The Secret of Dreadwillow Carse

by Brian Farrey

  Thank you for asking of my mother’s well-being. She has days when she sits up brightly and even sings softly to herself. Other days, she never leaves her bed. Her advisors perform more and more of her duties. But she remains committed to seeing her subjects happy and content.

  Which raises a question: I have been told that sorrow is a royal privilege. You said that the only way you were able to proceed was by sharing your sorrow. How is this possible?

  Her Royal Highness,

  Jeniah, Queen Ascendant

  P.S. I’ve never heard the story of Pirep and Tali. Is it a story of the Carse?

  Your Royal Highness,

  I promised you that I would learn the Carse’s secrets, and I won’t let you down. We don’t need to rethink our plan. I will do as I said, knowing that my father’s safe return relies on it.

  Am I in trouble? I never meant to do something that was a royal privilege. The truth, Your Highness, is that I’ve always been able to feel sadness. I know I’m not supposed to. I can’t help it. I’ve tried—so hard—to be as happy as everyone else in the Monarchy. I know that’s what the queen wants. And I know it’s what you will want when you become monarch.

  If I could, I would take an oath right now to never again be sad. But if I made that vow, I’d break it. Not because I wanted to. Sadness is not a choice for me. It feels natural. I’ve hidden it very well. I don’t know why I can’t get rid of it like everyone else.

  I will understand if you can no longer use me as your emissary. I will also understand if you have me arrested. No matter what you decide, I hope you can forgive me.

  Your humble and obedient servant,

  Aon

  Dearest Aon,

  Please know your father will be safely returned no matter what you discover in the Carse. When you put it that way, you make me feel like a scoundrel who is holding him hostage. Clearly, a mistake was made in his taking, and I will see that corrected. I only regret I have been unable to return him to you thus far. Things are a bit more complicated than I first thought. But know that I am trying to send him home to you.

  As for feeling sorrow . . . You’re right. The queen and I both want our people to be happy at all times. If anything, I worry that we have in some way failed you. I’m saddened that you know the burden of melancholy. Each day, Mother fades a little more, and now it feels like sadness is all I know.

  But this just proves that you spoke the truth the night we met. You really are the only person who could possibly help me. If being able to express sorrow is required to explore the Carse, I need the one and only person besides me in the whole of the Monarchy who can do so. More than ever, dear Aon, I’m relying on you.

  There is nothing to forgive. You remain my most trusted emissary.

  You mentioned a story to me—about Pirep and Tali—but didn’t explain why. What is the story? Is it important?

  I would write more but I’m told my tutor is looking for me. I have no desire to see him, so I’m going to hide in the bathing chambers. Goodness knows he’s never seen a bath. It’s the last place he’ll look!

  Fondest wishes,

  Jeniah

  P.S. I would prefer if you addressed me as Jeniah. We are sisters, of a sort, sharing a great secret. I like the thought of having a sister.

  Your Royal Highness,

  You are too kind to forgive me. I admit, it’s strange to share my sadness with someone. No one else knows this about me. My mother knew and she urged me to hide it. She said it would only cause problems if others knew. Imagine what she’d think if she found me talking about it with the Queen Ascendant!

  I don’t see sadness as a burden. I just see it as part of me. I only wish I knew why. It makes me different, and that is difficult. I feel broken.

  Oh, the story of Pirep and Tali. I don’t know if it’s important or not. I suspect someone might be playing a trick on me. The story is hundreds of years old. It’s about two girls who lived in Callowton, the town on the other side of the Carse from Emberfell. The two girls were wicked and often cried, feeling sad against the monarch’s wishes. One day, they went into the Carse and were never seen again. Depending on who’s telling the story, it sometimes ends with the Carse eating the girls.

  Even though it’s just a story, I’ve often wondered if there was some truth to it. Many years ago, my mother showed me our family tree. I learned that I had distant cousins whose names were Pirep and Tali. They lived about three hundred years ago. And there are no records of what happened to them. I’m starting to suspect it’s not just a tall tale. I think Pirep and Tali might live in the Carse.

  I’m sorry to hear your tutor is not helpful. I learned how to blow glass by watching my mother. Perhaps you could learn how to be queen by watching yours.

  Your humble, obedient, and grateful servant,

  Aon

  P.S. I’m not sure I can call you by your first name. Not that I don’t also feel like we’re becoming sisters. But I want to show you how much I respect and love the Monarchy. You will always be “Your Royal Highness.”

  Dearest Aon,

  You are brilliant! Yes, clearly I need to watch my mother govern. That will tell me everything I need to know about being a queen. I’ve never watched her when she consults with her advisors. I’ve never been allowed. But surely they can’t keep me out now, with so little time left. An excellent opportunity to watch her is coming up soon. Who needs Skonas? I can do this myself.

  I’m embarrassed I didn’t think of this myself. If you never learn anything useful about the Carse, I will forever be indebted to you for this. Many thanks!

  Jeniah

  P.S. Why do you feel Pirep and Tali live in the Carse?

  Your Royal Highness,

  Your mind is split in many directions, I would think. Your studies with your tutor, the queen’s health, just to begin. I think that I might overlook such a simple solution, too, if I hadn’t been able to concentrate. I’m glad I was of some small service.

  As for Pirep and Tali, I’m not sure at all that what I encountered has anything to do with the story. The Carse is a strange place, and it may all have been a trick. Or maybe a test. Yes. I can’t explain why, but every time I’ve ever entered the Carse, I felt it was testing me. This last time, more than ever.

  I am recovering swiftly and plan to return to the Carse the night after next. I will report back when I learn more.

  Your humble, obedient, grateful, and loyal servant,

  Aon

  Dearest Aon,

  I am happy to hear you are on the mend. Please do not return to the Carse until you are fully well.

  Since you first mentioned it, I haven’t been able to get the story of Pirep and Tali out of my mind. I checked in the library and found several instances of the story. But none mentions that they went into the Carse. The storybooks all simply say the girls vanished.

  I’m intrigued that you suspect these girls might be your distant relatives. If they were on your mother’s side, would she know anything about them?

  Jeniah

  P.S. I really wish you’d call me Jeniah.

  Your Royal Highness,

  I don’t know for sure that the girls who disappeared in the story are the same girls on our family tree. Maybe I will learn more when I’m in the Carse again.

  Unfortunately, I cannot ask my mother. She’s been gone for several years now.

  Your humble, obedient, grateful, loyal, and devoted servant,

  Aon

  Dearest Aon,

  I am so sorry to hear of your mother’s passing. I think you know that I understand what you’ve been through.

  Jeniah

  Your Royal Highness,

  Thank you, Your Highness, but my mother isn’t dead.

  Your humble, obedient, grateful, loyal, devoted, and dutiful servant,

  Aon

  Chapter Twelve

  WHEN THE GIGANTIC DOORS ON THE FAR SIDE OF THE THRONE ROOM swung wide and a line of finely dressed women and men walked in, a single t
hought entered Jeniah’s mind: At last!

  By custom, people from throughout the land gathered in the throne room at Judira Tower the last day of every week to petition the reigning monarch for assistance that only the royal family could give. Jeniah had decided to take Aon’s advice to heart and announced to the royal staff that she would be joining the queen to hear this week’s petitions. Watching her mother govern—that was how Jeniah would learn to be queen. For the first time, no one argued.

  Hats in hands, the week’s petitioners kept their eyes to the floor as they approached. Atop an oval dais, Queen Sula sat in a grand throne of gold and velvet, her head held high and a friendly if tight smile on her lips. In an alcove to her left, her most trusted advisors—scholars from every corner of the Monarchy—huddled together, ready to share their wisdom at the queen’s request.

  Jeniah sat to her mother’s right on a smaller chair. It had been several days since the two had been this close. The princess could hear the queen laboring for each breath. All eyes fixed on the queen. Jeniah shifted in her seat and wondered what her mother was waiting for to start the proceedings.

  A moment later, Skonas shambled into the room. Jeniah watched him strut past the petitioners as if he were their sovereign. All regarded him with a curious gaze but nodded politely in his direction. Skonas’s gaze swept past Jeniah—not even sparing her a glance—and landed on the queen. He bowed and then moved to the far corner, where he picked at his furs as if looking for mites. He clicked his tongue when he found something and flicked it away in disgust.

  With Skonas in place, the queen lifted her hand to start the petitions. One by one, the citizens of the Monarchy approached the dais.

  “The summer was kind to me, Your Majesty,” the first petitioner, a stout farmer with bushy eyebrows and a bushier beard, said. “I was gifted with the birth of many new cattle. But now I don’t have enough grain to feed them.”

  The queen listened carefully to the man’s plea. “I congratulate you on a plentiful year. You do the Monarchy credit. I grant you whatever grain you may need from the royal silos.”

  The next petitioner—a tall stick of a man with droopy shoulders—went to one knee before the throne. “Your Majesty,” he said, “I am but a humble exchequer for the village of Bellshire. I am in love with the town’s apothecary, but I worry I am not worthy of his affections. Do I dare tell him how I feel? Or should I seek a mate within my station?”

  Queen Sula did not take a moment to consider. “The mate you seek should be the one who fills your heart,” she said immediately. “Let no station in life create a barrier that dulls the joyful pleas of your deepest desires.”

  These were the petitions—the need for sage advice—that worried Jeniah the most. When the queen spoke, it was with calming assurance. Everyone knew that what she said was true. How would Jeniah advise the people who asked for her help? Especially when the man who was supposed to be teaching her was currently in the corner, comparing the hairs in his beard to the furs on his chest.

  Jeniah watched all morning as her mother carefully listened to each appeal, granted what was in her power to grant (which was nearly everything), and offered wisdom to those in need. Skonas cleared his gravelly throat when the final petitioner, a portly woman with a kind face, approached. The queen arched an eyebrow at the tutor and then gently touched her daughter’s arm. “The Queen Ascendant will hear the final petition,” the queen declared in a strong, clear voice.

  Jeniah bit the insides of her cheeks. She wanted to decline. She wanted to cry. She didn’t know what she’d say if the woman wanted advice on whether or not she should arrange a marriage between her son and the baker’s daughter. She didn’t have that sort of wisdom. As far as she knew, she didn’t have any wisdom.

  “Now that you are Queen Ascendant,” the queen reminded her softly, “your word is law. Take your time. Measure your thoughts.”

  The petitioner bowed her head. Jeniah could feel the stares of everyone in the room. They inched over her flesh like scorpions searching for prey. Please ask me for something I can grant, Jeniah begged silently. Wheat from our silos, sugar from our larder. Anything simple. On the outside, she did as she’d watched her mother do since the first petitioner. She sat up straight, lifted her chin as if she’d done this a hundred times before, and nodded for the woman to begin.

  “My family farms the orchards to the south of the river, Your Majesty—”

  “No!”

  Jeniah jumped at the sharp voice. All eyes turned to Skonas, who took a single step forward. “The proper address,” he said icily, “is ‘Your Highness.’ Princess Jeniah cannot be addressed as ‘Your Majesty’ until she is truly a queen.”

  The farmer was startled by the sharp rebuke. Jeniah felt embarrassed for her. What Skonas had said was true, but the woman had made a simple mistake, surely not worthy of his hard tone. She glanced to see if her mother would scold the tutor. But the queen remained silent.

  Jeniah turned back to the farmer and smiled. “Please continue,” she said, and then added very pointedly, “There will be no more interruptions.” The farmer composed herself and started again.

  “As you know, Your Highness,” the woman said, “every spring, we welcome the arrival of the ravens that nest in our orchards. They eat the insects and other vermin that would otherwise destroy the orchards’ bountiful harvest of fruit. But this year, a small family of rubywings has taken to nesting in the orchards as well. Their bright color attracts predators that swoop in and eat the ravens. Because all in the Monarchy is yours, Queen Ascendant, we respectfully ask permission to protect the ravens.”

  Jeniah pretended to be considering very carefully. Really, she was trying not to throw up. She quietly drew air in between her teeth. She wanted to be fair. She glanced over to the queen’s advisors, who stood at the ready. The queen had not once consulted them throughout the morning of requests. But surely she, the Queen Ascendant, could be allowed to ask others their advice, when she was so new at this.

  “Reeve Ellsworth,” the princess said, “what do you know of the rubywings?”

  An elderly man with a balding pate stepped forward from the alcove. Each of the reeves was charged with having a thorough understanding of some aspect of the Monarchy. As Reeve of Nature, Ellsworth had knowledge second to none of all the plants and animals throughout the land.

  “They are clever birds,” the reeve said. “Once nested, they are not quick to move.”

  “Do you see a solution?”

  The man nodded. “There are several ways to tend to the rubywings, Your Highness. Some are simple; others are difficult. Some are fast; some will take time.”

  “Such as?” Jeniah asked.

  “Rubywings usually nest in Susurrus Valley,” the reeve said. “Care could be taken to relocate this brood so they can be among their own kind. The valley’s red-leafed trees will provide them shelter from predators.”

  “Or perhaps the rubywings could be sold,” said Reeve Wane, the bright-faced woman who served as Reeve of Culture. “The milliners who live in the north keep rubywings as pets—they spoil them with fat worms and artesian water—and sometimes use their feathers in hat making.”

  Jeniah listened and nodded. “These are fair solutions,” she said. Then she turned to the petitioner. “Do you agree?”

  The woman seemed stunned that she was being consulted. “All I ask, Your Highness, is that the solution be expedient and executed with as little toil as possible so as not to disrupt the harvesting. Every day the rubywings live in the trees, ravens are dying and the harvest is in danger.”

  Jeniah watched her mother from the corner of her eye, searching for any sort of guidance. But the queen remained expressionless. Jeniah was on her own. Clearly, much was at stake. The plentiful ravens were dying. The trees’ fruit would be ruined without the ravens to eat the insects that spoiled the harvest. Although it would inconvenience the rubywings to relocate them, it was clearly for the greater good.

  The princes
s said to the farmer, “You may proceed as you see fit, doing whatever is swiftest and simplest to protect the ravens from being eaten.”

  The farmer thanked Jeniah. The queen’s herald blew a horn, and the petitioners left.

  “Let it be known,” the queen whispered to her steward, “that this was the last audience I will grant. No more petitions will be heard until Jeniah is queen.”

  When the throne room had emptied, Jeniah kissed her mother good night and left for her own bedchambers.

  “Tonight at sundown,” Skonas said, appearing out of nowhere and falling into step at the princess’s side, “I want you to go to Traithis Tower.” Traithis was the second tallest spire after Lithe. It was used as a watchtower. Every window contained a telescope from which all corners of the Monarchy could be viewed. “Keep your eye on the orchards. You will see the people acting on the Queen Ascendant’s will.”

  Something warm tickled Jeniah’s stomach. She hadn’t thought of that. She had made a royal declaration, and people were going to act on it. Your word is law, her mother had said. This would be the way of things from now on.

  She could make a difference.

  “And what did you think of your third lesson?” Skonas asked Jeniah.

  Third lesson? Skonas hadn’t said a word throughout the audience, except to correct the farmer. It hadn’t even been his idea for her to observe the petitions. But when she thought about it, she had learned it was important to consider the needs of the multitudes over the needs of a handful. That would no doubt guide her in future petitions.

  “I think,” Jeniah said smoothly, “I should like more lessons like that.”

  Skonas chuckled. “Perhaps someday someone will do that for you. But remember, I promised you just three lessons. You will set the fourth and final lesson yourself. I will stay only until you have finished.”

  The tutor nodded respectfully; then he turned and made for the tower’s exit.