Our Lady of the Snow

by Louise Cooper

  Marine was silent. As Beck spoke of reliance her gaze had briefly slid away, as though she was uneasy or unsure of herself. The lapse lasted only a moment before her normal composure returned, but it told Marine more than any words. There was an ulterior motive behind this, and it had nothing to do with Nanta. Marine guessed that a new and possibly dangerous political game was in the wind, in which Beck was one of the principal players, and Beck needed an ally whose loyalty could not be bought or corrupted. Such people, Marine imagined, were few and far between in the intrigue-ridden circles of the court. So Beck had chosen her not for her skills but for her integrity.

  It was a compliment, but Marine felt uneasy. She disliked intrigue and politics and had no desire to be embroiled in either. All she truly wanted, as Beck knew, was to return to her sanctum and take up the reins of her familiar, peaceable routine again. But three factors stood against her. Firstly—and this in itself would have been enough—one simply did not refuse a proposal like this; not unless one wanted to find oneself suddenly and inexplicably transferred to some remote community in the bleakest mountain regions, to spend the rest of one’s days teaching surly peasant children their letters. For all her austerity, Marine had no desire to follow that path. Secondly, there was Nanta to consider. Her station had changed but blood was still blood, and Nanta needed friends now as never before. Marine liked to think that she was Nanta’s friend, and that, even if this appointment was purely pragmatic, Nanta might well be glad of it. And the third reason…

  The third reason was the hardest of all to face, but she forced herself to face it. How could she return to her community of women, and continue to lead and instruct and inspire them in the name of the Lady, if the Lady was no longer there? It would be a hollow farce, a mockery. An obscenity. She would be unable to maintain the lie, and it would break her.

  Beck showed no sign of impatience as she waited for Marine to speak. She had an accurate idea of what was going through the other woman’s mind, and knew it would not be long before Marine ran out of options and made the only viable choice. Her own short but significant conversation with Father Urss after the episode in the nuptial bedchamber last night had focused her mind on plans which would soon require positive action, and the sooner Marine was established in her new role, the better. Marine would not be told the truth, of course. But her compliance—even if she were never to know precisely what it was she had complied with—would make Mother Beck’s work a great deal simpler.

  Marine’s capitulation came a few minutes later. She was horribly aware of the length of her silence and was growing increasingly nervous as a result. Finally, she couldn’t hold out any longer. With a tight, unhappy feeling that did nothing to help her queasy stomach, she said quietly, “I accept, of course, Grand Mother. And I…thank you.”

  I very much doubt that you do, Beck thought, but didn’t voice it. Aloud, she said, “Then the matter’s settled. I’ll have the necessary documents prepared for your assignment to the imperial household—and it will be as well, I think, to elevate you to the level of Mother, to give you sufficient authority.”

  Marine blanched. “If Exalted Father Urss thinks it fitting—”

  “Oh, I’m sure he will.” Beck knew too many of Urss’ political secrets to have any doubt on that score. “So; that’s all we need discuss for now, I believe.” She smiled. “Congratulations, Marine. I’m sure you’ll be a worthy addition to our numbers.”

  “Th…thank you, Grand Mother…” Marine hesitated. “What should I do now…?”

  “From the look of you, I’d suggest getting a few hours” sleep,” Beck told her. “Your time is your own for the present; when you’re needed I’ll waste no time in telling you. Oh, and you can continue to use the suite you’ve been occupying until new quarters are arranged. That might take a day or two.” She reached for her pen, then, seeing that Marine was still hovering, added, “Is there something else?”

  “I only wondered, Grand Mother… if…that is…How is Nanta—I mean, the Princess Imperial—this morning?”

  Beck looked faintly surprised. “Still a virgin, but beyond that I really have no idea, Marine. She has been left in privacy, for which she is probably grateful.”

  “Might I call on her?”

  “Of course. That is, after all, what you’re here for. Just don’t forget to address her as Your Highness from now on, yes?”

  “Yes, Grand Mother. Of course.” Marine backed towards the door. “Thank you. Good day…”

  “Yes, yes; good day, Marine.” Beck had already returned to her letters.

  ****

  Marine felt exposed and insecure as she made her way through the corridors of the palace’s imperial wing. She had been stopped three times by haughty and, in one case, downright rude servants demanding to know what business she thought she had in this most private of areas, and only by claiming her contingent new rank of Mother had she cowed them into letting her pass.

  She wished she hadn’t left it so long before visiting Nanta. The day was all but over; meaning only to snatch a brief rest, she had slept through half the afternoon, and now all the nobles and dignitaries who had lain abed after the banquet were up and about again. For all that they took little notice of her, Marine found it hard not to scuttle away out of sight whenever one passed her by. It was a foolish instinct that she would have to learn to overcome, but the learning would take time.

  Still, she managed to keep up an appearance of confidence as she approached the Prince and Princess Imperial’s apartments. The great ornate doors were daunting, but at least there were no guards. In fact there was no one in sight at all, which Marine found surprising.

  She hesitated outside the doors, not sure of the proper form and trying to decide whether to knock or to wait until someone came along and could announce her. As she dithered, she had a sudden and distinct feeling that she was being watched. A chill sensation at the nape of her neck, a prickling… Drawing a quick breath, Marine looked over her shoulder.

  She didn’t see it clearly; it was gone before her brain had time to register what her eyes were absorbing. But she knew instantly what it was. A frost sprite. Phantom, mirage, call it what you would; but it was unmistakable. It had been many, many years since Marine had encountered one, and she felt a rush of heat and cold as the shock belatedly hit her. The Lady’s servants, her mind said incredulously. But how can this be possible?

  She was staring, mesmerized, at the space where the sprite had momentarily been when someone said, “Pardon me, madam, but can I help you?”

  Marine jumped visibly and turned to see a pleasant-faced, elderly woman standing at her elbow. She realized that her hands were clutching and crumpling the skirt of her gown; hastily she forced them to relax and found her voice.

  “Ah…yes, yes; I trust so. My name is Marine. I’m here to enquire after the Princess Imperial.”

  The woman’s face broke into an understanding smile. “Of course, Mother; forgive me for not recognizing you at once. I am Dorca, personal servant to Prince Osiv. Will you be so kind as to come with me?”

  Wondering how the woman could possibly know about her advancement when she had only just learned of it herself, Marine allowed Dorca to open the doors and curtsey her through. Dorca followed her, closed the doors again firmly, and smiled. “If you’ll please to wait, Mother, I’ll tell Her Highness that you’re here.”

  She went through to an inner chamber, leaving Marine to gather her first impression of Nanta’s new quarters. This room was obviously intended as an outer office, the public face of the establishment. It was full of heavy, dark and, in Marine’s opinion, extremely ugly furniture: cabinets laden with old and valuable porcelain, carved screens depicting historical events, shelves housing enough glowingly polished silver and bronze and pewter to buy half a city. The rugs and curtains, of which there were many, were patterned in the imperial gold and grey, which looked somber in this oppressive setting. The curtains hung motionless, lifeless. The overall atmosphere,
Marine decided, was very depressing.

  There were sounds in the distance, but they were muffled by walls and the curtains and hard to interpret. Someone laughing; peculiar laughter, with a hiccup in it, then the murmur of women. Looking about her and trying to judge the direction of the noises, Marine noticed what looked like a velvet surcoat discarded on the floor, half hidden behind one of the formidable cabinets. Instinctively offended by untidiness, she moved to pick it up and was folding it neatly when the inner door opened again and Nanta appeared.

  “Sister Marine…” Her voice was tight and stilted, then quickly she added, “Your pardon—Dorca tells me you are Mother Marine now.”

  Nanta looked more like a doll than ever, dressed as she was in a stiff brocade gown that covered her from throat to feet and with her hair all but hidden under a velvet gable hood. Her face was pallid, her eyes tired and her expression distracted and a little vague.

  Remembering Mother Beck’s admonitions, Marine dropped a deep curtsey, and Nanta’s expression changed.

  “Please don’t do that!” Her cheeks flushed hectically. “Everyone does. Everyone. It disconcerts me. I can’t get used to it.”

  Marine was chagrined. “I’m sorry, Your Highness.” She saw Nanta flinch at the use of the title; but what could she do? “I didn’t wish to upset you. I merely called to pay my respects.”

  “Oh.” Nanta looked at the floor. “I see. Yes. Thank you.” There was an awkward pause, then she glanced uncertainly at Dorca and seemed to have to pluck up courage to speak. “Will you leave us, please?”

  “Your Highness.” Dorca bobbed, made to go, then paused. “It will be time for His Highness” meal in half an hour, madam. “

  “Yes,” said Nanta defensively.

  “Shall I send your dresser to you in a while, madam?”

  “Yes.”

  Dorca might have had a third comment to make, but something in Nanta’s tone forestalled it. She bobbed again and hurried out, and with what seemed a great effort Nanta forced herself to relax a little.

  “Come through to my own rooms,” she said. “Please… they are more private.”

  Few people were ever privileged to enter these personal chambers, and Marine felt uncomfortable as she followed Nanta through a second inner door and along a short hallway. The suite was all that might have been expected: lavishly opulent, luxuriously appointed, and unequivocally oppressive. The drawing room overlooked a small courtyard, a floor below, with a central ornamental pool. In summer, filled with flowers, it would doubtless be a pretty if artificial oasis. Now, layered in snow and bare of any greenery, it was merely bleak. And there were bars at the window.

  Nanta saw Marine looking at the bars and said, “It’s because of Osiv. He doesn’t understand the danger; he might try to climb…” Her voice tailed off as she belatedly realized that she might have revealed too much, and Marine looked away from her face.

  “I know about Prince Osiv.”

  “Oh.” Marine could feel Nanta’s gaze on her like the touch of hot iron. “Did you know before the wedding?”

  Shame made Marine’s cheeks prickle. “Yes,” she admitted. “But I was not permitted to tell you.” A hesitation, then: “I’m sorry, Your Highness.”

  “Don’t.” Nanta said it quickly, sharply. Marine looked up, and for a moment their gazes locked. “Don’t call me Your Highness. Please. And don’t feel sorry. What else could you have done? If you had been allowed to speak freely, I … think you would have told me the truth.”

  “Yes,” said Marine very quietly. “I would.”

  “Then there’s no cause for blame, is there?” Nanta walked slowly to the window and looked out. “He’s very sweet. Osiv, I mean. Like a child. He cries a lot, but I suppose that’s only to be expected. I haven’t had much experience of children, you see…”

  Marine did not speak. She could think of nothing to say.

  “I think he has taken to me,” Nanta went on after a few seconds. “When we had our noon meal, we invented a game. There was a mould of quails in aspic and we scooped out doors and windows in the aspic to make a palace, then Osiv decorated it with fruit comfits…” Her voice caught suddenly in an odd, half-choking sound. “He likes me to play with his toys. He has a great many toys.”

  Helplessly, Marine said, “But you are not—”.

  She was interrupted. “I am well looked after. The servants are very attentive and I have every comfort I could possibly need. What else is there to say?”

  What, indeed? But Nanta’s voice had a harsh edge to it; a tone Marine had never thought to hear from her. She had grown up overnight, and it had been a painful lesson.

  Marine’s silk skirt rustled as she smoothed it down and tried to compose herself. She had something else to say, but she was less sure, now, of how it would be received.

  “I came, Your Hi—” She stopped, cleared her throat. “As well as to ask after you, I came to bring you some news.”

  Nanta turned her head. “What news?”

  “That I shan’t be returning to my own sanctum. I am to stay on in the Metropolis.”

  “Oh.” For a moment Nanta’s rigorous self-control slipped a little, and something resembling hope showed in her face. Her tongue appeared, touching her lips uneasily. “You’re to teach at the Academy?”

  “No. I’m to be at court, as Grand Mother Beck’s subordinate. And, if you permit it, as your companion.”

  Nanta sucked in a deep breath and shut her eyes. “Oh, Lady,” she whispered. “You have answered my prayer!”

  The words went through Marine like a knife, and almost undid her resolve. She teetered on the brink of an overwhelming temptation to tell Nanta the dreadful secret that had festered in her since the wedding eve. She wanted to share the knowledge, unburden herself, talk. She wanted it so much that it was a physical pain.

  The moment passed, as such moments had done before. Training and discipline could not be cast away, and the pain was replaced by another: the cold ache of failure and a sense of her own cowardice. Marine said nothing. She only bowed her head, hiding her expression, and waited while Nanta collected herself. She heard the girl walk towards her; the brocade dress made an abrasive sound on the carpet. Then, to her surprise and consternation, Nanta reached out and laid a small hand over hers. She was gloved—she must, of course, be gloved—but the artless gesture spoke volumes.

  “I’m glad you’re staying, Marine. I would like to think I have a friend here.”

  “I hope I shall always be that. Though our relationship must of necessity be at a distance.”

  “No,” Nanta said, “it must not. I don’t wish it to be. We’re cousins, whatever the supposed difference in our stations. I wish to be able to call you Marine, not Mother. And to you I want to be Nanta, not Highness.”

  Marine was shocked. “That would not do! If Exalted Father Urss were to hear—”

  “Rot Father Urss!” Nanta almost spat the malediction, startling Marine into backing off a pace. Nanta’s face, she saw, was ugly with some unnamable emotion; then abruptly she put a hand up to her eyes and the savagery died down.

  “Forgive me.” The tight self-control was back once more. “A lapse… I meant only to say that Father Urss is not my keeper, and he doesn’t need to be privy to everything I do.” The fury threatened momentarily to surge again; she quelled it. “I want you to call me by my own name. It is still my name.” Her fingers, hovering over her eyebrows, clenched briefly, then her hand fell to her side and she worked her facial expression into something softer. “Osiv calls me Nanti. He actually says “Nandi”, but he tries. In the Academy, we were reprimanded for using the diminutive.”

  “You are not in the Academy now,” Marine said gently.

  “No. No, I’m not, am I? And Prince Kodor calls me ‘sister’, while I call him ‘brother’. Marine, do you think that my mother and father will have to call me ‘Your Highness’ now?”

  “I truly don’t know,” said Marine.

  “Oh. I very muc
h want to see them. I asked, but I was told there might be some delay. I don’t understand why.”

  So there was another small detail that had been kept from her. Marine wondered how the palace servants could bear to live with their consciences; every move they made seemed based on dishonesty. Well, if others would not tell Nanta the truth, she must.

  “I’m sorry, my dear: she said. “But your parents have left the Metropolis.”

  Nanta’s eyes widened. “Left?”

  “Yes. Early this afternoon. I didn’t know of it; I discovered the fact quite by chance, after they had gone.” And too late to speak privately to Karetta. They took great care to ensure that.

  Nanta was stricken. “But I have had no time with them! We hardly exchanged a word—and there’s so much I want to tell my mother, so much I need to talk to her about!”

  “Perhaps: Marine suggested delicately, “it’s as well you did not. For their sakes.”

  Nanta looked piercingly at her as she realized what was being implied. Her parents did not know about Osiv, and it was imperative that they should not find out, lest their tongues should prove unreliable. The inner court coterie could be trusted; Nanta, now, could be trusted; but the EsDorikyes were a wild card, unpredictable.

  “The most important thing of all,” Marine continued, “is that the people of Vyskir should not discover the truth about their Prince Imperial. If they did, it could threaten the stability of the kingdom.”

  It was so obvious, yet Nanta had not once thought to look at it in that way. She was aghast at her own naivety, and she felt an utter fool. “I didn’t consider…” she said indistinctly. “It didn’t even occur to me.” A frown creased her face. “Osiv can’t rule, can he? When the Imperator dies. It won’t be possible.”

  “No, it won’t. Prince Kodor will become Regent in his place.” Marine paused. “And you will be Imperatrix in name only.”

  Nanta nodded. “It’s little but a name anyway, isn’t it?” She gave a short, sharp laugh. “I’m glad, Marine, do you know that? Glad that I won’t have to face what it really means to be Imperatrix. It must be very, very frightening.”