by Vicky Savage
Ralston finds a corner with several empty niches. A small gold plaque etched with Mother’s name is below one of the holes. “Ah, here it is,” Ralston says.
I’m a little freaked when I notice that under the niche next to Mother’s is a plaque with my name on it. “How come my name’s already up here?” I ask.
“You were presumed dead for a time, remember? Since your body was never recovered. Some ashes from the collective remains of the unidentified victims were put inside an urn, and it was placed in this niche in your honor. Of course, it was removed after your return.”
It weirds me out to see my own name in this place of the dead. The hair prickles on my arms, and the air seems to press in around me from the weight of the departed souls dwelling here.
“Would you care to say a few words?” Ralston asks positioning Mother’s urn inside the niche.
“I’m not sure what to say.” I just want to get out of here.
Ralston clears his throat. “According to the poet, Emily Dickenson, Death is a wild ride and a new road. If that is true, may Queen Eleanor’s new journey be a pleasant one.”
I run my fingertips along the plaque bearing Mother’s name. “Fear not the many paths of life, Mother. Goodbye,” I say the only words that come to mind.
Ralston extinguishes the lights and we close the door on the dank and lonely columbarium. Mother had a remarkable life as queen. I hope Emily Dickenson’s right, and she’s moved on to another amazing adventure.
* * *
I’m up well before dawn on the day of Mother’s farewell celebration. Last night, Maria laid out a lovely hunter green satin gown for the occasion, and I’m nearly dressed when she arrives with one of Mother’s crowns for me. I groan when I see it. It’s larger than the last one. It has four half-arches made of gold and pearls which meet in a dip at the top. The center is filled with green velvet cloth.
“Please leave my hair loose today,” I whine. “The heavy crown is bad enough, but I can’t stand all the hairpins digging into my scalp.”
“You will like this crown. It is very light. See?” She sets it in my outstretched palms. It is much lighter than the other one.
“And it has combs inside that will keep it on your head, no hairpins needed.” She turns it over so I can see the combs. “But I must plait a portion of your hair near the top, so the combs will have something to hold onto.”
Next she selects an emerald necklace and earrings from my jewelry chest, and insists that I wear at least a minimum of make-up. “All eyes will be on you today. You must look your best.”
I’m happy with the results when Maria is finished dressing me. Wandering downstairs, I grab a muffin and hover near the window in the front parlor to wait for Ryder. Decorated carriages and horses decked-out in colorful blankets and ornamental saddles and bridles trundle down the promenade and take their places in line for the procession. Numerous lords, ladies, and other guests, clad in feathers, furs, and other finery, mill about in the palace courtyard. Palace servants are invited to the celebration as well, and much excited chatter and activity swells within the palace walls.
Ryder arrives late. Ralston has already ushered me to the queen’s carriage, and the procession is preparing to depart. He clambers inside and takes the seat next to me.
“I’m sorry to be tardy, love.” He lifts my hand and presses my palm against his warm lips.
“I was worried. Is everything all right?” I ask.
“Yes. Catherine was nowhere to be found this morning. I had some important matters to discuss with her. Everything will keep until tomorrow, though.” He tilts his head, smiling. “You look lovely today, Your Majesty.”
Villagers line the roadway into town, waving, cheering, and tossing flowers as the procession passes. Ralston wasn’t kidding when he said the atmosphere is more like a festival than a funeral. It’s strange, but the joyful mood of the crowd does help temper some of the melancholy I feel.
When we reach the cathedral, I spot Father in his shiny new conveyance surrounded by a small crowd. Ryder and I are quickly bustled through the giant carved doors into the nave where the speeches are to take place. We’re seated in two large thrones, a few feet apart, facing the audience. The speaker’s podium is immediately to my left. Now I understand what Maria meant when she said all eyes would be on me.
The Royal Guard is here in force, but the soldiers attempt to remain as inconspicuous as possible by standing as an honor guard in front of the stage and next to Ryder and me. Patrick stays close to my chair.
Drew, Adelais, and Father are seated in the front row of pews. Ralston, General LeGare, and many of Mother’s Council of Advisors are seated directly behind them. At one point, Father swivels in his seat to speak with General LeGare, who then rises and joins the family in the front row. My heart contracts a little, and I silently thank Father for being so considerate.
Hundreds, maybe thousands, of people noisily file inside, filling every pew. I recognize some faces, but most are strangers to me. I’m astonished to glimpse a woman who looks very much like Narowyn in the crowd. I wonder if this is her mirror or if Narowyn came to pay her respects. We make eye contact briefly. It’s her. She nods and takes her seat among the others.
The church is quickly filled to capacity, including people standing in the aisles, and the speeches begin. Listening intently to the first two speakers, Mother’s pastor and a friend from her childhood, Lady Clementine, I learn many things about Mother that I didn’t know. But by the time the third speaker takes the podium, my mind begins to wander, and the words turn into white noise. The most difficult part is keeping a pleasant expression on my face. A time or two I’m forced to clench my jaw in order to stifle a yawn.
At least this vantage point is great for people-watching. Scanning the faces of the crowd, I notice many attendees listening with rapt attention to the speaker, others chat with their neighbors, or survey the assembly like me. One face in particular catches my eye causing my heart to trip and tumble into my stomach. To the right side of the nave, midway back, Erica Hornsby sits staring intently at Ryder. Whipping my head around to Ryder, he smiles at me affectionately, oblivious to her presence. My eyes locate her again. She’s more voluptuous than usual today in a deep purple dress, her raven hair much longer than it was last year. “Princess hair,” she had once called my long tresses. She’s obviously adopted the look.
It takes a moment before I realize the woman seated next to her is Catherine Blackthorn. She stares daggers at me, and when she’s sure I’ve seen her, she leans in and whispers something to Erica. Erica’s eyes find mine, and she drops her gaze immediately. Catherine smiles smugly and pats Erica’s knee in a sisterly gesture.
For the first time I comprehend the phrase “seeing red.” My anger burns so intensely, my vision actually blurs. Why the hell did Catherine bring Erica here? It’s beyond cruel, and she knows it. For a second I consider disrupting the ceremony, and shouting for the guards to remove them both. But Catherine would enjoy it if I made a complete fool of myself. Instead, I remind myself that she’s Ryder’s sister, and it’s best to keep my abject hatred of her under wraps for the time being. I also realize, to my great disappointment, that I’ve not completely dealt with my feelings of jealousy over Erica. Will the hurt ever go away?
Taking slow calming breaths, I determinedly haul my emotions back from the dark side. This is supposed to be a celebration for my beloved mother. I won’t allow Catherine’s scheming to ruin that.
My ire lingers at a slow simmer throughout the remainder of the seemingly interminable speeches. As the last speech comes to a close, I stand quickly and link my arm through Ryder’s. No way will I let him out of my sight with those two barracudas waiting in the wings.
The pastor approaches me cordially. Bowing, he smiles and reaches for my hand, causing me to temporarily unlink myself from Ryder. The other speakers gather around as well. Patrick and two additional guards move in to closely surround me on three sides, separating me
further from Ryder. Searching over my shoulder, I locate him fading into the throng.
“I’ll meet you inside,” he mouths, motioning to the hall where the feast is to be held. A sinking feeling seizes me, but there’s nothing I can do short of being rude to the pastor and Mother’s friends.
I shake hands with everyone and thank them for their wonderful speeches, listening politely while some of them share anecdotes involving Mother. At one point, the conversation takes a political turn, and my patience runs out entirely. Pleadingly, I turn to Patrick. “I have to see Ryder,” I say.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, Chief Blackthorn is expecting the queen inside. Please excuse us.” He takes my elbow and guides me toward the main hall.
FORTY-EIGHT
The hall is packed with revelers, drinking, talking, and laughing. An orchestra plays in the background, and a large dance floor is already crowded. As we approach the threshold, a page announces in a loud voice, “Her Majesty the Queen.”
The orchestra immediately switches to the national anthem of Domerica. Everyone in the room bows or curtseys, as Patrick and other Royal Guards clear a path for me to the head table. Father and Drew are there, along with some Council members—but no Ryder. Father greets me with a hug.
“Have you seen Ryder?” I ask.
“He was here a few moments ago.” Father scans the room. “Ah, I believe he’s there, near that column.”
I follow Father’s line of sight. It’s Ryder all right, and he’s in deep conversation with Erica. A seething primal fury kicks-in when I see my man with the woman who would steal him from me in a heartbeat. I can’t imagine what they’re saying to each other. It doesn’t appear to be an argument, but Ryder looks pale, almost ill. Then, amazingly, he places a hand gently on Erica’s shoulder and leans close to her, his lips moving quickly.
“Shall I get him for you?” Father asks, witnessing the awkward scene.
“No, Father. I think I’d better do it myself.” A sizzling surge of adrenaline propels me forward into the crowd. Patrick is instantly at my elbow. After I’ve gone only a few feet, Jacob and Lorelei step forward, blocking my hot pursuit. Lorelei curtseys and then hugs me warmly.
“The ceremony was wonderful,” she says. “I believe everyone in the village is here. Things were organized so beautifully.”
“Thank you. Jennifer Osborne deserves all the credit.”
“Is she the one planning your wedding?” Jacob asks.
“Yes. I’m lucky to have her. I’m lost without Mother here to help me.”
“Queen Eleanor will be greatly missed,” Lorelei says.
“She already is.” I don’t want to be rude, but I’m on a mission. “Will you excuse me for a moment? I was just on my way to find Ryder.”
“Of course,” Jacob says with a bow.
Patrick and I push our way through the mass of people until we reach the column where Ryder stood with Erica. Neither of them is still there. “Do you see him?” I ask Patrick.
He scans the room, making a complete turn. “No, ma’am.”
“Will you find him for me?”
“Yes. As soon as you are safely seated at your table. I cannot leave you here alone.” He clears a path for us through the crowd.
“Not there?” Father asks when I reach the table.
“No. Did you see where he went?”
“I’m afraid not, sweetheart. Please, sit down. He’ll be here soon.”
Reluctantly, I take the queen’s chair in the center of the long table. Father seats himself next to me and leans in. “I wish a word with you about my meeting with Prince Harold,” he says. “We can discuss it in greater depth later, but I questioned him extensively, and I do not believe he is responsible for the attack on you. His initial anger has cooled considerably. After some discussion, he admitted to arranging for the Skorplings’ abduction, but he swears he planned to feign a rescue of them himself and return them to you within a few days’ time. He believed by doing so he would gain your trust and ingratiate himself to you.”
“That’s so warped. I knew he was responsible,” I say. “How can you believe anything he says after he pulls a stunt like that?”
“Frankly, Jade, he confessed to me that his greatest concern is whether or not you intend to use his lumber for construction of the Unicoi Village wall. He is deeply in debt for the wooded land he purchased. Harold has asked me to smooth the way for him so he may apologize to you in person.”
“Seriously? He told you that?”
“Yes, and that is completely in keeping with the Harold I have known these many years. He’s far more interested in making money than running a country.”
“But what about—”
I don’t get to ask my question because Patrick returns at that moment, alone.
“You didn’t find him?”
“No. I was told that he left ten minutes ago, alone on a borrowed horse.”
I clutch Father’s arm. “This can’t be happening. He speaks with Erica for a few minutes and then he disappears?”
“He’s not with Erica, Jade. He would not act so thoughtlessly, especially on the day of your mother’s farewell celebration and only two weeks before your wedding.”
“But it appears he went to meet her somewhere.”
“I will go and look for him, if you wish,” Father says. “Perhaps there was an emergency.”
I shake my head. “Then why didn’t he say something? That’s what bothers me. He didn't tell me he was leaving. He just vanished.” This week has been close to unbearable, and this is just the last straw. “I need to go home,” I say. “Will you take me back to the palace?”
“Sweetheart, it’s still early. You haven’t even eaten. Ryder will surely come for you here.”
“No he won’t. I know he’s not coming back. I just want to go home.”
“At least stay for the toasts, then I will see you home. It would be considered bad form for you to leave beforehand.”
“There are toasts?” I ask incredulous.
“Of course, Jaden, as always.”
Oops. “I guess I forgot about the toasts.”
“They shouldn’t last terribly long. Please sit, so that everyone else may be seated and the celebration can get underway. I’ll have Patrick quietly assemble an escort for us.”
The feast begins shortly after I am seated. Serving men and women load tray after tray of sumptuous dishes onto long tables. I’ve completely lost my appetite, though. Nothing looks remotely tempting.
Goblets are filled with wine, ale, or water, and the tributes begin. Each toast is directed to Drew and me as Queen Eleanor’s family. I understand now why Father said it was important that I stay. Mother’s accomplishments, beauty, and superior qualities are praised in flowery terms by a number of her friends and loyal subjects. Nearly every toast ends with a salute to the new queen and wishes for a long and glorious reign.
After our glasses have been raised dozens of times, my cheek and neck muscles ache from smiling and nodding. Father whispers to me that in a moment I should quietly excuse myself as if I’m going to the ladies’ room. He says Patrick will lead me out a back door to the waiting carriage, while he makes our excuses to Drew and the others.
My carriage and about twenty Royal Guardsmen wait outside, as Patrick slips me stealthily through a back door. In minutes, Father climbs into the carriage next to me. He places a sturdy arm around my shoulder, and I nestle deep into his jacket. He smells like fresh air with a whiff of aftershave. It’s odd, but in some ways—most ways really—I feel closer to my Domerican dad than I do to my Connecticut dad, the man who raised me. Narowyn says we must be careful not to confuse our family members with their mirrors. No confusion here. I know who I can talk to and who will listen and understand. It’s the man with his arm propping me up right now.
“Jade, Ryder loves you,” Father says after we’ve ridden for a while. “He must have a very good reason for vanishing without a word tonight. I trust him enough to allow him to e
xplain. I hope you do too.”
“I do, Father. I learned my lesson a while back. But I’m also a realist. He spoke with Erica, and he disappeared. That can’t be good.”
“I admit, by all appearances, it is troubling. Love does not always follow a predictable path, sweetheart.” He squeezes my shoulder. “It must be tended to constantly, and it frequently challenges one’s fortitude as nothing else on earth.”
Lifting my eyes to his, I ask, “Do you ever wish you and Mother had been able to work out your differences and stay together?”
He raises his eyebrows. “Ah, now that is a very complex matter. Eleanor was, and always will be, the love of my life. I missed her and you and Andrew every day that we were separated. But sometimes even great love must give way to higher principle. I could not have been true to your mother or to you children if I were not first true to myself.
