The Briar King (10 page)

He chuckled. “I see your point.”

“No one else does. They didn't care when I was little; the whole court thought it cute. ‘Little Prince Anne’ some called me. When I became marriageable everything changed, and now I must sneak about to ride like this. Mother says fifteen is far too old for childish habits. I—” She broke off, and a suddenly suspicious expression crossed her face. “You weren't sent to court me, were you?”

“What?” He seemed genuinely astonished.

“Mother would like nothing so well as to have me married off, preferably to someone dull, old, and fat.” She looked at him. “But you are none of those.”

For the first time, Roderick looked annoyed. “All I did, Princess, was to try to pay you a compliment. And I doubt very much that your mother would seek a husband for you from my house. We aren't grotesquely rich nor are we fawning sycophants, and so find no favor at your father's court.”

“Well. You
are
plainspoken, aren't you? I apologize, Sir Roderick. When you've been at court a while, you'll find just how little honor and truth there is in it, and perhaps excuse me.”

“Smile, and I'll forgive quite quickly.”

To her dismay, she felt her lips bow of their own accord. For an instant her belly went light and weird, as if she were still plunging down the Snake.

“There. Better than a royal pardon,” he said, and he started to remount. “Well. It was nice meeting you, Princess. I hope we can speak again.”

“You're going?”

“That's what you wanted, isn't it? Besides, I just realized what sort of trouble could come, if we were found together, in the woods, unchaperoned.”

“We've done nothing shameful,” Anne said. “Nor will we. But if you're afraid—”

“I'm not afraid,” Roderick said. “It was your reputation I was considering.”

“That's very kind of you, but I can consider my own reputation, thank you.”

“Meaning?”

“I don't trust you. You might tell someone you saw me. I think I must bind you into my service for the rest of the day, as my bodyguard.”

“Now that's luck. I've been under the rose for only a week, and already I'm escorting a princess of the realm. I would be delighted, lady, though I cannot stay for the rest of the day. I have duties, you know.”

“Do you always do what you ought?”

“Not always. But in this case, yes. I don't have the luxury of being a princess.”

“It isn't a luxury,” Anne said, spurring her horse forward. “Are you coming, or not?”

“Where are we going?”

“To Eslen-of-Shadows, where my grandfathers sleep.”

They rode a few moments in silence, during which time Anne stole several glances at her new companion. He sat straight, easy, and proud in the saddle. His arms, bared almost to the shoulder by his riding vest, were lean and corded. His profile had a little hawk in it.

For the first time, she wondered if he was who he said he was. What if he was an assassin, a thief, a rogue—even a Hanzish spy? His accent was peculiar, and he did have the northern look to him.

“Dunmrogh,” she said. “Where is that, exactly?”

“South. It's a greffy in the kingdom of Hornladh.”

“Hornladh,” she repeated, trying to remember the map in the Gallery of Empire. That
was
south, or so she seemed to remember.

They clopped across the stone bridge that crossed the Cer Canal, enduring the weathered gazes of the stone faces carved on the endposts. Silence settled around them again, and though Anne felt she ought to say something more, her head was quite empty of ideas for conversation.

“Eslen is larger than I thought,” Roderick offered, at last.

“This isn't Eslen. Eslen is the castle and the city. The island is Ynis. Right now, we're in the rinns, the low ground between Ynis and the Warlock.”

“And Eslen-of-Shadows?”

“Wait a moment—there.” She pointed through a vaulted opening in the trees.

“Fist of Saint Tarn,” Roderick gasped, gazing down at the city of the dead.

Its outskirts were modest, row on row of small wooden houses with thatched or shingle roofs facing out onto dirt streets. Some were in good repair, with neatly tended yards
kept up by the families. More resembled the skeletons that lay within them, rickety frames pulled down beneath creepers, thorns, and years of falling leaves. Trees sprouted up through a few.

There were five circular canals within the borders of the necropolis, one within another. After they crossed the first the houses appeared more solid, built of dressed stone, with roofs of slate and fences of iron around them. The streets and avenues were cobbled there. From their vantage it was difficult for Anne and Roderick to make out more, save that the city rose in height and grandeur as it neared the center, where domes and towers stood.

“We have royal tombs in Dunmrogh,” Roderick said, “but nothing like this! Who are buried in these smallest, poorest houses?”

Anne shrugged. “The poorest people. Every family in Eslen-on-the-Hill has a quarter here, in keeping with their means. What they build and how they keep it is up to them. If their fortunes change, they might move the remains of their ancestors inward. If someone beyond the third canal falls on hard times, they might have to move farther out.”

“You mean to say that a man could be buried in a palace, and a century later find himself in a pauper's hovel?”

“Of course.”

“That hardly seems fair.”

“Neither is having worms eat your eyes, but that comes with being dead, too,” Anne replied wryly.

Roderick laughed. “You have me there.” He shifted in his saddle. “Well, I've seen it. And now I have to go.”

“Already?”

“Will it take more than a bell to return to the keep?”

“Assuredly.”

“Then I should have been on my way already. What's the quickest way?”

“I think you should find it on your own.”

“Not if you want to see me again. My father will have me sent back to one of our lesser holdings a hundred leagues from here if I miss at my duties.”

“What in the name of Saint Loy makes you think I'd want to see you again?”

For an answer he pranced his horse near, caught her eyes with his own steel blue ones. She felt a sudden surge of panic, but also a kind of paralyzation. When he leaned in and kissed her, she couldn't have stopped him if she wanted to.

And she didn't want to.

It didn't last long, just one brief, wonderful, confusing brush of lips. It wasn't what she had expected kissing would be like, not at all.

Her toes were tingling.

She blinked, and said softly, “Go along this canal until you reach a street paved in lead bricks. Turn left. It will take you up the hill.”

He tossed his head at Eslen-of-Shadows. “I'd like to see the rest of this sometime.”

“Come back in two days, around the noon bell. You might find me here.”

He smiled, nodded, and without another word, rode off.

She sat, dazed, staring at the black water of the canal, recalling the feeling of his lips touching hers, trying not to let it escape, examining it, each nuance of his word and motion, striving to understand.

She didn't know him.

She heard hoofbeats approaching, and her heart quickened, both hoping and fearing that he had come back. But when she looked up, it was Austra she saw, her golden locks bouncing on her shoulders, her expression quite cross.

“Who was
that
?” Austra asked.

“A knight,” Anne replied.

Austra seemed to consider that for a moment, then turned angry eyes back on Anne. “Why do you do these things? You came down the Snake, didn't you?”

“Did anyone see you?” Anne asked.

“No. But I'm your lady-in-waiting, Anne. And I'm lucky to be, since I've no noble blood in me. If something happens to you—”

“My father loved yours, Austra, noble blood or no. Do you think he would ever turn you out?”

Suddenly she realized that tears had started in Austra's eyes.

“Austra! What's wrong?” Anne asked.

“Your sister Fastia,” Austra replied steadily, blinking through the tears. “You just don't understand, Anne.”

“What don't I understand? We grew up together. We've shared the same bed since we were five, when your parents died and Father took you in as my maid. And we've been playing games like this with the guard since I can remember. Why are you crying now?”

“Because Fastia told me I wouldn't be permitted to be your maid any longer, if you couldn't be curbed! ‘I'll set someone with more sense to her,’ she said.”

“My sister is just trying to scare you. Besides, we share the risk, Austra.”

“You really
don't
understand. You're a princess. I'm a servant. Your family dresses me up and pretends to treat me as if I'm gentle, but the fact is, to everyone else I'm nothing.”

“No,” Anne replied. “That's not true. Because
I
would never let anything happen to you, Austra. We'll always be together, we two. I love you as much as any sister.”

“Hush,” Austra replied, snuffling. “Just hush.”

“Come on. We'll go back, right now. Sneak in while they're still looking. We won't get caught this time, I promise.”

“The knights—”

“They couldn't catch me. They won't say anything, from shame, unless Mother or Fastia asks 'em outright. And still, they never saw
you
.”

“It doesn't matter to Fastia whether I'm an accomplice or if you duped me.”

“Figs for Fastia. She hasn't as much power as you think. Now come along.”

Austra nodded, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “But what about the knight who
did
catch you?” Austra asked.

“He won't tell anyone, either,” Anne said. “Not if he wants to keep his head.”

Then she frowned. “How
dare
Fastia speak to you so? I
should do something about this. Yes, and I think I know

what.”

“What?”

“I'll visit Virgenya. I'll tell
her
. She'll do something, I'm certain.”

Austra's eyes widened again. “I … I thought you said we were going back up the hill.”

“This won't take any time at all.”

“But—”

“I'm doing this for you,” Anne told her friend. “Come on. Be brave.”

“Can we start back in a bell or so?”

“Of course.”

Austra held her chin up. “Let's go ahead, then.”

They continued across the inner canals, until they came to the royal quarter, where the streets were all paved with lead bricks, smoothed and slicked by shoes and the brooms of the caretakers, where the stone figures of saints supported roofs flat or slanted and everything was twined thick with pink-eyed primrose and ajister thorn and the doors of the buildings were sealed with sigils and good steel locks.

This last circle was walled in midnight and stars, a bastion of black granite, mica flecked, with spears of wrought iron. The gates were guarded by Saint Under, with his hammer and long, grim face, and Saint Dun with her tear-brimmed eyes and crown of roses.

It was also guarded by a tall fellow of middle years who wore the somber gray livery of the scathomen, the knight-priests who guard the dead.

“Good evening, Princess Anne,” the man said.

“The best evening to you, Sir Len,” Anne replied.

“Here without permission again, I take it.” Sir Len removed his helm to reveal brown braids framing a face that might have been chiseled onto a brick, so stern and angular and flat it was.

“Why do you say that? Has Mother or Fastia been down here asking after me?”

The knight smiled briefly. “I can no more tell you of their
comings or goings than I can tell them of yours. It is against my vow. Who comes here, what they do, of those things I cannot speak. As well you know, which is why you come here to do your mischief.”

“Are you turning me away?”

“You know I cannot do that, either. Pass, Princess.”

“Thank you, Sir Len.”

As they proceeded through the gates, Sir Len rang the brass bell, to let the royal dead know visitors were coming. Anne felt a gentle fluttering in her belly, a sure sign the spirits had turned their eyes upon her.

We'll see, Fastia,
she thought smugly.
We'll just see.

Anne and Austra dismounted and tied their horses outside the small courtyard where the dead of house Dare made their homes. There stood a small altar, where lay fresh and withered flowers, candles—some half-burnt, some puddles—mazers that smelled of mead, wine, and oak beer. Anne lit one of the candles, and they both knelt for a moment, as Anne led them in the prayer. The lead was hard and cold beneath Anne's knees. Somewhere near, a jay scolded a raven, a sudden shrill cacophony. Anne chanted,

She took Austra's hand. “Come on,” she whispered.

They skirted the great house where the bones of her grandparents and great-grandparents lay, where her uncles and aunts held midnight courts and her youngest brother Avieyen played with the toys in his marble crib, around the red marble colonnaded pastato and wide-arched valve of bronze, past the lesser mansion, where her more distant cousins no doubt
plotted, as they had in life, for a position amongst their more august relatives. On to the crumbling stone walls and wild, straggling trees of the horz.

Over the years, Anne and Austra had worn a regular path back to the tomb, enlarging the hidden way as their bodies grew—not by cutting, of course, just by pushing and prying their way along. The Wild Saints had made no complaint, stricken them with no fever or blemishes, and so they thought themselves safe in that small modification. Also in the steps they had taken to
hide
their secret—strategically placed mats of rudely woven grapevine, a rock moved here or there.

What really kept it hidden, Anne was sure, was Virgenya's will. She had hidden for over two thousand years from everyone but Anne and Austra. She seemed to want to keep it that way.

And so, after a few moments on hands and knees, Anne found herself once more before the sarcophagus.