THE FULL MOON blazed over a brightly lit Lionis Palace.
Torches burned in the People’s Courtyard, warm as day, and long candles glowed from silver sconces lining the grand corridors. Firelight flickered along orange tapestries and velvet drapes, and gleamed against the limestone walls. The night itself was made white and orange, reflecting Aremore glory.
But Charm was distracted from the patriotic display because he’d never been in any place quite so full of men. He’d lived in army encampments along the River of All, visited smoking parlors, and the cat gardens, too: certainly there were places in Es Iniphet Es where men congregated in numbers that overwhelmed the girls and Mothers. On the various ships Charm had traveled upon to arrive in Aremoria, the sailors had been uniformly non-Mothers, their dress and attitude such that he’d had trouble telling the men from the girls frequently enough to stop trying. He’d used formal ambiguous address and none appeared to take offense as a Mother might.
The Lionis Palace reception room, however, was crushed with men in the richly appointed tunics, jackets, and trousers Aremore folk considered particularly masculine in flavor. Their velvets, fine wool, dyed and embroidered linen, gold and polished gemstone jewelry, and leather boots, gloves, and even light coats marked these men to be of the highest class. Women were present, too, in floor-dragging gowns to impede any urgent movement, their jewelry and hair more elaborate than their husbands’, sons’, brothers’, as was fitting at least. The braids looped loosely in ways that would never suit the hair of the oldest people, and Aremore hair colors ranged from yellow and gold to the russet of sunset and gleaming dark brown. Charm’s eyes were more used to searching for nuances in shades of brown and black, subtle bone structure and the tuck of an eyelid, the occasional gray eyes of a Godsman, or melon-pale skin and red freckles a rare prize.
Queen Celeda of Aremore waited at the far end of the reception hall upon a dais hung with orange. The gilded throne behind her was delicate but imposing, with lions carved into the arms and clawed legs. The queen smiled at Charm but said nothing, waiting tall and elegant as a date palm in red.
His aunt was introduced as Elodisil Honored of the line of the Great Mother of the Third Kingdom, the Luminous Phetira as herself, and he merely Echarmet of Kurake Queen, for a son of even a queen’s line needed no further designation. In turn they were given the names of two dozen royal Aremore cousins, councillors, and dignitaries. Elodisil greeted all and spoke eloquently of their easy travels and appreciation of the beauty of Lionis. His aunt offered thanks for the welcome, then on Charm’s behalf, being the highest ranking of their party, she presented gifts from Elophet and Kurake Queen for their well-missed friend and named-sister Celedrix. There were gifts for her children, too: Tigirsenna, the youngest; Vatta, the second-daughter; and Prince Calepia of course.
But the first daughter of Aremoria was not there to receive them.
ONCE THE FORMALITIES were passed, Charm and his aunt were invited to a more intimate conversation with only Celedrix, her children (those two present, at least), and a few of her favored courtiers.
They were led through a hidden side door in a striped wall panel beside the throne dais, into a matching portrait gallery with tall windows that overlooked a courtyard garden. Darkness and firelight transformed the window glass into rippling flames, casting eerie light upon the staring faces of former kings.
The moment the door shut behind them, Celeda smiled. “Charm,” she said warmly, while behind her the portraits watched him. In the unsettling light, he realized he was being judged by a heavy Aremore history.
“Moon And Shadow,” he said in the Mother-tongue. He would not be cowed, for he was worthy of this room and everything it represented.
Celeda stepped forward to embrace him, and Charm gave in gladly. The queen’s slender arms tightened around his shoulders and one hand reached up to his head, but she recalled herself in time: carefully applied yellow and orange clay powder had transformed his corona into a sunburst. Charm wouldn’t have minded if she’d mussed the stripes; she’d been a Father to him for nearly a decade, teaching him so much about action and honor, and he loved her. He’d forgive her almost anything.
They parted and she touched his cheek, then pinched his earlobe just over the lapis ring. “Oh, it is good to have you here. All of you,” she added, including Elodisil and Phetira in her welcome. Phetira murmured a prayer of introduction, and Elodisil leaned forward to brush her cheek to Celeda’s.
“Vatta, come here,” the queen said, holding out a pale hand to her second-daughter. Vatta’s skin was a breath darker than her mother’s, though her hair was the same. Her face was more oval and soft, her eyes tilted down toward her nose as her father’s must have. If her looks were any indication of Prince Calepia’s, Charm would be well pleased, however little desire might be mutual between them.
“I am glad to meet you, Princess Vatta,” Charm said.
Her cheeks flushed prettily as a glassflower. “I have heard much of you from my sister and mother, Prince Echarmet, and every word of it to your credit.”
Charm smiled and bowed over her hand in the Aremore fashion. It caused a ringing in the intricate silver harness he wore over his red linen. The metal molded in careful strips to his torso, shaping him handsomely, with the added function of armored protection, and across his back provided latches for the sheathes of his Sun and Moon swords.
Vatta, too, wore red, as did Celeda and Tigir—though theirs was a hotter tone, close to the burnt orange of their flag. He liked that they wore complementary colors of state, as if he were already part of the family.
“I apologize for my first-daughter,” Celeda said coolly, though the glance shared between Vatta and Tigir belied her calm. “Calepia is deliberate, and her rule will benefit from such a trait if she manages to find a sense of duty.”
Aunt Elodisil offered Celeda her bright moon smile. “Kurake was much the same as a youth, though she found her way when duty necessitated it.”
The queen nodded in appreciation of the kindness, and ministers burst in then with crystal glasses of wine, trays of snacks, and some stools.
Charm perched carefully, glad the seats were backless, and it occurred to him Celeda had expected his swords, and planned for them. Affection warmed him, and he lifted his wine to salute her, reciting a family blessing in the Mother-tongue. Celeda lifted her glass in return, as did all those in the room, and then Charm gave his best translation for Vatta and any who were not fluent. It took several more words and fell less gracefully from his lips, but he managed:
“The blades of a single sword that cut in two directions never meet each other, but always guard each other’s backs.”
Vatta clapped, pleased, and Tigir asked her mother if she might train again with the Moon and Sun swords.
“Perhaps with Charm himself,” Celeda said, “If he would be so generous.”
“I would love it, and the princess Vatta, if she is interested,” Charm said.
“Oh yes, Mother.”
Celeda agreed, and shot Charm a brief look of approval.
The warmth in his spirit near glowed. Anything that Prince Calepia presented would be a worthwhile challenge for the reward of this family. Charm asked if Celeda sill practiced with her own swords; he was surprised she did not go armed and adorned, for she was a great warrior both here and at home. In fact, it had been Celeda who put a sword into his eleven-year-old hand when she first arrived in Es Iniphet Es, looking for shelter, friends, and purpose.
They had become each other’s purpose in many ways. And here, twelve years later, their efforts would come to fruition. She—and Aremoria—would gain a son of Elophet’s daughter-line, and Charm a crown of his own.