Beneath the Keep

by Erika Johansen

  “No,” Carroll said softly. “You are a member of the Blue Horizon.”

  Niya paled. Her eyes darted to the priest, who still read ponderously from his Bible, and then to Lazarus, where they rested in mute accusation.

  “Yes, I told him,” Lazarus murmured. “Not what you said, mind you, only what I suspected.”

  “You filthy—”

  “I have no plans to tell anyone,” Carroll cut in, forestalling the argument, “or to arrest you, Niya. We need you now.”

  “What, to dispense milk and clean up shit?”

  Carroll narrowly restrained himself from slapping her, contenting himself with grabbing her shoulders.

  “What do you think happened here?” he hissed. “You think it an accident that Elyssa went into childbirth two months early? Will you pretend that you didn’t hear the voice of the witch from her mouth?”

  Niya blinked.

  “The baby is in danger,” Carroll whispered grimly. “I know it, and you would too, Niya, if you could only look beyond your own pain.”

  “Elyssa is—”

  “Elyssa is gone,” Carroll replied firmly. “Did you think you were the only one betrayed? We must look to the future.”

  Niya did not reply, but she still looked mutinous.

  “We must keep this between us,” Carroll told them. “Not a word of what happened in this room. Thorne and the witch have been after the sapphires for months. Barty knew it; he told me before he left. The longer they think Elyssa still wears hers, the better. Our secret.”

  “And the Arvath’s,” Lazarus muttered.

  “No,” Carroll replied, glancing across the room at the priest. “Timpany may mean to tell the Holy Father everything, but he will have a long ride to think better of it. The Holy Father will blame him for not contesting the name, but if Elyssa was in entire control of her faculties, Timpany could do nothing; it is the Crown’s choice, after all. Timpany is a craven; he will change the story.”

  Lazarus considered this, then gave a grudging nod. “I know little of the Arvath, but knowing men as I do, I’d agree with you. But this, Captain . . . guarding a baby . . .”

  “I know.” And Carroll did. It felt like a punishment. He looked around at the others in the room: midwives, Father Timpany, the doctor. Carroll trusted none of them.

  But I trust Lazarus, he thought wonderingly. Lazarus the murderer, Niya the traitor . . . I trust them both.

  “The Princess Regent needs sleep,” the doctor’s voice broke in. He had left the baby now and was crouched over Elyssa’s bed, his hand on her forehead. “But I will stay, in case of complications.”

  “What of the baby?” Niya asked.

  “Healthy and strong. Underweight, but such is not uncommon with those born early. With milk and care, she should increase quickly.”

  “Sir!”

  Someone banged on the door. Carroll went to open it, drawing his sword. Elston’s face filled the crack.

  “What is it?”

  “We found the Prince out here,” Elston said, gesturing behind him. A low squealing punctuated his words. “Skulking behind the hangings. What should we do with him?”

  Carroll thought for a long moment. “Boot him out of the Queen’s Wing.”

  “You can’t do that!” Thomas shouted, but his voice faded to a low mmmph as someone clapped a hand over his mouth.

  “How’s the Princess Regent?” Elston asked, casually, as though this was not the reason he’d knocked.

  “Fine. She’s borne a healthy heir. A girl.”

  “Ha!” someone called behind Elston: Dyer, Carroll thought. “That’s ten pounds to me, lads!”

  “Does she have a name?” Elston asked. “The baby?”

  “Kelsea.”

  “But that’s their word. The Blue—”

  “I know.” And for a moment, Carroll found himself longing to tell them about it, all of it . . . how for a single moment Elyssa had been there, with them once more. But once started, he knew he would not stop until he wept.

  “Watch out for Thorne,” he told Elston quietly. “Neither he nor the witch are to come anywhere near this room.”

  Elston nodded, though his throat convulsed in a nervous swallow that Carroll read easily: if the witch wanted to enter, how were they to stop her?

  I don’t know, Carroll thought, glancing involuntarily at the green door at the end of the corridor, behind which the Queen slumbered on and on. They could not even protect Arla; how were they to protect a helpless infant?

  But we must, his mind insisted, irrationally but with perfect conviction. We must.

  Carroll slipped back through the door and found the doctor perched over Elyssa’s bedside, holding her wrist in one hand and his watch in the other. One of the midwives was rocking the baby, Lazarus close by, while the other tidied up the room. Under the baleful eye of Niya, Father Timpany sat in the corner still reading, his Bible open on his lap.

  “Is the Princess Regent all right?” Carroll asked.

  “Fine,” the doctor replied. “I am only making the routine check.”

  Carroll stared down at Elyssa. She appeared dead to the world, but Carroll could not help hoping that she would awaken, see him, be herself. What would it mean if they could have her back, the Elyssa that was, the True Queen? What could they not do if she opened her eyes?

  You’re being as foolish as Niya, his mind chided. You spoke the truth: Elyssa is gone. Grief overwhelmed Carroll then, all the way down to his marrow. You will never see me again, Elyssa had told the baby, and the sorrow in her face had been too great to doubt. Tears welled in Carroll’s eyes, and he blinked, dashing them away. Elyssa was gone, and now they must contend with what lay before them.

  He moved to stand beside Lazarus, who was looking down at the new princess. She was swaddled in linen, but as Carroll approached, the midwife folded back the cloth so that he could see the baby’s face: red-cheeked and angry.

  “Sir,” the midwife said quietly, “we must take the necklace off. The infant could strangle.”

  Carroll knew that she was right. No heir ever wore the jewel this young; typically, the firstborn did not receive it until the eighth birthday, a purely cynical delay to allow for medical problems, mental deficiencies, and other flaws to show. Barty had told him that an enormous ceremony had accompanied Elyssa’s ascension to Heir Designate. A necklace on a newborn was dangerous, but how could Carroll dare take it off? The girl had been dead before their very eyes, until Elyssa had put the jewel around her neck.

  Transferring ownership, Carroll thought. There was something in the old legends about that, wasn’t there? The sapphires could not be taken, only given.

  “No,” Carroll replied quietly. “The Princess Regent gave her the jewel. It’s not for us to take it off.”

  “But, sir—”

  “No. Work around it.”

  Leaving Lazarus on guard, he collapsed into one of the nearby armchairs. The baby continued to mewl and snuffle, making tiny unsatisfied noises. One of her hands slipped free of the folds of linen, clenching as it waved in the air.

  So much trouble for one scrap of girl, Carroll thought wearily. Is she worth it?

  There could be no present answer to such a question, but the baby, Kelsea, replied all the same: mewling angrily, batting the midwife away, and shaking her fists.

  Chapter 32

  THE TRUE QUEEN

  It’s always the unbelievers who are easiest to convince. Doubters will always be doubters, but show me a staunch unbeliever and I show you the embryo of a fanatic. Men of science are the most vulnerable to that which appears before their own eyes, and their need for certainty can be directed anywhere . . . even toward God.

  —Lectures of His Holiness, Pius XX, from the Arvath Archive

  Niya was changing the baby.

  She did not know ho
w this had happened. She had been a pickpocket, a thief, a kidnapper, a murderess. Now she was a nurse. Niya had pointed out to Carroll the utter absurdity of these contradictions, but Carroll was adamant. She thought that Elyssa might gainsay him—Niya was still Elyssa’s head maid, after all—but Elyssa was no longer a woman to argue with anyone. Niya wasn’t even sure the Princess Regent had noticed she was gone. Elyssa was a different sorrow from that she felt for the Fetch, but no less powerful. Elyssa was lost for good, but Niya could not accept it. She kept on feeling as though Elyssa, the real Elyssa, would suddenly appear.

  And then there was the name, Kelsea. Many in the Keep whispered that there had been some influence in the birthing chamber, some overreach by the Guard, and who could blame them? Since her mother’s incapacitation, Elyssa had signed more than twenty death warrants for members of the Blue Horizon. Only Niya, Carroll, and Lazarus knew that in that last moment, the old Elyssa had been with them. Naming the baby had been Elyssa’s last act as a member of the Blue Horizon, and Niya thought that Gareth would have approved. The child in her arms was both Gareth and Elyssa, and she was all that remained of either of them.

  Is that why you stay?

  Niya didn’t know. The Princess who had placed the Crown storehouses under guard, who had ordered the Blue Horizon exterminated . . . that woman had betrayed them, and Niya could barely stand to be in the same room with her. But the Elyssa who had emerged since the birth was somehow worse: charming but vacant, as though the removal of the sapphire had somehow removed the last piece of her essential self as well.

  Kelsea waved her tiny arms, batting Niya on the chin. She was an angry little thing, though she had odd periods of good temper that came and went. The sapphire had popped free of her swaddling clothes again; no matter how many times Niya tucked the jewel and chain in, they would not stay. But Carroll’s orders had been explicit: the chain was not to come off.

  Niya finished pinning the nappy and picked up the Princess, smoothing her tiny nightdress. The wet nurse had begun humming behind them, an oddly merry tune that annoyed Niya as well. What was there to be merry about?

  The door opened, making Niya jump. But it was only Elyssa. Behind her came Carroll and Elston. Their expressions were carefully, almost studiedly blank, but beneath the blankness, Niya sensed consternation. At the sight of Elyssa, the wet nurse dropped into a low curtsy, but Elyssa barely noticed her, her eyes roaming the room dreamily. As she saw the baby in Niya’s arms, an odd, empty smile appeared on Elyssa’s face.

  “My little princess! How is she today?”

  “Fine, Highness,” Niya replied, looking to Carroll and Elston for help. But they would not look at her . . . or even at each other. Mace was behind them, Niya noticed, peeking around the doorway. She tried to summon the anger she had felt toward him in the birthing chamber, but it was gone. His woman—a pro, or Niya was no judge, though she had gotten only one curious glimpse through the infirmary doorway—was dead, and even the Guard had been treading lightly around Mace lately, taking care with him. Mace probably wasn’t aware of it, for he didn’t know them as Niya did. But she had noted the contrast, and been moved, well past her anger. Mace noticed her looking at him and vanished from the doorway, back into the tiny antechamber that fronted the nursery.

  “Would you like to hold her?” Niya asked, offering Kelsea toward Elyssa.

  “No . . . no . . .” Elyssa replied. “I just came in to see that she was well. She eats enough?”

  “Yes,” Niya replied, though in truth, she didn’t know. When Elyssa finally woke after the birth—a sleep of some eighteen hours, by Niya’s reckoning—she had announced that she would not breastfeed the baby and demanded a wet nurse. But Carroll had already dispatched a servant, who had returned with several wet nurses, and Kelsea seemed fine with all of them. Niya supposed she was well fed, though it was difficult to tell with a baby so small.

  But the wet nurses were not there for cuddles . . . nor, Niya thought darkly, was Elyssa. It was Niya who changed Kelsea’s nappies, who quieted her when she cried. When the new princess had made clear her adamant refusal to go to sleep in her cot—or, truthfully, anywhere that she might safely lie down—it was Niya who dragged an enormous, comfortable armchair into the nursery and sat there with the baby every night, from dinner until dawn. Kelsea slept well enough, provided she had a warm body to cushion on, but Niya’s back was beginning to ache from the long nights in the chair. She spent most of these nights brooding, turning over the pictures that would not leave her mind: Elyssa, contorted in agony, speaking in the voice of the witch; Amelia, falling endlessly from the scaffold; the Fetch, screaming as the Gadds Fire consumed him.

  “That’s good,” Elyssa said brightly. “We’ll be on our way, then. I have an appointment with my dressmaker at three. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll come in for longer, play with her a little. . . .”

  Elyssa reached out, and Niya felt herself instinctively recoil. But Elyssa was not trying to take the baby. Her fingers moved toward the sapphire, then drew back, as though burned. Her face twitched—in anger? Frustration? Niya didn’t know—and then smoothed again.

  “Look after her, Niya.”

  “Yes, Highness.”

  Elyssa gave her a little wave, then left the room. Carroll and Elston followed, Carroll shooting Niya a chagrined look as they went. As the door closed, Kelsea began to emit little squeaks, and Niya tucked her against her shoulder, rubbing her back. The Princess needed a proper nursemaid, but Carroll had refused to hear of it. In truth, Niya was beginning to wonder whether the Guard Captain was well. He had begun to look haunted, and she didn’t think he was sleeping. He checked in on them constantly, poking his head into the nursery and vanishing just as suddenly. What was he looking for? Niya didn’t know, and not knowing was maddening, far more maddening than the mess of nappies or the nights in the armchair.

  The wet nurse had begun to hum again, the same sprightly tune as before. Niya restrained an urge to hurl one of the baby’s rattles at her. She sat down in her armchair, bouncing Kelsea gently on her lap. Sometime in the last two minutes, the sapphire had popped free again; Niya grabbed it, irritated, and then paused, giving the jewel a long, speculative look. Suppose she did take it off? She could tuck it away in a safe place—she had several—and give it back when the girl was old enough to wear it.

  And when will that be? Niya’s mind demanded for the thousandth time. The Fetch is dead. The Blue Horizon is broken. Elyssa is just an empty shell. How long do you intend to stay here changing nappies? What are you waiting for?

  Niya frowned, staring down at the wriggling baby in her arms, unable to deny the truth: she had lingered too long. The rebels were coming, staggering their way out of the Almont, following the twisting line of the Caddell. The latest reports said there were nearly seven thousand approaching the city, and with the Blue Horizon finished, surely Niya’s place must be with them? She stared down at Kelsea for another moment, then moved over to the cot. The wet nurse was here; if Niya put the baby down, the nurse would take care of her, at least long enough for Niya to pack some food, some weapons, and disappear. She could be out of here by nightfall, out of the city by morning. It was what the Fetch would have done . . . what he would have wanted her to do. Bending over, Niya set the baby down in the cot and made to let her go.

  * * *

  Niya.”

  She looked up, blinking, pulled to attention, every muscle in her body tensed. The light had changed; the room had changed. Vaulted ceilings spread high over Niya’s head. They were in Queen Arla’s throne room, but Arla was not there, nor Elyssa, nor any of the servants or courtiers who hovered like flies. The throne room was empty . . . save for one.

  “Niya.”

  The woman who sat on the silver throne was dark-haired, like Arla, but there the similarity ended. She was dressed all in black, and the Tear crown sat on her head. No one feature of her round face was remarkable, yet the
total effect was curiously compelling. And now Niya saw that there was a similarity there: the green eyes, the Raleigh eyes, which pinned Niya as a child would pin a butterfly . . . and, beneath them, the sapphires, both of them, dangling from the woman’s neck.

  “Niya. Look at me.”

  And Niya looked, seeing further than she had ever imagined, not into past or present or future—for she understood now that these things were not fixed—but into the center. She saw the woman in black astride a pale horse, like Death himself; saw a tall, gaunt man with blond hair and silver eyes, standing on the prow of a ship; saw a flash of lightning and a fall of water. Now she saw a broad mass of humanity, their hands raised in jubilation before the stone face of the Keep; saw the fields of the Almont, their careful rows now covered with horses as well as farmers, not rail-thin scarecrows but healthy workers, tall and proud; saw New London, not a city of steel and guards but one of books and kindness and life . . . and now Niya blinked and saw once again the Queen on the silver throne, really saw her: grave and pale and sad. There were no friends in the room, no servants, no guards. The Queen was alone. All of the people she had loved were gone.

  “The better world,” the Queen whispered. “There is always a price.”

  “There is no better world,” Niya told her. “It was only a story fed to us, like children at bedtime.”

  The Queen began to laugh . . . dark laughter, but not mocking, only bitter.

  “Oh, there’s a better world, Niya. I see it all the time. I have seen it. And we will get there . . . but you are needed.”

  “Who are you?” Niya demanded.

  “I am the victory of ships,” the woman returned calmly. “And you must wake now, Niya. Wake up.”

  * * *

  Wake up,” Niya murmured, blinking. She was back in the nursery, standing beside her armchair, with the Princess tucked comfortably in one arm and tears trickling down her cheeks.