by Sally Green
“To do what I can with it. Valeria is an inspiration, though I’m not sure I have her force of personality.”
“Don’t expect everything to come to you overnight. Learn as you go. You will make mistakes, but don’t make the same one twice. No one has all the answers from the beginning. Even Valeria took time to win the people to her.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Good. Then I’m sure you’ll succeed. Also, listen to Sir Rowland, the Brigantine ambassador. Trust him. I know him well. He’ll help you.”
Something in the queen’s tone set Catherine wondering how her mother knew Sir Rowland, but she was prevented from wondering for long. As the ship hit the first waves outside the harbor, she was overcome by a feeling of nausea. One of Boris’s soldiers was already being sick over the side.
“Are you a woman, Webb?” Boris berated him. “Weak at the knees at the first sign of a wave?”
Deciding the comment was directed at her as much as at poor Webb, and determined not to show weakness in front of her brother, Catherine descended to her cabin as quickly as her dignity allowed—and proceeded to throw up into a bucket for the rest of the day.
For the first two days of the voyage, Catherine stayed prone on her tiny bed, feeling miserable. She slept at odd times and couldn’t face conversation with her maids, though she heard them talking of the soldiers on the boat, how handsome they were, and how strict Boris was. On the second day, she looked through the first book that the queen had given her and realized that her mother had written the poems herself. Many were about loneliness, lovelessness, and womanhood. Catherine was surprised at the emotion they contained, but rather than depress her they made her more determined. She didn’t want to have the life her mother had had. She didn’t want to end up writing a book of sad poems. She turned instead to the book about Queen Valeria, wishing that someone might one day write such a book about her.
On the second night, Catherine improved and found herself desperate for some fresh air. Her maids were sound asleep, and Catherine was in no mood for corsets or fiddling with her hair, so she dressed herself. As she crept up the steps, she remembered that there would be men on watch and perhaps sailors. Sails still needed to be tended at night, she assumed. She cautiously raised her head above deck, but as the breeze hit her face she realized that no matter who was there she wasn’t going to go back below; the fresh air felt wonderful.
The deck was empty, and she moved quietly to the ship’s rail. The sea was black and calm, the stars out in their thousands. Catherine filled her lungs with the cool, salty air and felt the last twinges of seasickness fall away.
By now her eyes were accustomed to the darkness, and she saw there were men in the rigging. Eight—no, more, perhaps ten or twelve—were moving silently and quickly, astoundingly quickly. Dressed in black, they descended rapidly, sliding down dark ropes. Catherine was hidden from their view by some wooden containers that were lashed to the deck. Hidden until one of the men slid to the deck right in front of her. Not only was the man dressed in black, but he was wearing a close-fitting black mask. He stared at her and seemed as surprised as she was.
Catherine forced herself to speak. “Good evening, sir. May I ask what you’re doing?”
The man didn’t reply and didn’t move. She was about to ask her question again when a horribly familiar voice spoke from behind her.
“You’re feeling better, Your Highness.”
Catherine turned. “I . . . I didn’t know you were coming to Pitoria, Noyes.”
Noyes just gave his usual half-smile, then said, “I wouldn’t miss your marriage for the world.”
Catherine wanted nothing more than to get away from Noyes and back into her cabin, but she forced herself to meet his eye.
“Are those your men? What are they doing up there?”
“I train my men for many circumstances, Your Highness, even the sailing of ships.”
Catherine did not believe that was what he was doing for a moment, and she stood waiting for him to leave, but of course all he did was look at her and she felt her skin crawl with it, so without another word she returned to her cabin.
In the morning Boris came to see her, bending his head to avoid hitting it on the beams.
“You were on deck last night.”
“Yes. I had been feeling unwell, but I am much better now. Thank you for your concern, brother.”
“I am concerned, but not for your health. You were alone. Again. None of your maids were present. You weren’t even dressed properly.”
“I needed air.”
“What you need is discipline. Don’t you care what people will say? You’re about to be married.”
“The seasickness has caused me to empty my stomach, not my memory.”
“You should learn to behave with dignity. Until you do, you stay in your cabin. Your maids too. I don’t want any of you on deck for the rest of the voyage. And if I see you gadding about I’ll have you in leg irons.”
Boris left and Catherine screamed with frustration. Here on the ship, a Brigantine ship crewed by Brigantine men, Catherine knew she had no choice but to do what Boris demanded. However, she was determined that the moment she stepped on Pitorian soil things would change.
* * *
Early in the afternoon of the third day, the ship maneuvered into the dock in Charron. As soon as the ropes were made fast, Catherine went up on the deck and scanned the crowd. Boris came to stand by her and commented, “You’re out of your cabin quickly, sister.”
“I’ve been cooped up in that box for three days. I’m keen to see my new country.”
“And your new husband.”
“Indeed.” Catherine looked at all the figures on shore. There were many young men, all well dressed. Some dark-skinned, some light. One very tall. One huge fat man. “Which one is he?”
Boris’s eyes flicked about. “I can’t see him or his pennants.”
“But I thought he was supposed to meet me here,” Catherine couldn’t resist replying. “It’s so hard organizing a wedding, isn’t it, brother? So much to remember, so easy to forget things . . . like the husband.”
Boris leaned close to her and snarled, “I didn’t forget anything, nor will I.”
But while it was entertaining to goad her brother Catherine was surprised to find that she felt disappointed her future husband wasn’t there to greet her.
A walkway had been set up to the shore, and the ship’s captain and two of his officers saluted smartly as a man dressed in Brigantine style stepped aboard and bowed deeply.
“Sir Rowland Hooper, Your Highness. His Majesty’s ambassador to Pitoria.” He smiled at Catherine. “I hope you have had a good journey.”
“I’m afraid I’m not suited to sea travel.”
“Well, I don’t suppose you’ll need to make another such journey again. Pitoria is your home now.”
“Indeed.” Catherine didn’t bother to smile.
“Where’s Prince Tzsayn?” interrupted Boris. “He’s supposed to be here.”
“Prince Tzsayn asked me to send his apologies. He is slightly unwell and has decided to remain in Tornia, to ensure he is fully recovered for the wedding ceremony.”
“Slightly unwell!” Boris snarled. “Couldn’t be bothered to ride for a few days to meet his wife, more like.”
Catherine’s face tightened. Did he really care so little for her? It hardly boded well for their future life together.
Sir Rowland smiled apologetically. “Instead, Prince Tzsayn has arranged for Princess Catherine to make a progress to Tornia that takes in the key towns along the route. With the prince unwell, it seemed the best option.”
Boris seethed. “This is not what we had agreed. We agreed to go straight to the castle. We agreed he would have all the lords of Pitoria there.”
“And that will happen, Your Highness,” s
aid Sir Rowland soothingly. “The lords will all be there when we arrive. I can assure you no one will be missing that day or the wedding itself. There is much excitement about it. But first there are dignitaries on shore to whom I should introduce you, and then we will begin our progress to the capital, through the most beautiful countryside. It’s almost a match for Brigant.”
Catherine straightened her back. Whatever the real reason for Prince Tzsayn’s absence, she would have to take this as an opportunity. Boris couldn’t lock her in her cabin anymore. This was her chance to make an impression. Before her own wedding, Queen Valeria had made a progress through Illast, which drew the crowds and the people to her. Catherine was going to make sure she was seen and make sure people talked about her.
“It will be a wonderful opportunity to see the country. We should have festivities organized for each evening,” Catherine said.
Sir Rowland turned to her. “An excellent suggestion, Your Highness. The Pitorians love a party. They will be glad to celebrate your arrival.” Sir Rowland looked to the shore. “Oh. The dancing has already begun. It’s a demonstration for your entertainment.”
Catherine could see a group of men leaping around, more like acrobats than dancers. She smiled. “I’ve heard that the men of Pitoria love to dance. Such a refreshing change from hunting or jousting.”
“They use dance to show their athleticism and power. It is remarkably skillful. I can arrange for your men to have lessons, if they desire.”
Catherine beamed. “What a delightful suggestion! I would love my brother to experience that.”
Boris was making a strange face. “That won’t be necessary.”
“You’re an accomplished dancer already, Your Highness?” Sir Rowland asked.
“As accomplished as a man needs to be, which is to say not accomplished at all, sir.”
Sir Rowland bowed his head, but Catherine could see he was smiling. When he looked up again, though, his face was blank. “So. We should be getting on with it.” He gestured toward the dancers. “Shall we brave them?”
Catherine felt a small smile creep to her lips. She hadn’t ever imagined enjoying her arrival in Pitoria, but now she began to realize it might even be fun. She followed the ambassador and Boris ashore, Noyes and her maids following behind. Catherine was alarmed to find that stepping ashore felt like walking across a swaying bridge. She wobbled and Sarah took her arm, but Catherine freed herself gently. Noyes saw every little weakness, and she was determined to show him none.
Catherine was introduced to a series of people in a flurry of smiling, bowing, and curtsying. What struck her was how different everyone seemed. Everyone in Brigant was pale-skinned and light-haired, but here skin colors ranged from black, brown, and gold tan to white, and hair was quite literally all the colors of the rainbow.
She was able to put faces to many of the names she had learned before her journey: Lord Quarl, one of King Arell’s counselors; Lord Serrensen, a distant cousin of the king; and Lord Farrow, the local magnate, who guided her into a carriage with Sir Rowland and Sarah for the next leg of her journey. Boris, Noyes, and their men were already mounted, their horses having traveled ahead. Catherine had to admit Boris’s men looked impressive, their armor shining brightly in the sun.
Ahead of her carriage rode ten other men on horseback, each carrying a long spear with a gleaming silver head and a green pennant below it. Most remarkably, the green of the pennant matched the green of each man’s hair, which was cut short at the back and sides but left long on top. Catherine had read that men showed allegiance to their leaders through their hair color, but knowing it and seeing it were two very different things. The green exactly matched the badge Lord Farrow wore on his jacket.
“You’ve spotted Lord Farrow’s green,” Sir Rowland commented.
“It’s very noticeable, sir. I had heard of the hair coloring, but it’s rather more dramatic than I imagined.”
“You know the origin of the tradition?” asked Sir Rowland. “The dye is to ensure the men don’t switch sides mid-battle, which happened in the wars with Illast over a century ago. Of course no one is going into battle now.”
“Though Brigantine soldiers on our land is hardly a reassuring sight,” said Lord Farrow shortly.
Catherine shifted in her seat. It seemed Sir Rowland had been exaggerating when he said that everyone was delighted to see her . . .
Noting her embarrassment, the ambassador tried to smooth things by saying, “The green of Lord Farrow is much admired. Though I’m sure that’s not the only reason men wish to join your ranks, my lord.”
“My ranks are always full and my men are the best,” Farrow replied, looking at Catherine.
“Better even than Prince Tzsayn’s?” Catherine asked pleasantly.
Lord Farrow’s face turned sour. “The prince, of course, has excellent troops.”
“His blue is admired by all,” purred Sir Rowland.
Thankfully the clatter of the horses’ hooves along the cobbled streets was loud enough to halt the conversation, allowing Catherine to put aside Lord Farrow’s barbs for a while and take in her surroundings.
The buildings were taller and narrower than in Brigant, and the people dressed more brightly. It looked to be a clean and well-cared-for place. As the parade of soldiers and carriages passed, people came out of buildings and even hung out of windows to see what was happening. Many waved and smiled, but a few merely stood and stared at the Brigantine soldiers.
The town soon gave way to countryside, where there were fewer people as they passed through green fields and orchards full of blossom. The carriage ride lasted until the late afternoon. At Lord Farrow’s vast home, Catherine was treated politely enough, given beautiful rooms, a bath, and privacy but little time to enjoy them, as that evening there was a reception at which she was the guest of honor.
As Sarah laid out her Pitorian dresses, Catherine realized she disliked them as much as ever; they were unstructured and revealing. She much preferred her corseted Brigantine evening gown, a silver-gray dress with embroidery and pearls at the cuffs and neck. She tried the necklace her father had given her, though it didn’t sit properly over her dress, so she didn’t keep it on. She had her maids pin up her hair, curled in the simple style she was used to.
Jane smiled at the result. “Very dignified, Your Highness.”
Tanya frowned, though. “It’s dignified, but I’ve seen some of the other guests arriving, Your Highness. They’re amazing. One lady has feathers in her hair that almost scrape the ceiling. I think one of the Pitorian dresses might be more in keeping.”
“Perhaps tomorrow. It’s been a long day and I’m more comfortable in this.”
But as soon as Catherine entered the hall she realized her mistake. Every woman, indeed every man, was dressed more extravagantly than she was. The women had their hair piled high on their heads, woven through with ribbons, pearls, flowers, feathers, and even bells. Not only were the hairstyles more elaborate and stylish, they added to the ladies’ height. Catherine was supremely conscious of her lack of it as she stood in the hall, unable to see above the shoulders of most of the guests. In the distance she spotted Noyes, staring at her as always. Thankfully Sir Rowland appeared at her side.
“Your Highness, apologies for keeping you waiting. Let me introduce you.”
And so it began. Small talk and false laughter during which Catherine was aware of being assessed and equally aware of how small and young she appeared, but mostly aware that she was irritated and tired. Eventually they were all guided to another room for the banquet, where Catherine was seated between Lord Farrow and Boris. Conversation was in short supply.
As the meal came to an end, Farrow made a brief and remarkably unwelcoming welcome speech dwelling on the bloodthirsty history of Brigant and the unexpected absence of Prince Tzsayn.
“And so we must accept that this small invasio
n of Brigantine troops is not here to conquer Pitoria,” Farrow concluded, “but to ensure that our two kingdoms will indeed be joined by marriage. It may be that the soldiers are necessary after all, as it seems that even the brave Prince Tzsayn quaked at the thought of his imminent wedlock.”
A low ripple of amusement passed round the table. Catherine was mortified. Boris looked furious. He was supposed to make a reply on Catherine’s behalf, but he didn’t stand, his jaw clenched with rage. Sir Rowland glanced at Catherine and began to rise, and Catherine knew she should allow him to smooth over the situation, but she was irritated—by Lord Farrow’s tactless humor and by the patronizing glances of the guests.
Before she had time to think, she was on her feet. People were talking, and while some stopped to look at her, many did not. She was determined that her voice would be firm and not wobbly, but as she looked at the sea of faces—all older, all wiser, mostly male, mostly from Pitoria—she felt like what she was: a sixteen-year-old foreign girl. Worst of all, she could feel Noyes’s eyes on her again. She immediately regretted standing, but it was too late now.
“It would be normal in Brigant for my brother, Prince Boris, to reply on my behalf. But I’m now entering a new country, a new life, and a new marriage—with the assistance of my brother’s troops, if necessary, though I’m hoping we won’t have to resort to that.” She paused as the audience laughed politely. “With these great changes to my life in prospect, it is time I spoke for myself. I am, of course, delighted to be in beautiful Pitoria, though sad at the parting from my parents and my beloved Brigant.”
Catherine looked around the room and could see that the guests were curious rather than interested. Was it just the spectacle of a woman standing and speaking for herself? But now Catherine couldn’t even do that—her mind had gone blank. A couple at the back leaned together and whispered. Catherine needed to hold their attention, get people on her side.
That was it, the way to win them round—the people.
“I am come to you as a young woman, a woman of just sixteen years. And I also come as a princess, the daughter of King Aloysius of Brigant.” And now she was surprised to realize that she spoke with true pride. “But I have the honor of marrying your prince, and I have today had the pleasure of seeing the kingdom of Pitoria for the first time, and it is truly a beautiful place. But a kingdom is more than a land and a king. Imagine a country as beautiful as Pitoria yet empty of all people. Put a man in this country. Now call that man king. Still this land is nothing special. There is no kingdom, merely a land and a man called a king. But now fill that land with people who love their country and their king, and you have a true kingdom. I understand that the people of Pitoria love their king, and also love Prince Tzsayn. I have seen a few of these people on my journey here today, and I intend to meet as many more as I can. Pitoria is my new home. The Pitorians are my new people. I left Brigant as a child of that country, but I continue on my journey as a Pitorian who loves her new country. I look forward to my life here. So my toast is to Pitoria and to all its people.”