One afternoon I knelt at the foot of a winter cherry tree, its pale blue blossoms just starting to open, when a sharp knock on the door shattered the silence and sent the birds flitting to the highest branches. Annoyed, I glared at the door, then turned away again, determined to ignore it. I had no desire to see anyone, and I knew if it were the prince he’d simply vault over the wall whether or not I invited him in. But the knock came again, louder this time, and accompanied by a voice.
“The king commands you to come back to the castle.”
I recognized the speaker. It was Starten, chief guardsman to that oaf Turius. For my life I could not understand the prince’s friendship with Turius. I knew they had fought battles together since boyhood, and Turius was renowned for his fierce loyalty to my husband. From the little I’d seen of him I’d found him far heavier in fierceness than loyalty. It was no surprise that his guardsman should display similar characteristics.
Moving deliberately slowly, I disposed of the uprooted weeds and made my way to the door. When I opened it I saw not just Starten, but a handful of other guards as well. I looked at them, bewildered. “Why are you here, and not the king’s men?” I asked.
“My lord volunteered us,” Starten said, and in that instant I knew something terrible must be at hand. Turius hated me; if he had sent his men to collect me it could be for no other reason than the prince was angry with something I had done, and Turius wanted a hand in my discipline as well. My skin clammed up with fear and my eyes fell on the sword hanging from Starten’s belt. So great was my terror that I didn’t even protest when Starten took me by the arm and started toward the castle. The guards closed in around me, as though I were a dangerous murderer being led to her execution. Through the gaps between the men I could see merchants and farmers and minor nobles on the palace steps, waiting for their audience with the king. For a wild moment I wondered why they looked so puzzled—I was their queen, they knew my face well—then I remembered how I was dressed. My skirt was weighed down with dirt around the hem and lashings of mud marred my apron. My hands were nearly black with earth and when I caught a glimpse of myself in a merchant’s glass I saw a streak of dirt on my cheek from where I’d absently brushed my hair out of my eyes. Horrified, I looked up at Starten.
“I can’t go into the presence chamber looking like this,” I said. “Please, let me wash first.”
He kept his eyes straight ahead. “The king wants to see you immediately, my lord says. You’re to come to the council at once.”
I trembled as the castle doors opened before us. More nobles and lords moved aside to let us pass; I lowered my face, ashamed they should see me in such a state, and a few cherry blossom petals fell from my hair onto the carpet. Finally we reached the throne room. The first guard opened the great bronze door behind the dais, frowning slightly at me as we entered the presence chamber. Starten dropped my arm; he and his men stood slightly behind me, leaving me to face the council on my own.
They sat at a long table, the prince at the head, with a stack of rolled parchment before him. I was alarmed to see not only the great lords of Myrilla seated at the table, but men dressed in clothes from neighboring kingdoms as well. The bull of Warkenland trotted across a bald man’s chest, stamped into his leather armor. A cruel-faced man with a dark, silky beard sat a few seats away from the prince, the banner of Sophria draped over the back of his chair. I could just make out the wing of a silver owl embroidered on the heavy blue fabric, the symbol of Sophria’s goddess. Even the Sea’s Arm had sent an envoy, a wizened man with thinning white hair and gnarled hands folded over his ancient bronze armor. When the door closed they all turned silently to look at us. I breathed deeply, knowing I should at least appear strong and dignified, as a queen should, but my hands still shook violently, destroying my pathetic façade of poise. I brushed anxiously at my apron and sent crumbs of dirt scattering across the polished stone floor.
The prince stood; any fool could see he was less than pleased. I drew a deep breath, ready to defend myself, plead for my life, assuage his anger or say whatever it took to calm his wrath. But when he narrowed his eyes they were not aimed at me.
“What’s all this?” he said, rounding on Turius. “You volunteered your men to escort my wife, your queen, to the council. Not drag her in like a criminal.”
Turius inclined his head, though he hardly looked remorseful. “I apologize, Lord King. Sometimes my men misinterpret my tone when I’m delivering important instructions. I assure you they meant no disrespect. I simply tried to convey the urgency of the message.”
The prince was not amused. He turned back to the guardsmen. “And was it in your urgency that you did not permit the queen to so much as wash her hands before bringing her? I thought not. Bring a basin of hot water and a cloth. Now.” No less than three guardsmen jumped to perform the task. When they were gone the prince sighed. “Alyce, if you would be more comfortable in fresh clothes, we will wait for you.”
I shook my head, more confused than ever. “I’d much rather find out what’s happening,” I whispered. “Why have you sent for me?”
“Come rest your feet and I’ll tell you.” He took my filthy hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm. His sleeve felt especially rich and soft beneath my skin, which was coated in dry, cracked dirt. The prince led me to the table and seated me to his right. I felt the others looking at me, some with curiosity, others with derision, all no doubt wondering why I should be present at the king’s council, much less seated in the place of highest honor. Once more I tried to look like a strong queen, one who belonged in the world of men and war, but I couldn’t meet any of their eyes for more than a second. Thankfully the guardsmen returned with a stone basin full of water, so hot that steam lifted and curled from the surface, and a soft cloth. I took the cloth eagerly and dipped it in the water, grateful to have something to do with my hands. Some of the lords wrinkled their noses, appalled that a queen would wash in public. I paid no attention; my uncle was known to wash his feet at the table before royal banquets. As long as I kept my shoes on I saw no shame in it.
I wiped the dirt carefully from my fingers as the prince began. “My lords,” he said, “I thank you for attending this council on such short notice. Some of you rode all night to be present on behalf of your kings, and for that I am very grateful. I hope you will accept two nights’ lodging here at the castle to recuperate before returning home. Tonight we will hold a banquet in your honor, and it is my hopes you will all join.” He turned his smile on me. “And I pray my beloved queen will attend, though considering how little notice she received before this council, she may choose to abstain. A beastly king such as myself doesn’t deserve the blessing of her company.”
A few nobles laughed, not unkindly. At the prince’s left hand Turius rolled his eyes and muttered something to his other neighbor. I ignored him; my hands and face clean, I draped the cloth over the lip of the bowl and a servant instantly whisked it away. I knew I should make some jest or perform a charming act to show the prince my forgiveness, but I still wasn’t sure why I had been summoned to the council. Coy acts had never come naturally to me anyway, only frankness. And it was with perfect frankness that I sat quite still in my chair, waiting to hear what else the prince had to say.
But it was the old man from the Sea’s Arm that called out next. “Look at your queen, Lord King. She has flowers blooming in her hair and breath sweeter than any fruit. Persephone, Flora, Kore, call her what you like. She walks among us again. Your queen is the goddess of spring, I doubt it not.”
The table grew quiet. I flushed and lowered my eyes, desperate for the talk to return to business. The prince must have heard my inward plea, because he reached for a roll of parchment and opened it on the table.
“Perhaps you are right, sir,” said the prince. “Though I daresay she rivals Sophria’s goddess of wisdom for her title. It was the queen’s wise counsel that inspired me to invite each of you here today.”
The Sophrian envoy was
not impressed. I too would not have appreciated the comparison of an inexperienced queen with dirty hands to my principle deity. Kore certainly would not tolerate such nonsense. The prince continued, “Each of you went to considerable lengths to attend today’s council, so I will not waste your precious time. Some of you are under the impression that this is a council of war. I am pleased to tell you it is not. It is a council of trade.”
Bemused looks shot around the table. “Trade?” scoffed the Warkenlander. “Are you mad?”
“Not at the moment, Lord Thaine,” said the prince, with a smile. “I’ve heard Warkenland beef is the finest in the world, and I’d love to taste it with a loaf made from Myrilla’s best grain and a cup of salt wine from the Sea’s Arm. I have trade agreements written here.” He indicated the pile of parchment that I had wrongly assumed contained maps. “Please, take them to your kings and have them review the terms. If anyone feels unfairly compensated they are free to suggest alternatives.”
The lords each examined their parchment. I held my breath, praying to the gods that at least one lord wouldn’t find my husband’s proposal utter folly. The rustling of parchment was muffled by the rug-covered walls. I studied their faces as they read. Some looked perplexed, some amused, still others gave no hint of their thoughts. Turius looked equally irritated and entertained, as though he wasn’t sure the prince was serious with his plan. Finally Lord Thaine cleared his throat.
“I cannot speak for my king, sir,” he said slowly. “But I do believe he will be interested to discuss the prospect. He has often said he regrets that the roads closed for trade between our land and Myrilla.”
The Sophrian was not so keen. “The trade routes were abolished for a reason,” he said, his dark beard glinting in the afternoon light. “What if the Sea’s Arm loses its vineyards to fire, or their fisheries dry up? What if the mines in Ironfort yield no ore? What if your gods withhold rain and your fields produce nothing but brush? The others will pay out more in goods than they’ll receive. There’s no way to guarantee equal provision.”
“You are correct, Lord Flynt,” said the prince. “There can be no such guarantees. All harvests fail at one point or another, whether it’s in cattle or grain or precious stones. That’s one of the reasons I called this council. So that we may see each other face to face and hopefully establish the first roots of trust. If I simply wanted to trade I would have dispatched a rider with the agreement to request an audience with your king. I am not suggesting we reach an immediate conclusion; I am not as foolish as that. My hope is that over the coming months, whoever is willing to participate may reach a common goal for our kingdoms to exist cooperatively, each applying its own strengths to the common good.”
“Well said, King Admetus,” said the elderly man.
Others nodded in agreement. I clutched my hands together under the table, not daring to believe they might come to a peaceful solution. Perhaps Myrilla would flounder no longer. If Kore would only grant a plentiful harvest, the dark days of my uncle’s reign would finally reach a blissful end.
“This is only a proposal,” said the prince. “I thank you for your indulgence, my lords. I would consider it a great personal honor for you to let your kings look over the agreement. We will come together again for further discussion as necessary. For the moment, let us look forward to dining tonight as friends. The queen and I bid you a good afternoon.”
He stood, dismissing the council. Chairs scraped stone as the lords and nobles rose to their feet and rolled up their parchment. Each greeted me and kissed my hand; to their credit not one flinched at the sight of my still dirty fingernails. Some names sounded familiar, from the wraith days of my childhood when Myrilla hosted dignitaries from our neighbors. The old man from the Sea’s Arm gripped my hand with surprising strength, though his other rested on an elaborately carved cane for support.
“My name is Lord Daltena, my queen. First Man to King Noleman of the Sea’s Arm,” he said. “The last time I saw you, you were a babe in your mother’s arms. I remember when your family visited the Sea’s Arm just after your first year. The king presented you with a diamond tiara and you cried at the sight of it. You wept until one of the servants brought you a little cotton doll to play with. For the entire visit, you refused to put it down, even when you slept.” He laughed. “Your grandmother was as dear to me as a sister. She would dance with joy to see you as a queen today.”
I bowed my head in thanks. “Your faith in my abilities is the picture of generosity, Lord Daltena. I am ever grateful for your confidence.”
“It is yours for the taking. Myrilla will bloom under your watch.” He turned to the prince. “You are a blessed man, King Admetus. I would keep an eye on my queen if I were you. The gods may decide they want her for their own.”
The prince’s eyes twinkled. “Wise words, my lord.”
Lord Daltena departed, revealing a thunder-faced Turius. “I thought you were summoning a council of war, not inane talk of cheap peace. Please tell me this was a joke.”
“It is certainly not a joke,” said the prince, his voice equally hard. “And I expect you to have a word with your men about they way they treated the queen.”
“Of course,” said Turius, ever the gracious courtier, even when angry. He turned to me and bowed. “If my men harmed you in any way, Queen Alcestis, say the word and each will have their right hands cut off and thrown to the dogs while you watch.”
I tried not to roll my eyes. “There’s no need for such drastic measures, sir. Though I’ll ask you to refrain from volunteering your men to deliver messages to me in the future.”
“Of course,” he said again. He turned back to the prince. “Admetus, I still don’t understand this plan of yours. It’s madness to reopen the roads.”
“We’ll discuss it tomorrow. Go to your wife and rest.”
“But—”
“Tomorrow, Turius.”
Sighing with exasperation, Turius stalked away, leaving me to depart the presence chamber with the prince. Servants appeared from the hidden corridors as soon as we shut the door behind us, polishing the throne and sweeping my mud from the floor. The throne room was bright with deep orange light pouring through the narrow windows. Another autumn day coming to a close.
“I apologize again,” said the prince. “Turius is fond of you, truly—”
“He isn’t,” I cut in. “If he is, his fondness has a strict resemblance to anger. He hates me for breaking up your brotherhood.”
The prince smiled. “If he’s angry with anyone, it’s me, Alyce. Turius has always prided himself in being involved in my personal business. The day you and I were betrothed he was tired and delirious from battle. The events moved much too quickly for his liking. He’s like family to me; as odd as it may sound, we’ve always sought the other’s opinion for important matters, especially marriage. I chose you as my queen without any of his help or advice, and he still resents me for it.”
“So he’s a spoiled child. That’s not much of an improvement on hatred.” A servant bowed to us as he passed, lighting the torches in the dimming corridors. “I should be the one apologizing,” I admitted. “You meant to present a queen to the council, and what you got was a dirty kitchen girl with mud on her face.”
He laughed; the sound rang off the stone walls. “No, I got something even better than a queen. Didn’t you hear Lord Daltena? You’re the goddess of spring.”
I allowed myself a small smile when I remembered the compliment from the Sea’s Arm, though his later words troubled me even in memory. The gods may decide they want her for their own. I did not know what that meant, and I did not wish to find out. “So you wouldn’t mind if I dressed this way every day?” I said aloud. “I must say it’s a good deal more comfortable than court clothes.”
“Certainly,” he said. “You give new meaning to the word beauty.” His eyes studied me with warmth, and I felt my cheeks redden beneath his gaze. Itomians are famous for their courtly speech, and even though it’s shal
low and frivolous and means nothing, it’s still flattering if you aren’t accustomed to it. When we reached the door to our chambers, he paused. “Do you think it will work?” he asked me, his voice heavy with doubt. “Tell me truly, Alyce, do you think the other kings will cooperate?”
I drew a deep breath. “I don’t know,” I confessed. “I certainly hope they will, but there’s no way of knowing until the papers are signed.” When he still looked troubled I stepped closer to him. “Either way, Myrilla will know you tried to make peace. You looked to protect the best interest of your people, and they will remember that. If the time comes to fight again, they’ll flock to your side more readily, knowing you wished to spare them.” I hesitated. “If I may ask, what made you change your mind about the invasion? You seemed so intent on it when we spoke in the garden.”
“When I stormed off, unwilling to listen to reason, you mean,” he said, rubbing his brow. “I am sorry for that, Alyce. I was a perfect beast to you. I went to the mountain, to see my herdsman as you suggested. Well, after a while I did. First I wandered through the stables, stalling for time. I was afraid he would tell me I was acting the fool, as you did. By the time I left for the mountain it was nearly dark, so the climb was more difficult than I’ve ever remembered. He was waiting when I arrived, and we argued about it for ages. To be frank, he never really argues, though he certainly knows how to drive his point home. When I got back to the palace it was well into the night but I began writing up the plans immediately; I knew I’d lose my nerve if I didn’t act quickly. While you were ill I stayed in our chamber working on them. The first envoys began arriving a few days ago; Lord Flynt rode up less than an hour before the council opened. You know the rest of the story.” A yawn escaped his mouth. “Begging your pardon, it seems my fatigue is finally catching up with me.”
I rubbed my arms, feeling small and ashamed as I recalled the unkind thoughts I’d entertained about him over the previous days, without the faintest clue of the work he’d produced in such a short time. “Not at all,” I said quietly. “If anyone in this castle has earned his rest, it’s you. I’m honored that you thought to invite me to the council this afternoon. It was a privilege I will treasure always.”
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