A Dragonbird in the Fern

by Rueckert, Laura

  A second point of contention existed in the far south: a corner near the border to Loftaria, blessed with iron ore. It was craggy and barren and almost unsettled, but still, anyone would want to extract the iron.

  Scilla had worked out a suggestion where the southern corner of land would fall to Stärkland and the islands to Farnskag. Stärkland would agree to offer preferential trade rates on the iron. Farnskag would allow Stärklandish pilgrims to pay their respects at the monoliths on the islands any time they wished. Another option would be to reverse this deal, but considering the large number of Farnskagers living on the islands, it seemed a good place to start.

  I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my eyes. When had Scilla discussed all this with the Stärklandish representatives? How had she found the contacts? And when had she come up with the strategy? She must have researched, talked to Jonas and someone from Farnskag. Probably even several times. Amazing.

  As my admiration for her grew, my heart shrank in my chest. Scilla had done all of that before she’d even become queen. And what had I accomplished? I growled at myself and yanked the parchment closer.

  If nothing else, I would read these infernal words. Jonas went on to say that Aldar and some men surrounded them about a day’s ride outside of Baaldarstad. He and Aldar had spoken, but suddenly, the Farnskagers had launched their arrows. Jonas himself would have died, but after being knocked over by an elephant bird and twisting his ankle, two of Aldar’s guards grabbed his arms and tossed him over an elephant bird, which delivered him to the prison in Baaldarstad.

  I dropped Jonas’s statement and rested my eyes for a moment. By the time I pulled Aldar’s document in Farnskag closer, my stomach began to ache, because there couldn’t be a good outcome to what I’d find. Reading went so slowly, my throat closed up and I wanted to cry, but I dug in my heels. Despite the length of the document, I managed to piece the truth together. This portion of the document didn’t represent Aldar’s personal view of what had transpired, but the official translation of Jonas’s statement.

  And it was a lie. Aldar’s “translation” had nothing to do with Jonas’s words. Scilla was never mentioned once.

  Aldar wrote that Stärklandish soldiers had stumbled upon Aldar and his guards. The leader, Jonas, had hurled insults at them, saying they were the first scouts, planning an invasion that would take place within the next months so Stärkland could seize control of the entire country. Jonas had allegedly grinned and whooped as he had tried to kill the Farnskag “animals.” The document ended with the threat that it wouldn’t be long now before Stärkland attacked.

  I pushed the parchments to the middle of the table, raced to the bedroom and flopped onto my stomach on the bed. My head pounded. My shoulders ached. My eyes were both itchy and wet at the same time. I pressed my face into Raffar’s pillow, hoping to inhale his leather and forest scent. But I’d snuggled with it too many nights since he’d departed. His scent was gone.

  Either Aldar had willfully mistranslated Jonas’s statement to mislead the Farnskag state, or he had willfully mistranslated it because everything Jonas wrote was a lie. But why would Jonas mention Scilla if it wasn’t the truth? If it was only to get my sympathy . . . but no. He’d had no idea that I was coming. I hadn’t even been engaged to Raffar when Jonas was thrown in prison. Could it have been to plant an idea in Raffar’s head—the trade of islands for the iron-rich country?

  And what about Raffar? He would have read the translation—only the translation. Did he expect war with Stärkland? Was that another reason he’d married me? In Azzaria, we’d thought his strongest reason was access to the sea. But what if the major goal had been military support against Stärkland?

  After tracing the loops of logic in my head for a half hour, I propped myself up on both palms and thrust my tired body from the bed. I needed to hide the documents in case Aldar showed up.

  __________

  The next evening after dinner, I plastered a smile onto my face as I spoke my broken Farnskag with one of the servants. I pretended everything was fine and I just wanted to take a little walk in the garden.

  But everything wasn’t fine, not at all.

  First, I’d received a letter from Pia, usually a cause for joy. She was doing fine, with the pregnancy progressing normally. She only had a month or so left to go. But her final sentences pulled tears from my eyes:

  The news about your mother and Llandro reached Flissina, and I’m so sorry to hear it. The official story is that it was a terrible carriage accident. That’s how the bruises and cuts have been explained. Normally, I wouldn’t write something like this—I know anyone could potentially open it—but everyone in Azzaria is talking about it anyway. It was Scilla, wasn’t it?

  My hands shook and I lost control, flinging myself onto my bed and pounding my pillows, shouting into them. No one had told me that, not Mother or Father, not Llandro. They probably though they were protecting me from the awful truth. I cried until I fell asleep. When Aldar finally came for lessons, he must have seen something wrong in my expression. He kept class short and didn’t push me like normal. Or maybe his mind was just on the Grand Council meeting later.

  But Aldar’s retreat didn’t mean I got off lightly. As soon as he’d left the royal suite, I pulled out the book on Watchers I’d found and resigned myself to the torture of reading Farnskag. It was common knowledge that Farnskag had no earthwalkers. Could the reason be more than just our Azzarian love for justice? And could I use it to help Scilla move on?

  But nothing I found was helpful. According to the book, when a person died in Farnskag, the Watchers were waiting for them in the afterlife, ready to enfold them into the one great power that is connected to and watches over the world. There didn’t appear to be ties to family or friends to be severed. And Scilla had already died; without rituals, there was no way I could get the Watchers to come collect her.

  I hadn’t finished hiding the book in my closet when Scilla made her presence known. My back and arms ached with the map of bruises she’d created—she’d pelted books and candles and even potted ferns at me. A guard, attracted by the din, had been hit in the left cheek with a heavy vase as I’d attempted to flee the room. His horrified expression as he rubbed his injury and took in the shards on the floor had forced me to choke out an apology. What must he think of his queen now?

  That evening, I pretended to wander aimlessly as I headed to the rear of the garden, giving a wave to a servant before drifting behind a copse of trees. Immediately, I slipped through the breezy park along the far edge of the property and out the front. Tonight was the Grand Council meeting Aldar had mentioned. Earlier, I’d considered informing him I planned to attend. But I’d had the sneaking suspicion the meeting would be unexpectedly postponed, so I decided to surprise him. If I just showed up, he couldn’t send me away.

  Aldar hadn’t disclosed the location, but he had said something about the time: sunset. The only place I could imagine the council sitting together was in the meeting house. As the sun sank in the sky, turning wispy clouds into glowing orange plumes, I stood behind one of the large trees on the square and spied on the meeting hall’s entrance. Within minutes, Aldar strode across the square and into the building.

  A grin blossomed on my face.

  I waited until several other people entered the building. When the sun dipped below the tree line, I made for the entrance. After sucking in a deep breath, I opened the door and walked in with my head held high.

  The Grand Council was made up of exactly ten members. Some were lesser royalty. Some were heads of clans from other parts of the country. But there were only five at the meeting hall this evening—three men and two women. They stood in a ring around a large, polished wooden table that reflected the geometric patterns stained into the ceiling. Along with Aldar, they stared at me, their mouths slightly open. For a split second, the violent expression on Aldar’s face reminded me of the men in the courtyard when they’d yelled at Raffar.

  I ignored the fl
utter of my heart and smiled then spoke to Aldar in Azzarian. “What luck, Aldar! I thought I saw you and some of the council members. I’ve met traders and soldiers and townspeople. But I really need to get to know the Grand Council better. What better opportunity than one of the meetings.” I left out the biggest question—why Aldar was even there. He was not a member of the council.

  His fingers pressed to the tabletop, Aldar leaned back, and his mind was probably galloping after ways to reject my request, so I had to make myself seem benign. “My people should understand I’m interested in them. I realize I won’t understand much more than hello and goodbye. But I want to keep up appearances. Especially with Raffar out of town.”

  “Your Majesty, we have so much to discuss—”

  “I’m already here.” I shrugged, acting oblivious to his uncertainty. “I know translating would slow things down, so don’t bother today. Being here would mean a lot to me.” I smiled innocently at the oldest woman then returned my attention to Aldar. “I think it would mean something to the people too.”

  Aldar opened his mouth, but I interrupted before he could speak, appealing to the teacher in him. “And maybe I’ll learn a word. Or two. Maybe?”

  His jaw tightened, but he said, “Of course, Your Majesty,” and made a big show of introducing me. His Farnskag was slow when he said my name, and he carefully gushed about how glad he was to have me here. Then, rushing, he said, “I’ve been teaching her for months now. She’s slow. She can barely understand a word. We can speak freely.”

  It was all I could do to keep the mild expression on my face and my hands from clutching at my twisting insides. There was no longer a need to wonder about his capability for betrayal, and a cold pit yawned within me. But I had to find out what was going on. Ignoring Aldar’s last words, I forced a bright smile and greeted them especially slowly as if I’d understood only the introduction, “Guuddug.”

  The words guuddug and Skriin Jiara were mumbled back to me. I also heard, “Are you sure about this?” directed at Aldar. I met each person’s gaze, smiling innocently at them, as Aldar nodded. Gingerly, attempting to avoid the worst bruises on my backside, I took my seat, and wood scraped against wood as the others settled into their chairs after me.

  Then there was silence. They were afraid to begin. My neck heated up. What if they refused to talk and rescheduled the meeting in secret? I might not get another opportunity to figure out if any of them could be danger to Raffar.

  I turned to Aldar and asked in Azzarian, “Do you mind if I say a few words first? I’ve been practicing.”

  Aldar’s jaw dropped a little, but he said, “Of course, Your Majesty.” He translated for the group.

  These council members would think me a fool for now, but my language skills were improving, and I’d be able to demonstrate that someday. I ignored my clammy palms and pushed on. They had to assume I was completely harmless. “Hello. Thank you. Come sunshine, yes. Lovely. Yes. Lovely. Thank you.”

  My face heated as I smiled at them. I prevented myself from swallowing nervously. Geord rubbed his mouth, hiding a smile, or maybe a frown. Eyes widened as the others did their best not to laugh at their queen. After a moment, they nodded in silence.

  Geord was the first to speak, “When will King Raffar make his decision . . . succession?”

  Aldar scanned the faces. “When he returns from Gluwfyall, I believe.”

  A woman swept her hand back and forth over the tabletop. “You’ve been talking to him for us. Will he . . . our opinion?”

  Aldar leaned forward, smiling indulgently. It was as if every one of his movements existed to convince people to trust him. “When I last spoke to him, he said the council’s opinion is very important. I believe so.”

  “And will he listen to you?” someone asked.

  Aldar sat straighter. “Of course, he will. The king couldn’t function without my advice.”

  I gasped and, covering my mouth with my hand, turned it into an exaggerated yawn. “Sorry,” I muttered in Azzarian. Raffar couldn’t function?

  Aldar continued as if I hadn’t spoken, “But I cannot be seen as . . . here. It would look like I’m only trying to get my father on the throne.”

  His father, who was dying, leaving him as the next monarch.

  “What are you trying to say?” asked another member.

  “What I’m saying is . . .”

  I clenched my fist under the table as I missed the end of the sentence, which he uttered very quickly.

  Then he said, “I have to be impartial. The king must hear the voice of the Grand Council.”

  Right. So, by telling Raffar he supported whatever Raffar thought was right was “being impartial?” Blood pounded in my veins. Inhale. Exhale. Pretend you’re somewhere else. At the sea, watching the dolphins. Or in the forest, next to the big monolith.

  A woman cleared her throat. “I don’t think you have to worry about King Raffar believing you’re trying to take his throne. He’s young, one of the few chosen by a Watcher—”

  One of the few? After Raffar and Freyad, I’d thought it was fairly common. The rock at my neck and the bracelets on my wrists increased in weight now that I knew they were special. I refrained from touching them. The council members shouldn’t know I’d understood what they said.

  “—so he’ll surely live a long life.”

  Hmm. They didn’t realize his one shot at protection had been used. As Raffar had told me, Aldar apparently had never said a word about it. But Aldar knew.

  The woman continued, “And not only that, he’s married. We’ll . . . hear the queen is pregnant any day now.”

  My head shot up. Pregnant? My throat itched like it was full of briars, and my stomach sank because I wasn’t supposed to appear interested in their conversation. Although, I was allowed to understand the word Skriin. I smiled blankly and sipped tiny breaths to calm myself.

  Pregnant.

  My eyes burned. Discussing our very personal, very private life, right in front of me. My fingernails cut into my skin. But things like that were normal for royalty. Stop acting like a baby.

  The woman’s eyes rested on me, then moved back to Aldar. She waved a hand. “There will be other . . . between you and the crown than your father.”

  Geord broke in. “This discussion has nothing to do with you or your father or Raffar’s . . . children. It has to do with our traditions. Adoption is an important . . . our society, that’s true. But it doesn’t mean we should discard the way we have handled the throne for centuries. Farnskag has much to be proud of. Our kings and queens—the rulers chosen through our . . . traditions—have brought us this far. There is no need to throw that away.”

  Now I understood what Raffar meant about Geord’s passion. His voice was deep and earnest. He loved his country and wanted the best for it. I only wished he agreed with Raffar on what was the best.

  The council members nodded and grunted sounds of assent in Geord’s direction.

  He turned to Aldar. “I will send messages to the rest of the Grand Council. When the king returns, we’ll face him together. He must listen to . . .”

  Geord’s action points signaled the end of the meeting. He and all council members but one left the room. I waited patiently as Aldar spoke with one of the men I remembered from the square on my first day. One who’d glared at me along with Geord.

  The man shook his head, gritted his teeth. “Raffar is too young. These past four years, what has he done? Married a long-haired foreigner. Tried to . . . our traditions. Your father would make a better king than Raffar. Even you, as young as you are, would make a better king. You listen to your people.”

  Raffar listened to his people, didn’t he? Even Geord had said he’d hear out the council. But sometimes, a decision had to be made that wasn’t the way things had always been done. Sometimes the best solution wasn’t popular. I hated being silent, but I bit my tongue to prevent myself from shouting in my husband’s defense. Until I could speak to Raffar, I had to keep Aldar
in the dark.

  Aldar clasped the man’s upper arm. “Thank you. And you are one of the best . . . a monarch could have. I do not understand how Raffar doesn’t appreciate you more. In his shoes”—he held the man’s gaze, and a tiny smile crept onto his face—“I would appreciate you.”

  The way Aldar played the man made me want to gag.

  The council member nodded. “Of course. I think . . . we have no choice but to go ahead with our plan.”

  Plan?

  Aldar shushed the council member. Before he could turn to me, I closed my eyes as if I were dozing. My ears strained for a hint of this mysterious plan, but I didn’t hear another word.

  A few seconds later, Aldar’s gentle hand on my tender shoulder “woke” me. “Queen Jiara.”

  Flinching, I faked a yawn. “Oh, I’m so sorry. How embarrassing.” I stretched my arms before me.

  “It has grown quite late,” Aldar said, “and you worked so hard studying today.”

  I’d always been a peaceful person, but maybe Scilla was rubbing off on me. My hand longed to smack the false praise out of his head. “I’m sorry I dozed off. Really, it was very interesting,” I said. “Raffar is right. I don’t know what Geord said, but the look on his face—Geord has fire in him, doesn’t he?”

  The translator nodded. “Of course, Your Majesty. And now it’s time to get you back to the royal manor for some rest.”

  Chapter 24

  Most of the night, the council member’s “plan” alternated with my fears for Scilla and my family. When I finally fell asleep, I dreamed Mother pounded on the manor door, begging to be let in. Her dress was bloodied, her hair full of burrs.

  “It’s Scilla. She’s been killing us one by one.” She grabbed hold of my tunic, her eyes wild with terror. “You and I are the only ones left.”

  When I woke up, my stomach turned. At the awful nightmare of course, but also because the event Pia’d sent in her last letter had finally come true. I’d dreamed in Farnskag. Of all people, in my dream, Mother had been speaking Farnskag to me. A part of my heart swelled with pride, while the other part reeled from the wrongness of it all.