The Queens of Innis Lear

  “You are ready, lady?” Ban asked, earnest eyes studying her.

  “Completely.”

  “I will go to prepare,” he said sharply, and with Connley’s nod, left them.

  Regan did not move. She thought of little but of the angry White Forest her father certainly walked into, where the stars had no power, and of the black sky that would appear overhead soon, when the sun sank. The waning moon would obliterate the stars.

  Connley pressed against her back, wrapping his arms around her middle. “Are you all right, my love?”

  Leaning into him, she shook her head. “No. But…” She reached up to touch his face, skimming her fingernails along his jaw, to his ear, and finally into the thick crop of golden hair on his head. She squeezed it into a fist, and he hissed his pleasure. “But I will be.”

  ELIA

  IN SOME PLACES, Lionis felt like a labyrinth, so unlike the flat mud roads and shadowed moors and jagged rocks of Innis Lear.

  Here, the stone-paved street was narrow and clean, surrounded by garden walls twice taller than Elia, snaking a steep incline just below the palace on the south, and stacked with many-storied houses of the same bright limestone of the street and gardens, all agleam in the late morning sun. As she walked between Rory Earlson and Aefa, Elia fought the urge to wince; the light made her eyes ache. Bold autumn flowers rioted over the tops of some walls, spilling their vines off window boxes, or growing tall off balconies. Arches spanned from wall to wall, supporting the gardens and houses, giving the street a glowing, cathedral presence. She understood why someone would desire to live here: if forests were carved in stone, they might feel rather like this neighborhood.

  They’d been to visit Rory’s Alsax relations in their city residence, where his great aunt lived with two of her seven grown children. Mistress Juda was first cousin to the current Errigal, and eager both to help Rory mend things back in Lear, and to meet Elia, who had yet to venture out to any trade enclaves in her time in Aremoria. But with Rory’s arrival it had seemed less prudent to ignore the Alsax invitation, especially as Elia needed now to apply herself to finding a way home that did not directly involve Morimaros or his crown. The only thing that might mitigate Gaela’s ire upon Elia’s premature return would be the lack of Aremore support behind it.

  Elia had soothed ruffled feathers, used honesty in her requests and reasons as much as possible, and did not hide her desire for peace and alliance between the two lands as well as between her own family lines and those of Errigal. For her part, Mistress Juda used delicious food and a very fine Alsax wine to negotiate. In the end, they agreed to the use of a barge, as long as no unhappy political ramifications would land at Juda’s door. Elia’s thoughts had drifted with drink as they began to leave, so much so that when Juda asked for a star blessing, Elia had found herself unusually caught in silence. Several generic blessings and prayers crowded her throat, along with those more specific to the moment: right now, invisible behind the sun, the Stars of Sixth and Fifth Birds swooped, and the curving row of stars that were the Tree of Golden Decay and the clustered Heart of Ancestors would be angling west. The patterns were there, waiting for Elia to name them in meaningful prophecy, but she could not. Would not.

  Everyone had stared at Elia until she took a breath and laughed ruefully at herself. “I only can give you my own blessing, Lady Alsax, and my promise: as you are generous and ambitious and loyal, may those virtues together water the roots of earth and sing along with the stars.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness, I accept it with honor,” Juda said, rather solemnly. “Good luck to you. This son of mine will send word when the barge is ready, and guidance to where you should be.”

  They left then: Elia, Aefa, and Rory, with four royal guards waiting outside in their orange tabards. Elia kept her face down against the bright sun, watching the uneven limestone cobbles under her feet. Her ears gently pounded; whether from the sun or alcohol or ignored star prophecy, she could not fathom. Aefa held her hand, and Rory marched just behind. He said, “I wish so much I could return with you now. Innis Lear is where I belong, too.”

  “I know,” Elia replied over her shoulder. “And you will return, I’ll see to it. That is one of many things I must see to at home.”

  Home was such a strange word, one which she’d not contemplated often, when she was secure in having it. Blinking up at the bold blue Aremore sky, she imagined instead the harsher color of Innis Lear, cut always by wind. Elia listened, but she heard nothing other than the sounds of people, wheels, the bark of a little dog a street or two away. Home, home, home, she murmured in the language of trees. Though nothing responded, the words made her feel ever so slightly happier. She could barely contain her anticipation, her longing to speak again with the trees of Innis Lear.

  “Where will you go first?” Rory asked her.

  Elia hummed, wistful and tipsy. “I had thought to go to Gaela, but then.…” She paused, unwilling to voice her anger and fear at the prospect of facing her father again. “If Regan is in Errigal as you say, I could go there first, to speak with your father on your behalf, and see how my nearest sister fares.”

  “Yes! And Ban will help you—he must.” Rory stepped between the women, throwing his arms about both their shoulders. Elia slipped hers around his waist, but Aefa grunted and glared at him. He grinned back, holding her gaze until her eyes narrowed wickedly.

  “Not in your dreams,” Aefa teased, bumping her hip to his.

  The earlson’s smile faded. “The king spoke of his dreams sometimes, this last year.”

  Elia squeezed his waist. “My father?”

  “He would get lost in speech, and begin talking as if he’d been having an entirely different conversation with entirely different people. Your father, Aefa, was very good at covering it, but we, his retainers, always knew. I’m sorry we didn’t … do anything.”

  “What could you have done?” Elia asked.

  “Told someone? But Gaela knew, and so did Regan. They always had men in with your father’s men. Watching for opportunities against him.” Rory sighed angrily. “I should have made myself a spy for you.”

  She touched her cheek briefly to his shoulder. The wool jacket was warm from the sun. “I was only a star priest, what need had I to know?”

  “You’re his daughter. I would … I would have liked to know if my father was…”

  “Dying,” Elia finished for him, very quietly. And with him, Innis Lear. She’d known nothing of either. Or … she’d not wanted to know, thinking herself content in her selfish isolation.

  The trio walked on, and the guards led them to steps that cut sharply up toward the next street. It was empty, but for doors sunk below the cobbles and painted blue. A trickle of water in the runnel smelled clean. Overhead, great clouds of green ivy clung to the roofs. When they emerged, it was into a wide courtyard tiled with the same limestone, and there was the high first wall of the palace. It seemed to be a rarely used entrance, stationed with only one stoic guardsman.

  They passed into a side yard of the palace, arranged between a series of smaller walls with iron gates that could be dropped to trap invaders at several points. It had been planted with boxes of crops the kitchen staff could manage, and did not need full sunlight. The impression was of long, narrow lanes of gilded green, for nothing blossomed now, and all but some squash had been harvested. Atop each wall guards paced, though few and far between, for any true invasion would be seen days and days before the palace itself was in danger. It was the impression of strength that mattered here, and Morimaros could afford it.

  With the wealth of Aremore, he could raise enough of an army and navy to bowl through Innis Lear without anyone in Lionis noticing the absence of men.

  “You should go straight to the Summer Seat,” Aefa said suddenly. “Claim it. Declare yourself.”

  Elia turned to disagree, but as they walked under the final gate and reached the inner south courtyard then, a young man in livery dashed toward them. The royal gu
ard, and Rory, too, tensed.

  “Highness, Lady Elia.” The young man dropped onto one knee. “The king would like to see you, immediately.”

  Startled, Elia nodded, and glanced farewell to Aefa and Rory.

  She was led into the palace, quickly enough to spark anxiety. Something must have happened to require such a summons.

  To Elia’s continued surprise, the young man brought her to the king’s private chambers. The door was open between two royal guards. And La Far, waiting outside. He nodded to her, glancing in through the door. She followed his gaze to see stark limestone walls and thick rugs lit by the lowering evening sun, and Morimaros at an elegant black-oak sideboard, his back to Elia. The king’s signature orange coat was missing; he stood in a long, crisp white linen shirt, belted at the waist, over his usual trousers and boots. No royal adornment but that ever-present ring, the Blood and the Sea. Pouring a small crystal glass of port, he moved to the window and sat at its cushioned edge, sipped, then stood, and sat again. He gripped the glass so hard the tips of his fingers whitened.

  Suddenly terrified, Elia ducked around La Far to step inside. “Your Majesty.”

  Morimaros dropped the drink.

  It hit the hardwood floor, in the narrow trench between the floral rug and the limestone wall. The crystal chipped the polished wood, and red port splattered the stone.

  La Far shut the door behind her, closing out prying eyes.

  Elia came directly across the rug to the king, blinking at the glare from the sun out the window behind him.

  “Careful,” he cautioned, holding his arm down to show her the slick spill of port.

  She took his hand to little resistance. The edges of the cut crystal had impressed thin pink all along the insides of his fingers and palm. “Tell me—what has happened?”

  He nodded, and holding her hand led her to the sideboard.

  “No, thank you,” Elia said to the row of decanted wine and liquors. “But I will sit.”

  There was a tall hearth, set below the shield arms of his father’s bloodline and a pair of crossed broadswords. Two cushioned chairs nestled beside the hearth, across from a small sofa of embroidered silk from far abroad. This front room was very formal. Everything about Morimaros was outrageously dignified.

  They sat on the sofa. Their knees might’ve brushed together if either allowed it.

  Morimaros lifted Elia’s hand and kissed it gently. The warmth knocked a dull, heavy stroke against her heart. Whatever was about to happen, she suspected they would never be able to surmount it. He shifted on the sofa, and their knees did touch then. “I want you to know how I admire you, Elia Lear. I wish I could go with you, when you return home.”

  “How did—”

  “I thought you might ask the Alsax eventually.” The king looked at her evenly. “And my guards do report when you leave the palace.”

  “I must go home.” Elia squeezed his hand, taking careful note of the hardness at the pads of his fingers. Never forget this is a warrior king. “There is … as you know … a sickness on Innis Lear. I think it comes of the break my father caused between root and star. That is the seed of it, at least, planted the morning my mother died. She was his everything, Morimaros, so much so that without her he was untethered, wild in a way no king—no father—should be.” Elia lowered her eyes to their joined hands. “It has perhaps been a poison that I fell to as well—I have always feared, since then, to … love. To be loved.”

  The king of Aremoria said nothing, but stroked his thumb gently along her knuckles. She could not tell which of them it was meant to comfort.

  Taking a fortifying breath, Elia continued. “In his pain, Lear devoted himself with singular purpose to the stars. It was his only way to live, to exist, and he was determined to make it pure, without earth or wind, without the navel wells. That fanaticism has broken him, and his mind goes only to the sky without roots to bind him to the land. But I let go of wormwork, too. I let myself be what my father needed, and nothing else. Or what I thought he needed.”

  “It is not your fault, Elia, what has happened to your father. His choices have been his own.”

  “That may be, though I bear some of the weight of the results. I feel—now I feel too much, I haven’t let myself in so very long, and…” Closing her eyes against the surge of emotions, all too tangled to name, she forced herself to finish honestly. “Innis Lear is where I belong, Morimaros. I must go home and ask the island what it wants, what it needs. To unite the stars and the roots. I know you don’t believe in the importance of such things, that you’ve managed to break free of it in Aremoria, but Innis Lear is alive and wild. I would die to keep it so. And listening to—hearing—what the island needs is a thing I can do, that I have done, that neither of my sisters can, or will. They, and our father, have always decided who I could be, but not anymore. I will take a seat at our table. Do something to heal my island, and perhaps my family.”

  The words settled in her gut, in her heart, and Elia suddenly breathed easier. As if she finally had listened to—and heard—herself.

  Morimaros said, “I know. I understand, Elia, though it may seem like I couldn’t possibly. I…” He stopped, lips parted, as if he’d run out of words, or nerve.

  Her black eyes widened.

  “Elia, I wish … I would never leave your side if…”

  “If you weren’t Aremoria.” She covered their joined hands with her other, but did not raise her eyes to his. She would protect him, if she could.

  “Yes.”

  Now she did glance up. “Aremoria cannot be at my side for this.”

  “Yet.” Releasing her, Morimaros stood and returned to the sideboard. With his back to her, he said, “I must tell you something now that will change your opinion of me. And it’s taking all my courage to be so honest.”

  “I can’t believe that.”

  He turned. “That it takes all I have to convince myself to disappoint you?”

  “That you can disappoint me at all,” was her steady reply, though doubt already dripped through her. He’d been so nervous when Elia arrived, though she’d forgotten, in the face of her own realizations.

  The king stared at her as if she’d hooked him through the spine. Elia struggled to hold his deep blue gaze, to not cover her ears, or leave, while he regained himself. From the end of the sideboard Morimaros picked up a thin stack of letters, the top of which was unfolded. He brought them to her, and handed her that first one.

  She held it carefully in both hands. At top were three lines of nonsense, written in Aremore. But below was a translation in a different hand, with dots and letters marking it, as if decoded:

  The iron is mine. R and her husband trust me. I am at the center of everything, as you commanded. All occurs quickly on the island, too fast to wait for winter to set in. You must act now or not at all. There will be a final crown for Innis Lear long before Midwinter.

  Panic shot Elia to her feet. The letter fluttered to the carpet. “What is this? When did…”

  “It arrived today. I can arrange passage for you tonight, and you can be in Port Comlack just past dawn.”

  Her mind whirled; everything tipped out of place. “Who is this from?”

  Morimaros did not answer immediately, though his eyes lowered, in sorrow or perhaps shame. Then he met her gaze again and—

  “Ban the Fox is my spy.”

  Elia instinctively rejected the current implication. Slowly, she said, “I know. That is … how he worked for you, here in your army.”

  “Yes. He is a wizard, which suits spywork very well, when you can involve the trees and birds.”

  “A wizard,” she whispered. “Birds. He … no. No. He did not send you this message … upon a bird’s wing. No. He wouldn’t, that’s different from working for you—in your army. Here. Ban is of Innis Lear. He has ever been ours.” Mine, her wailing heart added.

  The king winced.

  Only a small expression on his face, but for a man like him, it spoke volume
s, and Elia put her hands to her mouth, fingers playing over her lips as if she might find the proper sequence to shut them forever.

  Morimaros said, “I sent Ban to Innis Lear last month, before I arrived to pay you court. He was not summoned home. I asked him to study the cracks of your island, to report on potential room to maneuver, for better trade and even possible invasion, especially with regards to the iron magic of Errigal where he was raised. A king who expands production and controls those swords could protect whatever borders he established, would not have to worry about upstarts like Burgun ever again. I told him to destabilize what he could, as I would approach from a more courtly flank. Ban…” Morimaros cleared his throat. “Elia. I am truly sorry.”

  “You’ve already begun the invasion of my island,” she whispered, voiceless so she did not scream. “You lied to me, saying there was ever a chance of peace. You’ve been lying to me since before I even met you. Every letter. Every kindness.”

  The king did not defend himself.

  This quiet betrayal was not so violent as what her father had done to her, but it stung. Though Elia deserved it, for believing the best of everyone. Morimaros of Aremoria had betrayed her. Ban—her Ban!—had, too. What hope could she possibly have that her sisters would not treat her the same, would not betray her, too, who had never even pretended to be her ally?

  Perhaps that was better: at least with her sisters Elia had always known where she stood.

  She clenched her teeth against hurt. She should not let herself be too surprised by Morimaros. He was a king, after all, and a man. And he would do as men—as kings—do. It only mattered what he needed to get for himself, for his country, for his satisfaction.

  And Ban, too, was only a man.

  Hurrying to the window, Elia pressed both hands flat to the clear glass. Outside was too pretty, too glorious to be real. She needed harsh gray wind and bending old trees. She said, “Ban did this to Rory. To his father. On purpose, for you, though he pretended it was for me. He took your mission and twisted it into his own revenge. Do you know how much he hated my father, and his own? You gave him sanction to destroy them.”