The Queen's Tower

by J. S. Mawdsley

  The same cold panic from the night before came rushing back. “She mentioned a few things, yes. She was under the impression you wished for her to tell me.”

  “What, precisely, did she tell you?”

  “I believe her near ravings can best be summarized by saying that you wanted her to tell me that you believe Prince Vadik is out to get me.”

  Brandon rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger. “My sincerest apologies. That, to put it mildly, is not how I would have chosen to phrase it.” He took the bottle, topped off her glass, and pushed it toward her. “Reports have reached me that Prince Vadik is not a particular supporter of yours. And I do believe you deserved to know this before meeting him. But as to fearing for your life and wishing for Haley to tell you, well, that is not as it should have been. Please know that I will be ever vigilant about your safety.”

  “I am most gratified to hear you say that. I feel safer already.”

  She didn’t really, though. Vadik had Daryna Olekovna on his side. What could Brandon do to stop a hillichmagnar from breaking down her door or levitating through a window or blasting the tower to bits?

  Brandon smiled, but avoided eye contact. “There is one other reason for my visit,” he said softly. From the pocket of his tunic, he pulled a short, tightly rolled scroll sealed in silver wax that had the image of a rearing horse pressed into it. “I’d hoped to bring you one sooner, but, well, never mind that. Here. A letter from Queen Nina. I hope it brings you comfort.”

  She tore open the silver wax seal the moment she had the message in her hands. Then, guiltily, she stopped and looked up at Brandon again. “Thank you so much for bringing this. Perhaps I should wait until....”

  “No, no. I will leave you to your letter,” he said, rising. “And, of course, I will see about your leggings.”

  Even before the door was closed behind him, she started reading.

  Your Majesty, Queen Merewyn of Myrcia, Countess of Telga,

  Do you remember when we met? I was a girl. You were already a lady, a queen and a countess. It was my first trip outside Loshadnarod, and my father insisted we could not come to sell fleece in Myrcia without seeing the beautiful queen. You came to meet us at Pinburg, with the wooden walls in the great, dark forest. When I saw you, you wore gold and were the prettiest person I had ever seen. We were introduced, but I was only 8, and I did not know what to say to you. But you were kind and wise, and you gave me a pin with a ruby and told me we would always be friends. I still have the ruby. I wear it whenever I need to feel like a queen.

  I look forward to seeing you again. This time, I have brought you a gift. The Loshadnarodskis have nothing as beautiful as the ruby you gave me, but I hope you will like it all the same. And if I can help give you your freedom, I will be even more happy. I will never be settled as long as you live in a tower alone. Believe me, since coming here to the Bocburg, all I can do is look out my window at your tower. To be so close and yet not see you is very strange to me.

  This trip, I brought my son. He has already met your son. They are almost the same age, and they are becoming friends. Today Vadik taught Maxen how to shoot a Loshadnarodski bow from horseback. I hope they will teach each other many things. I hope you will like my boy. I love him very much, just as you love your boy. Vadik has more wisdom than I do. He understands things, and I trust him to help me. Sons are such a gift. I am sure we will all like each other.

  Your friend,

  Nina Krupin, Queen of Loshadnarod

  Merewyn let the letter fall to the table. She certainly did remember presenting the ruby pin to the skinny little creature with dirty fingers. Nina at age 8 hadn’t looked like much of a princess, but on balance, Merewyn had found her charming. Thank Earstien she had. Usually children annoyed her and spending any amount of time with one who wasn’t asleep was close to torture for her.

  But that day, long ago in Pinburg, all the signs and the planets had aligned, and Nina had arrived at a moment when Merewyn was filled with joy for everyone and everything in the world. Ethelred had been up until well past dawn, feasting with Nina’s father and all the Pinshire nobles, so Merewyn had been able to spend the entire night with Fransis. For once, they had fallen asleep in each other’s arms and had risked having sex again in the first gray light of morning.

  She hadn’t even had time to wash before rushing down to meet her husband and the visitors. She had been giddy and warm and satisfied, and nothing could dampen her spirts—not even being forced to sit with a grubby child stinking of horse. Merewyn had been so overcome with goodwill that she had made a present of her ruby pin. She could tell Ethelred was furious at her for giving away a priceless piece of jewelry from the royal treasury, but that only made it better.

  “The strange contortions of fate,” she whispered. To think it all might have been different if Ethelred had just decided to come to bed at a reasonable hour.

  She reread the letter twice more, at first with pleasure, but then with a growing sense of unease. What was this business at the end about Vadik and Maxen becoming friends? What precisely did Nina hope the two of them would teach each other?

  Vadik hated her! To be sure Brandon had come up here trying to reassure her on that score, but all he had really done was confirm that Haley had told the truth: the Loshadnarodski prince saw her as an obstacle in his country’s way. A few shooting matches with Maxen weren’t going to change that. Far from it, in fact. Maxen had no particular skill as a soldier or hunter. He would have no influence on Vadik. There was no polite way to say it; he would have nothing to offer in an exchange of knowledge and skills.

  Oh! If only she had been able to raise Maxen properly! If only she had been able to guide him!

  One might as well wish that Fransis were still alive. But things were as they were. Vadik would outshine Maxen. And perhaps, for once, that would be a good thing. Maxen might be jealous and petulant and refuse Vadik’s friendship, just as he always had done with Broderick.

  But what if Vadik was cunning enough to make himself seem friendly? And surely he must be cunning and devious if his own mother hadn’t noticed his antipathy toward Merewyn yet. What if he could do what poor, honest Broderick had never been able to do, and ingratiate himself with Maxen? What if they really did become friends?

  Then Maxen would be the junior partner, the “little brother.” He would always be looking up to Vadik. He would learn so much, as Nina said. He would learn how much of a burden a mother was, and they would talk together about how much easier it was for a young man if he could get free of maternal control.

  And here was Queen Nina. Poor, stupid, hopeful Nina. She was bringing the boys together, thinking she was doing a favor for Merewyn, when in fact she was taking away Merewyn’s best and only hope for the future—her son.

  “Why did I place my hopes in this woman?” she thought, as she tossed the letter into the fire. “You fool!” She beat her thighs with her fists. “You idiot. You got yourself into this predicament, and no one can get you out, because no one wants to help you. Stop thinking anyone cares. It just leads to disappointment in the end!” Then she put her head down on the table and started crying.

  Chapter 17

  “LET ME GO GET A POTATO poultice for you, my lady. Your eyes will look better in a few minutes.”

  Haley was right. All Merewyn needed to do was catch the most fleeting glimpse of herself that morning in the mirror to see that yesterday’s tears were today’s beauty problems. But she felt no desire to be troubled by poultices or Haley. She longed for solitude to contemplate her situation.

  “My lady, at least allow me to finish putting your hair up.”

  Merewyn smacked the girl’s hand away. “Stop fussing. I don’t care how I look. Don’t you understand?” She scowled in the mirror at her lady-in-waiting. Earstien, how did the girl fail to comprehend her moods even slightly after seven years? Sometimes Haley was indispensable. Other times she could be surprisingly clueless.

  Perhaps that was unfair. Mere
wyn knew she was lucky to have Haley. She was a marked improvement on the disastrous Lady Nessa, who had only lasted two months. And before her was Lady Rachel, who had been such dull company for three years. Before her had been Lady Bethany, who was a little too obvious about searching Merewyn’s bookshelves and art supplies for secret messages.

  None of those girls could hold a candle to Merewyn’s best ladies—women like Tegan Howard, so perfectly attuned to the moods of her mistress. Tegan would have walked in, taken one look at Merewyn’s face, and then found something to do elsewhere for the rest of the morning. Good old Tegan.

  Inevitably, Merewyn’s thoughts ran back to the trial and the execution of General Howard, and Tegan in tears, screaming at her.

  “You pushed him! This is all your fault!”

  “I didn’t know, Tegan. I swear to you.”

  “What will become of me now? What’s going to happen to little Averill? What’s going to become of my daughter?”

  Haley waved a hand slowly back and forth in front of Merewyn’s eyes. “My lady? Could I get you some valerian and—”

  At that moment, someone knocked on the door of the lower chamber.

  “Go down and answer that,” Merewyn said. “If it’s someone who merits refreshment, go fetch it. If not, tell them to go away. And then you can leave me in peace until suppertime.”

  Merewyn checked the mirror. Her hair had been gathered just below the crown awaiting Haley to twist it up with a lace net, but instead, the curls hung loose to the middle of her back. She didn’t think she had been formally seen with her hair in this state since she was 12, but it would certainly distract her visitor from her red, puffy eyes. “What does it even matter?” she said, sinking her head down on the table before her mirror.

  Muttering voices, Haley’s and that of an unidentified man, wafted up the stairs. She then heard the door close, and she waited for them to speak again or for Haley to come up and announce the visitor. But neither of those things happened, and Merewyn realized the door closing must have been Haley departing, taking her instructions more literally than intended. Slipping on her most comfortable pair of black shoes, Merewyn took herself downstairs.

  As soon as she spied her visitor, she wished she had remained in her bedroom. Perhaps if she had waited long enough, he would have left, but now she had no choice but to speak with him. He was standing at the table in front of the fireplace, looking at the books on the mantle, hands clasped behind his back. His dark, reddish-brown hair was secured in a neat ponytail with a piece of simple twine.

  He must have heard her steps, because he turned and bowed. “Your majesty.”

  “Hello, Caedmon,” she forced herself to say.

  He still looked precisely the same as always. The same long, pointed chin; the same long, straight nose; the same hint of lines around the thin, rigid mouth; the same cold blue eyes under heavy brows. He might have passed for a man in his mid-thirties, just as he had when she first met him as a young girl. Now she looked older than him—especially today, with her face swollen and her eyes red. It made her self-conscious.

  “Your majesty,” he said, bowing again. “I hope I have not come at an inopportune time. I would gladly return later if you wished. I do need to speak with you, however, and since I was already visiting, I also took the opportunity to bring some gifts for you.”

  He stepped aside, and she could see bags and boxes covering the table. One thing she had to credit Caedmon Aldred with—he never came empty-handed.

  “There is no inconvenience. I simply cannot muster the energy for a full toilet today. May I see these gifts you were thoughtful enough to bring?”

  She began unwrapping packages. There were the newest books of philosophy printed in Formacaster, including the latest translation of Kallias, as she had hoped. The table also overflowed with several rolls of fine parchment, fresh charcoals, and a bundle of pencils. New books and stationery—just what Caedmon always brought when he came.

  The last box, however, turned out to hold a set of brightly-colored pastels. She let out a gasp and stood looking at them, mouth agape, for several long seconds.

  “I hope you are pleased, your majesty. If there is ever anything else you desire, you have only to let me know.”

  “I am...very pleased,” she eventually stammered, unable to look away from the lovely colored sticks. “The pastels are quite unexpected.”

  “The Duke of Leornian sent a letter requesting them for you.”

  “So, the king authorized this purchase?” Merewyn asked. “When I discussed pastels with his grace, I said they would only be useful if I could use them outside, a privilege only the king can grant me.”

  “His majesty enthusiastically acceded to the idea immediately upon reading his grace’s letter.”

  “Then I am grateful to all of you.”

  She ran a hand over the pastels. It was only a product of her imagination, no doubt, but she could swear she had not seen such vivid colors in all her years of captivity. They were glorious and alive, a reminder of everything she had done without. She looked at the tips of her fingers—they were dusted rose and lavender and cornflower. It made her want to cry.

  Caedmon cleared his throat. “Speaking of leaving these chambers, the original purpose of my visit today was to discuss the spell that prevents you from going downstairs.”

  “Ah. The spell.” She brushed the color off her fingertips. “Your spell, Lord Aldred. If I am to attend this feast with my husband and the Loshadnarodskis, then I suppose you will have to lift the barrier, won’t you?”

  Again, he bowed. “Nothing gives me greater pleasure than to do so, your majesty.”

  She could barely stop herself from rolling her eyes. If he really felt that way, he could have lifted the spell at any time in the last seventeen years. He could have forced the king to let her go. But he hadn’t, because for all his power and fame, he was Ethelred’s loyal lapdog.

  “I performed the termination spell as I came upstairs,” he went on. “However, the effects of the barrier spell may linger for a day or more. I therefore wanted to warn you not to attempt to go downstairs quite yet. Your safety is, of course, my highest priority.”

  What complete rubbish. Merewyn had only tested the spell once—a few days after he had first cast it, when she was still wild with grief over Fransis’s death. She remembered running down the stairs. Then a sickly green light had surrounded her, and she had been lifted up in the air while the breath was forced from her lungs. The next thing she remembered, she had been back in her bed, with Caedmon and Brandon standing over her, looking very worried. “You could have been killed,” Brandon had said. Yes, she could have been, and her blood would have been on Caedmon’s hands, blast him.

  In the years since, she had often wondered how she might pay him back for that. She had read somewhere—she couldn’t remember where exactly now—that a hillichmagnar’s spells died with him. So if Caedmon were killed, then the magysk barrier would instantly disappear. She had spent many an afternoon idly planning how to get rid of Caedmon and make it look like an accident. Mostly these plans involved pushing him down those same stairs, possibly after clubbing him over the head with a bottle of wine. Afterward, when she was long gone, people might think he had simply fallen down while drinking. Except that no one alive had ever seen Caedmon Aldred get tipsy. And now he had lifted the spell anyway, so it was just as well that she had never taken the risk.

  “Are you looking forward to the feast?” Caedmon asked. “Her majesty, Queen Nina, is quite excited to see you again.”

  “Is she, now?” Merewyn trembled slightly.

  “She is most eager to introduce her son to you.”

  Prince Vadik—the boy who hated her and wanted her out of the way. Prince Vadik, who had the personal support of Daryna Olekovna. Merewyn’s stomach felt queasy at the thought of having to actually see the vile young man. She shuddered, and gooseflesh rose on her arms. So this was why Caedmon had really come here—to taunt her.
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  “Your majesty?” Caedmon frowned. “Are you well?”

  “How very kind of you to take an interest. Let us pretend the answer is ‘yes,’ Lord Aldred, and leave it at that.”

  There was another knock at the door. “Excuse me,” she said, hurrying to open it. “Two visitors at once. What a treat.”

  She spoke sardonically, but when she opened the door, she found a true gift of Earstien—her stepson, Broderick Gramiren, captain general of Myrcia. He had on a black tunic with silver embroidery, along with a black velvet half cape with a purple silk lining. His hair was longer than usual, and he had dark stubble along his strong jaw.

  “Broderick, darling!” she cried. “It’s been far too long. Please, come in.”

  He bent over her hand and kissed it before unleashing his magnificent grin and kissing her cheek. “A pleasure to see you looking so well. Are you setting a new trend in hairstyles? I like it.” He stood back and held her at arm’s length. The mischievous glint in his bright eyes faded into a look of concern. “But you look tired. Are you sleeping?”

  “Oh, who needs sleep?” She laughed it off with a wave of her hand. “Poor old ladies require but a little.”

  “But since you are not a poor old lady, you clearly need more. I’m sorry I couldn’t visit earlier. I asked, but Brandon, that fussy old maid, wouldn’t let me near you.” He frowned, then snapped around in a pivot that would impress a drill sergeant. “Ah, Caedmon. Here to take the magysk shackles off her majesty, are we?”

  “Indeed, Sir Broderick, as you well know. I have just terminated the barrier spell.”

  Broderick let out a quick shout of laughter and spun back to Merewyn, seizing both her hands. “Then let’s go out! There’s an inn on Addle Street I quite enjoy, not two hundred yards from here. We can have a late breakfast and drink to your freedom. What do you say?”

  For half a second, she was caught up in his enthusiasm, but then a sudden and gnawing fear struck her. It was like when she had been up on top of the tower with Brandon, and she had started to feel all those hundreds and hundreds and thousands of people out there, walking free in the city. What would it be like to be out among them? Could she actually do it? Could she walk out the gate, her hand on her stepson’s arm, and go into the common room of an inn, like an ordinary person? Just sit down and order a pint of ale and some pork chops? People would stare. People would talk behind their hands. People would laugh and gossip. She could almost feel their eyes on her now, and it made hot bile rise in her throat.