There had been minstrels in residence at the castle for centuries, except during the reign of Agates Sealender some two hundred years ago. Old Agates had barred them from the castle on pain of death, for the paranoid king believed them to be spies of his enemies. There was some truth to that. Zachary, himself, through Aaron Fiori, used them as his eyes and ears of the realm, though he feared the Golden Guardian may have gotten in too deep this time and that was why he was missing. He hoped Estral’s quest to find her father proved successful.
After the Clan Wars, when Zachary’s own clan took the crown, minstrels once again served in court until his grandmother, he recalled, in a fit of pique, expelled her court minstrel. He never learned the cause of her outrage, but since then, they’d been without a resident minstrel, and it was time for that to change.
He sat back in his chair considering the benefits. There would be entertainment for his wife, a music tutor for the castle children—not to mention for his own, and again, they’d be the eyes and ears of his court.
Satisfied, he dripped wax on each envelope and pressed it with the royal seal. With the improving weather, there should be no hindrance for Laren to send her Riders out.
“Horston,” he said.
The gentleman came forward and bowed. “Yes, Your Majesty?”
“Please give these letters to a runner to take to Captain Mapstone. She is to send them out as she can.”
Horston accepted the letters. “Anything else, sire?”
Zachary stood. “I think I’ll go for some fresh air before supper. Then I’ll dress.”
Horston bowed again, and left with the letters. Zachary found his heavy greatcoat, a scarf, and gloves, and exited his rooms.
“Fetch your coat,” he told the Weapon Willis, who stood by the door. “I need air.”
• • •
The air atop the castle was indeed fresh, fresh and bracing. Arctic currents funneled across the castle rooftop. Guards huddled close to their braziers and stood out of the wind in warming huts. Fine snow whirled around his feet, reminding him, unsettlingly, of the ice creatures that had attacked the castle.
He moved into the lee of a crenel along the battlements to gaze at the stars. They pierced the cloudless sky with chill intensity. He picked out constellations until a green glow emerged, fingering across the sky. The northern lights. He smiled, pleased to glimpse the rare celestial show. The heavens always reminded him of how small a mortal he was, how petty much of the concerns of human beings were, and he made a point of coming out to gaze at the stars to remind him of his place in the universe. It helped that he was entranced by the natural beauty of the night sky.
The northern lights intensified, rolling in waves. A blast of wind howled around him and stole his breath. The leading edge of green reached down with long tendrils. Laren had mentioned that Rider’s vision to him about the fingers of a hand reaching down.
“Sire,” Willis said uncertainly, “I think—”
Zachary never heard what it was that Willis thought. An icy wind slammed into him with such force that the last thing he saw before everything went black was the northern lights descending on him like a gigantic claw.
Slee sent the One of Power to its domain. Slee had learned enough about him to transform itself and become him. The One of Power was called Zachary, and now Slee would assume that role, and become so very close to the Beautiful One. It would serve, for now. Slee feared that moving the Beautiful One to its domain, as it had the Zachary, could endanger the young because of the shock involved. It would wait until the young were birthed. The danger then would be less.
Slee stood tall, sensing its new form from head to toes, from vision to scent. Above, the lights it had called upon receded.
“Sire,” said the one in black, “that wind did not feel natural.”
Slee, as the Zachary, smiled. “Let us return indoors then.” The vibration of the voice in his throat was an interesting sensation, a little rough, and deep.
The one in black, Willis, Slee knew from having absorbed the thoughts and memories from the Zachary, led the way to the door and they entered the castle. That the Weapon did not note that it was Slee in his king’s form meant the disguise was well done. As Slee followed the Weapon down stairs and along corridors, it ran its fingers through the bristly hairs along its jawline and chin to familiarize itself with the odd sensation. When they arrived in the area of the royal apartments, Slee’s nostrils flared at the scent of her. She was close by.
The Weapon halted at a door. “Do you wish to change before you sup with your generals, sire?”
“My generals? What do I want with them? No, I will attend my wife.”
The Weapon schooled his surprise. “Yes, sire.” He opened the door.
The rooms beyond smelled predominantly of the Zachary, a masculine human scent mixed with the tang of leather and steel. As Slee walked inward, it found the steel and instinctively quailed from it. There was a rack of swords displayed on the wall of varying lengths and ornamentation. Just gazing at the angry gleam of the blades burned Slee’s eyes.
Slee stumbled past it and came face-to-face with an older man of noble bearing and graying hair. Slee recognized him, through the Zachary’s memories, as the valet.
“Would you like me to dress you for supper now, my lord?”
“No, I am going to go to my wife. But I do not need this.” Slee slipped off the heavy coat. It was uncomfortably hot. Other layers came off until Slee was down to shirtsleeves.
“Er,” Horston said, “wouldn’t you at least like a longcoat to wear in the presence of your lady wife?”
“No,” Slee replied. “She has seen me in less.”
Horston coughed and looked to be struggling to retain his composure. When he turned away, Slee’s keen hearing picked up suppressed laughter. Had Slee said something humorous? It would have to be careful in its interpretation of words and situations through the filter of the memories and thoughts of the Zachary.
Slee looked at its new hands. They were strong, calloused by using the steel weapons. A gold band encircled one finger. It bound the Zachary to the Beautiful One, and now it was Slee’s. She was Slee’s.
It used the Zachary’s memories to find the passage that led to his queen’s apartments, and met resistance. Resistance that bounced Slee back a couple paces. The wards. Slee must subdue its intrinsic self, to wholly become the Zachary in order to fool the wards.
Slee closed its eyes and breathed deeply, let the essence it had absorbed of the Zachary flow over it. Him. Opening his eyes once again, he squared his shoulders and strode forward with purpose. There was still resistance, but it gave. He drove his will into it, and the wards fell away, allowed him to pass, for all that they sizzled across his skin.
I am Zachary, I am king. I will not be kept from my wife.
When he emerged into the queen’s sitting room, he took in the great hearth, and the sofa where she reclined, studying a book. He took in the glow of her golden hair, her porcelain skin. Her cheeks blossomed with pink health. He noted the graceful hands that held the book. He took halting steps forward until two furry white canines came bounding up to him. Abruptly, they halted, and eager tail wagging turned into low, threatening growls.
The Beautiful One sat up and turned, looking startled.
Slee could freeze the dogs, or with a gesture, slam them into a wall, but the Zachary would never do such a thing. He loved the nasty little curs.
“Finder! Jasper!” he snapped.
The growling quieted, but continued on a register too low to be perceived by ordinary human ears, but Slee heard it. The posture of the canines remained rigid, their ears laid back and their fur standing on end.
“Why did they growl at you?” the Beautiful One asked.
“I do not know,” he replied. “Come,” he told them in a sharp tone of command, and he strode from th
e sitting room and toward the entrance. He did not expect the dogs to obey, but he sensed they would follow him warily to keep an eye on him. They knew he was not exactly their master, and yet he was. They were confused.
He flung the door open to the corridor and told the Weapons on guard there, “See that these dogs are returned to their kennel and do not return. They were disturbing the queen.”
Before they could answer, he shooed the dogs out with a stern command and swung the door shut. The dogs barked on the other side, the sound fading as he returned to the sitting room.
“What was that all about?” the Beautiful One asked.
“I do not know.” He feasted his gaze on her. “They will not misbehave again.”
“Perhaps,” she said, “they were as startled as I am to see you. I thought you were going to dine with your generals.”
“I changed my mind. I could not bear to be away from you and the children.”
She set her book down and looked confounded. Slee knew there was strain between her and the Zachary, and that the Zachary did not love her as he loved another. Only a great idiot would be so blind to the radiance of the Beautiful One. The Zachary did not deserve her, but he did deserve all that was going to be taken away from him.
HIS COLD EYES
An inconspicuous presence, Mistress Evans had told Anna, was the hallmark of a dutiful servant, especially of one who tended the royal quarters. Anna already knew how servants were disregarded in the castle by more important folk going about their daily business, but there was an art, Mistress Evans had insisted, to making the life of a royal function as if without effort, for instance, bringing the king or queen tea before they’d even voiced the desire, and doing so unmarked.
It was not easy to be quiet and inconspicuous, Anna thought, with her clunky metal ash buckets, but she took Mistress Evans’ words to heart as she crept through the servants’ entrance into the queen’s apartments. The big Weapon with the deep voice, Donal, she thought his name was, had let her in. She’d never get used to the king and queen’s black-clad guardians. They unnerved her, but she tried to tell herself that they were supposed to be unnerving.
She let herself through another door from the utilitarian servants’ passage into the queen’s apartments. She passed pantries, and a nursery that was in the process of being renovated, and then the queen’s dressing room. She entered the queen’s bed chamber to clean the hearth and lay a fire down. As she swept ashes, she reflected how fortunate she was. Who would have ever imagined she would be working in the queen’s own bed chamber with its great canopied bed and velvet upholstered furnishings? Queen Estora’s dressing table contained brushes and a comb, and tiny crystal bottles that must contain fragrances. There were ornate silver boxes in a line that perhaps contained jewelry. She did not dare look too closely. It would not go well for her if she were caught going through the queen’s things. Not that she would, but she was sure that just laying her eyes on them would be enough to get her in enormous trouble.
It was as she had told Sir Karigan earlier, that her new situation was better than the old. Even the servants of the royal wing were easier to get along with, and she thought that had to do with Mistress Evans, who was demanding of those she supervised but fair. It had not been that way with Master Scrum, who yelled at the slightest mishap and who took some amusement in pitting servants one against the other. She smiled to herself remembering the shock on the faces of those who had tormented her when they learned of her new duty station. Yes, everything was an improvement in the royal household, and yet . . .
She began to lay down a fire, for the queen was due to retire soon, and it would not do for her to have a cold room. She struck flint until the kindling caught, and she watched as the fire grew from a solitary flame. She blew on it to encourage it.
She did not wish to be ungrateful for her new position, but a part of her yearned to ride out into the world like Sir Karigan to see new places and people, to experience adventures. Seeing that she could do something different from what she had been doing only fed the fire, so to speak, of her desires. Another part of her, however, quailed in fear at the whole idea of riding off into the world, and she did not think she had the courage to face what the Green Riders faced. She saw their scars and heard some of their stories of dealing with thugs along the road, or braving the terrible weather with no shelter in sight, or facing terrible monsters of Mornhavon the Black’s making.
I am not strong enough.
She added a log to the fire, and when that caught, she added a second, and a third. Master Scrum and those she used to work with had called her “Mousie,” and she guessed it was apt. With a great sigh, she collected her buckets and tools and departed the queen’s bed chamber, and headed for the sitting room.
She paused when she heard the voices of both the king and queen coming from there. It was intimidating enough to do her duty in the presence of the queen, who was kindly, but the king? Although he had been kind to her the day of the attack of the ice creatures, he terrified her. He was the king, the most important person in all of Sacoridia.
Anna took a deep breath. She could not turn around for it was time to tend the queen’s fire. She’d a duty to do. She stepped lightly as she walked toward the sitting room, determined to make Mistress Evans proud of how inconspicuous she could be.
As she approached the sofa from behind, she paused. It appeared that both king and queen sat together, she leaning against his chest and giggling. There were times when she was to leave if her presence intruded on the intimacy of the royal couple. This did not appear to be quite that moment, for the queen started reading some verse aloud.
Anna gathered herself, and keeping close to the wall, made her way to the hearth. A furtive glance revealed the queen indeed snugged up against her husband’s chest, he with one arm around her, his other hand stroking her hair. He appeared fascinated by it.
Anna set her buckets down and started shoveling the spent ashes. Her shovel dinged against an andiron.
“Who’s that?” the king demanded.
Anna froze in panic. Then, taking a deep breath, she turned around and curtsied. “My pardon, Your Majesty.”
“Zachary,” the queen said, “you remember Anna. She now tends my fire.”
Anna dared gaze up. The king had gone rigid and glared at her. After a moment, he relaxed and smiled, and once more made a pillow of himself for his queen.
“Of course, I remember,” he said. “Mind, do not build the fire too . . . large.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Anna bobbed and turned back to her work with trembling hands, sweat flowing down her temples, and not just from the heat of the fire. She worked extra carefully to make no sound with her tools, and when she’d cleaned the ashes, she put a log over the coals. Normally she’d place two or three, but the king had told her not to build the fire too big.
He had smiled at her, but the smile had not reached his eyes. His eyes . . . She hadn’t remembered them being so cold. As she collected her tools and buckets, she did not even glance at the royal couple. The queen was still reading verse. As for the king, Anna swore she could feel those cold eyes burning into her back as she retreated from the sitting room.
When she reached the sanctuary of the servants’ passage, she set everything down and wiped the sweat off her face with her sleeve. She nearly wilted to the floor. With any luck, the king would not be present when she made her next rounds.
She almost leaped out of her skin when she heard the approach of footsteps, but was relieved when she saw it was only the queen’s personal maid.
“What is it, child?” Jaid asked. “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”
“It’s noth-nothing,” Anna gulped. She hastily collected her buckets and tools and hurried down the passage.
Slee reminded itself that servants would come and go, and that the Zachary, if he noticed them at all, would not be shar
p with them without good reason. Slee must remember who it was it was trying to be, and behave accordingly.
For now, Slee was content, if overwarm with the Beautiful One leaning against it—him. Her voice vibrated against his chest as she read the poetry, and he could not keep his fingers out of her hair. It made her giggle, which pleased him more. He touched her cheek and traced her jawline, her neck, but it made her shiver. He must be careful, for though he wore the form of the Zachary, his element was still ice and he did not give off the heat the humans did.
Soon, another servant arrived, this one an adult. Slee searched the Zachary’s memories and found a name: Jaid.
“My lady,” the servant said, “I have turned down your bed. It is the hour Master Mender Vanlynn has prescribed for your retirement.”
Slee felt the Beautiful One sag in disappointment. “So soon,” she murmured.
Slee thought to protest, but the Zachary’s memory was full of dictates from this Vanlynn that had been put in place to help keep mother and young safe. Instead of protesting, he assisted the Beautiful One off the sofa. Though he was intoxicated by her nearness, it was a relief to have her heat removed from him.
“You could come to bed with me,” she told him.
It would be glorious to do so, but Slee had something else to take care of, and again drawing on the memories of the Zachary, he said, “Perhaps another night. I have some business to attend to.” At her look of disappointment, he added, “Not to worry, my dearest, we will have long days and nights together ahead of us.” He kissed her brow.