Did Aldar?
Chapter 22
Dinner with the trade members had been a long and stiff affair, during which I’d fought to stay awake far past my normal bedtime. When I’d returned, a letter from Llandro was on my table, and I dredged the last bits of energy from my body to read it. Everyone was healthy but missed me. There was no update on finding Scilla’s assassin. Loftaria hadn’t attacked Azzaria since before my wedding, and the citizens were overjoyed at the newfound peace. But . . .
Scilla cut Father’s hand so deeply that he almost lost three fingers. I’m talking to her more often now, in the hopes she’ll shift her attention to me.
Those lines haunted me as much as Scilla herself did. There’d surely been other incidents no one had informed me of. Scilla was growing worse, so much worse. And I had no idea where else to look to identify her killer.
The next morning, when Aldar came to study, I watched him prepare the slate and the slate pencil for the day’s torture.
He wrote a word I had never seen before and held it up to me. My sleep-deprived eyes drifted shut, and I pictured myself opening the window and tossing the slate as far as it would go. It would sail through the sky, be buoyed by an updraft, and then drop into an elephant bird’s pen, where a heavy, three-toed foot would smash it to dust.
“Queen Jiara?”
I opened my eyes and smiled sheepishly, as if I were embarrassed to have been caught not paying attention. I was more embarrassed to realize I didn’t actually care.
I did want to know what Raffar thought about the changes in succession, and if he was worried about his cousin’s reaction. Raffar wasn’t here to ask, but I could see what Aldar thought. And since my tired mind couldn’t think of a delicate way to bring it up . . .
“I heard that Raffar is changing the succession to the throne.”
“Wha—?” Aldar’s jaw dropped. He set down the slate and ran a hand over his mouth. “Yes, that’s true. Where did you—”
I didn’t want him to know I’d been to the registrar. Or that I’d read. Or owned a lexicon. “I can’t remember . . . maybe someone mentioned it. Or did I misunderstand again?” Playing ignorant was useful, but it was becoming tiresome.
“No. It’s true. Haamig—adoption—is an important part of our culture here in Farnskag. Much more important than in Azzaria. It is done when parents die, but also when one family can provide special opportunities for learning or a safer place to live. Or sometimes to bind families more closely to one another. For example, if one family adopts the child of another, both families are considered related. My own father did not adopt, but Raffar’s did.”
His own father . . . Aldar’s full name was Aldar Anzgarsuun: Anzgar! The current line of succession was Raffar, Anzgar, Aldar. I leaned back in my chair as my mind raced to keep up the conversation, and to determine what I could safely say. “How do the people feel about changing the law?”
“Depends on the people.”
“And you?” I asked, keeping my tone light and conversational. “You have a unique perspective since you’re better informed about how other countries handle it.”
Aldar held my gaze for a moment. Had I gone too far?
Finally, he answered, “Raffar thinks it is best for our country, and I agree with him. You might not know this, but I’m somewhere in the line for the throne too.”
I raised my eyebrows in mock surprise.
“But I’ll tell you a secret. I don’t want to be king.” He flashed a boyish grin. “The plans Raffar and I once had, they were fun because we’d do them together. I don’t want sole responsibility. I’ve even considered abdication if it ever . . . especially now that my father is so sick. I want to have time to spend with him.”
His words and voice sounded sincere, but his father was ill. Deathly ill. Which made Aldar more like second in line.
“Can you imagine if I had to run off to another city now like Raffar? To deal with some incompetent governor who doesn’t keep his region in shape?” He shook his head. “No, I’m happy in Baaldarstad, assisting Raffar.” He rolled the slate pencil between his fingers. “Being here for my father.”
Aldar’s speech made sense. Every word. If my parents were dying, I’d want to spend time with them too.
So why did I have such an uneasy feeling in my stomach? Probably because he had promised me more than once to improve his teaching only to continue changing word meanings at every chance. And of course, Jonas’s story. Perhaps the worst part was the fact that he believed me when I acted so clueless and confused. He had so little faith in my intelligence; he was so certain I wouldn’t catch on.
I gestured to the slate with my chin, and Aldar sat up straight again. He pronounced the word for me. I repeated it three times, forgetting it the moment it left my lips the third time. What was Aldar really thinking?
__________
It was Freyad’s turn to watch over me the next afternoon. “Forest,” she said and crooked her finger for me to follow. After a week of official visits and fruitless searches for the right tattoo, I didn’t even care that she wasn’t giving me a choice. A day away would be good. Fresh air, a soul bath in green.
I shook my head at myself—I was beginning to sound like the Farnskagers, wanting to be one with the world.
Forests surrounded Baaldarstad. We were never farther than a half-hour walking distance from one, so I wrinkled my brow when we beelined for the bird pen. Linnd fanned herself with a large leaf as she stood beside two thick-legged elephant birds. I told myself she was only bidding Freyad a quick goodbye. Until she held out the reins.
“No!” I hopped back a step. I was not climbing onto one of those animals.
Shaking her head, Freyad pointed to herself. She spoke extra slowly so I could understand, and she took control of her mount. “I drive. Linnd will join us. You are with me on Cloverlily.”
Linnd swung herself into her saddle, and her lively bird tossed its head and danced back and forth, eager for the outing. Freyad mounted Cloverlily and pointed to the stirrup where I was to brace my foot and swing up behind her.
A downy feather floated to the ground. Cloverlily shifted her weight from one massive foot to the other, and the feather disappeared below it.
I imagined my toes disappearing under that foot, too, or even my entire foot, and shook my head.
“Are you a queen?” Linnd asked, her laughing eyes boring into me, “Or a baby?”
I glared at her. She worked with the birds. She must have heard one had almost killed me. It was natural that I wanted nothing to do with them. I should get credit for even standing this close.
Freyad made a tsk sound at Linnd. “She is no baby.”
My face burned with shame. My entitlement to fear didn’t matter. Everyone in Farnskag rode these animals, even children. Unthinkable that the queen did not.
Freyad had faith in me. I glared at her wife, then gritted my teeth. “Listen to me,” I muttered to Cloverlily in Azzarian as I heaved myself up into the saddle. “Did you hear about Fleetfoot’s mother? Well, I still have my knife. Be good.”
The ground under me wobbled, along with the contents of my stomach. Freyad and I were high up, and the bird was not steady on its feet.
With a command I didn’t understand, the two women set the birds in motion. We left town and rode for almost an hour, out of the city limits, then past fields and a few scattered houses. Cloverlily was a surprisingly smooth runner when she got going. During the last quarter of the ride, my heart finally calmed, and I drank in the sunlight warming my neck and the herb-scented air.
The bushes turned into trees and trees turned into . . . there needed to be a separate word for trees like those that rose in front of us. Lining the narrow path, the forest giants reached hundreds of feet high, standing so tall, they
seemed unreal.
“Freyad,” I said, pointing to the trees. “Very big trees. Do they have a special name?”
She nodded. “Gigantruv.” Then she pointed to what
I would have considered a tall tree back in Azzaria and said that one’s name, then to a medium-sized one, and to a bush. I promptly forgot all the names but that of the mammoth tree. Gigantruv.
The elephant birds ducked their heads under branches when we came to a part of the forest so thick the sunlight barely made it through the leafy trees. A few moments later, the women and I dismounted and wandered over the dry, cushiony leaves and needles that covered the ground, giving bounce to each step.
I’d always considered the trees in Baaldarstad tall, but these were at least twice as high as any I’d seen there. I felt diminished, but the air was damp in my lungs, and that reminded me of home.
Plus, I’d ridden an elephant bird today.
As if she’d read my thoughts, Linnd said to me, “Freyad is right. You are not a baby, Queen Jiara. You did well.”
Not that I had controlled the animal myself, but at least I hadn’t run sobbing from it. Carefully, I raised a hand to Cloverlily’s neck and stroked the fluffy feathers.
We traipsed along a narrow path until it ended before an immense monolith. Twice as tall as one of the row houses in Baaldarstad, it appeared as if five layers of stone had been thrust diagonally from within the earth, and had gotten stuck. The monolith was covered in two kinds of moss—spongy deep green and inch-long, feathery emerald—and whitish lichen. Saplings grew around it and even out of cracks along the surface. Thick roots trailed down the rock like the arms of an octopus.
Linnd and Freyad tied the birds to one of the smaller trees nearby. Holding hands, they stood observing the immense stone, then they reverently stepped up to it. Leaning forward, each with both of her hands on the rock, they pressed their foreheads against it.
In an instant, I was back in the carriage watching everyone greet White Mother, when Aldar told me I should stay away so they wouldn’t think I was making fun of them. I took several steps backward, leaving the two women in solitude as they worshipped, or whatever it was they did. I ran my hand over a fern, like I’d seen Freyad do a dozen times. It tickled my palm.
“Queen Jiara!” Freyad called.
My head snapped up. She motioned me in her direction. “Come here. Be one.”
What should I say? I didn’t want to insult her.
She smiled. “Watcher of Stone doesn’t hurt.”
“I don’t think it hurts. I—”
She huffed and motioned to me again, less patiently, so I stomped through the ferns and spiky raspberry bushes to reach her.
Linnd’s eyes were closed, and her head still rested against the stone. Freyad pointed to Linnd and then to me and the monolith.
Me? But—
What if Aldar was wrong? What if my people would prefer to see me get to know their Watchers?
I nodded. “Tell me if I do it wrong,” I said.
“There is no wrong,” Freyad answered with a puzzled shake of her head.
This close, the monolith was no longer a simple rock. It was made of some type of granite, with sparkling alabaster veins among the gray. I picked a spot without moss or ants crawling around and leaned my palms and forehead against it. Then I closed my eyes like Linnd.
The rock was hard. I swallowed a laugh at the silliness of my thought. But it truly had appeared smoother than it was, and I shifted a bit to the side in the hope that the neighboring crags wouldn’t poke my skin so much. I breathed in and out like a meditation, inhaling the damp earthiness of the forest, feeling the roughness of the stone.
No one had ever told me what kind of thoughts or prayers one was supposed to have when touching the monolith, so I let my mind wander through all my worries.
Please gods, Watchers . . . help me find Scilla’s killer, and protect my family.
Inhale. Exhale. Rolling my forehead back and forth over the rock, I accepted the monolith’s massage.
I’m so slow with Farnskag—if you can help me learn the language faster, I’d appreciate it.
Let things be all right with Raffar . . . and especially prevent Aldar from being a threat to him in any way.
Help me be a good queen to the people here, and not just some foreign girl who’s afraid of elephant birds and doesn’t like the sweet potato mush they serve at half the meals.
A crack and scraping crunch sounded above. I ripped open my eyes and stepped back, but not fast enough to avoid being pelted by a small stone, about as big as my thumb, but with rough edges, as if it had just broken off the monolith.
The two women had jumped back when they’d heard the sound, and Freyad spoke quickly, excitedly to Linnd, who beamed. Freyad pointed to the rock, which lay at my feet.
“Pick it up,” she said.
Shrugging, I did as she said, rolling it with my fingertips. She skipped to Cloverlily to fetch something from a saddlebag. When she returned, a leather string dangled from her hand. She indicated I should hold it in my palm, and she wound the leather around it artfully, until the string held it tight. It wasn’t particularly attractive, but maybe she wanted it as a type of necklace.
Freyad tied it together and offered it back to me. “Watcher of Stone. I think it chose you.”
I stared, unable to believe what she was telling me. “But I . . .” I pointed to the bracelets I could never take off.
She nodded. “Watcher of Sky. And now, Watcher of Stone. It is good.”
“But—”
She drew a similar pendant from below the neckline of her tunic. Freyad motioned hectically for me to put it on. I wanted to be a good queen to my people. This would be a sign they would like, a reason to make them trust me, something to possibly even keep me safe. So, I accepted Watcher of Stone and pulled the leather band over my head.
Freyad and Linnd bounced on the balls of their feet. “Good. Take it off again,” Freyad said. She cast a sparkle-eyed glance to Linnd.
Now to see if Watcher of Stone accepted me. I removed the band from my neck and set it on a nearby stump. I didn’t bother groping toward my neck with a hand. I merely looked to Freyad.
The tattoo on her cheek crinkled as a huge smile took over her face. She spoke too quickly, and I missed almost everything. I only caught, “Queen Jiara . . . good . . . two Watchers.”
But why would one Watcher choose me let alone two? I wasn’t even from Farnskag. “Why would a Watcher choose me?” I asked.
Linnd and Freyad met each other’s gazes, then discussed something too fast for me to catch. Finally, Linnd turned to me, her hand at her chest, and spoke slowly, “We think the Watchers know what is in our hearts. They cannot be tricked by . . . false words, nor by rituals or prayers. They know who wants to serve.”
“Serve?” I asked.
Freyad jumped in. “To be there for others. To not be selfish, only working for themselves or their own family.” She gestured to the forest around us. “. . . to serve . . . for nature. For animals.” She gestured to the three of us. “For people.”
I slipped my fingers around the stone, so close to my skin it was already warming, already becoming a part of me like Watcher of Sky. It felt like the rock wanted closer contact than hanging over my shirt, so I dropped the pendant into my collar, beneath my tunic. My throat closed up at how hard I’d been trying since I had arrived and never feeling like it was enough. I still hadn’t found Scilla’s killer. I was so slow with the language and the customs. But the Watchers found me worthy in some way, and my heart warmed at the idea.
Freyad and Linnd patted my arms, then my back. They talked over one another, and tugged me along until I let their enthusiasm inflate my heart. I pretended this world of tattooed faces and gargantuan trees and giant birds wasn’t at all foreign to me, and I skipped and danced with them under the canopy of the leaves and needles so far above.
When we returned to the royal manor, Freyad promised she wouldn’t tell Raffar about my new Watcher—I’d have the pleasure of showing him myself. Then she left me at the front door and walked down the road, hand in hand with her wife. Linnd laid her head on Freyad’s shoulder, at le
ast until her unruly bird jerked her away. Their laughter trailed after me as I slid open the front door.
Only to see Aldar.
I froze, unwilling to give up my rare moment of lightheartedness for the suspicion he injected into me. Maybe I could sneak up the stairs without him noticing.
But Aldar stepped to the side, and I glimpsed the man he was talking to: Geord, who was uncharacteristically quiet. I hung back, remaining just outside the slightly open door as Aldar spoke. “. . . agree with you . . . come to the Grand Council tomorrow . . . sunset . . . agree . . . no change. The king will not . . . the throne.”
What was he saying? No change? No change to the throne? Geord made motions to leave, and I slipped out the door and ran around to the back entrance of the manor.
How was I supposed to understand Aldar’s words? Aldar agreed with Geord. Aldar would go to the Grand Council meeting tomorrow. No change—did that mean he didn’t want the succession changed after all? That was the exact opposite of what he’d told me.
Raffar trusted Aldar. I needed to find out the truth. And if Aldar was not only betraying me, but also my husband, I needed to warn him.
Chapter 23
As soon as the servants had cleared away the remains of dinner, I dragged out the parchments and my lexicon and got to work. I couldn’t do anything with the Stärklandish portion of the document, and my heart was still thrumming from the worry Aldar created, so I began with the simpler of the two: reading the Azzarian statement. I squeezed my eyes shut then opened them wide and forced one word after the other to make sense in my mind. When words dove around on the parchment, I gritted my teeth and reeled them back. Within a few sentences, it became clear that this was Jonas’s statement of what had happened the day of the massacre.
Jonas and eight Stärklandish diplomats and guards had made the trip to Baaldarstad to continue the discussions they’d begun with Scilla concerning a peace treaty between the two countries. There was apparently a lake between both nations with three islands in it: the Stekk Ilens islands, which were contested by both parties. Although they were closer to the Stärklandish side, they were inhabited almost solely by Farnskagers. The islands hosted several monoliths sacred to both countries.
A Dragonbird in the Fern Page 19