My father was a great King. A peacemaker and leader of men. He’d made me strong.
I strode back up the aisle, keeping my head high and strides confident, allowing myself to rest my hand on the sword hilt. Now a gesture of power. The faces of the courtiers remained studiously blank, but many tipped heads in acknowledgment. I held rank still and they knew it.
More, they needed me. Particularly if Uorsin’s erratic behavior had only escalated, as it seemed it might have.
An odd figure caught my eye. Another foreigner, of the same breed but female. She wore a cloak the color of banked coals and sported the same sunny looks as her countrymen. Her eyes, however, burned dark—a startling contrast to her fair skin. She stared hard at me, which was how she’d caught my attention. My skin crawled and the hair rose on the back of my neck. Much as in the presence of the Tala and their dark magic.
Hers, however, made me think of death.
Refusing to hasten my stride, I nevertheless realized as I made my escape that I’d neglected to look for Dafne before exiting the room. Not that she couldn’t take care of herself, but I’d meant to and the strange woman had rattled me enough that I hadn’t.
I needed to settle myself before the feast or I might lose my hard-won composure.
A hot bath could do the trick. I rarely indulged, but the warmth might loosen my back and I needed to bathe regardless. Just outside the throne room doors, I nearly ran over Madeline Nique, chatelaine of Ordnung.
An imposing woman, she rarely presented as flustered, though she came close at the moment. “Your Highness.” She curtsied. “Welcome home.”
“Thank you. You heard?”
“I wished to confirm with you. A feast for the entire court, a few hours from now?”
“Indeed. Can you manage?”
“Barely. I’m not entirely unprepared, but . . .” She rolled her eyes and made the circle of Glorianna, asking the goddess mutely for assistance.
Uorsin never gave a thought to such things. He could provision multiple armies and plan food supplies to outlast an extended siege, but it never seemed to cross his mind that Ordnung’s daily activities required similar management.
Nor had he needed to, as I’d stepped into my mother’s shoes in making decisions for such things even before Salena died when I was ten. I’d trained Madeline myself when her predecessor retired, and I knew her to be an efficient, competent woman. No doubt the kitchens would already be in an uproar over such an undertaking on this short notice.
“He called for formal, so that gives you an extra few hours. Do we have any entertainment we can tap?”
“No minstrels, of course.”
Ah, right. Uorsin’s ban on song. He’d thought slowing the speed of news would impede any colluding amongst the rebel kingdoms. An interesting strategy, though I’d argued against it. People liked their entertainment. Taking it away only made them feel slighted, quicker to anger, easier to coax to fighting. Besides, it seemed like insult piled on injury to me, the hardships they suffered and now no songs or storytelling to ease their minds at the end of what had to be grueling days.
“What about the castle ladies—surely they have some summer play or dance?”
“There’s not so many without you or your sisters in attendance. The ladies who did not accompany the Princess Amelia to Windroven have largely returned to their families.”
It hadn’t occurred to me how the social life of Ordnung would deteriorate under these conditions. If only I had been born male, I could have married and left this sort of thing to my wife. “Bad luck—entertainment would allow us to serve nibbles for an hour or two longer, along with copious wine. You’d have more time and a happier, more forgiving crowd to serve.”
“There are these . . . acrobats,” she tendered.
“Acrobats?” I turned the word over in my mouth.
“Some of the Dasnarian mercenaries. It’s a sort of exercise they do. Twisting and tumbling. Quite amazing. The best among them don colorful costumes and compete.”
Mercenaries. Danu save us all. I had hoped for another explanation for the presence of the foreigners. Though what it might have been, I didn’t know. Another demonstration of the foolishness of relying on such a flimsy thing as hope. One day I would learn.
“Then Ordnung might as well get its money’s worth. Can you arrange for it? What else can I do?”
“You’ve done it, Your Highness. Thank you.” She curtsied again and gave me a sincere smile. “It’s good to have you back. Things will be done as they should be now. I’ll arrange for the acrobats and will be in the kitchens, should you think of aught else.”
I took the shortcut to my rooms, through the arcade, mulling her words. Things will be done as they should be now. Mercenaries, in Ordnung, with their captain waiting attendance on Uorsin. Weariness crawled through me. Perhaps I’d forestall a bath and lie down, see if I could manage to sleep. Madeline would need nothing more, I felt sure. She’d been handling everything without my direction in my absence. Taking over those responsibilities for my mother, I’d quickly learned that finding the best people was key.
Mother had deteriorated in those last years after Andi was born and particularly during her pregnancy with Amelia. I understood more now than I had then. Andi had borne the mark that made her our mother’s successor in Annfwn, as Queen of the Tala, and Salena had desperately wanted to take her there. But she’d done her duty and waited the five years to strengthen enough to bear her third daughter.
She would have left then, taking Andi and Ami with her, but she’d died before she could. It would have been better for my sisters, if she’d managed to. Not that it would have made much difference in my life. Even if she’d tried to take me, too, which I highly doubted, Uorsin would never have let me go.
It hadn’t been easy, being both son and queen for my father, but I’d risen to the task. Until recently. You will again, I told myself. You’re just tired.
“Your Highness.” Derodotur’s voice called out as he hastened up the arcade. Facing a private grassy courtyard, the white marble arches let sunshine into the hall, with urns of tumbling flowers at intervals. The quickest way to my rooms, it became impassable in winter. Derodotur was one of the few who’d know I’d go this way. He sketched a bow and scratched his nose. “Did you see that the armory has been updated as you directed?”
I suppressed a sigh. Of course he’d have information to impart, that I’d want to hear before facing Uorsin and the court again. It shouldn’t take long, and then I could bathe and take a few minutes. Shaking off the weariness, I nodded. “I had not had the opportunity. Let’s take a look. Court has adjourned, then?”
“Yes. Everyone is looking forward to your welcoming feast.”
Oh, yes. The one that a foreign mercenary suggested—making it suspicious right there.
We moved briskly through the formal areas of Ordnung, quieter now that the courtiers had made themselves scarce in hopes of better fortune in the relaxed atmosphere of the promised feast. No doubt also planning to seek me with petitions they’d saved for my return. Troops drilled in the barracks courtyard. No sign of these acrobats, however. It would be interesting to assess their abilities. I highly doubted that mountain of a captain would be twisting or tumbling.
Derodotur made a show of pointing out the additions to the armory—slight—and made sure I got a good look at the additional ranks of mercenaries in the barracks—substantial—before closing the door behind us in the blade-sharpening room and turning to face me.
Buried in the ground and lined with stone, the chamber made an ideal location for Derodotur’s confidential conversations with me. I’d been nine when he first brought me here, giving me insight on dealing with my often irascible father. He’d been Uorsin’s page in the Great War, long before he met and married Salena. Having survived this long as the King’s closest adviser, he also knew well the importance of never showing fear.
Seeing that emotion in Derodotur’s face cemented the dread. Th
ings were bad.
“When did they arrive?” I asked him, point-blank.
We both knew exactly who I meant. Derodotur shook his head. “I argued against it. You know that. At first—” He laughed at himself, a bitter edge. “At first I thought he was joking. But no. Uorsin sent for the Dasnarians shortly after you departed for Branli. He’s determined that only they can be trusted not to defect to the loyalties of their home kingdoms. They’ve been at Ordnung just under four months.”
“I’d heard nothing.”
“You wouldn’t have. No one has been allowed to leave the castle proper or the township. The minstrels departed long before that.”
“The township? How does he prevent—Ah.” That explained the foreign soldiers’ idleness in the village. They were guards. And, with no open decree to prevent people from traveling to the township, as people were wont to do in warm weather, the population would keep increasing. We could sustain the situation into early autumn, but once the snows moved down from the mountains, we’d be hard-pressed to feed and clothe everyone. Disease would follow. It made me feel ill to contemplate it. Ugly ways to die. Give me the sword instead. “He must have a plan.”
Danu tell me he has a plan. That he’s not . . . I stopped myself from even thinking the words.
Derodotur’s eyes shifted to the side. “He has not confided such to me.” The closest I’d ever heard him come to expressing doubt in his King. Very bad indeed.
“How is he paying them?”
“He has promised a share of any spoils, should it come to war.”
The smooth surface of the rounded topaz under my thumb grounded me enough that I resisted rolling my head to loosen my tightening neck. Even alone with Derodotur, it would not do for me to show weakness. “And if there is no war? The aim has been to settle this without conflict.”
“He is certain there will be.”
Uorsin could make war happen, regardless. Still. “But what provision if there are no spoils to be had?”
“He has promised to levy taxes and up conscriptions to a similar level.”
“Conscriptions? How will . . .” I trailed off, understanding the fear. “Slave trade?”
“I don’t think so.” Derodotur shook his head, unhappy, uncertain. We’d be thrice damned if we allowed the people of the Twelve to be sold into slavery. Uorsin must have a plan. He’d nearly died uniting the Twelve. My mother had sacrificed her own throne, certainly her happiness, to assist him. He couldn’t betray the people and that peace.
“I shall find out the details,” I assured Derodotur, squeezing his shoulder. He’d grown frail in the last year, now shorter than I. “You know how Father loves to strategize. He’ll have a plan.”
Derodotur nodded again but did not seem convinced. “I’d never say this to anyone but you, Princess, but I worry that—”
“No, don’t say what can’t be unsaid. The unrest will be settled and the Dasnarians sent home with pay. You’ll see.”
“There’s one more thing.” Derodotur swallowed hard. “A woman among the Dasnarians.”
“I think I saw her in court.”
“Yes. That’s her. There are whispers . . .”
“There is always gossip in court.”
“Not like this.” Derodotur’s eyes flicked from side to side, as if expecting attack from the shadows. “The King has entertained her privately.”
Uorsin entertained many women privately. Always had, even before Salena died. Nobody blinked over it, usually. I raised my eyebrows and waited, ignoring the curl of foreboding.
“She is . . . not wholesome,” Derodotur finally whispered.
“Are you saying she holds undue influence over the King?”
“No. Well, yes. You see, she—” He broke off and shook his head.
Had he grown so old that the dementia of age had touched him? “She . . . what?”
“ ’Tis unnatural, Ursula,” he said in a rush, seizing my hand, horror lurking in his eyes. “I’m afraid of what the days shall bring.”
His hands on mine trembled and he seemed about to tumble over. “Don’t fret so, Uncle.” I hadn’t called him that since I was a girl. “I’m home and I shall look into it. No one is stronger than Uorsin. I will talk with him. Amelia will turn up. We’ll settle the matter of the heir to everyone’s satisfaction and restore peace. Uorsin will see his throne secure and will send the Dasnarians home.”
Derodotur nodded and, shocking me, bent over my hands and kissed them. “If anyone can save us now, you can.”
I only wished I believed that.
4
Too unsettled to rest now, and since I was already in the barracks courtyard, I decided a light workout might do me the most good. Burn off some nervous energy and maybe loosen up my back muscles.
With the afternoon waning, most of the troops had cleared the practice yard. Finding an open corner, I stood quietly for a moment, centering myself and asking Danu’s blessing for a clear mind and a bright blade.
Drawing my sword, I held it upright before me, hilt down and point up. This moment always gave me a measure of peace, the gathering pause before the flow of motion. Danu’s spirit filled me and I moved into the first and simplest of her sword forms.
Most children begin with her first form, Midnight. I’d learned it younger than most, at five, clonking myself regularly with the wooden practice blade. Salena had just given birth to Andi and Uorsin had been raging through Ordnung in the hours since.
I’d heard his bellowing summons long before he burst into the nursery. Though I remembered little else about that time—other than feeling bereft, summarily dismissed from my mother’s attention—that memory blazed bright in my mind. My father, who already frightened me more than a little, standing like a giant amidst the miniature toys of the nursery, his red-gold hair bright and blue eyes blazing.
“Curtsy for the High King,” my nurse prompted, poking me with a shaking hand, but I’d stood frozen, clutching the doll my mother had just given me, so I would have a baby to play with, too.
“What is this?” Uorsin yanked the doll out of my hands and threw it across the room. With contempt, he took in the little table and tiny teacups I’d set out for my doll and me to share and dashed a big hand through them, sending china shards flying. “You are my heir, Ursula, whether I like it or not—and here you are fussing about with dolls and fripperies.”
Even then I knew better than to let him see me cry. Mother told me to save the tears, tuck them away, and take them out later. They were for me, not for him. She did the same.
“Come with me, Daughter. It’s high time you learned something useful, if you’re to be a credit to the throne. Do you know how many people died so you can sit here in your pretty rooms playing with pretty things?”
“No, my King.”
“Thousands. Tens of thousands. Are you worthy of their sacrifice? Of my sacrifice?”
“No?”
“No. But you can be. Your mother has a new daughter now and has cast you aside. I’m all you have. Understand?”
I did understand. Then and in the days since. He took me down to the practice yard and started teaching me how to hold a blade. When I tripped over my dress, he ridiculed me. When I fell, he made me get up on my own. My dolls and dresses were packed away, replaced with practice daggers and wooden swords, pants and shirts better suited for drilling.
While Uorsin continued to oversee my progress, another instructor took over my daily training. A priestess of Danu, Kaedrin taught me the twelve sword forms, starting with the Midnight form. My father’s brute-force techniques would never serve me well, she said. Kaedrin showed me how to use the strength of my lower body, the speed and flexibility of my lighter physique.
The twelfth form—the most complicated and demanding—finishes at Noon pose, one that took me two full years to master. It’s one of Danu’s tests that she demands the most strenuous postures and intricate maneuvers of the blade after you’ve already executed eleven other forms and your mu
scles are weeping from exhaustion.
I held Noon pose, up on the toes of one foot, the other leg poised in front of me to protect and deflect with a snap kick, my sword high above and behind, ready to slice into Snake Strike, my other hand palm out, steady. Danu’s salute.
My back sang with the strain, but I refused to drop before the count of twelve, as Kaedrin would have expected of me. As I lowered body and blade, my gaze snagged on the intent stare of the Dasnarian captain. He showed no sign of overt aggression, but I moved my sword and self into a defensive posture, ready. A slight smile twitched at his somber mouth. He raised his short blade—a wide, bevel-edged hunting knife—and held the flat against his forehead.
Then he strode away, leaving me wondering. Challenge or salute—or both?
But the sun declined in truth now, and even with the delayed hour of the formal feast, I would run out of time if I did not move quickly.
When I at last achieved the sanctuary of my rooms, Dafne awaited me in the outer chamber. “I’m out of leisure time for conversation, librarian,” I told her. “Can it wait?”
She followed me into the bedchamber, watching as I unstrapped my sword and laid it on the bed. “Apparently I’m the one to wait—on you. You have no ladies to tend you and I have no chambers any longer. Ordnung is bursting at the seams, so you get to be stuck with me.”
I took her measure. “You are no lady-in-waiting.”
“Nor do you take much tending.”
I snorted at that and ran a hand ruefully through my sweat-drenched hair, which I’d chopped short to better fit under my helm during the campaigns of the recent months. “I do, however, take a fair amount of work to be made suitably feminine for court.”
She made a wry face. “As for that, one does not spend any amount of time with Princess Amelia without learning an extensive amount about grooming and beauty tricks.”
“You’ll be relieved to know I don’t aspire to beauty—adequate to pass the King’s muster is a high enough bar. If you can assist, I’d be grateful.”
The Twelve Kingdoms Page 3