Briarheart
Page 1
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2021 by Mercedes Lackey
Image credits: Title page (shield): © Andrey_Kuzmin/Shutterstock.com; chapter openers (branch): © RachenStocker/Shutterstock.com; chapter openers (butterfly): © Vladimirkarp/Shutterstock.com
Cover art by Sammy Yuen. Cover design by Sammy Yuen.
Cover copyright © 2021 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Lackey, Mercedes, author.
Title: Briarheart / Mercedes Lackey.
Description: First edition. | New York : Little, Brown and Company, 2021. | Audience: Ages 12 & up. | Summary: “When Miriam’s younger sister, Princess Aurora, is born, she must learn to harness her new magical powers to protect her sister and the kingdom.”—Provided by publisher.
Identifiers: LCCN 2020048431 | ISBN 9780759557451 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780759557864 (ebook) | ISBN 9780759557468 (ebook other)
Subjects: CYAC: Sisters—Fiction. | Princesses—Fiction. | Magic—Fiction. | Fairy tales.
Classification: LCC PZ7.L13543 Br 2021 | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020048431
ISBNs: 978-0-7595-5745-1 (hardcover), 978-0-7595-5786-4 (ebook)
E3-20210902-JV-NF-ORI
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Discover More
About the Author
By Mercedes Lackey
DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF CHLOE MARCELLA MEDHURST.
SLEEP IN PEACE, TINY TANK.
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PROLOGUE
THIS IS A KIND OF FAE TALE. SO I’LL BEGIN IT THE WAY ALL good Fae tales should.
Once upon a time…
Once upon a time, there was a handsome, strong, gentle knight, the King’s Champion, Sir Geniver. He was married to a beautiful lady, Alethia, and they had a daughter they loved very much who loved them with all her heart.
(That would be me.)
Because he was the King’s Champion, Sir Geniver could have had whatever he wanted, but his wants were modest, so the family lived in a small but comfortable manor on the edge of the Veridian Forest, thanks to the stipend the King provided.
They had everything they needed. A staff of eight, exactly enough to make life pleasant and easy even though one of those eight was Lady Alethia’s old governess, who simply could not grasp that the daughter would never be the sort of lady she was expected to be. They were near enough to the palace to be called on at need but far enough that neither Lady Alethia nor their daughter, Miriam, needed to be troubled by the pomp and politics of the Court. As the King’s Champion, Geniver was not involved with the Court itself since he didn’t rank high enough—by his own choice—to get tangled up in politics and policy. There was no Queen, so Lady Alethia did not need to join the other married ladies at the Court as one of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting. This is how courts work. The King’s Court handles the “business of the realm,” the Queen’s Court handles the “business of the palace,” and if there is a Crown Prince or Princess with a court of their own, they handle the “business of learning to rule.” And not being part of the Court meant Miriam didn’t have to navigate the potentially dangerous waters of a palace full of other daughters.
Sir Geniver understood his daughter even if her governess did not. So he taught her to climb trees (and not to do it in her good gowns) and took her on breakneck rides, first tucked before him on his gigantic black warhorse and later following after him on her own little pony. He gave her books her governess would never have approved of, books on battles and swordsmanship. And he taught her how to defend herself with the dagger he gave her that never left her side.
This is not to say that her mother didn’t understand Miriam too—her mother also knew her daughter very well. And though sometimes she might have sighed because Miriam did not revel in pretty things, she was proud of her daughter’s intelligence and willingness to learn almost anything, and said so, much to the exasperation of the governess.
Sir Geniver was the King’s best friend. He and the King were together nearly every day since the manor was close enough to the palace to ride there in an hour, and sometimes the King came to visit—quietly. When he did, it was without his crown, and he would stand on no ceremony, even descending to play silly games that had everyone laughing hysterically (except Belinda the governess, who was scandalized). “You have a treasure in your keeping, and that is your family, Gen,” he’d say as he slipped back to the palace. “Never lose it.”
And everything was wonderful until the terrible day when war came to Tirendell, and the King’s Champion rode off to command the army in the King’s name and never came home again.
With his death, Sir Geniver brought victory, but that wasn’t much consolation for Lady Alethia even though the King made her a Court Princess and did his best to make sure she and her daughter would never want for anything.
In retrospect, I think Mama and I were too caught up in our grief to notice for a long time just how very attentive the King was—but it certainly didn’t escape the notice of most of the Court. People began paying a lot more attention to us, and people who wouldn’t have paid much heed to the widow of a mere knight with only the land of the manor garden—even if her former husband had been the King’s Champion—started hanging about, maneuvering to get themselves into an advantageous position with us.
I’ll admit I thought it was because of Mama’s new title; I was only thirteen, and I had no idea that a Court Princess had no real position and that all the title did was confer nobility on her line. For a while, Mama was oblivious too. I stayed oblivious, to the fact that she seemed to be feeling better and that I didn’t have to work so hard at keeping her spirits up every time something reminded her of Father. So that meant I didn’t have to keep bottling things myself, though I’d never let Mama or Belinda see it.
Of course, conferring nobility on Mama
was the whole point of making her something other than a simple knight’s daughter and knight’s widow. Because exactly a year and a day later, during the anniversary of our victory, King Karlson proposed to Mama.
On the State Balcony.
In front of everyone.
It was ridiculously romantic.
It was also carefully staged so not a single one of his councilors got a chance to object or suggest someone that would bring Tirendell political advantage. In fact, by the time they all realized what he was about to do, it was too late to do anything about it.
There was a very long speech about how he had loved Mama for years, but she had chosen his best friend, and he was determined not to destroy their happiness by being selfish, but now that she was free, would she consider him? And he knew he could never replace Geniver, but would she—
Well, he never got a chance to finish the speech, because Mama got this expression of wonder on her face and maybe a little relief and just a flash of grief, and then all that turned into the most radiant joy I’ve ever seen anyone display, and she fell into his arms, and it was all like the ending of a Fae tale.
Except, of course, it wasn’t the end. It was the beginning.
And where my story properly begins.
CHAPTER ONE
I HAD JUST STOLEN A MOMENT AWAY FROM THE DRESSMAKERS and my fitting to check on my sister. With sun streaming in through the window of the Royal Nursery, I stared down into the cradle at the face of my baby sister and fell in love all over again. It happened every single time I saw her, just as it had the moment she was born. Little Aurora was the most beautiful, perfect rosebud of a baby princess ever.
Of course, I might have been just a little bit prejudiced because we’re sisters, but on the other hand, most babies seem to be—how do I put this nicely?—creatures only a mother could love. Some of them look like disagreeable old men even when they’re little girls. Some of them look like unbaked bread loaves. Or wizened little Goblin changelings. Most of them are blotchy, red-faced things that emit noise at one end and terrible substances at the other.
But Aurora wasn’t like any of those babies. She stared up at me with enormous blue eyes under a head full of delicate golden curls exactly like her papa’s; her skin was identical in color and texture to a pink rose petal, her little flower bud of a mouth pursed in an O of surprise. And then, without any warning, her eyes got bigger, and she gurgled with laughter and held up two miniature chubby hands to me, begging to be picked up. She’d just started recognizing people a few days before, and having her realize the big person looming over her cradle was me made me warm all over every time.
I wasn’t supposed to do anything to muss my christening dress, but what choice did I have? Her Highness commanded, and I must obey. I reached down past the dawn-colored silk curtains into the nest of creamy lambswool-and-linen bedding and took her into my arms.
I hoisted her up onto my shoulder, breathing in that sweet baby scent, part her and part the lavender that all her bedding and clothing were scented with, and jounced her as she cooed and giggled.
“Who’s the fairest in the land, then?” I asked her, gazing into her beautiful eyes. “You are! Yes, yes, yes! Yes, you are!”
And of course, at just that moment, my governess and Aurora’s nurse, Melalee, came bursting into the nursery, spoiling the moment. “Lady Miriam!” Belinda exclaimed in that fussy tone of voice that made me want to do something hoydenish, like climbing the tower—on the outside. “Your gown!”
And Melalee bustled up to me and took Aurora away from me with a suspicious look and a tsk that I’d have deserved if I’d been letting her suck on the pommel of a dagger or been caught feeding her honey water but certainly wasn’t warranted by a little bouncing and cooing.
Belinda, of course, was concerned about the very expensive gown—which I suppose was her job since she is my governess, but did she have to act as if Aurora were covered in filth? It wasn’t as if Aurora was going to do anything to it that couldn’t be undone. And Melalee didn’t like anyone touching Aurora who wasn’t her, Mama, or Papa.
“My gown is going to withstand a few minutes of baby cuddling, Belinda,” I said as Melalee put the little darling back in her nest. And it would; it might be the best gown I’d ever owned, but Mama is very practical about what she has the seamstresses make for us. In fact, we were going to be wearing matching gowns of a green twilled silk that didn’t show wrinkles like satin would, that was stronger than gauze, and that was dark enough it wouldn’t get dirty by merely looking at it the way a lot of the pale gowns worn by Mama’s ladies did. The trim of wide gold braid and our matching belts of the same material were practically as strong as armor, and that trim would probably outlast me and be handed down to some great-great descendant.
But the way Belinda fussed, you’d think Aurora was about to spew poisonous yellow ichor all over me like some demon-possessed thing, and this time it was just easier to let her hustle me out. No point in getting her knickers in a twist this close to the christening. I wanted to enjoy it, not be forced to sit in the solar, the room where Mama and her ladies did their fancywork in winter when they couldn’t go out. And that’s not me being rude; the moment Mama married Papa, I got a whole new set of lessons and duties, and none of them involved sitting in the solar and sewing for hours on end the way Belinda wanted me to do. I was supposed to be learning other languages, dancing, the lute, and history, and I was supposed to be tending the business of my new lands. I’m neither noble enough to be one of Mama’s ladies nor old enough to just go and do what I want—like spend half my time exploring on my pony and the other half in the library and maybe getting to know the couple of girls who come there regularly. Belinda’s idea of how I should fill the hours involved nothing useful.
The dressmakers had left me unattended for a moment while they looked for the three sets of oversleeves they’d made up so they could decide which set was most appropriate for a christening. Oversleeves, of course, are separate from the gown, and you can have as many of those as you have matching material to make. More practicality on Mama’s part; by changing the oversleeves, which were the fanciest part of the gowns, and maybe the belts, we’d have what looked like three entirely different gowns for little more than the price of one. She might be Queen, but Mama still thought about how much things cost as if she were just a lady. She may not have to weigh the cost of roasts against the costs of new gowns, but she said it was up to us to provide good examples of not being extravagant.
The dressmakers were waiting for me in my room, wearing identical expressions of anxiety because I wasn’t where they’d left me, as if they were afraid I’d run off to the woods or had done something else inappropriate in my gown.
They were probably so worried about the gown, they’d forgotten I wasn’t as flibbertigibbet as Belinda seemed to think I was. They should have known that if I’d decided impulsively to do something really inappropriate (as opposed to baby cuddling), I wouldn’t be doing it in a silk gown. I’d change into something a whole lot sturdier first. I’d been five or six when Father caught me ruining a new gown by playing mud pies in the garden in it, and I’d never forgotten the gentle but stern lecture he’d given me. And right after that, he’d made sure that I had some clothing suitable for doing the kinds of things I wanted to do—things like climbing trees and walls or learning to muck out a horse stall. My “hoyden” clothing wouldn’t leave Mama wondering how to get a second dress out of the rags of the first and the remains of the one she’d cut down to fit me.
Besides, I didn’t run off impulsively anymore. At least not much.
It wasn’t an ordeal to stand quietly in my bedroom while the two women tried on sleeves and twittered at each other. They had the highest voices of any women I had ever heard. I couldn’t make up my mind if those were their natural voices or some kind of affectation.
When Papa wed Mama, he surprised me with a bedroom of my own that so answered every one of my wishes, I suspected him of b
eing able to read my thoughts. The ceiling was covered in a painting of the moon and stars. I had an entire bookshelf of books—and books are expensive! Every single one of them cost more than Mama’s coronation gown, and the only other people who had ever considered a book to be a suitable present for me had been Father and Mama. People who had wanted to curry favor with the King had been giving me silk scarves, small pieces of jewelry, and enough candy to make me sick for weeks. There was a little desk of my own under the bookshelf and a huge bed with a wooden canopy and embroidered green velvet curtains to keep out the cold drafts in the winter. The walls were covered with precious tapestries of forest scenes and the Fae—those were expensive too and made a huge difference in keeping the room warm in cold weather. So while the seamstresses whispered about gussets and tucks and things that evidently made sense to them but not to me, I could stare at the tapestries and find new things I hadn’t noticed before.
It wasn’t a big room. There was just enough room for several essential pieces of furniture such as a bed and a wardrobe, along with a bookshelf and a dressing table. There wasn’t even enough room in here for a bed for Belinda, and I refused to let her sleep with me the way she used to when I was younger. And I know it’s not kind… but I never liked sleeping with someone else in my room. When I had finally gotten old enough to insist that she not sleep with me, she got the taller bed and I had to sleep on the truckle bed that slid under it during the daytime, which was nothing near as comfortable. But in this room, there wasn’t space for a truckle bed, which suited me very well. Now Belinda had to sleep with Mama’s ladies and I had the room all to myself.
My room was at a corner, so I had two windows too—and that meant no one else had to go through my room to get to theirs. The palace had been built so long ago that it didn’t actually have corridors; people back then thought that they had to use every single inch of space within four walls for a purpose rather than waste it on corridors. And I had my own small fireplace, a great luxury. Since I hadn’t seen it until Mama married the King and we moved here, it was hard to tell what the room had been used for before Papa had it made over for me; there were no clues on the walls behind the tapestries. A mystery. I liked to think that it had been for someone like me, someone not a princess but who was clearly loved, someone who had care taken for her comfort.