“Mama’s been in the worst flurry all day,” he confided. “She wouldn’t take anything Vilkit offered from the kitchens except wine and ale. She kept Tovalie hopping to the markets. And she made me take a bath even though it’s three days early.”
“Really, Cerúlia,” Stahlia said as she joined them in the front room, her brown face glowing red from bending over the stove, “you are most inconsiderate! You could have given me more notice.”
“Now, Teta,” replied Cerúlia, “you know that I would have happily dined on bread and drippings. If you wanted to show off your cookery, that’s on you.” She softened her words with a quick hug. “Besides, if I’d kept Commander Thalen to myself one moment longer, you’d have railed at me for hiding him from you.”
“Mama,” said Percie, always the peacemaker between them, “she’s probably right.”
“Of course she’s right,” said Stahlia, “but that doesn’t mean I haven’t panicked all day long. Bringing this man to our house without even a by-your-leave!”
“Teta, he’s important to me.”
“Well, obviously, but who is he really?”
They didn’t have time for more confidences, because Thalen himself (Cerúlia noticed he’d gotten his hair tended to by a barber) knocked on the front door.
He presented Stahlia a gift of a beautifully fashioned ceramic milk jug. They had just finished all their greetings and reintroductions when Lemle stuck his head in the front door.
“Hey, sorry, am I late? I got a note that a man—not just anybody, mind you, but the hero of three continents—was going to be drawn and quartered here tonight, and I’m eager to watch the show.”
“Stop letting in the rain, Lem, and wipe your boots,” Stahlia answered.
“Good evening, Your Majesty,” continued Lemle, with a bow, not suppressed in the least by Stahlia’s cross tone. “You’re looking distinctly radiant this evening.”
“Lem-le,” Cerúlia warned him.
“What?” he answered, all innocence. “That yellow silk makes you look like a flash of spring on this gloomy day. And the scarlet doublet hints at passionate depths. Doesn’t she look lovely?” he asked everybody with a glint in his eyes.
“Sister,” said Marcot, “would you like me to murder him now or wait until later?”
Once they gathered at the table, Stahlia, predictably, started the cross-examination first, insisting on hearing everything about Thalen’s background and how he was raised. He tried to turn the conversation from pottery to tapestries, from Sutterdam to Wyndton, but she would have none of it and so he gave in, laying down his fork and knife, letting her chicken dish grow cold, and relating all the essential information about his family, his education, and how he had become involved in the fight against the Oro Occupation.
Under the table, Cerúlia reached for his hand when he spoke of the deaths of his brother and mother and the injuries suffered by his eldest brother and his father.
“Forgive me, Commander,” said Stahlia, “for making you speak of such painful things. I feel protective of my daughter, and you’ve been sprung on us so suddenly.…”
“No offense taken,” Thalen answered. “I expect you to be at least as protective as a mountain lion, if not more.”
This brought a smile to Stahlia’s face, and Tilim broadened it by making scratching motions in the air and “Grr” noises.
“Enough, Tilim,” said Percia. “But what about your remaining family in Sutterdam? If you stay in Cascada, won’t you miss them? Don’t they need you?”
Thalen had tried to eat a few mouthfuls during the respite, so they had to wait until he swallowed and drank a sip of ale.
“Not every family is as close as yours, Percie. Or maybe—once, when my mother was alive, when we boys were young, we were as tightly bonded. But if I think about our past, it wasn’t just the war and our losses.… I started to drift away once I left for the Scoláiríum. Their life revolved so around Sutterdam Pottery, and I grew to have interests they didn’t share.”
Marcot, perhaps because he sympathized with a man being judged by the Wyndton family, engaged Thalen in a long conversation about the Scoláiríum, sharing his own mother’s interest in raising education levels in Weirandale. Cerúlia wished Darzner were present to take notes; here was yet another area of Weir society she needed to prioritize.
Tilim had been impatiently waiting his turn. “You’re wearing your rapier again, Commander. Can I see it?”
“It’s not mine, lad. Only borrowed for a time.” Thalen stood to pull Quinith’s grandfather’s rapier out of its scabbard and told the story of how he came to carry it. “Truly, Tilim, I am not one of the better fencers amongst the Raiders. I started learning the skill too late. Because of my long reach I’ve become barely passable. Actually, though, I’d prefer not to wear a weapon and never again be involved in killing.
“However, whenever I am in the queen’s presence I will wear arms. Just in case my meager skill can offer her protection.”
“What a beaut this is! Marcot! Look at the jewels in the pommel!” Tilim said, turning the sword over in the light. “Does it have a name?”
“I think that Quinith’s grandfather named it. But I never have. It’s just steel, Tilim. Just a tool.”
“Don’t worry, Commander,” Tilim said. “One day I’ll be captain of Queen Cerúlia’s Shield, and I’ll protect you both so you don’t have to.”
“Put it away now,” said Stahlia. “You’ll knock over the pitcher. Of course you didn’t know, Commander, but there’s a house rule—no swords at the table.”
As Tovalie served the sweet, Lemle, who’d been quietly absorbing the conversation, spoke up. “Begging your pardon—Commander, Cerúlia—but there’s something I need to settle. Will it bother you that she’s the queen and you merely the consort? All sorts of honors and attention go to the ruler in Weirandale, much less to her husband.”
“You mean the consorts are only valuable as studs to provide princellas?” Thalen laughed. “Actually, I’d be honored to be regarded as a worthy breeding prospect!”
When the table’s laughter subsided, Thalen said, “But let’s be clear: no one has yet asked me to assume that role.”
Although Thalen wouldn’t look at Cerúlia, he squeezed her hand under the table.
“He’s only been here three days!” said Cerúlia defensively. “Everybody. Stop rushing us.”
“Who’s rushing?” Stahlia said under her breath, and the queen had to admit to herself that she had rushed into Thalen’s arms, rushed to secure the Raiders, and now had rushed to bring him into her family.
But I have waited so long.
Thalen was still speaking. “No, Lemle, I do not crave the limelight. In fact, often I hate dragging this reputation around. I prefer the quiet of my books. When I left Latham I was writing an essay on Oromondo beliefs; I would gladly miss the next ten banquets to work on it. However, should Cerúlia ever need me, nothing would make me happier than to be by her side or offer counsel.”
By the time Tovalie brought out nuts and Stahlia offered her brandy bottle, the family had switched from grilling Thalen to telling him stories about Cerúlia when she was little: how meek she pretended to be and how shy, and how she had never sung for them, not even once.
Thalen ate up these stories, turning around to study Cerúlia.
“Was it hard, hiding all that—that Talent under a barrel?”
“Not really,” she answered. “After all, Water takes the shape of its container. And I’d been told that my life and their lives depended on how good I was as a playactor.
“They are all a confounded nuisance,” she said, her half-affectionate, half-scolding glance circling the table, “but I didn’t want to be responsible for anything happening to any one of them.”
Stahlia winced. Cerúlia read the thought that flashed across her foster mother’s mind: that despite her best efforts at concealment, Wilim had died protecting her.
“I’m so sorry, Teta,” sh
e said in a miserable tone.
“That’s what fathers do. And it wasn’t just for you, Birdie,” Stahlia answered her, speaking as if the two of them were alone in the room. “It was to protect the rest of us too. And the realm itself.”
Her foster mother smashed a walnut shell. “But you’ve got to be the best queen ever, to balance his sacrifice.”
“So many have sacrificed, Teta,” Cerúlia remonstrated. “That’s what this festival was about. Don’t think I’m not trying. I’m trying, every day.”
Lemle whispered, “The Spirits giveth and taketh away.”
Probably wanting to spare their guest more exposure to family heartache, Marcot cleared his throat and stood up. “What a lovely meal, Mother Stahlia. You don’t mind, do you, if I show your visitor your workroom and loom? I’m sure Commander Thalen will want to see your drawing of Cerúlia and the Catamounts.”
49
Cascada to Vittorine
When Thalen accompanied the queen’s party back to the palace after the dinner, Cerúlia’s secretary, a pudgy-faced man she introduced as Darzner, was waiting for her in the Reception Room.
“Your Majesty, I so regret to disturb you, but there’s been a messenger with a note that appears urgent.”
With a sigh, Cerúlia reached for the paper, skimmed it, and then handed it to Thalen. He read:
Your Majesty—
Reports have reached me of the wonderful celebrations in Cascada. How I wish that I had been well enough to attend!
Unfortunately, the healers have just left me with numerous dire predictions.
Is it possible that with the festivities concluded, you would do an old man the honor of a short visit?
My chamberlain is staying in Cascada, waiting for your answer. If your party could accompany him to my Vittorine manor in two days’ time, you would fulfill my fondest and last desire.
Master Belcazar, former councilor to Queen Cressa
Cerúlia told Thalen what she had learned from Sewel’s Chronicle of Queen Cressa about Belcazar being the only councilor who aided her mother.
“In fact, I think you could say that he saved my mother’s life and mine.”
“Then you have to go,” he said, “though I can hardly bear to be parted from you.”
“Why don’t we all go?” said Cerúlia. “Your Raiders—even Minister Destra—might enjoy seeing a little more of Weirandale before winter sets in. We can ride straight to Belcazar’s estate, and then on the way back take a more roundabout route. On our return we could visit the Abbey of the Waters on Nargis Mountain.”
She turned to Darzner. “First thing in the morning, start making arrangements.”
“Very well, Your Majesty.” The secretary left.
Thalen followed Cerúlia into her bedroom and locked the door behind him.
When he turned around, she was right in front of him, tugging at his clothes. “I need to examine your wounds from that dissection in West Cottage.”
“Just scratches,” he said. “I like your family. I imagine I’ll like them more when they trust me.”
“You know what I like?” she asked. “I like the idea of having my way with you in a tent.”
* * *
In the morning, Thalen joined the queen as she sent for Belcazar’s man, a mild, elderly chamberlain who gave his name as Gruber. He was overjoyed to learn that the queen had decided to accept the invitation. He recovered from the news of the enlarged party quickly; what appeared most important to him was that they leave on the morrow.
“Otherwise, Your Majesty, I fear it will be too late.”
So the palace went into a small uproar, planning for a royal journey. Thalen left Cerúlia’s capable people to their arrangements and went to find the Raiders. He warned them to get their gear together and took them up to the Royal Stables to choose mounts. As much as they had been enjoying the hospitality of Cascada, a sightseeing journey appealed to all.
Everyone joked around in high spirits. Jothile had shown no outward improvement from his drink of Nargis Water. But Tristo had confessed to Cerf (who relayed the news to Thalen) that the near-constant pain he had quietly endured in the arm that was no longer there had magically eased.
That evening, Thalen dined alone with Minister Destra. He had barely seen her since their arrival in Cascada, and she wanted to discuss all the things she’d gathered from her diplomatic meetings. Thalen found a certain respite in this impersonal discussion of administrative organization, elections of stewards, and systems of currency exchanges.
When a note arrived at the Rare Talents saying that Cerúlia was so busy clearing her schedule for the journey and making provisions for her absence that she could not see him until the morning of their departure, Thalen was disappointed. But he recognized that a little distance, not to mention more sleep, would be beneficial for them both.
An entourage of forty-two shields, Raiders, and servants, accompanied by six dogs, gathered around the royal carriage carrying the queen and Minister Destra, breathing out white clouds in the cold morning air. A second, larger but less luxurious conveyance had been loaded with supplies, two cooks, and one maid each for the queen and minister.
Belcazar’s chamberlain began fretting about the delay getting started; Thalen reassured him that once Destra and Cerúlia got away from all of Vilkit’s and Nana’s ministrations, he knew them both to be travelers who could set a good pace.
Captain Yanath drew Thalen to the side.
“Cici doesn’t like that man. She yapped at him.”
“What?” asked Thalen, confused. “What man? Who’s Cici?”
“The littlest dog—she’s the most attuned to people’s emotions. She would have attacked Chamberlain Gruber if she sensed he was actually a threat to the queen. I pulled him aside and searched him thoroughly; he’s not carrying any weapon. But Cici has made it clear she doesn’t like him. She’s picking up something about him.”
“Tension about his master’s health?”
“Could be. Or could be he’s lying about something. In the last moons, I’ve learned to trust the dogs. I thought you’d want to know.”
“Indeed. Thank you.” Thalen had seen Cerúlia, tucked in under fur rugs, chatting with Destra. “If the dog is really worried, she’ll tell the queen. If she doesn’t, let’s leave it alone unless you get more definite information. She looks happy today, and I hate to worry her.”
Yanath nodded. “That’s why I told you instead.”
Finally, they got underway. Thalen rode amidst the Raiders on a smooth-gaited mare that the heavyset stableman had recommended. The expedition made its way through city neighborhoods and then struck the High Road, which at first was dotted with homes and businesses where people halted their activities and gaped at the royal carriage, but that gradually gave way to farms and rolling hills. As the hours passed by, Thalen mused about dozens of topics, including how the Fountain chose whom to succor, how hard it would be to let Dalogun return to Jígat on his own, whether he could set up a branch of the Scoláiríum in Cascada, and whether Cerúlia found his lovemaking awkward or satisfying.
He meant to be watching out for any unusual events, but Wareth had to rouse him from his reverie with a quick whistle and a pointing hand. “Look! A hawk.”
The hawk circled down slowly, landing with its talons on the carriage ledge nearest the queen. Thalen found the sharp beak so close to her face a disquieting image, but Cerúlia conversed amiably with the raptor for a few moments, then stroked the back of its head and neck. It flew off, and Cerúlia continued her conversation with Destra as if nothing had happened. But Thalen, who was now able to read her expressions more accurately, saw confusion warring with unease.
When they stopped for a late midmeal at the Riverine Rest, a large roadside tavern that an advance servant had alerted to their upcoming arrival, he gave his horse to Tristo to water and approached the carriage.
“Ah! Commander.” Cerúlia smiled as he helped her descend. “Minister, why don’t you go
in by the fire? I’m a little stiff from just sitting still. I imagine Commander Thalen will do me the service of walking with me a moment to stretch my legs.”
“I’d be delighted. Which direction shall we go?”
“Um.” She cast around. “Let’s walk into this field across the road. See those hay stooks? In Wyndton I helped with the harvesting. I want to show you how heavy they are.”
Once on the other side of the very ordinary hay bale where they couldn’t be observed, he asked, “Raider, what news from your bird?” in his best commander voice.
“Thalen, it’s so queer, I wonder if the hawk may have made a mistake. He said that a seagull told him of sighting a flotilla of black-sailed ships heading into the Bay of Cinda from the south.”
“Black sails would be Pellish, but your mother destroyed the Pellish fleet nearly a decade ago.”
“That’s why I need to go back to gather better information. I’d like you to lead the procession onward—I will catch up with you once I’ve untangled this mystery. I’ll take Smoke—he’s so fast—and rejoin you, probably before you get to Councilor Belcazar’s.”
“You’re not going off alone. We’ll all turn back. Or at least let me go with you.”
“That would be rude to Destra and Belcazar. And few horses can keep up with Smoke.”
She ran a finger across his frown. “Look. You can confer with Yanath and choose one Raider and one shield each as my guardians. I’ll take the deerhounds and Whaki too, because they might be able to keep up, and leave you just Vaki and Cici.”
“Cici doesn’t trust Belcazar’s man.”
“Really?” She sighed and shivered a little. “Then try to keep my departure from him as long as you can.”
Thalen was putting the pieces together. “Let’s think about this. All that rush and insistence on getting you out of Cascada, just as black sails draw close. Could this be a coincidence? Surely not. Something untoward might be planned. Maybe there’s an ambush on the road ahead.”
The Cerulean Queen Page 35