by Karen Miller
“Would you be prolate now as well as queen?” said Helfred, arriving at the foot of the dais stairs. “Leave the sermons to me, Majesty. The rest is yours, and you are welcome to it.”
“Your Eminence,” she said, and waited until he was on the dais beside her. “I stand corrected.”
He smiled, not widely. Just a small curve of lip. “Majesty, you stand, and for that may God be praised.” It was his turn, then, to sweep them all with his gaze. “You'll attend a Litany in the castle chapel for the dukes on the morrow. Litanies for their souls will be held the length and breadth of the kingdom for five days unceasing. Here was a sad lesson. Let us be certain not to forget it. Majesty, since you refuse to take counsel of your phsyick, be the Church's obedient daughter and take this counsel from your prolate instead. Your case is proven. You may now withdraw.”
She could see in his eyes how much he enjoyed the chance to bully her, chaplain to princess, as once they had been. But overlaying any small appreciation was sorrow, and concern, and a sense of this most sombre occasion.
She nodded. “Your Eminence. I am before all things a dutiful daughter of the Church.”
He extended his hand, that she might kiss his ring. “I have often said so, Your Majesty.”
He'd said no such thing, but she didn't argue. Only kissed his ring and stepped back.
“Most Venerables, attend me,” said Helfred, and he led the Court Ecclesiastica from the dais and the tiltyard. Ven'Cedwin followed, his writings complete. She looked to her council, especially Edward.
“Will you stay, my lords? Be certain all is done that must be done to see this field of combat dismantled? When I rise in the morning I'd like to see my Great Lawn again. I'd like this tiltyard to be nothing but a memory.”
Edward bowed. “Majesty, give no more thought to the matter. All that should be done will be done, right gladly.”
They were staring at her, all of them, even Alasdair, as though she were some bizarre creature hatched among them without warning. Because these men had been with her from the start, because they knew what they knew and had seen what they had seen and risked their lives and Houses for her, she let ceremony fall like a dress, discarded.
“What? Why do you look at me like that, gentlemen? You are men, you take the hunting field. Surely you've seen blood before.”
“Yes, they've seen blood,” said Alasdair as her dukes exchanged blushing glances. “But never before have they seen a warrior queen.”
“And God be praised for her,” said Rudi, kneeling. His peers followed suit.
“God be praised,” echoed his overproud son.
“God be praised,” said Edward, weeping.
“God be praised,” said Ludo. There was no laughter in him.
Disconcerted, she considered them. A warrior queen. I suppose it's kinder than the truth, a killing queen. There's some glamour in the thought of being a warrior. Killing is only another name for butchery and that leaves an aftertaste sour in the mouth .
And then all she could think about was how much she hurt. Only now, standing still, could she feel how far she'd pushed her body. How much she'd demanded of it, and what price she'd have to pay.
“Come,” said Alasdair gently. “You've proven your point. But the ambassadors are gone now, Rhian. Emperor Han is gone. There's no shame for you to take your ease and let Ursa tend you. In fact, I insist.”
For a moment she was afraid that if she tried to move she'd fall down. Her wounded, over-used body howled viciously. Were it not for these men she'd let the crowding tears fall. Then she drew in a deep breath and thrust the pain where it would not interfere.
“My lords, let us convene in the council chamber on the morrow,” she said. “After Helfred's service in the chapel. We've much to discuss, not least of which is what's to be done with these Houses of Doveninger and Marshale. Bend your thoughts in that direction, and we'll thrash out a solution.”
“Majesty,” her dukes murmured, and stood.
“Ludo,” said Alasdair, beckoning him aside. “Must you go straight back to Linfoi? Or can you tarry a while longer? We need your voice on the council.”
“I'll tarry,” said Ludo. “There's little happening at home right now that my father can't deal with. In truth, I think caring for the duchy is the best medicine I could find him. And if something should go wrong, it's a swift enough journey home when there's a private barge with oarsmen at my disposal.”
“We return to our privy chambers,” said Alasdair. “Come with us. You and I can speak at leisure while Her Majesty is tended as she ought be.” Then he frowned. “Rhian, perhaps I should send for a—”
She bared her teeth. “Suggest I be carried into the castle like an invalid and you'll be next to feel the sting of my blade. I can walk. Feel free to walk with me, if you can keep up.”
Ludo grinned. “Majesty, I'd walk with you into hell.” But then his amusement faded. “And I'm so sorry, that the dukes drove you to this. They were fools. Fools never prosper.”
These fools didn't, that much is certain . She nodded. “Thank you, Ludo.”
Before she turned to seek respite within the castle, she allowed herself one glance up to a particular east wing window. But if Zandakar was watching her she couldn't see him. The sun had shifted, and the mullioned windows' expensive glass was a blank white stare.
Gritting her teeth she made herself take one step, and another. Alasdair and Ludo walked on either side of her, close enough for catching should her body betray her at the last.
She wanted to resent it…but that would be foolish. And as Ludo had pointed out, fools never prospered.
Dinsy burst into tears when she saw her. “Oh, Your Majesty! Oh, sweet Rollin! Oh, Your Majesty!” That was to Alasdair. “Physick Ursa's in your privy chamber, sir, all ready. Oh look at my sweet lady, she's blood from head to toe!”
Rhian sighed. “Hush your silliness. Am I dead? I don't believe I am. Perhaps a little punctured, but hardly on the point of expiration.”
Dinsy gulped, and smeared her cheeks dry. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Alasdair,” said Rhian, turning to him. “Keep Ludo entertained. I'll find you once Ursa's finished fussing.”
He took her hand and kissed it, seemingly oblivious to the dried blood flaking from her skin. “All right.”
His tone was light and uncloying, but she knew she wasn't the only one paying a price for this day. His eyes were dreadful.
My love, my love. I'm so sorry. I had no choice.
She touched her lips to his cheek. “Thank you.”
And then Dinsy was bustling her into the privy chamber where Ursa stood frowning with her sleeves rolled up.
“You can go, girl,” the phsyick told Dinsy. “I've no need for a second pair of hands.”
Beseeching, Dinsy turned. “Your Majesty?”
“I'll be fine. Ursa knows me of old.”
“Yes, Ursa does,” said Ursa grimly, when the door was closed and they were alone. “And if you dare to tell me you're not in pain, you don't need a physick and I can be on my way, well, madam, I—”
Rhian flung up a hand. “Don't. Ursa, don't. I think scolding will kill me where Kyrin and Damwin failed.”
Ursa's expression changed abruptly. “Ah, you poor child,” she said softly, holding out her arms.
Rhian went to her…and forgot she was a queen.
She killed the dukes a hundred times that night, in her dreams. After each death they lurched to their feet and leered at her, blood pouring from the wounds she'd inflicted upon them, abuse streaming from their flaccid lips.
Bitch! Whore! Slayer of a kingdom!
In her dreams she heard herself whimper, felt Alasdair's arms gather her close. Once she dreamed his fingers tightened round her throat. She woke then, flailing, and half fell out of their bed.
Alasdair sat up. “What is it? Rhian?”
Instead of curling herself into him she slid the rest of the way from beneath the blankets and touched her feet to the
floor. Movement was painful, waking her strained and overstretched muscles. The swordcuts on her cheek, arms and back that Ursa had stitched were burning. The physick had left her a potion to drink if her discomfort grew too great, but she didn't want to swallow it. A little pain seemed a just penalty when two men were dead by her hand.
Alasdair touched his fingertips to her hip. “Rhian?”
Gritting her teeth she stood, padded over to the window and drew back the heavy curtains. Beyond the panes of glass Kingseat Harbour glittered silver beneath the moons, its surface calm, no ocean storms to fret it. There was no bustle now, in the middle of the night, all the visiting boats were asleep at their moorings. But the harbourmaster's men still patrolled in their torchlit skiffs, making certain no-one thought to disturb the peace with rowdy-making or any less harmless misbehaviour. Although she was shivering, hurting, and the dreams were still so near, she felt her lips curve in bemused affection.
Everyone thinks the king – or queen – makes things happen in a kingdom. It's simply not true. It's the secretaries and their staffs who keep the wheels turning. Without them doggedly pursuing their duties these past weeks Ethrea would've crumbled into the ocean. They love the kingdom as much as I. In some ways I think it's even closer to their hearts, for their busy fingers take its pulse every day.
“Rhian,” Alasdair said again.
“I'm all right,” she said, not turning.
The blankets rustled, the bed's wood frame creaked, and then he stood at the window behind her, his arms gathering her close. His touch was gentle, mindful of her wounds. “You're in pain?”
“A little. It's no great thing.”
He sighed, but didn't argue. “Bad dreams?”
“Bad enough.”
His lips brushed lightly over her hair, but although the gesture was loving she could feel his tension and impatience. “The dukes forced you to it. If you hadn't taken the crown, if you'd named me king and yourself queen consort, say, don't you think they'd still have challenged?”
She wanted to think that, but…“I don't know. How much were they fighting for their own ambitions, and how much were they incited by me? If Ranald or Simon hadn't died, Alasdair…”
His embrace tightened. “But they did. They died and you didn't. How many times will you revisit the unchangeable past, Rhian? You are queen. And today you did what any monarch would do – must do – to preserve the stability of the kingdom.”
“You'd have killed them?” she said, turning so she could see him properly. “If you were king and they refused to accept it?”
His bony face was obdurate in the shimmering moonslight. “Yes. Rhian, there must be order. There must be obedience and fealty, especially now. Ethrea's never faced a greater danger. You did what had to be done. God's will.”
“I know,” she muttered. “But it wasn't God's hand holding the shortsword, Alasdair.” It was mine. And I can't forget what it felt like, steel plunging through cloth and flesh, the shock of resistance, the surrender of life .
He took her chin in his fingers, his grip a breath away from painful. “Yes. You killed them. And do you think that's the first and last unbearable thing you'll have to do as queen? Today was nothing. Today was cracking two fleas between your fingernails. Now make your peace with it or surrender your crown.”
“That's cruel,” she whispered, and retreated to perch on the side of their bed.
“The truth often is,” he retorted. “Rhian—”
“Oh, don't you understand, Alasdair? I'm terrified .”
Abandoning the window he crossed the carpeted floor to her and dropped to one knee. “Of what?”
“Of myself.” She couldn't look at him. “There's power in the hotas . Such a raw and blinding power. Kyrin's death was – was untidy. But Damwin? He was dead before my sword pierced his flesh. He was dead because I wanted him dead and the hotas were in me, rich and ripe.” They'd felt glorious. She'd felt glorious. In that single white-hot moment she'd felt as invincible as God.
And what does that make me? Am I some kind of monster, like Zandakar's mother? Like Zandakar's brother?
“You're shivering,” said Alasdair. “Get back under the covers.”
He helped her ease beneath the blankets, and slid beside her. His fingers laced with hers and she held on, tightly, as though he could anchor her to herself.
“Killing doesn't give you pleasure, Rhian,” he said. “Zandakar may have trained you, but you're not him.”
There was nothing she could say to that, so she stayed silent. Beyond the chamber window the night sky was shifting slowly towards dawn. Alasdair's breathing deepened and slowed and he drifted to sleep again, but she remained wakeful. Her mind continued to replay the moments, over and over, when her shortsword had plunged deep into Kyrin's throat and Damwin's belly.
Dear God. Now three men are dead by my hand. I've killed more men than any nobleman in Ethrea since Rollin walked among us and showed us a better way.
And before this was over, she was afraid that tally would grow.
But not too high, God. I beg you, not too high.
Dexterity woke at dawn, out of habit, but instead of getting up straight away, as he usually did, he stayed in bed and stared at the ceiling. He should get up. There were puppets to finish…but he didn't have the heart. Melancholy , Ursa called it, and prescribed a brisk walk.
She'd stopped by his cottage last night to tell him how Rhian had defeated the last two stubborn dukes. Killed them both, though not before shedding blood herself.
“I see,” he'd said, as though she'd mentioned it might rain at some point, even as his heart drubbed his ribs with relief. “And was that all you wanted, to pass along gossip? Only it is quite late and I was on my way to bed.”
She'd scowled, so ferocious. “Jones, I could smack you.”
“Yes, you could,” he agreed. “But you won't. Not with the high opinion you have of yourself.”
And that had made her stamp out crossly, just as he'd intended. Afterwards he'd sat in his kitchen, trembling, awash with gratitude that Rhian had prevailed. Though he'd been grief-stricken too, that she'd been forced to kill the dukes.
Stupid, stupid men. As stupid as Marlan. Why was it they refused to accept what had been thrust under their proud noses? He'd not been able to find an answer last night and he couldn't find one now, curled beneath his blankets ignoring his urgent bladder.
But while he could ignore his bladder if he had to, he couldn't ignore Otto. With the sun up the donkey would surely start to heehaw any moment, demanding his breakfast oats at the top of his lungs.
It promised to be a beautiful day, warm and cloudless. He fed and watered Otto, then took a moment to admire the late summer's blue sky, still blushing pink with the risen sun. But that small pleasure faded quickly. Scant weeks ago he'd have had so much to do now, his cart to load up with supplies for his toyshop, last minute sewing for his puppets' little costumes, or careful final touches of paint – a gleam in the eye, a rose in the cheeks. Scores of customers to visit, maybe even the castle. Scant weeks ago he'd been Royal Toymaker by Appointment.
But not any more.
The blue sky overhead was empty, and so was his life. No purpose. No excitement. No—
“Oh come along, Dexie. Do stop feeling sorry for yourself. As if we've time for pouts and sulking.”
Hettie . Heart thudding, he kept his gaze pinned on the blueness overhead. “On the contrary, I've lots of time for anything I like. Except the thing I want most, of course. You might've helped me with that, Hettie. It's not as if I've not done anything for you of late.”
“Toys, Dexterity?” she said. “You worry about toys with the world beneath so dark a shadow?”
He unpinned his gaze from the vaulting sky and looked at her. None of her substance had returned since last he saw her. In fact, she looked even more precarious. Tattered, translucent, her yellow cotton dress frayed. As though her soul had a wasting sickness, and here was its face. He wanted to fear for
her, but tasted only bitterness.
“If you'd told me helping you would make me a killer, Hettie, I'd have drowned myself in that bath before ever lifting a finger.”
“You're not responsible for Marlan,” she said. Her soft brown eyes were full of sorrow. “He chose his own path, Dex.”
“So you're saying God killed him? I thought it was Zandakar's people who worshipped a bloodthirsty God. Has something changed?”
She took one step towards him, her feet hidden in the garden's ragged grass. “He was a wicked man, Dex. He'd have brought Ethrea to ruin. To save himself all he had to do was kneel. His pride and greed and ambition wouldn't let him, and so he died.”
“He died because he touched me! You never told me that could happen, Hettie!”
She sighed. “He didn't touch you. He touched the power of God, and the power of God rejected him. You were nothing but a vessel, Dex. Unburden yourself of guilt for his death.”
He gaped at her. Nothing but a vessel? What kind of thing was that to say? “Don't you care I'm distressed by this?”
“Of course I care,” she said, and took another step closer. “Dexie, I love you.”
“Seems to me you've a strange way of showing it,” he muttered. “All the things you've had me do, I nearly died of exhaustion from them. I was in so much pain, Hettie. For days and days even the air hurt my skin. And you never came to see if I was all right. Not once. You never came, you never tried to heal me, you—”
“You had Ursa!”
“ She's not my wife! Where have you been ?”
“Oh, Dex…” Hettie's eyes filled with tears. “I come when I can. I help you as I can. Would I have left you if I'd had a choice? I know you've suffered. I suffered with you. But I told you, didn't I, that this would be hard?”
“Telling me and living it are two different things,” he said sullenly. “Bringing that dead boy Walder back to life, that was joyful . But what joy has there been since then, Hettie? And you never said I'd lose my livelihood over this! How am I supposed to live now? My savings are dwindling. Word's spread that I've lost the queen's approval. Who'll risk angering royalty to buy a doll? The harbour markets don't pay enough. Do I throw myself on Ursa's charity? Do I abandon the craft I've spent my life perfecting and pick up a broom for sweeping the streets? Or perhaps I should leave Ethrea altogether.”