover they could from the garbage left by those better off. Closer to the water the smell of the sea mixed with the not entirely unpleasant aroma of drying nets and tar, and the smells from the cooking pots of a hundred cultures that all great ports seemed to attract.
The procession reached the docks, continuing north until it again met the old city wall, where the funeral pyre was waiting for them. Usharna’s bier was carried to the top of the pyre where Berayma set it alight. At first, the fire caught on only slowly, but a brief incantation from the Maleficum of Air brought in a fresh sea breeze and in no time at all flames were leaping high into the air. A thick column of brown smoke spread inland, hiding the morning sun and casting a gloomy shadow over the whole city, eerily mirroring the unhappiness of Kendra’s citizens. There was a brief moment, as the cloud started to break up, in which it seemed to take on the shape of Usharna’s face, and as it dispersed, it was as if her own soul was finally being released from its earthly prison. Lynan noticed that the subtle performance had strained most of the malefici and their faces were covered in fine films of sweat. He hoped the assembled citizens had appreciated the illusion.
The pyre burned fiercely for two hours. When the flames started to hiss and die and curl into gray tendrils of smoke, the entourage made its way back to the palace. This time there was no music to mark their procession, just the solemn tramping of the mourning march and the Royal Guards closing in behind it, their spears reversed.
The palace gates were thrown open for Usharna’s wake, and everyone was welcome to come and celebrate the life of their late queen. There was plenty of food and drink, and soon people were laughing again, some nervously but most from relief. Usharna had been a popular ruler, but the dead could not be brought back to life and it was best to look forward to the future as hopefully as possible. There would a new monarch and a new beginning for Grenda Lear. The cloud from the funeral pyre had blown away, and the sun again shone down on the city. The only signs left of mourning were people’s somber dress and the black flags and pennants that fluttered from the palace’s tallest towers and from the masts of ships in the harbor far below.
Lynan found it difficult to join in the spirit of the wake. He was still confused about losing a mother he had hardly known, and yet who had, at the very end of her life, shown she had thought of him as a son. He managed to avoid the most patronizing and the most sycophantic of the well-wishers, people who, before his gaining one of the Keys of Power, would studiously have ignored him. As the celebrations became even more earnest and rowdy, he made his way alone—except for the company of a leather flask filled with red wine—to the palace’s south gallery, a long, narrow room on the top floor decorated with fine paintings and tapestries.
The gallery’s wide double doors were open to let in light and fresh air, and he stepped out on to the balcony. From here, he could see over all of Kendra and its three hundred thousand people, a large number of whom presently occupied the palace’s courtyard and the grounds immediately beyond.
Lynan sipped his wine slowly, enjoying his privileged view. The sun was just beginning to touch the rising ground to the west, reflecting off windows, the color mixing with the red and green of the city’s roofs to form a beautiful tapestry that merged with the lapping waters of Kestrel Bay, saffron in the afternoon light. In the distance he could just make out the rainforest-cloaked shores of Lurisia.
Lynan found himself absently fingering the Key of Union. I am to be Berayma’s representative in Lurisia and the other provinces, he thought. It’s ridiculous. What do I know of such things? Who will teach me?
He took a large swig from the flask and turned to leave, depressed by the weight of his new responsibilities. With a start, he saw Areava standing under one of the large double doorways, studying him closely.
“How long have you been there?” he asked, irritated that she had said nothing.
“Not long. We missed you downstairs at the wake.”
“We?”
“Your siblings. There is a great deal we have to discuss.”
Lynan snorted. “About the Keys of Power.”
“Of course.” She joined Lynan on the balcony. “You are very lucky, you know. Most of us believed our mother would leave you nothing.” Lynan kept quiet, Areava shrugged, and continued. “You haven’t been trained for such a duty, brother. What will you do?”
“I don’t know yet. I’m still getting used to the idea of being accepted as a true prince of the blood.”
Areava winced but recovered with a smile. “Possession of one of the Keys does not change the circumstances of your birth.”
“You’re right,” he said dryly. “Usharna is still my mother.”
“And your father was a commoner,” she returned calmly. “Whereas Berayma’s father, Milgrom, and my and Olio’s father, Tafe, were noblemen, members of the Twenty Houses. There is a distinction between you and us, Lynan, and it will win out eventually.”
Lynan looked away so that Areava would not see his face burning. “I share with you the name of the Great House, Rosetheme,” he said defensively. “The queen’s blood flows in my veins as strongly as it flows in yours.”
“Yes, but that’s not all that flows in your blood, is it? Look, Lynan, I don’t hold anything against you because your father didn’t come from one of Kendra’s original families, but let’s face the truth. When our mother married your father, she thought she was well past the age for conceiving. If she had known she was still fertile, she would have married someone from one of the Twenty Houses.”
“My father may not have come from the nobility, but he was the best general the kingdom ever had. Where the great families failed Usharna in her struggle against the Slavers and their mercenaries, my commoner father prevailed, leading his commoner troops in defense of the throne.”
“I have never belittled your father for his deeds. He was a courageous and skillful soldier.” She came closer and put a protective arm around his shoulders. His muscles tightened until they ached. No one had ever done that to him before, and he did not know how to react to it. “But it’s you I’m thinking about. You don’t really want the responsibility that goes with a Key of Power. You don’t have the background, the training—the inheritance—to make it work for you.”
“I haven’t tried yet.”
She let her arm drop, sighed sadly and deeply. “We don’t want to see you get hurt, Lynan. You are our brother.”
Lynan laughed bitterly. “Even though my father was a commoner?” He was suddenly curious. “What, exactly, is your offer?”
Areava smiled. “You hand the Key back to Berayma, and in return you’ll receive a pension for the rest of your life. You and your descendants will be recognized as a branch of the royal family. Your children will become the first members of Kendra’s newest noble family—the Twenty-first House.”
“It’s a very generous offer, but hollow for all of that. It does not give me anything the Key has not already supplied.”
“But you will have none of the responsibilities, Lynan. The heavy burden of public office will be taken from your shoulders.”
Lynan shrugged. “I might enjoy the burden.”
Areava’s voice tightened. “You are making this more difficult than it has to be. Everything would be so much simpler if you just agreed to face reality.”
“Whose reality? Yours? The queen did not see things the way you do. The Key was entrusted to me by our mother. Indeed, it was her final official act. No, I don’t think I can give it up.”
He found the strength to meet her gaze. Her face had become hard. It was not hate he could see in her eyes, but something much less personal, much less familiar. She thinks of me as nothing more than a peasant, as someone so far beneath her station it even pains her to talk to me.
Areava said
nothing more, but spun on her heel and left.
In the distance he could hear the wake continuing, but the sounds now seemed falsely optimistic.
And then Lynan heard someone else walking along the gallery. He was afraid it might be Berayma or Orkid come to throw the same argument at him—or worse, Olio, whom he liked—but the figure that appeared on the balcony was not much taller than he and walked with a peculiar, telltale stoop.
“I passed Princess Areava. She looked like a snow witch.”
Lynan laughed bitterly. “She wanted me to surrender the Key of Unity.”
Ager took a moment to appreciate the view before saying: “Surrender it now? She thinks of you as a defeated enemy already?”
Lynan shook his head. “I’m not sure how she regards me.”
Ager nodded to the Key. “It still hangs around your neck. She was obviously wrong, however she thinks of you.”
“I was tempted,” Lynan admitted. “For a moment I was tempted. I have never held such responsibility before.”
Ager sniffed the air. “You know the story about your father and the battle of Heron Beach?”
“Only that it was his first battle and that he won. Neither Kumul nor Pirem were there, and they have been my main source of information about my father.”
“Well, I was there. Your father had a choice. He could pull back north of the Gelt River and await reinforcements, or he could launch an attack. He wasn’t sure of the enemy’s strength, but he did know that if he didn’t pin them against the coast they would slip away, and it would be weeks or months before he could chase them down again. More importantly, he was unsure of his own ability to prosecute an attack.”
“But he was a great soldier!” Lynan objected.
“No doubt about it, but before the battle of Heron Beach, no one, not even your father, knew what kind of a general he would be.”
Lynan looked at Ager. “This is a fable?”
Ager shrugged. “If you like. But it is a true fable, and you are your father’s son.”
Ager patted Lynan affectionately on the shoulder and departed.
Lynan left the gallery himself soon after and stood at the top of the wide staircase that led down to the great hall. For a moment he watched the people below: women in long mourning dresses that swirled as they turned, and men in their finest clothes, all aglitter with jewelry and wine-induced smiles.
He wondered if it had really sunk in yet, that Usharna was dead and they had a new monarch. He thought they would miss her more than they knew.
Areava had intimated she was speaking on behalf of their siblings, but if Berayma was going to confront him on the same issue, Lynan reasoned, it might as well be somewhere very public where his actions would by necessity be tempered.
He saw a group of important-looking people enter the hall from the courtyard, Berayma in the middle of them and the center of their attention. Those gathered around him were civic officials from Kendra, chief among them the mayor, Shant Tenor, and the president of the merchants’ collective, Xella Povis. The two made an odd couple: Tenor was an overweight, pasty-faced man in his late fifties who specialized in obsequies and bullying, while Povis was a tall, dark-skinned woman, originally from Lurisia, with a reputation for hard but fair dealing and a frankness that often offended the more polite mores of the court. Berayma stood a good head above them all, his expression patient but tired, trying to listen to the two of them talk at the same time.
Lynan descended the staircase and approached the circle, waiting until he caught Berayma’s eye.
“Brother,” Berayma said politely, interrupting the chatter. “Isn’t it touching to see so many of Kendra’s loyal citizens turn up to wish our mother a last farewell?” There was no irony in his voice.
“Touching indeed, brother,” he answered, staring at the hangers-on until they had all bowed. This is a new experience for us all, citizens, he thought, smiling at them grimly, so we’d better get used to it now.
“It was the least we could do after nearly thirty years of her generous reign,” Shant Tenor said loudly. He glanced up meaningfully at Berayma. “And to usher in what we’re sure will be many decades of continued prosperity for Kendra.”
Xella Povis smiled. “What he means,” she explained to Lynan, “is that we hope your brother sees fit to continue the generous export subsidies and dockyard refits your mother instigated for the benefit of the city.”
“What’s good for Kendra is good for the kingdom,” Shant Tenor declared pompously. “I hope you make the provinces understand that, young Ly… ah… your Highness.”
“I look forward to carrying your message to them,” Lynan replied dryly, and noticed Xella Povis regarding him with something akin to approval. He had the feeling that her opinion of the mayor was as low as his own. He faced his brother. “Speaking of my duties, could I have a word with you alone, please?”
“I don’t see why not.” He turned to his guests. “If you would excuse us for a moment?”
The others bowed and scraped and quickly moved away. Berayma nodded to his brother to speak.
Lynan took in a deep breath. “Areava has made an offer for the Key of Union. I’ve decided to hold on to it. It was a gift from my mother, and I have no intention of surrendering it to her… or anyone else.”
Berayma shook his head, his expression blank. “I haven’t the faintest idea what it is you’re talking about. Perhaps you had better start at the beginning.”
As Lynan recounted his meeting with Areava, he saw Berayma’s face go white with anger, but anger against whom he could not tell.
“I think I understand now,” Berayma said. “It seems I need to speak with Areava. I knew nothing of this offer and do not condone it.” He paused for a moment, avoided Lynan’s gaze. “I admit I was surprised by our mother even recognizing you as an heir, let alone giving you one of the Keys of Power, but I would never go against her wishes. Our relationship must be renewed—or, rather, begun, since I admit I’ve made it a practice to ignore you since your birth. There is obviously a great deal I have to learn about my own family.”
Lynan was stunned by Berayma’s words. “I would like that,” he replied lamely.
Berayma nodded stiffly. “It was what our mother would have wanted. There are still many official duties I must perform this afternoon and this evening, but I will discuss certain matters with you and our siblings over the next few days. You have courage and honesty, I see, and they are essential qualities. In time, I think you will make a good ambassador for the throne. The sooner we start you off, the better.”
Lynan nodded, not sure what to say.
“This is a time of joy as well as sadness,” Berayma said. “Our mother is free at last of all tribulations and pain. Drink to her memory, and to our future.”
Lynan felt as if a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders. With Berayma’s support, he was confident he would be able to handle his new responsibilities and, more importantly, he knew Areava and the Twenty Houses would not dare attempt to take away his newfound authority. For the first time in his life he thought of himself as a real prince, a scion of the House of Rosetheme. His chest swelled and he strode around the gathering with greater purpose and confidence, not shying away from those whom once he would have avoided because of his dubious birthright and their obvious arrogance. He was clever enough not to try and rub anyone’s nose in his success, but could not help taking delight in the way everyone bowed and scraped to him. As the night progressed, and as he worked his way through his flask of red wine, he could not keep a swagger from entering his walk.
His progress was watched with amused interest by Kumul and Ager.
“Our young popinjay has discovered something about himself,” Ager said.
“That he can preen with the best of them,” Kumul noted sourly. “I hope he wears out of it. I am more fond of the old Lynan.”
“The old Lynan may not have gone, Kumul, and the new confidence cannot hurt him.”
�
�Unless someone tries to push him off his stool. Everyone’s very sweet to him now, especially in the presence of Berayma, but they will find a way to harm and hinder him if they can.”
Ager found it difficult to share the constable’s pessimism. He had been truly sorry at the death of Usharna, but he could not help feel that with Lynan’s new position, not to mention his own, things could only get better. For the first time in his life Lynan had a family, and for the first time in nearly twenty years Ager felt he had a home and companions with whom he could share it.
“Who’s that he’s with now?” Kumul asked.
Ager peered with his single eye at the woman Lynan was talking to and shrugged. “I do not recognize her. But I think she wears the tunic of one of the theurgia.”
“There is a star on her shoulder, with a circle around it. She is a student.”
“Probably here just for the wake. I can split them up if you like.”
Kumul shook his head. “We cannot keep an eye on him all our lives, and I certainly don’t intend to interfere with his love life.”
“Oh, is that it?” Ager asked, more interested. “Is she pretty? I can’t tell from here.”
“Compared to what? You? Hell, my arse is pretty compared to your face.”
“Well, compared to your arse, then.”
“She is considerably prettier than my arse. In fact, she’s pretty indeed.”
“Good luck to him, then.”
“Aye, although she seems ill pleased to be with him.” Kumul looked around the courtyard and great hall, his expression bored. “I’d better start my rounds. You coming, or are you too busy squinting at the student magicker?”
“Oh, I’ve finished my squinting, Constable. Give me your orders.”
Jenrosa Alucar had not intended to come to the queen’s wake, but she had been bullied by her friends who were all excited by the prospect of seeing something of the royal home. In theory, all citizens were allowed to enter the palace’s many public spaces, but in practice only those with business or who were associated in some way with the court ever saw within the palace walls. Even the Church of the Righteous God, although they were based in the palace’s west wing, held their celebrations in special churches and chapels located in the city itself.
