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The waters of Lake Almis shimmered as they always did on warm afternoons starting in late spring. Boats sailed along with boys fishing and waving to parties of girls on the shore. Then came the turn at the shrine, and the Shikander Valley opened as it always had, with the temples and markets of Briddobad rising to the left, and the fashionable villas of Chamalee Hill on the right. The Sigors and their party passed the thundering waterfall where the river disappeared into a deep, misty gorge, and finally there was the little knob of Bakayn Hill and the Pradivani Palace, exactly where it had always been.
Pallavi Ratnam had sent word ahead that they were coming, but even so, there were only two soldiers on duty at the gate. They saluted lazily, and then Edwin went across the familiar lawn and around the fountain, under the jacaranda trees, to the main house. It was a wide, low, rambling structure with whitewashed walls and glass doors that opened straight into the garden.
Inside, a pair of housemaids in yellow silk curtsied and then returned to the job of frantically cleaning away the dust. Clearly, no one had stayed here, which wasn’t surprising. This had always been one of the Sahasran king’s least favorite residences, which was how it had ended up as the home of the Sigor dynasty in exile.
Edwin and Elwyn tramped up the stairs and went straight to their respective rooms. They said nothing, because there was nothing to say. Edwin shut his door and fell into the bed, pushing aside the heavier quilts and leaving the fresh, crisp new sheets. The bed was smaller than he remembered it being. But that was the last thought he had before he fell asleep.
Later in the evening, he woke to the sound of the housemaids bringing in water for bathing. No doubt that was for Elwyn. So he rang and requested a tub for himself, too. Then he soaked in it and watched the sun go down over the back veranda.
It all seemed exactly the same—the bells of the temples in the distance, the smell of the markets and the spice and the incense. “We should never have left,” he thought. They could have stayed here in Briddobad and done nothing and the result would have been exactly the same.
Well, not exactly the same. When they had left, two and a half years earlier, this neighborhood had been the center of a lively Myrcian expatriate community. There had been parties every night where lords and ladies and daring young knights toasted Edwin as “the true king.” Now a lot of those knights were dead, and most of those lords had submitted themselves again to Gramiren rule.
And of course, there was his uncle, the Earl of Hyrne. The earl had been at the center of everything here—the captain general and president of the king’s council-in-exile. Now he had disappeared into the dungeons of Wealdan Castle, and Edwin had no idea if he was even alive anymore. It was hard to know how to feel about that. Edwin felt sorry for his uncle, but there was no getting around the fact that the man had lost the battle at Erstenwell, and very possibly the whole war, through his arrogance and tactical ineptitude.
On the other hand, a king was ultimately responsible for what his ministers did, wasn’t he? “If I was any good at this,” Edwin thought miserably, “I would have found a way to get him to step aside.”
After soaking in the tub until the water was cold, Edwin heard voices downstairs—raised voices, like someone was having an argument. He dressed again and went down to what had once been his uncle’s study. From the hallway, he could look through a wide arch into the room, now lit with flickering lamps in red and orange glass globes. All the books were on the shelves where his uncle had left them, and there was the big desk where the earl had sat, plotting the campaign that would be his downfall.
At the moment, Elwyn sat behind the desk, glaring angrily up at Pallavi Ratnam. Lady Rada and Caedmon stood off to one side, in front of the big glass doors, looking worried. Pallavi had some sort of message in her hand, and she was fiddling nervously with it.
“So that’s it, is it?” said Elwyn. “You’re done with us now, are you?”
“It’s not me,” Pallavi said sadly. “If it were up to me, I would let you stay here as long as you like. In fact, I would gather the whole Vizierate of Magy and the army, too, and I would march with you on Formacaster.”
“Oh, bullshit,” said Elwyn.
“Miss Ratnam has always been a good friend to your family, your royal highness,” said Caedmon. “We must not blame her for—”
“Fine, whatever,” said Elwyn, throwing up her hands. “Yes, I’m sorry, Pallavi. I know you don’t make policy.”
“What’s going on?” asked Edwin, stepping out of the arch and into the light.
Elwyn jumped up and pointed to the chair behind the desk. “Come here, Edwin. This is your seat now.”
Edwin wasn’t sure he liked that idea, but he took the chair rather than start an argument.
“I’m very sorry, your majesty,” said Pallavi, “but we’ve gotten a letter from the Grand Vizier. King Samrad and the Council of Viziers would appreciate it if you could find somewhere else to stay.”
“So we can’t use this palace anymore?” Edwin glanced around at Elwyn, now leaning against the back of his chair.
“She means we have to leave the fucking country,” said Elwyn.
A quick look at Caedmon, who sighed and nodded. Then Edwin turned back to Pallavi. “But the king was happy to let us stay here before.”
“That’s because he thought we were going to win,” said Elwyn. “Now it’s pretty clear we won’t. So we’re of no use to him.”
Pallavi excused herself, looking truly miserable.
Edwin would have felt sorry for her, but he couldn’t spare much pity for anyone but himself and his sister at the moment. He looked at Elwyn again and asked, “Where can we go?”
“We don’t have many choices.” She turned to Caedmon, who pulled a big map off one of the shelves and spread it on the desk.
“From here, we could go southwest to Annenstruk or Krigadam,” he said, “although the Annenstruker royal family has strong ties to the Gramiren and Ostensen families. The Krigadamite queen has no particular connection to the enemy, however. She might be prevailed upon to allow us transit to the port of Flodmund, where we could hire a ship to Alokko or Minerto.”
“There’s Loshadnarod, too,” said Rada. She was half Loshadnarodski, and had once been a Queen’s Guard in that country before coming to Sahasra Deva, land of her father’s ancestors. “I’m not sure they would let us in, though.”
Elwyn shook her head. “Yes, there’s that minor matter of the fact that we’re still technically at war with them.”
A war their father had started, Edwin reminded himself, which made it even worse.
“We might offer a peace treaty,” Rada suggested.
“Yes, my lady,” said Caedmon, “but sadly that would mean little or nothing coming from a king in exile.”
“The Loshadnarodskis would probably arrest us and try to trade us to Cousin Broderick for a treaty,” said Elwyn.
“Then our only other option is northeast to Polynarod,” said Edwin. “And from there, into the Empire.”
“Or to the east,” said Rada, who had no particular love for the Immani. “To one of the kingdoms of Shangia, maybe.”
No matter which way they chose, it would be a journey of a thousand miles or more. It would be months, maybe even years, before they would have a home of their own again. And even when they did, it would be like this palace—a gift from a reluctant host who could take it back whenever he liked. Edwin couldn’t face the prospect of making a decision immediately. And frankly, it looked like the others wanted some time to mull it over, too.
They all retired to their rooms for the evening. Edwin slept very poorly, drifting in and out of dreams where he was back in the cart with Sir Halvor mocking him. Or in the cellars of Wealdan Castle, listening to the rattle of the pump tower and the drip of condensation, and hearing distant screams from someone who sounded like Elwyn.
In the morning, he went down to the front parlor, where the servants were setting out the coffee and honeyed rolls for breakfast. Pallavi and Rada sat whispering in low voices together. They both looked sad, and Edwin thought they must be discussing the Sahasran king’s decision again, until he heard his sister’s name, and the words, “broke her heart.”
“What’s wrong?” he asked, coming over to them. “What’s happened to Elwyn now?”
Pallavi gave him a motherly look. “Your majesty, your sister has received some rather difficult news this morning.”
“What news? Where is she?”
“She’s out in the back garden,” said Rada, resting a hand on his arm. “But I would give her some time alone if you—”
Edwin shook her off and ran through the house and out into the garden. This part behind the house had always been a bit wilder and less perfectly landscaped than the front lawn, and it looked as if no one had done much trimming or pruning in the two and a half years he had been gone. It took him some time to find Elwyn, dodging thickets of brambles and giant overgrown hollyhocks.
She was at the back, on a seat by a broken fountain that was nearly swallowed up in ivy now. She had a letter in one hand, and was wiping away tears with the other. But she didn’t look sad quite so much as angry, and as he approached, she was muttering, “Fuck it. Fuck it. Fuck it all,” under her breath.
“Elwyn, what’s wrong?”
She gave a start and then handed him the letter. Her lip trembled slightly.
It was from some baronet’s wife in Keelshire. Apparently, the woman was in the pay of Sahasran intelligence, and the spies had wasted no time in getting the letter to Briddobad. It had been sent barely two days earlier.
To V.S.,
In this time of trial, it will no doubt please Princess Elwyn to learn that the foul traitress, Lady Hildred Stenburg, is dead. I have the utmost pleasure to inform you that the wretched girl died in childbirth last night. Please give this joyous news to her royal highness, along with my compliments.
Yours,
T.L.
Edwin looked up at his sister. “Oh, Earstien. That’s awful.”
Elwyn took the letter back, crumpled it up, and flung it hard into the upper branches of a nearby azalea. Then she put her head in her hands. Edwin sat next to her and put a reassuring hand on her back.
“Fuck it!” She wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands. “I don’t know what’s the worst part of this: that she’s dead, or that some foul bitch in Keelshire actually thought I’d be happy about it. Or maybe it’s the fact that I’m not happy.” She pounded her fists against her knees. “I should be happy, shouldn’t I? I have a right to be, don’t I?”
“I’ve always thought you should be happy.”
“That’s sweet, but I mean happy about Hildred dying. Didn’t I earn that right? I think I did. But I’m not happy. I feel sorry for her, and I feel stupid for feeling sorry!”
Always before, Edwin would have tried to comfort her and tell her Hildred hadn’t deserved her love, but on this particular morning, when they were about to be kicked out of the country and sent packing to who knew where, he suddenly found that he couldn’t muster much sympathy at all for her. Thousands of men were dead, and she was still whining about an affair that had ended two years ago.
“Elwyn, you need to stop doing this.”
“Doing what?” She wiped her eyes again.
“Making yourself miserable about the past. You need to find someone dependable, and then you need to settle down.”
She sat back and crossed her arms. “What, you mean someone ‘dependable’ like Andras Byrne?”
Edwin shrugged. “You know how I felt about that. I still think Andras would have been perfect for you.”
“And you think I’m the one stuck in the past,” she muttered.
“Fine. It’s clearly not going to be Andras. But we need to find you someone.”
“Someone with a fat purse and lots of soldiers, I bet,” she said bitterly.
“Well...yes!” Edwin gave her an incredulous look. “Elwyn, it’s strange to be telling you this, but you need to grow up!”
“What did you say?”
“Grow up! You’re still fucking people right and left like you’re my age.”
“Like I’m your age?” She gave him a nasty smile. “Did you manage to lose your cherry to Meredith Barras?”
“Um...n-no,” he stammered. How dare she mock him—as if chastity was something to be ashamed of! “That’s not my point. Pretty soon, no one is going to want to marry you, and that’s the one thing that you can do to help me get back on the throne!”
She stood up. “You don’t mean that. I know you don’t.” She started away, and he tried to follow her, but she said, “Let me be alone for a while, you asshole.”
He thought about chasing her and apologizing. But he didn’t. He could say she was right—that he hadn’t meant it. But deep down, he knew that he had.