The Puppet Queen: A Tale of the Sleeping Beauty
Page 37
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At the end of the week, with the other Emirs and Emiras, I followed Erina’s funeral procession through the avenues of Nyneveh. My boots were sodden from the puddles and my hair was plastered thickly to my skull. White-clad mourners swelled through the streets like cresting waves, throwing snowy petals as Erina’s body passed. Shivering, I pulled my cloak tighter as the rain drip-dripped steadily from the coffin bearing the Queen’s remains. When I closed my eyes, it sounds like drops of blood hitting the cobblestones. Gwydion was somewhere behind me, but I could not think of him, not now. Kershid was somewhere in front of me, but I could not think of him either.
We approached the immense ziggurat, the Great Temple of Nyneveh. Even in the dreary grey rain, the painted lapis and carmine of the temple gleamed. Lights glittered through the windows, readied to greet the departing spirit of the Queen. Sweet incense smoked. Within, the walls gleamed gold, but despite the riches surrounding them, the acolytes were dressed in somber whites. They easily took the coffin from the pallbearers and after lifting her from the coffin, placed her, wrapped in a simple, white sheet upon the altar.
A priest stepped forth and bowed to Kershid and Liem. “You have done well, my children in bringing the mother of our kingdom home. You must leave her now, so that her body might rejoin her soul in the ephemeral cycle of the Seasons. May the Seasons bring us all home.” He bowed again. Kershid’s face tightened, and Liem and Avera held on to his arms, guiding him out of the temple as we followed.
We passed through Nyneveh in a gloomy blur; most of the citizens had departed and the petals underfoot were bruised and torn almost beyond recognition. Entering the Alhazar was a warm embrace and I was not alone in sighing with relief. I wrung my hair out and followed Avera, Liem, and Kershid into the great hall where fires burned and mourning servants stood ready with hot, honeyed mead. Kershid sat down heavily and buried his face in a goblet of golden liquid.
I knew that I would have to speak now, otherwise I would remain forever silent. I knew this confession could save me—or destroy me. I could very well be saying farewell to the Bronze Throne—but if I lied about this, kept silent to maintain my chance at the crown, then I was truly as terrible as the worst incarnation of my self I feared to be.
Unsteady with nerves, I stood and gestured for a servant to bring a chalice of mead. Gwydion stood in the back of the room and he watched me in surprise. It suddenly occurred to me what trust it had evinced when he had told me of his role in Erina’s demise. I squelched the thought. I raised the goblet. “To the Queen! May the Seasons honor her memory as we do.”
The nobles and servants crowding the chamber echoed my words.
“But before we enter this new era, Lord Kershid,” I continued, “the problems of the past must be solved.” My voice resounded through the hall. I wished the hall was louder, my voice quieter.
The glittering, silken mass of attendees became hushed and alert, poised to listen and dissect. I nearly wilted beneath their scrutiny.
“What…do you mean?” asked Kershid uncertainly. I could read the alarm in his eyes.
I wanted to back away. It was too foolish, it was too risky. I was too afraid. I steeled myself and spoke. “I have recently learned the true identity of Queen Erina’s murderer. The killer himself told me, thinking me an encouraging accomplice and seeking my approval.”
Kershid’s hands shot out and grabbed my shoulders tightly. I grimaced; there would be bruising tomorrow. “Who was it? Who was it?”
I paused. The room grew taut, solid in silence. “Gwydion Aperine,” I whispered. The words carried, first from my lips, and then in the buzz of hissed whispers that overtook the room.
Just like that, the crowd descended into clamorous mayhem. Kershid leapt through the suddenly milling throng to Gwydion, whose face went slack in stunned betrayal. Even as fast as Kershid was, he could not best Liem who slammed Gwydion onto the ground with rapid, bloodying punches. Gwydion groaned loudly and made some small effort to protect his face, but with his still-healing arm, he may as well have been defenseless. Kershid stood ineffectually while Liem pounded my husband.
I huddled in my seat. From the corner of my eye, I saw Avera gesture for guards who efficiently separated a bloody Gwydion from a heaving Liem.
“Lord Gwydion, you are under arrest for the murder of the Queen Erina. You will be questioned and brought to trial and if you are found guilty, you will face death,” Kershid announced. His voice had never been more terrible, more musical, like a crashing symphony of thunder and lightning.
Avera came to stand at my elbow, laying a comforting hand on my arm. I could not tear my attention from the scene. As Gwydion’s back receded, my heart wrenched.
Chapter Twenty-Two