The Rose Throne

by Mette Ivie Harrison

  “It makes it considerably less of a tale that my father defeated him so easily, does it not?” said Ailsbet.

  “Next he will be a babe in arms, and your father has only to hold his hand over his mouth for him to choke to death.”

  “And my father will howl with pleasure because he takes delight in killing anyone who opposes him, no matter how defenseless,” said Ailsbet. She did not at first realize how bitter she sounded.

  Umber eyed her carefully. “There is the truth from you again,” he said, shaking a finger. “I thought you said you had no taste for it? I am afraid that I am a bad influence on you. Soon you will tell your father that your lack of neweyr is his own fault.”

  Ailsbet held herself very still.

  “Ah, I see I am right,” said Umber. “You think that if he allowed neweyr in his court, you would have found it. And now it is too late. You blame him, do you not?”

  Ailsbet let out a breath of relief, then nodded vigorously. “You know me too well, Lord Umber,” she said. “Entirely too well.”

  That night, after the fireworks, the entertainers turned bawdy indeed. Now the actors who played women wore huge gowns, with false glass jewels in their hair and pasted onto their skirts. The men wore padded shoulders and fake red wigs to imitate the king, as he was twenty years earlier. Ailsbet tried to leave several times, but her father would not let her, and Lord Umber coaxed her into smiling at his jokes.

  When the king stood up, hours later, staggering in a drunken stupor, Ailsbet thought that he was ready at last for bed, and that she could leave and return to her own chambers. But it was not to be so. He began to raise his glass and tell jokes about each member of the court, drinking heartily after each and watching to see that all joined with him. Ailsbet pressed a glass to her lips but drank as little as she could.

  At last, the king turned to Ailsbet and raised his rose-crystal goblet. “To my daughter, the ugliest woman yet born and the sharpest-tongued. She is so fearsome that even the women’s magic does not dare to enter her. May she forever frighten men in my court into worrying that I might marry her to one of them.”

  The king lifted his goblet, and the rest of the court did the same.

  But Ailsbet threw her goblet to the marble floor, where it shattered. She could feel the heat in her face. She felt a terrible temptation to show her father what sort of woman she was, and what she had in place of neweyr. She could throw him off his feet, perhaps knock him unconscious. And when he woke, what then? He would send her to the Tower, for being ekhono and for being a traitor.

  But then Lord Umber threw his goblet down, as well. Not only did the glass shatter, but the red wine splattered onto the king’s face.

  King Haikor spluttered for a moment, until a servant discreetly offered him a cloth.

  Ailsbet was holding her breath. She had not meant to put Lord Umber in danger. “Please,” she said to him. “Do not throw yourself into the fire for my sake.”

  “Ah, but if you are in the fire, where else would I wish to be? You will make me laugh as I roast,” said Lord Umber. “At the smell of my own cooking juices, no doubt.”

  It was crass, but it was exactly what Ailsbet needed to hear. The taweyr inside her damped down as she laughed, as well as if she had her flute.

  She turned to see what her father’s punishment would be, but the king seemed amused. It worried her. Why was he not angry?

  “A brave man,” he said, and raised his glass again. The court drank with him, and Ailsbet was left to stare at Lord Umber and wonder what it all meant.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Ailsbet

  A WEEK LATER, Lord Umber came to Ailsbet’s own chamber after dinner, something he had never done before. She invited him in, though she had no seat to offer him. Her own chambers were not meant for company. She had never had to worry about it much before.

  Ailsbet turned her back to him, unsure of what to say, and stared out her small window overlooking the inner courtyard, watching the rise of the gibbous moon over the city. Her taweyr had been particularly difficult that day, and she had had to focus on controlling it while showing no sign of the strain. She wished she had more time to play her flute, for that seemed to help. But she was so often required to be at court all day and into the night.

  “You are annoyed with me,” said Lord Umber, looking uncomfortable. “Tell me why, and I can beg your forgiveness.”

  “No, it is not you. You have done nothing wrong,” said Ailsbet.

  Lord Umber sighed. “I do not believe it. There is something troubling you. Is it your flute? Did I interrupt you? Have you been wishing to play your instrument more?”

  She did want to play it, but she was too tired now, and it would only make her more frustrated that she could not do it properly. She moved to the side, inviting Lord Umber to gaze out the window with her. “I am only looking out at the city,” she said. “And thinking how wonderful it is.”

  “It is the essence of Rurik itself,” said Umber.

  “Is it so different than Weirland, then?” asked Ailsbet.

  “Very different,” said Lord Umber. “There is nowhere in the north that has so many people living together like this. I daresay there are more people in this city than in all of Weirland put together. More taweyr here, as well. Which is why I came here, with the hope of what I can become here in Rurik, which I could not become in Weirland.”

  “And is there any beauty in Rurik for you?” she asked.

  “Beauty?” Umber said. “The city is very colorful, very busy,” he said.

  Ailsbet smiled. “Like the court.”

  “Yes,” said Umber. There was a pause. “Perhaps you wish to be alone. I shall be off, then. I shall speak to you some other time,” he said.

  “Wait,” said Ailsbet. “I am sure you came for a reason. Tell me what it is.”

  “You command me now? Your voice is very like your father’s,” said Lord Umber.

  “You said that you wanted truth from me. But you do not offer it in return?”

  He stared at her for a moment. “Very well, then. I came to ask you about Lady Pippa,” he said at last.

  “What of her?” said Ailsbet.

  “She seems entirely foolish and vacuous. I wondered if you had any experience with her to hint at something more than that.”

  “No,” said Ailsbet. “She is of a good family.”

  “And are they ambitious?” asked Umber.

  “There is no one in my father’s court who is not ambitious,” Ailsbet replied.

  Lord Umber tapped a finger on the windowsill.

  “What is it?” asked Ailsbet. “You look concerned. Do you think there is a rebellion underfoot?” She smiled.

  Lord Umber shook his head. “No, not at all. The opposite, in fact.”

  “The opposite?” asked Ailsbet.

  “Not taking power from your father, but shoring it up for him. Through Lady Pippa,” said Lord Umber.

  Ailsbet stared at him in incomprehension. And then it came to her in a flash. Lady Pippa, if made queen, could give King Haikor more heirs. Daughters who had the neweyr, perhaps. Sons besides Edik, who did not yet—if ever—show the king’s gift for power.

  “You see? I do not need to spell it out for you.”

  Ailsbet could not speak. She felt the roar of taweyr inside of her chest once more. She focused on it and tried to damp it, but it did not work. Moving desperately away from the window, she stumbled, nearly falling, and Lord Umber caught her.

  She was in his arms, her taweyr rage hot, and she could feel his body hard on hers. She wanted to strike him, to tear at his eyes, to kick at his legs and feel his flesh weaken under her onslaught. She wanted to make him fall in front of her and never get up.

  But she held back her impulses and breathed shallowly, counting each breath. “My flute,” she got out at last, waving at its place on the shelf above his head.

  “Oh. Here you are,” said Lord Umber. When he handed it to her, she snatched it from him and began to
play. At first, there was nothing but ragged notes patched together. She hated the strained sound, but gradually, the tune grew more melodic, more practiced, and she felt as if she were coming back to herself.

  She played a song she had composed years before, when Master Lukacs left to return to Aristonne. She had packed all of her love for her master and his music into this one song. There was nothing soft or lingering in it; it was all power and dynamics and emotion.

  She could feel again the swirl of triumph tinged with regret that she had felt at seeing the pleasure on the music master’s face. She had needed no more compliment from him than that.

  “I did not know that music could be like that,” said Lord Umber in a hushed tone when she was finished.

  Relieved that the surge of taweyr had subsided, Ailsbet nodded. “No one knows, here on the islands. We know nothing of music.”

  “But do you play like that every time? Surely, your father would want you to do it more often. I have been here some months, and he has never—”

  “My father enjoys my music, but not everyone here does. And in any case, my father thinks the music must take second place to my position as princess.” She looked at Lord Umber, oddly stirred by his reaction to her playing.

  “I did not understand before how you could leave the islands and the weyrs. Even if you are unweyr,” said Umber. “But this music of yours is its own kind of magic.”

  Ailsbet nodded. “And there is so much more that I do not understand,” she said. “So many instruments, so many other masters I might meet, so much music to learn and create.” The thought of it made Ailsbet shake with need, almost as if she were filled with the taweyr again. But it was a different sensation, a different heat.

  “You are very passionate about it,” said Umber.

  “I am,” said Ailsbet. She could feel Umber near her. When it had been her taweyr against his, she had wanted to fight him. Now, she felt curious. She put a daring hand up to his shoulder. He might be the only man who would ever understand her need for music.

  He stepped closer and put an arm around her waist. There were only inches between them.

  He brushed a finger along her lower lip.

  Ailsbet trembled.

  Umber leaned in inch by inch. He let her feel his breath on her face first, and then slowly his lips drew closer and closer, until she could feel the faintest sensation of his lips on hers.

  She was enjoying herself until Umber pressed harder against her. His arms seemed all over her now, on her back, around her shoulder. Ailsbet felt trapped. Terrified that her taweyr would take control, she bit Umber’s lip, then thrust him away with all her strength.

  He stumbled backward, surprised, and let out an oath. His eyes flashed.

  Ailsbet saw the blood on his face. She had cut him badly.

  “We will be married soon enough,” said Lord Umber, wiping at his face and straightening his tunic. “There is nothing wrong in this. You know that your father would not see anything wrong in it. Not with what he does in his turn.”

  “Leave me,” she said.

  “Leave you? Is this another command?” he asked, eyes wide.

  She knew she should soothe his hurt feelings and make everything well between them again. Instead, she found herself unable to say the courtly words she had practiced all her life.

  Lord Umber stared at her. “You choose to be alone now as ever,” he said. “But there are consequences for a princess who has no allies.” He bowed stiffly and left her.

  Staring after him, Ailsbet considered what she had just done. She would still be forced to marry Umber, but now he would be angry with her and there would be no hope for real connection between them. Why had she sabotaged what might have been a real chance at happiness in marriage?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Ailsbet

  AS WINTER DEEPENED, things did not improve between Ailsbet and Lord Umber. Even his teasing while they were in court together seemed at an end, and he hardly looked at her if he could avoid it. He certainly did not come to her chambers again, and Ailsbet wished that she knew what to do to heal things between them. But there was her taweyr to be concerned about, so she had to keep her distance from him. Meanwhile, since Duke Kellin had returned from the north, the king’s court seemed much as it was before.

  One early morning, not long after it had grown light, Lady Maj came to see Ailsbet in her chambers, wearing a puce gown with matching ribbons in her elaborate wig. “Your mother wishes to see you,” she said.

  Ailsbet was annoyed. She was busy with her flute, and her mother inevitably made her wait, or when she did speak, nattered on about her duties as a princess. “Tell her I shall come tomorrow,” said Ailsbet.

  Lady Maj shook her head, her wig shifting from side to side. She must have been in a hurry this morning, and she had not secured it well. Ailsbet could see the pain on her face, and the difficulty with which she walked.

  Why had her mother sent this woman, of all of her ladies in waiting? She had to be the oldest of them all, and she was the least capable. But she was also the most loyal.

  “It must be today, Princess Ailsbet. Right now, this moment. Tonight might be too late.” She looked paler than usual, and there was a beaded line of sweat along her forehead.

  “Is my mother ill?” Ailsbet asked. Perhaps if she got permission from King Haikor, she might call for a woman healer who was strong in neweyr, though they were usually banned from the palace.

  “No,” said Lady Maj. Her eyes flickered around the sparsely furnished room.

  “What then?” Ailsbet was impatient.

  “She is dying,” said Lady Maj.

  “She has been saying she is dying for years,” said Ailsbet.

  Lady Maj said nothing.

  Ailsbet saw the woman’s trembling hands. She was fairly certain that Lady Maj would have preferred not to speak to her at all. Ailsbet was not anything like what Lady Maj would have wanted for the queen’s daughter.

  “I shall come,” said Ailsbet.

  In the queen’s large and normally cold outer chambers, Ailsbet felt heat pouring from the fire-place. Lady Maj beckoned her to the inner chamber, but Ailsbet hesitated at the door, afraid of what she would find within. She could not recall ever being in her mother’s inner chamber before. The queen liked to keep her privacy, and of her ladies, only Lady Maj served her there.

  With a gulp of air to sustain her, she stepped inside, with Lady Maj beind her.

  Her mother lay in her bed on the other side of the large room, a sour smell in the air. Her hair had been swept off her face so that her bones seemed to shine through her paper-thin skin. Veins stood out clearly as paint, and her eyes were sunken. Her hands were white on the embroidered coverlet.

  “Is that Ailsbet?” the queen whispered.

  “It is Ailsbet, my queen,” said Lady Maj.

  Queen Aske lifted a hand. “Alone,” she said.

  Ailsbet could feel Lady Maj departing, and then the door was closed behind her. Ailsbet gave a small curtsy and then stepped back, her head bowed, but her mother beckoned her forward. Her mother had always seemed so out of place in her father’s court, but she had still been queen. Here, in her own chambers, she seemed so shrunken.

  “Poison,” said Queen Aske, and as she understood, Ailsbet felt sick.

  Her father could have killed her mother in easier ways, but King Haikor was known for poisoning his most hated enemies.

  “Are you sure?” Ailsbet asked. And then the face of Lady Pippa flashed into her mind.

  Queen Aske took a shallow breath, and for a moment, Ailsbet thought she would not breathe again.

  But then she said, “Only one who truly has no neweyr could ask such a thing.”

  Ailsbet flushed. She had not come to be chastised by her mother for her lack of neweyr.

  “There was a time when he was happy with me, and with Edik as his heir. But now all that is over,” the queen got out.

  Ailsbet should say something, should declare veng
eance against her father. But she did not.

  Queen Aske shook her head slightly. “I knew I would not live to see Edik crowned. I am glad I lived to see you grow up.”

  Ailsbet was surprised at this. The queen had never shown much interest in her daughter. She suddenly wondered if it was her mother’s influence that had brought Master Lukacs from the continent, and not her father’s, as she had always assumed before.

  “Ailsbet, you must—” The queen coughed and could not stop. Blood began to drip from her nose.

  Ailsbet stepped forward and held her mother. It was all she could think to do, though it felt strange to touch her when she had kept herself apart from the queen for so long.

  After some minutes, her mother seemed able to breathe again freely, and Ailsbet pulled back.

  “He has already told the court that I am dead,” the queen said, nodding at the door. “That is why I am left alone, with only Lady Maj to see me to the end. But it is just as well, for I do not want them to know what I have to say to you, Ailsbet. They see you as even less important than I, but it is not true.” She drew a shaky breath.

  Ailsbet put her hand on her mother’s frigid skin.

  “You must stay here. The prophecy,” Queen Aske said.

  “What prophecy?” said Ailsbet.

  “The two islands. They must come together,” said the queen. “It is a prophecy from Weirland, but I believe it is true. Ailsbet, you must help your brother come to the throne and make sure that he marries the princess from Weirland.”

  Of course, it must be Edik and never Ailsbet who mattered. She had been called to her mother’s deathbed to help her brother, not herself. “What do you want me to do?” asked Ailsbet.

  “Refuse to marry Umber, for that will make him a rival for your brother. Help ensure that the other princess takes the throne with Edik, and that they have the full support of all the nobles in Rurik. Marlissa has the neweyr that you do not,” gasped the queen. “With her neweyr and Edik’s taweyr, the weyrs may be combined again, and so may the kingdoms.”