So she meditated. Partially to calm herself and partially to be ready in the eventuality of any trouble. All that day she stayed in her room. She ate her meals at the little table in the sitting area, and she asked Karole to send a messenger to the King explaining her absence. That night she did not sleep, but went back to her usual routine of deep thought exercises that she had let slip while she had been playing this game.
A game. She had let herself be distracted by a charade. It was true, a part of her wanted it to be real. She the exciting merchant with a charming and caring King. These were the daydreams of many girls growing up. But she wasn’t one of them. She had watched her family be butchered, had discovered how Llewdon had tampered with her conception. She was the daughter of Jyuth and had a kingdom to protect and an Emperor to bring down. It was time to wrap up this game.
Unfortunately, she had to wait until the following afternoon before the resupplied Pyrfew ships left and the town returned to some semblance of normality. Neenahwi hurried up the steep stone street, more steps than cobblestones, to reach the keep. Pallo took her to the King’s study at once.
“Meredith! Are you feeling better? I was going to send you flowers but I wondered if that would be appropriate. Look, I’ve been working on the plans.” His hand swept over a number of hand drawn maps and illustrations scattered around the great dark wood desk.
“These look wonderful, Albert.” She studied them, admiring the handiwork. “But…” she caught herself, as if she was about to say something. “No. No matter.”
“What is it?” asked Albert, concerned. “Is it not to your liking?”
“No, it’s not that. It’s just that… I need to be able to see it with my own eyes to truly understand what you have drafted. If only we could go somewhere high and look at the real town to compare it to the maps. You could explain it to me much better.”
“We could go up to the roof of the keep? There’s nothing but an old catapult up there.”
“Good idea,” she said, before quickly adding, “or the tower would be even better!” She clapped her hands together in feigned spontaneity at the gloriousness of her idea. “Let’s go to the top of the tower and we shall have a good look all around.”
“I’m not sure that is such a good idea. The tower was always out of bounds during my father’s reign It could be dangerous; it has not been repaired in a long time.”
“Oh, how exciting!” Neenahwi touched his arm. “Come, let’s do it together, we can both see what it’s like.”
Uncertainly, King Albert nodded, then puffed out his chest. He took Neenahwi by the hand and led her briskly through the keep to the long room, dining tables and chairs pushed to the wall and covered with throws, which he explained had once passed for a throne room. At the back, behind where the throne would once have been, was a small, unassuming wooden door, hung on long iron hinges. She stood to one side, the excitement building in her as he struggled with lifting the rusted latch and pushed the door open.
After a few moments of struggle, Albert grunting with exertion, the door opened a few inches and a cloud of dust escaped. Albert pushed at it repeatedly, moving it a few inches at a time against the rubble collected behind it, until there was room for them to slip inside.
The ground floor of the tower was a mess; dust, fallen masonry, and animal droppings were evidence of long disuse; but Neenahwi knew that it could be different further up. If it was like the tower in Redpool, there could be perfectly preserved rooms much larger than the outward appearance of this construction. The spiral staircase around the edge of the tower looked in reasonable enough condition, so she stepped lightly across the floor to continue the exploration.
“Meredith, are you sure?”
She smiled back at Albert. A genuine smile. “Come on,” she urged. “I need a brave King to protect me.” She laughed and advanced up the staircase in the lead.
The next floor was more of the same. Dirt, dust and definitely not a secret sanctum. She continued to climb stair after stair, her excitement falling away with each floor that she saw, until finally she reached the top of the tower. The hatch in the roof fell open with little effort and she saw the sky above her. Stepping out on to the top of the tower, the beautiful blue sky above, the town embracing the azure sea before her and the green hills climbing behind her, she should have been enjoying the natural wonder. But she only felt the fool. Weeks had passed, wasted in trying to climb a ruin. What had she been doing?
King Albert huffed up the stairs behind her. He took a deep breath, holding out his arms as he spun in place, taking in the view. “Marvelous!” He looked at Neenahwi and saw a look of thunder on her face. “Meredith, whatever is wrong?”
“It’s not the right tower,” she said unthinking.
“Not the right tower? My dear, it’s the only tower on the island.” Albert paused for a moment before continuing. “Well, it’s the only tower now, of course. Legend says that this was a copy of one even more ancient, one that used to stand in the center of the island.” He pointed and Neenahwi turned to follow his direction, her heart beating like a butterfly as a ray of hope peaked through the clouds of her mood that maybe this had not all been in vain. “Over there on top of the highest hill. Except there’s no sign of it anymore. Not even any rubble. Maybe it was never there. I guess that’s why they call it a legend.”
Another tower! That disappeared from sight long ago! Euphoria rose in Neenahwi. She grabbed King Albert’s face roughly between her two hands, his eyes widening in alarm. “You wonderful man!” she exclaimed.
And then, she kissed him.
Chapter 14
More Goodbyes
Mareth traced his fingertips gently over her skin, slowly circling her belly button, loving the feel of the soft downy hairs. He smiled at Petra lying naked beside him. She stared into his eyes, breathing deeply. It had been just two days since Alana had boarded The Darting Seal, and they had not spent much time apart. Mareth knew that Petra was missing her sister. He missed her too. He missed all of them. He didn’t want to be the person left in the palace while everyone went out to do his work, and even though her responsibilities at least took her out into the city, he was sure she had a longing to go further afield.
It was getting late, long past midnight, and this was usually about the time that Petra would go back to her own apartment. The one she shared with Alana. He didn’t want her to go and be on her own. No, it wasn’t only that. He didn’t want her to leave him. For appearances sake, they tried to hide their relationship, though he was sure that all the palace knew that something was going on. He didn’t care. He cared so deeply for her. He loved her so much, even though he hadn’t been brave enough to say it aloud yet.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked.
“I think you should stay the night,” he said, giving voice to some of his thoughts. “All night, until the morning.”
“Are you sure? What will people say?”
“I don’t care. Do you?” She shook her head, her eyes not moving from his. “Good.”
Mareth kissed her.
They shared breakfast in the morning in Mareth’s apartments. He had taken great pleasure informing Percival that it would be breakfast for two. And, without giving away any personal reaction, his valet had done an excellent job of serving them both, bringing an array of food fit for such a perfect morning. Petra wore a tunic of Mareth’s while he sat dressed in trousers only, enjoying a cup of steaming coffee and eating a bread roll with bacon cooked into the dough.
He gazed at Petra and wondered about voicing his concerns, but decided to continue nonetheless. This time was probably difficult for her and he should be there for her the way she was for him. “You haven’t been yourself since Alana left, I supposed you must be really missing her.” Petra looked up from her breakfast, and nodded. It looked like she was holding something back too. “It must be hard being left alone with just me for company?”
“Oh, it’s not that, Mareth,” she said, re
aching out a hand to reassuringly touch his. Relief flooded through Mareth that she hadn’t agreed with him. “I love being here with you. This life is amazing, more than I could possibly have ever imagined. But I’m worried for her.” She paused for a moment and Mareth knew something was coming. “And it’s also made me think that I can do more. She’s left Kingshold and I haven’t. I’m in two minds about this; I don’t want to leave you alone. But I think I should visit the Bard College now.”
Mareth sagged in his chair. He understood her perspective. She was capable of much more; it wasn’t fair to expect her to be there for him all of the time. He had to be responsible for his own emotional state.
Petra’s face twitched as she saw his reaction. “Why don’t you come too?” she asked, taking Mareth by surprise.
He considered getting out on the open road with Petra. Seeing the country and his old college once again. Lots of time to talk and wayside inns to stop at along the way. It sounded idyllic. Too idyllic. “I don’t know if I can. I mean, I think someone needs to still be here in Kingshold. There could be a war breaking out at any moment.”
Petra was silent. Tense. This was right for her, but he knew that if he didn’t handle it right then she would change her mind.
“I don’t think people voted for me thinking that I wouldn’t be here if trouble started. But you should go.” He smiled and nodded his head enthusiastically. “We will take a trip, I promise. I couldn’t imagine anything more lovely. Once Alana comes back and things have cooled down with Pyrfew, then we’ll take a trip around the whole country. Visit all the towns. Maybe we can do it after the snows have been and gone and see all the spring festivals?” He would have loved nothing more than to be going to his old school with Petra, but now the thought of a grand tour in the spring was a boost to his own psyche. “Maybe I’ll even write some new songs that I can perform.” Petra smiled broadly. He only just realized that she had been holding her breath. “And I’ll finish every performance with Petals for Petra.”
She rolled her eyes at him playfully. “That’s a bit corny. Can’t you think of something else?”
Mareth laughed. “I’ll try. I’ll have lots of time when you’re away.”
“Good!” she declared. “I have already been planning with Commander Grimes. I’ll leave today. I’m sure you won’t miss me too much.”
He got up and moved around to her side of the table and kissed her. “You can’t imagine how much I’ll miss you. But I’ll live and I’ll be waiting for you when you come back.”
Petra had packed and left that afternoon. Mareth had waved goodbye from the courtyard as she rode out into the city beyond. He had been of a mind to run behind the carriage calling out like a love-sick fool all the way until she had reached Cripplegate, but he had decided that was probably not the best idea. Ten of the palace guard, picked by Commander Grimes, went with her; and a handful of other staff. It was an overcast and cold day, not the best for traveling, but he knew she would have fun just the same. They had kissed goodbye earlier, in a private place. He had made her promise to send a bird letting him know when she had arrived and that she would not try to find a younger bard to swap him for.
But he still did not tell her what was really in his heart.
The days were short now and the light of the sun had already dipped away behind the city walls. He missed her already. Mareth sat on a stone patio, a cloak tucked around him for warmth, lanterns hanging from posts nearby so he could read the book in his lap. Something he had found in Hoskin’s room when they had discovered his body. Bethel the Red. Hardly bed time reading, but then again, he wasn’t really reading anyway. Just staring out to the west where Petra would be somewhere, not too far away.
There was a tinkle of glass and he looked around. Chancellor Grey stood nearby, a glass in each hand filled. He could smell what was in it.
“I thought you might like a little company,” she said, putting one of the drinks down on the table beside him, and sliding into the chair opposite, not bothering to ask if she could sit. Mareth appreciated that she could put the title of Chancellor down and just be a friend sometimes. “Whiskey. The good stuff from Redwick Bush. It appears we have quite a collection of it.”
“Thank you,” he said, taking the glass and sipping. His mouth became instantly warm and numbed, the sensation sliding down his throat as he swallowed to leave a pleasant glow in his stomach. He didn’t say anything else, just continued to look out into the ever-increasing darkness.
“She will be back soon,” said Grey. He nodded dumbly. “There is much to do. Much to prepare for. I’ll just have to keep you busy until she returns.” She laughed, a sound not unlike the tinkling of the glasses when she had materialized. Mareth was not sure he could remember her laughing before.
“Thank you.” The remnants of the pour disappeared down his throat and he set the glass down. “I appear to have an empty glass.”
Chancellor Grey clicked her fingers and someone appeared with the bottle, setting it down. She poured for him.
“Easily remedied.”
Chapter 15
An Unexpected Audience With God
Gwil sat opposite the perfect form of Tynir Giffen. He was an Ancient, one of roughly two dozen servants to the Emperor who had served him for centuries. Every child of the empire learned how important they were to the empire, not human or elf, but manifestations of their Lord’s power. They lead the various apparatus of governing in Fymrius, or acted as governors of the provinces of the empire. And as usual when in the presence of Tynir, she found herself calmed, though she was not completely sure why that was. He was a very frustrating superior for her, managing to find the perfect nexus of not providing enough details for her to know what he wanted and still wanting to manage things at the minutia. But he did have an aura about him of peace and deliberateness that made the frustrations melt away while she was in his presence. He had requested to meet today in the gardens, and his serenity, and the ageless quality to his handsome features, put Gwil in mind of a statue that had abandoned its plinth and was resting amongst the hanging bougainvillea.
She held a checklist of important tasks for the upcoming pilgrimage, and was in the process of reading through them. Tynir would nod, his eyes half closed, and so sometimes she would pause, unsure if he was listening. But the nodding would stop and she would continue.
“I have received reports that the pilgrims are already on their way from Diweddnas and Ynys Sel. Those from the other provinces will not be far behind. Of course, the roads are lined with celebrants cheering them on. And we will be ready for them when they arrive. The campsite construction is already underway, as I am sure you have seen,” she added unnecessarily. It was practically impossible to not notice when the campgrounds were getting ready for use. They did take up one sixth of the whole of Fymrius, and the canvas city that was being constructed would add a riot of color to their surroundings. She paused and took a breath to stop the babble. “Things are going well. Volunteers from all departments are working extra hours. I believe there is a competition between the departments of Schooling and Agriculture to see who can set up the most tents.”
Tynir nodded in agreement, then suddenly his eyes snapped open and held her in a piercing gaze, “Is there any concern about having enough space with the arrival of the Alfjarun?”
Gwil squirmed. She knew this topic was going to come up, and it had been a source of dread along her normally pleasant walk to work this morning. “I’m afraid it won’t be possible to have them here in great numbers in time.”
“Pardon?” said Tynir.
Gwil steeled herself to deliver her report. She reminded herself that she was good at her role; that she had tried everything. “There just wasn’t enough time after you told me the Emperor’s wishes to make it happen. I have spoken numerous times with the Department of Expansion and they say it is impossible to carry out the order. The time on ship alone can be two months and it will take much more time than that to mobilize them. Alf
aria is a big place apparently—as big as Pyrfew—and much of the land has not been fully explored and liberated yet. This will be the first time that they have been involved in the Pilgrimage, so there is much in the way of logistics to arrange and as I said, just not enough time.” She held her hands together tightly in her lap, as if in prayer. She tried to bring some excitement back into her voice as she tacked on some minor good news. “But there will be a contingent arriving from Gynwal. I have made arrangements for them to stay a short distance away from the campgrounds given their… ‘unique status.’”
Tynir sat patiently as she delivered the bad news, his face impassive. That was another frustrating thing about him; it was very difficult to tell what he was thinking. The Ancient sat contemplating what he had heard. He opened his mouth as if to speak. She waited, expecting the voice as pleasant as a burbling fountain to encourage her to try harder, as if she could change time and go back two years to when they would have needed to start this enterprise. But he didn’t speak; instead, he cocked his head as other voices carried through the hanging vines of purple flowers, around their shady corner of the gardens.
“They are most enamored by the possibility of bringing their god to our lands, my lord,” she recognized Minister Nijil. The right hand of the Emperor. Despite her surroundings and Tynir’s presence, she found herself picking at her fingernails. If he referred to someone as ‘my lord,’ that could only mean one thing…
“I am sure they are,” said the voice of her god. A voice like a thousand-thousand ringing bells, melodic and oh so intricate. Gwil had met the Emperor on a few occasions; her status in the Department of Pilgrims had made her worthy of the honor. And she had heard colleagues talk about chance meetings with him in the gardens, his favorite place to pass the time, but she had never had the honor. She muttered a silent prayer that they walk on by; the irony of who she was praying to lost on her.
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