by Tad Williams
Jesa gaped at the queen’s words and a sudden chill made her skin prickle. She held little Serasina close, frightened for her—frightened for all of them. It was just as the old woman Laliba had told her in the market! “The Great Lodge will burn from the inside . . .”
Canthia started to rise from her chair, as though even now armed ravishers might be at the door of the retiring room. “You are frightening me, Your Majesty.”
“Good. That is the first step toward wisdom.”
Blasis, still held prisoner, had begun to cry, his round face red. In his struggles he kicked his mother’s knee. “Stop!” Canthia smacked him on the forearm. “You hurt me! Blasis, what is wrong with you?”
“Even when children do not understand everything that’s being said,” the queen suggested, “they understand when people are frightened or angry.” She went to Canthia. “May I hold him?”
The duchess seemed surprised, but lifted the boy so the queen could take him.
“Do you know, Blasis,” said Queen Miriamele as she sat down, wrapping her arms gently around him, “that I once had a little boy just like you?” He looked at her with distrust. “I used to sing to him sometimes. Do you know what a wishing fish is?”
He turned away from her and shook his head, scowling.
“You don’t?” The queen’s voice, so grim moments earlier, had become light and sweet. “Truly? Because it’s a very magical kind of fish.”
“Fish swim,” said Blasis, as if someone had insisted otherwise.
“They certainly do. And people catch them. But if you catch a wishing fish and let it go, then it will grant you a wish. Do you know what a wish is?”
Blasis was reluctantly listening now, and had stopped thrashing. “No.”
“It means you can ask for something, like a favor, and then someone gives it to you.”
“Honey cake?”
“Yes, you could wish for honey cake if you wanted. Or a bow and arrows.”
“Have a bow. Arrows, too.”
“Aren’t you a lucky young man? Well, when my son was small, I used to sing a song to him that I learned from my nurse. It’s about a magical wishing fish. Would you like to hear it?” Queen Miriamele did not wait for his reply, but leaned toward him and sang in a low, tuneful voice.
“O, little fish, little magical fish
What will you give me, your life for a wish?”
She changed her voice for the fish, making it shrill and comical, so that even Blasis smiled a little.
“Please, and you throw me back into the stream
I’ll give to you all things that your heart can dream
“O, little fish that I took from the water
What if I wish for a son and a daughter?
I’ll give unto you girl- and boy-child, so fair
That all will come running to see such a pair.”
Blasis had stopped wriggling, and though he still frowned and tugged at Miriamele’s sleeve, he also seemed to be listening. The queen pulled him a little closer as she sang.
“O, little fish that I took from the river
What if I wish for a handful of silver?
I’ll give you such riches that all will crowd ’round
To beg for your alms when you ride into town
“O, little fish that I caught in my boat
What if I wished for a castle and moat?
I’ll give you a castle so big and so strong
That you will be safe there for all your lifelong
“O, little fish that I brought to the shore
What if I wish for a thousand things more?
All that you wish shall be yours to command
If you will return me to water again . . .”
There were a good many verses as the wishing fish worked its way out of the stewing pot and was eventually released back into the river by the fisherman, who asked only for a blessing. By the time the queen had finished the song Blasis was calm and had begun to look sleepy. Miriamele handed him back to the duchess. The child curled himself tight against his mother, clasped a tress of Canthia’s unbound hair in one fist, and closed his eyes.
The queen looked at him fondly, but Jesa thought she saw the bright trace of tears in Miriamele’s eyes and wondered at it. “You must take your dear children and go, Canthia,” the queen said in a quiet voice. “Go to a safe place. Listen to one who knows too well that they are more important than anything else.”
“Your Majesty.” Count Froye had waited patiently through the queen’s song, trying hard—but failing—to hide a fretful expression, “I wonder if I might have a word with you in private?”
“Count, you are a good man.” Though the queen still spoke softly there was a hint of iron in her words. “I value your wisdom and your discretion more than you know. But this is between the women here. We are talking about the safety of Duchess Canthia’s children. For once I do not want to hear what a man has to say. I will meet with you later. You may go.”
The count bowed low, first to Duchess Canthia then to the queen. When he had left there was a long silence.
“Do you truly think we are in such great danger?” the duchess finally asked.
“I hope not, but hope makes a flimsy armor,” the queen said. “That’s what my grandfather used to say—and he was right. Every outrage, every rumor, every disturbance or street fight is to Dallo’s advantage, because it bespeaks turmoil, and for most people the only cure for turmoil is a new ruler. A strong ruler. Your husband is a fair-minded man, but he is not seen as strong, not like his brother Drusis.”
“But I cannot believe we are in danger here—not in the Sancellan, our home.”
To Jesa’s astonishment, Miriamele dropped to her knees beside the duchess and took her hand. “By the love of our Redeemer, I do not seek to frighten you, my lady, but to warn you. I have seen things like this before, especially during my father’s reign—may God forgive him his crimes. A city can be turned into a bubbling pot, and as the fire is poked and poked by those who desire chaos, at last it will boil over. It is too late then to lament the scalding.”
Jesa bent her head close over Serasina’s tiny round face, whispering meaningless sounds, suddenly frightened for the child in a way she had never been before. What if the old Wran-woman had been right? Would it change anything if Jesa begged the duchess to listen to what the queen said? Would Canthia heed her, or would she send her away for daring to speak up like a friend instead of a servant? Who would protect Serasina then?
I love this little girl, she thought, suddenly aware in a way she had never been of the complicated ways she was tied to the duchess and her family. I must take care of her. And if bad things happen, she will need me. I cannot risk speaking up.
Miriamele was standing now; her stiff dress of gold and gray, Jesa thought, made her look like a sturdy doll made of woven reeds.
He Who Always Steps on Sand, she prayed, please let the duchess trust her as I do!
“It is your children I fear for most, Canthia,” said the queen. “You have a beautiful, strong son and daughter. They are the future of Nabban and of the duke’s house. Your husband will stay and keep order—or try—no matter what happens, but I wish you would consider going to your house on the Antigine Hill or even out of the city entirely.”
After the queen had gone out again and the rattle of the guards following her down the hallway had faded, Jesa was startled to hear the duchess quietly weeping.
* * *
Miriamele was uncomfortable meeting Count Dallo in Vellia’s Garden but she had little choice. She did not fear for her safety, not here in the heart of the Sancellan Mahistrevis with a dozen of her own men posted among the trees and paths that meandered between overgrown hedges, as well as a hundred more of the duke’s guards within shouting distance. What she disliked abou
t such surroundings was the near impossibility of knowing for certain whether anyone was listening. Built for Vellia Hermis, the wife of Imperator Argenian, the garden covered an extensive section of the grounds where the old imperatorial palace itself had once stood, but the trees were planted so thickly along the paths it was hard to see more than a few paces in any direction.
At another moment Miri might have felt glad for the chance to spend some quiet time in the garden, a masterpiece of its kind, with dozens of quiet nooks and long walkways shaded by quince and other fruit trees—even a burbling stream of sweet water meandering through it, pumped up from below by some mechanism to make the gardens seem even more a part of nature. But just now Miri had her husband’s most recent letter folded in the bosom of her dress, pressing against her chest like a knife, and she felt very weak and very worried.
Simon had been careful with his words, more so than was his wont, but the simple facts were clear: the Erkynguard company escorting Eolair and their grandson Morgan had been attacked by Thrithings raiders, leaving only a few survivors, and the best hope was that Morgan had been taken for ransom. Miri could only pray that whatever bearded headman among the grasslanders had received this prize understood how important Morgan was. She knew Simon would pay any ransom to get their grandson back safely, but she felt quite ill to be so far from the Hayholt now.
She slid her golden marriage ring up and down her finger, wishing it were the kind of ring she had heard of in childhood tales, a magical token that would take her in an instant to her beloved’s side. But she knew that whatever magic might actually be found in the circlet of entwined golden dragons—the subtler magic of love and marriage—would not carry her an inch beyond the bench on which she sat. She could only wait for more frightening letters, more dreadful news to come to her like birds of ill omen alighting one after another on a branch.
First Idela, now Morgan, she thought, and a shadowy fear abruptly became clearer. Is it our family? Are these truly just horrible accidents or is someone striking at our family? But who?
She let herself down onto a bench, desperate for a little shade on this hot day. The disturbing new idea would not be ignored, especially when she knew that one of the men who would gladly see her family thrown down was coming to meet her.
I should leave for Erkynland today. It was the first thing that made her feel a little less helpless in the long hours since Froye had brought her Simon’s letter. I should call for my carriage and leave now for the port. With a fair wind I would be home in less than a fortnight.
But she couldn’t—not at this moment. She still had important things to do here, and Simon had already made the decisions on his own. No, she had to be a queen—she had to be the queen—and push forward with what her people needed, however much her heart was aching, however much she feared the days to come.
“Your Majesty! You do me great honor. I know you have many more important things to do.” Count Dallo had appeared from around a turn in the path. It had happened too suddenly to be an accident—he must have been waiting.
She let him come to her and kiss her hand. He was dressed in exquisite fashion, as always, but it did not suit his amphibian appearance. Miriamele did her best to smile. “I always have time for my loyal subjects, Count—especially when they are also members of my family.”
“Ah, now you do me even greater honor! There is not an Ingadarine in all of Nabban who does not swell with pride to know that one of our own sits the High Throne.” He smiled, enjoying the exaggerated flattery.
Miriamele almost shared his amusement—they both knew it was rubbish—but her heart was not in this kind of courtly two-step today. “Is there something I can do for you, cousin, or is this purely a social pleasure?”
“Oh, no!” He affected horror at the thought. “No, Your Majesty, I would not take up your time just for the pleasure of conversing with you again, not with all the demands upon you. But I spoke of honor earlier, and honor demanded that I ask for this audience.”
“Honor?” Was he going to pretend she had insulted him somehow, or that Saluceris had? Surely things were too far gone between them for that sort of shallow bickering.
“Of course! Just days ago my niece was married to the duke’s brother. Yet within my own walls an outrage almost occurred to spoil the day. Without your astonishing bravery, Majesty, only God knows what terrible crimes might have been committed against my guests. My honor demanded that I thank you in person, my queen. You have saved my dignity, and perhaps many lives as well.”
Miriamele was slightly taken aback. “I did what any queen would do when her subjects were threatened.”
“Ah, I think you underestimate what you have done. Certainly people all over Nabban are talking of it—they cannot stop! A warrior queen like Xaxina from the old stories! All Nabban is agog.”
Now the flattery was beginning to annoy her. “Xaxina was an imperator’s wife, as I remember—or to be more precise, an imperator’s widow. But otherwise I take your meaning and I thank you.” She was tired, she realized, and wanted nothing more except to carry her husband’s letter back to the privacy of her chambers and read it again, hoping to find, amidst Simon’s labored scrawlings, a few bits of hope that she might have missed.
Dallo executed a quick bow, as though someone had momentarily let his puppet strings go slack. “You have other things to occupy your thoughts, I see. Forgive me for one last trespass against your kindness, Majesty, but my niece is waiting. She wished to thank you herself.”
Miriamele momentarily considered saying no, but at that instant a dove fluttered down from a nearby tree and walked bobbing across the path.
Sacred Elysia’s bird, she thought. The bird of forgiveness . . . of peace.
“Of course,” she said.
He waved his hand in the air and a servant whom Miriamele had not even seen stepped from behind one of the hedges. “Tell my niece she may come now,” Dallo said. As the servant slipped away down the path, Miri wondered how the count and his servant had come into the garden without any of her own guards seeming to notice.
She saw a flash of bright color on the path as two large soldiers stepped into the sunlight, one on either side of little Turia, who wore a brown velvet dress ribbed with jewels.
Dallo guards that girl like a precious gem, Miri thought. One of her own Erkynguard stepped onto the path behind them and looked at the queen inquiringly, as if he had only just noticed Dallo’s soldiers. She nodded to let him know that all was well and he stepped back again.
Turia waited silently for Miriamele to turn to her, then dropped into a deep courtesy. “Thank you, Majesty,” she said, “for keeping my wedding day safe. Thank you for what you did.” She spoke without deep conviction, like a child being trotted out for older relatives—which was, in a way, exactly what she was. Miriamele almost felt sorry for her, but there was something flat in the way the new bride looked at her that seemed more disturbing than pathetic. She could only imagine the upbringing the girl must have had in Honsa Ingadaris under Dallo’s unpleasant patriarchy.
“You are welcome, my lady,” Miri replied, “although I think my role was smaller than it is being made.”
Now that she had begun, Miri had to carry out the rest of the ritual. She invited Turia to share her seat on the bench. As Dallo and the guards stood by, she dragged the child bride through a clumsy exchange of small talk.
“I am glad things went well, Lady Turia,” Miri said at last, signaling an end to something neither of them seemed to be enjoying much. “And of course I wish you much happiness in your marriage.”
“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty,” the girl said. “But I am Countess Turia now.”
Miriamele was caught by surprise. “Of course,” she said at last. “I did not mean to offend. I wish you and the earl your husband much happiness.”
Turia folded her hands over her stomach, almost protectively, and fo
r a moment Miri wondered if she was pregnant already.
“How much longer will you be with us, Your Majesty?” Turia asked. Miri could not help thinking she had been supplied the question by her uncle.
“Yes,” chimed in Dallo. “We are delighted to have you, but we know there are many matters back home which call for your presence.”
He knows, Miri thought. The news of what happened to Morgan must be all over Nabban by now, even though I myself have only just learned of it. Too many sailors coming down from the north to keep secrets for long.
She put on her most serene face. “Fear not, my lord, I will be with you long enough for the signing of the lector’s covenant.” It was what kept her in the city despite all the terrible things happening at home, the promise she and Simon had wrung from Lector Vidian in return for her attendance at the wedding. She knew that no document would end the power struggle no matter who signed it, but it was an important public gesture that would at least help to make clear what the High Throne expected of the warring Kingfishers and Dallo’s Stormbirds.
“Ah. That, of course, is a relief to all of us,” said Dallo. “The unrest in this city has been greatly calmed by your presence.”
And you are a liar, sir, she thought.
“May I ask you one more question, Your Majesty?” Turia asked, her little heart-shaped face turned up to Miri’s like a child prettily asking for a sweet.
“Of course, Countess.”
“When those men came, and you stood before them . . . were you frightened?”
It was the first time that any of Turia’s words had seemed charged with actual interest, and her heavy-lidded stare seemed bright and curious. “Was I frightened?” Miri weighed several possible answers, but the moment seemed somehow significant and she decided on the truth. “Of course, yes. It is a long time since I have swung a sword in anger, and although my guards are well trained and brave, there were far more bandits than there were of us. So, yes, I was frightened. But as you will discover, courage is not so much being unafraid as it is doing what you must, no matter how you tremble inside.”