“Vanquished,” Offo repeated. They nodded, remembering the tale.
Enna continued. “The women left their babies in their tents and came forward as one to meet their fleeing husbands. They slipped their dresses from their shoulders and let them fall to their waist, and stood there in the road, in the daylight. ‘See me,’ said each wife to each husband, ‘see me as you first saw me, your bride in your bed when your warrior hand first touched my skin. See me as you saw me when I suckled our first baby, his eyes like your eyes looking up at mine. See me now, as the enemy’ll see me when he carries me off to his dirty bed and his bastard children.’
“The men cried, and their hearts hurt more than their wounds, seeing what defeat meant, seeing what would be lost. When the enemy gained on their flight, the men turned and stood and fought the Tiran in their own camp, where wives looked on from the tents and wagons and mothers nursed their babies and watched their husbands fight to victory.”
Finn sat near Ani, and she saw his face change color from merely reflecting the orange light of the fire to a flushed red. He stared down at his hands, shaking his head.
“You all right, Finn?” said Ani.
“I never understood that story,” he whispered uncomfortably. “If I saw all those women—I’d want to hide.”
“It’s about fighting for what’s most valuable,” said Enna. She raised her brows in good humor. “Wouldn’t you want to fight for me, Finn?”
“Yes, I would. But you wouldn’t have to—show—me anything.”
Enna smiled at him, and Ani saw the shadow of his hand touch Enna’s fingers.
“Tomorrow,” said Ani in a voice that raised all the faces to her, and the hollows under their eyes filled with light, and their hair was flushed with the colors of dark fire, “I don’t want you taking risks. If I’m not able to get to the king or to convince him, it won’t do you any good to rush about looking for a head to bash.” She looked from their faces to watch the flames kick the logs they burned. “I hope this works. I hope they believe I’m my sister and you my escort from Kildenree, and just let us in. And I hope the king listens and believes. No matter what happens, I want to thank you. It’s a comfort to have you by my side.”
Voices around the fire murmured affirmation. Talone’s expression was calm and determined, the face of a soldier prepared for battle. She was relieved that at least one person knew what he was doing. She put down her bedroll and wondered if she could sleep with thoughts of tomorrow. Her plan, if it worked, would get them through the gate. After that, the only power she could depend on was that of words, and her weaknesses haunted her. Just after closing her eyes, Ani was greeted by the first images of a dream—Ungolad at her heels, and instead of running, she reached out for aid. Her fingers touched darkness.
Ani rose before first light and slipped away from the workers, just gray, still shapes under shared blankets. The winds were whispering of a stream nearby, and she searched their images for a deep place, finding it behind a tangle of wild raspberry. She walked there, stripped, and used its brambles as a bath curtain. I’m bathing, she told herself, because I need look the part of a princess, not on the chance that Geric might be there among the prince’s guard.
The water was so cold, she gasped when she surfaced and bit her lip to hold back a yelp. The stream moved softly there and was deep enough for her to submerge her chin while she balanced her toes on a slick stone somewhere under the green-blackness. She had to clamber up the slippery bank to scrub her hair and body with the hard, burnt-smelling block of dish soap, and then she leapt back in, gasping. She dried herself with Gilsa’s tunic, gratefully put back on her shift, and finally donned the lake green gown and slippers she had taken from Selia’s wardrobe.
When she entered camp, the morning preparations halted with a hush. For the sake of her impractical slippers, she had to weave her path around muddy spots where dishwater had been thrown and hold up the hem of her dress in one hand as a lady would do when braving stairs or stepping out of a carriage. Razo whistled through the space in his teeth.
“Yellow lady,” said Offo, grinning.
“Now mark this, all honor the princess,” said Ratger in serious, trained-guard tones. One by one they bowed, some falling to one knee. Enna curtsied deeply and did not meet Ani’s eyes.
“Stop that,” said Ani. “Oh, stand up, now, you know it’s just the dress.”
“You look very lovely,” said Conrad, still managing to sound perfunctory.
“I thank you, sir.” She ruffled his scruffy head with her hand, and he nearly loosed a smile. “And now that I’ve my costume, you all need to put on yours. All but Talone make sure your hats cover your hair, and ladies, wrap your heads. Pull them as low as you can, though I don’t think the charade’ll take long enough to allow them a good look at your eyebrows. You don’t look Kildenrean, but at least let’s not make it obvious that you’re Bayern.”
While the others ate and packed up the camp, Enna insisted on brushing the wetness out of Ani’s hair with the pilfered silver brush.
“I can do that,” said Ani, still feeling self-concious in her princess garb among her worker friends. She reached up to take the brush from Enna.
“Oh, leave it,” Enna said, and slapped her hand away.
“We should help pack up camp,” said Ani. Enna ignored her.
“Your hair’s like a streak of sunlight through a window,” she said. “Like a river in the morning. I don’t know, but something pretty. You’re different this morning, Isi. You don’t look like the goose girl anymore.”
“I hope I’ll always be, even if I become a princess again.” Ani smoothed the fabric against her leg, soft as moss. “But I wonder if you’re readying me for court or to be laid out in my coffin.”
Enna rapped her lightly on her head with the brush.
“Now stop that or you’ll have us all in jitters.”
Kit, a quiet worker with a mess of black curls, stood by watching. He timidly put a hand to Ani’s hair, like a nest-building crow charmed by a shiny object.
“A warning there, pig boy,” Conrad shouted from across the camp. “Don’t touch her hair without leave, or keep a good hold on your hat.”
Ani laughed.
Talone stomped down the breakfast fire. Hard embers crushed beneath his heel, a sound like weak bones breaking. He looked around.
“Time to ride.”
Chapter 20
The party rode at a brisk pace for half a day, stopping only to water their horses and briefly allow those unused to much riding to touch their feet to steady ground and stretch out the sitting sores. The road moved past scattered farms and settlements until the occasional houses clustered into a village and the village led into a town visible from the road as orange-tipped towers and rooftops, the bells tolling absolute noon. They did not leave sight of houses again.
When the afternoon dazzled the west, the road arched down into a broad valley flanked by a wide, gray river. Over a rise, they could see where the river fattened into a lake, the waters flat as a coin in the still afternoon. The estate on its near shore was all of pale yellow stone, its many banners held up in the wind like raised hands, its many chimneys and turrets slender and high, ladies’ fingers pointing straight to the sun, and the whole structure proclaiming itself and shouting, Glory, glory.
There were shouts from the valley. It was a broad bowl, cleared of trees and filled from rim to rim with the shining, living ocean of the army. The royal army and all the present hundred-bands from villages across the kingdom camped in a wide, open circle around the estate, each centered by a brightly colored tent for their leaders, each bearing the vivid banner of their shields. Ani felt there was no relief from the constant motion of dark heads, the glaring metal of weapons and armor, the colors of the tents, banners, and painted shields. Some bands marched in their camps, circles within circles spinning as they walked, staggered lines playing at advancing and retreating.
Out of the commotion came the notes of
a song, loud and perfect. Not far from where Ani’s group paused, a hundred-band stood at attention. They rested their round shields on their right shoulders, the rim pressed to their cheeks, the hollow belly of the shields turned to their mouths. Into that metal bowl the soldiers sang a war song. Soon other hundred-bands joined in. The sound rang off the iron and pushed into the air toward the estate and beyond, to the place where Ani’s company stood. The song against metal was strange and loud, the notes a flock of fierce, scattered birds, the melody the sound of war.
“Oh,” said Ani, as though she finally understood. “I think they must love that sound. It makes my bones feel cold.”
“Indeed,” said Talone.
“Talone, this is impossible. This can’t be done.”
Talone looked over the valley, and she thought he was estimating the numbers of soldiers and counting the banners. He squinted against the sun. “What did your horse say to you, that last word you said you heard?”
Ani thought it was an odd question but answered, “He said, he called me Princess.”
Talone nodded. “Lead the way, Princess.”
In the valley at her feet, the distant soldiets milled around like ants, the thousands of spear tips sparkling like sunlight on a handful of sand. She sat up straight and felt the bay tense beneath her, ready for command.
“Yes, all right, let’s go.”
They rode in formation like a flock of geese: Ani at the lead, followed by Talone and Ratger, then Enna and Finn, Razo and Offo, and so on. Ani sat tall in her saddle. Her stirrups were lost in the long hem of her skirts, her hands were poised with reins ready to command, her hair fell down her back, her head was up. She visualized her mother and commanded her body to feel that form—regal, imperious. The guards along the valley road watched the company’s passing with wonder and apprehension. Who was this Kildenrean girl entering the camp of the army about to invade Kildenree? Because their numbers did not pose a threat, they were not stopped, though Ani could see runners taking the word of their coming to each subsequent post. When she could pick out the faces of the estate gate guard from the haze of distance, she saw they were alerted and awaiting their arrival with stern curiosity.
Ani stopped her bay short of the gate, as though expecting that it would open automatically before her. She could hear the company behind her stop quickly, the restless shifting of saddles like the creak of old wood, the whisk of a horsetail, the light thud of a quarterstaff resting on the ground. The guard stared at her with austere patience.
Ani opened her mouth to speak. Her throat felt cold, and she bade her voice not to shake. “I am Napralina-Victery Talianna Isilee, second daughter of Kildenree and granted emissary of her queen. I am arrived to be witness to the wedding of my sister, Anidori-Kiladra, the first daughter. Escort us to the king immediately.”
The guards’ formality slipped from their faces like drops of sweat, and they stared with open incredulity. No one addressed her. No one moved.
“Permit me to repeat myself. I said, Please allow my escort to pass and let us present ourselves to the king immediately so we may pay our respects. I expect to see the king first and no other. We have been traveling through hard weather these months to arrive in time and have suffered losses of both wagons and a small number of my guards. I take it most unkindly to be kept mounted at the gate.”
“We had no word of your coming,” said a slender man slightly older than the rest. Ani turned to him as the possible captain of the watch.
“I am sorry for it. After our losses, I could not spare a guard and dared not send one of my waiting women alone. All the more reason to inform the king of our arrival immediately.”
The slender man motioned to another guard and sent him running into the estate. They waited. The guards were eyeing her mount, her dress, the aspect of those who followed her, measuring her words against her appearance. She could see immediately that if she had walked up as the goose girl alone or with a couple of animal-keeper friends, these guards would have sent her out of the valley with a sword at her back. At least that much of the plan was working. They were passing for Kildenreans and just might be let through the gates. The workers wore their hats and caps, but on inspection, no one would mistake them for anything but Bayern. Ani prayed they would not be delayed enough to make time for a close look. She sat up straighter and felt the bay shift under her legs, hoping, perhaps, that her anxiety meant there would be some action.
The runner returned and whispered into his leader’s ear. The slender guard nodded and gave silent commands to others.
“The king will grant an audience,” he said.
Ani barely stifled a sigh of relief and readied herself to ride forward. Instead, two guards came to her side, one holding a stirrup while the other offered a hand to dismount. Disconcerted, she took the hand.
“Princess,” Talone said uneasily.
The guard helped her down, took her arm, and walked her to the gate. Her company urged their steeds forward to follow.
"His Majesty the king wishes to see Princess Napralina-Victery privately and orders her escort to remain here.”
Gasps escaped the mouths of her friends at her back like the fluttering of many wings.
“No,” said Talone. “She requires a personal guard. We will accompany her.”
Ani had two guards on either side now, holding her arms and pushing her inside the gate. She struggled, clumsily digging her slippered heels against the ground. “Wait,” she said, “I will not go with you without my guard.”
Talone jumped off his horse and ran after her. “Let me follow her. I tell you I will.”
“Unhand me. This is a gross insult. I will not go alone.”
Her captors took no heed of her protests. Four gate guards grabbed Talone. He struggled, and a guard took away his sword, pulled from its steel scabbard with a peal of metal on metal like the cry of a high voice. “Princess!" said Talone.
She looked back to see his face, wrinkled, travel stained, and worn, shut out by the closing of the iron gate. The guards held her closely, her feet barely pushing against ground to keep their pace. She struggled and protested and fought their grips. They gave no explanation. They continued their course.
Down they took her through the estate’s first long corridor and then ducked into a side room and shut the door. The room was dim, but Ani could see several people standing before her, lit from behind by the light of a window.
“Welcome,” said Ungolad.
Ani took in a sharp breath. A hand over her mouth stopped her scream.
All the remaining Kildenrean guards were there, lining the walls in front of dark shelves of books, their pale hair darker in the weak light. Swords at their side shivered silver in the obscurity, and each had a round shield strapped to their left arms as in preparation for battle. Selia rose from a chair against the window. The light was directly behind her. Her face was all in shadow.
“Thank you so much.” Selia motioned, and the guard behind Ani dropped his hand from her mouth.
“Selia,” Ani said in a whisper. “My lady-in-waiting. Won’t the king be expecting me?”
“In good time.” She stepped forward to place coins in the palms of the two Bayern soldiers, and they quickly left the room, shutting the door behind them.
Ani saw now that Selia wore a bright yellow tunic and skirt in the Bayern fashion. On her forehead winked the three rubies of Ani’s tiara. Three points of red like the blood of the lost handkerchief, as though Selia wore the mark of the queen’s approval and protection. False, thought Ani. It’s all show. like the handkerchief. Like my mother’s love. But the sight of it bothered her, and she wanted to rip the circlet from her head and fling it away.
“Let me gut her right now,” said Terne. His dagger rang as he ripped it from its sheath, and Ani’s stomach muscles clenched. Selia held up her hand.
“Not here. My love, can you take her safely out of the estate?”
Ungolad nodded. He tickled Ani’s chin with th
e end of one of his braids. “It will be easier if she is unable to scream.”
“Don’t touch me.” Ani backed toward the door. A big man named Redmon was there. He put a hand on her back to stop her.
“I don’t mean to kill you,” said Ungolad. “I only mean to put you to sleep.”
He stepped toward her. Ani felt a draft pass under the door and touch her ankle. In a panic, she spoke to it without waiting to gather more and sent it flying at Selia. A few papers rustled on the desk beside her. One piece of parchment flew off the desk and floated to the carpet like goose down on a breath of air. Her breeze died out, useless. Selia glanced back at the closed window, searching for its source.
“Stay away from me,” said Ani. The guards looked unimpressed. She recalled the images that had been carried on that breeze—several guards moving down the corridor. Toward that room.
“Easy, now,” said Ungolad as though speaking to an unpredictable animal.
Ani pointed at the door. “Wait. Someone is here.”
There was a knock. Redmon started.
“What are you, some kind of Bayern witch?” he said.
“Who is there?” called Ungolad.
The door opened, pushing Redmon aside and admitting four soldiers with the purple slash of the king’s own guard. “His Majesty has been informed that Princess Napralina-Victery arrived from Kildenree, and he calls her to his presence.”
"Yes, certainly.” Selia stepped into the light of the open door, an easy smile on her lips.
Ani stepped away from Ungolad’s grasp and into the escort of the king’s guard. The Kildenreans followed, Selia at their head. There was a hum of anticipation. Even the king’s guards seemed to feel it, and they glanced from side to side with hands on sword hilts, anticipating action. Ani saw Selia lift her hand as if to calm her own mob, and her men followed quietly into the estate’s small throne room.
It was a long room with a row of narrow, high windows spilling patches of light onto the stone floor. Hard sunlight fell on the dais and chair at the far end where the royal party stood waiting—the king, the young prince she had seen at wintermoon, several others in hunting clothes, the prime minister wearing court apparel and a suspicious expression, and the royal guards. And one guard in particular who watched her approach with a kind of confused concentration, as though he sought to count colors on a moving banner. My hair, she thought. Geric doesn’t know me for my hair.