Living With Ghosts Part 7

The private door opened, and the Second Councillor stepped out onto the dais, flushed and uncomfortable in a coat that was clearly several seasons too tight. He was followed by Yvelliane and then the young crown prince. While the Second Councillor placed himself at the foot of the dais, Yvelliane took a position behind and to the right of the queen's chair. She nodded and the a.s.sembled company rose. Prince Laurens entered and stood by the door to offer his arm to his wife. The queen was laden down with brocade and lace and jewelry. The state crown sat heavily on her hair: beneath it, she looked pinched and gray. As Laurens led her to her chair, the court bowed. Watching under her lashes, Miraude noted that Firomelle held tightly onto Laurens, the veins in her hand too p.r.o.nounced. As the company rose and resumed their places, she risked a quick glance toward the Ninth Councillor, several yards away. There was one, at least, who was already jockeying for position in antic.i.p.ation of the queen's death. Beyond him, the amba.s.sador from Tarnaroq was smooth-faced and serene. As Miraude began to look away, one of his aides caught her eye and gave a creamy smile. Quenfrida d'Ivrinez was another one upon whom she knew Yvelliane kept a close watch. Miraude patted at the lace on her sleeve and pretended to be scanning the room for fauxpasin matters of dress. The countess of LaMarche-Retaux was wearing puce with mustard ribbons. Miraude allowed an eyebrow to rise, then turned her attention back to the dais. Yvelliane gazed out over the crowd, frowning. As Miraude watched, she looked briefly at Thiercelin and the frown lifted just slightly. Then the queen coughed, and it returned.

There was a loud knock on the central main door, and all heads turned that way. The chief steward, dressed in full livery and carrying a gilded rod, stood in the doorway and bowed. "Your Majesty, the heir to Lunedith craves admission to your presence."

"Let him enter." Despite her frailty, Firomelle's voice was clear.

The steward bowed again and stood aside. "Your Majesty, Prince Kenan Orcandros of Lunedith. Amba.s.sador Ceretic of Lunedith. Tafarin Morwenedd, deputy commander of the royal kai-rethinof Lunedith." There was a fanfare from the corridor outside, and the Lunedithin party came into the room, Kenan at their head.

He was a slight man, with reddish-brown hair brushed smoothly back from his face and worn in an unfashionable long braid. He wore a simple gray tunic over a pale shirt, and dark trousers; his cloak was likewise gray, but trimmed in scarlet. His sole ornament was the bronze brooch holding the cloak in place. He looked younger than his twenty years: his eyes flickered across the room as though he hunted for someone or something. That was interesting. Miraude followed his glance, again under her lashes. The Tarnaroqui. Very interesting. At his right, Amba.s.sador Ceretic beamed at the company with his usual good humor. The third man, Tafarin, looked awed. Behind her, Thiercelin shuffled his feet, and she gave him a surrept.i.tious poke with her fan.

A handful of soldiers followed Kenan into the room, all from the queen's household troop, their dress uniforms far more eye-catching than the somber clothes of the Lunedithin. Kenan's own guards would be waiting downstairs: they had no place in this ceremony. While Kenan and his flankers advanced through the line of watching aristocracy, the soldiers took up positions by the doors. The room was silent, save for footfalls and the hiss of candles. If Yvelliane had not asked her to be vigilant, Miraude might almost have felt sorry for Kenan, running this gamut of intense scrutiny. He arrived at the foot of the dais and halted. At his side, the amba.s.sador held out a letter to the Second Councillor. It was adorned with a huge seal and tied with cords of scarlet and gray. The councillor took it and brought it up the steps to the queen. Kenan stood firm, face now stern, his eyes on Firomelle. She broke the seal and read the letter once, slowly, before handing it Yvelliane. Then she said, "Prince Kenan, be welcome in our domains. Your grandsire, our ally and va.s.sal Prince Keris, does us honor through you." There was a silence. Kenan looked right and left, then made the smallest of bows. A mutter ran through the lines of n.o.bles, and Amba.s.sador Ceretic began to look worried. Firomelle ignored it. She said, "We will receive your homage. Approach us." There was another silence. Then Kenan climbed the three steps to the top of the dais and knelt, hands together and held out before him.

Firomelle said, "Kenan Orcandros. Your forebears held their lands and t.i.tle at our good favor and in obedience to us. Do you seek now to be confirmed as heir to those lands?"

"Yes." Kenan's voice was pitched low and hard to hear even this close by. Miraude could sense dissatisfaction forming among the gathering. He would make few friends this way. If, indeed, he wanted to at all.

"And are you now willing to swear to me your loyalty and obedience, as your forebears have done before you?"

"Yes." The second response was pitched even lower than the first.

"Then, Kenan Orcandros, make to me now your oath." Firomelle leaned forward to place her thin hands about his. "Do you swear to hold your lands with justice . . ." She paused for a moment, as if seeking her breath. "With justice and honor?"

"I swear." This time, Kenan's voice was clearer, There was another pause, this one longer. To Miraude, Firomelle's face seemed flushed. "And will you respect . . . the rights of the crown in peace . . ." Firomelle swayed a little and coughed, once. "In peace and in war?"

"I swear."

Firomelle coughed again, this time for longer. Beside her, Laurens leaned forward, concerned. "And will you . . . render all due services and . . . tributes and . . ." Another cough. There were lines of pain in Firomelle's face. Kenan's eyes were downcast. Miraude found herself gripping tightly onto her fan. She did not believe in omens. But there were too many who did, or would feign to, if it might bring them advantage. Firomelle regained her voice and continued, "And swear obedience . . . to our . . ."

She began to cough again, bending forward with the force of it. Yvelliane reached out toward her. The room echoed back the sound, rough and agonized. Under it, through it, Kenan's voice said, clearly, "I swear."

He lifted his head to stare at his hands. Miraude followed his gaze. His fingers and Firomelle's were coated with blood.

4.

IARETH YSCOITHI OF ALFIAL to Urien Armenwy, called Swanhame, Councillor and Leader of theKai-rethin : Greetings.

Tafarin kai-reth has written to you and to our lord Prince Keris of the incident that disrupted the homage ceremonial: I append this letter for your further information and consideration. I myself was not present at the event and can thus add nothing to Tafarin's account of it directly. Consequent upon Firomelle Allandur being takenill, the reception was presided over by her consort and her son and pa.s.sed off well, the prince consort making little of his wife's indisposition. Returning from the palace,Kenan kai-reth seemed more than satisfied with the turn of events, which I will own to finding disquieting. He is due to return to the palace for a private audience with the Allandur in three days'time. In the meantime, I will maintain watch over him as you have directed. Amba.s.sador Ceretic will certainly be writing to the Orcandros about the health of the Allandur and the reactions to it in her court and government.

I have had as yet had scant chance to go about within thecity, apart for that small part proximate to our residence and the Rose Palace. Nor have I seen Yviane Allandur save at a distance. I confess myself grateful for this; it seems that my courage in this respect is less than I had believed. But I am well within myself, Father.Do not be concerned up on my behalf. It has been six years since the death of Valdin Allandur. I intend to face such memories as this city contains with firm resolve.

I should report also that this forenoon we received a visit from the resident amba.s.sador from Tarnaroq, accompanied by the Lady Quenfrida, who is known to us . . .

"The Tarnaroqui delegation, monseigneur," Joyain announced. "The honorable Amba.s.sador Lord Sigeris; the Lord Radewund; the Lady Quenfrida." It was not his job to conduct visitors to Kenan, not usually. But they had arrived as he had been about to inform His Highness that the horses were ready for his morning ride, and it had seemed efficient for him to accompany them upstairs. Stepping to his left, he bowed. "I'll send word to the stables that your ride is delayed. Will that be all, monseigneur?"

Kenan Orcandros looked up from the correspondence he had been going over with Iareth Yscoithi. "Thank you, Lieutenant. Do remain." His tone was not quite pleasant. "I'm sure your commanding officer will want to be sure we do not plot treachery under your roof, whatever our various reputations. You, too, Iareth kai-reth ." Iareth had risen; she nodded and stepped back to stand at a window.

Joyain said nothing. Kenan, it seemed, was still young enough to enjoy rudeness. If Kenan wanted to be insulting-Joyain was pretty sure that the subject of the insult was less himself, than it was his country and the Tarnaroqui delegation-then that was none of Joyain's business. His commanding officer was unlikely to care, and it was up to the Tarnaroqui how they responded. Schooling his face to neutrality, he retired to the door and stood with his back to it.

At least it was dry in here. He had never known rain like it: there was talk in the barracks of sandbagging the old quay, and the floating dock was all but unusable.

Amba.s.sador Sigeris had finished making a long-and incomprehensible-speech in Tarnaroqui. Now he bowed, and added in Merafien, "Which is to say, we of Tarnaroq are honored to make the acquaintance of Lunedith's heir." It seemed he, too, chose to ignore Kenan's attempt at insult.

Kenan had not bothered to rise. To Sigeris' speech, he responded only with a curt nod. Sigeris looked momentarily askance, then, recovering himself, asked, "How do you find Merafi?"

"Wet," said Kenan.

There was a pause. The visitors had not been invited to sit. Sigeris stood with his hands behind him, watching Kenan. Radewund was studying his cuffs. To Joyain's experienced eye, he looked hungover. The woman Quenfrida had wandered over to the mantel, and was examining a china figure. Without turning, she said "Would that be slightly, adequately, quite, or very?"

"What?" asked Kenan.

"Wet."

There was another pause. Then Kenan said, "Some-what. If I may enlarge the parameters."

"Naturally. That's one of rank's privileges." Quenfrida's voice was silken: although he could not see her face, Joyain was willing to swear that she was smiling.

"So it is," Kenan said lazily. "I'd rather forgotten."

"Ah," said Quenfrida. "Forgetfulness."

"Quite. I am, in addition, remiss. I begin to note it." Kenan made a small bow to Sigeris. "Perhaps Your Graces would care to sit and take refreshments with me?"

Sigeris was watching Quenfrida: his expression was curiously thoughtful. As she turned to look at him, it turned into a smile. To Kenan, he said, "That would be welcome."

"So." Kenan gestured to the a.s.sortment of chairs.

"It's morning. They drink chocolate here at this hour, I think." He glanced at Joyain as he spoke. The latter made a hasty bow. "At home in Lunedith, we drink ale."

So did Joyain, as a rule. Chocolate was for the rich. Iareth left the room; he heard her relaying the order to a footman before returning and resuming her place. The Tarnaroqui delegation seated themselves, and the conversation took a friendlier turn. Kenan had been taken to a performance at the Gran' Theatre the night before. He had not, it seemed, enjoyed it. (Tafarin Morwenedd had, and the tavern afterward even more so. Joyain's own state of health still bore slight witness to that.) Radewund recommended a different theater company. Sigeris listened. Quenfrida gazed absently into her cup. So far it seemed that from this encounter, at least, the hottest news Joyain would have for Amalie was that there wouldn't be much of a market in Lunedith for either chocolate or theater props. "But," Quenfrida said, looking up, "you will have many demands on your time, I'm sure. Your Highness is the latest novelty. I'm sure you'll be invited everywhere."

"I do not care for frivolity." Kenan spoke in the tone of a septuagenarian. Joyain lowered his gaze.

"Ah, but one finds some splendid hospitality in Merafi," Radewund said.

"And gains the chance to be on good terms with a number of influential people." Quenfrida picked up an invitation card from the table. "The salon of Miraude d'Iscoigne l'Aborderie. She's the First Councillor's sister-in-law, you know, and very charming. You never know what you'll discover at her salons or whom you'll meet. You should go."

"Perhaps I will." Kenan sounded bored, but he reached for the card. "My Iareth kai-reth, do you know of this Miraude de Iscoigne? From her name, she might well be distant kin of yours." He turned as he spoke, and on his lips was a cool smile. There was something unkind to it. Joyain glanced across at Iareth.

Calmly, she said, "If so, I know nothing of it. She is, as you say, the sister-in-law of Yviane Allandur. I believe I met her, when I was formerly in Merafi."

"Indeed?" Kenan turned back to his guests. He said, "Iareth is my expert upon matters Merafien."

"A pleasant expertise," Quenfrida said. "Even for a Lunedithin." She smiled at Iareth. "Do you find it so?"

"In parts." Iareth did not return the smile. "Was that your experience, when you came to Skarholm to study matters Lunedithin?"

Kenan looked at her sharply.

"Indeed," Quenfrida said. "It's a fine thing, Lunedithin hospitality." She smiled at Kenan. "I have fond memories of my stay there. And of my hosts. Among others."

Amalie had not mentioned that one of the current Tarnaroqui emba.s.sy had formerly held a post in Lunedith. Perhaps she had not known. What Joyain found more interesting was that Kenan and Quenfrida had effected not to know one another. Not for the benefit of Sigeris, surely? The latter would certainly to know the backgrounds of his aides. In which case . . . Trying to unravel the puzzle, Joyain missed Kenan's reply to Quenfrida, and Sigeris was relating some anecdote about a court masque.

The conversation continued for some minutes longer upon desultory matters, before the Tarnaroqui rose and took their leave. Kenan dismissed Joyain and Iareth in their wake. In the hall, he rang the bell for the footman to take a new message to the stables and waited.

After a moment, Iareth said, "Do you know this Tarnaroqui emba.s.sy?"

It was an odd question. Joyain said, "Not personally." She looked briefly surprised. Then she shook her head. "So: I'd forgotten. The guards of your queen are not as our kai-rethin." That did not seem to need a reply. She said, "But you know of the emba.s.sy?"

It appeared that rather a lot of people were interested in the Tarnaroqui. Somewhat stiffly, Joyain said, "A little, yes."

"Indeed." Again, Iareth paused. "It is only that I wondered, somewhat, concerning this Quenfrida . . . She has been long in Merafi?"

"I'm not sure."

"No." Her tone was absent. Glancing at her, he could read little from her face. Unexpectedly, she looked up and smiled. "Once again, I'm inconveniencing you."

"It doesn't matter."

He did not understand the look she gave him, half-measuring, half, perhaps, regretful. But she said only, "Thank you," and went away down the pa.s.sage.

Although it was still early autumn, cold shrouded the city. Two chill nights followed two gray days, rain churned the streets to mud, and the river swelled within its banks. A full quarter of the wharves were unusable, not counting those in the disrupted and uneasy new dock. Some of the wells in the low city were beginning to taste salty. The pleasure gardens were waterlogged, and shop awnings hung limp and dulled.

It was a poor season for pleasure, and poorer for those who must live by those means, as the rich withdrew into the warmth of their private houses. In coffeehouses and inns, the landlords muttered; at the Gran' Theatre, the manager sighed over his receipts. Everywhere, in the mansions of the n.o.bility and the countinghouses of merchants, in guildhalls and temples, in garrets and tenements and shanty-huts, people discussed their queen's health in hushed tones. She had hemorrhaged in full view of the court. It mattered little that the day after she had walked in her gardens with her son and visited the main fire temple with her consort: there was still talk of ill omens. Some of the foreign merchants raised their prices, while native traders looked grim. The number of pet.i.tioners outside the houses of certain councillors increased. It was said Yvelliane d'Illandre, who would surely know more than any other how serious matters were, had not left her offices at the Rose Palace since the night of the reception for Prince Kenan.

The night of the reception, Gracielis had awoken chill and disturbed from fitful sleep. Ever since, it seemed to him that a mood drifted over the city, invisible, cold, malevolent. Two days after that evening, he walked one of the paths alongside the northern arm of the river. It was not raining, but he shivered despite his heavy cloak and fur-lined two-colored gloves. Something waited. Something he did not wish to feel. To one side, the lieutenant's ghost paced him, hazy with moisture. To the other, Amalie walked, holding his arm.

He could not imagine why she wanted to promenade here, in this weather. In any weather, for that matter. But it was not for him to question her. There were rules to this, as to any job. Besides, it pleased him to please her. And then, he had to eat.

She said, "You're very quiet."

"Your beauty silences me." She snorted. He said, "I'll talk, then, if it pleases you."

"You know it does. You practice." She squeezed his arm. "Everything about you pleases me, love."

"I'm glad. It's my greatest fear, that I'll cease to please you."

She laughed. "I'll let you know."

"Thank you." The ghost sneered at him. He ignored it. "And are you pleased by this scenery?"

"Do you have that in your power as well?" She shook her head at him. "I don't deserve your talents."

"Not so. My talents are inadequate." He smiled. "Is there something you'd have me change?"

"I wish!"

The river was high, heavy with mud and debris. The towpaths were all but deserted, and they had seen only one barge. The day was very still. He was again aware of a quality of waiting, caught in the air.

Amalie said, "I wanted to look at the river, but . . ."

"I was in the old town last night. The south channel is very high. I believe ships can still pa.s.s, though."

"Are you sure?"

"No, but I can ask."

"Thank you." But she sighed.

Gracielis looked at her. "Has your ship arrived?"

"Not yet." She sighed again. Gently, he lifted her hand to his lips.

He said, "It will be well."

"Yes, I suppose so. And I can sustain the loss, if necessary. But with this news of the queen in addition . . . My trading partners in the Allied Cities won't like it. They're sure to want to charge me more and pay less for my goods. My guild is unhappy."

"They say that she appeared quite well at the temple."

"Yes, I know. But all the same . . ."

She was worrying, it was clear. Stopping, he placed his hands on her shoulders and looked down into her eyes. Carefully, kindly, he said, "Ladyheart. Do not."

"Don't what?"

"Frown." He circled her face with a finger. "It makes wrinkles."

"That would be a calamity."

"a.s.suredly." Over her shoulder, he could see the river, hazy beyond the lieutenant's ghost. It looked as if a mist might be rising. He asked, "Are you cold?"

"Not especially. Are you?"

"A little. Your Merafien climate . . ."

"No resilience." But she slipped her arms around him and rested her cheek on his shoulder. He began to wrap his cloak about them both, then paused as the ghost moved, improving his view of the river. That moved brown and slow, blurred with the mist, which was beginning to seep into the streets and alleys and gardens. There were shapes in the mist, and beneath the surface of the river, moving against the current, adopting forms they should not take. They uncoiled with lazy confidence, less substantial than the lieutenant's malicious ghost. Under them Gracielis could sense something more, a heavy immanence of water, falling in thunder and spray.

He inhaled sharply. Amalie stared up at him in consternation. "What is it, love?"

She was blind to it, he could tell. Blind as Thiercelin had not been . . . Gracielis controlled his breathing and found a smile for her. "Nothing, Ladyheart. Only the cold."

"I knew it. Let's go back."