The Madness of Kings

by Gene Doucette

  “Sure, sure,” Battine said, “may the Five be with you and all that.”

  “And with you,” they all chimed back.

  “My point is, I know I’m an Alconnot, and I’m okay with that. I look different enough already.”

  “She’ll be cross with us,” the ostensible leader said. She looked like the oldest of the group.

  “If my sister confronts you about it, tell her I was so adamantly against wearing makeup that I drew my sword. And if you’d prefer for that to not be a lie, I can actually do that.”

  It was possible she could not. The sword was on a chair at the other end of the room, and Batt wasn’t positive she could bend sufficiently at the waist to pick it up.

  “Then, I guess you’re finished,” the girl with the makeup said. She seemed unutterably sad, as if doing up Princess Battine was to be the absolute highlight of her existence on the planet thus far.

  Battine sighed.

  “Do you have any concealer in there?” she asked. “Or is it all bright clown show colors?”

  “I do!”

  “All right. Just don’t go crazy. When we’re done, you ladies can take me to Porra’s jewel stash.”

  Getting to Porra’s jewelry stash was a bit involved. They’d decided to put up Battine in a room in the western wing of the castle, which was only a moderate distance from the royal chambers in the center of the castle, provided one could walk easily and breathe adequately. Done up in the dress, Battine could just barely do both, and often not at the same time.

  It was also evidently a great scandal for Battine to be witnessed outside of the room without some manner of bauble, so the ladies felt obligated to surround her as they walked, meaning Batt couldn’t even walk at her own pace; she had to walk at theirs.

  The royal chambers were on the top floor of the castle directly above the throne room, which was on the ground floor but took up the second and portions of the third floor in the interest of acoustics and general gravitas. Since Batt’s room was not on the top floor, they also had to deal with stairs, which should not be attempted in anything with petticoats if it can be avoided.

  In the end, and despite the vocal consternation of the ladies, she only ended up with a pair of earrings.

  Outside, nightfall had arrived along with a fully transformed promenade. Hundreds of lower-class citizens milled about among royalty and the non-royal wealthy class, a social intermingling that did seem to be somewhat in the spirit of the feast. Nobody was exchanging foodstuff, but the interactions that were taking place had a value of their own.

  Batt didn’t know what peasants had to do to garner an invitation. There was a selection process, clearly—the promenade simply couldn’t hold everyone in Totus who might want to be there—but she didn’t know what that selection process was. She also knew that other than the royal family and certain special guests, the attendees differed on all three nights.

  Which begged the question: why did she need a different dress every night?

  As the only living full sibling of the queen, Battine held an exalted position in the feast. (Trewim, their brother, broke his neck falling off a horse when he was six.) Everyone else on Porra’s side was half-sisters and half-brothers, the consequences of a father who liked marrying women more than he liked being married.

  King Ho-Kenson’s side of the family was a little cleaner. He had three brothers and two sisters, all from the same parents. His father had been King Ho-Wabin—an Alcon—and his mother was Queen Phazen, who was an Anita. Kenson was the second son. His older brother (Yarson) took after his mother, meaning he bore the features of the Anita line rather than the Alcon line. Had he been Yarson Alcon, he would have succeeded their father and become King Ho-Yarson. But as Yarson Anita, he wasn’t eligible.

  The two younger brothers, Tannik and Melcher, were both Alcons, as was the oldest sister, Niea. Havakita, the youngest sister (and youngest member of the family) was an Anita.

  It all got more confusing when factoring in the spouses. Yarson, Tannik and Niea had all married: Yarson to Dimeroa, an Alcon; Tannik to Pha, a Patroch; Niea to Ouliman Zane, a commoner. Yarson and Dimeroa had a son who bore the traits of his mother, and was thus an Alcon. Likewise, Tannik and Pha had a son who took after Tannik and was also an Alcon. Meanwhile, King Ho-Kenson and Queen Porra had no children at all. The current line of succession, then, did not go from Kenson to Yarson or to Yarson’s Alcon son. It went to Tannik, and in the unlikely event Tannik became king, the crown would then pass to Tannik’s son.

  Should Tannik pass before Kenson—assuming Kenson and Porra didn’t have a son by then, which was also an unlikely event—Melcher would be next. If both brothers were dead, then the next in line would be Tannik’s Alcon son, and not Yarson’s Alcon son. Finally, if all of those options were exhausted, but Niea had an Alcon son (Niea and Ouliman currently had no children) he would have a claim to the throne despite having a non-royal father.

  That was just one line of succession in one family. It didn’t take into account how that one family was intertwined with the other royal houses of the Middle Kingdoms. For instance, while Yarson had no claim to the throne of Totus, it was theoretically possible for him to become the king of Manalusium because of his mother’s bloodline. It would take a truly cataclysmic event for this to transpire—he was thirteenth in line, last Battine checked—but it was possible.

  In fact, as the only unblessed member of the royal family, Battine was the one person on the dais who had no path to any throne in the nine kingdoms. Even the women did. Eight of the nine kingdoms were patriarchal by default, but if a plague wiped out all of the men, the women would have a path. (Choruscam—whose royals tended to be genderfluid at a much higher rate than average—was the exception.)

  The next question might be, if Battine had a son, and that son was an Alcon, would he have a path to the throne? The answer to that was an uncomplicated no, because the unblessed couldn’t have children. Batt didn’t mind being an Alconnot all that much—she was sort of fond of the way she looked—but when the gods made her barren as well, they showed how vindictive they could really be.

  “You should try to look happy to be here,” Porra muttered. Batt was sitting to the right of the queen at the long table on the dais. Havakita, Niea, and Ouliman Zane were to Batt’s right. King Ho-Kenson’s side got his brothers.

  Below the dais was the enormous table of food, and on the other side of that, the mixture of rabble and royal.

  “I would be happier to be here if I could breathe properly,” Battine said. “This dress appears to have been fitted for someone missing two ribs.”

  Porra looked like she wanted to call Batt a child again.

  “We’ll have to get up and mingle shortly,” Porra said. “Do be charitable. And don’t let anyone see those boots.”

  Battine laughed. “My feet are the only comfortable part of my body right now,” she said. “And if there’s a fire, I feel I’ve a reasonable chance of escape.”

  Her sister scowled, and looked away.

  “You look lovely,” Havakita said to Batt. Like all Anitas, she had big round eyes and wheat-colored skin. Their eye colors fell between a deep green and a soft brown, largely depending on what they were wearing at the time. Their natural hair color was dark brown or black, but Havakita had had some work done; hers was copper-colored.

  “So do you, dear,” Battine said with a smile.

  Havakita was nine, and had only just celebrated her Haremisva; old enough to marry and flirt and look pretty for men (or women, or others if she was so inclined), but not necessarily old enough to know when she shouldn’t. On this day, she had chosen to apply far too much makeup, in all the wrong places, which made little sense to Battine. The girl was one of only three Anitas in attendance (that Batt could see) and likely the only unmarried one. There was hardly anyone there who looked much like her, basically, so it was frustrating to see the girl go to such lengths to also not look like her.

  Havakita leaned into Ba
ttine, so as to whisper conspiratorially.

  “I’m told Lord Aginot is in attendance today,” she said. “Do you know if it’s true?”

  “Fergo? He’s supposed to be, but I’ve not seen him here yet. I did come across him along the King’s Highway, so I know he’s meant to be here.”

  “That’s exciting, isn’t it?” She was squeezing Battine’s arm tightly, indicating her personal excitement level, which was clearly quite high.

  “I suppose. You know how it is; you’ve seen one Horace, you’ve seen them all.”

  Havakita gasped, and then tittered and turned to her right, no doubt to repeat the entire conversation to Niea.

  Battine wondered if they taught the girls in court to titter, or if it was a skill that came with being blessed. Then she wondered if Havakita’s availability as a bride was the reason Fergo had been invited. It made more sense than escorting a professor.

  Havakita’s bloodline was tied up with the thrones of Totus and Manalusium, and she was of age. An arranged marriage with Princess Havakita would be the equivalent of a peace treaty and a trade agreement for any one of the other seven kingdoms. Fergo answered to King Honus-Elisant, and his father was Elisant’s brother, Ovis, both of the kingdom of Extum. Fergo’s mother was Yeeri Horace, from the kingdom of Paulus. So a pledge from him carried inter-kingdom accords as well.

  That said, there were plenty of spare blessed offspring to go around, and the royal families had already intermarried so extensively that there was no need to go on arranging marriages in order to secure good will. Should Havakita decide to take up with another woman instead, or announce she preferred to be identified forthwith as a he or a they, no empires would fall.

  That didn’t seem likely. Battine only knew a little about her sister-in-law, but enough to recognize that the girl was all-in regarding the prospect of an arranged marriage.

  Maybe she’ll grow out of it, she thought.

  The feast began with a blessing. In most countries—the non-kingdom ones—the opening night ceremonies probably kicked off with words from the regional High Hat. Totus had a High Hat of its own—his name was Poj—but anything he had to say would perforce follow the words of King Ho-Kenson.

  The king stood and raised a goblet to quiet the crowd. Every Alcon was gifted with a voice that carried well, but Kenson’s somehow came off as more confident and deeper than that of his cousins. Battine thought there was probably something extra that came with the crown.

  Kenson looked across the open floor, and then up and down the table. His eye lingered a little longer when finding Batt. She looked away before he did.

  “Family, friends, neighbors,” he began, “this house has been deeply honored by your generosity. Thank you all!”

  This brought on a round of applause. Kenson let it continue for several seconds, before quieting the crowd with a raised hand. He continued.

  “The Feast of Nita is a celebration of the gifts our god Nita gave us when spreading the first seeds upon the land. We all know this, don’t we? It’s what we were taught as soon as we were old enough to talk. But what does it mean to thank Nita? Does it mean that we should thank our Anita brethren from the kingdoms of Swann and Manalusium?”

  He gestured to Havakita, the nearest immediate Anita in attendance, and then nodded to Pheary Anita, at a nearby table. Pheary was from the kingdom of Swann, and appeared to be there with a distant cousin of Battine’s named Yeara. Batt didn’t know if the two women were a formal couple or not, but it was certainly possible.

  “That would be the most literal of interpretations,” the king said. “But the feast is about more than thanking Nita, directly or otherwise. It’s about recognizing what she taught us, and honoring that lesson with our own actions. Every day.

  “What are these lessons? We set out food and drink each year, and we say the oath: menuoto tuoto eds. What’s mine is yours. It sounds like a simple act of generosity, but it’s more than that. It’s an assertion: This is how we survive. Today I have plenty and my neighbor does not, and so I will feed my neighbor. Perhaps tomorrow it’s my neighbor who will have plenty, and he will feed me.

  “We need one another in order to survive. In the time before time, it was Ho that taught us to hunt, and with that we could subsist. But it was Nita that taught us to grow, and with that we could live. But only if we show as much concern for our neighbor’s table as for our own. One harvest can feed a family. Ten harvests can feed a hundred families. Menuoto tuoto eds.”

  He raised his goblet a little higher then, an indication that he was coming to the end of his speech.

  Battine was torn between wanting him to keep going—Kenson had gotten very good at speech-giving since they were children—and wanting him to hurry up, as she was quite hungry.

  “And so,” he continued, “on these three days of feast I ask you not to give your thanks to the nearest Nita incarnate, nor to the Haven above, although both are of course worthy of your thanks. Give it instead to the man, woman or other beside you and to the spirit of Nita that’s inside of them. For you are here because of them and they because of you, and that is the only way we continue. High Hat Poj, if you would?”

  The High Hat, who Battine didn’t even see until he was spoken to, stepped into the void between the royal table and the feast table. Poj was a slight man, a former peasant raised on a farm not far from the Delphina bequest. He was in his usual monk’s cloak and hood, with only his mouth, chin and hands visible.

  Poj made the sign of the Five, a gesture parroted by everyone in attendance.

  “Bless this bounty, from Nita’s hand,” he said. “May it nourish us in the coming year, and may she continue to show us favor.”

  “Bless Nita,” everyone said, more or less in unison.

  Poj returned to his corner.

  “Now,” King Ho-Kenson said, “let’s eat, shall we?”

  The feast was blessedly free of incident. There was plenty of food to eat, and plenty of people to eat the food. What was left over from the evening’s festivities would be exiting the castle walls with the peasants, which was just waste disposal disguised as charity. The means to refrigerate existed within the castle walls, but there were two more feast nights left, and so no room for leftovers.

  The refrigeration in question was accomplished via naturally cold rooms in a subbasement beneath the kitchen. It was augmented by an electrical cooling system kept running thanks to a network of steam engines. There used to be wind turbines on the roof for use in electrical generation, but a prior king—Ho-Lande, some hundred and fifty years ago—had them removed so he could use the roof for airship docking instead. Battine wasn’t aware of anyone docking airships there since the development of the two docks near the walls, but the turbines had yet to be reinstalled.

  After the eating came the performance of Nita’s Harvest by a team of players who were very bad at acting. However, that was more or less an expectation. The only truly unfortunate part of it was that all of the attendees expected to be there for each night of the feast would have to sit through it twice more, and look happy while doing so.

  Things became less organized after the play, with smaller events breaking out in various parts of the promenade—the puppet show and the jugglers, and so on. But as time passed, all that was left was the small orchestra and the late-evening mingle on the dance floor in the main tent.

  It was more dancing than mingling, even though mingling was definitely in the spirit of the Feast while dancing was absolutely antithetical to it. Battine wondered, not for the first time, if the late-night dancing was unique to Totus. She’d never been to a non-Totus ceremony, but knew what High Hat Alva’s edition of Nita’s Compendium described, and there wasn’t anything in there about music and dancing.

  Despite that, the dancing was probably her favorite part, because it was the part that effectively mandated excess libation.

  “I love your boots,” someone said from behind. She was in the middle of a reel dance that required a change o
f partners every twenty steps. It had lots of spinning, which when coupled with the mead in her stomach and the fact that she couldn’t take deep breaths, was probably not the best course, long-term. Not unless she wished to embarrass her sister by vomiting in the middle of the floor.

  She didn’t, but that was because she hadn’t had enough mead yet to find it appealing.

  Battine stepped out of line—the dancers closed ranks behind her like flesh mending a wound—and turned to the source of the voice.

  “Professor Magly,” she said. “I was wondering if you’d made it, or if you and Fergo decided to stop for the night along the highway.”

  He was no longer dressed in the clothes of an outsider. He had on black britches and a grey doublet with gold buttons, with polished leather boots that looked as if they’d been broken in. She assumed that everything on his person had been borrowed.

  “On the contrary,” he said. “Lord Aginot took your promise to pass us along the road as a challenge.”

  “I see. And in the face of that challenge, did your equestrian skills improve dramatically all at once?”

  “They did not. Instead, I shared a horse with one of Aginot’s men. It dramatically improved our pace.”

  She laughed.

  “Well that’s…that must have looked interesting.”

  “I think the word you’re looking for is emasculating.”

  “That’s exactly the word I was looking for, thank you. And where is Lord Aginot? I haven’t seen him all night either.”

  “He claimed to have important business within the castle. But he said it with a wink, so I’m inclined to believe an illicit rendezvous is transpiring. He’ll probably turn up later and claim he was here the entire time.”

  “That sounds like a Horace, all right. You’ve must have gotten to know him well by now. How long have you been traveling together?”

  “Long enough for him to assume I don’t need a minder to stay out of trouble.”