“I am no pervert! I am a lover of woman. I am natural as breeze! But I say we must not halve our population by splitting our females into women and broods. The raiders nip at our heels. Yes, it’s true, they are barbaric and weak—now. But they grow stronger. Their population increases so quickly that already they can match our numbers. When there are three times as many of them as us, or five times, or eight times, they’ll flood us like a wave crashing on a naked beach. It’s time for women to make children in ourselves as broods do. We need more daughters.”
I scoffed. “The raiders keep their women like cows for the same reason we keep cows like cows, to encourage the production of calves. What do you think will happen if our men see great women swelling with young and feeding them from their bodies? They will see us as weak, and they will rebel, and the broods will support them for trinkets and candy.”
“Broods will not threaten us,” said Tryce. “They do as they are trained. We train them to obey.”
Tryce stepped down from the pillows and dismissed the automaton into the shadows. I felt a murmur of sadness as the creature left my sight.
“It is not your place to make policy, Imprudent Child,” I said. “You should have kept your belly flat.
“There is no time! Do the raiders wait? Will they chew rinds by the fire while I wait for my mother to die?”
“This is better? To split our land into factions and war against ourselves?”
“I have vowed to save the Land of Flowered Hills,” said Tryce, “with my mother or despite her.”
Tryce came yet closer to me so that I could see the triple scars where the gems that had once sealed her heirship had been carved out of her cheeks. They left angry, red triangles. Tryce’s breath was hot; her eyes like oil, shining.
“Even without my automatons, I have enough resources to overwhelm the palace,” Tryce continued, “except for one thing.”
I waited.
“I need you to tell me how to unlock the protections you laid on the palace grounds and my mother’s chambers.”
“We return to the beginning. Why should I help you?”
Tryce closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. There was shyness in her posture now. She would not direct her gaze at mine.
She said, “I was young when you died, still young enough to think that our strength was unassailable. The battles after your death shattered my illusions. We barely won, and we lost many lives. I realized that we needed more power, and I thought that I could give us that power by becoming a sorceress to replace you.” She paused. “During my studies, I researched your acts of magic, great and small. Inevitably, I came to the spell you cast before you died, when you sent the raiders’ positions into the summoning pool.”
It was then that I knew what she would say next. I wish I could say that my heartfelt as immobile as a mountain, that I had always known to suspect the love of a Queen. But my heart drummed, and my mouth went dry, and I felt as if I were falling.
“Some of mother’s advisers convinced her that you were plotting against her. They had little evidence to support their accusations, but once the idea rooted into mother’s mind, she became obsessed. She violated the sanctity of woman’s magic by teaching Kyan how to summon a roc feather enchanted to pierce your heart. She ordered him to wait until you had sent her the vision of the battleground, and then to kill you and punish your treachery by binding your soul so that you would always wander and wake.”
I wanted to deny it, but what point would there be? Now that Tryce forced me to examine my death with a watcher’s eye, I saw the coincidences that proved her truth. How else could I have been shot by an arrow not just shaped by woman’s magic, but made from one of the Queen’s roc feathers? Why else would a worm like Kyan have happened to have in his possession a piece of leucite more powerful than any I’d seen?
I clenched Okilanu’s fists. “I never plotted against Rayneh.”
“Of course not. She realized it herself, in time, and executed the women who had whispered against you. But she had your magic, and your restless spirit bound to her, and she believed that was all she needed.”
For long moments, my grief battled my anger. When it was done, my resolve was hardened like a spear tempered by fire.
I lifted my palms in the gesture of truth telling. “To remove the protections on the palace grounds, you must lay yourself flat against the soil with your cheek against the dirt, so that it knows you. To it, you must say, ‘The Lady Who Plucked Red Flowers beneath the Queen’s Window loves the Queen from instant to eternity, from desire to regret.’ And then you must kiss the soil as if it is the hem of your lover’s robe. Wait until you feel the earth move beneath you and then the protections will be gone.”
Tryce inclined her head. “I will do this.”
I continued, “When you are done, you must flay off a strip of your skin and grind it into a fine powder. Bury it in an envelope of wind-silk beneath the Queen’s window. Bury it quickly. If a single grain escapes, the protections on her chamber will hold.”
“I will do this, too,” said Tryce. She began to speak more, but I raised one of my ringed, blue fingers to silence her.
“There’s another set of protections you don’t know about. One cast on your mother. It can only be broken by the fresh life-blood of something you love. Throw the blood onto the Queen while saying, ‘The Lady Who Plucked Red Flowers beneath Your Window has betrayed you.’ ”
“Life-blood? You mean, I need to kill—”
“Perhaps the automaton.”
Tryce’s expression clouded with distress. “Gudrin is the last one! Maybe the baby. I could conceive again—”
“If you can suggest the baby, you don’t love it enough. It must be Gudrin.”
Tryce closed her mouth. “Then it will be Gudrin,” she agreed, but her eyes would not meet mine.
I folded my arms across Okilanu’s flat bosom. “I’ve given you what you wanted. Now grant me a favor, Imprudent Child Who Would Be Queen. When you kill Rayneh, I want to be there.”
Tryce lifted her head like the Queen she wanted to be. “I will summon you when it’s time, Respected Aunt.” She turned toward Gudrin in the shadows. “Disassemble the binding shapes,” she ordered.
For the first time, I beheld Gudrin in his entirety. The creature was tree-tall and stick-slender, and yet he moved with astonishing grace. “Thank you on behalf of the Creator of Me and My Kind,” he trilled in his beautiful voice, and I considered how unfortunate it was that the next time I saw him, he would be dead.
I smelled the iron-and-wet tang of blood. My view of the world skewed low, as if I’d been cut off at the knees. Women’s bodies slumped across lush carpets. Red ran deep into the silk, bloodying woven leaves and flowers. I’d been in this chamber far too often to mistake it, even dead. It was Rayneh’s.
It came to me then: my perspective was not like that of a woman forced to kneel. It was like a child’s. Or a dwarf’s.
I reached down and felt hairy knees and fringed ankle bracelets. “Ah, Kyan . . . ”
“I thought you might like that.” Tryce’s voice. These were probably her legs before me, wrapped in loose green silk trousers that were tied above the calf with chains of copper beads. “A touch of irony for your pleasure. He bound your soul to restlessness. Now you’ll chase his away.”
I reached into his back-slung sheath and drew out the most functional of his ceremonial blades. It would feel good to flay his treacherous flesh.
“I wouldn’t do that,” said Tryce. “You’ll be the one who feels the pain.”
I sheathed the blade. “You took the castle?”
“Effortlessly.” She paused. “I lie. Not effortlessly.” She unknotted her right trouser leg and rolled up the silk. Blood stained the bandages on a carefully wrapped wound. “Your protections were strong.”
“Yes. They were.”
She re-tied her trouser leg and continued. “The Lady with Lichen Hair tried to block our way into the chamber.” She kicked one o
f the corpses by my feet. “We killed her.”
“Did you.”
“Don’t you care? She was your friend.”
“Did she care when I died?”
Tryce shifted her weight, a kind of lower-body shrug. “I brought you another present.” She dropped a severed head onto the floor. It rolled toward me, tongue lolling in its bloody face. It took me a moment to identify the high cheekbones and narrow eyes.
“The death whisperer? Why did you kill Lakitri?”
“You liked the blood of Jada and Okilanu, didn’t you?”
“The only blood I care about now is your mother’s. Where is she?”
“Bring my mother!” ordered Tryce.
One of Tryce’s servants—her hands marked with the green dye of loyalty to the heir—dragged Rayneh into the chamber. The Queen’s torn, bloody robe concealed the worst of her wounds, but couldn’t hide the black and purple bruises blossoming on her arms and legs. Her eyes found mine, and despite her condition, a trace of her regal smile glossed her lips.
Her voice sounded thin. “That’s you? Lady Who Plucked Red Flowers beneath My Window?”
“It’s me.”
She raised one bloody, shaking hand to the locket around her throat and pried it open. Dried petals scattered onto the carpets, the remnants of the red flowers I’d once gathered for her protection. While the spell lasted, they’d remained whole and fresh. Now they were dry and crumbling like what had passed for love between us.
“If you ever find rest, the world-lizard will crack your soul in its jaws for murdering your Queen,” she said.
“I didn’t kill you.”
“You instigated my death.”
“I was only repaying your favor.”
The hint of her smile again. She smelled of wood smoke, rich and dark. I wanted to see her more clearly, but my poor vision blurred the red of her wounds into the sienna of her skin until the whole of her looked like raw, churned earth.
“I suppose our souls will freeze together.” She paused. “That might be pleasant.”
Somewhere in front of us, lost in the shadows, I heard Tryce and her women ransacking the Queen’s chamber. Footsteps, sharp voices, cracking wood.
“I used to enjoy cold mornings,” Rayneh said. “When we were girls. I liked lying in bed with you and opening the curtains to watch the snow fall.”
“And sending servants out into the cold to fetch and carry.”
“And then! When my brood let slip it was warmer to lie together naked under the sheets? Do you remember that?” She laughed aloud, and then paused. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter. “It’s strange to remember lying together in the cold, and then to look up, and see you in that body. Oh, my beautiful Naeva, twisted into a worm. I deserve what you’ve done to me. How could I have sent a worm to kill my life’s best love?”
She turned her face away, as if she could speak no more. Such a show of intimate, unroyal emotion. I could remember times when she’d been able to manipulate me by trusting me with a wince of pain or a supposedly accidental tear. As I grew more cynical, I realized that her royal pretense wasn’t vanishing when she gave me a melancholy, regretful glance. Such things were calculated vulnerabilities, intended to bind me closer to her by suggesting intimacy and trust. She used them with many ladies at court, the ones who loved her.
This was far from the first time she’d tried to bind me to her by displaying weakness, but it was the first time she’d ever done so when I had no love to enthrall me.
Rayneh continued, her voice a whisper. “I regret it, Naeva. When Kyan came back, and I saw your body, cold and lifeless—I understood immediately that I’d been mistaken. I wept for days. I’m weeping still, inside my heart. But listen—” her voice hardened “—we can’t let this be about you and me. Our Land is at stake. Do you know what Tryce is going to do? She’ll destroy us all. You have to help me stop her—”
“Tryce!” I shouted. “I’m ready to see her bleed.”
Footsteps thudded across silk carpets. Tryce drew a bone-handled knife and knelt over her mother like a farmer preparing to slaughter a pig. “Gudrin!” she called. “Throw open the doors. Let everyone see us.”
Narrow, muddy legs strode past us. The twigs woven through the automaton’s skin had lain fallow when I saw him in the winter. Now they blazed in a glory of emerald leaves and scarlet blossoms.
“You dunce!” I shouted at Tryce. “What have you done? You left him alive.”
Tryce’s gaze held fast on her mother’s throat. “I sacrificed the baby.”
Voices and footsteps gathered in the room as Tryce’s soldiers escorted Rayneh’s courtiers inside.
“You sacrificed the baby,” I repeated. “What do you think ruling is? Do you think Queens always get what they want? You can’t dictate to magic, Imprudent Child.”
“Be silent.” Tryce’s voice thinned with anger. “I’m grateful for your help, Great Lady, but you must not speak this way to your Queen.”
I shook my head. Let the foolish child do what she might. I braced myself for the inevitable backlash of the spell.
Tryce raised her knife in the air. “Let everyone gathered here behold that this is Queen Rayneh, the Queen Who Would Dictate to a Daughter. I am her heir, Tryce of the Bold Stride. Hear me. I do this for the Land of Flowered Hills, for our honor and our strength. Yet I also do it with regret. Mother, I hope you will be free in your death. May your spirit wing across sweet breezes with the great bird of the sun.”
The knife slashed downward. Crimson poured across Rayneh’s body, across the rugs, across Tryce’s feet. For a moment, I thought I’d been wrong about Tryce’s baby—perhaps she had loved it enough for the counter-spell to work—but as the blood poured over the dried petals Rayneh had scattered on the floor, a bright light flared through the room. Tryce flailed backward as if struck.
Rayneh’s wound vanished. She stared up at me with startled, joyful eyes. “You didn’t betray me!”
“Oh, I did,” I said. “Your daughter is just inept.”
I could see only one solution to the problem Tryce had created—the life’s blood of something I loved was here, still saturating the carpets and pooling on the stone.
Magic is a little bit alive. Sometimes it prefers poetic truths to literal ones. I dipped my fingers into the Queen’s spilled blood and pronounced, “The Lady Who Plucked Red Flowers beneath Your Window has betrayed you.”
I cast the blood across the Queen. The dried petals disintegrated. The Queen cried out as my magical protections disappeared.
Tryce was at her mother’s side again in an instant. Rayneh looked at me in the moment before Tryce’s knife descended. I thought she might show me, just this once, a fraction of uncalculated vulnerability. But this time there was no vulnerability at all, no pain or betrayal or even weariness, only perfect regal equanimity.
Tryce struck for her mother’s heart. She let her mother’s body fall to the carpet.
“Behold my victory!” Tryce proclaimed. She turned toward her subjects. Her stance was strong: her feet planted firmly, ready for attack or defense. If her lower half was any indication, she’d be an excellent Queen.
I felt a rush of forgiveness and pleasure and regret and satisfaction all mixed together. I moved toward the boundaries of my imprisonment, my face near Rayneh’s where she lay, inhaling her last ragged breaths.
“Be brave,” I told her. “Soon we’ll both be free.”
Rayneh’s lips moved slowly, her tongue thick around the words. “What makes you think . . . ?”
“You’re going to die,” I said, “and when I leave this body, Kyan will die, too. Without caster or intent, there won’t be anything to sustain the spell.”
Rayneh made a sound that I supposed was laughter. “Oh no, my dear Naeva . . . much more complicated than that . . . ”
Panic constricted my throat. “Tryce! You have to find the piece of leucite—”
“ . . . even stronger than the rock. Nothing but death
can lull your spirit to sleep . . . and you’re already dead . . . ”
She laughed again.
“Tryce!” I shouted. “Tryce!”
The girl turned. For a moment, my vision became as clear as it had been when I lived. I saw the Imprudent Child Queen standing with her automaton’s arms around her waist, the both of them flushed with joy and triumph. Tryce turned to kiss the knot of wood that served as the automaton’s mouth and my vision clouded again.
Rayneh died a moment afterward.
A moment after that, Tryce released me.
If my story could not end when I died, it should have ended there, in Rayneh’s chamber, when I took my revenge.
It did not end there.
Tryce consulted me often during the early years of her reign. I familiarized myself with the blur of the paintings in her chamber, squinting to pick out placid scenes of songbirds settling on snowy branches, bathing in mountain springs, soaring through sun-struck skies.
“Don’t you have counselors for this?” I snapped one day.
Tryce halted her pacing in front of me, blocking my view of a wren painted by The Artist without Pity.
“Do you understand what it’s like for me? The court still calls me the Imprudent Child Who Would Be Queen. Because of you!”
Gudrin went to comfort her. She kept the creature close, pampered and petted, like a cat on a leash. She rested her head on his shoulder as he stroked her arms. It all looked too easy, too familiar. I wondered how often Tryce spun herself into these emotional whirlpools.
“It can be difficult for women to accept orders from their juniors,” I said.
“I’ve borne two healthy girls,” Tryce said petulantly. “When I talk to the other women about bearing, they still say they can’t, that ‘women’s bodies aren’t suited for childbirth.’ Well, if women can’t have children, then what does that make me?”
I forebore responding.
“They keep me busy with petty disputes over grazing rights and grain allotment. How can I plan for a war when they distract me with pedantry? The raiders are still at our heels, and the daft old biddies won’t accept what we must do to beat them back!”
The Year's Best Science Fiction and Fantasy, 2011 Edition Page 22
