I need to talk with you. A murmur on the wind, a sigh of breath. If I hadn’t known the voice, I would have thought I had drifted into another dream. Rosa spoke again. Tell Leovane.
“Tell him what?” I asked aloud, and opened my eyes. My bed curtains stirred in the draft from the window. No answer. I sighed, got out of bed. My rooms were quiet, no sign of Nurse or any maids. Life was always a little strange after the Festival.
* * *
I knocked at my father’s study door. “Come in,” he said.
He stood at his window. “When I was a boy, I dreamt I could gallop to the coast and there would be a boat waiting. Just for me.” He turned to look at me. “Do you know, I’ve never seen the sea.”
“You can see it now,” I said. A thin blue line, darker against the light blue sky.
“Not up close.”
“Why not?”
“I never had the time.” He sighed. “And now I never will.”
“What do you mean?” But I knew. After all, I’d heard the news of the ships. He must have realized that I’d understood, for he didn’t bother to explain. “Rosa wants us.”
“I know,” he said glumly.
“Come on, then.”
Daddy hesitated, looking at the stairs as though there was a dragon at the bottom.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’ve never visited her before. Fear, I guess.”
“You don’t need to be afraid,” I said, and half-smiled at the role change; here was I, reassuring my father.
We walked across the courtyard. Servants bobbed bows or curtsied or backed away. Daddy didn’t seem to notice, stepping fast without acknowledging them. “I’d heard so much about the necklace. It frightened me.”
“Did your parents visit her?”
“Of course not.”
“Will you visit when it’s me in the tower?”
He brushed a piece of hair from my eyes. “Do you want me to?”
I nodded, and pretended that my eyes were watering from the hair caught in my eyelashes.
As we continued he added, “Mind you, you might not want me visiting.”
“There’s that, of course.”
At either side of the door Gregor and Reginald stood, hands resting on top of sword hilts. “Morning, Miss,” Reginald grunted. Or was it Gregor? He bowed stiffly in his armor. “Welcome, Your Majesty.”
Daddy looked from one to the other, probably trying to work out whether they were twins or just men who looked alike. “I’ve seen you before,” he said.
Reginald (or Gregor) nodded. “That’s right, Your Majesty.”
“Surprised you remember,” said the other.
“It’s not the sort of moment one forgets,” said Daddy.
We climbed slowly up the stairs, the torchlight casting shadows that dipped and swayed as we passed.
“It’s strange,” Daddy was panting a little from the climb. “Those guards. I’m sure they were the same men.”
“Same men?”
“They were the guards for the last Guardian.”
I stopped, glad for an excuse for the break. “But that was ...”
“Yes,” he said, also stopping. “Twenty years ago. But they look no different.”
Daddy didn’t seem to notice servants much; it was quite possible he hadn’t judged their age correctly.
We continued up the stairs, our breathing loud in the stillness of the stairwell. The tower had never seemed this high before. But I was sixteen now; perhaps my age was making me slow.
“Welcome,” said Rosa, as we reached the top.
In a chair by the window, N’tombe was reading a book. As usual, all the shutters were open. The wind whipped through the chamber, blowing drapes about, crackling loose papers. Heavy wooden paperweights sat on top of parchment piles. The room felt like it was moving, flying through space, blown along by the breeze. I was suddenly dizzy.
“Leovane,” said Rosa.
“Rosa,” Daddy puffed.
“Come in,” she gestured to a chair. “Please, have a seat.”
“You’re looking well, Rosa.”
But she didn’t look well at all; she seemed weak and frail. Clad in her white shift, she rested on her elbows as though her spine was too feeble for the weight of her head. Her collar gaped open as she moved. Over her heart was a thick white pad. A bandage.
“I called you here for a reason.” She sounded breathless, as though she too had been walking up stairs. “My birds… they tell me of large groups of men wearing armor. Soldiers always excite them. To them, men in armor mean food.”
I made a face.
“Unpleasant, yes. So I looked in my glass.” She swallowed. “And I saw many men in bright armor, the like of which I’ve not seen before. They are on horseback, with bows across their shoulders. Curved swords.”
“TeSin,” I said.
Father stared at me. “What?”
“The warrior who escaped. He’s a general. Will told me he was sent to find us.”
“Will told you?” N’tombe asked.
I nodded.
“How did he do that? I thought you,” Daddy looked at N’tombe, “had sent him away.”
“I spoke to him.”
He blinked. “You spoke to him? How?”
“It was in a dream.”
“I suppose you are old enough for dreamspeaking.” He sighed. “I hoped you’d be spared that.”
Rosa sat forward. “What did Will tell you?”
I relayed all he’d said, and while I talked their faces grew somber.
“You’re sure?” Rosa asked. “Ships and soldiers? In the army of this king who calls himself eternal?”
Rosa tapped fingers on the table. Looked at N’tombe, as though sharing information with her, information I couldn’t hear.
“Of course there have been hints,” Rosa said suddenly, as if replying to a question. Darkness in the east; clouds, storms, hints of evil. But it’s been like that for many years. Nothing immediate. Or urgent.”
“How far away are these troops?” Daddy asked.
“A day’s ride,” she said. “Two, if the weather is unkind.”
“Will it be unkind?”
“I can summon a storm.”
“I must raise the guard,” my father turned to the door.
“Your Majesty,” said N’tombe, “have you forgotten the ships?”
“The ships?” he said and grimaced.
“The storm will help,” Rosa said.
“The army will make for the Crossing,” said my father.
I heard his steps fading as he ran down the stairs. “Will. He’s coming home. If the army gets there ahead of him – well, he won’t make it back, will he?”
It seemed desperately important to see him again.
N’tombe looked at Rosa. “We need that boy.”
“I know. But ...”
“There is much pressing on us.” N’tombe put her hand on Rosa’s pale fingers. “I know. But do not worry.”
“That,” Rosa smiled, “Is not very helpful.”
“Can we help him?” I asked.
It was N’tombe who answered. “I will try.”
Rosa looked at me. “Dana. Do you realize that your bodice is on backwards?”
* * *
Preparations for war began. At least there was a side benefit to the recent Festival; the Fire Master had not completely used up his stack of fireworks.
“They do have some weapon-like abilities,” he admitted. “But I prefer to think of them as art.”
Owein, deputized by Father to organize the Castle’s defenses, looked harassed. “Fire Master, I really don’t care whether you call it art or science or weapon-mongering, as long as you can damage our enemies. Can you do that?”
The Fire Master rubbed his chin. “Fireworks as weapons. Hmm. Hmm. Interesting.” He smiled. “The idea has possibilities. Oil, for example, burns well. Rockets, falling into oil or pitch. A most flammable combination.”
“Ex
cellent!” said Owein. “What do you need?”
“My apprentice and two strong men would be sufficient, I think.”
“Owein,” I tugged at his arm, “what do you need from me?”
“Dana. Can you go and see Mother? She blames herself for this.”
“Blames herself?”
“You know – she brought the merchant here, and so on.”
So that was how he’d gotten onto the ferry. The Queen had ordered it. At Festival time, when a royal invitation was issued to acrobats, jugglers and minstrels, the Ferryman would hardly notice another strange party.
Maids squawked as loudly as livestock, their arms full of sheets that they’d decided to bring in, as though an army was a raincloud. Here I was, trained in magic and fighting, and I was given the role of babysitting my mother, who never really liked me anyway, and never missed an opportunity to castigate me on my clothing. My clothing. I stopped.
Upstairs, Nurse was fussing. “Oh Lady! Oh Lady. We’ll be murdered in our beds. Oh! Oh!”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed and laughed and sat on the bed and laughed some more. The whole thing seemed unreal; too much had happened too fast. It was madness, I was in a dream, an unending dream, and here was Nurse panicking about the invaders, and here was I worried about my clothing. One of us, I wasn’t sure which, had no sense of priorities.
“My Lady?” Nurse stood looking at me, hands on her hips. Abruptly returned to normal “Was it something I said?”
“No!” I wiped my eyes. I was going crazy. “It’s me. Can you help me fix my clothes?”
“Sacred mother!” she glanced at my bodice. “How did you do that?”
“I don’t know. Please, Nurse dear, can you fix it?”
“Of course, My Lady.” She seemed relieved at being offered a familiar task. “Of course. Now stand up, and let’s try and get you dressed.”
She undid the lacing, muttering at the knots as I stared out the window. At first glance the road below seemed like a Festival market: animals and carts, women riding on donkeys, children a-skipping along the stones. But no, not like market, for instead of the buzz of excitement that overlaid a market day, the sound was of gloom. As though people were preparing for a funeral. Maybe they were. “What are they doing?”
Nurse followed my gaze. “Seeking refuge.”
“Oh.” Of course. The parade ground, the Castle pleasure wood; there was plenty of room and access to water. It was only food that could be a problem. Hence the pigs, snuffling in front, and the sheep, herded by small boys with wooden switches. So many people, all dependent on the Castle. What if it fell?
Nurse pulled my bodice over my head, turned it around and laced me up, faster and tighter than I’d been able to. She ignored my grunts and requests to loosen it, to allow me to take a deep breath.
“The inner villages, them as can make it here in a few hours, are coming along as fast as may be,” said Nurse, in grim approval. “The northernmost ones are heading for Ladyshead. No, My Lady, it’s loose enough. Why, it’s almost falling off you as it is.”
“It doesn’t feel like it.”
“It will slacken a little through the day.”
She always said that and it never did. I just got used to it. “Alden’s organizing the guards,” I said.
She snorted. “He thinks he is.”
“The Sergeant is, then.”
“Aye,” she nodded in grim satisfaction. “Turn around, My Lady.” In the mirror my dress looked better, but my hair was still in a state of shock.
“Nurse,” I kissed her cheek. “You’re a miracle worker.”
She flushed a deep red. “Go to, now, Princess.” She handed me a rolled-up package and curtsied. “Happy birthday, My Lady.”
I should go to my mother. Torn between a present and my duty, I hesitated. But I might never have another birthday, so I untied the ribbon, pulled off the tissue wrapping. Inside was a pile of leather, dyed dull green, the color of the woods at the end of the summer. I stroked it. It was soft, like the fur of a mouse.
“Thank you, Nurse.”
She chuckled. “Why, you’ve not seen what it is yet, Lady.”
I shook it out. “Hose! You’ve given me a pair of hose.”
She laughed again so her belly wobbled, and reached her arms about me, so I felt her soft chest against mine. “Aye. Thought, if you were going to be a-wearing of such, they should at least be well made. Well,” she cleared her throat, “best not be standing about. Sit you down here, Princess, and I’ll drag a brush quickly through your hair. Can’t have that Ruth seeing it. Then you’ll be on your way. Lord knows, there’s much to be getting on with.”
“Before I go anywhere,” I said, “I’m going to put these hose on. Under my skirts,” I added hastily, as she looked about to hurl the brush at me. “No one will know.”
* * *
In the women’s gallery silken-clad ladies in waiting rushed about like brightly colored, rustling moths. I’d never liked this place. When I was small, I’d been forced to sit on tightly sprung sofas and listen to women speak in polite accents about small things that meant nothing – the weather, or Martha’s new baby, or the set of a collar. I quickly grew bored. Initially, I’d been a novelty. But novelties, by definition, must be new and entertaining, and seeing my silence and sulky glances, the women grew tired of me and turned from playing with my hair to gossiping about the new guardsmen or the latest fashions. And I, a tiny girl on a large sofa, tried hard to stay awake and interested. Once, I’d given up the struggle and rolled off the settle, landing in a heap on an exotic rug, quite spoiling Mother’s afternoon.
Today the roles seemed to be reversed, which seemed a little strange. In the midst of the hubbub was an area of calm, like the eye of the storm, where Mother reclined on a sofa, a hand to her forehead, her hair falling like a black waterfall and her long gown draped in classical lines.
She must have felt my disapproval for she opened her eyes as I drew near. “Oh!” she said, and closed them again.
“Owein said you were unwell.”
Her eyelids fluttered. “Dana.”
I curtsied. “Is there something I can get you?”
She sat up, surprisingly fast for one who was ill, and put a hand on my arm. “Stay! Is it true?”
I pulled my arm away. “Is what true?”
“They say there is an army coming. Ships, too.”
“It’s true.”
She sat back against the padded sofa with a groan. “I knew it!”
Without waiting for an invitation, I sat beside her. “What did you know?”
“I knew that merchant was a fake! The minute I set eyes on him, I could tell.” She put her hand on my arm again. “You believe me, don’t you?”
“Does it matter what I believe?”
“There’s whispers, rumors, that I invited them in. That I, the Queen, am a traitor.”
“No there aren’t. Isn’t. There’s no such rumor.”
“There is, there is.” She looked about her wildly, as if seeking accusers in the silken crowd.
“You did invite them,” I said bluntly. “But the merchant was real enough; he would never have got past the Ferryman otherwise.”
“That’s true!” She patted my hand. “You’re right! It was the Ferryman. He let them in.”
“Mother!” Was she up to rational argument, or should I just knock her out? “You did invite them. You know you did.”
She sat straight then, eyes wide.
“But,” I said, “you weren’t to know that they weren’t all they claimed to be.”
She sat silent for a moment, her fingers plucking at my sleeve. “Dana,” she said, “you’ve always been my favorite.”
It was my turn to stare. “I have?”
She nodded, her eyes watering. “Oh my dear. I’m so proud of you.”
“Mother, are you sure you’re feeling well?”
“Well, I am a little tired.”
I helped her to her feet. “Per
haps you should rest for a while.”
There was a cascade of curtsies as I helped my mother from the room. “God be with you, Lady Dana,” said one of the women, a blue-eyed, deep-busted blonde who cheated at tennis and cried when she lost.
I nodded at the sea of faces, seeing the tiny, sidelong glances, low whispers, a fan-hidden titter. Even with an army at our doorstep these women couldn’t avoid speculation over the Queen, her daughter, the royal family.
“You had better get to your families, ladies,” I said clearly and loudly, and there was a sudden, shocked silence. Voices were not raised in here. “An army is coming. They will be here in one, maybe two days. You must make preparations.”
They stared at me, as wide-eyed as rabbits. “Did you not hear me? All of you. Go!” It felt strangely exhilarating to face these ancient torturers. Why had I been scared of them? They were nothing but a group of frightened women. Who would be slaughtered in their sleep if they did not prepare.
A blonde sobbed.
“What are you crying about?”
“Armies are not good to women, Princess,” one of them said, and also began to sob. “Are you not afeared?”
I stood up straight, even with Mother’s weight dragging on me.
“Afraid?” My voice rang from the rafters like a trumpet calling men to arms. “Why should I be afraid? I am a daughter of kings, and I tell you, I do not fear!” A flash of light shot from my outstretched arm toward the mirrors that lined the room. I lifted my hand as the glass turned golden, flaring as if reflecting the sun. “It is these invaders who should fear us.”
The women stood stock-still. Then: “God be with you, Lady Dana.”
“Now,” I called, and this time there were no sideways glances, no laughter. “Go to my brother Owein, in the courtyard. Tell him you have come to fight.”
“We cannot fight, My Lady,” said the buxom tennis cheat.
I paused. That was probably true; none of these beautiful butterflies had trained with a sword. But Mother heard me, and roused. “Can you not shoot with a bow, Lady Jeddah?” she asked, and there was a rustle of agreement.
“Those of you who can wield a bow can fight,” I called. “Those of you who can strike a ball at tennis, why, can you not use those skills to pitch a flaming brand?”
The SoulNecklace Stories Page 28