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"What did he say?" I had never met the Maestro Gonzago de Escabares, but I knew his name. He was an Aragonian historian who had been one of Delaunay's teachers at the University of Tiberium. He had also been chosen by my mother as an unwitting messenger, many years later.
"Nothing," she said. "He disavowed any knowledge. "
"Did you believe him?" I asked.
Phèdre smiled at me again. "No," she said. "Not for a minute. "
I had other visitors, too. Alais came almost as often as Phèdre, and I was glad of her company. We played cards together and she chattered freely of Palace gossip. For a young girl, she overheard a great deal.
Most of it was inconsequential. Ysandre was a strong ruler; even I, who found it hard to love her, was willing to admit it. For as much as her early reign was fraught with challenge and upheaval, she had since presided over great peace and prosperity. Her marriage to the Cruarch of Alba lends strength to both realms.
And yet it was also the greatest abiding source of contention, for in Alba, the lines of succession were matrilineal.
So it had been from time out of mind among the Cruithne. There had been efforts to change it—indeed, Drustan's throne was usurped in one such. He reclaimed it at the battle of Bryn Gorrydum, triumphing over Maelcon the Usurper as the true and rightful heir of the old Cruarch, his uncle.
It was a sticking point, and a hard one. In accordance with Cruithne tradition, Drustan's heir should be his sister's son; and it was in his heart that it would be a betrayal of his people to do aught else. There was reason for it—Maelcon the Usurper was the old Cruarch's son. To violate tradition now would undermine the legitimacy of his own claim. Although Drustan had made no formal declaration, in Alba, his nephew Talorcan, the eldest son of his sister Breidaia, was widely regarded as his heir.
D'Angelines held a different view.
It sat ill with them to give the succession of Alba over to a complete and utter stranger, a Cruithne with no blood ties to Terre d'Ange. And it sat doubly ill because my cousin Sidonie, Drustan and Ysandre's daughter, had been, from the moment of her birth, the acknowledged Dauphine of Terre d'Ange. It was a double standard, and one that did not favor Terre d'Ange.
If the peers of the realm were willing to accept Sidonie as Ysandre's heir, half-Cruithne though she was, they wanted somewhat in return. They wanted Drustan to name an heir with D'Angeline blood, preferably Alais. They feared that if he didn't, Alba's influence in Terre d'Ange would grow, while our influence in Alba would dwindle.
"What is it your mother wants?" I asked Alais one day, curious.
She sat cross-legged at the foot of my bed, her small face serious. "Truly? She agrees, although she's not willing to say it publicly, not yet. She wants Father to name me his heir. "
"Do you think he will?" I asked.
Alais shook her head. "No," she said somberly. "I don't think he can. " She paused, furrowing her dark brows. "They're not like us, are they, Imri? Their women don't light candles to Eisheth. "
"No," I agreed. "They don't. "
We were silent a moment, both of us pondering the mysteries of procreation, of which we had no firsthand knowledge. It was one of Eisheth's gifts to the women of Terre d'Ange—they did not conceive ere they chose, lighting a candle in her name and praying that she open the gates of their wombs. But there were no guarantees, even so; a prayer might be years in the granting.
And a prayer, once made, could not be rescinded.
There were D'Angeline women who had gotten unwanted children.
Not many, for rape was a crime of heresy and punishable by death. Still, it happened; as did errors in judgment.
"What do you want?" I asked Alais.
She rested her chin on her propped hands. "I wouldn't mind," she said. "Alba, I mean. But it won't happen, so I don't know… do you know what I would like?"
I shook my head. "No," I said. "Tell me. "
"I'd like to learn to use a sword. " Alais' face brightened. "Would you teach me, Imri? No one else will. "
I opened my mouth to demur, and the royal guards in attendance snickered. I watched the eager light fade from Alais' face. I thought about the stories I had heard; about Grainne of the Dalriada, who had ridden to war alongside her brother in her wicker chariot, fighting as fiercely as a man. I remembered Daršanga and the women there. I saw Kaneka's hand covering Gashtaham's mouth from behind, her dagger flashing. Blood spurting from the ka-Magus' throat, and Phèdre dragging me out of its spray.
"I would be honored," I said, drawing my bedclothes around me and bowing. "Princess. "
Alais beamed.
The following day, I sent Gilot to fetch a pair of wooden practice-swords from the townhouse, but it was Joscelin who brought them. I was so happy to see him, I clambered out of bed and flung my arms around him.
"Gently, love!" He laughed. "You're meant to be a-bed still. "
I made a face. "I'm weary of bed rest. Are you in disgrace? I've missed you. "
"Only a bit. " Joscelin lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug.
"I'm sorry," I said.
He grinned at me. "I know. Well, now we've both been punished for our folly. What's this about teaching Princess Alais to use a sword?"
"She asked," I said simply. "And I said I would. "
Joscelin nodded as though it were the most reasonable thing in the world. "I brought the daggers, too," he said. "Better to start with those; the swords are a bit heavy. "
So it was that I regained my strength by teaching my young cousin to wield a blade. I started with the simplest rudiments, reckoning her interest would flag. If nothing else, I could teach her how to hold a weapon, and those areas on an opponent which are least guarded and easiest to strike.
To my surprise, I found it was fun. Alais was a quick study, and neat-handed. One I had taught her a few basic thrusts and parries, we made a game of it, playing out roles of villains and heroes, chasing one another around the bedchamber under the amused gazes of her guards. At first I found them galling, but it brought Alais such joy, I was hard put to resist. In time, I learned to forget their presence.
And she was clever; skipping around charcoal braziers, ducking behind hanging drapes, vaulting atop the bed. I stumbled after her in pursuit, dizzy and easily winded. On a few early occasions, I was forced to surrender, laughing and gasping for air. It took several days before I was steady enough on my feet to catch her without a considerable effort.
It was in the midst of such a game that the Princess Sidonie paid a visit.
The guard announced her at the precise moment that a cornered Alais let out an earsplitting shriek and launched an attack at me. I was laughing too hard to hear aught else. I took the brunt of her onslaught, staggering and catching her dagger-hand. We both fell backward onto the bed and I twisted, falling uppermost and pinning her.
"Surrender, villain!" I cried, raising my wooden dagger.
Alais giggled breathlessly, hiccoughing.
"Let her go!"
The words rang with the unmistakable tenor of command, brittle and furious. I turned my head and saw Sidonie standing in the doorway. Her slight frame was rigid, and her face was pale and taut. Her black Cruithne eyes were stretched wide, blurred with terror and fury.
I knelt on the bed, opening my hands and dropping the dagger. The guards moved forward uncertainly.
"Hold," I said to them, and to Sidonie, carefully, "Greetings, cousin. "
She drew a short, sharp breath and looked past me. "Alais?"
"I had him!" Alais complained. "Or I would have, anyway. " Scrambling to her knees, she smacked me hard on the shoulder with the wooden blade of her dagger. "You ruined it, Sidonie!"
"Ah, you weren't even close. " I ruffled her hair and gave her a nudge. "Go on to your sister, villain. " I watched her flounce her way off the bed. "It's a game," I said to Sidonie. "One we've been playing for days. " I rappe
d my knuckles against the wooden dagger. "See?"
She nodded, slow and wary. "I see. Forgive me, cousin. "
"Highness?" one of the guards interjected, sounding nervous. "We've been watching all along. There's been no cause—"
Sidonie held up one hand. "I see," she repeated. "Cousin Imriel, I'm pleased that you are convalescing. Perhaps it would be best if I came another time. "
I felt at once tired and sad. "Why would you think it was anything else, Sidonie? Who told you to be afraid of me?"
Alais glanced between us and kept wisely silent.
"Too many," Sidonie murmured. "I'm sorry, Imriel. " For a moment, her slender shoulders slumped; with an effort, she squared them and reached out a hand to her sister. "Come, Alais. "
I watched them go, two small figures, fair and dark. I wanted to be angry, yet I was not. At that moment, anger seemed too heavy a burden to lift. Their guards trailed after them, casting dubious glances behind at me.
Once they had gone, I packed my things. There was not much—a few items of clothing, including a luxurious robe of deep blue silk that had been the Queen's gift, two books Phèdre had left, and the wooden daggers, the blades chipped and splintered, the hafts polished and smooth. I stroked the worn grain, hearing Alais' giggles echoing in my memory, seeing the look of shock and terror on Sidonie's face.
When I had done, I left my chamber. There was a guard lounging in the hallway outside my door, clad in the blue livery of House Courcel. On the smallest finger of his left hand, he bore a ring of solid silver, a subtle indicator that he was one of the Queen's personal guard. As I emerged, he came to attention with a start. "Your highness! You're not supposed—"
"Yes," I said wearily, cutting him off. "I know. Where are my retainers?"
"The… the Hall of Games," he stammered. "B-but…"
I gave him a long, hard stare. "Take me there. "
He obeyed without arguing, escorting me down the long hall with its fretted balustrade and down a broad marble stair to the main floor of the Palace.
The Hall of Games was a vast, bustling space, surrounded by a colonnade for strolling. There were tables reserved for all manner of game-playing and wagering, and other areas for conversing, made intimate with chairs and low couches. Other than the theatre, it was the single largest space within the Palace proper, larger even than the Hall of Audience. It was said that half the business of Terre d'Ange is conducted within its confines.
"Prince Imriel!" The head guardsman saluted me, exchanging a wary look with the guard who accompanied me. "Shouldn't you—"
"Montrève's retainers?" I asked coolly.
He shut his mouth and pointed. Following his finger, I made my way through a host of royal peers toward the Dicers' Corner, Ysandre's guardsman trailing in my wake.
It was a familiar sound; the rattle of shaken dice, the tumble of the cast. All around the world, men dice for pleasure and wager on it. But I used to hear it in the zenana, where the women would consult Kaneka's oracle, to determine when the Mahrkagir would summon them. She used to draw circles in a tray of sand; a day, a week, a month.
Only Phèdre threw all ones, ever.
The sound and the memories it evoked made me unsteady. I'd overtaxed myself, and it had taken its toll. I wobbled, brushing against a tall nobleman clad in a maroon velvet, with golden silk showing in his slashed sleeves. He cast an irritable glance at me, then checked himself, features turning smooth with diplomacy. I knew too well what he saw; me, gaunt and pale, knobby-limbed, my eyes sunken into dark-hollowed sockets. A traitor's ill-gotten son to whom he was forced to pay respect.
"Your highness," he said, inclining his head a scant inch. "Forgive me. "
"My fault," I said hoarsely. "Sorry. "
One immaculate brow arched. "As you say. "
It made me angry, at last. Ysandre's guard hovered ineffectually behind me. The unknown nobleman looked down his nose. I wanted to spit at his feet, on his glossy, shining boots, and wished I were a commoner who could do so.
"Cousin!" A voice cleaved the crowd, light and friendly. I looked up to see one of the Shahrizai approaching. It was one I had seen before, a few years older than me. He reached out to clasp my forearm. He was smiling, filled with assurance, midnight braids framing his face with its high cheekbones. "Remember me?" he asked, winking.
"Yes," I said, remembering. "You're Mavros. "
"So I am. " He turned his smile on the nobleman, at once pleasant and dangerous. A kind of heat seemed to emanate from him, playful and predatory. "I suggest you be gone, Messire Bauldry. " He paused. "Or… forgive me… did you wish to offend?"
"He jostled me!" Bauldry spat.
"Oh?" Mavros raised his brows, still smiling pleasantly. "As you say. "
Somehow, he had turned it all around, and I was grateful to him for it. I returned his arm-clasp; glad, for the first time, to see a face that echoed my own. Both of us laughed as Messire Bauldry stomped away. "Who is he?" I asked.
"No one," Mavros said, amused. "A minor lordling with aspirations. Look, highness—"
"Imriel!" At the dicing table, Gilot broke away, hurrying toward us. "What are you doing here?" he asked. "You're supposed to be resting. "
"I've rested," I said irritably. "I want to go home. "
Gilot ran a hand through his disheveled brown hair. "Queen Ysandre—"