6
Meeting the Bride
Escritor Auxis came to Miriamele’s cabin on the Hylissa to offer his condolences. Her ladies—all but Shulamit, who had been seasick for two days and was moaning in her narrow bed—scuttled to the back of the small room and stood behind the queen’s chair like a choir of painted angels around Holy Elysia’s throne.
Miri did not much feel like the mother of God or in fact the mother of anything. She had a hole inside her that seemed far greater than all her feelings for her dead daughter-in-law.
“Your Majesty.” Auxis went down to a knee, then bowed his handsome head to kiss her extended hand. “I come to give you the condolence of Mother Church, and to share my own sadness at your bereavement as well.”
This would make a pretty painting too, she thought, but felt too numb even to amuse herself. “Thank you, Escritor. Please, sit with me.”
“You are kind, Majesty, but I will not intrude on you so long.”
She did her best to smile. Auxis was a tall man, and had to bend beneath the low ceiling that was just high enough for Miri and her ladies to stand without striking their heads against the timbers. “Even so. But are you allowed to take off your hat? I fear you will injure it, or it will be smeared with pitch.”
This caught Auxis by surprise, and he struggled for a moment to decide whether he was being mocked. “I take your point,” he said. “Perhaps I will sit, if only for a short while. Your Majesty is very kind.” He lowered himself onto a stool, which vanished beneath his magnificent golden robes. “The Sacred Father, I’m sure, would want me to extend his gratitude that you will continue your journey to Nabban. He would understand, I’m sure, what a sacrifice it is on your part.”
“Not such a sacrifice,” she said, her strange mood driving her toward honesty, even with this man she did not much like. “We will reach the Port of Nabban tomorrow. Even were I to turn back immediately, I would not be in time for Princess Idela’s funeral.”
“Of course, Majesty. But still, it must be a terrible time for you.”
“It is more terrible for my husband. He has our granddaughter to care for, who must be comforted over the loss of her mother, as well as the people of Erkynland.”
Auxis nodded. “And your grandson, Prince Morgan?”
Miri wondered at this. Was it only because she had not mentioned him, or was there something else to the escritor’s interest? “He is on a mission for the High Throne. It breaks my heart to think he has likely not even heard yet about his mother’s death.”
Auxis shook his head in sorrow. If it was an imposture, the escritor was an even better mummer than Miri suspected. “We can never be prepared for death, except that we stand in the light of Usires, our Ransomer.”
She decided to take him at face value, at least for now. She needed the lector and Mother Church to help her make peace between Nabban’s feuding factions. “Oh, have no fear on that score, Eminence—Princess Idela was a devout Aedonite. She read little but religious tracts, and of course the Book of the Aedon was her constant companion, may she already stand in God’s grace and light.” Miri made the sign of the Tree, and Auxis joined her before she had finished the first stroke. “If anyone was prepared for the fate that comes to us all, she was.”
“It makes my heart glad to hear that, Majesty. It is balm to the soul of those left behind, to know that our loved ones are with our Heavenly Father.”
Despite her better instincts, Miriamele was tiring of this round of platitudes. “You have been most kind to visit, and to bring me the Church’s condolence. Please keep Princess Idela in your prayers.”
The escritor, as much courtier as churchman, knew when he was being excused. He stood, holding his tall hat in place, and backed toward the door. “It is always a privilege to speak with you, Majesty. I hope we shall continue our acquaintanceship, the demands on your time notwithstanding, when you have reached Nabban.”
“I am sure I can depend on the reliability of your counsel.” The reliability that it will be entirely selfish, she thought, but that felt a little unfair. The man had done nothing but what was necessary and right. Still, she was in a mood to trust no one, least of all one of the leading powers of Mother Church. Although what Simon had said of Idela’s death had made it sound no more than a terrible accident, it also felt like a blow against safety and security—a blow she felt strongly on this journey to a divided and dangerous country. Dangerous even for the High Queen? That was something she would know better when she could feel and hear the mood of Nabban for herself.
What was it my grandfather used to say? Patience is the greatest tool of a king. Patience and a long memory.
On those occasions when Duchess Canthia was being dressed in the full panoply of her title and position, when her retiring room was full of happily talking women, Jesa could feel for a moment at least that she was back home in the Wran. On the day of a wedding the women there would gather in the hut of the bride’s parents and help the bride through the rituals.
Today’s gathering felt something like that, and even Jesa joined in the merriment. Because she was Canthia’s friend and childhood companion, instead of looking at her like something that should be sent out of doors, the ladies-in-waiting treated her as though she belonged among them. But even though the room was full of excitement and glee, Jesa did not feel like laughing very often. She could see that her mistress was fretful, though trying not to show it. Even the broadest smile that came to Canthia’s face looked like something carefully created. Jesa wondered if she alone noticed, or if others knew the duchess well enough to be worried.
Not that anyone was truly calm today. Queen Miriamele’s ship had arrived and the queen was coming to the Sancellan Mahistrevis this morning. Ever since the news of her visit had been brought to Nabban a sennight ago, on a fast merchant ship, the entire Sancellan had seemed to Jesa like a tree full of birds suddenly aware a snake was making its way up the trunk. Worried, she had asked Canthia if the queen was someone to be feared, but Canthia had promised her that Queen Miriamele was very kind and that the queen and Canthia were on good terms. The duchess assured her the excitement in the ducal palace came only from the concern to make a good impression.
Which was a relief, but Jesa’s real worry was about the duchess herself, who had seemed troubled for many days, beginning long before the news had come. Not that Canthia did not have reasons for worry. Riots were still taking place in the city, and quite a few people had been killed. The enmity between the two main parties, the duke’s Kingfishers and the Stormbirds of Dallo Ingadaris, even divided the Dominiate, where the noble families met to make law. Jesa heard these recitations directly from the duke every night—though he spoke them to his wife, not her—when she brought little Serasina to her parents so they could bid the baby goodnight.
But Jesa thought her mistress seemed to have even more dire things on her mind than the warring families and unrest in the streets. Duchess Canthia was normally quite courageous, trained by a terrifying mother to maintain her composure in all circumstances, as she had often said with dark amusement. Jesa thought whatever was bothering her now seemed almost like one of the spirits who troubled the people of Red Pig Lagoon, the hungry ones who drank up people’s lives at night, little by little, like a dog lapping water.
If I were home, I’d go to one of the healers and have her make up a charm against hungry ghosts to put beneath my lady’s pillow. Of course, many of Jesa’s people lived in the city of Nabban, especially near the docks—perhaps she could find such a one. But how? She certainly would not be leaving the Sancellan Mahistrevis while the queen was visiting—not unless the duchess herself set her some task that took her out into the city.
She had run many such errands of late for the duchess, mostly carrying letters. To her silent but genuine pleasure, several of them had been to Viscount Matreu, the handsome brown man (as she always thought of him, only realizing when she did how long she had been surrounded by paler faces) who had saved Jesa, baby Serasina, and the duchess from disaster when they were caught in a riot.
In other circumstances Jesa might have suspected herself the go-between in an illicit romance, but she could not believe that of her mistress. Canthia showed none of the feverish excitement of love, only the deep, hidden sadness that Jesa found so disturbing, and Canthia seemed to treat the letters to Matreu no differently than those from her other correspondents. For that matter, the duchess wrote more to ugly old Bellin Hermis, the earl of Vissa, than she did to the handsome viscount.
Jesa was also disgusted because even though she did not believe her mistress cared anything about Matreu beyond friendship and gratitude, she still felt a little jealous about their communications.
The viscount asked you to come work for him, foolish girl, that’s all, she scolded herself. Maybe he would have taken you to his bed, too. But nothing beyond that. Would you leave your friend and her daughter, sweet Serasina you love so much, to be a rich man’s plaything?
When Duchess Canthia was dressed and powdered, she sent her ladies out. “I must have a moment to catch my breath,” she said, propping herself on a tall stool. “These skirts are so stiff! Here, Jesa, bring me my little darling.”
But one of Canthia’s attendants had stayed behind, clearly seeking a word with her, so Jesa waited. The duchess, understanding they were not alone yet, made a weary face before turning. “Yes, Mindia?”
The young woman hesitated. “It is just, Your Grace, that I heard my uncle, the baron, talking to some of the other men.”
“I’m not a priest, dear one. I cannot absolve you of eavesdropping.”
Lady Mindia colored. “It is not that. I just . . . it is what he said. He told them that he fears Count Dallo and his faction will make trouble at the duke’s brother’s wedding. They are planning something, he said, because Queen Miriamele will be there.”
Canthia looked at her with flat disbelief. “At Drusis’s wedding? A wedding that Dallo himself is paying for, and which benefits him more than anyone? Who would disrupt a wedding for such petty ends? I cannot believe it.”
“Nevertheless, my uncle told his men to lay by arms in case there is trouble.”
Now the duchess was angry. “These are the kind of tales that can make things happen, Mindia. You should know better.”
“I’m sorry, Your Grace. I only wanted you to know—”
“And I do know. I will speak to my husband about it. But I do not want you carrying that tale anywhere else. Promise me you will speak no more of it to anyone.”
The lady looked troubled, but said, “Of course, Duchess.”
Jesa thought that sounded like a very unconvincing promise. She held infant Serasina a little closer. Surely the duchess was right, though—no matter how bad the Ingadarines were, it made no sense that they would risk anything dangerous at their own festivities.
When Mindia had gone out, Canthia again asked for her daughter. As she held the child, one of the nurses brought in her son, young Blasis, also dressed for the state occasion in his finest clothes, but fidgeting as if he wore not silk and velvet but itchy grass. He was a handsome little boy with clear, dark eyes and a high forehead, but few children his age cared anything for meeting important people, and the duke’s son was no exception.
“And there’s my other darling,” the duchess said when she saw him. “What a fine young man you look!”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” said the nurse. “He fought every bit of it, though I beg pardon at having to tell you.”
Blasis scowled. “I want to shoot my bow and arrows.”
“And you will, my brave little son, but first you must meet the queen. She is a very wonderful woman, a good friend to Nabban. Did you know she is half Nabbanai herself?”
Blasis only looked down at his new slippers.
“Ah, well. Take him out and keep him clean, please, at least until the queen sees him looking tidy.”
When her son had been conducted out again, doing his best to scuff those slippers with each dragging step, the duchess looked back down at Serasina. “And here is the smallest angel,” she said, pressing her face close against the baby’s pink skin. “She smells so lovely! Is there any fragrance to match it?”
Jesa, who had a greater familiarity than the duchess with the tiny girl’s less pleasant smells, only smiled and shook her head. “No, Your Grace.”
Canthia gave her a sharp look. “Is something troubling you as well, Jesa? Do not tell me otherwise—I know you too well.” She set a few delicate, nibbling kisses on her baby’s ear. “Out with it.”
“It is what Lady Mindia said.”
“Ah.” She sighed. “Did you hear what I told her? There is no reason to fear. Yes, some of Dallo’s Stormbirds might make trouble in the streets. They will use the excuse of public celebration to pick fights and perhaps even riot in the poorer quarters. Drink makes the peasants loud and full of themselves. But nothing worse will happen, I promise.”
Jesa fought against a moment of resentment at the word “peasants.” What was she herself but a different sort of peasant, a child of the savage Wran and thus little more than a trained animal in the eyes of most at the court? But she knew Canthia’s heart was good, and that the duchess would never understand how her words could sometimes hurt her friend. “Then why is Lady Mindia’s uncle so worried? Why should his men have weapons put aside?”
Canthia made a noise of exasperation. “Because her uncle, Baron Sessian, has ambitions of his own. He would love to turn some disagreement into an attack that he alone was prepared to defend. He wants to become my husband’s indispensable man. I think he sees himself taking Envalles’s place as the duke’s principal counselor.”
“But Envalles is the duke’s uncle!”
“Exactly. So Sessian looks for anything that will make him seem more important, and prepares to fight against phantoms of his own ambition, like little Blasis shooting his bow and saying, ‘Take that, dragon!’” Canthia laughed. “You know so little of these men, Jesa. They are full of wind and fire, but only when they can be so without risk.”
Jesa felt a bit better. “You are certain, my lady?”
“Mark me—the wedding, though ridiculous in itself, will go smoothly. The Ingadarines are so happy to bind Drusis to them that they would ignore the Sancellan Mahistrevis itself catching fire and burning to the ground as long as the vows were completed.”
The news about Princess Idela’s death had swept through Duke Saluceris’s palace ahead of Miriamele’s arrival. As she made her way along the apparently endless lines of nobles waiting to meet her on the courtyard steps and in the Sancellan’s great outer hall she was given almost as many words of condolence as of greeting.
She had spent much of the last day overwhelmed with sorrow for her grandchildren and anger with herself about having thought (and said, at least to Simon) so many unkind things about the dead woman. She was also troubled by the idea that her husband would have to bear the burden of Idela’s death alone. Miri knew such things were painful for him, that Simon could not put on and off the mask of his position as easily as she could, who had been raised to it in a royal childhood.
Oh, my dear man, what I would not give for us to be together now. She was more than a bit shamed that she had pushed so hard for him to stay home while she came to Nabban. Yes, there were important things here to be done, but it seemed as if God wished to remind her that few obligations were more sacred than family and marriage.
In a moment when nobody stood directly before her, she discreetly made the sign of the Tree and offered a silent a prayer to the Mother of God.
Elysia, raised above all other mortals, Queen of the Sky and Sea, intercede for your supplicant so that mercy may fall upon this sinner.
The great bell in the Sancellan Aedonitis, the nearby palace of the lector, had tolled the hour two times before Miriamele finished making her way through the crush of well-wishers, attention-curriers, and the merely curious, and could finally retreat with her company of supporters to an inner hall of the Sancellan Mahistrevis to take refreshment. She had been pleased to see Duchess Canthia again, who had kissed her heartily on both cheeks. Duke Saluceris, though more reserved in his greeting, had said all the right things with admirable sincerity, and Miri, gratified, had made a dignified fuss over both the children. The duke’s handsome, arrogant brother Drusis had kissed her hand and welcomed her too, although she could sense by the stiffness of his smile that he was not entirely pleased by her presence.
Feeling more secure, surrounded now by both her own soldiers and the duke’s Kingfisher Guard, Miri realized how tired she was. Her dress seemed made of wood and her feet were aching, but there was no opportunity or place in the chamber to sit down. As her ladies talked excitedly among themselves, pointing out this or that well-known Nabbanai earl or baron or the best-known ladies of the court, measuring their flaws and favors, Miri moved a little apart to study the large paintings that dominated the high back wall of the chamber.
Three huge pictures were arranged in a triangle with the center image higher than the others. The outer paintings were of Nabban’s two greatest leaders, Tiyagaris, who had founded the Imperium, and Anitulles, who had converted to the Church of Aedon and forced his subjects to do the same. Tiyagaris was shown in full martial regalia, helmet beneath his arm and a dim scene of armies on the move behind him. Anitulles wore clothes that looked more scholarly than warlike, though he had been willing enough to chastise unbelievers with imprisonment and death. He held in his hand the Edict of Gemmia, the declaration that all under Nabbanai sway would now observe the True Faith.
At the center, lifted above the others, either because he stood figuratively on their shoulders, or—more likely, she thought—because he was the progenitor of the current ruling house, hung a picture of Benidrivis the Great, who had captured the throne and begun the Third Imperium. The artist had given the bearded patriarch both a scroll and a sword. She wondered which one was supposed to be used first.
As she studied the huge portrait she sensed a presence behind her. Assuming it was one of her ladies, she said, “Just give me a moment more.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
A little startled by the male voice, she turned and found herself face to face with Count Dallo Ingadaris. She had not seen him in many years, but she could not help thinking that time had been unkind to him. The master of House Ingadaris had grown plump, but though he wore a narrow beard on his chin like a young buck, his exquisite green doublet and ceremonial sash could not hide his protruding stomach. He looked, she could not help thinking, like a dandified toad.
“Your Majesty!” he said, then made a deep bow, not without a small grunt of effort that Miri scented rather than heard in the noisy chamber. He had been chewing mint, which was some relief. “What a pleasure it is to see you again, Cousin—if I may be so bold as to call you so.”
At once, all her dislike of him came flooding back. “Of course you may, Count Dallo. I have many cousins here in Nabban, but few as distinguished as you.”
His eyes were small and shrewd in his wide face. “You flatter me, Majesty. I am most grateful you should come so far to honor a humble family wedding—especially at a time of such tragedy.”
She sensed something else in his smile, a glint of a private jest. Did he know something about Idela’s death? Could he in some way have been involved?
That makes no sense, she chided herself. None at all. Do not let fear and the whispers of anxious courtiers drive you to hasty conclusions. “My daughter-in-law died when I was on the way—I only heard after we had left Meremund. I would not have been able to return in time for her funeral in any case.”
“Still, I know that family is important to you—as it is to all of us.” He bowed again. “And I can guess how much you must wish you could be there. We shall do our best to make certain your visit is pleasurable. I know that your mere presence will do much to calm our agitated subjects.”
She gave him a look, uncertain whether this was mere flattery or had some other purpose. “And why is it that your subjects—the duke’s subjects, to be more precise—are agitated?”
Dallo put on a look of regret. “I’m certain you have heard many tales, and it is true that some foolish, hot-headed folk have clashed with the duke’s men. But I assure you, they do not act in my name.”
Only with the Ingadarine albatross crest for their banner, she thought. For a moment all her other thoughts were pushed aside by an unexpected wash of pure relief. If she had been raised a Nabbanai instead of half-Erkynlander and a queen in her own right, as the head of her mother’s family this puffed-up fellow a decade or more younger than herself would have decided all matters of her life. It almost made her shudder, but she covered the moment with a sip from her cup of wine. But things did not come to pass that way. And this man is only a greedy troublemaker, while I am queen and the mistress of the High Ward that rules Nabban and the other nations.
“I am glad to hear you object to such behavior, my lord,” she said. “I hope that while I am here we can work together to make the streets safe and the duke’s subjects happy again.”
“I will certainly drink to that,” said Dallo, lifting and draining his own cup with almost indecent haste. Something was odd about his speech and posture, but she could not put her finger on it. “I know you have much else to do, Majesty, and many other people wish to give you their greetings and good wishes,” he said, wiping his lips with the back of his hand, “but may I beg one last favor of you?”
Was it really so obvious I was about to make an excuse? she wondered. Miriamele, your statecraft has become rusted in Erkynland’s more placid court. “And what might that be, Count Dallo?”
“Please, let me just bring someone I wish you to meet. It will take scarcely a moment, Majesty. May I have your grace to do so?”
“Of course.”
She fortified herself with another sip from the wine, over-watered but still of fine vintage. She would send one of her women later to find her a jug of the stuff, so she might at least have a few more cups and sleep tonight without troubling dreams or nagging regrets. Perhaps she had better send Shulamit, she decided. It would do her good to move about after she spent most of the voyage in bed, complaining of her stomach.
Dallo Ingadaris returned through the crowding courtiers, who quickly moved to let him pass. With him was a pretty, very young, dark-haired girl. For a moment Miriamele could only stare, wondering whether Dallo had taken a new wife, but by the time they reached her she had realized who this must be.
“Your Majesty, may I please introduce to you my niece, Lady Turia Ingadaris. She is to marry Drusis, the duke’s brother—the reason for your kind visit.”
The girl, who had eyes as wide and dark as a fawn’s, made a low courtesy and remained there until Miri gently told her to rise. Turia took the queen’s proffered hand and placed a careful, dry kiss on it, then stood up and regarded her with open interest. She did not seem much awed to be in the High Queen’s presence, Miri could not help noting.
That thought tugged at another, but she did not wish to be distracted and pushed it away. “Much joy to you, Lady Turia,” she said. “I wish you and Drusis many happy years and a large, healthy family.”
“Thank you, Majesty.” The girl was quite lovely, especially when standing beside her toadlike uncle, but Miri knew her to be just twelve years of age and thought she seemed far too delicate for marriage or much of anything more serious than playing at dolls in the garden. Still, for all her frail, elfin appearance, the bride-to-be carried herself with the calm possession of a much older woman. Miri wondered if that might have something to do with having been raised as part of Dallo’s ambitious and often cruel family.
“You may go now, Turia,” Dallo said, “—if the queen permits it, I mean. Of course.”
“It was a pleasure to meet you,” Miri told her. “We will talk again, I hope, when I am not so pressed with other duties.”
“I would like that,” the girl replied, but despite her charming smile, Miri could not help sensing something else, a sort of masked indifference.
Well, only God and our Ransomer know what nonsense Dallo and Drusis have filled her head with, Miri told herself. I will sound her thoughts if I get the chance, and perhaps teach her that there are other ways than Dallo’s. So young as she is, she may wield some power here in Nabban through our Morgan’s reign and even beyond. It would be good to have an ally among the Ingadarines.
When Dallo and Turia had retreated again, she finally understood what had troubled her about the count’s manner. Dallo was a powerful man, yes, but only a noble. He had made a noteworthy alliance with Drusis, the duke’s brother and rival. And as the leader of House Ingadaris, Dallo certainly knew that Miri was here in large part because of the troubles in Nabban.
But it was Miri herself, along with Simon, who had put the crown on Duke Saluceris. Although she would never have done so, as the queen Miri could make an excuse any time and have Dallo locked away. He had long ago made himself an enemy to the High Throne and everyone knew it.
Why, then, had he shown not the slightest fear of her? Instead, he had been confidence itself, as though he had the power and not she. And his granddaughter had been no different—a mere child, she had looked over the queen of the High Ward as though sizing up a rival.
This thought disturbed Miri the rest of the day, but in the press of courtiers and official duties she was given little time to think too deeply. When she escaped to the great suite prepared for her at last, it was with immense relief and a strong thirst.