It was as if the Alhazar Palace were a child’s dollhouse that had been turned upside down and badly shaken. I could hear the flurry of footsteps outside my door as servants rushed from one wing to another. The wails of Nyneveh’s mourners, gathered outside the Alhazar’s gates, sounded even through stone walls.
“But how?” I insisted to Gwydion, who had woken me before breakfast to tell me the news. A queer trembling sounded through my memory. “I had just spoken to her yesterday.” It seemed so strange. She had been there, alive and breathing, right there mere hours before. She had been unwell, but she was fiery. I had half-expected her to defy the turn of the Seasons through the sheer force of her own will. If I could have believed it of anyone, it would have been her. A titan of a woman. My vision clouded. It was hard to believe she was no longer there, as if someone had torn out an entire wing of the Alhazar.
He shrugged, thoroughly disinterested. “She was old. She was ill. It is not as if her death comes as an immense surprise.”
Tears slipped through my lids and dripped down my cheeks. He was right; it had been expected, but that did not lessen my distress over the woman who had been Ghalain’s devoted sovereign until her last breath. At the thought, the tide of tears deepened. I buried my face in my handkerchief.
Utterly obtuse to graver sentiment, Gwydion continued, “But now that the Queen, may the Seasons rest her soul, is gone, it will not be long before the Assembly elects a new ruler. And you must do everything to solidly convince them that backing you is their best and only option.”
“Let the woman cool for a moment!” I protested. My throat was tight. The words came out as a croak.
He shook his head. “There is no time for that. You have made strides with the Thirds Council and Queen Erina’s support of you is well-known. People are sympathetic after the news of the attack; you have never been a more appealing candidate.” Gwydion tapped the window with his good hand. His other arm hung in a clean white sling. I wondered whether the reason for his sling was medicinal or whether it was to serve as a silent reminder of that day. “Once this is over, once you are Queen, you will be able to return at last to your proper business.”
At his words, I emerged from my foggy grief. “And what do you propose be ‘my business’?”
He flicked his fingers airily. “Childrearing. Child birthing. Doing charitable works. Hosting parties. Leaving the ruling to the stronger heads. We have been over this. Don’t be dense.”
While I supposed those were honorable occupations, I certainly did not want myself to limited to such a role. That was not how I had been raised. My grandmother had not taken special care to train me simply because I was her granddaughter. Auralia too had been Marquise but Grandmama would discuss accounts and affairs with me whenever she visited Aquia.
I could hear her voice in my ears as if it had not been years since her funeral. “I see in you the world and while the world might be more taken with your sister’s fair looks have no doubt that you too are beautiful and are intelligent, perhaps even more than her.” When I had protested this statement—after all, it seemed sacrilege that my twin not be my equal—or superior—in all things—Grandmama Elina had replied, “No? Perhaps I misspoke. Like you, Auralia is very able, there is no doubt in my heart of that—throw her in any situation and I have faith that she would acquit herself admirably. Yet, she would be just as happy thrown into a life of home and motherhood. Not you. Beneath all that willfulness and melodrama, there’s a real hunger that can only be satisfied by what lies outside the bounds of hearth and home.”
But in Gwydion’s estimation, my purpose was best served as a figurehead. A puppet. A perfect little queen, firmly beneath his control whom he could parade around at his whim to his parties—when she was not otherwise occupied birthing his heirs of course. In the doleful sea left in the wake of the Queen’s death, my heart held no place for his nonsense.
“If you will excuse me, Gwyd,” I said, rising. “I should pay my respects.”
I rinsed my face in a basin of cold water, washing away the chapped redness in my cheeks and eyes and left the room. The servants were busy, draping mirrors and furniture in black velvet. A maid stopped in the middle of her work to stare out the window, biting her lip to stay its quivering. In passing, I reached out and squeezed her shoulder. Her sorrowful brown eyes met mine. Much of the Assembly might have ignored Erina in her final months, but for the folk of the Alhazar, life would never be the same. I pressed a handkerchief into the woman’s hand.
When I reached Avera’s chambers, the curtains had been pulled shut, lest any ray of milky light pass through them. Her head bent, Avera sat with other ladies all of whom had drawn white veils over their hair. Seeing me, she rose gracefully.
I embraced her. “My sincerest condolences, Avera,” I whispered. “Queen Erina was an exemplar of a woman. Ghalain shines less brightly for her loss.” My mouth trembled.
She nodded her thanks. “Kershid would speak with you.” Her voice was husky with shed tears, but folded in somewhere between her grief, I thought I heard a note of remonstrance.
I drew a startled breath and racked my mind, attempting to remember some misstep that would have induced Kershid to want to speak to me. Stop. You’re being silly. He mourns his mother; he likely wishes to speak to a friend. Trying to remain calm, I asked, “Do you know about what?”
She shook her head. “He seemed to think it urgent. When you leave him, tell him that I will be with him soon.” She clasped my hand.
Recalling what she had said about Erina being like a mother to her, I hugged her again. “If ever you feel the need to speak to anyone...I know how you cared for her and how she adored you...I am always here.”
Avera’s eyes were bright with tears as I left.
Upon returning to my rooms, I found Gwydion lying in the center of the tawny rug, surrounded by the vines and flowers which crawled freely within their silken confines.
“What are you doing?”
He twitched, startled. “You know,” he said conversationally, “for a woman who is roughly the size of a cow you move with an eerie quietness. Are you sure you are not part Pari?”
Irritable with the foreboding Avera’s words had inspired, I snapped, “And I’m sure you know all about the Pari.”
Observing me from beneath lazily hooded eyelashes he chuckled softly. “What do you know about me and the Pari?”
I sat down beside him with a loud sigh, leaning against the dark wood of the bed’s curved footboard. It fit my aching back perfectly. “Oh, I have met your paramour. Charming lass.” The sarcasm dripped from my lips: I was surprised it did not puddle at my feet.
Swiftly, he rose to his knees, his hands clasping my shoulders. “What do you mean that you have met her?”
With a flare of exasperation, I said, “Generally, when you meet someone it is when the two of you, or it may be a group, happen across each other and make some form of conversation, usually with introductory overtures.”
He swore quietly, worriedly. Worried for me. And that frightened me more than anything, for if this man, who regularly compromised my safety was worried then surely I was in danger. A surprising warmth flashed for Gwydion but it was abruptly doused by his next words. “I do not want you to hurt her, you understand?”
I repelled a far-off sense of betrayal. As evenly as I could manage, I said, “Forgive me Gwydion, but she was the one who threatened me. You well know that she possesses powers which, I assure you, my petty human abilities cannot rival. Your ladylove need not fear me.” The uncomfortable feeling dissipated; it was nothing more than I expected.
And there were other issues I needed to tend.
Freeing the lavender ribbon wound around my head, I ran a silver-backed hairbrush through my hair. I began unbuttoning the pearls at my back Silently, Gwydion helped me slip the dress off. (My maids had an uncanny talent of never being there when I needed them.) Underneath, I was clad decently enough in my shift.
“My this is a pleasant surpri
se,” he growled, but I smacked his snaking hand away from my waist.
“I have to see Kershid. Besides, what would you want with a cow when you have your lovely lithe Pari?” From the mother-of-pearl inlaid wardrobe I retrieved a cloud-grey gown. I possessed no white mourning dresses to fit my current size. Again, Gwydion was at my side, clothing me as easily as Reyal. I wound the lavender ribbon around my hair again.
“Why are you visiting Kershid?”
“We are having a clandestine affair which I intend to continue on the day of his mother’s death,” I said caustically and then sighed. “No, Avera said he wishes to see me. I think I am in trouble,” I added guiltily and then noted his dapper green suit. “Really, have you no decency? Change into something more suitable. We still have a great deal of work ahead and you looking like you’re about to go picnicking won’t help.”
The halls, which had been so bustling before, had fallen eerily silent. My footsteps tapped on the marble, a lonely echo in the quiet. A distant keen sliced easily through the glass-like silence.
Arriving at Kershid’s door, I steeled myself for the punishment that would no doubt be meted. You are not four, I reminded myself. You have not hidden away the apples Beya gave you for a snack in favor of cake. You are an Emira(-Regent).
Drawing meager heart from those words, I stepped into Kershid’s room. Like Avera’s, it was dark, casting the furniture and walls into deep shadow. Not even a candle burned to keep the gloom at bay. Upon the seat that he had first entertained me, sat Kershid, nursing a glass of what looked suspiciously like gin.
“Hello, Kershid,” I whispered. I pulled a chair closer to him, sinking into the yielding leather. The clatter in my mind grew louder, a misty remembrance that refused to solidify.
His golden eyes, his mother’s luminous cat eyes, narrowed. “I have heard that you were the last person to see the Queen last night, before she passed.” His words cracked like a whip. “Is this or is this not true?”
“I did not know I was the last person, but yes, I did speak with her last night.” I answered levelly. The hair on my arms prickled. I did not like what he seemed to be hinting.
“Inquiries will be made in regards to your presence.” His voice was brittle, his face a thin, hard mask.
I tried to be gentle. “I had merely stopped in at her request to speak to her. There was a servant as well, who brought her medicine and drinks. When I left, she seemed tired, but well.” Gently, I touched his knee. “I am afraid it was nothing more than the simple course of nature. May the Seasons rest her soul.”
Blazing with fury, he cried, “Here you are, with your husband and all the others, waiting like vultures. Well, there is your carcass, why are you not feasting?”
“Oh, Kershid.” I enveloped him in a hug. My heart welling with sympathy, my lips found his. I tasted the bitter gin and salty tears on his lips, their softness. His fingers ran through my hair and the lavender ribbon floated like a feather to the floor.
I broke the kiss. If something in this world had shifted slightly, if neither Avera nor Gwydion stood between us, perhaps something more than deep and abiding friendship would have been conveyed through our embrace. In all things, he was utterly dissimilar to Gwydion and maybe in another life, a kinder life, I could have loved him. The vestiges of his rage had vanished, replaced by a frank sadness that carved itself into the grieving lines of his face.
I caressed his cheek. “My deepest condolences for your loss. The throne of Ghalain will never see her like again. She could not have been a more brilliant Queen. You and Liem are a credit to her.” I took a breath. “Now, it is your duty to ensure her memory.”
He glanced at me sharply. “What do you mean?”
Softly, I replied, “Your obligation is to carry on her legacy of peace by brokering the succession and bestowing the crown upon someone who would genuinely strive for Ghalain’s prosperity. She lived a great life and you are honored to have been her son. Dwell not on her death, but on the results of her life.”
We sat in silence, until Kershid gathered himself.
“You are right. There is work to be done and the grief cannot be given into yet.” His throat caught. “The greater the lag the more chance that Mama’s legacy is splintered.”
“It has been a hard day on all of us, but you especially. A good night of sleep and a brandy before bed should make you feel better. Or perhaps a pipe?” I watched him worriedly.
He smiled sadly and shook his head. “Not tonight.”
“Avera wished me to tell you that she would be coming to see you soon.” Gathering the skirt of my grey dress in a clammy palm and picking my ribbon from the floor, I walked towards the door. Twisting the ribbon around my forefinger into a silk-soft noose, I said, “I shall see you tomorrow then. Your loss breaks my heart, dear one. All of Ghalain mourns with you.”
“What did you do?”
“What did I do when?”
“What did you do when you found about your family? How did you cope?” Kershid said. His clamped jaw trembled furiously.
I tried to recall precisely how I had managed after the realization that everyone I held dear, had not seen for two years, was comatose and would be until some ridiculous requirements were met—if they ever were. My lips stretched into a crooked grimace. “Life goes on. Throw yourself into the life that continues. Ignore the reality of her void as much as you can. And when you are prepared to examine the truth, it will always be there, ready. Reality has nowhere else to go. Find Liem. At least your twin still draws breath beside you. He is you and you are him. Take comfort in each other.”
Quietly, I closed the heavy door behind me. Despite my care, the frame reverberated with a dull thud and even through the thick wood of the door, I could hear Kershid’s ripping sobs.