The Lantern-Lit City

by Vista McDowall

"Why are you stopping?" Seanna asked when she noticed her lover, Larka, hesitate.

  "Your Grace, I...I'm sorry. I can't."

  "Why not?" Seanna demanded. "You've done it plenty of times before."

  "Yes, but...but you weren't with child then. Carnal acts are dangerous for the baby, so says Shepherd William, and I can't be responsible for hurting it."

  "Horseshit. There's ways to do this without upsetting the child. I could pleasure you, make you scream such things as would make the gods themselves blush. Come, my dear, my sweet, my own–"

  "No, Your Grace. It's not just the child; it's the symptoms." Larka paused and gave a significant glare to Seanna's belly. "Could you love me if I were deformed like that?"

  The queen's mellow mood darkened and twisted into a sour temper. Larka had been her lover for the past eight months, but the royal family had only just announced Seanna's new pregnancy now that she started to show. In that time, Seanna had showered Larka with gifts and jewels far above the girl's station. But if Larka could abandon her so easily, Seanna could do far worse. "Mind your words, Maid. I could have you executed."

  "And I would bring you down with me," Larka snapped as she pulled her dress back over her shoulders. "A queen making love to her handmaid, who rejects her king's bed for that of another woman? I think your head would find the block far sooner than mine."

  "No one would believe you." Seanna put on an air of nonchalance, though inside she seethed. The fiery words that first attracted her to Larka spun around onto Seanna, and she greatly disliked the feeling. She rolled to her back, her head on the pillow, and regarded her lover with a bored expression. "No one would care."

  "Wouldn't they? The courtiers hate you, the king hates you...everyone knows that his bad humors worsened after he married you. They'd all cheer to see you dethroned."

  "How dare you speak to me like that," Seanna said, and though her tone was sharp, she betrayed little of the fury lodged in her heart. Damn this common whelp, she should be grateful to lick my boots, let alone be allowed in my confidence! She's a liar and a whore. "I am the queen of Dotschar."

  "The king's whore, they call you. The Empire's slut," Larka said fearlessly.

  Seanna picked at her fingernails. She was too practiced at apathy to shiver. "And yet history will remember me as the mother of the finest king D'Ehsen has ever known. What shall you be remembered for? Nothing. When you die in filth, you'll wish you had not scorned me."

  "With empty threats such as these, Your Grace, you cannot expect anyone to take you seriously." With a firm thud, Larka shut the servant's door behind her, the seam blending into the wall.

  Seanna glared at the seam. Vecking slut. Once I bear the king's heir, I shall have the power to do as I please, and Larka will find herself tied to a stone in the bottom of the channel. If she kept up her anger, perhaps she wouldn't notice her heart's pain.

  "You would never hurt me like that," she whispered to her belly. "I'll raise you to love your mother above all others."

  The main door to her chambers slammed open, and she rolled her eyes. Henrik. Of course the king had come without announcement. Though her pride still prickled at Larka's scorn, Seanna was glad that they hadn't been caught together. Despite her confident words, she knew the king would be furious with her.

  "My dear?" Henrik called from the antechamber. "Are you decent?" Both questions were said flatly and without tenderness. The pet name was a courtesy, etiquette at this point, for the people expected their king and queen to care for each other.

  Seanna bothered only to put on a pair of slippers before shuffling from her bedroom to the antechamber. Her breasts, just recently heavier, sagged more than she liked, and she couldn't see her dainty feet past her protruding belly. From her large window, she saw the glimmering sea, blue with white flecks. She was to set sail that day for the Masque, and could have sworn departure was scheduled for the afternoon. Though Henrik could have changed it just to spite me.

  King Henrik waited in the large entrance room. It had tall windows hidden by red curtains, multiple Eadron rugs, couches, chairs, and an empty fireplace that would be roaring come winter. A legged mirror stood to one side, reflecting the king's rear. Henrik's hands were clasped behind his back, and he stared at the floor, his brow wrinkled in thought. He was not the tallest man, but had a thickset way about him that made him seem larger. From a pure Dotsch bloodline, he had thick brown hair, grey eyes, and fair skin.

  As Seanna entered, Henrik groaned at her nakedness and turned his back to her. "Must you?"

  "Oh, my dear," Seanna said, coming to stand in front of the mirror to criticize her reflection. "You know I must."

  "If only to frustrate me."

  "Show what you've neglected, you mean."

  "You neglect me as oft as I neglect you."

  "Have you even thought of me since I became with child? Your child, I should say."

  Henrik's shoulders hunched, then relaxed. He still didn't look at her. "Our child, Seanna. And it is unwise to threaten its health. I cannot bear another loss." He paused, then said, "I haven't come here to discuss our marriage. Too often lately have you spoken of things best left unsaid. I have heard complaints, too, that you stay silent at the woes of the minor nobles and rustics rather than offering solutions and sympathy. As my queen, and therefore my mouthpiece when I am absent, you must reflect my opinions and condolences at all times."

  He blathered on as Seanna stopped listening. I know this already. And what if I state my own thoughts? I am the queen. And queen she had been for four years, though since her wedding she had, mostly out of spite, gone out of her way to be contrary to Henrik's wishes.

  At first, of course, Seanna had been the image of the perfect queen. Her father, the Earl of Stillmeadow, spent months cajoling the king into marrying Seanna rather than another earl's daughter. Though her beauty brought many wealthy suitors to her door, her barbed words often frightened them away. Knowing her tenuous position in the court – and knowing how beloved Henrik's first queen had been before her untimely death – Seanna tried to hold her tongue and present herself as sweet and modest.

  That lasted about as long as her first failed pregnancy.

  Henrik paused, and Seanna realized he expected her to say something. She smiled blithely. "Of course, darling. Anything you say."

  "Did you listen at all?"

  "Here and there, though I must confess I have heard better sermons from drunk curates."

  Henrik shook his head. "I've tried to help you better understand royal politics. I am finished. Make an embarrassment of yourself if you must." After he made a minuscule adjustment to his robe, he continued, "Get dressed and have your things sent to the docks. The ship launches at noon."

  Seanna chose a loose, comfortable linen dress for the trip. Instead of her heavy crown with its egg-sized gems, she placed a beaded circlet on her brow. Before she left, she sent for a steward and ordered, "My handmaid, Larka Fellsworth, is no longer capable of acting in my service. Dismiss her at once and dock her pay for insubordination. A quinn in the stocks may also help her understand that rudeness to royalty will not be abided." The steward bowed stiffly, and, her commandment given, Seanna left her rooms satisfied.

  The carriage she and Henrik took to the docks could easily carry ten passengers, but they were its only occupants. It carried them away from the Silver Keep and across the bridge into Midtown.

  Con Salur, the capital of Dotschar, was a work of architectural art. It held four districts, each the size of a lesser city. King's Berth (lovingly called Midtown) sat on the shelf of a red-stone cliff and housed the city's nobles and wealthiest citizens. The second district, Seawind, rested atop the cliffs. It held the Grand Novum and most of the city's residents. All around, both sea- and land-side, a wall seventy feet high guarded Seawind from both enemies and elements. At the very base of the cliffs was Dockside, where the wharfs, warehouses, and homes for sailors and fishermen could be found. Sprawling docks berthed the king's navy, as well a
s various merchant ships and foreign envoys.

  But the most amazing district, and the most mysterious, was Darkroad. It stretched from Seawind, to Midtown, and then down to Dockside, a series of underground switchbacks, alleyways, and buildings carved inside the cliffs. The main thoroughfares were wide enough to accommodate three wagons side-by-side, while the smallest alleys had barely enough room for a starving urchin. The only entrances to Darkroad were stone doors in the three other districts, and if those doors were to be shut, no one could go from one district to another.

  When Seanna first came to Con Salur, she had been overwhelmed with its size and intrigued with the secrets built into its very heart. Now, she twitched the curtain shut as the carriage trundled into Darkroad and made its slow, laborious way down to Dockside.

  Inside Darkroad, though, the wind died, and Seanna soon sweated through her linen. Despite the grandeur of the Silver Keep and the beauty of the ocean from the cliffs, to travel between districts was intolerable. It took too long with little entertainment on the way.

  "Is Prince Udolf coming?" Seanna asked as the carriage jostled them for the hundredth time.

  "No. I've left him as Steward of the Court, as practice." The king didn't say it, but Seanna knew the implication. As practice in case I fail to bear a son.

  Henrik's sister, before her death, had borne a healthy son. Unless Seanna produced an heir, the kingdom would pass to the king's nephew, Udolf. Often, Seanna had nightmares of Udolf cutting the unborn child out of her or poisoning her so that she would lose the baby. He was an ambitious man, and she was a threat. She was glad that he would stay in the city for the months she and Henrik were gone.

  The carriage rolled along beaten planks, making a rumbling sound that reverberated through Seanna's chest. She felt her heart lift instantly at the sound and sight of the sea: waves climbing hungrily up the beach, gulls croaking overhead, the occasional splash on the tumultuous surface as a fish rose to snatch its meal.

  "How long will your trip take?" Seanna asked when the carriage came to a stop. Henrik was to travel overland to visit his estates and break bread with vassals; Seanna had happily chosen the faster route by water.

  As he helped Seanna out of the carriage, Henrik gave her a smile that she disliked immensely. "Actually, I have decided to travel with you by sea. The vassals will have to wait until after the Masque."

  Veck. Vecking hells...damn him!

  Seanna stopped on the last step, her foot hovering over the ground. She saw the fancy holk sitting heavily in the water and sailors waiting for her to board. Members of the court stood to either side to wave farewell. They all watched her. A whole deshe trapped in a vecking ship with my vecking husband.

  "Henrik, you–"

  "Manners, my dear," Henrik said, grinning smugly as he waved. She glared at him with despise in every bone.

  I had a lover in Brin you took me from, she thought savagely. I've lost two children before birth because of the way you treat me. The curates told me that a man's cruel words will poison a pregnancy. They were right. And you'll poison this one, too. Sudden inspiration struck her. I'll see those vassals he's neglecting. They'll learn to love their queen and her son far more than they ever loved Henrik.

  "I'm taking the wagon house by land," Seanna hissed.

  "You can't possibly mean–"

  "Of course I mean it. Tell the men to unload my belongings and take them up to Seawind, where I expect the caravan to be prepared for me. I don't care how long it takes me to reach Riverfen; I refuse to spend any more time with you than I have to."

  Her proclamation given, Seanna ripped her hand from Henrik's and climbed back into the carriage. From inside, she could see the disdainful looks people sent her way when Henrik made the announcement. He could have ordered her to go, but she expected he was just as tired of dealing with her as she was with him.

  Seanna feigned apathy and tried to convince herself that she was in the right. She whispered to her child, "They are merely envious of me. I am the queen."

  But down, down in the hidden places of her heart, she knew that they loathed her.

  Chapter Nine

  Seanna

  THE BED Seanna had been given was carved from stone, hard and unforgiving. How do they expect me to sleep on this thing? The room itself held no appeal: clean and sparse, no unnecessary decorations nor rugs. The window had no shutters or glass, leaving her room open to the late summer air. In winter, great stone blocks would be used to seal the opening and keep in the warmth. Seanna couldn't imagine living in a completely enclosed space for months straight with no means to look outside or feel the sharp breeze.

  All in all, it was a disappointing room. They call this fit for a queen? Does absolutely everything have to be made of stone? The bed, the desk, the washstand, even the damned pisspot. Seanna had always been fond of spindly chairs with cushioned seats, long fainting couches, or feather-soft four-poster beds. This was ugly at best, insulting at worst. Did even the High Earl himself sleep on a bed such as this in his own home? She put one arm on the windowsill and looked out over the city.

  Mostly built from light grey rock streaked with blue or green or vivid red veins, D'Clet stretched out across the mountain valley, bordered on three sides by towering peaks. Roofs constructed from bronze tiles reflected the summer sun. Far in the distance, at the mouth of the valley, a great wall rose to protect the city.

  Nothing broke the monotony of stone and metal, save a chasm that split the city in two. On one side lay the majority of the city. On the other, where Seanna now stood, were expensive homes, monasteries, and libraries, built up from the valley floor and into the mountainside. A road curved up above the vast complexes, leading to temples that soared over all.

  The ravine disappeared from sight to the right and left, traversing miles of mountains. Here in D'Clet was the only bridge that spanned the dark depths, wide enough for two wagons side-by-side but still frighteningly narrow. A single spanning arch, forty feet in length, with no trestles nor bracing, and only chest-high rails to halt a plummet to the rocks far below, it crossed the divide at its narrowest point.

  Seanna couldn't help but be slightly impressed.

  Only slightly. After all, Con Salur had far greater feats of architecture and engineering; only D'Clet's bridge surpassed it in sheer technical construction. And the beds here are still made of stone.

  "Your Grace?" Sir Eric stepped into the room, his blue cloak swirling about his ankles. A tall man with a grim face, he was precise in everything he did: from his polished mail to his clean boots, his shaven cheeks to his trimmed nails, he had not a buckle out-of-sorts or misplaced. His greying hair was shorn in the military style. He rarely spoke, and then only in the shortest sentences possible. Seanna couldn't recall if she had ever seen him smile.

  "Is it time?" Seanna asked, still staring out the window. She heard Sir Eric shift slightly, the links in his mail making a tinkling sound.

  "Yes. His Distinction requests you wear something warm, as the feast will be held on the terrace and may last into the night."

  "Thank you, Sir Eric. You may attend me later," Seanna said. Sir Eric bowed and turned sharply on his heel to leave.

  Seanna prepared herself for dinner with the High Earl. Egil Rask, whom she would address as Earl Hjalder, had a reputation as the shrewdest, least trustworthy lord in Dotschar. He controlled most of the mines in the southern Seldar Mountains, as well as all the passes from the lowlands to the River Valley; the only man wealthier than him was Earl Seastone. Most lords treaded lightly around him, for his allegiances had shifted back and forth over the years from the gods to the king to the earls and back again. Some even suspected him of questionable deeds in order to win and keep his power: he had outlived all of his younger brothers, two wives and multiple children, and four other High Earls before earning the title himself. Seanna had heard whispers that Rask had hired necromancers in an attempt to prolong his life.

  At this point, Rask had no loyalties. He he
ld disdain for Henrik and the other earls, and had recently withdrawn donations to the predicants in the Grand Novum. Though she knew she would not gain an alliance with him – for Henrik's first queen had been Rask's daughter, and Henrik had chosen Seanna instead of another of Rask's children for his second marriage – Seanna hoped to at least leave a good impression. She had even taken the long way to Riverfen to see him: a powerful man such as Rask could prove useful to her in the future.

  Clothed warmly in red fox fur and grey wool, Seanna let Sir Eric escort her through wide stone halls lined with extravagantly carved pillars and hundred-foot rugs. They went up, up a huge curving staircase that led to a balcony of enormous proportions. It had two sides that, if one cared to peer over the graceful bannister, dropped straight down into the bottomless ravine. Not wanting to feel that head-spinning, stomach-unsettling sensation that such a sight would bring, Seanna glided straight to her seat. A round table, smooth on top but ragged rock underneath, held room for fifty chairs all similarly sculpted from mountain stone. Nobles milled around the balcony, sipping wine and laughing.

  Two chairs painted with gold and silver faced the ravine. Seanna sat heavily in one. The baby shifted restlessly, as it had been all day. I hope he settles soon. Gods, she wanted nothing more than to take a nice long sojourn over the chamberpot, then go to sleep.

  "His Distinction, Egil Rask, High Earl of Dotschar, Earl of D'Clet and Hjalder," a steward announced. "And his wife, Lady Hjalder." From the hall stepped an old man, nearing seventy, with long white hair streaked with grey and a groomed beard to match. He, like Henrik, was pure Dotsch, though his fair skin was blighted with age. Though his shoulders bent and his back curved, his eyes glared out with steely authority. Moving slowly but deliberately, he made his careful way to his seat, his eyes darting about the company as if trying to decide who he wanted to hang the most. Beside him, a young woman – she must have been younger even than Seanna, barely out of her teens – shuffled nervously. Her expression reminded Seanna of a deer's, startled at the attention and debating between fleeing or staying.