Libyrinth

by Pearl North

  The adept grinned. “That is good news. Despite some initial resistance, it would seem that you have a natural talent for this kind of energy visualization.” She stood. “I’ll return tomorrow morning, and we’ll see what has held through the night.”

  Clauda, sinking back into the wonderful bed, nodded vaguely and watched as the attendants trailed out after their mistress. There was something she should be doing, she thought, but exhaustion overrode her tired brain, forcing her eyes closed, and she slept.

  Clauda awoke and was halfway across the chamber to light the ovens before she realized this was not the Libyrinth kitchen. The events of the past eight days came back to her in one crashing instant, and she wobbled a little on her feet. Haly. The Seven Tales. She had to find Selene; they had to speak to Queen Tadamos. She glanced around the dim chamber, trying to work out what they’d done with her clothes. Hurriedly she lifted the grate from the glow warmer, but even with this improved light, the most she could find was a luxurious quilted brocade dressing gown draped carefully across a chair. She had a grave suspicion that her clothes had been permanently discarded.

  With shaking hands she threw on the robe and dashed out into the hallway, where she encountered a servant bearing a tray with tea and round, golden pastries of a kind Clauda did not recognize. “Mistress . . . ,” the girl murmured, taken aback at Clauda’s disheveled and quite likely half-crazed appearance.

  “What is your name?” said Clauda, cinching the dressing gown closed.

  “Scio Mnassis.”

  “Scio, where is the princess Selene?” Clauda took a pastry from the tray and bit into it. Very good. Flaky yet substantial.

  “Mistress, I would be pleased to serve you in your chamber,” replied Scio, looking every bit as mortified as she should.

  “I’m sure it would be the thrill of your day.” Clauda took the tray from her hands and set it gently on the floor beside the doorway. After an instant’s hesitation, she plucked another pastry from the tray and straightened. Her head swam. She decided to just keep talking. “But don’t be fooled by the highbrow company I keep. I’m just a servant like you, and my mistress, the princess Selene, needs me. Right now. Please, Scio, take me to her.” Clauda put a hand on the Ilysian’s forearm, as much to steady herself as to convey her sincerity.

  Scio cast a wistful look at the carefully arranged tray, and then back to Clauda’s pleading face. Clauda thought she saw curiosity in her eyes, as well as pity. “Very well, mistress. Her chamber is this way.”

  But when they reached Selene’s chamber after a hurried walk down several hallways and two courtyards, they found it empty but for a stout woman who was changing the bedding. “Corazol, where is the princess?” asked Scio.

  Corazol turned and studied Clauda with frank curiosity. Clauda looked right back at her. So there were a few fat Ilysians. That was good to know. “Princess Selene is my mistress,” Clauda added. “I must attend upon her.”

  Corazol scowled. “She said she had urgent business with her mother, that’s all I know.”

  Clauda gritted her teeth. So Selene was going off to talk to Thela Tadamos on her own, leaving Clauda behind to languish in uselessness. Well, they’d just see about that, wouldn’t they? “Where is the audience chamber?” Clauda demanded.

  Both Corazol and Scio gasped. “You cannot appear before the queen in your dressing gown!” breathed the girl.

  “Let her,” said Corazol with an insolent smirk. “Let the rest of the court see what barbarians these Ayorites are. Let her go before the queen in a bathrobe and humiliate her mistress.” Corazol finished making up the bed and took Clauda by the arm, steering her back out into the hallway. “You go that way past three courtyards,” she said, pointing. “It’s just past the double doors.” Corazol stood back and folded her arms, watching her expectantly.

  It was a dare, Clauda could see that. Neither Corazol nor Scio thought she’d dare to appear dressed as she was, with her hair uncombed and sleep crust around her eyes. Corazol clearly thought she was an uppity foreign servant pulling rank. They didn’t know. “Thank you,” Clauda told them, and took off at a run.

  In the pillared courtyard outside the audience chamber there were already several people waiting, seated on white marble benches spaced far apart in the large, open room. In the center of the courtyard stood a statue of a woman, over ten feet tall, also in white marble. This was the Ilysian god. They just had the one—well, there was a son or a lover or something, but he didn’t seem to be in charge so much. It was interesting, she thought, how at the Libyrinth everyone believed in the Seven Tales, even those like her who didn’t quite understand them, and the Eradicants had their prophet, and the Ilysians their goddess. So someone had to be wrong, right? She pushed the thought aside.

  Selene sat facing a set of large double doors that were decorated with a marble frieze depicting vineyards. Her back was to Clauda, and a gleaming brass bowl sat at her side. As Clauda strode across the arcade toward her, Selene’s hand dipped into it and withdrew to her mouth. Her fingers were red.

  “How dare you!” said Clauda, coming up behind her. “You were going to talk to her without me!” She stood behind and to the side of Selene, so the Libyrarian had to twist and crane her neck to look at her.

  But Selene did so with a look of blank and innocent composure. Clauda saw that the bowl held berries, and Selene had already eaten quite a few—her lips and fingers were red with the juice. “Clauda. How are you feeling?”

  “I’m fine, except that I woke up and found you sneaking off to talk to the queen alone.”

  One corner of Selene’s mouth quirked up. “She is my mother, you know. And what on earth are you wearing, by the way? That has to be the most ornate bathrobe I’ve ever seen in my life.”

  Clauda blushed, and then cursed herself for letting Selene embarrass her. “I couldn’t find my clothes.”

  “Mmm. They probably burned them.” Selene wore her customary black Libyrarian’s robes.

  “Oh, and after eight days on the road your linen smelled like honey butter, I suppose.”

  Selene pursed her lips and shook her head. “No. They burned mine, too, but I had an extra set. I fear you have fallen victim to the Ilysian notion of Ayorite finery,” Selene said, indicating the robe. She suppressed a smile and picked up the bowl at her side, proffering it to Clauda. “Here, try these. They’re not raspberries, but they’re something very like them.” She nodded her head. “They’re quite good. Have you ever had raspberries?”

  Clauda’s own guilt fueled her anger and she charged around the bench to face Selene full on, her hands on her hips, her head cocked forward accusingly. “I can’t believe you. Haly’s been captured by the Eradicants and all you can think about is raspberries.”

  Selene gazed at her steadily. “Not raspberries, but raspberries are probably the only safe subject of conversation in the Courtyard of Petitioners.” Selene glanced at the others who were awaiting audience with the queen. Several were staring openly at them. “Don’t confuse it with thought. Now sit down, and for the Mother’s sake, be quiet.”

  Clauda gritted her teeth and sat down beside Selene. She took a handful of berries from the large, engraved bowl, and chewed anxiously. “I still can’t believe you were going to leave me out of it.”

  Selene shrugged, impassive as always. “There is no need for you to be here. And you need to rest. Adept Ykobos says the mind-lancet attack destabilized your core quite badly. You’re supposed to have another session with her. Why don’t you go back to your chamber and relax until then?”

  Tales, how Clauda hated the way Selene treated her like a child. Back home she’d steered clear of her; for one thing she was a Libyrarian and an authority figure, and for another, she was a lousy source of gossip. In any case, at home Clauda would never dare speak to her so bluntly, but they weren’t at the Libyrinth anymore. Selene was all she had and she was terrified of what might be happening to Haly even as they sat here eating berries and gazing past mar
ble columns at rolling green vistas of lush, Ilysian farmland. She couldn’t afford to give Selene the dignity of her position, even in the house of her mother, the queen. “You’d better know what you’re doing,” she told her.

  This won her a sharp, shocked glare from Selene. She didn’t permit herself to take satisfaction from it, but decided she would once they’d gotten Haly back and everything was all right again. She blinked and thrust her head forward, speaking quietly. “They think she’s a witch, Selene. They’ve already tortured her. Who knows what may be happening to her right—”

  “Look!” Suddenly Selene grabbed Clauda by the arm and pulled her in so close she could smell the berries on her breath—their red juice looked like traces of blood on her lips. “I know. I know how bad it is. I wish we could run around Ilysies shouting out our disaster at the top of our lungs until we raise the whole country and take the Corvariate Citadel by storm. But that won’t work. I may not be the spinner of threads my mother is, but I was raised by her. Now shut up and let me think.”

  Abruptly released, Clauda sat back, blinking. She dropped the berries she still held back into the bowl.

  Moments later they both heard two sets of footsteps behind them, and a pair of youths with garlands of blue flowers in their hair padded across the arcade and opened the doors to the queen’s reception room.

  Selene stood. “You are going to appear before the queen of Ilysies dressed in a bathrobe,” she observed sadly. Clauda nodded firmly and followed her into a large room made of marble. White gauze curtains hung from seven arches on the far wall. Brilliant sunshine filtered through them, bringing a diffuse radiance to the airy chamber. A sunken area in the center of the room held a rectangular reflecting pool, its waters catching the light and casting spangles upon the high ceiling. On either side of the pool was a lounging area, and beyond it, centered between two of the arches, stood a delicately wrought writing desk—carven wood inlaid with mother-of-pearl. The room was unoccupied.

  Clauda looked up at Selene nervously. The daughter of the queen of Ilysies held her head high, her face a mask of serenity.

  A soft rustle from across the room caught Clauda’s attention and she looked up to see Queen Thela Tadamos standing beside an archway, the sky beyond her briefly, brilliantly blue as she let the curtain fall back.

  Thela Tadamos was tall like her daughter, with the same arching dark eyebrows, bold cheekbones, and prominent nose. The skin at the corners of her mouth and eyes had softened, but those gentle creases only served to deepen her vibrant beauty. She wore a floor-length tunic and a diaphanous shawl, both a brilliant white that set off her tan skin. Her dark, sleek hair was swept up in intricate braids dressed with black pearls that echoed the gleam of her gray-blue eyes. Clauda’s mouth went dry and her wits fled as those piercing eyes swept her briefly and then focused on Selene.

  The queen crossed in front of her desk and stood facing them across the reflecting pool. She raised her hands to either side. “The walls of Ilysies smile to have their daughter within them once again,” she said in a mellow contralto.

  “In their nurture do I thrive,” replied Selene, who then descended the steps to the reflecting pool, knelt, and dipped her fingers into the water. “As clear as the waters of the Ilysi River, so are my intentions this day,” she said. Uncertain, Clauda moved to kneel beside her, but a short shake of Selene’s head stopped her.

  “Then rise, and we will put minds and hearts together for the good of all,” said the queen.

  Selene stood, walked around the pool, and climbed the few steps to where her mother stood waiting. Thela broke into a smile and took her daughter in her arms. “My sweet Selene,” she murmured, “it is good to see you again.”

  Clauda watched from the opposite side of the pool, suddenly aware that, in truth, she did not belong here. This was the meeting of a mother and daughter who had not seen each other in a very long time.

  When they parted, Thela looked at Clauda and then tilted her head inquiringly at her daughter. Amusement brightened her eyes as she said, “My dear, did you not give the poor thing time to dress? Really, you must learn temperance.”

  Selene rolled her eyes and it dawned on Clauda what Thela was implying. She blushed to her toes and was rooted to the spot, too embarrassed to move. “Mother, this is Clauda of Ayor, my servant. She has survived a mind-lancet attack and is still somewhat . . . impaired.” Selene shot her a look so intense Clauda flinched. “Kneel!” she whispered out of the corner of her mouth. Clauda collapsed to the floor and touched her forehead against the cool tile. “I beg your forgiveness for her unfortunate appearance,” Selene continued, “but she is loyal and true, and it pleases me to keep her near at hand, with your leave, Majesty.”

  Clauda peeked up between her arms to see Thela gazing beatifically at her daughter. “It is a salve to my heart that you have a servant you value so highly, my dear.”

  It was clear to Clauda that Thela thought she and Selene were lovers. Clauda was mortified. A Libyrarian and an Ayorite servant—it just wasn’t done, not by self-respecting people of either group. Clearly, given Thela’s delighted reaction, things were done differently in Ilysies.

  “Rise, Clauda of Ayor,” commanded Thela. “Ilysies welcomes you, and hopes that you find here the healing you require.”

  Clauda rose. She moved hesitantly toward the pool, but Selene shook her head and Clauda walked around it instead and climbed the stairs, pleased beyond all measure that she didn’t stumble or shake. She stopped before Thela and bowed deeply in the Ayorite manner, with both legs straight and her hands clasped behind her back, the way she’d seen her parents do toward Griome so many times. “Your Majesty,” she murmured.

  Clauda followed Selene and Thela Tadamos, who settled themselves on a low couch in one of the sitting areas. After a nod from Selene, she perched on the edge of a green velvet chaise. A servant bearing a tray of food and drink entered from a side door Clauda had not noticed, so artfully was it painted to blend in with the walls.

  Clauda observed the servant as she set the tray on the low table and poured rich, dark, steaming coffee into three delicate little cups. She looked much as the other Ilysians she’d met so far—dark hair and fair skin, but of course they didn’t really look exactly alike. Clauda noted her snub nose and the faint sprinkle of freckles across her cheeks.

  “So,” said Queen Tadamos, accepting a tiny cup from the servant. “How fares the Libyrinth?”

  Selene stirred sugar into her cup with a tiny silver spoon. “Much as it did when last I wrote you, Mother.” Though the queen’s manner had softened after the formal greetings, Selene retained her rigid politeness.

  “Which was over a year ago,” Thela observed. “Really, my dear, it is fortunate I have a great nation to occupy my mind, else I might pine and waste away for want of attention.”

  Selene glanced at her lap. “I apologize. I have been busy.”

  The queen smiled, clearly enjoying baiting her daughter. She paused, watching as the servant retreated through the camouflaged door, then she sat forward with eagerness. “And what news of Griome?”

  Selene’s mouth quirked. “I’m sure you know that much better than I.”

  Thela ignored this jibe and shook her head sadly. “It was a terrible thing the Singers did, executing the entire Thesian royal family. There was a moment eight days ago when it seemed their hand might be stayed, but no. They beheaded them all in the capital square while the masses cheered.” She took a deep breath through her nose and fixed her daughter with a piercing look. “The same thing may happen here before long.”

  “I’m sure you’ve taken steps to avoid a similar fate.” Selene’s cold, uncaring tone shocked Clauda. This was her mother’s life they were talking about, not to mention the fate of an entire kingdom—the land of Selene’s birth.

  Thela tilted her head and took a sip of coffee. “Steps, yes, surely . . . and yet, what steps can one take to avoid a tidal wave? These Singers outnumber us, and they have better
weapons and the support of the Ayorite peasantry. True, we have an army of our own, and the Lian Mountains make our conquest inconvenient, but with Thesia fallen, what else is there for them to do?”

  Hope and fear seemed to strain Selene’s reserve. “You have no other recourse?”

  “What recourse? We will fight until the last of us is dead and our blood poisons the Ilysi River.”

  Silently Selene shook her head. “But it may not come to that, Mother. I . . . I offer an alternative.” Selene withdrew The Book of the Night from her robes.

  “A book? Ah, Selene, my dear . . .” Thela trailed off, an expression of fondness and disappointment on her face.

  “Not just any book, mother. Look . . .” Selene indicated the design on the cover.

  The queen of Ilysies bent toward the tome and drew in a long, slow breath. “Bountiful Mother,” she whispered. She bit her lips and her eyes were bright with tears.

  “The secrets of the Ancients can be yours for the protection of Ilysies, if only . . .”

  Her mother, half reaching for the book in Selene’s lap, looked up sharply. “If?”

  Selene nodded, and handed the tome to her mother. “Open it.”

  Her mother eagerly wrapped her hands about The Book of the Night and settled it in her lap. With one long finger she reverently traced the seven-pointed star that was engraved on the cover before opening the book and peering at the text. She looked up at Selene. “What language is this?”

  “No known language, Mother.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Who would know better than I?”

  The queen gazed at her for a long time through narrowed eyes. “What is this web you spin, my daughter?”

  “There is one who can decipher the book.”

  “One.”

  “Yes, and one only, for she need not read these words to know them. My clerk, Halcyon, is blessed. Every word ever written speaks itself to her. Thus she has been since she was born. I know it of a certainty, for she learned that Griome planned to disclose the location of this book to the Eradicants from a sealed letter that he wrote to his nephew.” Selene nodded at the book in her mother’s lap. “And before she was taken by the Eradicants, she read the opening passage of The Book of the Night to our servant, Clauda.”