Too Many Princes (37 page)

Above them, a sooty plume rose like raven feathers against the sunset sky. That could serve as a marker, bringing the enemy to them all the sooner. Seeing the rigid set of Yriatt's shoulders, Brastigan decided not to mention it. He gave the two horses an extra rub down.

After a cursory meal, for Yriatt maintained her vigil and no cooking got done after all, Brastigan took the girl over where his bedroll was laid out. The braids Yriatt had put in her hair were getting fuzzy, so he took them out and put in new ones. This time, he used the Urulai style.

Braiding the hair was a social ritual, a time to talk over past events and plan things to come. Or, as Brastigan recalled, for Joal to warn him against repeating some infraction or other. The girl was no talker, but at least he had the pleasure of stroking her silken hair. Brastigan used a set of spare beads from his pack, red ones. The girl seemed entranced.

Then, defying his brother's disapproval, Brastigan laid out a place for the girl beside his own bedroll. No matter what anyone thought, he wanted her nearby. He was troubled by the sense that she might be snatched away just as abruptly as the falcon. Or he might die. After all, they were at war.

The girl seemed excited to be resting beside him. She wouldn't lie still, but insisted on feeling over his face and hair the way she had done with his hands a few days before. First she fingered the beads in his hair, and then the ones in hers.

This was something Yriatt might notice, so Brastigan brushed her hands away.
“
Lie down,
”
he growled.
“
Go to sleep.
”

She obeyed, and then he felt sorry for himself.

* * *

“
Mother?
”
Therula hesitated in the doorway to Alustra's chambers. She blinked in the darkness.

The curtains were drawn, leaving the room dimly lit, and the air had a faint, musty odor. Therula shuddered, reminded all too clearly of the last time she entered a darkened chamber at mid-morning. Yet she also knew it was wrong for Alustra to immure herself here, as if she had died, too.

“
Mother, where are you?
”
Therula called anxiously.

“
Here,
”
Alustra's voice answered faintly.

Therula should have felt better hearing her mother's voice, but she didn't. Anger made her heels pound harder as she swept across the room and wrenched at the draperies. The heavy brocade fabric seemed to actively resist being pulled aside. Once she had the curtains open, Therula turned the window latch and pushed the pane outward. She could fairly hear the rush of stale air leaving the room.

Blinking against the brilliant daylight, Therula turned back to the room. Alustra sat up in bed, still wearing a linen nightgown. The fine, white fabric only emphasized the redness around the queen's eyes. Her dark hair, too, was spun through with a lacework of silver.

“
Are you all right, Mother?
”
Therula dragged a chair to the bedside and sat in it.

“
I am fine,
“
Alustra answered. It didn't sound as if she meant it.

“
Then what are you doing, lying in bed?
“
Therula demanded, more sharply than she intended.
“
Just because Father is gone doesn't mean your duty is over. The people need to see you.
”

Alustra's eyes veered away. Therula swallowed what she meant to say next. Instead, she caught her mother in a fierce hug.

It wasn't just mourning that kept the queen shut up in her apartments. At least, not for Unferth alone. Two days ago, another terrible blow had fallen. Alustra's most faithful retainer, Tarther, was dead. He had been knocked from his horse during a training exercise and broken his neck. His body was being returned to Tanix on a fast galley, as of yesterday's tide.

It was a stupid accident, really. Coming so soon after the loss of Alustra's royal station, Therula knew it made everything much harder. No one had ever had cause to think there was anything more between them than servant and master, yet Tarther had been closer to Alustra in some ways than Unferth himself.

The queen's silent decline was evident in the pitiless daylight flooding the chamber. Even the rich furnishings seemed to have lost some of their luster. The handmaidens who waited on a queen's every breath had drifted away. Perhaps that was to be expected. It still seemed unfair. Alustra had lived in Crutham for more than thirty-five years. Despite countless indignities, she steadfastly ministered to a nation she often despised. After all this, she was left alone.

A rustling in the doorway announced the arrival of Alustra's lone remaining attendant. Margura bowed briefly to Alustra and Therula, then carried a covered tray to a small table near the bed.

“
I have brought your majesty a light breakfast.
”
Margura spoke gently, as if she addressed a child.
“
Will you take it now?
”

Alustra nodded.
“
Bring it here.
”

“
And your highness?
”
Margura looked to Therula.

“
No, thank you.
”

Margura uncovered the tray, revealing sliced bread, soft cheese, and smoked fish. She poured tea for Alustra and deftly laid fish and cheese over the bread.

Seeing that Therula watched her, Margura murmured apologetically,
“
The queen sleeps often. I try not to disturb her during these difficult times.
”

“
Don't let her sleep all day,
”
Therula said curtly. She didn't like the implication that her mother was growing frail. Margura regarded her with innocent surprise. Therula told her mother,
“
You are still a queen. You must act like one.
”

Alustra regarded her dully.
“
My dear, I must be realistic.
”

“
Realistic?
”
Therula bit back. Never had she heard her proud mother sound so tired, so... defeated.

Alustra ate what Margura gave her and didn't answer. Oh, what Therula wanted to say! Especially to Oskar, who never deigned to visit and console his own mother. But Therula knew she was little better. Far from confronting Oskar with his neglect, she could hardly bring herself to sit in the same room with him.

“
You do have the right to request your own residence,
”
Margura murmured consolingly.
“
Someplace quiet, where you can take time for yourself.
”

The words startled Therula from her distraction.

“
Leave Harburg?
”
Therula fairly shouted.
“
Absurd! A queen doesn't leave her capital.
”

“
It is her majesty's right.
”
Margura looked wounded, as if she couldn't believe Therula misunderstood her loyalties.
“
Hasn't she earned a bit of privacy?
”

Therula merely glared at Margura. How could this... this strumpet pretend to be faithful, all the while trying to isolate Alustra further?

“
A small manor would be nice,
”
Alustra mused, as if she hadn't heard what Therula said.

“
It is beautiful in Firice,
”
Margura quickly suggested.
“
Have you seen the waterfalls along the River Tharow? They are lovely. In spring, when the orchards are in bloom
—
.
”

“
That's much too close to Carthell,
”
Therula argued. With war likely, what could the girl be thinking?

“
There are other places,
”
Margura demurred.
“
Your majesty must have seen many restful places as you traveled through the countryside.
”

“
Gerfalkan
,
”
Therula thought. She couldn't help it. Let Alustra choose a new home in Gerfalkan, and Therula would beg to come with her. Anything to be farther from Oskar and her own guilt.

A rapid knocking interrupted her thoughts. Margura went to the door, leaving Therula to gaze at her mother and hide her dismay. Surely Alustra couldn't be serious. It sounded like she intended to banish herself from public life. How could she, after so many years of service? What would Therula do without her?

Just as Therula began to wonder what was keeping Margura, the handmaiden hurried back to the bedside.

“
Your majesty, the king has sent for you.
”
Margura spoke softly, urgently. She glanced at Therula.
“
Your highness as well, I'm sure. If you would finish that, your majesty, I will prepare a gown for court.
”

“
Why?
”
Therula demanded.

Margura had already turned away to open Alustra's wardrobe. Therula nearly missed the gleam in her eye of some strong emotion, perhaps fear.

“
A messenger has arrived,
”
Margura said. She drew one dress out of the cabinet, shook her head, and pushed it back in.
“
He rode day and night from Glawern. Crutham has been invaded.
”

“
Carthell?
”
Alustra rapped out. For a moment, she looked like her old self, self-assured and indignant at the treachery. Margura continued shaking her head.

“
No, your majesty. Sillets.
”

Therula heard herself gasp.
“
Sillets? I thought they meant to negotiate for trade.
”
And Lottres's voice echoed in her memory, saying that Hawkwing House was in the north, near the Silletsian border.

Alustra sighed deeply and rose from the bed. It seemed to take real effort.
“
Sometimes, my dear, there is little difference between an ambassador and a spy,
”
she said.
“
Clearly the Silletsian was seeking information, not trade, but don't worry too much. Crutham has faced this before. We have always prevailed on the battlefield.
”
She clasped Therula's hands briefly, then turned away.
“
That one is fine, Margura. Don't fuss about it. I'm coming.
”

“
Yes, but...
”
Therula stopped. She swallowed heavily and murmured,
“
Yes, Mother. Excuse me.
”

A familiar sense of gloom closed over Therula as she hurried to her own chambers. Pikarus was in the middle of something terrible after all. Somehow, she felt she had known this would happen.