Our Lady of the Islands

by Shannon Page

  “Did you tell him I was coming?”

  Het nodded. “He took the news indifferently.”

  She nodded back. “I am glad to hear it.” They climbed on in silence for a while. Somewhere far below them, Duon sat in a prison cell as well, likely pondering how he had come to such a pass. Arian wished that she were able to find more satisfaction in his demise. But it seemed fairly certain now that Duon had had no inkling her son was being poisoned. Lies upon lies. Had any of them been left undeceived? Not that Duon was undeserving of his fate, of course. He had created quite a large patch of the soil in which such lies had thrived. “Does he seem any more capable of understanding questions, or answering them coherently?” she asked Het. “Is it permissible for me to ask them yet?”

  Het shrugged. “He often seems as rational as you or I now. Ask what you wish, my lady. What he gives you in response may or may not make any sense, of course. If he becomes agitated, it is likely best to stop. Otherwise … Learn what you may.” He turned to look at her. “We will have the answers someday, my lady. The truth emerges. Sooner or later. The events we’ve just been through confirm that, yes?”

  The events we’ve just been through … she thought. Already in past tense. Lucky man, able to set all of this aside so quickly. She liked Het, as much as she’d despised Duon, and doubted that his frame of mind could be dishonest or delusional. Perhaps his apparent confidence that all of this was over, somehow, came of having a clean conscience. Would she have such a conscience someday? Could such a thing be acquired, belatedly? “The events we’ve just been through confirm the need for truth, at least,” she answered him.

  “I wholeheartedly agree,” said Het.

  “For which, I thank you, Father Superior. The Factorate’s relationship with your order will be ever so much more productive now because of that.”

  “Here we are,” said Het, waving toward a heavy wooden door set in the wall ahead of them. “Linget? You have the keys, yes?”

  “Of course, sir.” The man hurried past them, fishing the key ring from his robes, and jingling up the one he needed, turning it in the lock as they approached.

  “The cell is divided, of course, as are all our treatment cells, my lady,” said Het. “There will be bars between you, but I’d advise against coming close to them. By no means should you attempt to touch him, even in affection. You’ll have your guard, of course. Shall I stay as well?”

  “No, Father Het. Thank you, but … Ennias will make him uncomfortable enough, I fear. I am hoping he will speak more freely if there is no one else of importance to him present.”

  Het nodded. “You may be right. Are you ready then, my lady?”

  “I suppose.”

  Het turned to Linget. “You may open it.”

  Linget yanked upon the heavy door, and stepped aside as Ennias passed through.

  Arian gave Het a nod, and followed her guard inside.

  The cell was not as terrible as she’d anticipated. It was full of light, for one thing, and fresh air, unlike the stairs and hallway by which they had come here. The far wall, in Aros’s side of the compartment, was pierced by two large windows — barred, of course, but with views of sunlit sky and water. The entire space was finished in clean white plaster, sparsely but comfortably furnished with a bed, a table and a chair for Aros. All very sturdy, and bolted to the floor, she noticed. Aros himself sat on the bed’s edge, gazing at her, wearing a clean cream-colored shift of raw silk, his hair tied back with two very short white ribbons. The attire gave him an air of innocence that Arian found both disturbing and somehow heartbreaking.

  Ennias had moved to stand off in one corner of the ‘reception bay,’ as Arian now thought of it, an alcove on their side of the bars with two chairs not bolted to the floor. She took one of them and sat, wondering how to start; what would happen when she spoke. … Who she would find, now, behind that oddly innocent gaze.

  “They tell me you’re made queen,” Aros drawled. “Congratulations, sister. No more need to hide behind some man.”

  Well. Still himself, clearly. Or the self he had become somehow. “They have no queens in Alizar, Aros. We’ve been through all that, I think. Any number of times.” As for no more hiding behind some man, she knew better than to take the bait, however hurtful.

  The silence resettled as they gazed at one another. He certainly showed no evidence of remorse. That hurt her, even now, but also freed her to do or say whatever she had cause to. No point in niceties, or delay. “I wish to understand a great many things, brother. To understand you better.” He just continued looking at her. Quizzically. “May I ask some … difficult questions?”

  “You’re the queen now,” he said, deadpan. “What power have I to stop you?”

  She took a breath, cultivating calm. “All right. To begin with, then, I wish to know, simply and plainly, whether it was your idea, or the Census Taker’s, to overthrow Viktor’s government?” This had been the fundamental question burning inside her almost since she’d realized that her own brother had been part of the conspiracy. Just as Viktor had so often warned her, and she had never for a second believed possible. Had Aros really been that villainous, or had her feckless brother just been used? It might not matter to the courts, or to the state, but it made all the difference in the world to her.

  “Really?” Aros asked. “That’s your question?” He seemed astonished, as if she’d asked why beans were green. “It was no one’s idea at all. I would think that should be obvious by now.”

  “What … do you mean? Are you trying to deny there was a plot to —”

  “Arian, it was over in a day! Have you seriously not wondered why? If anyone had been plotting civil war here … Well, it was certainly a half-assed effort, don’t you think?”

  “Then …”

  “No one had planned on using force for anything. That’s why it failed.” Aros seemed surprised that Arian should prove so dull. “Escotte just panicked. That’s what really happened. When he realized he’d been exposed, he ran around threatening everybody into solving his little problem this way. Even me! Stupid man.” Aros turned away to gaze out the window. “And now he’s run away, I’m told. After throwing all the rest of us into the fire. How like him.”

  Stupid? … Escotte? Not the Escotte she had ever known. “But, if no one had intended to overthrow the government, then what was this conspiracy about?”

  “Succession.” Aros shrugged. “Someone’s surely told you that by now. It was all supposed to have been politics. Nothing more.” He turned back to look at her. “Are these questions ever going to get interesting? Because, as you can see, I am a very busy man. A queen should be equipped to figure out such simple things without her younger brother’s help.”

  Yes, she had been told by Hivat that Aros had imagined himself next in line for the Factor’s seat, if Konrad died. “But why would Escotte have been involved in such maneuvers at all?” she asked. “He was in power already. Arguably more powerful than Viktor himself, given the state things had fallen into here.”

  “He would not have been for long. Not once your son died. As he seemed so certain to — before this god arrived to save him. We’d all have been quite quickly set aside then, wouldn’t we? Escotte included. Why wait around for an unpopular Factor without an heir to die, when some other house, with a future, could just march right in and get the nation sailing in the right direction again? That’s how Escotte saw things, anyway. That’s why he agreed to support my bid for the throne, after Konrad died. I promised to keep him on.”

  “We don’t have a throne here,” Arian said severely. “This is not a continental court, Aros. Not since Alizar won their independence — more than a century ago! Your stubborn failure to accept that has cost … everybody everything.”

  “It’s as good as any continental court, whatever they may wish to call it here. The rules are all the same. The rules that matter anyway. Escotte knew that, and so do you, my lady.” Aros drew a breath, and sighed, his sullen frown becom
ing sad instead. “I’d have kept you and Viktor on as well. I would have needed you. I’m not an idiot, whatever you believe. And we are family, after all. I never wanted anybody dead. You have to know that.”

  “Except my son,” she said coldly. “Who arranged to have him poisoned? Was it you?”

  “I asked nothing of the kind!” he shouted suddenly, rising to his feet. “I never told those idiotic priests to …” He’d begun to tremble. “I just … I told them they need not … prolong his suffering. That was all I ever said!”

  “Was this before or after he had started to recover?” Arian was trembling now as well. “You’re his uncle! He trusted you. I trusted you! I defended you to Viktor! Time and time again!”

  “I didn’t do it!” he all but shrieked, breathing like a bellows now. “He was dying anyway! Slowly! Terribly! Were you not there? Did you not see?” He sank back onto the bed, his face fallen, his gaze turned inward. “I love my nephew. I just told them not to make him suffer.”

  “Politics is all conveyed in nuance, Aros,” Arian snapped. “You know that at least as well as I do — with all your continental airs and ambitions. Did you really think, even for a moment, that those priests would not understand what was meant between the lines? What was wanted? By the Factor’s self-proposed successor? Did you imagine they wouldn’t think about how best to curry favor with their potential future ruler?” She wished there were no bars between them. It was not her those bars protected at that moment. “I do not think so, brother.”

  “I am not a murderer,” he moaned, clutching at his head again, his inward gaze still fastened on the floor. “I am not. … I am not. I am —”

  “How could you have done this?” Arian demanded. “To me, much less to Konrad? You were so sweet once. Timid even. Who taught you to be such a snake? When did this happen?”

  He looked up at her, his eyes almost as soulful, suddenly, as Konrad’s. “You do not know what it is like to be surrounded … and ignored … by people who all matter.

  “Father, always off advising kings and councilmen. Alexandros, with his aspirations to the House of Guilds, if not the royal council of advisors; Father’s pride and joy. You, the gem of Copper Downs, constantly courted by Factors and princes. And me … a little afterthought. The last-minute by-blow of some final flare of lust before Mother died. Trotting about that giant house all but unnoticed by anyone — except when I was in the way. Held in abeyance by the army of governesses and tutors our father hired to suppress me while he tended to important tasks, like grooming you and Alexandros to become the ones who mattered.”

  Arian gazed at him, taken by surprise. “Aros … that’s not how any of us —”

  “Yes it was!” He shouted as if she’d just held something hot against his skin. “You just didn’t notice! No one noticed! … No one. I didn’t matter enough to be noticed. I have never mattered.”

  Was it true? She looked down, thinking back. He had come along so late. And been so sweet. But so much younger. Very little of his world and hers had overlapped. That much was true. Even truer of their older brother, she supposed, and of her father. Aros’s father. Had none of them noticed he was … miserable? “Why have you not said something bef —”

  “I did!” he cut her off, more pleading now than shouting. “I have been screaming it for years! Help me matter, sister! Help me matter, too! You just ignored me, except for all the times you laughed, or scoffed. Or shamed me … just for wanting what you’ve always had.”

  She was horrified. Had she helped forge this monster that her once-charming little brother had become? Was she at fault for this as well?

  “How long before I am to be executed?” Aros asked her, flatly now, gazing out the window once again.

  “What makes you think you will be executed?”

  “Is conspiring against the throne not a capital offense here?” he asked, distractedly. “I confess, I’ve never thought to ask. I just assumed it was.”

  She was on the verge of telling him, yet again, that Alizar had no throne, but checked herself in time. This obsession with aristocratic trappings was either part of his delusion or another pointless game. It was still not clear to her who had really orchestrated this affair. And right now, what mattered was that he get well enough to stand public trial at all. “I have no expectation that you will be hanged, Aros.”

  He turned to look at her, dead-eyed. “It will be no mercy, sister, if you let me live.” She had never seen him look so tired before. He seemed to have aged ten years, just since glancing out the window. “It’s so dark in here.”

  “So dark?” This was just self-pity now. “Look at all this light. How many prison cells do you suppose have such a view?”

  He stared at her, seeming sapped of strength. “I mean … in here.” His eyes emptied as she watched. “The dark goes on forever, in here … sister. … I will never find my way out now.”

  Though the words had been addressed to her, she didn’t think it was herself that he was talking to. Not anymore. Grief suddenly replaced her anger.

  “Make them kill me. Please.” Only his lips moved now. Woodenly. Like those of a puppet. “You’re the queen now. They will have to listen to you … If you ever loved me … do not let me live.”

  Pino’s funeral was a relatively small affair, as formal state occasions went. The Factora and her son had invited only the most important people: Sian, of course, and her lover, Konstantin Reikos; the Mishrah-Khote’s new Father Superior, there to officiate; the Butchered God’s once-renegade priest, now in retirement according to the rumor mill; the de facto leader of a humble raft warren on Home’s southern shore, his unwed cousin and her mute daughter; Pino’s bewildered parents, a poor old fisherman and his wife, from an island north of Malençon too tiny to be named; and, last but not entirely least, a small host of foreign dignitaries, important government officials, and senior representatives from all of Alizar’s most illustrious families.

  To accommodate even such a modest gathering, it had been necessary to enlarge the hilltop meadow on Little Loom Eyot. With astonishing speed, an army of Factorate-supplied laborers had removed half its trees and brush, and leveled or terraced its irregular contours. An elegant stone crypt and monument had been constructed, surrounded by beautifully landscaped lawns and walks, pergolas, and gazebos. This place would henceforth be a site of national significance. Little Loom Eyot — at Alizar’s outermost fringe — would never be anonymous again, or truly private. Not that Sian cared. She wanted Pino close. But not forgotten. Ever.

  The crowd on that sunny, breeze-swept afternoon was itself perhaps the clearest tangible manifestation yet of how new the world truly was in Alizar. Rothkin and his family had been given many gifts in appreciation of their help that dreadful night — including some simple but elegant formal silk attire, from Sian. Now she watched the young man moving like a peacock through the crowd of cordial and respectful, if not entirely comfortable, aristocrats, doubtless wondering how to work this windfall to his advantage. Rothkin had already been appointed to the new Factora’s council of advisers, and was thus not to be lightly dismissed, even by them, however dubious his pedigree.

  Earlier that morning, Het had quietly informed Sian that Rothkin’s cousin, Hilara, and her daughter Paola had accepted his invitation to become the Mishrah-Khote’s first anointed female acolytes. The girl will be greater than any of us, he’d told her, if she is not already. Her rapport with the otherworld is generating awe within the temple. It is my hope that her poor mother too will find real refuge and some greater purpose of her own among us now. I fear she has been more needed than wanted since the girl’s gift appeared — by many, including her cousin.

  Upon hearing this, Sian had found herself recalling Paola’s refusal of a voice that night in Rothkin’s hut, and wondered if that refusal had been for her mother’s sake. How quickly might Hilara have been cast away again — or worse — if she had ceased to be the only gateway to her daughter’s secret knowledge? Could such a youn
g child have understood this — more clearly than even her mother had perhaps?

  Pino’s distraught parents seemed most lost here. They had known nothing at all of their son’s involvement in the short-lived war, much less of his death, having assumed him well out of harm’s way, working at some little textiles firm on the world’s other edge. It had taken weeks just to locate them. Now they sat beside the Factora and Konrad, under a small pavilion tent erected for Arian and her most honored guests, gazing about, often tearfully, at all the lofty people who suddenly seemed so grateful for their son’s life. Sian had tried to tell them what a fine employee and dear friend he had become, how sorry she was for their loss. They had been very polite, very honored by her words — and clearly not that much consoled. Such fine compliments would obviously have meant so much more had they been delivered while Pino was still alive. But who ever thought of such things while there was still time to act on them?

  Still, Sian meant to try harder from here on.

  There were brighter events to note, of course. Also in the Factora’s pavilion, just behind Arian and her son, sat Commander Ennias, the new head of her personal guard, beside his new affair of the heart, Maronne.

  Having awakened that next morning to find Escotte Alkattha gone and his house under attack, it seemed Maronne had simply fled the house, impeded by no one in all the chaos. She had remained in hiding on Cutter’s until the fighting seemed done, then reappeared at the Factorate only a day after Sian’s long sleep had started.

  Maronne’s brief liaison with then-Sergeant Ennias during the ‘dress-maker plot,’ as they now called it, had apparently proven unexpectedly enjoyable — for both of them, regardless of the fact that Ennias was nearly fifteen years her junior. From what Sian had heard, their affair had the Factora’s whole-hearted approval. And Lucia had quietly informed Sian that the new commander’s skill as a poet was proving quite surprising too — according to Maronne, at least, who was, to date, the sole inspiration and recipient of these unanticipated artistic endeavors.