by Dave Duncan
She smiled then, at the others, the lifetime friends and loyal subjects. Ancient old Foronod, Kratharkran the smith huger than ever, Mistress Oglebone, ancient Bishop Havermore, Lin with his monstrous walrus mustache… She was home, and it was all right. Home was safe!
“Good morning!” she said.
“Welcome back, your Majesty!” Efflio bowed, spoiling the effect with a loud wheeze. The spell was broken and all the rest of the council echoed him, bowing and curtseying.
“It is wonderful to be home! And I gather you ladies and gentlemen have kept the plants watered while I was away? You are looking very well, Factor…”
By the time she had moved around the table, greeting all of them — even allowing Lin to give her a hug — Efflio had moved away from the president’s chair. He wore a nervous smile and his wheezing was more noticeable.
Inos had recovered her breath. “And you, Captain! I gather you have managed to keep the dogs and cats from coming to blows?” Muddled metaphor! Oh, well, they must all know what she meant.
“My honor, ma’am!”
“I am most grateful,” Inos said. And lucky! Probably only this wily old outsider could have kept peace between imp and jotunn for so long. She sat down, and the others resumed their seats. Clutching a bundle of papers, Efflio moved to a vacant chair.
“Can you bring me up to date quickly?” Inos said. She saw dismay on the impish faces, especially Lin’s. “Or perhaps I should start by bringing you up to date! It is a very long story, though. I am well, as you can see. I have been traveling in far lands, involved in very important matters.”
She considered telling them that she had begun her day in Thume, at the other end of the world, and then decided to take it more slowly. “My husband is well, also. He has assumed some duties that may require a good deal of his time. He has just been appointed —” She drew a deep breath. “— Warden of the east.”
Jaws dropped.
Eyebrows rose. King Rap had always denied being a sorcerer.
“Prince Gath has returned with me, and he is well. You probably won’t recognize him! I gather Eva and Holi are well, also?”
The pain under her heart throbbed. She fell silent, waiting for the inevitable question — Princess Kadie? What could she tell them? Probably nothing at all, because the Gods kept Their origins secret.
“It’s wonderful to know you are all safe!” the bishop proclaimed. “We should have the bell rung! And a special service of thanksgiving, of course! How soon do you suppose his Majesty will be able…”
They were not going to ask!
Well, that was a problem to consider at leisure, or perhaps a solution to a problem. She waited for a momentary pause in the ecclesiastical diatribe —
“Now, how fares Krasnegar?” She turned to Efflio.
He shook his head sadly. “In dire straits, ma’am! Or it will be soon. No ships have come this year — none at all, none even from Nordland!”
“Well, that’s hardly surprising!” Inos said. Then she registered their blank stares. They did not know! This was sleepy little Krasnegar at the rim of the world, and it had never heard the news.
“There has been a major war! The goblins invaded the Impire. Most of Julgistro has been devastated. That’s why they sent no ships! And the jotnar have, ah, other plans this year.”
“And why no goblins came?” old Foronod exclaimed in his creaky voice.
“Of course! The goblins have been virtually wiped out.”
She watched them wrestle with the horrible tidings. True disaster was hard to comprehend in Krasnegar, where a lost fishing boat could plunge the kingdom into mourning. Except for Efflio and the bishop, none of them had ever been more than ten leagues from home in their lives.
Efflio’s wheezing was growing even louder. He was leaning back in his chair, struggling. Inos looked at him in alarm.
“I shall be… all right, ma’am. Just the shock.” He chuckled with difficulty. “Relief, I mean! The Impire is safe?”
“It is now, but it has suffered a cruel blow.”
“And we?” Lin said loudly from farther down the table. “Without the supplies from the south, Inos, we face serious shortages for the winter — salt and grain especially. Medicines, too. We were talking about it when you came in.”
“Oh, that’s all right!” She laughed, and saw their amazement. She was going to enjoy this…
The door creaked open, and a young man walked in with his eyes closed. He wore a floor-length black gown emblazoned with stars and occult symbols in gold and silver, and his conical hat almost reached the ceiling. His former wispy red beard had become a magnificent torrent of ginger hair reaching to his waist. He inclined his head respectfully to Inos and calmly headed for a vacant chair. The counselors gaped.
Gath’s friend the sorcerer was very little older than Gath himself. Which of them had dreamed up that grotesque outfit?
“You may have need of me, ma’am,” he remarked confidently.
“Indeed, I believe we do have need of you,” Inos said, making the best of things. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is Master Jaurg, who has agreed to join us here for a while. As I told you, my husband will have other demands on his time in the near future. I have therefore appointed Master Jaurg court sorcerer in his absence.”
A sorcerer? In Krasnegar? As Inos spoke the counsellors’ names, the youth turned a grave blind face on each in turn and they shrank back in their chairs, almost gibbering. Obviously Jaurg was enjoying himself, and she could not honestly deny that she was, too.
“Now, Master Jaurg, we seem to have need for certain supplies. Salt, for example.”
“Quite easy, ma’am. Just tell me where you want it put.”
“And medicines?”
Jaurg opened his mouth and then paused. He turned a disapproving frown on Captain Efflio, whose labored breathing now sounded like a bag of newborn kittens on their way to the harbor. Sailors were notoriously superstitious.
“Is that noise necessary. Captain?”
Unable to speak, Efflio just shook his head.
“The captain is afflicted with asthma, Court Sorcerer,” Inos said.
“Oh?” The jotunn’s silver brows drooped lower. “Do you mind if I cure him, then?”
Sudden silence.
“Now, ma’am,” the sorcerer said. “Medicines, you said. What do you need medicines for?”
4
The Queen’s parlor at Krasnegar was a shabby, homely room. It had a lived-in air composed of peat scent mingled with hints of candles and polish and leather and dogs. The pictures and paneling had faded, the rug was worn almost threadbare in front of the sagging, overstuffed chairs. Accumulated clutter of generations lurked in corners, on bookshelves, all over the mantel shelf of an enormous stone fireplace — ornaments, well-thumbed volumes, stuffed birds, golden candlesticks, silver inkwells, carved crystal decanters.
Eshiala had never seen any chamber quite like it. Her parents would have dismissed it as hopelessly dowdy and old-fashioned, and it would certainly be spurned by servants within the palace in Hub. Yet somehow it fitted her mood like a favorite old slipper.
She felt more relaxed than she could remember being in months. Twelve months, probably — ever since Shandie had returned from Qoble and resumed their marriage. She had eaten a large meal. Maya had been whisked away by servants and Princess Eva. The usurper was dead, most horribly dead.
Ylo was dead, too, and Shandie was alive…
A small pile of peat smoldered in the great hearth, although the warmth was not needed. In fact, one of the windows was open, and a murmur of surf drifted up from the sea far below, but now Inos was pulling the drapes, leaving only a slit of light from each of the windows.
“What time is it anyway?”
Inos chuckled and settled into the opposing chair. “Middle of the afternoon, I think.” She wriggled herself comfortable, pounding a stubborn cushion. “But Krasnegar time is not the same as Hubban time, or Thumian time, so I’m thoroughly
confused.”
“Will the sun set at all?”
“Not on Longday. It’s never easy to tell the time in summer here. People forget to sleep for days, and then suddenly drop in their tracks. It can be quite funny to see.”
“I should be going back.”
Her hostess shook her head. “Shandie knows where you are. You’d be one more problem he doesn’t need right now. Can’t have two impresses around the palace! He knows where you are and he knows you’re safe. I’m sure he’s glad not to have to worry about you for the time being.”
That was wonderful rationalization. What else was there to say?
The green eyes were as sharp as rapiers. “He still loves you, you know. He may not be very good at showing it, but I’m sure he still loves you. Shandie is a very clever man and he will want you back.”
Eshiala nodded miserably. She was afraid of that. She did not love Shandie. She had never loved him. Ylo had taught her what love felt like, and it had been quite, quite different. Her heart had died with Ylo.
“An impress of Pandemia bearing another man’s child?” she said. “That’s treason! Shandie can have me put to death for that.”
Inos laughed. “Not very likely!” She sounded quite sure, but she probably knew the imperor now much better than Eshiala ever had. “Never mind what he wants! What do you want?”
“I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.” She had given the future no thought, except to acknowledge that it would be a desert, a barren solitude stretching as far as mind could reach, with no Ylo in it. With Ylo, anywhere would be a paradise. Without him, nowhere could be.
She would much prefer never to see the court again. A nunnery would suit her perfectly, or Krasnegar, even — any quiet haven where no one knew her or ever wanted to put her on display. But Maya was heir presumptive and belonged to the realm. Maya would be returned to the palace. Eshiala had lost the man she loved and now must lose her child, too.
Inosolan had lost a child today, also. A few hours ago she had watched her daughter burned away until not even ash remained. Not dead, but lost forever. If Inos could bear her bereavement so well, then Eshiala should try to be as strong. But few women could ever match Inos. She was determined and gentle, motherly and queenly, understanding and assertive, all at the same time.
“I am sorry about Kadie!” Eshiala blurted.
Inos shrugged wistfully. “The Gods warned us that we must lose a child. We had two years’ warning, two years to adjust to the idea. And in a sense she is not really lost.” She stared at the quietly hissing fire. “When I am as old as the castle, Kadie will still be as she is now. When Krasnegar crumbles to dust, she will be here to see. That takes a little getting used to, that idea! But it is a comfort.”
“What will you tell the people?”
“Nothing. The Gods do not allow that secret to be spoken of. It seems that others will not even miss her. That helps, and yet it doesn’t help, if you can—”
There was a tap on the door.
Inos stretched herself comfortably into her chair and covered a yawn. “That will be Shandie, I expect.”
Eshiala quailed. “How can you tell?”
“Because I said I was not to be disturbed except by Rap or a visitor from the Impire. I didn’t know what name he’d use. If you don’t want to see him, then say so. He’s not imperor here.”
“He will have a sorcerer with him!”
Inos smiled grimly, not moving from her chair. “The castle gates are closed. I’ve never ordered that before! But the castle is shielded from sorcery, so he can’t enter unless you want him to. Say the word and he will be sent away.”
That thought conjured strange visions: the Impire besieging the castle at Krasnegar, the Imperial Navy in the harbor, an imperor bringing an army to rescue his daughter…
“Of course I must see him.”
Inos smiled approvingly and rose. “May as well get it over with! I’ll send him in here, then. You will not be disturbed.” She came over and laid a comforting hand on Eshiala’s shoulder. “Be honest, all right? Only absolute truth will serve now, for both of you. And for Maya, too.”
Eshiala nodded, and was alone.
* * *
Ten minutes, she thought. Five minutes to send word to the gate and five more for Shandie to arrive. Perhaps a few more for Inos to lecture him. She stood at a window and stared out at the blue of the Winter Ocean, white scars of breakers over the reefs, white birds. She rehearsed her Speech, the Speech she had been preparing for three days, the Speech that would never come out the same way twice and reached no sort of ending but just went on and on.
She must, of course, submit to whatever he wanted. He was the imperor and would decide: to put her in a nunnery, send her into exile, chop off her head… or take her to bed. Gods! She shivered. Not that! Not so soon, please Gods! Lying on her back in the dark, with Shandie pulling up her nightdress and her trying not to remember Ylo’s touch, Ylo’s banter, Ylo’s body…
She was standing by the fireplace when Shandie opened the door, came in briskly, and turned to close it. She sank to her knees on the hearth mat and bowed her head so she need not look at him as he strode across to her.
His silver-buckled shoes came into view, and then his pearl-gray hose as he knelt down, also, about an arm’s length in front of her. What? Why? Was this some sort of trick? Disconcerted, she forgot the Speech completely. She froze. Only her heart was still alive, clamoring like an alarm bell.
“I came as soon as I could,” he said. “I just couldn’t get away any sooner! You do understand that?”
She nodded, not looking up. No matter how tightly she clenched her hands, they would not stop shaking.
“I am deeply, deeply sorry about Ylo,” Shandie said. “I mourn him greatly. He was the most valuable aide I had or could ever hope for, but I shall miss him even more as a friend. I know your loss is far greater than mine, though. I offer my deepest sympathy.”
She looked up then, shocked beyond measure, but the coal-black eyes were solemn. If this was some cruel mockery, then it was well hidden.
Shandie had always been thin. He was thinner. He was weatherbeaten and needed his second shave of the day. His plain gray doublet was nothing like the finery he had sported in the Rotunda. His eyes were burning brighter than ever. She could not meet them.
He seemed puzzled by her reaction. “Did you think… I honor his memory! If Ylo were here, I would make him a prince of the realm! He died defending my child and the woman I love — how can I not honor him? Had he lived, how could I not reward him? Nothing would be too good for him.”
The lump in her throat was choking her. Why must he speak of Ylo?
“And he saved me, too, Eshiala. Did he tell you of that?”
She shook her head, staring at the hearth.
“No, he wouldn’t. Ylo never saw himself as a hero, although he was, many times. He never took himself seriously. And he saved you at Yewdark. Oh, that unspeakable Ionfeu! If I ever set eyes on that man again, I shall have him racked!” Shandie growled furiously. “Hardgraa, too. Idiots! Blundering, witless idiots!”
“They meant well,” she whispered.
“So did I, and I left you in the care of a pair of bungling cretins! Will you ever forgive me?”
“My lord! It is I who must ask forgiveness.”
“No, it isn’t!” Shandie snapped. He was blushing like a boy. “Eshiala, I was not faithful to you!”
But —
“I let Ylo talk me into… No, I will not blame him! I am responsible for my own sins. Waitresses, bar girls! It was disgraceful, and I am abjectly, thoroughly ashamed! I never did that before, you know, and I swear I never will again. Please, please, will you forgive me?”
She felt her face flame. “You mock me, my lord!”
“No! Never!”
“But Ylo and I —”
“That was nothing! You thought I was dead, didn’t you?”
“Well, yes…”
“I did not
have any such excuse!”
“Ylo said the gobl—”
“He wasn’t lying. He saw me go down and the goblins take me. That’s what he told you, isn’t it? Well, then, Ylo did not lie to you. You believed yourself a widow. I knew I was committing adultery.”
This was all, crazily, backward! A married woman carrying another man’s child and her husband was asking forgiveness? She blinked tears away. “But I knew how Ylo was with women and I let him…”
“Ylo?” Shandie was trying to smile, although the red flames still burned on his cheeks. “Ylo was the most incredible womanizer the Impire has ever known. Of course I should have guessed what was going to happen when he said he had seen the most beautiful woman in the world in the magic pool — who else could it have been? But I didn’t. You had no one else to turn to. You made the only possible decision. He didn’t bargain, did he?”
“No. Never. It —”
“I was sure he wouldn’t have. That was not his way. He would never have stooped to blackmail. He enjoyed the sport too much. But then he married you, right? And he gave his life for you! That’s different. That’s not the game he played with the others. Ylo loved you. He must have loved you. And you must have loved him? Must still love him, love his memory?”
She nodded, utterly bewildered.
Shandie sighed. “Who can blame you? Not me! I left my wife in the care of a blockhead and went off whoring across Julgistro! I need forgiveness far more than you do. If Ylo had… This is easy to say now, Eshiala, but I swear I mean it. If Ylo had survived and the two of you wanted to live together, then I would agree to it. Divorce or something… I don’t know how it could have been done, and it doesn’t matter now, because he isn’t. But I swear I would not have stood between you.”
“But why? Why?”
“Because I owed him my life. Because he was my friend and I admired him. Above all because I want you to be happy.”
Nothing was coming out the way she had expected. Shandie was not behaving like a wronged husband at all. He was certainly not behaving like Shandie, cold and inscrutable. She had been prepared for that. Even bluster and threats would have been easier to deal with than this.
