by Matthew Ward
“Already in hand, my lord. Her ladyship anticipated the need.” Braxov offered Rosa a bow as low as his girth would accommodate. “It’s ready as soon as you are, lady.”
She offered him a reluctant smile. A free woman once more, but there was still the matter of the night’s revelation – the kernclaw’s curse. If that got out, no amount of manoeuvring would keep her from the pyre. If she even deserved to evade it.
“Judging by Lord Reveque’s unflattering comment, I suppose I’d better . . .”
“Father!”
A dishevelled waist-high blur shot through the drawing room door. Malachi staggered as the blur wrapped itself around his midriff and beamed up at him with the earnestness unique to fools and children.
“I’m the King of Fellhallow.”
The boy was filthy enough to match his claim. His face was smeared with mud, his knees were scuffed and his smock browner than it was cotton-white.
“Is that so, Constans?” Malachi’s stern tones were a poor match for his smile. “Shouldn’t your majesty be at his lessons?”
Constans brushed aside a mucky fringe and frowned in earnest thought. Then he did what Rosa had observed all children – and no few adults – did when confronted with an unwelcome question. Namely, he ignored it.
“Hello, Rosa.”
“That’s not how we greet guests in this house, is it?”
Constans frowned. “That’s her name.”
“And one you’ve not earned the right to use,” his father replied. “Now, greet her properly.”
The frown cleared. Constans offered a stiff, unsteady bow. “Hello, Lady Orova.”
Not daring to meet Malachi’s eye lest she be tempted to smile, Rosa returned the bow. “Thank you, majesty.”
“Would you like to be my queen? You look like you’d belong in Fellhallow.”
Malachi’s smirk darkened. “Constans!”
“He’s not saying anything his father didn’t.” Rosa squatted to reach Constans’ eye level. “I’m flattered, majesty. But Fellhallow is a long way off, and I’m too tired to travel.”
“He doesn’t mean the real Fellhallow,” proclaimed a new voice. “He’s been playing by the river again. Hiding from Ada. She’s probably still looking for him.”
Sidara stood on the stairs, two steps down from the top. Her belted white dress was every bit as clean as Constans’ smock was not. Strawblonde plaits hung to the small of her back.
“Hello, Lady Orova. Hello, Father. Mother’s angry with you again.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” Malachi replied. “And if I recall, you have lessons of your own.”
“I came to greet your guest.”
“And now you have done so. Please return to your lessons . . . Or must I tell your mother, and have her be as angry at you as she apparently is at me?”
Sidara pursed her lips, nodded and retreated upstairs.
“And you, young sir . . .” Malachi went on, interrupting Constans’ sudden peal of laughter. “. . . are to clean your face, apologise to Ada and return to your studies.”
“I’d rather be fighting Hadari.”
“So now you’re both the King of Fellhallow, and a knight in the Tressian army, is that it? Which chapterhouse?
“Fellnore . . .” He shot a glance at Rosa. “No, Essamere.”
“Well, knights of Essamere take orders, don’t they, Lady Orova?”
“Without fail, Lord Reveque.”
Malachi poked Constans in the chest. “And you are hereby ordered to clean yourself up, and do as you’re told.”
Constans scowled, but nodded. “All right.”
He offered Rosa an approximation of a salute and wandered off the way he’d come. She waited until she was sure he was out of earshot before letting go the laugh that had been building inside her.
Malachi shook his head. “I’m sorry about that.”
“Not at all,” Rosa replied. The encounter had lifted her spirits more than she’d dared believe possible. “It seems like for ever since I saw them last. How old are they now?”
“Eight and twelve. One year each for every fifty grey hairs they’ve given me.”
“Sidara’s nearly as tall as you already.”
“And thinks she’s twice as clever.” He scratched his head. “I’ve a horrible feeling she’s right, but you’re not to tell her.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Rosa, deadpan. “I’m a knight. I obey orders. Especially from councillors who save my miserable neck.” She turned to Braxov. “I’d better have that bath, before the water cools.”
“Certainly, my lady.”
She followed Braxov up two flights of stairs to a narrow door, left ajar. Wisps of hot, sweet-scented steam curled through the gap. She reached for the door as Braxov withdrew. At the half-landing, he stood aside long enough for Lilyana Reveque to pass.
“Lady Orova?”
Lilyana drew level on the landing, a wary look in her eye. There could be no doubt from which parent Sidara had inherited her height; her mother was a good head taller than Rosa. Taken alongside a willowy frame, Lilyana had an almost ethereal aspect. Had she worn her golden hair down, instead of tightly plaited, she’d have been twin to the serathi statues so popular among the wealthy.
“It’s Rosa, please. We’ve known each other long enough.”
Lilyana offered a small, embarrassed smile. “Of course. I see so little of Malachi’s friends, I’m never quite sure where I stand.”
Rosa wondered if she heard the ghost of criticism. “I hope I’ve not put you to any trouble.”
“Not in the least.” This time, there was no mistaking Lilyana’s warmth. “You’ve had many terrible experiences in so short a time. I understand your uncles are not the most . . . sympathetic of men.”
Rosa shook her head. “I appal them on so many levels it’s hard to tally. I’ll receive more of a welcome if I let today’s uproar fade before presenting myself.”
“Yes, family can be . . . insistent.”
Rosa winced inwardly. She knew Lilyana Reveque had wanted to give herself to the church – to serve Lumestra as a serene, rather than her family as a mother of children. But war and disgrace had thinned her family tree to sparse branches, and need had won out over desire.
“That they can,” she said. “I won’t be in your way long. I took leave from the border to attend Kas’s wedding, and there’s little of it left.”
Lilyana laid a hand on her wrist. “You will stay as long as you need. I’ll hear of nothing else. We’re all in this life together, Rosa.”
Rosa nodded her thanks, but dark thoughts awoke. Together? True enough. But alive? That she wasn’t so sure about. At least she’d saved Sevaka from whatever disgrace Aske Tarev would have inflicted. And the confines of the constabulary’s cells.
Sevaka . . . With everything else, she’d almost forgotten.
“Lilyana, can I ask another favour?”
“Of course.”
“Could you send someone to Freemont? Sevaka Kiradin was with me last night, and I’d be happier knowing she’s returned home safe.”
Malachi poured a generous measure of Selanni brandy and lost himself in the patterns of reflected sunlight. A long day already, and yet scarcely past noon.
“A little early for that, don’t you think?” asked Lily.
He started guiltily and turned from the window. “I’ve had a trying morning. I think I’ve earned it. Plus you’re already mad at me, so where’s the harm?”
She drew closer, expression unreadable. “Who says I’m mad at you?”
Experience. But experience also warned him against saying so. “Sidara.”
She threw back her head and closed her eyes. “Your daughter needs to stop listening at doors.”
“My daughter?”
“Yes, your daughter. My daughter is the one who studies diligently and sings so sweetly.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Your daughter is the one who insists on bellowing those foul dockers’ shanti
es. She’s also the one who needs to stop listening at doors. Just like I need to break the habit of thinking aloud. Or believing that anything I say or do in this house goes unwatched.”
Malachi set the glass aside. “So you are angry with me.”
She shook her head and looped her arms behind his neck. “No. You always think that, and it’s so seldom true.”
So why did he feel like another polite lecture was headed his way? “Then why does Sidara think otherwise?”
“Because we’d agreed to spend today together, as a family. Church, then a visit to my parents and a walk along the coast, remember? You promised Constans.”
He remembered. It had seemed an easy concession a week ago, but so much had changed since then. “And what was I to do? Abandon Rosa?”
“Of course not. And I wouldn’t have wanted you to. But you’re here so rarely. If it’s not the Council, it’s your friends, and if it’s not your friends it’s . . .” She shrugged. “There’s going to come a time when you’re gone, Malachi, and I don’t want our children to wonder at the kind of man their father was. I want them to know, and to know that he loved them.”
The same old argument beckoned. Or perhaps not argument. Lily was so damn reasonable. Sometimes he wished she’d lose her temper. Shout. Throw something. That way he’d feel he could shout back. It wouldn’t help, but it would silence the feeling of failure.
Thirteen years married. Five years with the burden of the Reveque seat on the Privy Council. When did he get to stop feeling like a fraud? Like a man of average aspect and wit who’d lucked into marriage to a woman who outshone him in every way? Somehow the more supportive Lily sounded, the larger failure loomed.
“I’m trying, truly I am. But there are only so many hours in the day.”
“Oh Malachi, I’m not asking you to do more. I want you to do better.”
The familiar request. The expected, pitying tone.
“I do well enough.” He hated how defensive he sounded. “I got my way over the Southshires.”
“That’s not what you said last week. Viktor did something, and I don’t think I want to know what it was. Your words, my love.”
Malachi frowned. Viktor had forced his father’s agreement, yes. However, it had been his own words that won the support of Abitha Marest.
“I tell you, I make a difference!”
“Do you?” She smiled wistfully. “Then why don’t you tell me about the sacrifices that have driven you to brandy. Perhaps I can help.”
He eyed her with suspicion. “Any time you want to take my place on the Council . . .”
“You know it doesn’t work like that. My father left that seat to you when he retired. I promised, you promised. I was to do nothing that would distract me from his grandchildren.” The old bitterness bled into her voice. The chafing at motherhood’s shackles while her husband floundered in a role she’d been born to. She sank into an armchair and waited. “So, these sacrifices . . .”
Malachi took a sip of his brandy and admitted defeat. “Freeing Rosa meant asking a favour of Ebigail.”
“Did she ask for anything in return?”
“The end of my proposal to negotiate with the Hadari. Not that I’d much chance of getting it through the Grand Council. Ebigail’s threateners have already gone door-to-door.”
And there was little point getting a truce through the Privy Council if there was uproar in the lower chamber. It was one thing to order an unpopular peace, and quite another to enforce it.
“Was she polite?”
“Very.”
“Did she crow?”
“Hardly at all. I’m too tired for games, Lily.”
She chuckled. “Little wonder, because you’ve been played sufficiently this morning already. I spoke with Rosa. She asked me to enquire if Sevaka Kiradin made it home safe.”
Malachi frowned. “There’s no need. I saw her this morning. A few bruises, but nothing . . .” Realisation crashed home with the force of a falling tree. “Oh, Queen’s Ashes!”
The first genuine scowl touched her lips. “Language, Malachi.”
“Sevaka was there when Aske died, which means . . .”
“. . . that Ebigail already had all the reason in the world to intervene. From what I know of Sevaka, I imagine she insisted. And you wonder why Ebigail doesn’t take you seriously.” Lily sighed. “She dances around you with such ease.”
Malachi clapped a hand to his eyes and willed the world to go away. He hadn’t known. He hadn’t thought to ask, and Rosa hadn’t thought to tell him. Because he’d been too focused on helping Rosa that he hadn’t stopped to think. Instead, he’d galloped headlong for a solution, kidding himself that he’d done the right thing. The noble thing. What generations of Reveques before him would have done.
There was special irony in having his hubris pointed out by the woman whose family name and reputation he’d invited to ridicule.
“It’s not as bad as that . . .”
“No, Ebigail accounted you an idiot long ago. But that merely places you in common company with most of the Republic.” Lily’s cheek twitched. “But next time, it might cost you a great deal. More than that, you could have kept your promise to your son, and nothing would have changed.”
Malachi downed the last of the brandy. Lily was right. Raven’s Eyes, but she was right. “I’m not the only idiot in the room. You married me.”
“And despite everything, I still think I chose well.” Rising to her feet, she took his head in her hands and kissed him. “You’re a good man, Malachi, and I love you for it. I just wish it were easier to respect you. You’re so busy trying to prove yourself worthy of my family and your friends that you reach for more than you can grasp.”
Anger. He’d have preferred anger. Anything was preferable to feeling like a beggar invited to a banquet out of charity. But he supposed Lily was right. Better, not more. He couldn’t even stand up to his own wife. She towered over him even as she tried to raise him up.
“So what do I do?”
“One thing, and do it well.”
“You mean, be a more present father.”
Her eyes danced in approval. “Two things, then. You want this peace treaty?”
“It’s too late. I’ve forsaken it.”
“Nonsense. Ebigail lied to you, if by omission. You can lie in exchange.”
The thought held some appeal, but it also sparked a frisson of fear. “That’s dangerous.”
But the more Malachi dwelled on the idea, the more appealing it became. So much so that he found himself standing straighter than he had before.
“So am I.” Lily planted her hands on her hips and struck a pose suited to a hero of old – though not without a wry glimmer. “I am Lilyana Matilla Reveque, daughter of the first rank, and no one makes a fool of my husband . . . except for his children.”
“What about the Grand Council?”
“Lumestra will guide me, and I will guide you.” There was no mirth in her voice now. “You represent our family, Malachi, but you needn’t do so alone.”
Setting aside the last of his resentment, he kissed his wife and held her close. However fortunate she’d been in her choice, he’d been luckier still. It was just that some days it was hard to see that. Do one thing, she’d said, and do it well. Yes, it could be done. But first, he had a friend who needed help. And if Lily had made one thing clear, it was that he couldn’t be trusted to manage things alone.
“Lily,” he whispered. “There’s something I should tell you about Rosa.”
“I confess, I expected that I’d been summoned on foundry business,” said Elzar. “Not . . . well . . . Forgive me, Lady Orova, but this lies some way outside my experience.”
Rosa nodded, the familiar knot of worry gripping her stomach. Whatever else she felt or did not, her capacity for that particular emotion had no end. She’d violently rejected the idea of bringing a stranger into her confidence. But Malachi had held his ground, arguing that they’d never learn anything
without risk. And so, she’d at last relented.
For all the good that had done.
Malachi leaned forward in his chair. “Please, Elzar. Viktor speaks highly of your judgement.”
Elzar steepled his fingers and sank back, eyes closed. In the afternoon sunlight of the drawing room, he resembled a crag darter basking on the rocks. “There is . . . something. But I must caution against repeating it.”
Rosa nodded. Malachi shared a brief glance with Lilyana, who stood behind his chair looking a fraction uneasier than Rosa felt.
“It will go no further,” said Lilyana.
Elzar grunted. “Oh, I don’t worry for myself. But it doesn’t become the nobility to go around spouting apocrypha. Not unless they mean to be prophets or martyrs.”
Rosa felt her patience slip a notch. “We’ll just have to restrain ourselves.”
Her reward was a toothy smile. “I imagine so. This concerns Konor Belenzo, and the overthrow of the Tyrant Queen.”
Lilyana folded her arms. “I served at high altar for over twenty years. I embraced the twelve mysteries and know the Books of Astarria by heart. There is nothing you can tell me about Konor Belenzo that I don’t already know.”
Elzar’s grin broadened. “Then you know all about those who stood with him at the end.”
“Belenzo faced Malatriant alone,” said Lilyana. “Without Lumestra’s light, he would never have triumphed.”
“No. That’s what scripture claims.”
Malachi stirred. “It’s what history records.”
“And the one is built upon the other, and maybe neither of them true. Tressian history is so often fiction, and faith calls for simplicity where life is anything but. I’ve heard many accounts that Belenzo was but one of several who fought the Tyrant Queen.”
“We shouldn’t be listening to this,” said Lilyana. But she made no move to leave.
“It’s myth. One step removed from story. And stories have only the power you give them. It does no harm to listen.” He shrugged. “Malatriant drew her power from the primal Dark that existed before the light. Could one god stand against that? Could one divine champion?”
“One did,” said Lilyana flatly. “He was martyred for his courage . . .”