The Usurper's Crown

by Sarah Zettel

  Ingrid swayed on her feet. As bad as she felt, Medeoan looked close to collapse. Avanasy hurried to the empress’s side and held out his arm so she could steady herself against him.

  “Of course,” said Medeoan. “Is conveyance ready?”

  “This way, please.”

  He set off into the depths of the garden at a pace Ingrid felt she could not possibly match. She was damp, cold and filthy, she had been dragged through dark tunnels by soldiers, shot at by sorcerers, and now her husband was back together with the woman he … she could barely bring herself to think of it at this moment. She wanted to stamp her foot, to screech her disapproval, to refuse to move until she could get some sleep in a bed. Any bed.

  She did none of these things. She gathered up the hems of her ridiculous silken robe and set off after Lien as best she could. Avanasy shot her a worried glance, but did not reach for her; both his hands were occupied in supporting the fainting empress and keeping her moving forward.

  The garden passed them in a blur of shadows with flashes of lantern light on pale leaves and silver pools. They reached the back wall, and Lien paused at the arched gate. He laid his hand on the latch and spoke three words Ingrid could not understand. The latch snicked open, and Lien led them out into a tiny back lane. Moonlight and lantern light showed Ingrid a black canal and a sharp-prowed boat moored to an iron post.

  Lien blew out the lantern, leaving them only moonlight to see by. It took Ingrid a moment to realize the old man standing at the long steering oar was Jiu, and Shien hunched by the high gunwale.

  “Go below, please. Shien will show you where.”

  As Avanasy and Shien helped the unsteady empress aboard, Lien turned to Cai Yun and grasped both her hands, saying something soft and urgent that Ingrid could not make out. She had just time enough to see the young woman nod before Avanasy motioned to her, and she had to clamber over the rail and onto the deck. There was no time to survey the little craft. Shien was already leading them to the stern ladder and down belowdecks.

  Only one covered lantern lit the hold. Ingrid could make out nothing but bundles and stacks of shadow. Shien stepped nimbly between them and beckoned that they should follow.

  They obeyed, with considerably less grace. Ingrid barked her shins several times against unidentifiable objects, bit her tongue to keep from exclaiming, and wished for her usual thick skirts and petticoats.

  “In here, please, master, mistresses,” whispered Shien.

  She gestured down. It took Ingrid a moment, but she realized the old woman was gesturing toward a hole in the lower deck. It was a smuggler’s hold.

  Ingrid saw at once what she was to do, and she balked. They had done enough, and all her nerve had left her. She felt hollow and her limbs began to shake. The idea of being shut up in the tiny, black hold, even with Avanasy’s presence for support and comfort, filled her with revulsion.

  But there was Avanasy, helping Shien to lower the empress, whose skin glowed white as a ghost in the faint light. Ingrid heard her bumping and shuffling below. Avanasy stretched his hand out to Ingrid.

  What was there to do? She took his hand, and felt how warm it was, even though her own was so cold, and let herself be lowered into the smuggler’s hold.

  It was pitch black inside. She put up her hand and found the upper deck barely three feet above the lower. She had to lie flat on her back in the straw that had been strewn on the hull boards in order to fit. She heard the empress’s echoing breath off to the right, so she shifted herself to the left to make room for Avanasy to climb down and stretch himself out. Shien laid the planking back into place. Ingrid had just time enough to see the planks had padded backs, both to muffle any sound from below and so they would not sound unusually hollow if thumped, before Shien settled them down, cutting off all light.

  Ingrid lay where she was. Overhead, she heard Shien’s soft footsteps and the sound of something heavy being dragged and thumped into place. They were sealed in now. She swallowed against the panic that tried to rise in her throat. More soft footsteps crossed the upper deck. Then that sound was gone. The straw was rough against her back, and the cold and damp began to sink in, raising goose bumps across every inch of her. The hold smelled of old seawater and mildew. The breathing of all three of them sounded far too loud in the confined space.

  “Well.” Ingrid drew a deep but shaky breath to prove to herself that there was plenty of air, and to help pull her tattered nerves back together. “They do say there’s nothing like traveling first class.”

  “And this is nothing like,” answered Avanasy gravely. “Majesty? Are you well?”

  “As well as I can be,” the empress whispered in reply. “Although I am beginning to have second thoughts about Hung Tse’s reputation for hospitality.” The lightness of her tone quickly faded. “Avanasy, do you know where they will take us?”

  As if her words were a signal, the boat rocked sharply under them, and began to slide through the water, in the direction of Ingrid’s feet. She tried to remember which way that was, and failed. Little waves slapped the hull underneath them. The cold seemed to deepen, but perhaps that was only her imagination.

  “We’ll go down to the river docks, I think,” murmured Avanasy. Their confinement seemed to forbid speaking in normal tones. “Lien has access to … grander ships there. It is my hope he will be able to sail us directly back to Isavalta.”

  “Vyshemir grant your hope is correct.”

  There was no more to be said. They lay still in the darkness, packed like sardines in a strange, cold tin. The boat rocked steadily, the waves and the slow creaking of the boards making a gentle counterpoint to the steady splash of the steering oar. Were it not for the fact that she was now soaked to the skin from bilge water, Ingrid believed she might have fallen asleep. As it was, she just fell into a kind of waking doze, her mind trying to sense something of the boat’s speed, and trying in vain to measure time to guess how far they had come, and how far they might have to go.

  Avanasy’s hand brushed hers, ice-cold now, but Ingrid grasped it gratefully anyway. A small traitorous part of herself wondered if he held onto the empress with his other hand, and then she wondered why it should matter, which brought back the strange sadness she had felt in the tower room.

  Time must have passed, but how much of it, she could not tell. Her skin went numb. She could barely feel Avanasy’s hand now. She tried to wriggle her toes to get some blood flowing, but it was no good.

  Then came the sounds of footsteps, and Ingrid almost cried out in relief, but fast on the heels of the footsteps came the tramp of boots. Ingrid choked herself off. She had enough sensation left to her to feel Avanasy tense beside her. Her bloodless fingers gripped his hand.

  Scraps of sound filtered through the padded boards. A woman’s voice, high and querulous. That must have been Shien. A man’s baritone that might have been Lien, or Jiu, or a stranger, answered. The boots clumped up and down the decks, shoving heavy burdens this way and that. Something that might have been a spear butt thumped against the deck above Ingrid’s right shoulder.

  They were going to hear her heartbeat. They were going to hear her breathing. She tried to hold her breath, tried to quiet her heart, to be wood and stone here in the cold.

  Something heavy was shoved aside directly overhead. Ingrid bit down on her lip until she tasted blood. The boots clomped, the spear butt thumped. Shien spoke again, and a stranger’s bass rumbled answered. The baritone that might have been Lien or Jiu spoke, and the bass barked out a sharp reply, and the spear butt came down right over Ingrid’s face, making her whole body jolt. She squeezed her eyes shut like a child desperate not to be seen.

  The baritone said something else, and the words were followed by a faint, new noise. After a moment, Ingrid recognized it — the chink of metal, possibly of coins. Was Lien paying a tax, or perhaps a bribe? Would it work? Her throat closed. All was silent for a moment. Then, the baritone rapped out some order, and more burdens were dragged across the dec
k. Tears leaked out of Ingrid’s eyes and she began to shake again.

  But then, miraculously, the boots all trooped away toward her head where the stern ladder was. Footsteps padded after them, and blessed, blessed silence fell around them again.

  Tears of gratitude ran down Ingrid’s cheeks to mix with the bilgewater, and she did not care. She wept in silence as the boat started to move again, and the steering oar splashed once more into the water.

  It was too much. The sudden release from terror robbed Ingrid of consciousness. Whether she fainted or simply fell at last into sleep, she could not have said. For a time, however, the world went away.

  Light struck Ingrid’s eyes. She would have cringed but she could not move. Shadows moved overhead. They reached down long arms, grabbed Avanasy and hoisted him out of the smuggler’s hold.

  “Careful, you wastrels!” shrilled Shien’s voice.

  Then the arms reached out for Ingrid. Powerless to resist, or even to question, Ingrid was lifted like a sack of grain and set upright on the deck. She could not even feel her knees, let alone stiffen them to stand, but fortunately Shien seemed to guess her condition and the old woman was there beside her, wrapping an arm around Ingrid’s shoulder to support her weight as she slumped down.

  “Carefully!” Shien barked again.

  Ingrid could see at least a little now. Two men in loose shirts and short trousers bent down and raised the empress up from the hold. Avanasy sat on a bench nearby. As she was lifted, he struggled to rise, and failed.

  “Bring them with me,” snapped Shien. “And gently, you louts, that lady is of quality.”

  One of the two men began to snigger, but his companion stopped him with a glower. Shien moved toward the ladder, and Ingrid had no choice but to stumble along with her.

  Climbing onto the upper deck was a nightmare. Sensation came back to Ingrid as pins and needles stabbing her skin from the inside. Shien, stronger than she looked, hauled Ingrid bodily up the ladder to stand blinking stupidly in the first gray light of dawn.

  They were back at the docks. There was no mistaking the noise or the smell of the place. Shadowy sailing ships rose up on either side of the small boat. Shien steered Ingrid toward the starboard rail, where Jiu was helping Avanasy to a rope ladder lowered from the side of one of the larger vessels. His hands shook badly, but he managed to hang on while sailors at the top hauled the ropes up, pulling Avanasy with them.

  To her shame, Ingrid whispered, “I don’t think I can.”

  “You will,” said Shien with gentle practicality. “Because you must.”

  The sailors let the ladder slither back down over the side. Shien guided Ingrid up to it and folded her hands around the rungs. Ingrid made her left foot step up and rest on the rope, then her right. She dangled there for a moment, and her hands clamped down reflexively. The sailors began to pull, and she gasped, but did not scream.

  In less time than she would have thought, she was on the deck of the ship, being helped over the rail, and stood next to Avanasy so the ladder could be let down once more for the empress.

  Somewhat more composed, and at least able to stand on her own, although the pins and needles still plagued her, and the ruined, sodden silk clung to her back like a wet rag, Ingrid was able to look about her. The ship was a big one for its kind; a four-master, and elaborately rigged. The quarterdeck rose up proudly from the stern, and even in the dim light she could see the long arm of the tiller. Shouted orders filled the air. Men and boys swarmed up the rigging, loosening furled canvas, which came down like a snowfall. Others lashed it into place on the yardarms, plainly getting ready to sail as soon as the captain gave the order.

  The sailors lifted the empress over the side, and set her swaying on the deck. Avanasy moved toward her, but Shien came over the rail under her own steam a moment later and caught the young woman before she could fall. She looked dazed. However bad the recent trip had been for Ingrid, for the empress it had obviously been worse, and Ingrid felt a stab of pity for her.

  A man ran down from the quarterdeck, and as he approached, Ingrid recognized him as Lien, still in his short coat and sandals. The sorcerer bowed hastily.

  “I apologize for the mode of bringing you here, but it was necessary. Let my men conduct you below. We will be under way in moments.”

  He signaled for a sailor, an officer in all probability. The man was slender and taller than most she had seen in Hung Tse. His coat was short and practical in cut, but brilliant green in color and its buttons sparkled silver. He bowed and led them all, with Shien supporting the empress, to a ladder beneath the quarterdeck, and down past the second deck to the third. By Ingrid’s mental measure, they were only just down to the waterline, and she saw the ladder went farther down yet, so there must be at least one more deck beneath them, possibly two.

  They went no lower, however. The officer conducted them toward the bow. They passed doors on both port and starboard. The officer opened one of the starboard doors, bowing to the empress. Shien led her through, and closed them in. Then, the officer opened a port door. Avanasy bowed his own thanks, and he and Ingrid filed into the cabin.

  It was small, which Ingrid had expected, but it was also snug and dry. Two cozy bunks had been built into the wall. A gracefully carved table and high-backed bench stood under an unlit tin lantern. What illumination there was came from two portholes with glass so thick they turned the light watery.

  Ingrid managed to take two steps toward the bench before the strength that had supported her this far failed and she collapsed. Avanasy caught her and they sank to the deck together. They knelt there for a time, doing nothing but holding onto each other, each reminding themself that the other was solid and real.

  Eventually, by silent, mutual consent, they pulled themselves to their feet again. A carved chest had been lashed into one corner. Avanasy investigated the contents and pulled out Ingrid’s ordinary clothes, the thick skirt, apron, petticoats and stockings she had missed so recently. Avanasy’s black coat, trousers and boots were also inside.

  Groaning with relief, Ingrid shucked her ruined silk and dressed in her clean, familiar clothing. Avanasy also reclaimed his traveling clothes, and when he turned to face her, he looked more comfortable than she had seen him in days. But at the same time, his face was troubled.

  “Ingrid.” He took her hand and sat them both down on the carved bench. “Lien will be sailing us through the Land of Death and Spirit. This …” he touched the spell braid on her wrist, “will only provide you with some protection. You must not be asleep when we cross the veil.”

  She nodded. “You’ll warn me when that’s to happen?”

  “I will, but I must leave you for a time. I …”

  He stood there for a moment, his hand against the smooth wood, as if looking for words in the pattern of the grain.

  When he did not find them, Ingrid said, “If you want to go see the empress, you should.”

  That turned him around. “Ingrid …” He stopped and started again. “I don’t wish you to have cause to doubt my love for you.”

  “I don’t,” she said, and she meant it, but she did not speak further. She did not say how she still felt the sadness she had known the moment she first saw Avanasy and his young empress together. For in that moment she had seen not how much Avanasy loved empress Medeoan, but how much love shone from the young woman for him.

  Did Avanasy still love Medeoan as other than pupil and monarch? Looking at him now, she saw that he did, but she could not bring herself to fear that love. She was too numb to do anything but accept that it was so. Later, she knew, she would have to weep, or rage, or do some other thing that she might regret in time, but now, she could do nothing but look at the man who was her husband and see the truth.

  “Go,” she told him. “Say what you must.”

  Avanasy crossed the distance between them in three swift strides. He kissed her long and lingeringly on the mouth, and left her there. That kiss, that love, was as true as the other
, and she knew that as well, but that knowledge did nothing to lift the numbness that had settled over her heart.

  Sad, tired and still bewildered by all that had happened, Ingrid found she had no trouble at all creeping beneath the covers on the lower bunk and falling gratefully into oblivion.

  Avanasy stood outside the door that led to Medeoan’s cabin, trying to calm himself. He could scarcely number the emotions swirling through him. He felt like a nervous school-child. He felt like a courtier who knows he is out of favor. He felt like a parent who wanted desperately to comfort his child, but knew he had no comfort to offer. He told himself he was too tired for this, and surely Medeoan was as well. He wanted to run and take shelter in Ingrid’s arms until they reached the shores of Isavalta. He wanted to know that Medeoan had already gone to sleep so that he would not have to do this thing.

  He raised his hand and knocked softly.

  Shien opened the door a moment later. Behind her he saw the soft glow of morning through thick glass.

  “Has her imperial majesty retired?” he asked.

  “Not yet,” replied Shien. “I will see if she will grant you admittance.”

  She closed the door, leaving Avanasy alone with his inner turmoil for a seemingly endless moment. Above, the capstan ground as it turned to the rhythm of stamping feet. The ship around him strained as shouts rose from a variety of throats.

  Shien returned to the doorway and beckoned him inside.

  Medeoan sat on the lower of two bunks, wrapped in a woolen blanket. Underneath, he glimpsed a robe of bright blue cotton, a shade very close to the imperial blue she should have been wearing. Avanasy had no doubt Lien had specifically arranged for that. Her bright, cropped hair had been loosened and brushed. She looked far too thin, and too pale.

  Shien ducked out the door and closed it again behind her. Medeoan did not look up at her departure. She just stared at the deck and rubbed her thin, wounded hands together.