The Witchwood Crown
What could Akhenabi have seen in her? Ordinarily, to earn the notice of one of the high nobles of Nakkiga was a mark of pride, an invisible but very real badge that one would wear for an entire lifetime. And to be picked out by one of the Landborn was an honor so far beyond that as to be almost unknown. Why then did she feel as though a terrible weight now hung above her head?
Nezeru had always known she was different. She was always treated with careful distance by her father’s family, friends, and servants, but other children had not been so circumspect. Every look and word of those lucky enough to have two Hikeda’ya parents reinforced Nezeru’s knowledge that she was not like them, would never fully be one of them. She was a necessity caused by the failure of ordinary breeding, and thus a faintly embarrassing reminder of how far the Hikeda’ya had fallen from their years of glory.
There were no halfbloods in the Garden. She had been told that many times, in words and in other ways just as plain.
But she was nevertheless part of a group of successful recent births among the highest families, some of which had been barren for centuries, and whether she was fully accepted or not by those whose blood was entirely of the Garden, she was still noticed. In the year of her birth, only a few hundred children had been born to Nakkiga’s noble families, and less than a quarter of those were full Hikeda’ya blood. Thus, when she proved superior to virtually all her fellows at the fighting games arranged between the youngest children; faster, smarter, and just as willing to hurt her own muddied, mongrel kind as she was to inflict pain on those who had scorned her for her birth, it did not escape the attention of the nobility. The Order of Sacrifice was always hungry for warriors in the years after their terrible defeat at old Asu’a. Like a drunkard trying to play a game of Thieves’ Poetry, the odds had been against her from the first, and yet somehow she had overcome the shame of her blood to become a warrior. But that had not made the murmurs and the scornful faces that had surrounded her all her life any easier to ignore.
The crunching of snow and the smell of something spoiled came to her in the same moment, scattering her thoughts. Nezeru sat up, but it was only the giant, Goh Gam Gar, making his way across the snow in the last shadows of the dying night, headed away from the camp. Makho trailed a few paces behind the beast, his face an inscrutable mask.
“Lie down,” the chieftain told her. “This is nothing to do with you.”
She wanted no argument with Makho—at the moment she did not want his attention in any form—but although she eased herself back to the ground, she watched as the giant led him out from beneath the overhanging rock.
The giant wants to piss, she realized, and our leader does not want him doing that too near our camp. Someone without her training might have smiled at the idea, the leader of a Queen’s Hand trailing his pet giant like a shepherd following his dog.
The two shapes, the small and the vast, were silhouetted for a brief moment against the purple sky and fading stars as she lay back down to rest. She had only just curled up and closed her eyes when the horses all began to shriek at once, and the ground beneath her heaved with a sharp, painful noise like a wedge splitting stone, followed immediately by the most terrifyingly deep roar of anger and surprise she had ever heard—a sound she could not have imagined being made by any living thing.
The ground was tipping and sliding, or that was how it seemed as Nezeru tried to struggle to her feet. Only a few paces away the dim field of white that had stretched beside them had become a huge, jagged circle of gray and black, and things—many hundreds of things—were streaming up out of the dark circle and onto the surface. She could still hear the giant bellowing, but his roars were muffled. Nezeru realized he must have fallen through a hole in the ice.
“‘Ware!” shouted Kemme “Furi’a!” His sword rang as he tugged it from his scabbard. She struggled to find her own blade in the shards of ice at her feet. The first of the small black shapes came at them on all fours, scrambling like infant spiders, their eyes glinting in the half-light, their tiny faces twisted in eager fury. They had already pulled down one of the horses and, judging by the animal’s panicked shrieks, were eating it alive.
Goblins, she realized, and her heart grew cold and heavy. The giant has fallen through into one of their nests. She heard Goh Gam Gar bellow again, but this time it was garbled, as though the great beast choked on his own blood.
He was gone from sight now, lost in the frozen earth, and the squeaking little manlike things the Hikeda’ya called Furi’a and mortals called “Diggers” were flooding up out of the broken ice like fire ants from a nest—already dozens had swarmed over Kemme and Ibi-Khai. She could not see or hear any sign of Makho, who had almost certainly gone down with the giant when the ice broke.
This is the end, then, Nezeru thought. We will never escape so many. Small, broken-nailed hands grabbed at her legs and squealing shapes began to climb her as though she were a tree. She did not even have time to sing her death song one last time before the creatures swarmed over her.
18
A Bad Book
Lillia had spent so much of her life staring at the painting of Saint Wiglaf behind the altar that she almost considered him a relative—the boring sort. Morning services were particularly hard. Lillia loved God as she should, but it was so difficult to sit still first thing in the day and listen to Father Nulles read from the Book of the Aedon about all the things God didn’t want people to do.
At least it was an interesting painting: even as he was being hung from a tree for being an Aedonite, Saint Wiglaf was denouncing the Hernystiri usurper, King Tethtain. When she was little she had thought the martyr’s name was Wiglamp because of the shining lines that surrounded his head in the painting, and she still thought of him that way, brave Wiglamp calling on God even as Tethtain’s men tried to lift him from the ground, four of them straining against the rope as scowling, bearded Tethtain looked on. It had taken ten men to hang the single slender monk, which was a miracle, although Lillia had always thought it would have been a better miracle if they hadn’t been able to hang him at all.
She tugged at Countess Rhona’s hand, softly at first, then harder, trying to get her attention.
“Lillia, what is it?”
“I have to make water.”
“Father is almost done. Hold yourself just a bit longer.”
Lillia groaned, but quietly. Father Nulles was nice, in his rather pink-faced way, and she didn’t want to upset him. She just didn’t want to be in the chapel any longer.
At last Father finished listing the Great Sins and performed the blessing. Usually Rhona would speak with him for a little while afterward, but this time she just made Lillia curtsey, then pressed a silver coin into the priest’s hand for the poor.
“I don’t feel that well myself,” the countess said as Lillia returned from the chapel privy and they made their way out into the long Walking Hall. “In fact, I think I need to lie down for a while.”
“Lie down?” Lillia was horrified. “But I told you, there’s a fair in the commons at Erchester today. They even have a bear who dances!”
“I’m sorry, honey-rabbit, but my courses are on me, and I only want to lay myself down.”
Lillia made a face; it felt like an ugly one. “You said you’d take me. You’re a liar!”
“Your manners are growing worse every day.”
“You have to take me. You promised!”
Rhona frowned. “No, I don’t, because I haven’t the strength, whether I promised or not. What if I were dying—may the gods turn their ears away—what then? No, child, you’ll have to stay home today.”
“You can’t make me. A princess is bigger than a countess, so you can’t be the lord of me.”
Her guardian sighed. “Mircha in her Cloak of Rains love you, girl, you’re a great deal of work, and that’s certain. But even you can’t command this pain out of my innards, Your F
earsome Highness, so you’ll have to entertain yourself in the residence today.”
Lillia was so upset that for a moment she wanted to let go of the countess’s hand and run away, but a look at Auntie Rhoner’s pale face showed that she really wasn’t well. Still, Lillia had been thinking about the dancing bear ever since one of the chambermaids told her about it the previous evening, and she wanted to see it more than, it seemed, she’d ever wanted anything. “If you feel better later, then can we go?”
“Child, I could feel ten times better and still not feel up to it. Perhaps tomorrow. Now, please, just let me lie down for a while.”
But the countess must have felt a bit sorry for Lillia, because they took the longer way back, through the Hedge Garden. The recent rain had brought a flush of bright new greenery to the sculptured shapes, and since they hadn’t been trimmed for a while, none of the animals were entirely recognizable at the moment, which Lillia liked very much. Was the old lion turning into a big rabbit? Was the noble horse becoming a dragon? She knew returning this way was a small gift from the countess, so she squeezed Rhona’s hand in thanks.
When they got past the guards and into the residence, Rhona guided Lillia to her chamber. “Stay here, dear one. You’ve plenty to do, reading and sewing and your dolls. And if you’re hungry before supper, ask one of your mother’s ladies to find something for you. In fact, would you find one of them now and ask her to bring me a posset of treacle and nutmeg? My head is aching me fiercely.”
Full of foul humors, Lillia sought out one of her mother’s younger ladies-in-waiting and delivered Countess Rhona’s charge, but declined the chance to wait and take the posset herself, something she had enjoyed doing when she was younger. Now that she was older she had more important things to do, and one of them was trying to think of a way she could get down to Erchester to see the dancing bear.
If she had been a boy, Lillia might have chanced sneaking out on her own. Her brother Morgan had done that more than a few times, she knew, and although he’d been punished, it had seemed to Lillia that the punishment had been a small matter indeed. But however lenient Queen Grandmother Miriamele might have been with Morgan, Lillia knew that things would not go so easily for her. Even in the heart of the Inner Bailey, she was not supposed to go off the grounds of the royal residence without a grown-up accompanying her, and often guards as well. Queen Grandmother might be away on a journey, but Lillia did not want to have to look into those fierce green eyes when she came back and admit she had flouted one of the very strictest rules.
But how else could she get to see the wonderful sights waiting for her in Erchester? The chambermaid had told her the bear had a sad face and was the most comical thing she’d ever seen, but she’d said there had also been jugglers and a fire-eater, and Hyrka dancers, and contests of wrestling and other sports. In another day or two it would be all over. What if Auntie Rho was really sick? Lillia would never get to see any of it!
The more she thought about it, the more she realized that she could not leave something this important to chance. If Uncle Timo or even King Grandfather Simon had been in the castle, she knew she could persuade one of them to take her, but they weren’t, so she needed a plan.
She had wandered back into the walled Hedge Garden where she sat on a stone bench. As she swung her legs back and forth, she tore leaves into little pieces and dropped them spinning to the ground. The pile on the walkway had grown almost half a hand tall before the idea came to her. Thrilled, she wiped the sticky green juices on her dress, then charged back toward the residence.
• • •
As she approached the paneled door of her mother’s chamber, Lillia could hear voices. One was her mother, of course, and the other was Grandfather Osric. She hoped that was a good sign. Her mother was usually at her kindest when there were other people around.
An experienced tactician, Lillia paused outside the door and tried to hear what they were saying. If they were having an argument, she knew it would be best to go away and come back later, because grown-ups, especially her mother, very seldom did anything nice for children if they were in a bad mood. She was glad to hear that their voices sounded fairly ordinary, although her mother did sound slightly grumpy about something.
“. . . It’s not that simple,” Mother was saying. “They don’t want him to marry yet, although anyone can see it would be good for him. They don’t think he’s ready. Ready!” Her mother laughed, but she didn’t sound very happy. “He’s old enough to be chasing women up and down Main Row most nights.”
“He’s a young man,” Lillia’s grandfather said. “What do you expect?”
She was pretty sure they were talking about Morgan. Apparently her brother did little these days other than bothering ladies, from what Lillia kept hearing.
“Hah! I expect that if we wait long enough, the queen will have him married to some little pussycat of her own choosing, and then I will be pushed out the door! That’s what I expect.”
“You worry too much, daughter. Your son would never consent to such a thing—and neither would I. After all, I am Lord Constable as well as his grandfather. The throne needs me. They will not go out of their way to anger us.”
“I wish it were that straightforward,” her mother said.
Lillia waited for several long, silent moments before she knocked, so that it didn’t seem as if she had been listening. One of her mother’s maids opened the door and Lillia marched in. Her mother was sitting in her chair, embroidery hoop on her lap, and Grandfather Osric was standing in front of the window, frowning as he watched something going on below. Mother didn’t look as if she’d actually started embroidering yet.
Lillia went right to her mother and curtseyed. “Good morning, Ma’am.”
Her mother looked at her and smiled, but it was a tired smile. “Good morning, darling. Aren’t you supposed to be with Countess Rhona today?”
Her grandfather turned. It was strange to see him without a hat, the top of his bare pink head exposed for everyone to see. Ever since she was a very small girl she had wanted to rub Grandfather Osric’s head and see if it felt like the rest of his wrinkly, dry skin, but she had never been allowed to do it. “He’s a duke!” everyone said, as though that had anything to do with what his head might feel like.
“Ah, there she is!” he said now. “My little princess!” But he looked weary too, and he didn’t come over to pat her head as he sometimes did.
“Good morning, Grandfather.” Lillia curtseyed again.
“You haven’t answered my question, child,” said her mother.
“Countess Rhona is unwell.” Lillia looked at her grandfather, who had turned back to the window, and whispered loudly, “She has her courses.”
Another weary smile. “Well, dear, I’m afraid I can’t have you with me today. Your grandfather and I have many things to discuss and you’d just be in the way. You’ll have to play by yourself.”
“But there’s a fair in Erchester! With a bear! A bear who dances—!”
“The countess can take you when her . . . when she’s feeling better. Honestly, Lillia, I simply cannot find the time to watch over you today, let alone take you to a street fair.”
“Can one of your ladies take me instead?”
“No. None of them watch you closely—and the servants are worse.”
Was Lillia the only one in the whole castle who could see that outside the large window the sky was a bright, encouraging blue, and that the spring sun was shining as hard as it could? She scowled, although she knew it was her mother’s least favorite expression. “There’s no one else for me to go with.”
“Then I suggest you read instead. What about that book that your grandfather gave you last time, the book about Saint Hildula? Have you finished that already? If you have, you can tell him all about it.”
Her grandfather looked up, only half-interested, but Lillia recognized a
trap when she saw one. Her mother knew very well that she hadn’t read much more than the first page because it had been the dreariest thing she had ever seen, all about a good woman who had never done anything but be a nun until some Rimmersmen came and murdered her, except of course they barely talked about that interesting part at all—Lillia had skipped to the end to see—and instead the book was entirely about how very, very holy Hildula had been before that, and all the visions of Heaven she’d seen, and how much she had loved her lord Usires Aedon.
“I didn’t quite finish it yet,” Lillia admitted.
“Then go and do so. That’s a much better way to use your day than going down into the city with all its foul vapors and dirty people.” Her mother wrinkled her nose as though she could smell the filthy peasants at the fair all the way here in the Inner Keep.
Lillia saw that she had been outmaneuvered: her mother had gone immediately onto the attack while Lillia had still been hoping for a parley. “Yes, Ma’am.” Not that she was actually going to read about Saint Hildula, who must have been about the most tedious saint ever, but she knew there was no sense in continuing the conversation. Mother never changed her mind. Never.
“Run along now, darling,” her mother said. “I will see you at supper, I suppose. And say thank you to your grandfather for that book, since you like it so much. Go on, tell him.”
“Thank you for the book, Grandfather Osric.” Lillia hurried from the room before anyone asked her about the other books Osric had given her, all stories of very dutiful, very religious women. Her grandfather knew a lot about soldiers and armies, but Lillia thought he didn’t have many ideas about presents for young girls.
• • •
With her grandparents and Uncle Timo traveling in the north, the only person Lillia could think of who might be able to help her now was nice Lord Pasevalles, but she couldn’t find him anywhere. The grumpy old priest who worked for him said that he was in Erchester talking to some of the factors building her father’s library. But the guard captain said that Pasevalles had come back, and was now in the Chancelry with the master of the mint, talking about boring old money. Where he was didn’t matter so much to Lillia as the fact that he wasn’t anywhere she looked, and she had all but given up on the idea of getting to see the lovely bear dance when one of the Chancelry servants mentioned that the Lord Chancellor sometimes went back to the residence to check on the very ill woman who was being tended there.