The Queen's Tower

by J. S. Mawdsley

  Daryna glared at him, and Mr. Sobol sucked in air through his teeth. Brandon could only gape at the captain general, astonished by the man’s rudeness. Everyone in the room knew that the only “bandits” on the Loshadnarodski border were the Loshadnarodskis themselves.

  What is he playing at? Why would he mention that? What’s all this business about sending two regiments into Loshadnarod? He can’t think they would ever agree to that. It’s like he’s deliberately trying to offend them. But why? What’s his game here?

  “I think I will have to consult the queen about this matter,” said Daryna.

  “Naturally, my lady, naturally,” said Broderick, his voice now cool, almost mocking. “I, of course, will have to speak with my staff officers to see what sort of engineering resources we could offer you. And I will have to consult my father. I am the commander, but the army is still his, legally speaking, and he likes to be kept informed.”

  Daryna stalked out of the room with barely a wave of goodbye, leaving Mr. Sobol to stack up his drawings and diagrams on his own. The captain general started to leave, as well, but Brandon couldn’t let him go unchallenged.

  “I remember hearing, Sir Broderick, that you were a man of charm and discretion.”

  He paused in the open doorway. “One really does wonder how these rumors get started. Good day, your grace.”

  “In the future,” Brandon continued, raising his voice as Broderick stepped into the hall, “I would appreciate it if you informed me before going to visit Queen Merewyn. I really must insist on it.”

  Broderick ducked his head back around the doorframe. “In two days, she will be able to speak with whomever she wishes, Brandon. You can’t keep your little fledgling in the nest forever, you know.”

  He left, and Brandon stood fuming by himself for a few moments, before he saw Mr. Sobol out of the corner of his eye, still packing up his drawings. The boy looked very annoyed.

  “Don’t worry about the captain general,” Brandon said reassuringly. “He is in an odd humor today.” Then a thought struck him, and he asked, “Do you have any plans for the rest of the day, Mr. Sobol?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I don’t suppose you’d like to attend a garden party, would you? The leaders of all the city guilds will be there, but don’t let that discourage you. I have a feeling you’ll be able to find someone interesting to talk with, all the same.”

  Chapter 19

  WHAT DID BRODERICK know that he wasn’t telling her? What was he hiding?

  He was on her side; she knew that for certain. But, curse it all, he saw her as a weak and frail old woman—someone to be protected and coddled. He didn’t want to worry or frighten her. Blast it all. She should have forced him to tell everything he knew. She should have used tears, if nothing else worked.

  The more she thought about his visit, the more she was convinced that he must know of some terrible danger that loomed over her. Why else had he left so quickly to speak with Bishop Robertson? Why else had he noted her reluctance to meet the Loshadnarodskis?

  “There’s something he’s not telling me,” she said, as she paced around her room. “There’s something all of them know—Broderick and Brandon and Caedmon, too.”

  Did it have something to do with Daryna Olekovna? Or with Robertson? Were they all in it together, perhaps? Robertson must have heard by now that she would be released for the feast. He must be wondering what she would say, what secrets she might reveal about him. Had he reached out to the Loshadnarodskis? Was he plotting even now with Vadik and Daryna? With Ethelred and Caedmon, too, even, but on what pretext she could not guess.

  Something crunched under her shoe, and her foot slipped half an inch. She looked down and saw a heap of broken pastel fragments marring the floor by the fireplace. A trail of flowery footprints led away from it, ringing the room. Her shoes were probably ruined now. Ah well. At least the mess added color to the drab space.

  These same gray, stone walls, the same brown horsehide bench. The cherrywood chair at the matching cherry desk. The granite pillars and the simple oak of the walls and the privy door. The pine table and chairs, stained a dull red. Shades of brown and gray placed against a background of brown and gray, accented by more brown and gray. The monotony would drive anyone mad. It was nothing short of miraculous she hadn’t lost her mind years ago.

  She thought, “The first thing I do when I get out, I will go see a garden.” Except that it was the beginning of October now. Perhaps she could see some autumn leaves, instead. But that wasn’t the same. It would never be the same. She ought to stay in her rooms until spring came. Maybe that would be the wisest course, anyway—just refuse to come down.

  Why did Ethelred insist upon letting her out now? This was hardly his first visit to Leornian in all the years she had been locked in this tower. What was so blasted important about letting her see Queen Nina? The more Merewyn thought about it, the less her release from captivity seemed like a favor, and the more it seemed like a punishment.

  What could she do? Even if she could be sure whom to trust, what good would it do? What could anyone do to help her?

  She started circling again, and her eyes fell on the chair by the table, the one Broderick had been sitting in. She closed her eyes, so used to the path around the room that she could do it without looking. She imagined a figure in that chair, but it was not Broderick that she saw. It was a leaner man, with gently-curving lips and wavy dark hair falling in his sad eyes. He was wearing long, tight-fitting riding trousers and a loose white shirt, unlaced and open in the front. He was barefoot, too. It was how she remembered seeing him that one glorious morning in Pinburg, after they had been able to spend a whole night together.

  It was also, quite horribly, the same thing he had been wearing when he had gone to his death in the cathedral square in Formacaster. She could never get that image out of her mind, and she knew she never would, even if she could live for centuries like Daryna Olekovna. Merewyn had been bound and locked in a carriage, riding to Leornian, going into captivity. But the carriage driver had stopped in the square in just the right spot so that Merewyn could watch her lover die. She couldn’t be sure, but she had a notion that Ethelred had ordered the driver to do that.

  She forced the image of Fransis dying from her mind; she had a lot of practice doing so. She imagined him alive and smiling and sitting right here at her table, watching her pace around and around.

  “Why are you walking in circles like that?” he would ask.

  “Because it helps me think,” she would answer.

  He would ask what she was thinking about, and then she would be able to tell him all her troubles. She could tell him about Daryna and Vadik, about Robertson and Maxen.

  “Oh, what do I do?” she sighed. “You’re the only one who knew me fully and still loved me in spite of it all.”

  Still with her eyes closed, she stopped walking, barely a foot from where she knew the chair was. Slowly, she reached out her hand, flexing her fingertips, knowing that he wasn’t really there, but pretending for a moment that he might be. She missed his touch more than anything. No, that was not exactly true. She missed his touch, but more than that, she missed his trust. No one had ever trusted her like Fransis; probably no one ever would again.

  She tried to think what he would tell her to do, tried to imagine how he would deal with this situation. But just as she was starting to think of an answer, just as she could almost hear his voice again, there was an awkward cough, and a different voice, no less familiar, said, “Mother? Are you well?”

  Whipping around she saw Maxen, wary as an oft-kicked puppy, frozen at her door. She had been talking out loud, hadn’t she? Oh, Earstien.

  She forced a laugh. “Well, this is embarrassing. You’ve uncovered one of my darkest secrets—I talk to myself. Often. I find myself an excellent conversationalist.”

  “What were you talking about? It sounded like...um....”

  “I was merely indulging my fancy. It is one of the
last recourses to pleasure lonely old women have.”

  “It’s no problem,” he said, sidling nervously toward her. “As long as you’re sure you’re alright.”

  “Oh, you needn’t worry about me.” She took his hands and gave him a peck on the cheek. With a smile she had perfected at court when dealing with unpleasant situations, she started to the table, but it was still a mess of packages, pastel detritus surrounding it on the floor. She instead led him to the seat only recently occupied by Broderick. “I am fine, darling,” she said, arranging him with his back to the disarray of Caedmon’s gifts. She retrieved the blue dish with the pistachios and held them out. “Tell me what you’ve been doing today. More archery lessons with Prince Vadik?”

  He took the dish and began eating the nuts even as he answered her question. “Vadik went to the armorers’ guild to see how they make swords or something. I told him I’d rather stay here.”

  “A wise choice,” she said, glad for anything that kept the two young princes apart. “There must be all sorts of things to do around the castle these days, with everyone visiting.”

  Maxen let out a heavy sigh and slouched over with his head resting on his hand. “There’s nothing interesting.”

  “But Leornian is a fascinating city. The Bocburg alone is worthy of interest.”

  “It’s a castle. I’ve been to plenty of them. I don’t see why everyone thinks this one is so great.”

  “Well, because the book used to be here, darling.” She paused, and found herself wondering what precisely Ethelred had ever told Maxen about Finster’s book, given by the greatest of the hillichmagnars to the first Kings of Leornian. It was literally the hinge upon which the power of the Kings of Myrcia rested. Dear Earstien, he did know about it, didn’t he? “Your father has shown you In Aid of Leornian’s Rulers?”

  Maxen stared blankly at her, and Merewyn could not have been more frightened for her son and the future of the kingdom.

  “Finster’s book, Maxen. Your father should have taught you the spell by now.” She knew the spell herself. The secret to opening or moving the book was a spell set by Finster, thousands of years ago, that was known only to the king, his wife, and his heir.

  “You’re kidding, right? He showed me the book when I was maybe 5. And he taught me the spell at 12 after my Affirmation.”

  Merewyn sighed with relief that Ethelred had not made a mess of this, at least.

  “But who cares about history and castles, or whether or not I know some stupid spell,” Maxen whined. “No one takes me serious.”

  “‘Seriously,’ darling.”

  “Whatever. There was some sort of meeting about army engineers and the Loshadnarodski mines. Daryna Olekovna was there and that engineer fellow whose name I forget. And I wanted to go, because you’re always saying I should show an interest in things. And anyway, Broderick got to go, but of course Brandon said I should go find something more fun, like some boring garden party.”

  “Broderick was there?” Merewyn’s heart raced. “Broderick was meeting with Daryna Olekovna? And Brandon was helping them?” She felt sweat starting to form around her temples.

  “Yes, Broderick,” said Maxen with a sneer. “Broderick gets to do everything, and I’m supposed to go watch blacksmiths make swords or sip tea with old people. He’s not so blasted perfect, though. I heard the meeting was a disaster. He and Daryna had an argument or something. Or at least that’s what I heard from Margaret Llamu, who heard it from Lukas Ostensen, who heard it from Broderick.” With a self-satisfied little grin, Maxen added, “I would have handled it better than him, don’t you think, mother? I certainly know better than to get in an argument with a fucking sorceress!”

  “Language, darling,” she said, though she couldn’t help smiling as she said it. Broderick had quarreled with Daryna! Thank Earstien! Her stepson was still loyal and true. She never should have doubted him. “Well, besides this unfortunate meeting that you didn’t attend,” she went on, “what else has been happening? I’m going to be seeing all these people in two days, my dear. I really should know all the latest court gossip.”

  “Nothing’s happening,” he said, slumping even further in his chair. “I’m utterly bored. You have no idea.”

  “Really?” Merewyn couldn’t keep the note of hope out of her voice. “So you’re not having fun with Prince Vadik?”

  “Oh, Vadik is all right, I suppose,” he said, much to her disappointment. “It’s not the people so much. It’s just...this place. Leornian is such a stuffy old shithole.”

  “Language.”

  “Sorry, mother. It really is stuffy and dull here, though. I wish I’d been able to bring....” His voice trailed off, and his face turned pink. “Um...never mind. I just mean the city is boring.”

  “Bring what, dear? What were you hoping to bring?”

  His face reddened further. “Nobody. I mean, nothing. I mean, it’s fine here, but the girls here aren’t....” He stammered helplessly for a second. “Not just the girls, of course. Everyone. The whole court.”

  Merewyn bit her lip to stop from giggling. And then she felt a lump forming in her throat. Oh, her dear little boy. It was inevitable, though, wasn’t it?

  “Maxen, is there someone particular for whom you have feelings? Someone you were obliged to leave in Formacaster?”

  He twisted the collar of his jacket and shifted to one side in the chair, then to the other. He heaved a long sigh and tugged at the lace cuffs of his shirt.

  Clearly she had hit the mark. But his uneasiness worried her. Who was this girl? Obviously someone unsuitable, or she would have made the trip with the court to Leornian. And just like that, Merewyn didn’t feel much like laughing anymore.

  “It’s nothing terribly serious,” he finally said, in a tiny, almost childish voice.

  “Then why are you hesitant to tell me about her?”

  “Because it’s not really all that important yet. She’s a nice girl at court. We’ve dined and danced a few times. That’s all.”

  She bent over so as to look in the eyes of his bowed head. He snatched away his hands when she tried to clasp them.

  “Be careful, for the love of Earstien,” she said.

  “Mother, please.” He turned his entire body in the opposite direction now, so she walked directly into his line of sight.

  “Suppose I were to ask you never to see this girl again. What would you do?”

  “I...I could never do that!” he cried, shock and pain etched in his face.

  Merewyn sat and took his hand. “Then clearly you are serious about her. We’ve always been honest, sometimes brutally so. It’s now time we were blunt. What are your feelings for this girl?”

  “Um...well, I think I love her.”

  “You either do or you don’t—there’s no thought involved in loving. It is a question to answer without hesitation.”

  He sat up a bit straighter and squeezed her hand. “Then, yes. I love her. I’m sure I do.”

  “Very well. Who is she and who is her family?”

  “Her name is Rosheen Jones.” He let out a dramatic sigh. “She’s beautiful, mother. The blondest hair you’ve ever seen. A lovely dancer. Polite and kind.”

  Merewyn fought not to immediately cringe at such a common name as Jones. “I’ve no doubt that you think she is quite delightful, and she most likely is, but I did not ask about her accomplishments or manners—I asked about her family.”

  “You’ll like her; I know you will. So why does it matter who her family is?”

  “Maxen, I cannot believe you are twenty years old and are still so childish as to say such things. As future king, your choice of wife is a matter of the highest national importance. It will be one of the most vital decisions you ever make, one that can make your reign a brilliant success or an ignominious failure.”

  He scowled. “Yes, I suppose you and father know all about that, don’t you?” In a low, muttering whisper, he added, “Fucking hypocrite.”

  “Yes! If there
are any two people in this world who understand how impolitic sexual relationships can change the entire future, your parents are those two people. And it’s not hypocrisy to advise someone how to avoid one’s own past mistakes! Now who is this ‘Rosheen Jones’ girl, and why is she not here in Leornian with the court?”

  “She couldn’t make it.” He must have seen Merewyn’s dubious look, so he quickly went on. “Truly, she couldn’t come with us. She is indisposed, so she’s taking advantage of the court being out of Formacaster to study with an Immani tutor. She’s brilliant, mother. Much smarter than me. That’s why I know you would like her.”

  An Immani tutor? Well, that was something, at least. But knowing books and knowing how to survive at court were entirely different spheres of knowledge. And if she were from a prominent family, then she would have gone to an elite school like Atherton or Brancaster, and she wouldn’t need to be cramming now with a tutor.

  “How much is her father willing to settle on her?”

  “I’ve no idea. I’m going to be king—who cares if her father can give me a few sovereigns less or more. And I have the Earldom of Telga.”

  “You mean that I have Telga,” she said sharply. “Your father made me Countess of Telga in my own right, and the last I checked, I wasn’t dead yet.” She had to take a deep breath, try to focus her thoughts. “The fact that my father’s earldom was so rich is precisely why your father chose to marry me from among all the other women at court. The money from the earldom has kept your father’s treasury full all these years.” And paid for her imprisonment, but that was neither here nor there in this particular discussion.

  “I can’t believe you’re actually holding up your marriage as an example for me to follow.”

  “Do you understand what kind of woman you will need to help you successfully navigate the twisting politics of court life? Especially,” she paused and cleared her throat, “if I cannot be there to help you.”