Scylla’s eyes ran over the necklace coolly. “How lovely,” she said, but did not reach for it.
“King Joff humbly begs that Queen Scylla will accept his gift,” said Woliff smoothly, but with a hint of steel.
“The Kingdom of Rellant is honored by such a generous gift,” Scylla murmured. She gestured toward the desk that stood nearby. Reluctantly, the secretary placed the heavy necklace on the desk, laying it flat to display its gleaming glory. “I, Rellant’s queen, have taken a vow of… of temperance! For at least six months,” she invented. “I am in mourning for the sudden deaths of my father and half-brothers.” But not the queen, she said inwardly.
The High Priest Woliff inclined his head. She had already seen his eyes rake her plain and unbecoming travelling clothes with disbelief.
Scylla wished Mako had allowed her to change to something less dreadful—or at least refresh herself—before presenting her to their visitors. She had chosen the clothing yesterday to travel incognito while returning the trellet to the forest. There was nothing queenly about any of it—in fact, her garb was simply embarrassing, and her hair again threatened to slip free of its knot.
On the other hand, she was pleased with her new idea of a vow of temperance. How brilliant! She gave the High Priest a sad glance to remind him she was in mourning.
“On behalf of King Joff and Gryor, I offer my sincere condolences to your majesty for the deaths of King Tobin and Queen Maris… and your brothers,” Woliff replied. “The news reached Gryor’s court some days ago. Please forgive me for not having spoken of it immediately. This is a very difficult time for the Kingdom of Rellant.”
Scylla inclined her head in silence, closing her eyes for a moment. Her grief for her father was real, even if she felt none for Queen Maris and only regret for her half-brothers whose lives had ended too soon.
“It is a great blow to us,” Mako spoke up. “Such treachery is unknown here.”
“I am sure Queen Scylla’s court is carrying on with excellence,” Woliff said smoothly.
“We are doing our best. High Priest, Queen Scylla hopes you will join her in a feast in your honor this evening, in the Great Hall. The queen requires some time to refresh after her journey of pilgrimage.”
“Of course! I look forward to this evening’s feast, Queen Scylla… Chancellor…” He gave a half bow, as did the others. Scylla inclined her head in return.
As she turned to leave, several of the coins from King Tobin’s cave spilled from her pocket and fell to the stone threshold. Three settled at her feet, while a fourth rolled off the step and ended up beside the toe of Woliff’s highly polished boot.
“Curses!” Scylla snapped. Every eye in the room stared at the four large gold coins.
A fast-thinking young soldier crouched and collected the three at her feet. The secretary reached down and picked up the last. For a moment, he held the coin in silence. Then his eyes, narrow slits of icy gray, flickered to Scylla’s.
“Your Majesty,” he murmured. “May I return this to you?”
A chill shot down Scylla’s spine. “Thank you.” He dropped it into her palm, and she accepted the others from the soldier. Clutching the coins and hoping the other two stayed in her pocket, she turned to hobble out the door.
The tip of the sword stick clanked on the stone. Coltic, who had not said a word, offered her his arm again. Mako shut the door behind them, remaining in the king’s reception room with the others.
The soldiers outside closed in a group around them, escorting Coltic and Scylla back through the hallway, up the grand staircase, and across the arched hall to the queen’s chambers.
“How did I do?” Scylla breathed the question toward Coltic’s ear. “Other than dropping the accursed coins, I mean.”
“I like the vow of temperance,” he whispered back. “There is no other explanation, really, for the awful clothes you are wearing!”
“Curse that Mako! Why did he not give me some time to refresh after the journey?”
“Strategy,” Coltic replied quietly. “I hope all goes well in that office. So many polite words and yet such menace behind them! I regret that they saw the gold. I should have left it in the cave.”
“Never mind… I did not feel the same threat from Woliff that I did from our High Priest. He had a different sort of power. The other one, though…” Scylla said thoughtfully.
“Which one?”
“The secretary, who held that chain necklace and picked up the coin. Did you not feel… something… from him?”
“I cannot say I did. The manservant, however, along with the soldiers…” He grimaced.
“All large and frightening,” Scylla agreed. “I’m glad the chancellor kept our soldiers with him. Although I wonder if even all of them together would be a match for Woliff’s four guards... and his secretary.”
“The feast this evening will be interesting. I wonder how soon Woliff will introduce the marriage proposal, or if at all.”
“Yes, after seeing the mad queen in her waif-like state and peasant clothing, the subject may well be left dormant,” said Scylla as they reached the door to her chambers. “On the other hand, perhaps the coins have sealed my doom!”
The door opened, revealing the queen’s ladies, Minda and Sorrell, just inside. Their eyes widened as they took in Queen Scylla’s appearance.
“Good Goddess, Princess!” Sorrell exclaimed. “Do not say you met Gryor’s messengers looking like this.”
“The chancellor’s strategy is for us—me, that is!—to ‘create the illusion of an opponent of little significance’. I believe those were his words. But let us keep our voices down. The King’s reception office is below these chambers and the roof garden. I doubt the sound will travel through the stone, but who can tell?”
Minda and Sorrell stood aside. Coltic conducted the queen to her chair overlooking the roof garden, and she sank wearily into it. Thank the Goddess she was back home!
“Ladies, I thank you for sending the captain after me. I’m sorry I left without warning, but not sorry I went.”
“We hear that you encountered the priests.” Minda’s voice was hushed. She and Sorrell both looked strained, and as if they had had little sleep.
“The priests are no more. I’ll tell you about it later.”
“Are they truly dead this time?” Sorrell asked.
“They are, and have been buried at the crossroads nearest to the hunting lodge. However, as we were warned, the priests of Gryor are as dangerous… and the High Priest himself is in the castle even now,” Coltic said.
“He and perhaps another sorcerer,” Scylla reminded him. “I suspect that secretary. However, since I’ve been in these clothes since I left yesterday—as you have in yours, Captain—I suggest you leave so we both can refresh ourselves.”
“An excellent plan, Princess,” Coltic agreed, glancing down at his travel-worn garb with a rueful grin. “I will see you later to conduct you to the feast.”
Scylla heaved a sign after he left. “Unfortunately, I am indeed an opponent of little significance! I hope I don’t fall asleep at the dinner. I doubt Captain Coltic is any less exhausted. Also, the chancellor and his soldiers spent half the night on horseback—and much of today as well. What an inopportune time for our enemy to have arrived!”
At the roadside, River had finally had enough of sitting in the tree. She climbed to the ground, crept through the shrubbery and then cut across the games field, wary as always. She also gripped the amulet at her chest in one small hand. Theoria’s amulet, the old man had said: the good witch Theoria, who witched for water.
Could Theoria’s amulet have attracted Queen Scylla’s attention to her? Queen Scylla, who had actually waved to her! River kept seeing the queen’s blue eyes looking directly into her own. She gave a sigh of pure bliss.
When she reached the willow tree and climbed it, sharp cries of delight greeted her.
“Eeee! Eeee!”
“What do you want?” She wrinkled her no
se in irritation. The trellets had returned to the tree before her and their bright beady eyes stared down at her over the edge of her nest. As she drew closer, they leaped lightly to nearby branches. “Go away!”
“No, no, we are here to assist!” one assured her brightly.
“Assist what?”
“Whatever you want,” said the one whose coat was smoother than the other. “Eeee!”
“I want to see Queen Scylla again.” She narrowed her eyes in a firm glare.
“Oooh,” it sighed. “Queen Scylla! She who was in the carriage… Now that may be out of our control.”
“Perhaps not… perhaps not,” shrieked the shaggy one. They leapt away through the branches and she saw them chittering together excitedly.
River’s mind went back to Theoria, the good witch, and the amulet hanging around her neck. She curled up in her perch and took the amulet in her fingers, studying it closely. A small flat river stone, with a natural hole where the lace threaded through… it was gray and smooth, with a fleck of white here and there.
“That is the water witch’s stone,” came a small shriek. River looked up to see one of the trellets perched not far above her, its piercing eyes trained on the stone in her fingers. “How is it you have the water witch’s stone?”
“Because I do!” she shrieked back, but not loud enough to reach the ears of two kitchen gardeners who were digging carrots from a long row in the castle garden.
“How?” demanded the trellet. The shaggier one leaped across to join the first.
“None of your beeswax!”
They jumped up and down, bouncing the twigs to which they clung.
“Eeee! Eeee! The water witch’s stone!” they chanted.
“The old man gave it to me,” River said to end their screeching, which made her think of jeering birds and sharp, stabbing beaks. “At the market… it was his grandmother’s.”
“His grandmother!”
“His grandmother! The water witch is a long time gone… dead and buried, dead and buried!”
“It’s mine now,” said River. She tucked the stone inside the neck of her tunic. They leaped away across the branches with barely a quiver of leaves behind them. River hoped they had left for good.
But they hadn’t. They returned some minutes later and one of them darted to the edge of her perch, tossing into it a forked branch that was twice as long as they were.
“A forked stick!” the trellets shrieked. “For you!” Then they retreated and sat chittering, screeching and bouncing their perches with glee.
River recoiled. They had severed the stick and nibbled off the ends with their sharp little teeth. “Ewww,” she said in distaste. “Is there spit all over that? Ewww, trellet spit!”
“Water witch! Water witch!” jeered the trellets. “Can’t do it! Can’t do it!”
“Good Goddess!” she finally squealed back. “You sticks are a pain!” She picked up the branch and pulled her knife out, cutting the chewed ends off and tossing them to the ground below. Then she studied it. She tried to remember how the old man at the market had mimed holding it. She held the two ends awkwardly, with the crotched end pointing up and forward.
“No water up here,” the trellets nagged. “Water witch, water witch!”
“Go away!” For once they did what she said… they vanished upward into the branches. “Good riddance,” she muttered to herself. “Why say everything twice, the way they do?”
Soon she was on the ground and darting along the riverbank, among the tall grasses and shrubs. She gave one area a wide berth, knowing the homeless boys often skulked in the thickets there.
She found a peaceful place past the orchard, with the river flowing by and the breeze ruffling the leaves nearby. Sheep grazed in the next field, and further away she could see some of the king’s many horses idling in the shade—mares and foals. The pastures were dry, waiting for the rainy season to start. It was late this year.
River gripped the ends of the stick, holding it the way the old man had mimed. She started towards the river. The tip waggled up and down and she looked at it uncertainly.
She turned, moving away from the riverbank, and the stick became still in her hands.
She took a fresh grip and walked away slowly. There was a small streamlet through the pasture, a marshy ditch. She went that way. As she neared it, the stick twitched in her hands. She backed away to see what would happen, and the sensation faded. She went towards it, and the tugging increased, the tip bending downward.
How strange! River studied the forked stick with its smooth, light-colored bark. What would the old man say if she showed him how it tugged in her hands? She meandered back toward the orchard.
The stick pulled lightly in her hands, and there was one place where the tip bent strongly downward. She stood there for some moments.
“Does that mean there’s water here?” she said aloud. But there was no way to find out without digging. She wandered on. The stick tugged again downward, insistently, and she stopped.
In the tree above, she heard the trellets’ little shrill voices raised triumphantly. “No water there! No water there!”
She dropped the stick to her side and looked up. “What?”
Both of them were staring intently, holding tight with one skinny hand while pointing with the other. “Eeee! Look in the grass!”
River squatted and parted the tufts of grass. The edge of a coin glinted yellow—a small gold coin, half buried in the dirt. She picked it up. Above her the trellets danced gleefully from branch to branch. “Water witch, water witch! Didn’t know she could witch gold too! Who knew? Who knew?”
“Gold!” It was the richest coin she had ever held in her dirty little hands. She looked upwards, her eyes wide and her mouth opening in an O.
“Water witches can find treasure too!” They shrieked and leaped about the tree. “Here is an apple for you, water witch!” She opened her hands, and a ripe red apple dropped on top of the coin. She clutched at both, staring up at the trellets who jeered and pointed at her shocked face. “Catching flies, water witch?”
River closed her mouth with a snap.
“Hey, Gabby!” The faint call came from the direction of the river. Gabby! That was her old name. She refused to answer to it. She looked around for the willow branch and snatched it up, holding the apple and the gold coin tightly.
“Gabby!” Whoever was calling her was persistent. She glanced toward the riverbank, prepared to run. The figure in the distance was Tag, one of the older homeless boys. He wasn’t the worst of them, but River had no interest in talking to him.
“Gabby! There’s food. Tonight… food!”
“What’s he saying?” she wondered as she raced away, heading for the nearest treeline to dive into the shrubbery like a rabbit.
Did he mean a feast set out for all? Not likely. Such occasions were rare. Queen Scylla’s coronation festivities had taken place recently, just days after the funerals of the murdered king and his family… and both within a week of the annual end of summer celebrations. River heaved a sigh, remembering the abundance of food each time. Not likely would there be a repeat tonight—it was far too soon for another banquet.
But if by some chance Tag was right and there was food available… She would circle back and snoop around—after she hid the gold coin in one of her safe places.
“You look exhausted,” Queen Scylla said from her chair overlooking the roof garden. Her feet were up on the cushioned stool, and she had wrapped herself in a woven shawl of soft cream wool. “As you do also, Captain.”
Chancellor Mako had just entered the queen’s chambers, followed by Captain Coltic. Mako’s tanned face had a grayish tinge, and there were dark circles under his eyes. They pulled out chairs and sat down with obvious relief, even though there was no dinner awaiting them… the table was empty but for a stale cake. Mako ate a piece anyway.
“Unfortunately, Princess, we can’t cry off from tonight’s feast, much as I would prefer to meet here
as usual with the War Council.” He nodded a greeting to Sorrell and Minda, who still hovered around Scylla.
“Do not worry, Chancellor. Under this shawl is an unremarkable dress and, as you see, the ladies have pinned up my hair in an unremarkable style.”
“The vow of temperance?”
“Exactly. What did you do with the necklace our guests bestowed upon us?”
“It’s in the treasury vault. I did not like to accept it.” Mako’s expression was bleak. He turned to the window and looked out onto the roof garden where three of Scylla’s garden planters now stood. The bright flowers were a pretty contrast to the stone walls.
“Nor did I. Minda has picked out a jeweled box to present Woliff in return. It was among my father’s things, an extravagant gift of Queen Maris’s that he did not use… What did you talk about after I left?”
“Your father’s wine—we have promised the High Priest a selection of some of the best. Princess, I must warn you. We are innocents compared to our guests. I wonder if we have any chance of survival at all—our kingdom, you, or any of us, faced with these wolves.”
“Are you intimidated, Chancellor?”
“I believe I am, Princess,” he answered ruefully.
“There is a disguised cubby hole beside the guest quarters, by which someone may listen to the guest chambers in secret. It is in the back of a closet in the upper hall. I do not recall that anyone ever made use of it.”
He was nodding. “I knew of that and have a sharp-eared lad on duty even now. Our visitor is not afraid to ask questions openly. Woliff has mentioned the books of the priests, your rumored madness, if I may use that word—and your father’s gold.”
“How interesting. How does he know that my father had gold—other than the fortune in coins I dropped at his feet?”
The Queen and the Mage Page 6