The Cerulean Queen

by Sarah Kozloff

  “You know your business. I’ll leave it to you,” said Vilkit, clapping the man on the shoulder and walking back to his office a little dizzy.

  39

  The Royal Navy kept meticulous records. Wilamara would have been willing to wager a year’s wages that no other national institution kept records so complete. She had the names of every sailor and officer who had sailed with Queen Cressa. She had lists of those who had perished in fights with the Pellish pirates in the Green Isles. She had the name of every soul lost when Freshwater Pearl went down off the coast of Pexlia. She had the names of the next of kin of all the departed.

  Locating the sailors who had mustered out or the kinfolk of the departed had taken moons of ingenuity and persistence. Some mariners could not be found, and many of those who perished had no family left to invite.

  Sitting in her cabin on the Sea Wind, which, to her sorrow, was now dry-docked due to rot, Wilamara looked over the list once more. It hurt her heart to read these names, but she felt great satisfaction that at last these loyal mariners would be recognized. She had seen to it that all who would participate in the ceremonies had perfectly fitted dress uniforms. She had stayed up late last night, putting an extra coat of polish on her own boots and buttons.

  One of her personal contributions to the fete was, on her own initiative, to send out scouting and escort ships. Visiting dignitaries should be met politely and piloted around Breakneck Shoal to their proper berth in Cascada Harbor. And her scouts could give the palace forewarning of who had arrived or who was spotted. She thought this would please the queen.

  She called in a cabin girl. “I am writing to Chamberlain Vilkit. I want you to deliver it to him personally.”

  “Aye, Seamaster.”

  Wilamara wrote:

  Rorther ship spotted. Will arrive this afternoon. A Free States vessel by tomorrow morning. No sign of Lortherrod. Sending a scouting boat farther north, but we should have seen them by now. Plan on the Lorthers being late for the festivities. Probably uncertain seas in the north. Could the queen send one of her birds?

  * * *

  Duke Naven waited at the dock when the Rorther ship arrived. A high-ranking dignitary had to greet the king of Rortherrod; the council had selected Naven, as a duke and a councilor, to accompany Envoy Rakihah.

  He smiled to himself about the Rorthers being a day early. Everyone had been pleased with the king’s acceptance of Cerúlia’s invitation and the tidings that he would bring with him his unmarried, eldest son, Filio Kemeron. Amongst themselves the councilors had discussed what a wonderful match Kemeron would make for their queen. And to combine the might of the Rorthers with the Weirs would be a mutually beneficial alliance.

  The councilors dined with Envoy Rakihah several times to piece together whatever information they could find about the prince. He was of suitable age: just shy of thirty. He had a reputation as a steady man, soft-spoken and without bluster. Of course Queen Catreena’s marriage to the Lorther king had not been successful, but that didn’t rule out the possibility and advantages of an international match.

  Naven was eager to judge whether the Rorther prince was more personable than King Nithanil had been.

  When the duke boarded the vessel, he discovered King Kentros to be a bluff and friendly man a little less stout than Naven himself, with shrewd eyes and bright red hair. Filio Kemeron turned out to be broad-shouldered and well-built, though he came only up to Naven’s chin. His hair was cut rather short, with two thin lines shaved to the skin shooting back from each temple almost like chevrons; he wore a neatly trimmed beard along his firm jawline. Naven knew that his own daughters would swoon over this prince, but he did not presume to judge the queen’s reaction.

  As was polite, the son let his father take the lead in the conversation after Rakihah had made the introductions.

  “We had uncommonly favorable winds,” said King Kentros. “Guests who come too early always send my lady-wife into fits. How about you pretend we’re not here until the day after tomorrow? We would hate to disturb plans or add complications.”

  “Oh, no, Your Highness. We are delighted that you have arrived safely. The queen has explicitly invited you to attend the ceremonies tomorrow in honor of Weir citizens’ trials and loyalty. If agreeable to you, I will bring the royal carriage to escort you to a private meeting with Queen Cerúlia in the morning.”

  “Very fine, very fine,” said King Kentros.

  “My liege, the envoy mansion is ready to receive you,” said Rakihah.

  “Do you need anything this evening? Is there anything we can do to make you more comfortable?” Naven pressed.

  “This is really working out for the best,” said the Rorther king agreeably. “I’d like to soak in a hot tub and stroll a bit to get back my land legs before appearing in public.”

  Filio Kemeron escorted Duke Naven to the gangplank.

  “I understand that you are one of the queen’s councilors, but how well do you know her personally?” he asked Naven.

  “Fairly well,” answered Naven, not admitting that he had known her as a child, because in truth, he had paid no attention to Wilim’s quiet ward.

  “My father and I had a disagreement about what gift to bring. My father said that all women like jewelry. I had read that she is fond of animals and so thought to make her a gift of a breeding pair of Rorther’s highly prized spotted lynx. But then I remembered this.” He pulled a small velvet box out of a purse and opened it. Inside, lying on white velvet, was a sliver of a broken rock.

  Naven’s face must have showed his puzzlement. The prince explained, “This is a shard from our Protection Stone. Although we don’t know how much Power it still contains, it is one of our national treasures.”

  Naven shook his head in amazement. “My queen would welcome any gift with sincere appreciation. But Filio Kemeron, this is an honor beyond price. I know that my liege will be sensible of the homage you pay her.”

  The prince looked gratified by Naven’s reaction.

  40

  When she woke on the morning of the first ceremony, Cerúlia found herself calmer, relieved that the day had finally arrived.

  Once Geesilla finished with her hair, piling it high and decorating it with ornaments, Percia arrived to help her into the Leaf Gown and velvet-and-ermine robe. They fixed the robe with a golden clasp that repeated the catamount faces on her dagger. Percia beamed at her, but Cerúlia did not even glance in the mirror.

  “Don’t you want to see?” Percia asked.

  “No,” said Cerúlia. “I’m ashamed of those fits of vanity. Either I look like a Nargis Queen, or I don’t. Everyone has done the best they can.”

  Ciellō knocked softly on the door. “Damselle, King Kentros has arrived.”

  “I will meet them in the Nymph Salon,” she called.

  Percia came toward her to whisper in her ear. “Just keep an open mind. You might like him.”

  Cerúlia nodded. In her Reception Room she turned to the two dogs who weren’t on gate duty.

  Cici, she sent, you accompany me, and, Whaki, you stay outside the door.

  “Ciellō and Percia, pray escort me,” she said aloud, holding her head high and walking down the hallway, enjoying the sensation of the fur against her skin and the flow of the gown on the floor behind.

  A match with a Rorther prince would be a priceless boon for Weirandale. My mother wrote that sometimes one has to sacrifice what is dearest to one’s heart. If I hate him, that’s another story, but I shall try to keep an open mind.

  She entered the salon. Duke Naven and Envoy Rakihah made the introductions. King Kentros offered a practiced but nonetheless kind comment about once meeting Queen Cressa and knowing how proud her mother would be at seeing her daughter on the throne.

  “King Kentros, you honor us by your presence at our festivals, as your fleet honored my mother by joining the Allies. I must again tell you how grateful we are for the use of your Truth Stone, which helped me bring justice to my people.”


  Cerúlia turned to Filio Kemeron. His dark brown outfit set off his red hair, and his shoulders looked broad. She found him handsome.

  He made a graceful bow and kissed her hand. But when he rose and looked her in the eye, he stammered.

  “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I had a pretty speech rehearsed, but at the sight of such loveliness it just flew out of my head.”

  Cici? she sent.

  He is not putting on a display, the terrier answered.

  “Oh, dear. I have several speeches to make today,” said Cerúlia, turning to humor to cover everyone’s embarrassment. “I do hope they won’t fly out of my head!”

  “I’m sure, Your Majesty, that you are resourceful enough for any occasion,” replied the prince.

  King Kentros broke in. “Well, Son, if you recall your speech, you can recite it later in the day?”

  “No,” said Cerúlia with a smile. “I’m afraid there’s only one opportunity for pretty speeches. Afterward, we will have to make do with honest talk.”

  “Honest talk is better anyway,” Kemeron agreed.

  Kemeron squatted down and called Cici over to him. He petted her with the practiced touch of a man who likes dogs, with firm scratches behind the ears and a direct gaze in her eyes. Cici licked his chin, literally giving her approval.

  “Won’t you partake of a welcome cup?” Cerúlia offered, and Duke Naven, with a bow, himself carried a silver tray with wineglasses on it to everyone in the room.

  “To years of peace and friendship,” Cerúlia offered as a toast.

  “To the health of the most-longed-for and most beautiful queen in Ennea Món,” said the prince.

  “There’s a pretty speech!” said the king, arching his brow. “Hear! Hear!”

  Percia consulted a little hourglass she wore today as a pendant around her neck.

  “Your Majesty…” she prompted.

  “Ah, yes. Gentlemen, we are due in the Throne Room now,” said Cerúlia, and led the way.

  Hundreds of Weir citizens—commoners and wealthy burghers, young and old, all dressed in their costliest outfits—filled the two upper balconies and the long benches that had been arranged along the sides of the room. First-time visitors ogled the throne, the Fountain, the gold Dedication Basin, and the catamounts. Her councilors sat in chairs to the side of the throne. When the queen entered through the East Entrance, walking sedately down the wide aisle left open, everyone stood. When she reached the dais, careful to move without haste, Percia helped her arrange her gown and robe and stepped away; then the queen sat, at which point everyone else took their seats.

  Amidst all this formal pageantry, Cici caused a small fuss by barking at the catamounts and making little rushes at them.

  Cici! sent Cerúlia. Don’t you ever know when to back down? Those big cats could eat you in one bite.

  One doth nay care how big or fierce they be! Regard the cheeky way they hold their tails! But one is pack leader! They must recognize one’s precedence.

  Catamounts! sent Cerúlia. Please don’t hurt the canine. She is brash, but I do favor her.

  Cici made one more foolhardy rush at the mountain lions. A male stood and growled at her, a growl into which he put all the disdain of a lion for a mouse. To her credit, stouthearted Cici didn’t cower or scamper away. She did, however, beat a dignified retreat under the throne.

  Councilor Alix caught Cerúlia’s eye, and the two of them almost burst out laughing at the dog’s antics. The moment helped the queen still her racing heart.

  The palace caller knocked three times on the East Entrance with her staff. Then she threw open the double doors.

  “Your Majesty, and Ladies and Gentlemen, I have the honor to present to you Our Fellow Citizens, those who unjustly suffered for their loyalty to the realm.”

  The caller read off names as the people—those who had been imprisoned or a family member who stood in for the deceased—entered in a procession.

  It was a gut-wrenching parade. Many of the former prisoners bore the marks of injuries sustained at the hands of Matwyck’s Marauders, such as broken noses, missing teeth, or limping gaits. Two people were so crippled that they were carried in on litters. As for the bereaved—who were marked, as customary, by circlets that held gray veils on their foreheads—many were widows, but others looked like mothers or fathers. In two cases, the closest next of kin were young children.

  Cerúlia was overwhelmed. Sympathy mixed with anger at these injustices and shame that a Weir government had carried out such atrocities. Once all were assembled, the honorees knelt in front of the dais. She stood.

  “Citizens of Weirandale. A government that misuses its authority to oppress its citizens for their thoughts or speech cannot stand. A government that throws citizens in secret jails without public proceedings should never stand. You suffered, unjustly, from such a regime. I beg your forgiveness that I was not here to protect you. I, and the rest of Weirandale”—she looked around at the onlookers—“acknowledge your pain and sorrows and entreat the Nargis Waters to ease your burdens.”

  Brothers and Sisters of Sorrow, standing discreetly at the sides of the Throne Room, came forward. Each carried a silver cup of Nargis Water that they offered to the assembled victims.

  Have any of the wounded been cured? There! He can see through his bad eye again. There! Her expression of pain has eased. There! The little girl’s cloud of grief has dissipated; her eyes now sparkle.

  Then Lord Marcot rose and addressed everyone in the Throne Room. “’Twas my father, Lord Matwyck, and General Yurgn who bear the greatest responsibility for these injustices. Both of them have already paid with their lives. I have taken these monies from their ill-gotten fortunes in the hopes that, while coin can never recompense, it may ease the burdens you currently face.”

  Marcot walked among the citizens distributing small pouches filled with golden catamounts. Many of the folk pressed his hand. An older woman kissed his cheek.

  After Marcot had distributed his last pouch, the honorees’ spokesperson stepped forward. Middle-aged, perhaps a tradesman, he leaned heavily on one crutch.

  “Your Majesty.” His voice croaked. He stopped, cleared his throat, and started again. “Your Majesty, most of us were imprisoned for speaking aloud our hopes for your safe return. Seeing you sitting on the Nargis Throne, hearing tidings of your setting things to rights all around the realm, why, that is as much a balm to our spirits as the Water and the coin. Welcome home, Your Majesty.”

  Brother Whitsury nodded to the Abbey Choir, which had been stationed in the rear of the hall on the highest balcony.

  Cerúlia stood, as did the rest of the onlookers. The choir sang two hymns, the harmonies wafting down through the Throne Room with unearthly beauty. Then the choir led all in “We Wish You Joy” as the honorees filed out.

  The palace caller announced, “This ends the events for the morn. We will reconvene when the bells toll three for this afternoon’s program.”

  The honorees had been invited to midmeal with the queen in the Salon of Queen Cinda, a more intimate space than the Great Ballroom. Vilkit, knowing her preferences now, had arranged mixed tables, so that dukes, duchesses, and councilors were seated at round tables among the citizens. Cerúlia noticed, however, that with his typical cleverness, Vilkit had placed King Kentros next to Councilor Nishtari and Filio Kemeron between Stahlia and Steward Alix.

  As for herself, weeks ago Vilkit had devised a system. A footman, Hanks, always stood at the ready to move her chair to another table, so that Cerúlia could rotate among the guests at will, while Ciellō always kept his hands free.

  “Percia, will you please take my robe? Hanks, I will start next to the spokesperson.”

  She thought that the meal would be a somber event, but the honorees would have none of it. Despite their trials, the Nargis Water had put them in a cheerful, even buoyant mood.

  Cerúlia had a long talk with a brewer about how hops had fared this season. A widow shyly confessed that her
neighbor had come a-courting, and she wanted the queen’s advice about whether she should encourage the suit. The man whose sight had been restored wanted to tell her that he had witnessed Queen Cressa’s Dedication years ago. All the children in the room were taken with the dogs—the happier little girl had ended up on Fornquit’s lap feeding Haki one grain of rice at a time, treats he took with exquisite gentleness and solemnity. Many toasts were drunk to the honorees’ health and prosperity, to the queen’s health, and even to Marcot’s and Percie’s health.

  As the meal was winding down, Percie stood up and clapped for everyone’s attention.

  “As many of you know, tonight we will be dancing the Harvest Reel. If any of you would like to practice the steps, I will be leading a class in the ballroom in a few moments. If you feel otherwise inclined, perchance you would like to refresh yourself by a stroll in the East Garden.”

  No one could leave the room before the queen. Cerúlia stood up; Tilim magically appeared holding out her white robe; and Alix and Vilkit slid in step a few paces behind Ciellō, which meant that they needed a word.

  “Chamberlain,” said Cerúlia, “my compliments. Everything is going so splendidly. Lord Steward?”

  Alix said, “My liege, I wanted you to know that the vessel from the Free States has been sighted, due to dock tonight. Nishtari will play host and greeter. Did your gulls catch any sign of the Lorthers?”

  “No, none at all. Pray the Waters that the ship is safe.”

  “Your Majesty, I hope that without your kin’s arrival, tomorrow’s festivities will not be anticlimactic for you.”

  “Tomorrow will be as the Waters will,” she said to her steward, and he departed. Vilkit still walked behind her, so he had a private matter to discuss with her.

  “Yes, Vilkit?”

  “Your Majesty, Filio Kemeron asked a footman to deliver this note to you, and the footman, with wise discretion, brought it to me instead. Do you wish to accept the note, or should I return it?”

  Cerúlia stopped in the corridor.