The Rose Throne

by Mette Ivie Harrison

  Ailsbet could see the rest of the court moving to the windows to look out on the Tower Green. In a few minutes, Sir Jarl emerged. The guards forced him to kneel, and he was stabbed over and over again. Since they did not use taweyr, it was a slow and painful death. His body would be burned on the Tower Green once he was dead, to keep the taint of the ekhono away from the court.

  Would her own death be like that? Ailsbet wondered, feeling cold at the thought. Sir Jarl should have kept far away from her father to avoid scrutiny and she should do the same. Whomever she married, she should make an excuse to keep away from court and have a quiet life. She had once wondered if she would help Edik when he took the throne, whisper to him when he needed advice, become the power behind him. But now that seemed too dangerous.

  The silence ended, and the court began to murmur again. Ailsbet struggled with anger that Sir Jarl’s life should so easily be dismissed as unimportant. Then King Haikor clapped his hands, and Ailsbet immediately jerked to attention. “But that is not the special occasion that I spoke of. There are happier things for us to celebrate this day. Princess Ailsbet, I present to you Lord Umber of Weirland,” he said, nodding to a man at the far side of the Great Hall, who strode forward.

  He was tall and thin, and he dressed very well. He wore a black wool robe with silver embroidery along the edges, and his eyes sparkled when he looked at her. His face was young and striking, with wide cheekbones and thick brows over deep, brown eyes. He would look handsome when he was an old man, Ailsbet thought. His face had good bones, and he moved with grace.

  Ailsbet glanced at her mother’s face and thought she saw a rare hint of anger there. She was surprised; surely her mother was used to her father doing whatever he pleased by now, even where her own kinsmen were concerned.

  “Lord Umber of Weirland, Her Highness Princess Ailsbet of Rurik,” said the king, completing the introduction.

  Ailsbet curtsied to Lord Umber, remembering now that he had fled Weirland and come to Rurik to ally himself with King Haikor. He had information to offer, though he had given up his title and his land.

  In return, Lord Umber bowed deeply to Ailsbet. “I am honored to meet you at last. You are even more beautiful than your father promised me.”

  “And I am honored to meet you,” she replied with a smile. But she felt nothing at all, not fear, nor happiness, nor despair. Was the taweyr interfering with her ability to think?

  Suddenly, Queen Aske stood up and left the Great Hall without a word. The whole court stared after her. But King Haikor said nothing, turning back to Ailsbet and Lord Umber as if the queen had never been there.

  “Princess Ailsbet, Lord Umber has just now agreed to the terms of your betrothal,” said the king. “There will be an official betrothal on the first day of the new year, and you will marry on the first day of spring.”

  Betrothed in three months and married not three months after that? “Is there some reason for haste?” Ailsbet asked her father.

  Lord Umber answered gallantly, “Your beauty and my undying love for you are reason enough for me.”

  He almost made her believe it, his words were so smooth. But Ailsbet was no romantic. Marriage to Lord Umber would make an invasion of the other kingdom easier for King Haikor. Did her father expect Ailsbet to thank him because the man was also young and handsome and well spoken? At best, she could hope for Lord Umber to treat her kindly for the sake of her father and her title. Now and again, he might even be enjoyable company. She had to admit it could have been much worse.

  Ailsbet looked up and found that Lord Umber was looking back at her with eyebrows raised, waiting. “I thank you, Father,” said Ailsbet, then turned to Lord Umber. “I am eager for our betrothal and marriage, milord.” The words tasted like large, whole eggs in her mouth. She was afraid of cracking them and spilling the yolk down the sides of her face.

  “Pleased? It sounds as if you are speaking of a pair of boots, rather than a living, breathing, hopeful nobleman,” said Lord Umber.

  Ailsbet forced down anger at his flippant tone.

  Then King Haikor began to laugh out loud, and Ailsbet found she could not help herself. She joined in, and so did the rest of the court. When King Haikor laughed, they all laughed.

  “I am very fond of a good pair of boots,” Ailsbet said to Lord Umber.

  “That I believe,” said Lord Umber, and he smiled at her with what seemed genuine pleasure. “Perhaps once you have broken me in, I shall live up to your expectations.”

  “We shall see,” said Ailsbet. “You are an interesting man, Lord Umber,” she added.

  “Interesting? I shall consider that high praise from King Haikor’s daughter, who is so often bored by everyone and everything she sees.”

  “Is that what they say of me?” said Ailsbet. “I have never heard it.”

  “Well, of course, they could not say it to your face. It would only bore you more.”

  “Indeed,” said Ailsbet. “Nothing is so boring as being told about being bored.” Suddenly, she was aware of the eyes of the whole court on her and Lord Umber.

  For a moment, it had felt as though they were having an intimate conversation, but that was an illusion, a dangerous one. She might enjoy this man’s wit, but she must not forget herself and her place.

  “Umber’s father was the son of the sister of King Jaap’s grandfather,” said King Haikor.

  A complicated relationship. Ailsbet tried to remember exactly what his place had been, in line to the Weirese throne. Fourth? Fifth? Had he decided he was tired of waiting for others to die and come to Rurik to increase his chances?

  “I have given up my title and my lands in Weirland to serve your father in Rurik. And he has been so gracious as to honor me with your hand,” said Lord Umber.

  And had he also promised to lead the king’s armies to victory in Weirland, if there was an invasion? At the thought, Ailsbet’s head sang with death and triumph. She realized she would enjoy going to war. She knew that she could not tell anyone this, Lord Umber least of all. But she liked the looks of him, and she thought he would make a good warrior. That, more than anything, made her decide that she would marry him willingly.

  “And now, Princess Ailsbet, I have a gift for you,” said Lord Umber. He clapped his hands, and a servant brought him an ornately carved, white, wooden case. He opened it for her, and inside lay a flute plated in gold.

  Ailsbet could feel a roar of taweyr in her ears as she stared at the beautiful instrument. She knew that the man meant well. He had doubtless been prompted in this gift by her father. But a flute made with the wrong material, however beautiful, would have no proper sound. Anyone else in the court would think it was a fine gift for a musician, for none of them understood music as she did.

  “Thank you,” said Ailsbet, feeling the gold warm under her fingertips.

  “Play it,” her father commanded.

  Ailsbet put the flute to her lips and attempted to play. The sound was weak and strained to her ears. But no one else seemed to notice, and Lord Umber looked very pleased with himself.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Ailsbet

  KING HAIKOR USED AILSBET’S betrothal as an excuse to have a celebration of some kind every night that autumn, with feasting and dancing and laughter. Already two weeks had passed, and the official betrothal ceremony would take place on the first night of the new year. Her father had sent the royal seamstress to Ailsbet, and she had been fitted for several new gowns, one of them heavy red damask decorated with jewels. Ailsbet hated the color, and thought it did nothing to compliment her pale skin and flaming hair. But she had no choice in the matter, just as she had no choice in when or where she would be betrothed. Her father had decided on the Throne Room, and he also had chosen all the celebratory dishes to be served afterward in the Great Hall.

  Despite the fact that the official betrothal had not yet occurred, the king still referred to Lord Umber as her betrothed. The other ladies of the court teased Ailsbet, and she couldn’t ignore
them, as she had in the past. One lady gave her advice on how to kiss Lord Umber properly; another told her to withhold her kisses to make him want her more. Still another told her to kiss him gently and shyly, and let him believe he must teach her passion. Ailsbet nodded and smiled to all of them. She did not know if she wanted Lord Umber to feel anything for her but what she felt for him—a cool and rational hope that they would get along.

  They were spending so much time together Ailsbet felt sometimes as if she could not breathe without him watching her do it. Lord Umber sat next to her at dinner and went on chaperoned walks with her around the palace.

  “You do not like the golden flute?” said Lord Umber one dry, cold day when the sky looked like iron. Umber himself wore a bright red cloak, and Ailsbet, who wore the same color, wondered if he had bribed her maid to tell him what she would wear so he could match it.

  “It is beautiful to look at,” said Ailsbet.

  They were outside, and Lord Umber had drawn her aside for a private moment away from her chaperones.

  Ailsbet could see the river Weyr just below, winding its way through the city, down to the ocean in the south and north to the center of Rurik, where it began. It was a faint green color, and the light glinted off its depths. The Weyr was wide and deep, and Ailsbet had distinct memories of once riding in a boat to see the whole of the city. She had begun by counting the roofs of the grand estates near the palace, but there were soon too many roofs to count. She remembered the thick, rotting smell of refuse thrown into the river and the smell of roasting meat.

  “Beautiful,” said Lord Umber. “As you are. With a hint of danger beneath.”

  Ailsbet turned back to him, preferring to speak of the flute. “It was a fine gift.”

  “You have an interesting way of speaking the truth,” said Lord Umber.

  “Are you saying that I am a liar?” asked Ailsbet, smiling in spite of herself.

  “Not at all. You are very careful in your truths. You simply choose to tell the ones that suit you.”

  “And that bothers you?” asked Ailsbet.

  “I hope that in time you will feel comfortable enough with me to tell me even truths you think I would not like to hear.”

  “And what would be the point of that?”

  “Truth itself?”

  Ailsbet smiled again. “You wish me to believe that you value truth for its own sake?”

  “I am from Weirland. We value the truth there,” he said.

  “I find it difficult to imagine what it would be like to live in a place like that,” said Ailsbet.

  “And yet I think it would suit you, strangely. I cannot think of anyone else in your father’s court of whom that could be said,” said Umber. “Certainly not your father himself.”

  “But he covets Weirland.”

  “Yes. He would enjoy knowing it belonged to him, though he would not visit it often, I think. It is too wild a place, too uncivilized and uncultivated. The wonders of the neweyr in the countryside would not suit your father. There are no cities there, and few buildings with the comforts your father would expect. Even the castle in Weirland is as small as a minor noble’s estate in Rurik, I think.”

  Was this a hint as to why Umber had given up his title and lands? Ailsbet thought over the implications of the fact that her father had taken in a traitor. Was it desperation or merely another part of his game? King Haikor was growing older, but she had not seen him begin to weaken.

  “I could guess at why this flute is not fit for a musician. It is not suited to your hands. It is too heavy. It is not the instrument that you have grown to love. But only you can tell me the truth of it,” said Lord Umber, drawing her back to the conversation.

  Ailsbet hesitated. “It has a shallow sound,” she said at last.

  Lord Umber put a hand to her chin.

  Ailsbet flinched. She was not often touched. It was against the law for any to touch the king without his permission, and the same austerity was extended informally to the rest of the royal family.

  “Do I look angry to you?” asked Lord Umber.

  Ailsbet stared into his eyes. “Yes,” she said. “You keep it veiled, but it is there.”

  He laughed, his face coloring to match his cloak. “Angry at myself, then, not at you. I wanted to please you with that gift.”

  “I am sure it sounds well enough for most ears,” she said stiffly.

  “But you have a finer ear,” said Lord Umber.

  Ailsbet sighed.

  Umber smiled. “Clearly, I thought too well of my first instincts. I assure you, the next time I bring you a gift, I shall make sure it is one that you will treasure. Will you trust me on that?”

  “Of course,” Ailsbet said. “What woman would say no to a man offering gifts?”

  “That is not what I meant,” said Lord Umber.

  Ailsbet hesitated, wanting to trust him. “Music is what I am,” she said at last.

  “But not all of what you are,” said Lord Umber. “You are your father’s daughter, as well, intelligent and witty and strong.”

  She was uncomfortable with his compliments, though they seemed sincere enough. It sometimes felt as if he must be speaking to someone else who looked like her, but was not her. To the princess, but not Ailsbet.

  If she had been born in Aristonne, Ailsbet sometimes imagined, how different she might have turned out to be. Her musical talent would have been praised and encouraged from the first, and she might have been able to spend all her life making music. Instead, in Rurik, she had to act the part of a princess. She had to worry about her gowns and her speech and every detail of courtly manners.

  “And yet you live among others who do not understand your music in the least, yes?” said Lord Umber, persisting.

  Ailsbet nodded.

  “Do you know, I think you and I have something in common.”

  “What is that?” It was obviously not music, Ailsbet thought.

  “We both want one thing very much, to the exclusion of everything else. And we can help each other get it,” said Lord Umber.

  “And what is it you want?” asked Ailsbet.

  Lord Umber put his hands to his head as if laying a crown there.

  Ailsbet went cold for a moment. He wanted her father’s throne and his crown? But how did he think he would get them? This was not about an invasion of Weirland, not to him. Lord Umber was thinking beyond this year, beyond her father’s lifetime. Married to her, Lord Umber would have a good chance of holding both thrones. If her father died before Edik was fully grown, Lord Umber would be the more experienced man, in politics and the taweyr. But even if her father lived many more years, he might have a chance to take the throne. He had qualities that Edik did not.

  “You are very quick to see the truth. That is what I admire in you,” said Lord Umber into her ear.

  She stared up at him. “If you think I wish to be queen of both islands,” she said softly, “you are wrong.”

  “Oh, no. I know you better than that. Do you think I have not heard a word you have said? You want music, Princess Ailsbet, and I can give that to you, when I have power of my own.” Umber gestured toward the river Weyr, which led south to the Channel of Arhort. In that direction lay Aristonne itself, the seat of all music, the place where Master Lukacs had been born, and to which he had returned. Where he lived now and where Ailsbet might go—if she were no longer tied to the crown.

  Umber was ambitious, Ailsbet knew, as well as sly and smart. Perhaps she was wrong to let herself feel something for him, but for the first time, Ailsbet thought that she actually liked Lord Umber.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Ailsbet

  AS THE WEEKS BEFORE the formal betrothal ceremony passed, Lord Umber began to tease Ailsbet with a wicked sense of humor so dark that she found it irresistible. Many at court tried to compliment Ailsbet on her delicate hands or her graceful dancing, things she did not care in the least about. But Lord Umber would whisper under his breath some truer compliment, like “what shar
p eyes you have, like knives cutting through fat” and “what strong legs you have, to run away from those who become too obsequious.”

  “You have the sparkling wit of your father,” said a foul-smelling older nobleman one night.

  Lord Umber motioned to her and spoke so softly only she could hear. “Your father’s wit is fading like his hair. But your wit—it will remain strong long after you are old.”

  “An old woman’s wit, that is what I have?” asked Ailsbet.

  “Like my own nanny,” said Lord Umber.

  The following day, King Haikor announced that there was to be an autumn hunt, and all the nobles of the court were to attend him.

  “My father used to let me hunt with him, when I was younger,” said Ailsbet privately to Lord Umber. She thought she would like to go this time, and she was considering asking her father before the entire court.

  “When he could pretend that you were a son and not a daughter, perhaps,” said Lord Umber.

  Ailsbet stared at him. Had he guessed the truth about her? She had not thought about what it would be like to be married to a man who also had taweyr. A married husband and wife normally had separate spheres of influence, he with his taweyr and she with her neweyr. Ailsbet had not thought how it would work when she believed she was unweyr, but it was more complicated now. Could she keep it secret from Lord Umber that she was ekhono, or would it have to come out? And what would she do then? Would he decide that it was to his advantage to keep her secret? Or would he betray her?

  “Which he clearly cannot do any longer, however strong and tall you are,” Umber added with a sly glance at her bodice.

  It took Ailsbet a moment to understand what he was saying, and then she felt a flood of relief. He meant her father’s hunt.

  “But there are many noblewomen who love to hunt,” Ailsbet said. “The outdoor air is pleasant and the thrill of the chase exhilarating.”

  Umber shrugged. “Of course. But since your father has grown less nimble and has increased his girth,” he said, “he has become more cautious about showing himself to those he wishes to impress.”