They considered each other for what seemed a very long moment, Adria naked upon the stone tiles, the Matriarch seated and elevated, robed in her customary violet. Adria again forgot to count, and instead imagined herself at archery, holding herself still, staring near to the sun and trying not to blink.
But you are not the sun, Matron. You are a Matriarch and not a Mother.
“It is unseemly to be embarrassed,” Taber said, and motioned for Adria to remove her clothing from the floor. “You are a Prince of Idonea. You are above the incident of lesser emotions.”
Adria did as asked.
“This palace of marble and wind is small, Idonea,” Taber said as Adria dressed herself, fumbling only a little with the atypical motions of replacing her own clothing. “This citadel and this city, this nation and even this world.”
Adria did not look up as she tied the lacing of her gown as best she could.
“Understand now that there are worlds beyond the one we see each day,” Taber continued. “Worlds where our angels and our demons wage war for the souls of the dead and the living, worlds where the past and the future are woven together, where what will be can be remembered, and where what once was may yet be overcome.”
“These are the worlds of the One-Who-Will-Come,” Adria said, intending a question, but not wanting to reveal either faith or disbelief in her tone. These were things she already half-knew from her lessons, and yet… the wording was altered. Taber seemed to be telling her something a little more.
“In a manner of speaking, yes,” the Matriarch answered. “But the core of our faith is not all so simple to understand as the Doctrine would make it seem. Some things are meant to be learned and not understood. At least, for a time. And some things must be believed without being known.”
Adria only nodded once, not letting her guard down even in the face of this decidedly strange forthrightness.
“You remain a child, but are woman enough to understand this.” And the Matriarch did not smile. She did not placate or patronize. “I once had the perfect window to the Everlasting, but realized this only much too late. And ever since, I have sought to find another way, to peer into the shadow and the light and to hear the Voice, to find whatever way I could to… best bring order to our world.”
She seemed to hesitate a moment. “Long ago I saw that your family, Idonea, was… the one best path for us all. Your father’s path in the War of Scars… the conquest of Heiland… I knew that here I would find a home for the Sisterhood. I saw it. I knew that the House of Idonea would unite the Aeman and Somanan princedoms, that unconquerable Highreach would indeed fall, and that Windberth would be built upon this very mountain, to house the citadel and the High Temple. I saw these things where shadows parted from the light, and I listened as the stories were whispered to me from beyond the curtains of this world.”
Still, Adria said nothing, and merely waited for Taber to finish her lesson, wondering how it would be made relevant to her own concerns.
“But there was far more to the Idonea family I first foresaw. Only far too late I understood that Ebenhardt Idonea could part those same curtains, could see into that same darkness which has given me wisdom of the past and vision of future possibilities. And I did not see, until it was too late, how far it was he had flown in search of the same…”
Adria counted to six, and then asked, “My father is a prophet?”
Matron Taber considered. “The world is ruled by war, Scion, by warriors such as your father and your uncle, by hawks and by doves and by birth and by blood. But though hawks and doves may rule this world, it is the crows who carry our souls into the Everlasting.”
“My father is dying.”
“Your father, Idonea, is losing himself,” Taber answered at once, suddenly showing real, though still restrained emotion. “Angels and demons too often speak with the same voices, and too often wear the same faces. In this world and the next, it is not so easy to know good from evil. It is one thing to be given the gift of flight, and quite another to find the land again. More and more, the king passes through the curtains that few among us can even see, and it is not ever certain if or when he will return.”
“And if he does not?” It felt as if something coiled inside her stomach.
“Thereafter, just as now, your father will not be the one you know — not the one any of us have known.”
Adria shook her head slightly, uncertain what all to believe of the story, though it could hardly be fully doubted.
“Do you understand why I have not told you before?” Taber asked.
Adria only nodded. None of this comforted her. In fact, she now felt far more alone than she had before, though she was determined not to show her emotion again.
“And do you understand that you cannot see your father, for your father is not truly there for you to see?”
Reluctantly, Adria nodded to this as well.
“Then with whatever faith you have, pray for your father’s safe return, and know that I do the same. I know that you will speak of this to no one. Though your body remains that of a girl, it is true you are, in many ways, no longer a child.”
“Thank you, Matron,” Adria said simply, inclining her head as she turned on her heels to leave. When the doors closed behind her, she closed her eyes and counted to ten.
Several months later, upon her fourteenth birthday, Adria’s finest present was also the strangest. Among the obligatory finery given by the great Heiland lords via their courtiers, and amidst similar foreign exotics brought by the diplomats of the Kingdoms of the Northlands and the Empire of Somana, lay a beautifully carved bow of strange dark wood tipped in rune-engraved bone. The ribbons tying its package were black and violet, embroidered with the symbol of her father and her house.
Adria’s face flushed with pride and surprise, and for the rest of the festivities her eyes returned to the gift often, and her hands longed to make use of it. Disappointment came when she could, at last, take her bow out upon the field, where she was finally allowed to practice as an archer among the boys. Not only was the bow obviously too tall for her, but it drew with such weight that she could not even manage to string it.
Some of the least noble boys used this as an opportunity to find humor, but Brother Sergeant Rodham merely shook his head at their chattering as he knelt down beside Adria and smiled.
“Your Highness, may I be of help?” When Adria assented meekly, the Knight took up the bow and turned it in the sunlight, tested its strength with his hands, though unstrung, and whistled. “Ma’am, this is truly the finest shaft I have ever seen.”
Adria nodded, and forced herself not to be sullen, responding, “Father has given me a fine gift.”
Sir Rodham sighed thoughtfully. “I cannot let you know a lie, Highness. This gift is from our Matron and not His Majesty.”
Her forced smile faded, her eyes blinking away tears. “That does nothing to console me.”
He only nodded, then chuckled — a rare display of humor for him. “When I was seven, Highness, my father gave me a sword I could barely lift with both hands — and certainly could not hope to make use of, not for many years. Though I respected and loved my father without fail, I resented this sword. At seven I already wished to be knighted, as nearly any young lad does, and I didn’t really understand that such a thing had to be earned, and could not merely be gifted. Knighthood does not come with a sword, or a garter, or a horse and spurs. It took until I could wield that sword to learn that the sword itself was the least part of a knight, and that my father had begun teaching me that with that very first ill-fitting gift.”
Adria nodded. She knew a lesson when she heard one. But this one, at least, unlike much of what the Sisters taught her, seemed to hold some real meaning for her life. She smiled a little to encourage him, and he acknowledged this with a nod.
“With respect, Ma’am, I know that you are disappo
inted, but consider this…. Matron Taber has presented you with something useful, instead of some pretty trifle for a princess. Even more, she has given you something of no use now, but in anticipation of your future. It is not simply a gift, but a show of faith... a legacy you will have to earn by action, by time and by training.”
He ran his fingers over the carved runes. “As you train your arms to the strength of this bow, you must also train your knowledge, your will, and your honor — for without these, you will not know your true target, and your weapon will always fail to find its mark.”
After a moment of real consideration, Adria nodded gratefully, and chose her words carefully. “Thank you, Sir Rodham. Your words are well spent, and you serve my father’s house well.”
“Well said, Ma’am. And I accept your words with thanks.” He returned her bow, and nodded his head as well. “I am no King, Your Highness, and I cannot pretend to know one’s mind, but I think His Royal Majesty, your father, would just as wisely have granted you this gift. And what we earn, we earn for all our fathers.”
Adria nodded, turning her head so that he would not see her sudden and unexpected reaction. After he had risen to return to the others, Adria returned the bow to her room, and continued with lighter weapons and a renewed attention to lessons of all kinds, from Knight, from Sister — and at last, once again from chess.
Her father summoned her not long after her fourteenth birthday. He said nothing of his illness, and neither mentioned the tournament or her gift, and instead simply motioned for Adria to sit and begin a game, as if nothing had changed, as if they had played only the day before. He seemed eager for it, and yet something about him remained unfocused as they wordlessly began advancing pieces.
It had taken several years for Adria to learn the game well. But now, she was finally often able to match him move for move. Occasionally, when he was more distracted than usual, she even defeated him, but always with good humor. Still, when she won, she knew it was because of a deficiency in his play as much as any innovation in hers. This was never the best way for her to learn, and so when it seemed that, in this first game after his long illness, he was not readily matching her, she emboldened herself enough to point it out.
“Father,” she smiled, as he made an oddly inferior move in the middle game, only to realize it just as he sat the piece down. “You’re not concentrating.”
He flashed a nervous smile, then frowned thoughtfully, sighed and crossed his arms. “No... I am sorry.”
She made the obvious best move — it still would infuriate him if she made a weaker move to match his, despite what he had first taught her of balance. He had once corrected her upon this, crossly, “The best games are balanced because the players are balanced. When one is a better player, it is only right that he should win.”
“Even when he is a she?” she had quipped without thinking. It had not improved his mood, but had also not worsened it. She often had some conversational maneuvering room.
Now, she reluctantly used the space he clumsily provided to her advantage, and pressed him in words as she did in the game. “What worries you?” she asked, hesitating a little. “Your illness?”
“I am much recovered,” he shook his head and said, a bit distantly, “I merely…. It is only diplomatic matters.”
Diplomatic matters... This almost angered her. She was fourteen, and now easily the match for her brother and his peers in almost every way, and still her father dismissed her easily in any real concern. Still she remained a princess in a tower, with only the servants and her acquaintances to bring her news — and much of this suspect.
But Adria calmed herself, for what she had to ask could not be suggested with any extreme of emotion. This game is one of logic, he had told her once. If you play filled with wrath for your enemy, or with the fear of loss, you will hesitate to do what is necessary, and you will fulfill the prophecy of your emotions.
“Father,” she began, as soon as he was playing well again, and the game had returned to expected balance. “I have learned a great deal from you, and from Taber and the Sisterhood, even despite my tendency to ignore Taber’s influence.”
“You have,” he nodded, without emotion, though his eyes flickered with sudden renewed focus and intelligence. He knows what I will say, Adria realized far more quickly than she once had. Even when she could not maintain her balance, she understood when it was lost. It is like our very first games again, and I am a move behind. The game has already been decided for me. But is it intelligence which guides him? Experience? Or… prophecy?
And she was a little afraid, but knew better than to reveal it — she knew it was the revelation of fear or anger which gave strength to an opponent, not the emotion itself. It was a deeper lesson she had learned from chess, from Taber, and from boys with wooden swords, an intelligence she had already used to her advantage on more than one occasion. Adria knew she might not get this chance again, and she dared not let it pass.
“I have learned much for myself, as well, that you and Taber might have denied me,” she continued. “And I am grateful that it has been allowed.”
He nodded, again without emotion, and moved a piece between them.
“I am my brother’s equal in most ways, and in some ways his superior.” She made her corresponding move.
Ebenhardt blinked, and watched her evenly, and responded with his own piece, without even watching his own hand.
She paused to show she was not anxious or frightened of him. She met his gaze, though her heart beat rather more quickly than she would have liked. Somehow, she kept her hands from shaking as they exchanged pieces on the board. He had left one of his knights open, and Adria captured it. She was one piece ahead, but she had moved first. He matched her now, despite his earlier lapse of attention.
“Father, I would begin to share the weight of your diplomatic concerns, and more. I would become a novice in the Knights of Darkfire, though I know it is not the custom for women. I would fight for Heiland, in your name, and even in the name of the Sisterhood, if it is truly the best way to bring order to the world. In time, I would serve as your marshal, and lead armies in your name, alongside my brother. I will… I will help you to make him strong, and together we will be able to serve you better than he will alone. This you know, and this I know. I would do this despite the objections of Hafgrim’s pride, and despite the laws and will of Taber, for you are my king and my father, and I would put none above you, no one who lives or who may yet come.”
Her father sat motionless for some time without any revelation, seeming neither to focus deeply upon her nor to remain distracted. Then he sighed heavily, and looked down to the board to examine their position, and Adria was able to do the same, without having retreated from his gaze. She kept her breath controlled, but feared he could hear the beat of her heart from where he sat.
They looked over the pieces, and Adria saw with some trepidation that she had made a mistake in taking his knight — that he could now pass a pawn, and would soon have a queen, and with it, in six or seven moves, victory. He would have to make a mistake for them to draw. She glanced up, to see if he realized his advantage, and she could see real emotion now. He sat sadly distant, looking straight through the board, the game itself somehow forgotten.
He regrets teaching me now, she thought with alarm. He regrets turning this game into a larger lesson. And she felt suddenly seven years old again, with the childish fear that they might never play the game again, that she might never again have a chance to know her father. I should have waited to ask. I might have proven myself more, somehow. I might have…
“Adria.” He was watching her now, and she had not realized it. His eyes had focused, and they showed real sadness now, real fear. Like Taber, he had rarely called her by her name, and now it opened a knot like a serpent uncoiled in her stomach, and she knew that she had lost the game utterly.
He knows me as well a
s he knows the game. It has already been decided, even before I spoke a word, moved my first pawn.
“Adria,” he repeated, sighing. He spoke gently but firmly. They were only father and daughter, somehow — not a king and his prince, but only a princess. Now he will say it is time for me to marry, to produce heirs, should Hafgrim fall upon the field of battle in his name. He will say I…
“You cannot be a Knight of Darkfire.” He reached out, and set his king down upon the side, giving her the game he had already won. He had never done this before, and the motion angered her even more than his words.
We shall never play again, she realized. He has broken our bond, and for the first time treated me as a child.
“Name the reason,” she challenged. She could not hide the anger in her tone, now, the clenching of her teeth, the flushing of her face.
He drew his hand up to his chin and considered. He will lie, she realized, still angry, but now a bit startled.
“The milk of a mother’s anger runs to venom in the child.” He spoke in Somanan, strangely, and as she realized the words, her mouth opened in astonishment. They had sometimes teased each other in the language, but rarely had he used it for a serious argument. It was an admonishment. Not once had he ever mentioned the existence of a mother, and not once had she found the courage to ask. She had known, somehow, not to ask — or perhaps had learned not to, in a memory long forgotten.
“Who is my mother?” she asked, barely a whisper.
And he smiled, and shook his head. He was not only patronizing her — he was mocking her outright. There was something even spiteful in his tone. Adria’s face flushed, and her heart beat even faster, and she clenched her fists in rhythm beneath the table.
He has turned our game into a childish distraction, and still he would deny me my birthright as an adult and an heir.
Aloud, she accused, a little desperately, “I am Taber’s child, after all, and you hate me for it, as you have come to hate her, in your growing madness.”
Heir of Scars I: Parts 1-8 Page 21