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“Lady Myrella’s been looking for you,” he said. “She’s stopped in three times since dinner. I didn’t know what to tell her, as you neglected to inform me of your plans for the evening.”
I set the stack of books on the small writing desk in the corner, fished the notebook out of my pocket and added it to the pile.
“You didn’t need to wait up, Gunnar. I’m sorry I put you out. I was in the library, studying.”
Gunnar huffed. “You could have at least let me know where you’d be. I cannot be expected to adequately perform my duties if you refuse to tell me when to expect you and where you plan to spend your time. Your tea’s gone cold, and I haven’t the faintest clue what to lay out for you to wear tomorrow. What does one wear when speaking to the poor?”
I bit back a grin. Aside from cataloging the ways in which I’d wronged him over the course of any given day, Gunnar loved nothing more than reveling in his own snobbery.
“Clothes, I expect,” I replied, pouring myself a cup of rich herbal tisane from the pot keeping warm on a trivet next to the hearth, despite Gunnar’s hyperbolic warning. “It’s still a bit cold for me to go gallivanting off to the throne room to greet my future subjects in my underthings.”
Gunnar’s jaw tightened, and he gave a stiff bow. His manners tended to become polite to the point of absurdity when he was irritated with me. Somehow, he managed to present a picture of perfect deference and simultaneously touch upon my every nerve. Even though I knew he would probably lay out something completely absurd—like a lavender silk suit—the next morning, I was altogether too drained to worry about the consequences of my sarcasm. Gunnar always paid me back in his own way, but I didn’t have to worry about his feelings being too badly hurt in the long run. The man had practically raised me, and he, more than anyone, knew how difficult it was for me to endure these endless days at court surrounded by people who only ever approached what they wanted to say from the side.
* * *
Thanks to my sharp tongue and Gunnar’s long memory, the maid woke me with just half an hour’s grace before I was to meet the Queen. The clothes Gunnar had laid out for me were some of the most ostentatious and garish in my wardrobe, and he was nowhere to be found. Through the servant’s sputtered protests, I stuck my whole head in a basin of freezing cold water left from the night before, scrubbed at my face and dried off with my shirttails as I stalked to the closet to find something else to wear.
Over my shoulder, I called, “I would be eternally grateful to you if you could manage to find me a cup of kaffe sometime in the next ten minutes.”
When the young man didn’t respond, I stuck my head out of the closet, a pair of socks clenched between my teeth, to see if he’d heard me. There, lounging on the settee at the end of my bed, was my cousin Claes, with two enormous, steaming mugs in his hands and a grin lighting his gorgeous face. He, apparently, hadn’t infuriated his butler, and was turned out in perfectly fitted navy trousers and a fine ivory sweater. The smattering of freckles across his high cheekbones stood out against his fawn skin more than usual, and there was a playful light in his angular black eyes.
“Good morning, dearest,” he said, and crossed the room to hand me a mug and plant a kiss on my cheek.
I took a grateful sip, all the bitterness of the kaffe disguised by honey and cream. Claes knew me so well.
“Thank you. I’m afraid I may have annoyed Gunnar last night. All he’s left me is that hideous mauve monstrosity, and I have to be in the throne room in twenty minutes. Do you think these will do?”
Claes looked down at the clothes I’d plucked out of the wardrobe, and his perfectly groomed black eyebrows climbed his forehead. He swept the clothes out of my arms and brushed past me into the closet.
“I swear, Bo, it’s as if you’ve never dressed yourself. Do you pay absolutely no attention to what’s fashionable?”
Ten minutes later, I was respectably garbed in a pair of gray trousers, a pale orange sweater knitted from soft Denorian wool and a long charcoal jacket. I stuffed a cloud bun filled with smoked bacon and caramelized onions into my mouth as I rushed through the palace halls to the throne room. I arrived with only a moment to spare and ran a hand experimentally through my riot of dark brown curls. I had no doubt that I looked a disaster, but there was nothing to be done about it now.
“Am I a total embarrassment?”
Claes smiled and drew me close in a warm embrace. “You’re as princely as they come, my dear. Now go impress old Queenie with your vast intellect. I’m off to gather gossip from the maids. I hear that Lisette has taken a new lover, and I plan to learn who it is before your birthday invitations are sent.”
Claes leaned in and kissed me, and I did my best to ignore the guards by the throne room door, who were covering their chuckling with coughs and exaggerated shifting of their weapons. It wasn’t as though my relationship with Claes was a secret, but his public displays of affection drew more attention to us than I liked. Claes pulled away first, his implacable grin already in place as he winked at a guard over my shoulder.
“I’ll see you tonight?” I asked.
“Of course. We’ve got to finalize the guest list, and I do believe that my dear sister has a whole collection of people she’s planning to chastise and flatter with this event alone.”
I sighed. It didn’t matter that I’d been preparing myself to take the throne for most of my life: I would never get used to the social machinations and deceptions required by a life at court. They simply didn’t come as naturally to me as they did to the other singleborn. Even my cousins, Penelope and Claes, had adapted much more easily to court intrigue than I ever had.
Claes brushed a bit of invisible dust off my shoulder.
“You worry about running the empire, my dear. Penelope and I’ll be the ones to get our hands dirty controlling the nobility. Now scoot. You’re going to be late.”
Claes planted a final kiss on my cheek and nodded to the guards. When they opened the door, I was as ready as I could be.
Like the Queen, I entered the throne room not through the wide doors that the petitioners would use throughout the day, but via a small side door in the back. The Alskad throne loomed large on the dais. According to legend, it had been hewn from the upturned roots of an enormous tree, and the tangle of roots that fanned out over the head of the monarch reflected the Alskad crown they wore. The whole thing had been polished and waxed and varnished so often over the years, the wood had turned a glowing deep brown, almost black.
I rounded the dais and saw that the Queen was already seated on a pile of furs draped over the wide throne. Her eyes flickered to the clock in the corner of the room when she saw me, and her mouth turned down in disapproval.
“You’re late, Bo.”
I squinted at the clock. It was thirty seconds past the agreed-upon time.
“My most sincere apologies, Your Majesty.”
The Queen crinkled her sharp nose and adjusted the crown of Alskad atop her graying hair. She was an intimidating woman, with skin that never lost its light brown glow, iron-gray hair and a habit of wearing wide-shouldered capes that made her body look nearly square. She was said to have been shockingly beautiful in her youth, though age had left her more arresting than lovely.
“You’ll need a chair. These things tend to last for hours and hours, and you’ll not want to be standing the whole time.” She pointed at a cluster of chairs in an alcove between two sets of large casement windows. “Drag one of those over. Not the blue one. The cushion’s as thin as a sheet—you’ll be sitting on nails all day.”
Three guards tried to take the chair from me as I crossed the room, but I waved them all off with a smile.
“You lot leave him be. He’s a brawny young thing.” Queen Runa laughed. “No need to start coddling him until he’s actually the crown prince.”
I felt a flicker of unease at the implication, and—as if they could sense my discomfort—Patrise and Lisette swanned into the throne room, alight with jewels and draped in brightly dyed silks and furs. Though it was well known throughout the empire that I would soon be named Runa’s heir, Lisette and Patrise nevertheless took every opportunity to remind me that they, too, were singleborn and eligible for the throne. Of all the singleborn in my generation, only Rylain, my father’s cousin, refused to play this game, and I was forever grateful to her for that generosity of spirit.
Runa raised an eyebrow, and Patrise and Lisette bowed deeply.
“Sorry to be late, Your Majesty,” Patrise drawled, his voice all lazy vowels and grandeur. “We were doing our best to decide what to get our Ambrose for his birthday.”
“I wanted to get him a pony,” Lisette said, pouting, “but Patrise insists that little Ambrose is far too mature for such things.”
“A set of knives, perhaps, to protect him from his many enemies,” Patrise said. “But we wouldn’t want him to prick himself accidentally, now would we?”
“Enough,” Runa snapped.
Patrise and Lisette collapsed into each other, giggling. I settled my chair on the dais, a step behind the throne on Runa’s right, and glared at Patrise and Lisette as they waved for guards to bring chairs for them, as well.
The Queen turned to me, her tone low, but firm. “Ignore them. They only enjoy baiting you because you give them a reaction. If you are to lead, you’ll have to learn to rise above the petty antics they use to entertain themselves.”
I nodded, but a voice in the back of my head wondered how she could speak about the rivalries between the singleborn so lightly, when they were so often punctuated by assassination attempts.
Runa continued. “I hope that you and I will have many more years to prepare you for taking the helm of this empire. But if there is one thing I’d ask you to keep in mind from the very beginning, it’s that we, as monarchs, are here to protect our people. Remember that both the poorest urchin and the wealthiest merchant deserve our equal and undiscriminating respect.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
I tried to focus on the Queen’s instructions, but it was hard with Lisette and Patrise looking over her shoulder and laughing behind their hands. I clenched my jaw and forced myself to look away from them.
“Too much of Alskad’s idea of merit has become predicated on a person’s wealth, rather than their character. As we hear petitions today, I want you to keep in mind how money plays into each person’s story, and, more importantly, how it plays into your reaction.” She glanced over her shoulder at the other singleborn and raised her voice. “And if the two of you could manage to resist teasing Bo while in the presence of our subjects, you might actually learn something worthwhile.”
Without waiting for a response, the Queen signaled to the guards, and they flung open the throne room doors. A stream of people entered the room, each stopping to make their courtesies to the Queen as they entered. There were people from all walks of life: members of the nobility I recognized from the endless social engagements that were the norm when I was at court, merchants dressed in extravagant imported Samirian silks and common folk whose clothes had plainly been mended over and over again. Some of them came with petitions, others just to watch the spectacle and collect gossip with which to tantalize or lord over their peers.
The Queen’s secretary bustled through the crowd, approached the dais and presented her with a list written in a neat hand. Runa scanned the list, raised her hand and waited for the room to fall silent.
“First, I will hear from Jacobb Rosy. Mister Rosy, if you would, please approach the dais.”
The petitioners shifted and moved, and Jacobb Rosy came to bow before the Queen. He was a man in his middle age, of medium height and build, with unblemished light brown skin and dark, wavy hair. He was utterly unremarkable, but for the brilliant yellow suit he wore. The jacket was cut long, as was the fashion, ending just above his knees, and trimmed all around with black ermine. Embroidered bees climbed the legs of his slim trousers, and an enormous onyx brooch ringed with diamonds was pinned to his lapel. He spoke in a clear alto, loud enough to be heard throughout the entire room.
“Your Majesty, I am deeply honored that you have chosen to hear my petition today.”
Runa raised one eyebrow, and I studied the man, looking to see if I could spot his tell. Most people did everything in their power to present themselves as the victim when offering their story to the Queen.
“I hear the petitions of all my subjects, Mister Rosy. What troubles you?”
“Your Majesty, I am on the verge of losing my shop. You see, for the last decade I have designed and created clothing for the fashionable people of your empire. My wife, with the help of a shopkeeper, ran the business in order to give me the freedom to focus on the creative side of the work.”
“It sounds like you’ve created a comfortable and successful life for yourself.”
“It was, Your Majesty. But now, without my wife’s help, the burden of the business has grown to be too much, and with taxes due, I am likely to lose my livelihood.”
Runa’s face took on an expression of sympathy. “I’m sorry for the loss of your wife, Mister Rosy. How long has it been?”
The man squirmed, gazing down at the toes of his mirror-polished black boots, and fell silent. He hadn’t walked to the palace, not with the gray slush of snow still clinging to the streets. He’d taken a carriage. So either he’d not yet sold off all the luxuries typically enjoyed by the merchant class—which was likely, given his clothes and the jewels on his lapel—or he had enough money to pay for carriages and jewels, but had squandered what he should have saved for taxes.
“How long?” Runa pressed.
Lisette snickered, and Runa shot her a hard look.
“She’s not dead, Your Majesty. She left me.”
“And she didn’t see fit to remain a partner in your business or find a suitable replacement?”
“How could I trust her to have my best interests at heart if she was so willing to give up everything we’d built together?”
“This is not the haven hall, Mister Rosy. I am not in the business of arbitrating marital disputes. However, if your predicament is due to neglect on the part of your business partner, there may be some grounds for leniency on the part of the crown. Will you give me your ex-wife’s name, that I may call upon her for her side of this dispute?”
The man blanched. He seemed to be wilting. His shoulders drew inward, and he refused to meet the Queen’s gaze. He muttered something unintelligible in the direction of his feet. All around the room, people were shifting and squirming, trying to get a better look at the man.
“What was that, Mister Rosy?”
“I told her she wasn’t welcome in the shop after she left. I didn’t want her running the business into the ground out of spite.”
“I see.” Runa looked at me out of the corner of her eye. “And what, exactly, would you ask of the crown today?”
“Humbly, Your Majesty, I ask that my tax burden be forgiven this year and the next, to allow me to rebuild my assets and business in the wake of this unforeseen tragedy. Additionally, I ask that my ex-wife be made responsible for the mess she left me in, and pay half of my taxes for the two years after that.”
The Queen nodded slowly and shifted her focus to me.
“Your thoughts, Lord Gyllen?”
Runa had an incredible knack for putting on and taking off personas. In public, she was formal, even stiff, with me. She addressed me by my full name or title, a courtesy she didn’t always bestow on the other singleborn, and she treated me with the respect of a monarch to her successor, despite the fact that I’d not yet been formally named. And while Rylain was allowed to while her days away at her northern estates, only emerging for the most important state occasions, Runa insisted I always be at her right hand.
Her demeanor in private was another matter entirely. She teased and cajoled and demanded that my mastery of matters of state be not just sufficient, but the best in the room. She was every bit the exacting and affectionate aunt, and though I’d not spent a great deal of time with her, the closer we got to my birthday and the announcement of my role as her successor, the more attention she paid me.
Despite all of this, I was shocked when she asked for my opinion. I took a moment to gather my thoughts, wanting to impress her.
“In most cases, I tend to believe that the duty of the crown is to assist and uplift its people. However, it seems to me that it is Mister Rosy’s actions and choices that have led him to this vulnerable place. The taxes paid by the citizens of the Alskad Empire serve to provide basic services and resources to all the people of the empire. It seems that Mister Rosy did not plan adequately for his taxes this season, which is unfortunate. However, there is still sufficient time for him to liquidate some of his assets—such as the jewel he wears upon his lapel—and take in more work. He can hire a bookkeeper to help him as he learns to manage his business in the absence of his wife.”
I paused for a moment, weighing my next words. “It is my belief that the crown should not forgive his tax burden. However, I do admire his excellent tailoring skills, and I will certainly pass some business his way, and I am sure my cousins Lisette and Patrise will do the same.”
Queen Runa gave me a small smile and a nod. I’d done well. I breathed a sigh of relief and sat back in my chair. Mister Rosy’s cheeks were burgundy, and his brows were so tightly drawn that it looked like he had an entire mountain range of wrinkles spanning his forehead. My answer, obviously, hadn’t been what he wanted to hear. It would take a great deal of study for me to learn how to do this job without inciting the ire of my subjects.
“Lord Gyllen is right. The High Council and I have worked hard to ensure that taxes in the empire are not a burden on anyone’s shoulders unless they simply do not plan. It is never any use to stick your head in the sand and ignore your responsibilities, Mister Rosy. That said, however, I appreciate that you sought my guidance and help, and I will have my secretary provide suggestions for bookkeepers with honest reputations to help you manage your business. Further, the royal treasury will pay the bookkeeper’s fees for the time between now and when your taxes come due.”
The tailor bowed, muttered his thanks and retreated into the crowd.
The rest of the day was much the same. We listened to troubles as large as a housekeeper accused of stealing a noblewoman’s jewels—only to find that the noblewoman’s husband had gambled away their entire fortune—and as small as an argument between two street vendors over a particular corner in a park.
Runa showed each of them the same amount of respect, and even made certain to include Patrise and Lisette in the consideration of certain petitions. She paid careful attention to the needs of the poor and destitute, and made notes of the bevy of ways in which the social services provided by the Alskad throne were failing. She frequently asked my opinion, and most of the time, she agreed with my assessments. When she and I were at odds, she explained her thinking to both me and the gathered petitioners, and every time, I saw how her logic was sounder than mine. There was so much I didn’t know, and the plethora of ways in which the privilege of my wealth had coddled me and shrouded me from the everyday challenges of the Alskad people continued to shock me.
By the time the chamber emptied, we’d heard more than thirty petitions, and my brain felt like mush. That was the moment Queen Runa decided to begin quizzing me about the shipbuilding industry.
CHAPTER THREE (#u32bd4549-2432-517d-945f-61a820fc6dc7)
VI
With only hours left until his departure, Sawny and I stayed awake all night, teasing and telling stories and remembering and acting like nothing would change when we were an ocean apart. Even Lily managed to endure my presence in their shared room with a bare minimum of complaints. She had, after all, gotten her way.
We’d planned to leave the temple quietly before first adulations, but the anchorites who’d taken the most responsibility in raising us—Lugine, Bethea and Sula—were waiting for Sawny and Lily in the entrance hall. They wore informal yellow robes and thick wool scarves in golden orange wrapped tight around their shoulders. The color flattered Sula’s and Lugine’s dark brown skin, making them glow. Unfortunately, for a woman committed to a lifetime wearing a very limited palette, yellow turned Bethea’s thin, pale wrinkles sallow and sickly.
“You’ll not sneak away in the night like thieves,” Bethea said grumpily, but she leaned one of her canes against her hip and pulled Lily in for a hug.
I pressed myself into the wall. This was their moment, and I wanted more than anything to become invisible. The anchorites had never hugged me. Not even once. Sawny and Lily and the other twins like them were, in their own way, the children these women would never give birth to themselves, committed as they were to their goddesses. Though we three were all wards of the temple, the fact that I was a dimmy made me a threat.
I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of goodbye I would get when my time came.
Sula slipped a bulging satchel over Sawny’s shoulder and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “We’d extra copies of some cookery books in the library. I thought you might find them useful in your new life.”
Lugine cupped Sawny’s and Lily’s cheeks, one in each hand, a warm smile lighting her face. “Magritte protect you both. Write often, and let us know how you are.”
“And get yourselves to adulations,” Bethea added. “Just because we’re not there to worry you into the haven hall doesn’t mean you can stop showing up.”
Lily burst into tears and flung her arms around Bethea. Sawny, chin trembling, bit his lip and nodded. I sank farther back into the shadows, tears welling in my own eyes. Even though we’d grown up in the same hall, in the same building, raised by these same women, our lives could not have been more different, and it had taken me until that moment to realize it fully. I would never be missed, never be wanted, never be anything but a burden.
We walked in silence through Penby’s quiet streets in the faint glow of the waning moon, only one of its halves fully visible. I laced my arm through Sawny’s, trying to burn him into my memory. He’d been my best friend my whole life, and it didn’t seem possible that when I trudged back up the hill to the temple later, I would be alone.
The city came alive as we got closer to the docks, where the great iron sunships, Alskad’s greatest pride, were moored. Sailors hauled trunks and crates up and down long gangplanks, officers shouted orders from the decks, and vendors pushed carts, hawking the kinds of trinkets a person might not realize they needed until they were on the verge of leaving everything they knew and loved behind. The whole scene was lit by the hazy, flickering light of sunlamps and the first rays of sunlight peeking over the horizon.
“The ship is called the Lucrecia,” Lily said. “I spoke to a woman named Whippleston to arrange our passage.”
We walked down the docks, scanning the names painted large on the backs of the ships.
“There’s still time to back out,” I said quietly to Sawny, fingering the small pouch I’d stuffed into my pocket after supper the night before. “The anchorites would let you stay a bit longer. Work’s sure to open up somewhere in the city. If not, I’ll be sixteen soon. I know there’s work up north we can take.”
