by DAVID B. COE
She nearly collided with Nurse, who called her name as well, but Kalyi didn’t stop for her. Instead she darted to the nearest of the towers, and made her way up to the ramparts at the very top. To her relief, there were no soldiers atop this tower, and she sat on the stone, her back against the wall, and cried until her chest hurt and her eyes burned.
That’s the kind of man your father was. . . . There had been no love in her mother’s tone, no sense of loss, no indication of any kind that she missed Kalyi’s father even a bit. Kalyi had asked Chofya if she loved the king, and she had believed when she did that she wanted a truthful answer. But she had expected reassurance from her mother that, yes, of course she had loved him. Certainly she hadn’t expected this.
He was proud, and vengeful. . . .
“No,” Kalyi whispered, the word lost amidst the wind and snapping of the banners flying above her.
He couldn’t have been those things. He was Carden of Solkara, son of Tomaz the Ninth, heir to the Solkaran Supremacy. He was king. He was her father.
Your father had him garroted. . . .
That was how Solkarans dealt with their enemies. Garroting. Her tutors had never taught her that. Perhaps they were forbidden to tell her. But she had heard talk of it in the castle, mostly among the older children, the boys who found the idea of it exciting. Even hearing such talk, however, she had never given it much thought before now. Her house, the royal house of Aneira, had its own special way of killing. Was it that common, then? Did Eandi nobles kill with such frequency that each house had its own favorite method? How many times had her father ordered his men to murder? Had he ever pulled the killing wire taut himself? He had sent men into battle, to kill and be killed. She knew that, just as she knew that Ean’s doctrines said all killing was sinful in the eyes of the God. In which case, all kings violated Ean’s teachings. Someday, when she was queen, she might have to as well.
Surely her mother knew all this. Yet she condemned her father for it, using it to prove that he was a bad man. Kalyi shook her head. It made no sense. Could her mother have hated him that much? The very idea of it brought fresh tears to her eyes.
She didn’t know how long she cried, or when sleep overcame her, but the next thing she knew someone was touching her shoulder gently, and speaking her name.
Kalyi opened her eyes to a darkened sky and the torch-lit face of Nurse. Her brow was furrowed with concern, her pale eyes intent on Kalyi’s face. There were two soldiers standing just behind her.
“What happened?” Kalyi asked.
Nurse smiled, her relief palpable. “You fell asleep, Your Highness.”
“What’s the time?”
“Just past twilight bells. You gave us all quite a fright. Particularly your mother.”
It all came back in a rush.
“It’s Mother’s fault that I’m up here.”
“Your mother feels terrible, Your Highness. She didn’t mean to make you cry, and she certainly didn’t want you running from her.”
“Then she shouldn’t have said what she did.” She felt her cheeks suddenly burning. “She didn’t tell you, did she?”
“She told me nothing, Your Highness. Only that you were dismayed when you left her, and that much I could tell for myself when I saw you in the corridor. When I told her that none of us had seen you since, she became frightened.” Nurse held out a hand. “Let me take you to her.”
“No,” Kalyi said quickly.
“But, Your Highness, the air grows cold, and it’s been hours since you last ate.”
Kalyi realized she was shivering, and at the mention of food, her stomach growled loudly. “I’ll go with you,” she said, climbing to her feet. “But I don’t want to see Mother.”
“But, Your Highness—”
“I don’t wish to discuss it, Nurse. I’ll take my meal in my bedchamber. If Mother asks, tell her I’m too tired to eat in the hall.”
Nurse frowned, brushing a wisp of silver hair off her face. “Very well.” She gestured toward the tower stairs. “After you, Your Highness.”
Kalyi started down the steps, pleased with how forceful she had sounded, but also frightened of what her mother might do. She had never defied her in this way before. She wondered if her mother might turn to Numar to make Kalyi speak with her. At the thought she nearly changed her mind. But then she decided that if it came to that, she would defy Numar was well. She was queen, and if she wished to eat by herself, it was her right to do so.
This, at least, was what she told herself as she descended the stairs, readying herself for the fight with her mother she knew was coming.
But even after Nurse left her in her chamber and went to fetch the meal, Kalyi’s mother didn’t come. In fact, Kalyi did not see Chofya for several days following their conversation. For a time, she sought to avoid her mother, but soon it became clear to Kalyi that her mother was avoiding her as well. Maybe this should have surprised her, or saddened her, but it did neither. The pain caused by her mother’s words had begun to recede, and just as a waning tide leaves shells and driftwood on the shore, so their conversation left its mark on Kalyi’s mind. Her father, she now realized, might have been flawed as both man and king. No doubt that was the lesson her mother hoped to teach her, that even Carden was not without his fears and foibles. By the same token, her mother had her own faults. She could be frightened and cross, even when she did not wish to be. Just as she had been that day. That was why she avoided Kalyi now. Not because she didn’t love her but rather because she felt ashamed of what she had said and how she had said it.
Kalyi had resolved to go to her mother this day, as soon as she completed her lessons. Or rather, as soon as she completed the small task that would follow her lesson. For though she had been sobered by their conversation, she had not been discouraged from pursuing her inquiry. Already she had gone to speak with the new surgeon, who, as her mother predicted, could tell her nothing about her father’s condition. She had also spoken with several of the servants, including the poor boy who found her father’s body. He was but a few years older than she, and had been so unnerved by her questions that he actually cried as he answered them, as if fearing that she would have him hanged for what he told her.
She learned little from him, though she did have a slightly better sense of just how ghastly her father’s death had been.
“Took four of us nearly the whole day to wipe up all the blood, and even then, they had to get a new table for the hall. The wood just soaked it up like a cloth.”
Much to her disappointment, though, she was no closer to understanding why her father killed himself than she had been before she began. Which was why she had decided on this day to speak with the prelate of Castle Solkara’s cloister. She wasn’t certain that the prelate would be able to tell her anything about what her father was thinking the day he died—even she had noticed that her father had little patience for the litanies of the cloister. But he could at least explain why a man—any man—would defy the God in this way. And perhaps he could also tell her that Bian would not judge her father by this act alone, that there could be a place of honor in the Deceiver’s realm even for a man who had died by his own hand.
Her tutor dismissed her early once more, seeming more annoyed than usual by her lack of attention.
“You must mind your studies, Your Highness,” he said, sounding a bit desperate. “Your uncle will be displeased if this continues. With both of us.”
Kalyi nodded even as she hurried to the door. “I will, I promise.”
She was in the corridor before he could answer, running toward the nearest tower. During the colder turns she would have followed the corridors in a wide turn to the cloister tower. With the return of the warmer winds, however, she could cross the inner courtyard, which is what she chose to do this day. Entering the base of the cloister tower, she started up the winding stairs.
After taking only a few steps, however, she heard men’s voices coming from just above her, echoing off the curved wa
lls. At first she thought the men were descending the stairs, but she quickly realized that they weren’t moving at all. She should have kept climbing—their conversation was none of her concern. But then she caught just a fragment of their discussion.
“. . . More soldiers by the end of the turn.”
And for reasons she couldn’t have explained, she slowed her ascent. After another moment, she stopped entirely and listened.
“How long will it take before all the houses have met the new quotas?”
“That I don’t know. It could take as much as half the year. But when they’ve done so, we’ll have more than doubled the size of our force.”
“What of the challenge from Dantrielle?”
“I don’t imagine it will cause the regent much trouble. Dantrielle is but one house among many, and not even the strongest.”
“She could have allies.”
Both voices sounded familiar, though Kalyi couldn’t place them at first.
“The regent seems to believe she’ll stand alone.”
“The regent is wrong. The last I heard, Tebeo was speaking with Orvinti. If he can convince Brall to stand with him, that might bring Tounstrel, Bistari, and Noltierre to his cause as well.”
The other man whistled softly through his teeth. “Taken together, they would make a formidable opponent.”
“More than the royal army could overcome?”
“Perhaps, Archminister. Perhaps.”
Pronjed, of course. And the other voice belonged to Tradden Grontalle, Solkara’s master of arms.
“If this proves to be the case, what will you counsel the regent to do?” the archminister asked.
“I’d have to give that some thought. As you know, the king had long sought a full military alliance with the empire. It had been, in his mind, Aneira’s only hope for waging a successful war against Eibithar. We’re so close to realizing his dream, I’d be reluctant to abandon this opportunity.”
“But?”
“But if opposition to such an alliance includes the houses you mentioned, we may have no choice. Against such a force, the Supremacy itself might be at risk. Surely the alliance isn’t worth that.”
“That’s not the answer I wished to hear, Tradden.”
“Forgive me, Archminister. I’m being as honest with you as I can be. Indeed, I’m not entirely certain that the regent would approve of this conversation were he to know of it.”
“Leave that to me.”
“Archminister?”
“Let me think on this a moment.”
A long silence ensued. Kalyi didn’t dare move, fearing that she might be punished for listening to a conversation between two adults that was clearly none of her affair. But she had stopped with her feet on different steps, and her bottom leg was beginning to tire. And she couldn’t help but think that she had a right to hear what they were saying, even if they wouldn’t have thought so. She was queen. This was her realm, her castle, her army. The war of which they spoke would be fought in her name, regardless of who led the soldiers into battle.
“You said that if all the houses meet their quotas, it will more than double the size of Solkara’s army. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes, Archminister.”
“If we add only the men from Rassor, Mertesse, and Kett to the army we have now, would that force be enough to stand against the other houses?”
“It would be a close thing. Too close. Mertesse is still weakened from the failed siege at Kentigern. And if the other houses band together, Kett may well stand with them.”
“But our army would be greater than theirs, even without Kett.”
“Greater, yes. But you must understand, Archminister, the point is not to prevail in a civil war but to prevent one. If the renegade houses believe that they can engage House Solkara in a war without being crushed they’ll do so, and so accomplish their aim, which is to keep us from the alliance with Braedon. We must find a way to allay their concerns about this war. We might even—”
“Enough.” The archminister barely raised his voice enough for Kalyi to hear, but Tradden fell silent immediately.
“The regent listens to you, does he not?”
“Yes,” the armsman answered, his voice abruptly sounding odd.
“If you tell him that we can defeat the renegade houses, even if Kett is with them, he’ll believe you, won’t he?”
“Yes, he will.”
“Good. Then that is what you’ll do. You now believe—”
She didn’t think he’d hear her, not while he was speaking. But when she tried to move her leg, she scraped her foot on the stone stair. Not for long, not loudly. But still it was enough for the archminister to notice.
“Who’s there?” he called softly.
Kalyi said nothing. But then she heard him say, “Remain here,” to the armsman, and take a step down the stairs.
She pressed herself against the stone wall of the stairs, holding her breath and closing her eyes, as if that might help her blend into the shadows.
Pronjed took another step.
Kalyi opened her eyes again and retreated down the stairs as carefully and silently as she could. She had in mind to leave the tower entirely, but it occurred to her at the last moment that as she went through the doorway, she would cast a shadow. And the truth was, she didn’t want to leave. She wanted to hear the rest of Pronjed’s conversation with Tradden. So instead of leaving, she slipped around to the base of the stairs and hid in the small space there, holding herself as still as possible. The archminister took another step down the stairway, and yet another. But after what seemed an eternity, he ascended the steps again.
“You now believe that we can prevail against Dantrielle and his allies,” he began again. It was harder for Kalyi to hear now. The distance was greater, and her heart was pounding so loudly in her chest that she feared it would give her away. But she strained her ears, listening to every word.
“It will take all the men the remaining dukes can spare,” the Qirsi went on, “and the entire royal army. But Solkara can defeat them. Can you say that?”
“We can defeat them,” the master of arms repeated dully.
“Good. You need to tell this to the regent. You need to make him see that traitors like Tebeo are not to be tolerated.”
“Yes.”
“The alliance with Braedon will make Aneira the greatest power among the six. Next to the empire, ours will be the preeminent realm in the Forelands. We mustn’t allow the renegade houses to destroy this opportunity. Can you remember that?”
“Yes, I’ll remember.”
“And you’ll tell the regent.”
“Yes.
“When do you meet with him next?”
“In the morning, with the ringing of the bells.”
“Good. In a moment, I’ll speak to you of another matter, and you’ll respond as you would at any other time. You’ll remember nothing of what we’ve just discussed.” There was a pause. Kalyi heard feet scuffling on the steps above her and once more she feared that the archminister was approaching.
A moment later, however, she heard Pronjed’s voice again.
“Tradden? Are you well?”
“I—I’m sorry, Archminister. I seem to have lost the thread of whatever I was saying.”
“You were telling me that if the houses meet their quotas, we’ll more than double the size of our army.”
“Yes. Yes, that’s right. We should begin to see the first of the men here in Solkara by the end of the turn.”
“That’s fine news, Commander. I know the regent will be pleased.”
“Thank you, Archminister. Good day to you.”
She heard footsteps once more.
“And to you,” Pronjed called from far away. Apparently he was climbing to the next floor.
A moment later someone came down the stairs and left the tower. Peering out from the shadows under the stairs, Kalyi saw the master of arms walking across the courtyard. Still she waited several moments be
fore leaving the tower herself, in case Pronjed or someone else was watching for her.
Thinking back on what she had heard, Kalyi couldn’t help but feel uneasy. She was quite certain that Pronjed had ordered Tradden to lie to her uncle Numar. Under most circumstances, she would have thought that the master of arms would refuse to do such a thing. But from all she had heard, it seemed that he had agreed. Or rather, that he had been forced to agree. She shook her head. That wasn’t quite right, either. And how could the archminister expect the man simply to forget that the entire conversation had taken place? It made no sense to her. She needed to speak of it with someone. But who?
When she felt certain that it was safe, she stepped out from under the stairs and walked to her mother’s chamber. Chofya was very pleased to see her, holding her close for a long time, and then kissing her forehead.
“I’m sorry I hurt you, Kalyi,” she finally said. “Truly I am.”
Kalyi looked down at her shoes. “I’m sorry I frightened you by hiding.”
“It’s all right. Nurse told me you fell asleep.”
Kalyi laughed and nodded. “I did. On top of the tower.”
Chofya smiled, cupping Kalyi’s cheek in her hand and gazing at her for some time. “If you want to talk about your father, we can,” she said. “I know I said some mean things about him before, but he had some fine qualities as well.”
“Maybe later,” Kalyi said, feeling uncomfortable. She really wanted to tell her mother about what she had heard in the tower stairway, but she was afraid of making her mad once more.
“All right,” her mother said. “Tell me about your lessons.”
They spoke for some time—longer than they had in several turns. Eventually they walked down to the great hall together to have their evening meal before returning to Chofya’s chamber for a while longer.
When at last Nurse came to put Kalyi to bed, it was well past dark.
“It’s good to see you and your mother laughing together again,” Nurse said as Kalyi climbed into bed. “She needs you, Your Highness. You’re really all she has left now that . . . well, you know.”