The Cerulean Queen

by Sarah Kozloff

  At the palace gate, Nishtari and Destra’s carriage stopped as their escort spoke to the guards. The guards then waved the Raiders through, standing at attention. The Nargis Palace, large and resplendent, gleaming white, stood a ways ahead, down a long avenue of nearly bare elms.

  * * *

  The afternoon events began with Chronicler Sewel recounting to the audience how, in Queen Cressa’s fight against the Pellish pirates, key allies had come to her aid. Today’s celebration was in honor of those whose contributions Weir citizens might not know well enough, but who deserved their utmost gratitude.

  My heart is going to smash through my ribs, thought Cerúlia as she tried to maintain composure on the throne.

  The palace caller knocked on the door three times. She said, “King Kentros and Filio Kemeron of Rortherrod!”

  Followed by an honor guard of Rorther shields, the royals walked down the length of the Throne Room. The onlookers were already familiar with these guests, and they applauded them lustily, drowning out a traditional Rorther anthem played by strings.

  Sewel spoke of the ships the Rorthers had sent to help the Allied Fleet. Cerúlia stepped down and thanked them publicly. Kemeron presented her with the shard of the Protection Stone, accompanied by a pretty speech about how he hoped it would always protect the Weir people, and most especially the person of their lovely queen.

  “May the bond between our realms always remain strong,” said the queen.

  “Be it thus and ever so,” said the Rorther royalty. And the crowd echoed back to them, “Be it thus and ever so.”

  Then the palace caller proclaimed, “Minister Destra of the Free States, formerly Magistrar Destra of the Green Isles.”

  For this event Destra had resumed her Green Isles garb of a spare white gown, her side plait, and a bracelet of green vines. She walked solo down the Throne Room aisle, a small figure with an aura about her. The crowd grew silent, watching her approach. She knelt in front of the queen.

  Sewel recounted the facts he had gathered from Seamaster Wilamara: how Magistrar Destra had been the one to suggest the fight against the pirates, how the Allied Fleet had been organized in Pilagos, how throughout the long war she had been ever at the side of Lord Ambrice and Queen Cressa with support, friendship, and wise advice.

  Oh, thought Cerúlia. What dignity and calm. I am so glad my parents had her as an ally.

  “Your Majesty,” said Destra, in a quiet voice that still carried, “in my lifetime I have been fortunate to meet three Nargis Queens: Queen Catreena the Strategist, Queen Cressa the Enchanter, and now Queen Cerúlia the Gryphling. One might wonder why Fate has seen fit to entangle my life’s journey with that of the Nargis Throne.

  “The aid I provided to Queen Cressa was naught; ’twas her own courage and Talent that lifted the predations of the Pellish pirates from the seas.

  “I no longer reside in the Green Isles; like you, I have returned from exile to my own homeland, the Free States, in hopes of healing the wounds of troublous times.

  “I come before you now with three gifts: the friendship of the Free States; my counsel, should you ever desire it; and this.” She took off her wrist the green vine bracelet and, kneeling, offered it to Cerúlia.

  Cerúlia descended from the dais and spoke quietly to Destra. “The onlookers will not appreciate the preciousness of the gifts you have offered, milady, but I do. Weirandale needs allies; I would feel blessed to have your counsel; and I recognize the vine of Vertia. ’Tis the gift of growth—the pulse of life—for my country and for my person. I am overjoyed to clasp it on my wrist. Later, may we speak together of Gardener?”

  She helped Destra rise and impulsively kissed the older woman on the cheek. Though not really understanding what had transpired, the crowd appreciated that their queen honored this foreigner and clapped loudly.

  Councilor Nishtari escorted Minister Destra to her seat beside the Rortherrod royalty.

  The palace caller announced, “Thalen’s Raiders of the Free States.”

  * * *

  With Thalen leading the way, they strode into the Throne Room in haphazard order, neither matching their strides into a march nor assuming a military formation.

  The first thing Cerúlia took in was how grand they looked. She had never seen any of them in anything other than worn and dirty clothing. They strode with confidence, dressed in straight black coats that came down to the tops of their shining black boots, with silver buttons and no insignia other than armbands of a twisted white-and-black pattern. Their highly polished swords, hanging from black leather belts, were scabbardless; they shone bare against the black fabric. They wore no hats, most of them tying their hair back at the neck in imitation of their commander’s style.

  The next moment Cerúlia spent casting her eyes over the familiar physiques, noting in one glance who had survived. There’s Wareth! There’s Kambey! Dalogun! But oh no! I don’t see Gentain or Ooma.

  Thalen and the Raiders advanced down the Throne Room aisle.

  Steady, lads, Thalen thought. If you feel abashed by all these people and that throne, you don’t show it. We have faced down woros. We can walk through a crowd with our heads held high.

  Their strong strides had brought them closer to the dais. Cerúlia now could see Thalen’s face and his blue eyes.

  Oh, Sweet Nargis—save me. For here he stands before me, and again I am lost. Yet he loves me not, or he would have answered my note.

  For his part Thalen had gotten close enough that he could discern the queen’s face clearly. Take away the blue hair, that shining pendant, those fancy clothes—

  “YOU’RE ALIVE!” Thalen broke out in a voice strident with both jubilation and fury. “DAMN YOUR EYES, YOU’RE ALIVE!”

  “And queen! Queen of Weirandale!” Tristo shouted.

  “Skylark!” Wareth roared. “You confounded, lying cur! You—! You bird dung! Do you know how much he’s suffered?”

  Fedak shouted out, “Skylark. Well, I’ll be blowed. How did your hair get blue?”

  Pandemonium ensued. The Queen’s Shield was alarmed by the lapse that had allowed these men to enter their liege’s presence with their swords, and the shouting elicited immediate protective responses. Yanath and several others pulled their swords and rushed in front of the dais. Whaki and Vaki raised their throats in loud howls. Hundreds of onlookers turned to one another with scandalized expressions and confusion.

  Thalen held his arms way outstretched from his sides, showing that he had no intent of going for his glittering rapier, while the rest of the Raiders automatically copied his lead. Ignoring the noise and movement, his shock gave way to analysis.

  Now I see everything clearly. Why her hair wasn’t as yellow as Gunnit’s. Why she knew the Weir ballads. Why she could talk to animals. Why she was so smart. Why Nollo and Shyrwin were searching for her. I couldn’t find her body because she wasn’t dead. All the pieces were there all along. I should have known long ago. How could I have been so stupid? So stupid!

  Dogs! Cerúlia commanded. For Water’s sake! Shut up.

  The dogs desisted; the shields paused at the Raiders’ pacific gestures, and the moment stretched long. The queen stood and held up her hands for silence.

  “Shields, as you were,” she ordered. “Commander Thalen and the Raiders would no more injure me than you would. As a general rule, when in doubt, look to the catamounts.”

  At this direction, everyone in the room looked at the guardians of the Nargis Throne. Two of the mountain lions had continued dozing through all this ruckus; one blinked at the human antics and stretched out more comfortably; the last found the itch on her shoulder much more interesting than the Raiders. With wondering looks, the shields sheathed their swords and returned to their former positions.

  Cerf boldly called out into the silence, “Skylark!!! You bloody well owe us an explanation!”

  “Indeed I do, Cerf. Actually, I owe an explanation not only to the Raiders but to everyone in this Throne Room and beyond.”r />
  Cerúlia took a deep breath. “If everyone will attend, I shall try to dispel this confusion.” She held her arms out to the galleries, the Throne Room floor, her councilors, and the Raiders, inviting them all to pay heed.

  “On earlier occasions I have told Weirandale that I hid from Lord Matwyck in Androvale until his pursuit got too close, and then I took the fight to my mother’s enemies. What I haven’t recounted previously is that—under an assumed name and with my hair dyed—I traveled through Alpetar to the heart of Oromondo.”

  She paused a moment to let the news sink in while everyone in the Throne Room hung on her every word.

  “Commander Thalen, standing here before you”—she gestured with her arm and open hand toward his figure—“brilliantly led a troop of the bravest souls I have yet known into the mountain peaks of Oromondo to strike at the underbelly of their stronghold, in hopes of drawing their occupying army out of the Free States. Hawks led me to the Raiders, with whom I joined forces. I did what little I could do to aid them in their fight.

  “After a battle, I was captured by Oro forces and held prisoner in Femturan. Most of you have heard about the Femturan Conflagration that killed the Magi in their Octagon? That fire was the work of these men before you, Thalen’s Raiders. Without their heroism, the Oro army might still be in the Free States, threatening more countries, poised to continue their rampage even into Weirandale.

  “Commander Thalen and two other companions succeeded in freeing me from the Femturan cells. But as we were escaping the fire, I was injured and fell into the moat. I was rescued by sea creatures. After a period of recovery and travel, during which I had no way of communicating with my erstwhile comrades in arms, I returned here to Cascada some moons ago to claim the throne. Since that time, as well you know, affairs of state have kept me … rather occupied.”

  A ripple of laughter echoed in the Throne Room amongst onlookers who knew all about recent events in Cascada.

  Trying to further lighten the mood, Cerúlia continued, “Hence the Raiders are somewhat … surprised to find me alive. And queen. With a new name. And blue hair.”

  Louder laughter.

  During this speech Thalen maintained a stance of stubborn anger, with his legs slightly apart and his hands on his hips. The Raiders again unconsciously mimicked his example.

  How dare she shift the credit! She hid herself from us; now she is hiding her true self from her own people.

  “You are a bald-faced liar, Skylark, Queen Cerúlia—whoever you are today!” Thalen shouted out. “You didn’t aid us ‘a little’! Your help was essential. And the fire arrows were your idea! You are the one who destroyed all the Magi. I will not take credit that is owed to you.”

  “Commander Thalen!” Cerúlia retorted. “Do you wish our cherished companions to be honored here or not? Because I’ll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your mouth! All of you!” Her eyes flashed over the group before her.

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Dalogun abashedly, going down on one knee. The rest of the Raiders followed suit, except for Thalen, who stood frozen, glaring at her.

  She’s alive. It’s her voice. It’s her face. But more has changed than just the long blue hair.

  Tristo reached over and tugged at Thalen’s coat. Thalen snapped out of his reverie and also knelt.

  Cerúlia stepped down from the dais.

  “We have many people to honor today—people who perished in this desperate combat, some of whom I lived with for several moons and was proud to call my friends. As I call out the names of the fallen, we will sound the bell in the tower.”

  Councilor Nishtari had Thalen’s list of the Raiders who had died. The queen reached out her hand, taking the parchment from her because she wanted to read it herself. She called out each name, from “Adair” to “Yislan,” pausing each time for the bell to sound. Some of the names were new to her; others (such as Gentain) she could hardly get out of her throat. The bell’s single chimes echoed in her heart.

  Thalen wrenched his thoughts away from the queen and her mysteries to concentrate on the men and women who had died so that the Free States could be free. He had to concentrate so as not to be bowled over by a gale of grief.

  Brother Whitsury stood and offered a prayer to Nargis for the fallen to have been embraced by the Eternal Waters. The audience members bowed their heads, and the Raiders kept kneeling.

  After Whitsury finished, Cerúlia walked toward her guests. Councilor Nishtari came forward holding a silver tray with a piece of blue velvet on top. “Arise Tristo of Yosta and receive the queen’s gratitude,” Cerúlia intoned. She reached onto the tray for a pin of a golden eagle, which she affixed to Tristo’s coat. She did this to each of the Raiders in turn, until she got to Thalen.

  Thalen’s mind churned. I found her, but I’ve lost her again. The queen of Weirandale will never care for a shabby history tutor. And if there had been any chance, I have ruined it today with my outbursts. I pride myself on my composure—I’ve kept my composure in front of woros and enemy generals: how could I have behaved like such a loudmouth lackwit in front of all her people?

  Cerúlia touched his hand. “Arise, Commander Thalen, to receive the queen’s gratitude.”

  He rose to his full height. Her hands were trembling, and she had to reach so high to pin it on his chest. She had difficulty getting the pin to penetrate the stiff, black fabric.

  “Forgive me, Your Majesty,” he whispered.

  “Only if you forgive me, Commander, for deceiving you,” she whispered back.

  “For playing the fool in this ceremony,” he whispered.

  “For not finding a way a year ago to send you a message I had survived,” she countered. “I sent you a message yesterday.…”

  “I didn’t get it,” he protested.

  “So I gather,” she said with a quiet laugh in her voice.

  44

  Later, every woman in the Throne Room that day would insist that from the instant she heard the commander and queen quarreling so familiarly, she knew that the two were in love. But that afternoon, Percia was the only person not completely confounded by the scene that had just transpired before them. When the queen left the Throne Room, most of the visitors turned to one another in a babble of consternation.

  Stahlia turned to Percia, “What in Ennea—?”

  “Sorry, Mama, I must dash,” interrupted Percia, actually pushing people aside to get out of the balcony area, lifting up her skirts and sprinting down the hallway to the Royal Wing, searching for her sister.

  The queen sat in the Reception Room, one hand on Whaki’s head, her whole body trembling slightly. Kiltti and Nana stood to the side, looking at her with concern, but uncertain what to do.

  “Oh, Percie,” Cerúlia gasped. “Just the right person. Would you oblige me by accompanying me on a stroll in the East Garden?”

  “In the East Garden? Now? Uh, just let me get my hat and cloak. It’ll take a few moments,” said Percia.

  Slightly more sedately, Percia left the queen’s quarters. The honorees and audience were still exiting the Throne Room. Captain Yanath and Tilim had stopped to exchange congratulations with the men in black overcoats, though for the most part the Weirs kept their distances and gave them sidelong glances. Percia spotted a Raider who wasn’t quite so hardened in appearance. In fact he was still young, and he had an empty coat sleeve. She walked up to him as unobtrusively as she could and made a little curtsey.

  “Sir, I am Lady Percia, the queen’s sister. She and I intend to stroll in the East Garden to take the air. Perchance you will pass this information along to your commander?”

  The lad looked quite confused, but he said he would do so.

  Percia made haste to fetch her hat and wrap. When she returned to the Queen’s Chambers, she noticed that Ciellō was not at his post; when she inquired about him, Cerúlia said only, “I’m sure that we will be quite safe in the East Garden today.” As they left the Royal Wing, the queen even ordered her Shield to stay behin
d.

  Cerúlia took Percie’s arm, and together they walked out toward the garden, a cluster of dogs following around them as a ragged escort. They stopped every few paces to exchange a polite greeting with a guest, but Cerúlia would not be drawn into a long conversation.

  Mama was already there, proudly showing off the gardens to Minister Destra, who looked appreciative of every flower. They waved gaily at Percie and Cerúlia and then went back to examining the roses.

  The Raiders stood awkwardly together in a little knot near the floral river and statues. Taking care not to head that way directly, but rather to stop and chat with other strollers, Percia led Cerúlia in that direction. The sky was the deepest blue, and the plantings shone with all the care her family had lavished on them.

  When they approached, the men bowed politely this time. But her sister rushed over to each of them (except for Commander Thalen) for an informal embrace. The one-armed boy started crying, and a curly-haired man made so free as to twirl her around, laughing in the autumn sunshine.

  Cerúlia introduced Percia to each of the Raiders, though Percia caught only a few of the names. Then Percia and Cerúlia seated themselves on a nearby stone bench, and the Raiders arranged themselves in a rough semicircle around them, most squatting on their heels, a few casually stroking the tail-wagging canine corps.

  “Where did you go?” Tristo asked. “We dived for you in the moat so many times!”

  “A big turtle took me on his back and ferried me away. I don’t know how to explain it.”

  “A turtle!” several voices cried in amazement.

  “Where are Eli-anna and Eldie?” Cerúlia asked. “They’re not here, but their names weren’t on the list—”

  “They are hale,” the curly-haired man said. “They decided they wanted to return to their kin in Melladrin.”

  “Hey, how much of the story you told about Sweetmeadow was true?” asked the bald-headed man with an earring. Percie learned surprising things about that blond page boy, Gunnit, and then the commander backtracked to Cerúlia’s Wyndton life—and here Percie found herself scrutinized by blue eyes.