by CS Hale
“My mystery is how you ever learn your way around this place,” I said as we headed down yet another hall. Had we come this way the first time? All the castle needed was changing staircases and it could have been a wizards’ school.
Valemar laughed. “One piece at a time.”
But it did lead, with a couple of twistings and turnings, back to the room we’d started in. And back to the conversation that had been interrupted.
“I asked you yesterday if you regretted your decision to marry me,” I said. “I have no army for you.”
Valemar’s eyes reminded me that was not the only thing he wasn’t getting from me. “And do you regret your decision?” he asked.
I dropped my gaze. “No,” I whispered. “I am sure you saved my life.” Valemar crossed to the table. “Where do we go from here?”
“You are my wife,” he said. “My queen. You take up your role.”
I swallowed heavily. What would he do with a wife who brought no army, did not share his bed, and had no idea how to be queen? I picked at my nails. “I’m not sure what that entails. I did not rule … on the moon.”
Valemar’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh? What do princesses do on the moon?”
“Well, this one had a job.”
Valemar’s eyebrow hooked in question. “Explain.”
“I worked as a protocol specialist. I am familiar with the customs of more cultures than I can count.”
Valemar laughed. “A fitting … job … for a princess.”
“But, obviously, I know nothing of your culture. Or even of what cultures there are on your planet.”
“Why not?” Valemar asked.
“Contact with your planet was forbidden.”
It was not the first time I’d said it, but this time it made him angry. “Why? Surely you can see us as we can see you. You had said that trading was forbidden. But contact!?” He spit the word.
I backed up a couple of steps and twisted my fingers. “We’re not supposed to interfere. The traders. Even —” But the word dried up in my throat. He had no idea why I was here. No idea who I really was. He believed I was the answer to hundreds of years of prayers. I couldn’t shatter that.
I turned my eyes to the floor. I could still frighten him with my answer. He worried about the Cordair. Now he worried about the Hormani traders and their impregnable armor. But he hadn’t yet connected the dots. If an army could descend from the moon but the Alfari couldn’t travel there, where could they go if that army was hostile?
Even with two hundred years of science fiction and with colonies on the moon and Mars under its belt, Earth had still freaked out when first contact was made. Entire segments of the population committed suicide. Iran and Korea launched attacks against the visitors that quickly came to nothing when the missiles were destroyed long before they reached their targets. China kept a tight leash on the United States, but mistrust had been rampant. Would Earth be conquered and subjugated?
But the Shororato offered technology. We’d thought ourselves alone in the woods, living in a cabin, and then a mighty and mostly benevolent society appeared from the other side of the mountain. Valemar, though, couldn’t even imagine the technology that existed. The opportunity for annihilation. I couldn’t let him know he was an ant in a land of giants.
But I could hint.
“Imagine a world where Awrakian armor is the norm.” I raised my eyes and watched the color drain from Valemar’s face. “Would you want them inserting themselves into your business? The traders have chosen the Cordair. Should those traders have interfered in your world?”
“No,” Valemar whispered.
“Has the balanced shifted?” I asked. His eyes again filled with fear. “Contact is forbidden for your protection.”
“You said I would not want your army here. That they are not forgiving. Are they the reason behind the order?”
“It is their order,” I said. “They are the ones who enforce the rules.”
If he asked the next question, I wasn’t sure I would answer it. I waited for him to make the connection, for him to figure out that I wasn’t supposed to be here.
I saw it enter his eyes, a flash of understanding. Then it was shoved aside by four hundred years of expectations. And I was grateful for the prophecy. It bought me time.
“To be queen, I need a teacher,” I said. “I am familiar with the role of queens in many places, but I do not know what your culture expects. And my skills don’t match with most of those I do know.”
“I should send you to my mother,” Valemar said, dismissing the idea with a laugh. “More than a seven day ride north of here at Vanerife, our stronghold at the edge of the Aelon Sea. She prefers the sun, blue waters, and gentle breezes. And the cross of cultures that meet there.”
“And Aedenfal?” I asked, for that was what I’d heard this place called.
“Our easternmost stronghold. It has stood poised between the grass and woodlands for thousands of years. Longer than the Alfari have been here.”
Which still left south and west. Valemar’s kingdom was large, I realized.
“One day you shall see it all,” Valemar said. “But back to your problem. Daria served my mother. She can help you quite a lot.”
“But her position …” I was grateful he’d offered someone I was already comfortable with, but servants were usually meant to be invisible. That wouldn’t help me if I was meeting with groups of wives.
Valemar frowned. “She is your right hand. What about her position?”
“Oh.” I fought back a blush that rose. “Many cultures view servants with disdain. They deal with the dirt that you don’t want on you. They’re not worthy of so many things.”
The furrow between Valemar’s eyes deepened. “But you need them. They are a gift from the Mother and the Father. Without them there is no protection. Without them, nothing gets done. Do other cultures not value these things?”
“Not in the way you do,” I said with a smile. “They are too important for those things. The servants too replaceable.”
“I do not think I like your other cultures,” Valemar said, still frowning.
“And I think I will like yours very much.”
THOUGH PRINCESSES ARE now rare, Earth is a place where fairy tales are still loved. We still watch the Disney movies from four hundred years ago. They are as timeless as Shakespeare’s plays, only much more beloved. We want the escape, the happily ever after, rather than the end of a Shakespearean tragedy: a stage littered with characters who strove to live their dreams only to receive death in the end. Adults know that dreams and people die, and so we watch the fairy tales and hope.
As much as I’d wanted to be Belle — for Belle, to me, was the smartest princess — I’d never thought about what came next for all those Disney princesses. Their stories ended in triumph. Witches vanquished, beasts transformed. Princes met and married.
I had married a king, but I wasn’t like those princesses. I hadn’t actually triumphed. I had succeeded in not dying. I had managed to find a place to build a life. But it was all founded on a lie and a role I wasn’t sure I could do. Not even Eleanor of Aquitaine could help me. While I admired her smarts and daring, truth be told, she had ended up imprisoned in a castle in England while her second husband, Henry Plantagenet, carried on with their son Richard’s betrothed. Not a future I wanted.
I stood at the window, watching the river flow below me, my mind drifting with the water. It didn’t seem possible that I’d crossed the river and entered the castle just two days earlier … that it had been only two days since I’d strapped myself into the escape pod and prayed to live.
A knock sounded at the door. I turned from the window as Daria entered with the luncheon — fruits and sliced meats, a hunk of bread, and some sweets arranged on a tray. “I thought you might be hungry,” she said as she placed it on the buffet table against the wall.
“Thank you.” I crossed the room and took the plate that Daria offered. I’ve eaten more foods
on more planets than I can count. Every culture has their bizarre foods, some more palatable than others. I learned early on not to ask where the food came from, to go by taste. After all, who would eat honey if you told them it was really bee barf?
I’d been pleasantly relieved to find the food here was more familiar than foreign. I stacked things on my plate and accepted a glass of wine from Daria.
“The table or the window, my queen?” Daria asked.
“Table,” I said. While it would have been pleasant to lounge on the sofas by the view, this was a working lunch, and business is best done at a table. Reminds the parties of their responsibilities. A deal done on a sofa or in a nightclub doesn’t carry the same weight. Play is play, and business is business. Things get murky when the two are mixed.
We crossed to the table in the center of the room. Daria took the seat to my right. “Valemar said you needed my help.”
“I am Queen —” The word still sounded foreign on my tongue. “— but I’m not sure what to do. What my role is.”
“Did they not train you as princess?”
“I was expected to have a life away from court. I spent my time traveling, working with traders —” Daria blanched at the word. “— as assistant of sorts. I worked as a protocol specialist.”
Daria turned her eyes to the table, though they darted over the surface. Her breathing staggered as she fought for control. I could tell she was trying to reconcile this vision of me working with the outsiders now trading with the Cordair and the vision she’d had of me as savior.
“As a protocol specialist, you helped your employers navigate the customs of whomever they traded with?”
“Yes.” I was glad she’d made the connection so quickly.
“And your employers traded widely?”
“Yes, they did.” I smiled, thinking she’d never imagine just how widely that was.
The tension passed but a frown remained. “Why did you not do this for your family?”
Because they were ordinary, not royal. “That was what was required of me.”
“And when you married, would you still travel?”
I’d never really thought about it, but my constant travel had been what caused the end of my last relationship. Though Dmitri and I had met on Xiros Six — We had to cross half a galaxy to find each other, he’d said to me — the fact that we were rarely on the same planet (translation — that I was rarely on Earth when he was) had spurred him into giving me “back to the stars.”
I tried to picture what it would have looked like: marriage, children. That would have necessitated putting down roots. And while home was basically my room at Finn’s house in Edinburgh, it was merely a stopover. A place to visit family and connect before the next journey to the far-flung places of the galaxy.
“I don’t know that I would have married,” I said to Daria. “I wasn’t obliged to do so.”
Her eyebrows hit her hairline as her eyes widened. “But you did,” she whispered. “You chose to marry.”
“I did,” I said. “But then, I didn’t really have a choice. And now, here I am … not knowing what to do. Outside the bedroom,” I clarified, in case she concluded that I had sent Valemar away for that reason.
Daria sipped at her wine, and I took the opportunity to pick at my lunch.
“So you were wondering about how a queen functions in our land?”
“Yes.”
“Well —” Daria picked up one of the smaller fruits and popped it in her mouth. She chewed slowly. “Reina — Valemar’s mother — rules the north when he is not there. She meets with emissaries from other lands, receives reports regarding the welfare of the city and outlying areas, judges major complaints, approves plans for the running of the High — staffing, menus, guard details. I would expect that Valemar wants you to take up those roles for his other residences.” She gave me a sly smile. “It sounds similar to being a protocol specialist.”
Pieces of it did. But the rest? What did I know about how a household, let alone a large household, ran? And acting as judge?
But I could start with the smaller pieces. I could meet with emissaries and other groups, preferably along with Valemar. I would need to become an apprentice, to learn as princes do.
A voice in my head reminded me that wives learned because they were their husband’s relief from the day. Tell me your troubles. So many secrets spilled on the pillow. So much counsel given.
I ran my thumb over the bandage on my finger. At some point, I’d have to wrap my head around that reality. I was married. I could, however, pull on my work persona and begin the job in front of me.
“That is true,” I said to Daria. “But I am going to need some teachers. I know nothing about Bánalfar or the lands around it. I know nothing of your history or customs or religion.” I closed my eyes. Crap! The Mödatal would likely become my tutor. I sucked in a breath and continued. “Even your plants and animals are foreign. If I am going to become what you have described, I am going to need to learn it all.”
The advantage of having Reina as a role model was that she didn’t spend a lot of time in sewing or gossip. I’ve never been good with a needle, not that there’s much call for one. My mother did try to teach me to sew on a button once, “just in case.” I bled all over the shirt and have picked out clothing without that particular device ever since.
I’m not averse to gossip, it can be informative. But business gossip doesn’t do the damage that personal gossip can (unless you want it to), and women/girls in groups still give me hives after the torturous school days of my teenage years. I couldn’t imagine they were much better all grown up with nothing else to do but talk. In my experience, they reined in their claws better when they were in mixed groups.
Instead, I began to spend my afternoons in the company of Padrid, an old, gray-haired man with a wizened face but sharp blue eyes. They danced with delight when we were introduced.
“I didn’t think I’d live to see the day,” he said, bowing low. The rolled-up scroll under his arm reached toward the sky. “And yet, you’ve come.” He straightened and took my hands. “And you’ve a curious mind, they’ve told me.”
“I need instruction on Bánalfar,” I said. “There are so many things I don’t know.”
He squeezed my hands and took the scroll from under his arm. “I’ve just the thing.” Padrid turned to the table and placed the scroll upon it. He tacked down the corner of one side with a glass and the other with the edge of a book. Then, with a wave of his hand, he unrolled the curl of paper to reveal a map. I moved around the table to get a better look as he set items on the last two corners.
Painted in brilliant colors, the top of the map showed a coastline dotted with islands. The waters were done in turquoise blue and the islands and lands along the coast a soft green. The color deepened the farther south it went. Forests were dark green and brown. Deep blue rivers cut through the forests and rich green farmland, the rivers growing wider as they neared the sea. The grassy steppe where I’d crashed took up most of the right-hand side of the map. To its east were the hills and mountains of the Cordair, shown in deep brown and gray. Gray and white mountains marked the south. The west had gentle hills running off the edge of the paper. Just left of the center, a cluster of large trees had been drawn.
“Bánalfar as it has been for two thousand years,” Padrid said. His voice was laced with pride and awe.
“That is quite a feat,” I said.
His eyes widened in surprise. “Is it not that way on the moon?”
“No,” I said, a smile softening my words. “Ambition has a way of making men want to change both the land and its people.”
Padrid grunted. “Sounds like the Cordair.” He stretched out a finger over the map then looked back over his shoulder at me. “Can you read our words?”
“I can,” I said.
“And you speak our language. How is it you can do both of these things yet you have no knowledge of us?”
“I have a gift
for language, both written and spoken.”
Padrid’s bottom lip pooched out as he bobbed his head in thought. “As it should be.” A smile lit up his face. “Well, let’s get you up to speed on the rest.
“Valemar’s people have always lived in the north, among the Lian Isles and Vanerife,” Padrid said, pointing. “It’s said they have been there since we first left Father Sea for the land.” Padrid’s finger traced down to the center. “Gladama — the Glade of Time. These ancient trees have sheltered us for thousands of years. The Lagofinn, Valemar’s ancestors, traveled down here more than two thousand years ago when the trees were first threatened.”
Padrid’s eyes smoldered with anger. “The Dorchior, ancestors of the Cordair, did not value the trees. Or the land. Even then they dug, chopping down the trees to fuel their furnaces.” His finger traced its way to the east, to the dark hills of the Cordair. “They chopped down the trees that struggled on the hills. Few grow there today, even though they now use black rock to fuel their furnaces. And the people are dark as well.”
Padrid’s eyes flicked over me, taking in my dark hair and flat, round ears. “They are dark in their hearts, dark in their looks, and dark in their practices. Even their homes are buried in the rock they spend their lives in.” His finger traced its way back to the steppe. “Fairfada, the Sea of Grass. Enartin, Valemar’s father, gave it back to the Cordair. Hoped it would keep them from pillaging the farms and towns along the western edge. They’re to let our anapali graze unmolested in return for twenty percent of the wool harvest. But our animals go missing.”
“Twenty percent?” I asked, all too familiar with those who skimmed off more of a portion than was contracted.
Padrid barked with laughter. “You are a wise one. Yes, and still we keep our part of the bargain. But Aedenfal —” His finger moved to the city we were now in. One of five large cities marked on the map, and perhaps the largest after Vanerife. “Aedenfal stays ready. Stays armed.”
And soon faced soldiers clad in Awrakian armor. Change was brewing, and even I could feel it.