The Orchid Throne

by Jeffe Kennedy

  If it were not for Anure’s demand that I confront the army of rebels, I could’ve arranged it so the Slave King’s forces went around us. Like the ocean currents that eddy out past the island, or the tropical storms that circle, giving us their rain and then spending their fury on the open sea, his violence should have been redirected.

  But Anure had neatly cornered me and I couldn’t help wondering if he intended it as a test. Outsiders didn’t fully understand why Calanthe had yielded without a fight—because such knowledge could be turned as a weapon against us. Anure lacked full knowledge of how my father had sent him away, but he was no fool.

  But neither was I. “Then we shall turn them with something stronger than violence, which has ever been Calanthe’s gift.”

  A sigh ran through them, and they smiled in relief. I envied them their restored faith.

  * * *

  “Where is the emperor’s emissary?” I asked the gathering in the map room as I swept in, my ladies trailing behind me in two rows of three.

  “Sleeping off last night,” Dearsley replied congenially, “as is most of the palace, Your Highness. It’s early yet.”

  True. I checked the glance of the sun against the tiled floor. Early indeed, for all that I felt already behind the game. Excellent, however, that Delilah had done her job in removing Leuthar from the board. I surveyed mine: the map of Calanthe.

  The map room sits high in a tower of the palace, open to the air, enjoying a view in every direction of Calanthe. Arches lead onto a circular balustrade made of the white stone that is Calanthe’s spine and skeleton. Etched into the rail are arrows pointing to landmarks, with descriptions carved beneath. Under the graceful dome, the internal space is empty of furniture or anything else that might interfere with the intricate mosaic map of the island beneath our feet.

  Everyone there stood in the sea, according to the map—an unwritten custom that always tickled me, as if treading upon the image of Calanthe might be rude when we walked upon Her in reality every day of our lives.

  When the school groups come to tour, the children have no such qualms. They run, crawl, and pounce upon the great map of their home, embracing Her, even laying their cheeks against the jeweled tiles that show where their house or village might be. Very different from today’s grim mood.

  “Reports. Please.” I added the pleasantry to the demand as an afterthought. No sense losing all vestige of civilized behavior.

  My various advisers shifted, glancing at one another, most moving back a step to indicate they had nothing of interest or usefulness. One fellow I didn’t know ended up stranded alone, left high and dry by a receding tide. Plainly dressed, fingering his broad-brimmed hat, he looked to be a seaman from one of the coastal communities.

  “And you are?” I inquired, gently, as I would speak to a Glory.

  “Your Highness,” he said, his voice as unsteady as his bow.

  I nearly replied that, no, that was me, but restrained myself. Tension brings out the sarcasm in me. I try to keep it inside my skull and off my tongue.

  “I’m Nestor, of the reef divers,” he offered, as if he’d only just remembered.

  “You have something to report, Nestor?” I encouraged him.

  “Yes! Yes, Your Highness. And, well, Your Highness asked that we be on the lookout for anything unusual, so I’m here to tell Your Highness what we saw. That was unusual, that is. I was coming to the palace anyway, Your Highness, and then they said to come straight here, Your Highness, but I’m not sure that I…” He trailed off, looking around the imposing room with wide eyes, then fixing on me.

  “The palace belongs to all, Nestor,” I said as gently as I could, “just as Calanthe does. Tell Me what you saw.”

  “Not me or my divers, Your Highness, but the porpoises sing of an invisible ship.”

  “Only one?” Dearsley demanded.

  “There are others, but they stay back, sailing in circles. Only one moves forward, Calanthe in her sights. Not yet in Her waters, but soon.”

  My finger warmed and tingled, the orchid for a moment looking to my eye like a leaping porpoise. That meant truth, I decided. Though it could mean it liked porpoises. Who knew? “Did the porpoises sing of what kind of ship it is, and how fast it sails?”

  Unexpectedly, Nestor smiled at me, like sunlight filtering through shallow water. “You are a true queen of Calanthe,” he said. “It’s one that’s been here before, but all different-smelling people aboard. It will reach our waters by midday.”

  And there it was.

  “All right, ladies and gentlemen.” Now that the moment had arrived, a strange calm settled over me. Fear is the worst in anticipation. Once there’s a path to send it down, it transforms into something else and leaves you in peace. “Here is what we’re going to do.”

  We were ready for them.

  14

  “There it is, Calanthe, the Isle of Flowers.” Ambrose waved a hand grandly, declaring it as if he’d created the place himself. For all I knew, the wizard had. Ambrose might look barely older than me, but that meant nothing. The old tales spoke of ancient wizards who aged backward. Perhaps Ambrose was one of those, nearing the end of his days as he looked to be only in his third decade.

  With my luck, I’d end up dragging around a mulish child or wailing infant Ambrose and still be circling Yekpehr, looking for a way to kill Anure.

  Not pointing out that Ambrose wouldn’t be this close to Calanthe if I hadn’t stolen Anure’s pretty boats to get us there, I squinted at the famed island. It looked real enough. But even from this distance, the long stretch of the island shimmered with more color than land usually did from so far out at sea. Along with the typical smoky blues and deep greens of any landmass, spots of jewel tones and pastels shone clearly. Maybe that happened as a side effect of the unnatural crystal calm of the waters surrounding the island. A memory came back in full force of the paintings in the palace at Oriel. Some of them had been a wash of color up close, but resolved into images from across the long hall. I’d spent hours one afternoon trying to solve that puzzle.

  When I stood back, the people and landscapes showed with perfect clarity, even crispness. As I stepped closer, they fuzzed, then became nothing more than bits of paint dabs. I finally scratched a line on the floor with my dagger, to mark where the change occurred, and I’d stepped back and forth across it, looking for the magic.

  I’d gotten into trouble for the jagged groove in the parquet floor, and my father had decided my punishment would be that no one should explain the mystery of the painting for me. I’d have to discover it for myself. And then, of course, Anure arrived, torched the parquet along with the paintings, and I never had found out the secret. Funny that I could be annoyed about such a minor thing still, after all that happened after. And yet I found myself looking for a line in the water that would mark where I ceased to see clearly.

  I suspected I’d long since passed that point.

  “And we’re just going to sail right up to Calanthe and say hello. No scouting. Just trust that they believed we’re Anure’s soldiers coming to party.” Sondra echoed my skepticism. We’d been over Ambrose’s “plan” countless times. That didn’t make either of us more confident in the craziness of it.

  “Don’t worry. They won’t see us,” Ambrose replied cheerfully. Perched on the staff the wizard held, Merle cawed an agreement. Or perhaps that was for the seabirds circling above in sunset colors of rose and flame against the midday blue sky. I’d never seen birds of that fantastic coloration.

  “A big warship, even an invisible one, takes up a lot of space. They’re bound to notice that,” I felt compelled to point out. This felt so wrong, so backward from everything I knew. A complete departure from the strategy that had gotten us this far. Instead of sending scouts ahead to bribe the temples, to assess the mood of the populace, suss out the discontented and recruit their help, instead of making sure we held all the elements of surprise, we were just sailing straight up pretending to be a royal visitor.
Did Ambrose expect a flag-waving welcome? “This is a terrible plan.”

  “It can work,” Kara commented. “If they do notice us, they will see us in one of the emperor’s ships and think us to be from Anure and thus their ally.”

  “Unless they figured out we forged that message and know we didn’t just dodge Anure’s ships, but took them,” I replied. I didn’t know why I thought this Queen Euthalia wouldn’t be that easy to trick. I’d built a rebellion on the stupidity of the regional governors Anure had installed. “I really don’t like this plan.”

  “I don’t like it, either,” Sondra agreed.

  “Don’t worry,” Ambrose repeated, more firmly, with some exasperation. “I have this handled. This is all how it’s meant to go.”

  “We should’ve sailed straight to Yekpehr with all the vurgsten we have and blown it off the rocks,” I grumbled. Stick with my strengths. I’d been a fool to agree otherwise.

  “You agreed to do this part my way,” Ambrose reminded me, green gaze shadowed and menacing as forest growth gone wild.

  “My way has gotten us this far,” I stubbornly insisted.

  “Your way is to smash skulls with a rock hammer,” Ambrose said, giving me a lofty look. “You can’t hammer Queen Euthalia into agreeing to marry you.”

  That method actually sounded more likely than me somehow charming her into it.

  “Maybe if she’s daft from concussion she won’t notice how ugly you are.” Sondra grinned.

  “Ha ha.” Movement on the water caught my eye and I shifted for another perspective on it, telling myself I wasn’t looking for a line drawn there. Water. Waves. Pink and orange seabirds. I was fully out of my depth. More the fool me for trusting in magic—or trusting in anyone but myself. Might and strategy won the day every time. Hadn’t Anure proven that? I should’ve stuck to my strengths. I had a very bad feeling. Something was out there.

  “Are you sure they can’t see us?” Sondra asked. She’d followed the direction of my attention, squinting suspiciously also.

  “Didn’t I say as much?” Ambrose smiled with confidence and Merle cawed agreement.

  I exchanged a glance with Sondra. She shook her head minutely but put a hand on her sword.

  “Still…” she said, staring at that odd place on the water again.

  “Do I tell you how to plant your vurgsten charges?” Ambrose asked, full of righteous indignation—a stance spoiled by the sea breeze tossing his unruly curls into his face. He pulled them away with some dignity. “I can disguise one ship from human eyes.”

  “Maybe the Calantheans ain’t so human,” Sondra drawled.

  I might’ve laughed, if there had been anything funny about it. I stopped Ambrose’s response to Sondra with the simple expedient of putting a hand on his head and turning it so the wizard looked in the right direction—and at the fleet of boats that had appeared, heading directly for us. I let go when he stilled in shock.

  “Something has changed,” he murmured. “How extraordinary.”

  Good thing I’d let go of his skull, as I might’ve been tempted to crush it with my bare hand. We were well and truly fucked this time.

  Small skiffs and coracles fanned out from the island, forming two rows and—not incidentally—creating a funnel directing our ship straight toward the island. A lilting song drifted from them over the gentle waves, sweeter than any I’d ever heard, even back in the halcyon days at golden Oriel. Not even from the silver-voiced Sondra—who now gripped the rail, sword forgotten and deeply carved grief contorting her face.

  If the sound made my burnt coal of a heart ache for long ago, I couldn’t imagine how she must feel, confronted with that loss. I put a hand on her back, as a kind of support, maybe. She didn’t start at the rare gesture, instead sagging a little and leaning into my side, putting her head in the fold of my shoulder despite the unyielding armor I wore.

  So odd, to have her feminine weight against me, and I felt like a clumsy oaf, but I slid my hand around to her shoulder. A safer place to touch my friend who’d suffered so much with me and yet hearing a song sweetly sung cleaved her like a mortal blow. We didn’t speak. There was nothing that could be said—and none of us handled sympathy well. We had no place to put it.

  As we sailed closer, it became clear that the boats were all piloted by beautiful young people, youths and maidens wearing flowers and scanty silks. The sheer beauty and sensual innocence of the display dug the blade further into my gut. Who were these people who sent lovely youths out to greet a warship?

  So easily slaughtered with one salvo of vurgsten. Of course, our weapon remained secret and they couldn’t know what it would do to them. But any ship would have arrows to rain upon them. They might be turning out to escort what they thought must be an ally—but then why disguise them until now? I scanned them for weapons, not seeing any. That didn’t mean they weren’t a threat.

  As if reading my thoughts, Kara asked, “Shall we fire on them, Conrí?”

  The ruthlessness that had served me so well for so long must have been left on the other side of that invisible line in the water. I couldn’t do it. Mutely I shook my head. Even Sondra didn’t argue. I think she didn’t have it in her, either, if she heard anything beyond her own pain.

  Ambrose had said the Calantheans were noted for their beauty. That had been an understatement. They looked like nothing from the world I knew, waving with languid grace as the ship passed, slender limbs tanned from the golden sun and robust with health. Most were nearly naked, clothed in little more than flowers and scraps of sheer silk. They wore flowers in their hair in all shades like the birds—pinks and blues and yellows, sometimes several colors on one head. Petals of all shades floated on the serene surface of the sea, making it seem like a tapestried carpet rolled out to welcome us in.

  I knew better than to believe it. Like those treacherous flowers of the Mazos jungle, so sweet and pretty, they lured the unwary into honeyed, sucking death.

  I struggled to fight off the charm, not quite able to. The enchanting song, loveliness, delicious redolence of blossoms in the warm and gentle air, all wrapped me up, making me want to drop my hammer, toss my bagiroca into the sea, and lay myself down in peace.

  “Magic?” I ground out, pushing through the haze and startling Ambrose. He’d been muttering to Merle about prophecy, something about the currents of the future, and … fish? Ambrose frowned and shook his head slowly. Then nodded. Finally he shrugged, grinning boyishly, undaunted by the scowl I leveled at him.

  “There’s magic here aplenty. Thicker than I’ve ever felt it in my life, permeating everything.” Ambrose positively beamed, and I clenched a fist hard by my side so as not to punch him. “It’s wonderful—like tasting a fine cut of beef when I’ve been on gruel for months.”

  “I’m delighted for you,” I bit out. Beside me, Sondra snorted, straightening again and raking back her hair that snapped like a banner of pale gold in the ocean breeze. Good to see her standing on her own again.

  “But I sense nothing targeted at us,” Ambrose added, apparently realizing he danced on a thin line. “Look! They seem to be … welcoming us and guiding us in.”

  “Odd behavior toward an enemy they can’t see,” I said slowly and deliberately.

  Ambrose pursed his mouth, thinking, and slowly spun the staff, Merle adjusting his footing as the jewel turned beneath his talons. “Guess I was wrong.” He shrugged, as if unconcerned.

  “Wrong?” I should’ve punched him.

  “Well, I wasn’t wrong before,” Ambrose hastily and cheerfully said. “Everything was as it should be, but now it’s changed. That’s my point.”

  “Explain.” I held on to my temper. A miracle. Or the drugging enchantment still winding around us took away my desire to fight. I should be more worried about that.

  The wizard waved a hand at the sea. “There are people and forces in the world that can change the currents of events. We expect the river to flow from the mountains to the sea. If someone picks up the river i
n its bed, turns it around to run in the opposite direction—well, how can that be predicted?”

  I stared at him. “What does that even mean?”

  Ambrose stroked Merle’s back, murmuring praise while the bird preened. “Merle informs me that the denizens of the sea below us observed our approach and passed the word. I didn’t anticipate that anyone here could talk to the fish.”

  “You talk to a bird.”

  “Yes, but that’s entirely different.” Ambrose’s eyes sparkled. “Isn’t it exciting?”

  Great. Just great. “Exciting” he called the demise of our entire enterprise. And yet the usual rage that should carry me through this—and lend fire to the need to extract us—didn’t rise up. It all seemed so unreal, like a dream. Perhaps I’d wake and we’d be about to storm Calanthe, ready for another conquest, violent and bloody. Something I understood. Something I could handle. I could only hope it was a dream.

  Surreptitiously, I looked down, just to be sure I wore my armor and carried my hammer, the bagiroca hanging from my belt. All as usual, and I breathed a sigh of relief. In a dream I’d likely be naked and carrying something absurd as a weapon, like a child’s sweet tree-finger. I hadn’t thought of those candied treats in ages. The court wizards had made them for special occasions. A memory of how magic tasted and felt—warning me of what I felt now.

  As impossible as it all seemed, this was real. We were simply caught in an enchantment. I’d break it if I could—and yet I didn’t want to. That, too, must be part of the magic, and I could do nothing about it.

  Details of the island resolved as we drew near, meekly letting ourselves be guided—or herded—into rounding the northern spur to the long, east-facing side. The high, white cliffs shone in the midday sun like a beacon. Here and there waterfalls tumbled from them into the sea, the pools beneath the vivid indigo indicating depth. Some of the falls fanned like an exotic bird’s tail, separating into fine white sprays over cascading ledges covered in emerald moss. Other falls descended in impossible and vivid shades. The pools of poisoned, sulfurous water on Vurgmun had been like that, proclaiming their toxicity with unnatural colors.