| |
The cart came out of the woods, and at last they could see Formacaster in front of them—a low white wall, the spires of the cathedral, and above it the big red rock of the Hafocbeorg. Wealdan Castle glittered at the top of the cliffs. The great central glass dome caught the rays of the rising sun. Lauren never tired of the sight, and she hadn’t been to the capital in a year now. But even so, she paused to take in the view before returning to her conversation with Donella. There was a question she had been dying to ask.
“What does it feel like, as a man?”
Donella twisted at the ring on her finger. “Did you want to try it?”
“No,” gasped Lauren. “But when you’re with Andras, which way is better?”
“It really depends on the mood. Andras says he likes me best as a girl, though really, what else is he going to say? That’s the version he spends the most time with.”
“What will you do if you marry Andras?”
Donella shrugged. “That’s something I will think about when the war is over.”
“Which it will be, as soon as we can get everyone together to talk things out. So you’d better start planning the wedding.”
“Um, Lauren?”
“Yes?”
“Maybe we should talk about marriage and sex when we’re not pretending to be nuns.”
“Oh, right. Point taken.”
They tried to look as pious as possible as they pulled up to the city gate. The guards there seemed to be interrogating a group of Sahasran merchants. It seemed as if the soldiers suspected the Sahasrans were spies and were determined to make them slip up by asking the same questions over and over, but with slightly different inflection or wording. After a minute, one of the guards noticed Donella and Lauren in their gray and white habits, and he waved them through the gate.
“Go ahead, sisters. No need for you to wait.”
“That’s amazing,” said Donella, once they were past the gate. “It’s like we’ve got some kind of magysk power.”
“Other than the one you already have, of course,” said Lauren.
They went straight to the castle hill, where the guards were somewhat less inviting. The knight in command looked at them with a barely-concealed sneer. “Have you been invited, sisters?”
“Has her majesty returned from the country?” Donella asked.
The knight frowned. “Yes. How did you...?”
Donella pulled off her veil, yanked down her wimple, and shook loose her long, blonde hair. “Honestly, Sir Gregory, can you really not tell that it’s me?”
His face went white. “Your...your royal highness!” He and the other guards quickly bowed. “My apologies. You’re perfectly right, I should have known. Is there anything I can—”
“Yes. You can tell me where my mother is, and then you can let me through.”
When they got to the castle, Donella led the way past the doormen and through the soaring Palm Court. Here, giant old trees and cacti from the western desert were kept alive under the huge steel and glass dome. On every side, balconies jutted out, and Lauren could see courtiers in bright silks and glittering jewels watching from up there.
Lauren had never been entirely comfortable in Wealdan Castle. Unlike her sisters, Morwen and Sophie, she had never been a lady-in-waiting. Her mother had taken that as an insult, and no doubt it was intended that way. But it had been a tremendous relief for Lauren. Being forced to attend every court event and wait on the queen hand and foot didn’t sound like a good time to her. And that would have been true even if Queen Rohesia were still in Formacaster. Having to spend hours a day with Queen Muriel would have been excruciating.
Donella and her mother could not have been more different. Except in their physical looks, and the fact that they were both very smart, they had nothing in common. Donella was sweet and kind and gentle. Queen Muriel was terrifying.
And now Lauren was going to see her, and with Donella’s help, she would try to convince the most frightening woman in Myrcia that it was in her interest to help end the war.
They went up a dark spiral staircase and came out in a wide drawing room with marble pillars. Then through a parlor to a pair of high white and gold doors. The silver and black arms of the Gramiren family hung above the big, gilded handles.
“Best wait here,” whispered Donella. “My mother sometimes is...busy with guests.”
Lauren, whose mother was often busy with the same kind of “guests,” agreed to wait. But it was a long, nervous minute or two while she stood there in the anteroom. Only Donella’s friendship stood between her and a cell in the dungeon. Her husband was fighting these people. He might be in battle at this very moment. But wasn’t that why she was here? To make sure that people like Wallace and Andras didn’t have to die in this stupid war anymore?
Donella poked her head out of the door again and beckoned. “She’s here. And fully dressed, which is unusual at this time of day.”
The queen was seated at a table on her outer balcony, above the private royal garden. She had on a black velvet dress, a black fur stole, and long black gloves with silver bracelets and rings over them. The cold morning air didn’t seem to bother her in the slightest. She seemed to be working on her correspondence, and judging by the height of the stack of finished letters in front of her, she had been at it for some time.
She sealed one more message, slipped her quill neatly into her silver inkwell, and looked up. “Now, what do you girls wish to say to me?”
In the four days it had taken to get from Erstenwell to the capital, Lauren and Donella had had plenty of time to decide what to say—to decide how to make their case, and indeed, what case they wanted to make. What they had come up with was a women’s peace conference; a meeting of women from all sides, who would sit down and do what their husbands and sons and brothers had so far failed to do. Namely, to end the war and decide who would be king.
“Lauren and I are best friends,” Donella began, “even though our families are fighting. We think that’s significant, don’t you?”
“Perhaps,” said the queen, “though I’m not sure I attach the same significance to it that you do. Go on.”
“Donella and I know Elwyn Sigor, too, your majesty,” said Lauren, “and we both like her very much.”
One corner of Muriel’s blood-red lips curled up. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard anyone admit that out loud before. You have my undivided attention now, girls.”
Donella reddened slightly. “Well, Mother, what we were thinking was that if Lauren and Elwyn and I can all like and respect each other, then why not convene a group of women who could discuss how to end the war?”
“A Women’s Gemot,” said Lauren. She was proud of that name; she had been the one to think of it.
Muriel nodded slowly. “So the two of you, plus Elwyn, and then who else? Me, I suppose, right? And Duchess Flora, no doubt. Queen Rohesia, too, yes? And some of the duchesses might be interested, as well.”
“That’s...that’s pretty much exactly what we had in mind,” admitted Donella. She gave Lauren a hopeful smile. So far the queen seemed to be taking this surprisingly well.
Muriel folded her long, gloved fingers together, making the silver rings scrape and clatter. “And while we are all together at this conference, perhaps we might all get drunk together and have a fantastic orgy in which we’re serviced by the most virile young knights of the realm.”
“Mother!” cried Donella, wincing. “That’s not what the conference is for, at all.”
“Well, as long as you girls are indulging in stupid, childish fantasies, I might as well do the same, according to my own tastes.” She leaned forward onto her elbows. “And I can assure you that the odds of my getting into an orgy with your mother, Lauren, are far better than the odds that your silly ‘Women’s Gemot’ would solve anything.”
“Couldn’t we at least give it a try?” said Lauren.
“What would be the point?” Muriel was laughing now. “Who would this gemot vote for as king? Why would the loser feel bound to accept the decision? How would the winners enforce their victory?”
“We could compromise,” said Donella.
“That is the stupidest thing you’ve said yet. Girls, there are two competing claimants for the throne: my husband and Edwin Sigor. Their claims are mutually exclusive. There is no way for both of them to be king. There is no way to compromise. That is why we are at war now. Not because men are stubborn or stupid or failed to listen to women’s advice.”
“But if we talked it over—” Lauren started plaintively.
“My dear girl, you had better stop talking,” Muriel said, giving her a grin that was very nearly a snarl. “Your mother and father and brothers are traitors in open rebellion to the crown. As is your new husband, Baron Urcard. All I have to do is ring for the guards, and you could be taken to the dungeon.”
Lauren saw the queen was quite serious, and she shrank back, ready to sprint for the door, wondering how far she could get before the soldiers caught her.
Muriel laughed. “You look like a startled rabbit, dear. Don’t worry. You’re clearly no threat to anyone, and I’m not sure you’re important enough to bother taking as a hostage. I will let you leave, but if I ever see you back here with my daughter again, I will put you in chains and parade you naked through the streets. And you,” she said, turning to Donella, “will stay in this castle, or I will have you locked in your room day and night.”
She went inside and rang a bell. Moments later, four guards in Gramiren black appeared. Muriel pointed at Lauren. “Take this girl to the nearest Sigor-held town under flag of truce. She is not to be harmed in any way, but if she speaks too much, you have my permission to gag her.”
Donella and Lauren had only seconds to say goodbye. “I’m sorry,” said Donella, looking stricken.
“Don’t be,” said Lauren, looking past her friend at the queen. “It was a good idea.”
Then the soldiers marched her away, bound her hands, and put her in the back of a military cart. They didn’t say a word to her, but they were clearly annoyed that they had been saddled with her.
As the cart made its way carefully down the long, winding road from the castle to the city, Lauren looked out across the River Trahern to the west. A vast patchwork of little fields and villages spread away to the west, where eventually it gave way to scrubby gray pastureland. Beyond that, she knew, was the fearsome western desert, where they said a man would die, baked to death, if he rode in the heat of the day. She almost wished she were there, rather than here. The scenery swam—it might have been the early spring heat, rippling the air. Or perhaps it was the dust, making her eyes tear up.
“I’m so stupid,” she thought. “I really thought it would work.”
She wiped her eyes. And she wiped them again. Something was still moving across the river. A shifting, rippling gray line, snaking its way around the neat fields. She dried her eyes completely and looked again. Something was traveling on the roads over there.
Lowering her gaze, she scanned the far bank of the river, and now she could see features and details that had been lost in the distance and haze. There were lines of men—soldiers, no doubt. And horses and carts, too. And camels, as well. These men had come out of the desert, thousands and thousands of them.
At the far edge of the river, she could now see dozens and dozens of little boats. No, not dozens—hundreds. All those men were coming east, and they were about to be ferried across.
“What army is that?” she asked, forgetting her fear of the Gramiren men.
“Oasestadt militia,” said the soldier driving the cart. “Odelandic and Zekustian mercenaries, too.”
His companion on the driver’s seat reached over and cuffed the man in the back of the head. “Idiot. Don’t tell her that.”
“Why not?” The driver turned and gave Lauren a nasty look. “If you’re a Sigor supporter, my dear girl, you’ll get to meet those men soon enough.”