Glissanda

by Sara Kingsley

  But minutes pass and nobody shows. The woman brings our pies—egg and bacon—and although they smell delicious, my appetite has vanished. I pick off the crust, nibble it, take a sip of coffee.

  “You’ve got to eat, Raven. I have a feeling this is going to be a very long day.” Leif takes another bite of his pie, nearly polished off already.

  I take a bite—it really is good—chew it slowly. “I know. But I can’t do anything until Callum gets here …”

  There’s a clanging in the kitchen in back, then I hear the baker’s voice through the doorway: “I think your friends are in there.”

  Tui comes stumbling out; sweat’s dripping down his face and he’s panting.

  I stand up. “Where’s Callum? Where’s Fortissima?”

  Tui wipes a stream of sweat that’s dripping into his eye, then runs his hand through his damp hair. His eyes are filled with despair and he’s slowly shaking his head.

  “I’m sorry, Raven.” His voice cracks. “He wasn’t able to get away. The Loyalists have got him and are taking him to the Palace.”

  “No!” I scream out, pounding my fist on the table, which sends our dishes flying. Leif jumps up, just missing a torrent of coffee that falls to the floor from the capsized mug.

  I turn and fling the front door wide open.

  “Where are you going? Raven?”

  I turn my head, just for a second, to answer. “The Palace. I’m getting my sword back, and I’m going to see the King.”

  I leave their protesting voices behind me as I march to the gilded gates of the King’s Palace.

  I don’t bother taking the side routes. I march straight down the main road, right through West Market. I can hear Leif’s and Tui’s footsteps right behind me, but they don’t say anything further to try and stop me.

  The people of West Market scurry out of my way as I pass. The stall keepers, with only meager offerings for sale, bow their heads to me, greeting me quietly. Clearly they’ve not forgotten that day last summer when I stood up to Araroa, told him I was the true heir of the throne of Nadir.

  But when I reach the central square? That’s when I’m faced with dozens of Loyalists milling about. When they see me, there’s no such pleasant greeting.

  I instinctively reach for Fortissima’s grip, but of course she’s not there.

  My fury only rages more fiercely.

  “Get out of my way!” I yell at the men, and continue marching toward the Palace steps. Tui and Leif are on either side of me, and out of the corner of my eye I see they each are holding their knives—Leif brandishing my old one in front of him.

  “You heard the woman, let her pass,” he says to a huge man blocking our way.

  “No way,” he grunts. “She’s a traitor and we’re going to take her to Araroa.”

  “You idiot,” I snort. “That’s where I’m going.”

  A curtain of confusion falls over his face. Tui pushes him aside and we continue on.

  I march up the steps and pound on the closed doors.

  “Let me in! I demand to speak to Araroa.”

  Silence.

  I slam my fist on the door again. This time, it opens slowly.

  A boy in a hooded midnight-blue cloak—Seraphine’s color—beckons me to enter, so I do. Tui and Leif start to follow but he puts up a hand to stop them. “I’m sorry. I only have permission to allow … the lady to enter.”

  I look at Leif; he says nothing, only raises his brows questioningly.

  “I’ll be okay. You and Tui wait outside. If I’m not back in one hour …” But I don’t know what to tell them.

  “Then we’re coming in for you,” Leif finishes, his voice full of determination. He and Tui turn to post themselves before the front doors of the Palace.

  I enter, and the boy shuts the door behind us. “Follow me,” he says and goes down the opulent entrance hall. We climb the circular staircase at the end, and once we reach the top, we turn down the hallway. We continue down it, then stop at the end before a set of red doors.

  Before opening them, he turns to me. That’s when I recognize him: he’s the boy who helped me when I was in Araroa’s dungeon last year, by bringing me information when I had no idea if any of my friends were dead or alive.

  I know I can trust him.

  “I must warn you,” he says in a voice that’s barely audible, “Araroa has not been well as of late. Some say he may not live through the week.” His voice is noticeably bereft of regret.

  “What’s happened?”

  He shakes his head. “I … don’t know.”

  I wait for him to continue, but he says nothing more.

  “Thank you for the warning. I’m glad I’ve come then.”

  He nods, his mouth twitching with a small smile. Then he straightens up, his face stiff once again, and opens the door.

  Araroa is propped up in a huge bed. The man is so gaunt I can barely make him out amongst all the pillows and quilts. Dominic, my blood brother, the Prince, is sitting on a large chair next to the bed. He looks up from the book he’s reading and watches me enter the room.

  “Hello, Raven.” The boy doesn’t bother to stand; he looks down at his book again, then lazily places a bookmark in it and closes the cover.

  “How are you … Prince Dominic?”

  “Fine. But father’s not, no thanks to you.”

  “Me?”

  I notice Dominic’s got the same blue eyes as me; his are enormous and unblinking, glittering at me like ice. He seems a lot older than when I saw him last, even though that was not even a year ago. I do a quick calculation in my head; he was born when I was five, making him at least thirteen, or nearly so.

  “Yes, you. Just like you killed mother, I’m sure you’ve got something to do with this.” He reopens the book and starts reading again.

  “Dominic, no. I’ve got nothing to do …” But he’s making it clear he’s not listening, or at the very least uninterested in responding.

  I walk to the end of the bed, and peer down at the man I revile.

  He appears to be asleep, thin white hair scattered over a lavender-colored silk pillow. The blue veins in his face stand out in stark contrast to the alabaster, tissue-thin skin. His breathing is rough, his chest rising in uneven rhythm. A bony hand lies on top of the quilt; it starts to twitch when the man hears my voice.

  “Wake up, Araroa. I know you’re not sleeping.”

  The eyes slowly flutter open; the brown irises focus right on me.

  “Raven …” He coughs, then starts again. “It’s so nice of you to come.” Hearing him wake, two attendants appear from an adjoining room and help him sit up, adjusting the mountain of pillows behind him.

  “I’d heard you were ill … I’m sorry to see it is true.”

  “Are you really?”

  “I truly am. I’ve no wish for you to suffer.”

  He snorts. “Somehow I doubt that. I haven’t made things easy for you.”

  “No, you haven’t.”

  His face seems to brighten a bit. “Not that you’d deserve that. You’re causing chaos all across the Kingdom with your silly declarations. You really should go back to Nuimana. I gave you the opportunity once … What’s stopping me from dragging you to the gallows right this very instant?”

  “Do it, Father!” Dominic bursts out, much to my shock. “She’s nothing but trouble!”

  “Calm down son … I …” But he’s unable to continue, overcome with a sudden violent coughing fit. I wait for him to recover.

  “You’re right, dear son,” he says, turning his head weakly to look at Dominic. “But it’s just a fantasy of mine. I also know if I did that, the consequences would likely be horrendous for you.” He turns his head back to address me again. “Besides, I want to ensure his coronation is as smooth as possible … when I pass.”

  “If you have any hope of that, you need to call off the Loyalists gathering here in the Bastion. Tell them to go home, tell them there’s nothing for them to do here.”

&nb
sp; The King smiles mockingly. “I have no control over what those men do. I obviously can’t even control what a little girl does. If they wish to protect my son, to ensure he’s crowned as his birthright grants, so it will be. Go back to Nuimana, Raven. Rule over your little island and leave Nadir at peace.” He takes a deep, rattling breath and closes his eyes.

  I’m about to respond when he opens them once more. A corner of his mouth curls up in an vile sneer. “Besides, I was given a gift this morning. A most precious gift: your sword. The Loyalists took it from that little rat you’d given it to—nice try, by the way—and brought it immediately to me. I didn’t even have to ask.” He raises a skeletal hand toward the doorway and a burly guard appears, Fortissima held between his thumb and forefinger as if she were simply a toy.

  “No! Give her to me!” I lunge toward him, grasping for my sword, but the guard deftly steps back through the doorway, and slams the door in my face. I pound on it, shaking the handle, but it’s locked tight.

  I spin around so I’m facing Araroa. “You bastard! That’s mine!”

  He grins victoriously. “No. It’s mine now. And without it, you’re no Woman King. You’re just my illegitimate daughter, once again.” His face turns hard, his eyes like nuggets of amber. “Now, get out.”

  I stand for a moment longer, stunned. My mouth is bone dry, and I can barely get my next words out. “Where’s the boy? The one who was wearing my sword?”

  Araroa shrugs. “Beats me. Check with those who are loyal to me. Guard!” But his order is raspy and weak.

  I don’t say goodbye to him on my way out.

  The hooded boy is waiting outside the door. He gently grasps my elbow, helping me down the hallway, then down the stairs to the entrance hall.

  “Where’s the boy, who had the sword?” I make sure my voice is barely audible.

  He glances around quickly. “He was badly beaten, but they left him just outside, near the laundry and the stables. If you hurry he might still be there. He might still be saved.”

  His words only make me even more angry.

  “There’s one more thing: the stables are safe for you to stay in. I check them regularly.”

  There’s something in the way he says this.

  “Did you … Pearl and Pango?”

  He responds with a nearly imperceptible nod. Someone had cared for our horses while Tui and I had been in Araroa’s dungeon last year. Now I know who it was.

  “Thank you,” I whisper, and he holds the door open for me to depart.

  “Wait! Before you go, there’s something else you should know.”

  I turn to look at him. He can’t be more than eleven or twelve—hardly younger than Prince Dominic. “What’s that?”

  “If—when Araroa dies, the Prince cannot be crowned. It must be you. Otherwise … terrible things will happen.”

  “What? What will happen?”

  “I’m sorry, I cannot say.” He turns, his robe swishing around his legs, and scurries back down the entrance hall.

  “Wait!” I call out to him.

  But he turns a corner and is gone.

  When I emerge through the doors, Tui and Leif grab me, one on either side.

  But the sight outside causes the three of us to stand stock-still.

  The square is thronging with Loyalists. They are chanting with baritone voices.

  kill her

  hang her

  kill her

  “What do we do now?” Tui says, speaking all of our thoughts aloud.

  I watch the furious crowd before me. So full of rage and hate. I realize I could give them what they want … it would be so easy for me to do. Hand myself over, and they could go home. Everything could return to the way it was. Maybe the King would relent, send the food wagons out again—although what he used to send was barely edible. At least it would be something.

  Maybe the old King is right: without my sword I’m just an illegitimate daughter. I’m no Woman King. I’m nothing these people need to worry about.

  Maybe he’s right about something else: that it’s time for me to go back to Nuimana. At least they fully accept me there.

  I just need to find the rest of my family, and then we’ll be away forever. My home, Baldachin, is gone. My sword is gone.

  It’s foolish of me to think I could rule over these people, to bring peace between them and those who support me—and all Woman Kings.

  But I’ve done a lot of foolish things.

  I shrug out of Leif and Tui’s grasp, and step forward toward the still-chanting crowd. I hold up a hand and eventually the noise dies down.

  “King Araroa has my sword.”

  A rowdy cheer erupts through the square. I raise my hand again to silence them.

  “And I will get it back. I will be your Woman King.”

  Suddenly everything seems to happen at once. The crowd surges toward me; Leif and Tui have got ahold of me again and are pulling me backward.

  We fall against the wooden doors of the Palace, then there’s air, the doors have been open, and we’re being pulled inside.

  The doors slam shut, the lock clicks into place just as the first Loyalists reach the top of the Palace steps.

  “Follow me, I’ll show you where Callum is.”

  It’s the hooded boy, his voice calm and sure.

  I look at Leif, then Tui. Both of them shrug. Then we follow the boy.

  Chapter 11

  We follow the hooded boy, winding through narrow servant passageways. He leads us right to where he said we’d find Callum: in the laundry yard next to the stables. Then he vanishes.

  Callum’s still there, slumped against a wooden tub, his face bloodied and bruised, clothes torn. He’s alive though, and opens his eyes when I touch his arm.

  “Raven? Are you okay?”

  I smile at his concern, even though he’s the one who’s obviously not okay. “Never mind me—can you get up?”

  “I … think so.”

  Leif and I help Callum rise to standing, steady him, help him take a few gingerly steps.

  Suddenly Imogen appears before us.

  “There you all are! What is—oh!” Her face falls when she sees the condition Callum is in.

  With my arms around Callum, I motion my head toward the open doorway to the Palace stables, where the hooded boy said we would be safe. “Stables, over there.”

  Tui places a hand on my arm. “Raven, let me …”

  I shake my head. It’s all my fault this happened to Callum in the first place. The least I can do is help him now.

  Tui shrugs, and goes inside the stable.

  We struggle inside with Callum. Tui’s standing on the far end of the building, holding a stall door open. “In here, straw’s fresh and clean.”

  Once inside, we help Callum down onto a blanket that’s been thrown over a pile of straw, then wrap it around his shivering body. Imogen closes the stall door behind us.

  It’s then she looks around, frantically, then directly at me with a look of horror. “Don’t tell me,” she says through clenched teeth, “that they took her?”

  “Fortissima’s gone,” I confirm, my voice cracking. “It was those bloody Loyalists—they did this to Callum and took my sword too—they gave her to Araroa. It’s all over, Imogen.” I sink down on a bale of hay and put my head in my hands. The confidence I felt just moments ago, standing on the steps of the Palace, has melted away after seeing how Callum’s suffered. For me. I can’t let that happen again.

  Imogen takes my shoulders, gives me a little shake. “Look at me, Raven! Nothing’s over. Nothing’s set in stone. Fortissima lives, and as long as she does, she’s yours and yours alone. Nobody—not Araroa, nor his son—can take her from you. She’s part of you.”

  I slowly look back up. Imogen’s emerald eyes are burning into my face. She believes all of this so strongly. I wish I did too.

  “Besides,” she continues, “you made a pact with us. Remember that? That you would lead this revolution, help us rebuild our ho
mes … rebuild all of Nadir. Nothing’s changed.”

  “Imogen, it’s all changed. There’s too many against us—did you see all those Loyalists out there?”

  “I did.”

  “And how are we going to defeat them? We can’t! If I come into power, they’ll always be against me. They’ll defy me until the day I die and Dominic or … my son takes power. Only then will they be satisfied that justice has been done.”

  “But what about us? The Treasoners? We’ve given everything up for you.”

  “You were forced to. Araroa and his Hunters forced all of you out of the Bastion.”

  “True. But some of us have given up a lot more than that.”

  “Really? What’s that?”

  “Some of us have given their lives.”

  I inhale sharply. Of course she’s talking about my blood mother, Queen Seraphine, hanged for seeing me safe from Araroa’s wrath.

  The day is as vivid in my memory as if it happened yesterday: The chanting. The tears. The promise I made. The promise I’ve sworn to keep time and time again.

  I just have no idea how I’m going to keep it now.

  But maybe that doesn’t matter, not at this moment. Tui’s words from a few months back also flash into my memory, in response to my moaning about not knowing what to do: Raven, you are going to do what you’ve been doing … Exactly what you need to do, when you need to do it …

  What I do know is I can accomplish only one thing at a time.

  I look at Callum, eyes half-closed, blood dripping down a gash on his forehead. There’s a bucket of clean water in the corner and a stool stacked with soft washcloths. Clearly someone—the hooded boy, I suspect—had readied the place for us.

  I stand, go over to the stool, wet a cloth, then kneel down in front of Callum. Gently, I wipe the blood from his eye and press the cloth against the oozing cut.

  This, right here, nursing Callum, is all I can do right now. This is all that matters.

  I’m startled awake by a soft knock on the stall door. Leif and I had fallen asleep in the corner on a pile of hay, my head tucked into his neck, his arm around me. When I jerk up, my forehead crashes into his chin.