I rolled my eyes, and Aldar smiled at a memory only he could see. Then he leaned forward as if sharing a secret. “But Raffar and I were the closest.”
“What was he like? As a child?”
Aldar looked out the window and grinned. “Wilder than today. A little dangerous sometimes.”
I followed his eyes and pictures of two boys climbing fern trees appeared in my head.
When he met my gaze again, the windows reflected off his sparkling eyes. “We had a plan. He’d be king, and I’d be the commander of the military. Together, we were going to take over the entire continent.”
“The entire continent?” A disbelieving laugh burst from my mouth.
He put on an insulted face. “It would be possible.”
I turned my eyes to the desktop. Boys and their plans. “Of course. I don’t doubt the might of the Farnskager army.”
“Now you’re teasing.” Slowly, his grin disintegrated. “But during that one summer, he lost his parents; the other children couldn’t be raised by government advisers, so they were sent to live with families who could take care of them; Raffar started spending all his time with strategists and the Grand Council . . .”
The loneliness of a younger Aldar made me reach out and give his arm a pat. After a moment, I asked, “What made you decide against being a soldier then?”
He sighed. “My scrawny, weak body.”
Aldar was as tall as Raffar and wasn’t scrawny in the least. “But—”
“I didn’t shoot up until I was at the university. Quite late. Too late to go back to a military career. And by then, my father was pushing me into politics, into a place on the Grand Council, so I could advise Raffar.”
Pushing. Sounded like he wasn’t particularly content with his father’s plans.
“If you want to do something else, I’m sure Raffar—”
He stopped me with a shake of his head. “This is fine for now. I’m close to my father. And my work is useful.” He raised both eyebrows at me.
“It is,” I agreed.
“Then let’s continue.” He picked up the slate, and my shoulders dropped.
“Could we skip the read—”
“I promise, Your Majesty. I’ll make sure you learn.” He scribbled a word on the slate and nodded vigorously, hope shining all over his face.
After a moment of herding the letters around, I sounded out the word in my mind: taavad. The tablet seemed to mock me. I had no idea what the word meant, but I remembered it too. I said it out loud. His smile unwavering, he corrected my pronunciation, repeating it once, twice, three times.
I echoed him, once, twice, three times, the pit in my stomach growing deeper with every repetition. I still didn’t know what it meant.
Chapter 13
That day after lunch, my head buzzed and letters flashed behind my eyelids every time I blinked. When Freyad came to take me on my daily walk through town, I was so quick to jump up that I almost knocked over my chair.
“I can’t come with you today,” Aldar said. He explained something to Freyad, who nodded sympathetically.
My fear of being in this foreign land was growing smaller, but my stomach still clenched. If I needed urgent help and Aldar wasn’t around, no one would be able to understand me.
While he spoke with Freyad, Aldar’s eyes pinched together and his tone turned brittle.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
He packed the slate and chalk in the drawer. “My father is ill. It’s . . . very serious. I’m going to see him. I don’t know how much time he has left.”
Here he was, working patiently to teach me a language I’d probably never learn, and what he really needed was to spend time with his dying father. “I’m so sorry to hear that,” I said.
He flashed a weak smile. “It’s not your fault. And he’s proud of my role in helping you adjust to life here in Farnskag.”
We left the royal manor together, but Aldar headed the opposite way down the street from us. Usually, if we weren’t already expected for an event somewhere, he asked me if there was anything special I’d like to see. In the past days, we’d toured the market and three schools and the meeting hall, where I’d searched every face I saw for the telltale tattoo. Today, Freyad looked to me, raised her shoulders in a resigned sigh, and waved her hand for me to follow. Playing nanny to a helpless girl was probably not part of her normal soldierly duties.
We strolled along the wide road and turned into a narrow alley. Like everywhere in Farnskag, the street was made of firmly packed dirt. The houses on this one were narrow but had two stories, and to the side of each, a little vegetable garden provided constant fresh food. The alley was so tight that a carriage couldn’t fit, and balconies hovered over our heads. A few older people draped wet laundry on lines between balconies over the street. Like light rain, drips from the laundry sprinkled on our heads as we passed through. Freyad rubbed her short hair until it stood up even more than normal. She twisted her lips and raised her eyebrows until I laughed so loud, the people above stared down.
Freyad laid her head to the side, considering me. Then she laughed too.
A jaw dropped as one of the women recognized me. I’d given up on my silk zintella dresses, so it wasn’t the clothing that gave me away. Today, I wore a tunic and pants made according to my specifications, which meant not quite as loose as most Farnskager women wore them. But my hair was unmistakable.
The woman gasped and called, “Skriin Jiara!”
The people stared as we tried to protect ourselves from the laundry rain. I could have sworn they shook the damp clothes out extra hard now. They laughed and jabbered more phrases, but I only caught my title and name.
Their tones were open and friendly. Not suspicious or angry. The image of the men beneath the nut tree upon my first arrival haunted me every day. I beamed at Freyad for bringing me here to meet normal people who were happy to see me.
I held my head higher. These people weren’t acting like the dissidents, and they deserved a queen they could have confidence in. I smiled and waved up at them. “Guuddug?” I whispered to Freyad to be sure it meant hello. She nodded almost imperceptibly. “Guuddug!” I called. I threw my head back and smiled my brightest smile as I waved harder. “Guuddug!”
One of the women clapped and nodded at me. I squeezed Freyad’s arm and wanted to thank her, but despite the fact that I must have said it thousands of times, the only word that came to mind was guuddug. But hello and thank you couldn’t be the same word, could they? I inclined my head to her instead. She called out to the women in goodbye and motioned me to continue down the alley.
A man about Llandro’s age trudged toward us. He stopped at one of the houses on the right to push open the door, and I had to bite my lip not to cry out. Dried blood smeared his cheek all the way up to his eye, and the skin was swollen and purple around a crisscross cut. For the briefest of seconds, the serving woman’s story about her favorite aunt took over my heart. Being so far away, it was tempting to forget what was happening with my family back home. Were they all safe?
Once he’d disappeared into his house, I gestured questioningly to where he’d stood and then to my own face. “What happened?” I asked.
Freyad nodded and pointed to her forehead. “Devsiin.”
“Devsiin?” I repeated. Why forehead when I’d asked about his cheek?
She traced the swirls on her forehead. “Devsiin.”
“Oh!” The tattoo.
The tattoo! He’d just received a new tattoo. That meant someone here must give them. Who better to ask about the leaf with the thick outline than a local tattoo artist?
I mimed swirls on my cheek and then pointed to my eyes to show I wanted to see it done. Freyad squinted at me, then pointed to my eyes and to her forehead, poking as if she was applying the ink with her finger.
“Yes! Show me.”
Freyad considered for a moment then nodded. “Yes.” She gestured for me to follow.
My feet wanted to
fly down the road. A tattoo expert!
Scilla, are you really here? Because this is our best chance yet. We were finally going to make progress in finding her killer.
__________
Freyad led me through a labyrinth of narrow alleys bordered by two-story houses, then the street opened up into the wider roads of the town center. A girl skipped from a house, a black fur cloak flowing from her head as if it were hair. She laughed and fluffed her imaginary long tresses. When I smiled at her, she giggled and waved back. An old woman hobbled out behind the girl. With a bark and a yank, the cloak flew from the girl’s head. The old woman’s wrinkles deepened as she frowned at me.
I turned my back on the scene and concentrated on keeping my face neutral. My new subjects needed time to get used to me and my foreign appearance. My heart wouldn’t quiver like this all the time. It would get better. Surely.
Freyad and I crossed the square in front of the meeting hall. She raised her hand to greet someone on the other side: in front of the monolith stood Raffar, surrounded by three men.
My worries lifted a little as I spied my husband, but my smile died when he gestured toward the manor and shouted angry words I didn’t understand.
We continued in his direction, but the violent red faces of his companions stopped me in my tracks. Raffar yelled again and threw his hand toward us and then away in a gesture for us to leave. Her face tight, Freyad gripped my arm. She tugged me away from Raffar and toward the manor.
One of Raffar’s companions, an older, slightly taller and much beefier man, leaned in closer to him. He hadn’t been one of the men under the tree that first night, but the other two were. This man’s bellow in Raffar’s face echoed across the square. If I’d learned one thing since coming to Farnskag, it was that they had a much more casual sense of royalty. In Azzaria, no one would yell at my mother or father. Here, Aldar and Freyad called the king by his given name alone, something not even Pia did with me, despite how long we’d known each other. And now this.
Raffar flinched at the shout but held his ground. Freyad was still pulling at my sleeve, but I dug in my heels. “Wait!” I wasn’t leaving before I found out how bad the situation was. Would it help if they got to know me? Saw me as a person instead of some kind of travel souvenir?
Several guards ran into the square from a side street, apparently alerted by the clamor. Aldar followed them, then stopped, scanning the crowd.
“Aldar!” I called. Finally, someone who could help me understand what was going on. And whether my presence could help or harm the situation.
The translator caught my eye, but first looked to Raffar, obviously offering his support. Raffar waved him off. Aldar ran to my side, muttering to Freyad. She stopped tugging my arm.
“What’s happening?”
“I’d mentioned before that not everyone is satisfied with the king’s politics. Raffar wants to really open the borders. Until now, only registered Loftarians have been allowed into Farnskag, and vice versa. But he wants to increase trade, especially considering we can get goods from the southern continent more cheaply now. We can buy from the south and sell to Loftaria. We’ve always had an uneasy peace with them. Some feel the alliance with Azzaria will be seen as a deliberate threat.”
“But we were in Loftaria. We spoke to several of their governors. That’s not at all how they seemed to take it,” I said.
Shaking his head, Aldar smiled down at me. “You and Raffar fit each other well. Very optimistic. Have you forgotten the attempt on your life there?”
It felt like a slap in the face, or at least the admonishment of a naive girl. Yes, the Farnskagers were much more casual with their royalty. I wasn’t stupid. But we had no proof it had been a political issue. It may have been the work of one hurt individual who had lost a relative in a border skirmish. And I hadn’t forgotten the possibility that it had been one of Raffar’s party or even a Stärklandish citizen in disguise.
Aldar didn’t have to agree with me, but he could at least help me understand what was going on. I gestured to the argument. “What are they saying?”
“I need to get closer.” He took hold of my upper arm and propelled me forward. Freyad barked at him, and he answered calmly without turning around. She skipped to catch up and scowled at the two of us.
The wind gusted across the square as we advanced a few steps, and I gathered my hair in one hand to keep it from flying in my face. “Who are those men?”
“Some of the Grand Council. They advise the king. The tall one doing the most talking is Geord.”
“And this yelling . . . is that ‘advising’?”
Aldar chuckled. “That is how it tends to go, yes. Past kings have followed the council’s advice more closely than Raffar does. Sometimes I believe Geord thinks if he just says it loud enough, it will get through Raffar’s thick skull.”
I bit my lip. Such a remark would be unthinkable in Azzaria. Geord hollered again, and this time, Raffar shouted back. The sight of the tattooed men, their faces beet red with anger, made a part of me want to run back to the manor after all.
Freyad rocked on the balls of her feet as if she could barely keep herself from rushing to Raffar’s side.
“Interesting . . . they’re talking about the prisoner from Stärkland,” Aldar said, his voice hushed.
“What? You have a prisoner from Stärkland?”
He nodded, his ear turned to the men. “Raffar says the Stärklandish queen requested help in finding lost emissaries. I have no idea who that could be. Our attempts to communicate with the prisoner have been unsuccessful.” His gaze slid to me. “I should know. I’ve tried to help. Raffar requested a translator fluent in Stärklandish, but the man never arrived. And now . . . no. That can’t be.”
Aldar silently glared at his king until I prodded his arm. “Tell me.”
He pursed his lips. “Despite the fact that we’ve never gotten any information out of the prisoner, Raffar isn’t sure that it might not be a misunderstanding. He doesn’t believe the Stärklandish queen wants conflict, so he’s considering sending the prisoner back as a peace offering. The man hasn’t even been punished.”
It was too easy to envision the awful damage Farnskager staffs and clubs could do to a body. I pushed the images of battered bodies from my mind. “What is the punishment for?” Why did they even have a prisoner?
A lump in his throat bobbed. “That man”—he spat the word as if it was too noble a description for the prisoner—“is the only survivor of a small troop that attacked a group of our soldiers. I was there. It was awful . . . a massacre.”
Aldar’s forehead creased with worry, and in contrast, Raffar’s features had smoothed. They were overly calm, placating. Geord kicked the dirt with his toe. His face was as tense as ever.
“He’s apparently also thinking about a treaty with Stärkland,” Aldar said, his voice dropping at the end as if he couldn’t believe his king’s words either. Geord shouted and slapped his hands together. Aldar cleared his throat. “The older generation thinks he’s insane . . . and . . .”
“And?”
“I’m afraid Raffar is beginning to believe any road to peace is a good one. But not like this. Not when we’d come out in a position of weakness. We have peace with Loftaria because they know not to cross us. Despite how many of our own were killed in the ambush, he wants to believe giving back this Stärklandish prisoner will help.”
Raffar and Geord shouted at each other for another several minutes. Finally, one of the council members looked in my direction and muttered something that turned his face sour.
“What did they sa—” I started.
Aldar shook his head, his eyes narrowed.
The group glared at me with gazes laced with bladeleaf. Raffar spat another word. He turned and left them standing there, mouths open.
He strode to me and offered his arm. His face was hard as stone as he escorted me back to the manor.
When we walked by the council members, I checked each one’s fa
ce. No sign of a leaf with a thick border. Raffar’s arm muscles were marble under my hand. My visit to the tattoo artist would have to wait.
Chapter 14
Acouple of days later, Aldar brought me back from an appearance at the riverfront, where the newly rebuilt dock had been opened. The body of water, regardless of how tiny, reflected the trees and the sky and felt almost like home. But the riverfront trip was like all the others—so many people wanted to see the new queen that my afternoons were booked in advance. Which meant, despite my insistent requests, we hadn’t visited the tattoo artist’s house yet. The only thing I could do was study each tattoo I did see. Unfortunately, without success.
Most evenings, Raffar and I ate in the main dining hall with Aldar and some visitors and advisers or influential townspeople. Tonight, after my husband shared a word with Aldar, the translator whispered with a glint in his eye, “I believe His Majesty would like a break from the constant guests. He asks if you would like to dine with him in your suite tonight.”
All smiles, I turned to Raffar. “Yes! I’d love to!”
Once he heard the translation, Raffar beamed back at me. Aldar spoke to Raffar again, and then translated for me. Aldar was always good at including me in conversations that happened around me. “Raffar, thank you for visiting my father. It means a lot to him.”
My husband leaned against the desk. “He’s a good man. I only wish there was more I could do.”
Raffar gripped Aldar’s arm, their lifelong friendship an almost tangible thing in the air. Aldar shook himself. “I do too. Goodnight, Queen Jiara. Goodnight, Raffar.” He left the room.
Raffar and I were alone.
It was so quiet. It was always quiet when we were alone, but when he looked at me, the lines of his face were softer than normal. As if it were a balm to be here, with only me as company.
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