The Hidden Queen, page 25
I blink. “You mean that?”
“Did I not promise you as much, Intended?” she asks.
“Ay,” I say.
“Then trust in me.” She slides soft fingers over my brow, gentling my eyelids closed, and then she begins to sing again.
Near three weeks on the road, and there’s still no sign of the other challengers Asome foretold.
If someone was going to take a shot at me, there were countless opportunities before now. Why wait until I was surrounded by countless loyalists, and nearly to Mother’s keep—as secure a place as any in the world?
It knots my muscles, as I become more and more sure an attack is imminent. But from where?
I am surrounded by my closest friends, family, and spear brothers. General Gared’s Cutters are the original inhabitants of Cutter’s Hollow. Most of them watched Mother grow up, and me.
Messengers have galloped up and down the road, a steady stream of communication from Minister Arther over the course of the journey. Fresh horses and provisions have been waiting in the larger towns, always with an armed and armored “honor guard” from the local militia. Loyalists and veterans eager to take up a spear to defend Princes Olive on the journey back to the capital.
For the first time in months, I am home. I can feel Hollow’s power thrumming at my fingertips in ways I never imagined. My brothers would be fools to challenge me now. But if Asome’s foretelling is wrong about this, can I trust any of it? Should I?
We come around a bend, and Mother’s keep comes into sight. The flag of Hollow flies steadily in the breeze, but for the first time I can remember, Mother’s mortar and pestle does not fly the pole next to it.
Mother is not in residence.
I knew to expect this, a footnote in the endless lists of preparations for my arrival. But knowing a thing is different from experiencing it.
Up until right this moment, a tiny part of me felt that if I could just get home, everything would be all right. That we’d find Mum and Mrs. Bales and my father at court, having a laugh as they divide Alagai Ka’s body for the hora.
But Mum is gone and even now I don’t know if she is alive or dead. Inside Alagai Ka’s mind, I felt his hatred of her, and experienced for myself how mind demons feed on our deepest pain and insecurities as much as they do our flesh. Alagai Ka made me relive the worst moments of my life, over and over.
If Mother is alive, the demon is torturing her. Part of me hopes she isn’t, and I hate myself for it.
A knot forms in my throat as a new banner climbs up the pole, emblazoned with the spear and olive. My spear brothers cheer, for they, too, wear the symbol. It is the emblem of the Princes Unit, commanded by Princes Chadan and Olive. Chadan’s family symbol was a spear, and I combined it with an olive, ostensibly to give the men something to rally around.
But also, if I am honest, I made it to tell Chadan I loved him, when I dared not speak the words, even to myself.
His voice was as bound as mine, but when he pinned our symbol over his heart, I knew.
Tears fill my eyes as I watch that banner fly atop the Royal Keep of Hollow. It is my crest alone now, but it will always remind me of Chadan.
As we pass through the gates, the house guard, a majority-female force I’ve known all my life, flow in to surround me. With no time for new uniforms, they still wear Mother’s colors, but each wears an armband with the spear and olive on a patch.
Built by Count Thamos during the war with Krasia, the keep was designed to be a fortress capable of withstanding any assault, human or corespawn. Mother worked hard to make it a welcoming place, full of green spaces and bright colors. The gates were closed at sunset, but never during the day.
But the moment I am safely in the courtyard, they close behind us with a resounding boom.
* * *
—
A crowd waits by the courtyard fountain. This close to Winter Solstice, the air is chill, and has only gotten more so as we journeyed north. I am used to it after so long on the road, but all the courtiers wear fur-lined coats over their fine formal attire.
“Can’t we do this inside?” Selen says. “Maybe after we stretch our backs and put on something that doesn’t smell like horse?”
“I asked for that,” I say, “and was told it wasn’t possible.”
“Why in the core not?” Selen asks. “Ent you the one in charge?”
I snort. “Not when your mum is around. Elona insisted on waiting outside to be the first to greet us.”
“And Mum doesn’t do anything without an audience,” Selen moans as we dismount. “Might as well get it over with.”
Indeed, I can see my grandmother, waiting at the forefront of the crowd of officials and advisors who will no doubt all try to slip some bit of business into their few moments of face time.
I want it over with, too, but I put a hand out to hold Selen back. “Wait for Darin and the others.”
I don’t know what she saw in Rojvah’s carriage when she went to check on Darin, but Selen came back red-faced and sullen. She throws me a look, but I match it until she backs down. She casts her eyes around, noticing Perin, the handsome stablehand who features in one of her funnier ale stories. She throws him a wink, and now it’s his face that reddens as he hurries to lower the steps of Rojvah’s carriage.
When Darin, Arick, and Rojvah catch up, Selen signals the house guard, and they snap to attention, opening a path to the fountain.
Grandmum Elona waits until we draw close, then rushes forward the last few steps to throw her arms around me. “We were so worried!”
I’ve been worried, too. Throughout my life, my most feminine traits were encouraged not by Mother, but by Grandmum. Fashion. The powder kit. How to be the center of attention and envied for my beauty.
But even with regular baths and changes of clothes at inns along the way, I feel filthy and unkempt after weeks on the road. My armor and dress are that of a man. I wear no paints or powder, and I suddenly remember my hair, cropped short from the long tresses she must remember, and matted to my head.
Indeed, Elona takes a step back to have a good look at me, and gasps. “Well ent that a thing.”
After all that’s happened these last months, it’s ludicrous to feel stung at something so small, but disappointing Grandmum Elona has always been my greatest fear.
“Always thought you’d make a pretty boy, but I was wrong for once,” Elona says. “Turned out to be one core of a handsome man.”
She smiles and gives me a slap on the cheek. “Going to have to beat the girls off with a stick.”
I laugh, but it chokes on the lump that’s returned to my throat. Even when I was young, Grandmum was always there for me. Some things, at least, don’t have to change.
Selen crosses her arms. “Ay, Mum, I’m fine, too.”
“ ’Course you are,” Elona says, embracing her in turn. “Only you disappeared on purpose, so don’t expect a party for coming home after what you put us through.”
Selen hasn’t changed as much as I have, but neither is she the same young woman who left Hollow. Still, Grandmum barely gives her a glance before looking past.
“Darin!” she cries, throwing her arms wide. Selen and I take the opportunity to step quickly past as Grandmum catches sight of Rojvah and lets out a shriek.
My grandfather Erny is next, the small man attempting to embrace us both at once. He isn’t Selen’s father, but he’s never treated us differently, and Selen and I are happy to wrap him in an embrace.
First Minister Arther follows. My mother’s most trusted advisor, the man seems to have kept Hollow together in our absence. He’s at the head of a group of officials including Shepherd Jona of the Tenders, and his wife Gatherer Vika. Headmistress Darsy and Dama’ting Favah represent the university. Even Hary Roller is back in Hollow, returned to serve as royal herald, with Kendall Demonsong still missing after the attack that took Mother and Mrs. Bales.
All of them bow and scrape and rattle off speeches no doubt practiced in front of the mirror. I fall back on the training Mother gave me, making each one the center of my attention for just a few moments before excusing myself to move down the receiving line.
Selen’s stepmother Emelia is there, as well, like an asp among flowers. Selen moves to put me between them, but the baroness shows little interest in her, instead marching up to Uncle Gared like a kettle about to steam.
But Gared isn’t the same aging, overweight war hero he was when he left Hollow. Months on the road, killing demons and absorbing feedback magic from his weapons, have not only grown his muscles and trimmed his waist, they have restored his sense of self-respect.
Her face is one about to launch into what I do not doubt is a long-practiced verbal lashing, but when he takes off his helmet and she finally has a good look at him, she hesitates.
It’s all the opening Gared needs. He sweeps her into a crushing hug, and she does not resist when he kisses her, seeming to melt in his arms.
All around the fountain, there are cries of happiness and embraces, and for a time we’re swept up in it all.
When I finally think to cast about for Darin, he’s nowhere to be found.
I’m already feeling drained as the carriage door opens. One of the stablehands unfolds the steps, and Rojvah takes my arm. Somehow she makes it look like I’m helping her, but truer is it’s the other way around.
She’s the center of attention, anyway. Already the prettiest one in any room, she’s dressed in the Northern style—a crimson silk dress that complements her cinnamon hair, wide-skirted with long sleeves and a low neckline. Her shawl is lined and trimmed with soft brown fur, and she’s powdered and painted her eyes in the Krasian style, and her lips in the way Hollow courtiers favor.
All the white marble in the courtyard is reflecting the sunlight, making everything so bright I need to squint. The guards standing at attention aren’t saying anything, but I can hear their heartbeats. Their every breath and pinched fart. After the controlled environment of the carriage it takes a minute to get used to. I feel dizzy, and reckon I’d sway like a drunk without Rojvah’s support.
I’m steadier as we reach the bottom of the steps. The stablehand is on one knee, but his heart is beating fast. His skin is flushed, and he smells a little scared, but also…smitten. I think he must be under Rojvah’s spell, but then he lifts his chin a little, and I see his face.
A memory flashes in my mind. Worse, the memory ent mine. It was Selen’s, from the night all those months ago when Olive was taken. I Drew power through Selen to give us the strength and speed to run down the trail. I’d never done that before, and without meaning to, I Read her.
Maybe it’s my own fault. Maybe I was thinking about the time we kissed. But a flood of images came to me of all the people Selen’s kissed since, and it ent just a few. Remembered it from her point of view, like I was her.
I don’t even know his name, but remember kissing this stablehand like I did it myself. I glance at Selen, and see her eyeing him openly. No wonder he’s blushing.
Is she already planning their next encounter? Can’t blame her. As we pass, the hand gets to his feet, and he’s everything I’m not. I’m barely as tall as Rojvah, and he towers over us, broad-shouldered with the thick arms of a Cutter and a jaw fit to grind rocks.
Rojvah doesn’t even notice him. She tightens her grip on my arm, pulling me forward, speaking in a bare whisper only I can hear. “Be at peace, Intended. When someone greets you, speak their name aloud, and immediately introduce them to me. I will handle the rest.”
“Ay, all right.” Seems too good to be true, but ent got much choice but to trust and go along.
“Darin!” Elona’s shriek makes my teeth ache, but I manage to keep from flinching. Can’t go slippery in sunlight, so all I can do is hold my breath as she hugs me against her low-cut gown. The duchess mum always sprays perfume between her paps, and it clings to my face when she finally lets me up for air.
“Duchess Mum Elona Paper,” I say, “you remember Rojvah?”
I’m ready for the shriek this time, but it still feels like a lash. Before Elona can try to suffocate her, Rojvah rushes in with an embrace that she controls. Elona is surprised for a moment, then melts.
Suddenly, Rojvah pushes her back. “Oh, you must meet my brother!” Still in control, she spins Elona around and pushes her in front of Arick.
Elona shrieks again, but Rojvah grabs my arm. “Quickly now, Intended.”
Incredibly, by the time Elona is done getting perfume on Arick, we’re past Erny Paper and into an open area, well out of range.
But there’s folk all around, eyeing us like the bowl of potatoes at suppertime while Grandda says the blessing.
Even before they come at us, they’re already talking to my nose, even with Elona’s perfume still clinging to my face. Selen’s stepmam Emelia is angry. Lord Arther had garlic. Shepherd Jona was burning incense this morning and his robes reek of it. His wife Vika’s pocketed apron holds enough dry herbs to brew a dozen cures on the spot.
But there’s bigger smells, too. Relief. Joy. Resentment. Worry. All of them mixing into a cloud. Too much for me to sort out.
But Rojvah keeps pulling me along, whispering to me even as she greets and laughs and soaks up all the attention. “You’re doing fine, Intended. Who is that Jongleur by the steps?”
I look up, surprised he escaped my notice. “That’s Hary Roller, my old teacher from back in Tibbet’s Brook.”
He ent the Hary I remember. This Hary smells of paints and powders and cologne. There’s scented wax in his beard and mustache, and oil in his hair. Hary never bothered with more than mustache wax back in Tibbet’s Brook unless he was doing a show, and even that was a dull whiff compared to the stink of the cloud around him now.
I love Hary. He’s one of the few people I could ever relax around. I knew he used to be a court Jongleur, but I never really thought about what that meant. This person, with manners as silky as his fine clothes, is not the man I know. Somehow he puts me more on edge than ever.
But Rojvah gives a tiny squeal and squeezes my arm tight. “The first Jongleur I meet, and he is both your teacher and a friend of my father! We must speak with him, but not before we greet Favah.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Olive’s teacher from school?”
Rojvah snorts quietly, but she doesn’t elaborate. “Who is that woman beside her?”
I follow the flick of her eyes. “That’s Headmistress Darsy of Gatherers’ University.”
Rojvah nods, pointing us toward them like an arrow. “Favah’s lesser, then.”
I don’t know if the Hollowers see it that way, but core if I know how these things work. Happy to leave Rojvah in charge.
“Honored Favah.” Rojvah spreads her arms, sweeping into an elegant bow.
“Welcome to Hollow, Highness.” Favah uses Rojvah’s title, but she offers only a slight nod. “Is your mother aware you have abandoned your whites?”
I can tell she means to intimidate, and I’m a bit surprised when it works. For once, Rojvah ent got a quick reply. She smells scared, and I don’t like that one bit.
“Her mother is not here.” Mam took me to Krasia every winter when I was knee-high, and I can speak like a native when I want to. I make my voice deep, an imitation of the arrogant way Krasian princes speak. “My Intended is visiting the home of her father, and it is her wish to honor him by dressing in the style of his people.”
Darsy sucks in a breath, and Rojvah turns to stare at me, wide-eyed, but I know a staring contest when I’m in one, and don’t turn away from Favah. Maybe her white robes mean she can bully Krasians around, but it don’t work on me.
After a moment, the ancient dama’ting seems to realize that, and breaks the stare with another of her slight nods. “As you say, son of Arlen. Everam spoke to Rojvah’s father, and it does her no shame to honor him.”
The words are tight, clipped. Know this fight ent over, but it’s over for now, and that’s enough. Like Rojvah did with me, I take her arm and start walking. “If you’ll excuse us, I need to greet my master.”
“I cannot believe you did that,” Rojvah whispers, smelling incredulous. “No one speaks to Favah like that!”
“Ay, she ent so scary,” I lie. Already the flush of adrenaline is wearing off, and I feel sick to my stomach. “And she had no business talking to you like that.”
Rojvah puts her free hand over mine on her arm, squeezing gently. For a moment, it makes me forget about my queasy stomach. “She did, in truth. And she will tell Mother.”
“So throw the white robes away before she gets the chance,” I say. “Oops, they fell in the brook! So sad. I’d wear the spares, but my horse trampled one set in the mud, and the dog et the other.”
Rojvah laughs, and it sounds like music. I wish she’d keep on, and drown out every other sound with it.
Then Hary sees us heading his way, and steps up to close the distance. Folk give ground like he’s a royal himself.
He’s the embodiment of grace as he slides down to one knee. “Princess Rojvah vah Rojer am’Inn am’Kaji, it is my honor to make your acquaintance. I am Hary asu Regnal, known as Roller, herald of Hollow Duchy.”
Hary is using a formal Hollow court accent, which ent at all how he talked in the Brook. I know accents are just a Jongleur’s trick to make folk comfortable, but it makes me feel all the more like I don’t know this man. Maybe I never really did.
However I feel, Rojvah’s excitement is genuine. She wants a connection to her father, and Hary Roller was as close to Rojer Halfgrip as anyone alive.
Rojvah’s bow is deep and low. More than I’ve ever seen her give anyone. “The honor is mine, Master Roller. Mother speaks of you with great respect. She says you are a man of boundless glory.”
