Heartseeker

by Melinda Beatty

“No!” I bellowed. “I’ll not go one step farther, Highness, not one step!” It was as if I were floating above my body, watching some other whelp shout themselves red in the face at the future queen of Orstral.

  The princess bent under the weight of my anger. “Saphritte Bethan Fisroy D’Abreu Renart, Heir to the Throne of Orstral, Duchess of East Reach and the Hatchings, Captain of the King’s Guard. That’s the whole of it.” She squeezed her eyes shut and wiped them with bloodstained fingers. “When we’re on the road, I feel very at home as Bethan Fisroy—more so than when I’m Saphritte Renart here. Perhaps your cunning takes into account how firmly a belief is held, even if it’s not entirely true.”

  Though it satisfied my burning curiosity as to how the wool had been pulled over my eyes, I wasn’t in the mood to aid the princess in her soul-searching while my rage was still boiling hot. “You don’t care a fig about me! To you and the king, I’m just a tool to fix something that’s broke. I’m just my cunning and nothing else! Lark and Rowan were right about your father, he—”

  The sudden memory of the laughing faces of my Ordish friends finally put a cork in the bottle of my anger. Both my hands clapped over my mouth, too late to snatch back everything I’d said. Saphritte’s own mouth was hanging open as if she’d swallowed it all and was trying to turn it over in her belly. I felt just as sick as I did when I told a lie. Quick as I could, I dropped down on my knees, my face so low, it almost touched the stone floor.

  “Your Highness . . . ma’am, I’m . . . sorry. So sorry. I didn’t mean . . .”

  “Only, look at me.”

  Trembling, I stared up at Saphritte, who took a few deep breaths before she spoke. “You have every right to your anger. Every bit of it. But in these walls, you must school your temper. It’s for your safety, do you understand?”

  My head bobbed up and down like an apple in a barrel. I was grateful she hadn’t decided to haul me off to a dungeon somewhere. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be quiet as a dormouse.”

  “My father doesn’t need a dormouse, Only. He needs a champion.”

  “Master Iordan said that the king was . . .” I searched for the word the inquisitor had used, hoping it wouldn’t slander the king under his own roof. “Suggestible.”

  Saphritte squeezed her lips in a prim line. “That’s a diplomatic way to describe it. But then, Master Iordan is a diplomat.” She stared deep into one of the torches that guttered and spit in the dark passage. “There’s a good deal happening right now. And it’s all delicate, but I think my father’s being led by members of his own council to believe there are shadows round every corner. And it’s resulting in decisions made from fear rather than reason. I know you meant all you said, and you’re right, but consider this: The kingdom is like the pines of the Wood—bigger than you, bigger than me. And it will go on long after both of us are gone. I want it to grow tall and strong—to reach for the sun. I believe if it’s sent down a path of despair and hatred, it will wither and die. And so, here you are.” She took one of my hands between hers. “I need you. My father needs you. Orstral’s about to walk across a chasm on a rope and we need you to be the sturdy pole to help us keep our balance, because it’s a long way to the bottom. If not for me or for the king, do you think you could do it for Orstral?”

  I thought about the feeling I’d had standing beneath the pines. About my dust and the dust of the kingdom.

  “For Orstral,” I said at last.

  Saphritte laid a hand on my shoulder. “You’re a brave girl, Only Fallow. Now, let’s go and face the kingdom.”

  * * *

  WE EMERGED INTO the palace through a door hidden behind a thick piece of tapestry. The hallway was bright with lanterns and the stone floor smooth with wear. “This is the main route down to the kitchens and stores,” Saphritte said. “I’m sure with a little exploration, you’ll find the half a dozen other hidden ways in and out of the place. But I imagine you’d like a decent night’s sleep first?”

  My knees didn’t feel so much like knees than jelly, but I didn’t care for the idea of being too far from the princess’s protection. “I’m all right, ma’am.”

  A wide staircase rose up before us, and Saphritte was nearly at the top before she realized I wasn’t following behind her.

  From the bottom, I realized I was looking up into the grand entryway of the palace. The pillars that melted into the vaulted ceiling were vast, and artfully carved to resemble the trunks of great pines. The branches formed graceful arches that crisscrossed the roof. High windows of green, yellow, blue, and tan glass glinted in the torchlight. In the day, the sunlight would cast the colors down upon the floor, making it look as if you’d found yourself in a forest grove. It was the Wood, turned to stone.

  “Sweet All,” I whispered, staring in amazement.

  The princess came back down the steps to meet me. “Tomorrow, there’ll be even more to see. But for now, let’s—”

  She broke off as the sound of footsteps echoed round the stone forest. At the top of the steps, there appeared a young woman wearing a long, elegant coat of blue and silver. Her blond hair was bound back tight in a tight plait and her hands were folded neatly before her.

  “Highness,” she said formally, bowing low before the princess. “It’s good to see you safely returned.”

  “Thank you, Adria,” Saphritte acknowledged. “I’m just taking the Mayquin to her chambers. It’s been a very long—”

  “You are summoned to council,” Adria interrupted.

  The princess’s shoulders slumped. “Very well. Let me just—”

  “You are both summoned to council. They expect you presently.”

  “Surely after the events of the last few hours—”

  “The council has been informed of these events, and it’s why they wish to see you.” Adria gave me a sniffy look, and I suddenly came aware that I was still dressed in the same tattered cloak I’d put on hours before, which still smelled strongly of the barnyard.

  “My father called the council?” the princess asked wearily.

  Adria hesitated. “No, Highness.”

  From behind her, I watched all of the muscles in Saphritte’s neck clench tight, from her shoulder to her jaw. The effect must have been even more striking from the front, because Adria took a careful step backward.

  “Tell them,” she said between tightly clenched teeth, “that we’ll be with them presently.”

  The girl bowed and scurried away. The princess stared after her, robbed of the power of speech.

  “Ma’am?” I said timidly. “Ma’am, you don’t need to be sore. I . . . I don’t mind meeting the council.”

  “It’s not that the council is meeting,” the princess intoned in a hollow voice, “but rather who has called it to order.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “The only person with the authority to call a council other than my father is Lady Folque.”

  * * *

  THE PALACE WAS a confusing jumble of corridors. Half of them seemed to have just sprouted right out of the stone and started growing in any which way they fancied. Any spirit I’d had left wilted with every change of direction, and I tried not to imagine losing myself in some dark corner where a dark deed might befall me. But despite my confusion, I was fair certain that we were heading into the heart of the building.

  “If we walked this far at home, we’d near be in the center of town by now,” I wheezed.

  “It’s just here,” Saphritte assured me, pointing to a doorway ahead flanked by two guards. They snapped to attention as we approached, each pulling open the heavy oak door beside them.

  The council chamber was one of the fanciest rooms I’d ever set foot in. Thick, rich drapes—embroidered in the king’s colors—hung on the walls. A great iron chandelier hung from the ceiling, guttering with candles. A polished wooden rack held dozens of bottles with dark red wine in them. Silver goblet
s gleamed round the enormous table, whose legs were carved with climbing vines and morning glory. The three figures gathered round the table stood up and bowed respectfully to Saphritte. “Highness!” bellowed the man in the far corner, coming forward to meet us. He grasped the princess’s shoulders. “Good met and well returned!”

  The fellow was nearly as large as his greeting—arms and legs like oak logs and a fermenting barrel for a chest. He wore a salt-beaten, floor-length leather jerkin and golden hoops in his ears. Fastened round his large belly was a black leather belt with a huge golden buckle, intricately carved with swirling waves and mermaids. His long, graying hair was pulled back behind his head in a loose braid. Even more wondrous was the dog that padded faithfully by his side. It matched its master in size, standing past the man’s hip, its bristly gray coat making it look just as windswept and salty.

  Saphritte chuckled, slapped the man’s meaty shoulders in return. “Good met, Dorvan. How’s work on The Bountiful going?”

  “Oh, well, well,” said the man, hooking his thumbs into his belt. I couldn’t help notice the faded letters that adorned his hairy knuckles. They read Hold Fast. “She’ll be ready to sail on the winds of the new year.”

  The princess knelt to bury her fingers in the dog’s scruff. “Good met to you, too, Mizzen. How’s my favorite sea cur?” The hound’s tail began to whip back and forth, its eyes closed in pleasure at the attention.

  Waiting, with his arms folded, was a smaller man dressed in a fine woven tunic and breeches in shades of green. He had a short, neatly trimmed beard, and his hair was cut mixing-bowl style. Soft leather boots, trussed with sheep gut, rose up his legs to his knees, and the expression on his face reminded me of Master Iordan when he disapproved of something.

  “Sandkin, good met,” Saphritte said, extracting herself from Dorvan and taking hold of the shorter man’s hand. “I know you like to retire early. I’m sorry this matter couldn’t have waited till morning.”

  “I’m used to the palace keeping odd hours,” he grumbled. “I hope this won’t be long.”

  An older woman rose from her seat at the other end of the great table and motioned to me. “Come here, child, let me look at you.” Her white hair was piled high on her head in elaborately braided ropes, and her wine-colored gown had a high, straight collar that made her neck look long as a deer’s. “I’ve heard you’ve had a terribly hard journey.”

  “That is a generous description of our progress, Constance,” Saphritte agreed, shepherding me over to the lady. “Our poor Only has been much abused along the way.”

  “I’m Constance Mollier, child, and you’re very welcome here,” the grand dame said as I came to stand before her. If Non had been high-born, she might have looked like the lady in front of me. Maybe that’s why I liked her straightaway.

  “So, where’s the honorable head of this council, then?” barked Dorvan. “She rouses us from our chambers at this hour and isn’t here to greet us?”

  “You know as well as I do, Everard, that her ladyship does things in her own time,” Sandkin answered sourly.

  “Well, I wish she’d’ve called this council on her own bloody time!” Dorvan countered.

  “It’s as well she did call it.” Saphritte’s voice cut through the arguing men. “I would have a word or two with her.”

  “My dear,” said Lady Mollier, stepping forward, “you must be careful what you say. Even here. Even now.”

  I’d begun worrying the inside of my cheek with my teeth when the door to the chamber opened.

  Since the moment I heard her name at North Hallow, I’d been conjuring up pictures of Lamia Folque. She’d become just as fierce and terrible as anything in my imagination, with eyes like a cat, terrible claws, and snakes for hair. The woman who strode into the council chamber had none of those things, but she didn’t need them for anyone who laid eyes on her to know she was dangerous. Her crimson, gold-trimmed gown set off her deep golden skin and chocolate-brown hair. From her ears dangled a pair of gold droplets that glinted in the light of the lanterns that filled the room. A mesmerizing green-and-blue jewel lay at her throat. I’d never seen anyone take up so much space in a room before.

  “My apologies, masters, mistress, Your Highness,” she cooed smoothly. “Matters of my estate detained me.”

  “This could not have been put off till morning, Lamia?” complained Sandkin.

  “I felt, Arfrid, that in light of the events of the last days, not to mention the last few hours, we ought to come together to discuss—”

  Saphritte started forward, dangerously. “I’ll tell you what we must discuss, Lady Folque. We must discuss—”

  “The measures that we must take to keep our Mayquin safe now that she’s within our walls, I’m sure, Your Highness?” interrupted Lady Mollier, who lit up like a torch with the force of her untruth. It exploded, crackling white and green around her as she begged Saphritte’s silence with her eyes.

  Lady Folque’s head slowly turned to where I stood in the corner. Maybe it was just the leftover fear from my almost-trip over the wall into the River or that I was so weary, I could hardly keep my eyelids from drooping, but everything seemed muffled, like I had my head underwater.

  “Yes, of course, Your Highness,” she purred. “She must be kept quite safe.”

  I expected the darkness of a sinister lie to blot out the whole of the chamber, but instead, as she came closer, the light of the blazing lanterns dimmed. All the other human noise in the room stilled. There was the sharp smell of iron, copper, and fire. The world became narrow until it was only as big as me and her bottomless eyes. Torchlight licked out from behind her bejeweled head like a crown of flame, just waiting to burn those who came too close. Waiting to burn me.

  “Mayquin,” said Lamia Folque, in a voice that sounded like a blade on a whetstone. “Welcome to Bellskeep.”

  21

  It was hard to remember the whole of the night we arrived in Bellskeep, apart from Tarique trying to pitch me into the River. That part stood out quite clearly in my memory. If it hadn’t been for Gareth, my story would have ended in the long-dry riverbed that ran the length of the city. All that came after the kind Captain Reynold delivered me back to Saphritte was a blur of dark corridors and angry words—all until the moment I met her.

  As Lamia Folque turned to lay eyes on me, everyone else seemed to disappear. It was just her looking into me and me looking into her. Her regard was fire, and her voice, iron being wrought on a blacksmith’s anvil.

  And then I was back in the room, the chatter around me almost too loud to bear, but I wasn’t listening. I’d just recognized Lady Folque for what she was.

  Cunning.

  I couldn’t tell how I knew, but there was no question in my mind. Me and Lamia Folque were two of a kind, and her cunning had called to mine in a way I couldn’t explain. She’d felt it, too—her eyes went wide and some of the pride she’d carried in with her fizzled away like water on a skillet. No one else in the council chamber could tell what happened, but I knew. To cover her discomfort, she turned smoothly to Saphritte. “Your Highness,” she said, concern in her tone, “I owe you a thousand apologies. The men who met you at the gate were new recruits from the Motte—rogues to a man and obviously ill suited for service. Rest assured, the one who remains alive will suffer the consequences of his actions.”

  Tarique and Marcel were Folquesmen?

  It took a moment for me to realize Saphritte wasn’t looking at Lady Folque while she was speaking. She was staring at me. She wants to know if Lamia Folque’s lying, you newt. I shrugged at the princess, helpless.

  Lady Folque’s face fell, wounded. “Surely Your Highness doesn’t believe that I had anything to do with this dreadful occurrence?” The beautiful woman fell on her knee in front of the princess. “Your Highness,” she murmured, “I know that we have had our differences in council. I know you do not share my fear
of the threats our kingdom faces, but you must believe that I would never . . .” She seemed to choke on the words, overcome with genuine emotion. “That I would never seek to do any harm to your royal person.” Her eyes, brimming with tears, turned to me. “Or to any person, let alone a child. I’m a mother myself. Please do not let our past disagreements lead you to believe this of me.”

  There was nothing. No telltale hues of purple or malicious black. Not even a hint of a falsehood in her tearful plea. As far as I could tell, Lamia Folque wasn’t lying.

  Saphritte glanced, astonished, between me and Lady Folque. Her thoughts were as clear as if they’d been written across her forehead: Did I do all of this for nothing? I couldn’t help but wonder the same thing—did she do all of it for nothing? Was I dragged, scared and sorrowful, all the way to the north just to settle a quarrel between the princess and the councilwoman?

  Constance Mollier stepped to the princess’s side and laid a hand on her arm. “I’m sure, Lamia, that Her Highness doesn’t believe anything of the sort. We all have the best interests of the kingdom at heart, don’t we?” Her fingers tightened on Saphritte’s arm, willing her to end the matter.

  Saphritte looked like someone whose house had just fallen down around her feet. Though the angry whooshing of blood through my ears was loud, a tiny voice inside my head lifted itself to be heard. But Folque’s cunning. Who knows what she can do? Maybe she could be false to my face and I wouldn’t know.

  “If you’ll excuse us, my lords, my ladies,” murmured the princess, the whole burden of the days just past falling on her all at once. “This might be best discussed when we’ve had a chance to rest. The road has been . . . difficult.” Her jaw tightened—maybe her thoughts had turned to the faces of her men lost in the Wood. She paled and clutched her left arm, as if all that had been holding her up to begin with had been her rage. Now that it was gone, she was spent. Anticipating her fall, Dorvan appeared at Saphritte’s side just as her knees buckled.