by C. L. Polk
Sevitii was transformed. The dark roots of her hair still showed, but her astonishingly long hair shone from a recent washing, fastened in a braid as thick as her wrist and hanging down to her ankles. Instead of undyed hemp she wore saffron and rose in light, floating layers. Her face was painted ivory, her eyebrows plucked and repainted in an exaggerated arch over eyelids powdered in rose and lined in gold. A gold line ran straight up the middle of her countenance from the base of her throat to her hairline.
She looked like one of the full-face masks the Laneeri painted to represent ancestors, and the return of her clothing and cosmetics had bolstered her confidence. She swept her arms open in welcome, as if the room were her property and not her prison. “I have water for flower tea. Please make yourselves comfortable.”
Miles translated that line with a half-amused expression. “I think she chose arrogance.”
“You said that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.”
“She’s had time to think. Play along, let’s see what she says.”
“Thank you for your kind offer of tea,” I said. A glass tea set rested on the table, the pot already filled with blooms that had been rolled into balls before they were dried. One of the chairs had already been pulled aside, and at the seat in front of the window, Sevitii had written documents in the curving, utterly puzzling alphabet of Laneer.
I took the seat opposite, resting my hands on my knees. Sevitii poured, and the blooms spun in the water, ready to unfurl. “The wind howled all night,” Sevitii remarked, setting the kettle down. “And the world is vanished under ‘snow.’”
That last word had been Aelander. “This is a storm the likes of which we have never seen,” I said. “I notice that you have written something. The composition is beautiful.”
“It is my offer,” Sevitii said. “Do you wish to know what is written?”
“I’m very curious.” I wasn’t sure if I was following the politest conventions, but Miles was no doubt compensating for my lack of manners.
“They are simple. I know the truth behind the plan to usurp Aeland. I want you to understand that our action was a means of defense, not just for our land but for the souls of our people. I tell you this freely, but for the rest, I must be satisfied with our bargain.”
Miles shook his head. “She wants something big.”
“So I gathered,” I said. “What would satisfy you, Honored Sevitii?”
She sat back, draping her arms across the back of the settee. “Laneer is a free land. We have been ruled by the actions of the stars for centuries, enjoyed prosperity and happiness through the guidance of the Star Throne for all that time. My country cannot flourish without the true rulership of the Star Throne and the horoscopes. We must continue our way of life, with the freedom we have always known.”
I navigated through this circuitous talk and drove for the point. “You want Laneer’s independence restored,” I said.
“I will give you the truth for nothing less,” Sevitii replied.
Miles knew about interrogation, but this was not that. We were firmly in my domain. Sevitii wanted the impossible. She had to know that if she had been trained the way I had.
I paid attention to the unfurling blooms of Sevitii’s untasted tea for a moment before looking at her. “That’s not going to happen, and you know it.”
She remained unbowed. “Nothing less. Here is my offer.”
Sevitii let one hand drift to the seat cushion where the document rested and leaned forward to offer the paper. Only the right half of the page had been written on, using a pen with a nib that widened according to the pressure the writer exerted on it. I wondered if she’d used my father’s gold pen to write this document. She liked gold. I supposed she had. The left side of the page featured a diamond shape filled with stylized letters. It was something one would order for a signet, for stamping a family mark in wax, but she had hand-scribed it with skill.
I took it in careful hands. “Can you read it?”
“Yes.” Miles stretched out his hand. He read the single page and nodded. “It says exactly what she wants: information in exchange for Laneer’s sovereignty. Are you going to take it to the Queen?”
“Severin.”
Miles nodded. “A better choice. Is there anything else you want to tell her?”
“I think we’ve said everything, honestly. Oh. Thank you for your offer. I will take it to the royal family and see if they can forgive your plot to murder them and usurp their rule.”
Sevitii’s expression went stormy at Miles’s translation, and my heart skipped a beat. She was so young to be in this position. Young, and alone, and probably frightened. But she said nothing, staying firm on her demand. Part of me admired that resolve. It was brave. What would I do, in her place? I was suddenly glad I had never needed to know.
I rose to my feet. Miles wheeled his chair toward the door, and we made our way back to the main floor of the palace.
Miles took the stairs down much more easily and settled himself back in his chair with barely a gasp. “Back to work with you?”
“In a moment,” I said. “There’s something I want to ask you.”
He started the chair rolling, skimming his hands along the wheel-hoops. “Go ahead.”
I quickened my step. “Not here.”
He caught up and kept up, not letting me push him. We hurried back to Miles’s suite, where he spun his chair around to face me. “What is it?”
I glanced around the room, but we were alone. “You know we did a ritual last night.”
Miles nodded, but something in his eyes went wary. “That had to have been one deuce of a storm.”
“We drained ourselves. But I saw something.”
The corners of Miles’s mouth pulled in. Just a little, but my senses went on alert as I went on. “Two mages in the palace helped us. Their power was staggering. It had to be Amaranthines.”
The color returned to Miles’s fingertips, filling in with pink. “Do you want me to ask Aife?”
“Please. I have so much to do today, I’m not sure I’ll get the chance.”
Miles nodded. His shoulders sank into a relaxed position. “I’d be happy to.”
He smiled at me, his guard lowered, and I smiled back. “And what can you tell me about the Circle of Storm-Singers down in Riverside?”
It had been a mistake. I knew that the moment Miles glowered at me. He spun the wheel hoops in his hands and rolled to the fireplace, where he caught up a poker and assaulted the fire.
“It was a dirty trick. I’m sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have gulled you like that. It was wrong to treat you like someone I needed to take advantage of, Miles. I will just tell you straight out when I want something.”
“I won’t deny knowledge of what you’re talking about,” Miles said, his voice flat. He took up tongs and laid more wood on the coals. “But I won’t tell you anything.”
“Good. Don’t,” I said. “But get a message to them. Tell them I spotted them. And I thank them for their risk and sacrifice, but they must be careful, even when we desperately need their help.”
Miles eyed me. “You won’t tell anyone?”
“Solace! No. The last thing I want is Storm-Singers carted off to asylums in the middle of the worst storm season in history.”
Miles turned his head, and the look he gave me made my knees turn to water. He wasn’t angry—that would have been bearable. He looked at me with sadness. Disappointment.
It made my insides flutter with the need to fix it. “What?”
He stared at me a moment longer before shaking his head. “You don’t see it.”
“See what?”
Miles put the fire tools back and rolled closer. “I can’t tell you. You need to see it for yourself.”
Oh, I hated feeling like this. I had done something, said something wrong. But I didn’t want the Riverside witches caught. What was wrong with that? “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I know.” He pulled the hand brake and
pushed himself to his feet. “But I think you will.”
He drew me down so he could kiss my brow. “Go govern Aeland, little sister. I’ll pass on your message.”
* * *
I had barely enough time to read any motions that the others wanted, but I could nap after—no, I’d told Severin we’d eat after. And I had to tell him about Sevitii’s audacious negotiations. It was going to be another long day.
I rounded the corner and spied a pair of skis leaning in the wall rack next to my office. I studied them for a moment, as if my inspection would allow me to intuit who’d left them there. They weren’t the new style, by the bindings, and that left out the presence of the fashionable set. An Elected Member would have left their skis to dry at their own offices. That meant someone who had business in the building, but who wasn’t staff—
I didn’t know if my heart leapt from happiness or fear. I pulled open the door regardless. The clatter of typewriters stopped as I walked into the office, Janet and her staff of secretaries rising to attention as I walked in. Another figure rose as well.
Avia Jessup was dressed for a day of winter frolic in long-toed ski boots with felted gaiters buttoned from her ankles to the cuffs of tweed knee-breeches. A matching jacket swung open over a peerie knitted vest, the tiny patterns knitted in black and white over a gray background. She bore a newspaper tucked under one arm, then drew it out and showed me the headline below the fold on the front page: “Price Caps on Necessities—Chancellor Hensley’s Proposal in Parliament Today.”
“Oh that’s gorgeous,” I said, and her grin answered my own. “Did you come all this way just to give me the first glance?”
Avia tossed her head, and her hair fell exactly in place. “I’m hoping you can give me a statement about the closure of the Royal Gallery yesterday.”
“I’d be happy to.” I moved in to pat the quilted shoulder of her jacket. “Do you have time to talk?”
“That’s why I’m here,” Avia said. “Thank you.”
Philip was already at the bench of the pianochord and ready to play music to muffle our conversation. I ushered Avia inside my office, inviting her to sit, but she wandered from the library to the room that held a long table suitable for dining or small meetings. She trailed her fingers over the gleaming, waxed surface and raised her head.
“I know the Amaranthines were in the National Gallery yesterday. Were you there?”
“I was.” I moved to the nearest chair, but she picked her way around the table until she was at my side.
She leaned on the table, swaying closer. “The public was kicked out without notice. I imagine that the expedition wasn’t scheduled.”
“It wasn’t. Grand Duchess Aife is restless. She wants to see Kingston and meet its people, but the word of the palace is that it’s too dangerous.”
Avia rolled her eyes. “They’re Amaranthines.”
“And thousands could trample each other for a chance to get close,” I pointed out.
“Hm. You’re right.” She studied a point below my chin. “You’re rumpled.”
“I am?” I froze as she raised her hands and flipped up the collar of my shirtwaist, her fingers gliding around my neck. She felt all around my tie, pulled gently on the silken knot, and resnugged it.
I stood absolutely still, riveted to the intent look on her face as she folded my shirt collar down and smoothed it over the neck of my knitted vest. She concentrated on her task, fussing over the lay of my lapels. She stroked her fingers along my shoulders and then looked up, her dark eyes sparkling over a gentle smile.
“That’s you put to rights.”
I trembled. “Thank you.”
She touched me again, her hand curled on the knob of my shoulder. “You wouldn’t let me walk away with my collar askew like that. Do you think she’ll get the trip into Kingston that she wants? The Grand Duchess, I mean.”
What could I rumple, so she would volunteer to fix it? The sensation of her touch clung to my skin, even though she had only handled my clothing. “No. Oh, they’ll take the Amaranthines out, but it won’t be the way Aife wants to do it.”
Her smile widened. “You call her Aife.”
I flushed. “She likes me.”
“I’m not surprised. You weren’t what I thought you’d be at all.”
I cocked my head. “You thought I’d be different?”
“I thought you’d be all smile and no substance,” Avia said. “But instead, you’re serious. You’re conscientious. You listen to criticism of your ideas—and you are dangerously honest, for a stateswoman.”
I glanced away, trying to hide my smile. “I thought you would sell my soul for a headline,” I confessed. “It wasn’t a very nice thing to think.”
Avia winked. “That was before I understood what a complicated situation you’re in; otherwise I would have parceled it out in ink for two cents a copy.”
I wanted to laugh, but she went serious, her mood turning on a dime. Her hand slid down my sleeve and left fuzzy warmth in its wake.
“You’re in something deeper than I know.” She looked down, her long eyelashes sending fringed shadows over her cheek, and then she tilted her face up, so close it made my heart pound. “You’re in it alone,” she murmured, and it sent shivers racing across my scalp. “It’s painful to be alone.”
She must have felt it. Maybe after she had been cast out of her home. Maybe when she started her first day with the paper. Maybe as she rose from “Star Staff Photographer” to “Avia Jessup, Star Reporter.”
The truth fell from my lips before I could stop it. “I hate it.”
“You don’t have to be.” Her hands were on me again, stroking, soothing, calming me even as they fed the flame that lit whenever I saw her, the fire I had to keep covered, keep secret. I wanted to tear it all open so badly—take her hands and look into her eyes and tell her all the things I locked inside. Just so I wouldn’t be alone. Just so I could have someone with me who knew it all. Just so I could let down all the manners, all the images, everything Grace Hensley was supposed to be.
But I could never do that. “I can’t.”
Her hands fell to her sides.
“One thing at a time,” Avia said. “I have to tell you something else. Another research discovery.”
“I’m suddenly filled with a sense of dread.” I smiled to let her know I almost didn’t mean it. “What have you uncovered?”
“I’ve been talking to men returned from the Laneeri War,” Avia said.
I went still.
“Not many, just a dozen or so. Their wives and mothers say they’ve come back with the brightest parts of their souls extinguished.”
“It’s battle fatigue,” I said. “We were supposed to help them with the Veterans’ Recovery Act. I want to reintroduce the bill as soon as I can—”
Avia touched my lips. “This is more than just battle fatigue, I think. Three young men came to the Star to see me. Once they’d had enough beer, they told me that they had nightmares, walking visions. They heard a voice speaking in their minds.”
Miles would understand this. Miles would know. Maybe I could put them in touch. But Avia wasn’t done talking, so I focused on her face and listened.
“They all fought urges, fearing they would lose control of their bodies to this voice. They all believed that if they lost the battle, they would succumb to what the voice wanted: to hurt the people around them.”
I held my breath. Miles had told me about this. And now the men were talking, telling people what they had felt and believed was happening to them.
But Avia went on. “They told me of fellow soldiers who read the news, and they all knew those men who had killed their families had the same problem. Some were so terrified of what they could do if they lost control that they took the final resort, just to keep their loved ones safe.”
“That’s horrible,” I said, but she shushed me again.
“They all had another thing in common,” Avia said. “The voice in their min
ds always spoke Laneeri. And all of them reported relief from their symptoms, recovering on the same day—within an hour of each other. Do you want me to tell you what day that was?”
She didn’t have to. I knew exactly what she was talking about. I knew when it happened, and how—I had been there when Miles nearly killed himself weaving the magic that freed them.
I sidestepped away from her and hurried to my coat rack. My colorful quilted tunic hung next to the black robes Ministers wore to sessions of Parliament. I pulled the robe from the hook and busied myself with settling it on my shoulders.
“I have to go,” I said. “Session is in a few minutes.”
Avia followed me and halted a few feet away, crossing her arms over her ribs. “I know you were there, Chancellor Hensley.”
I lined up the front edges, careful to put the first of dozens of covered buttons in its matching buttonhole.
“You were at Bywell on the first of Frostmonth. The day the lights went out all over Aeland. The day the Great Haunting started. The day when our soldiers were cured of a madness that tormented them. The day the Amaranthines came to Bywell. I know you know what happened that day. You were a witness. Or maybe you were a participant.”
I looked up from my buttons—oh, fool!—and Avia nodded, her suspicion confirmed by my careless gesture.
“Your wall of secrets has sprung a leak,” she said. “Too many leaks for you to stop up. And those leaks will bring the whole wall down. There’s nothing you can do to stop it. But there’s something you can do, if you want to avoid being crushed.”
My fingers stilled. “I can’t.”
“Trust me, Grace.” Avia moved closer. “Trust me to share your story. I won’t print anything you don’t approve.”
“What if I never approve anything?”
“Then at least you won’t have to bear it alone,” Avia said. “At least you’ll have someone who knows what you’re carrying. I promise you. I won’t say a word without your permission.”
I wavered. I pressed my lips shut and pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth. Share my burden. Confess everything. Give it to someone else to carry. Trust her with the story of the century.
