Shadowmarch

leave on an unexpected journey,” Nynor said. “He suggests I summon Okros of Eastmarch to the castle in his absence, which he says may be a few days or perhaps even more.”

“He often goes to consult with other learned men,” said Briony. “Surely that is not so surprising.”

“But without telling us where to find him? And with the queen so close to giving birth? In any case, the letter itself struck me as strange.” Nynor s eyes were red-rimmed and watery, so that even at the happiest of times he looked as though he had been crying, but he was sharp-witted, and his long years of service to the Eddon family had proved him worth listening to.

“He says nothing that is directly alarming? Then give it to me and I will examine it later.” She took the folded parchment from the castellan and slipped it into the hartskin envelope in which she carried her seals and signet ring and other important odds and ends. “Is there anything else?”

“I need your permission to summon Brother Okros.” “Given.”

“And the poet fellow… ?” “Tinlight? Tin… ?”

“Tinwright. Is it true you wish him added to the household?”

“Yes, but not in any grand way. Give him an allowance of clothing, and of course he is to be fed…” There was a murmur in the crowd as someone pushed his way forward, a drawing back as though an animal, harmless but of doubtful cleanliness, had been set loose in the room Matty Tinwright burst out of the front row of courtiers and cast himself down on the stones at the foot of the dais.”Ah, fair princess, you remembered your promise! Your kindness is even greater than is spoken, and it is spoken of in the same proverbial way as the warmth of the sun or the wetness of rain.”

“Gah. Perin hammer us all dead,” rumbled Avin Brone, who had been lurking beside the throne all day like a trained bear, growling at those he deemed were wasting the monarchy’s time.

The poet was amusing, but just now Briony wasn’t in the mood. “Yes, well, go with Lord Nynor and he will see you served, Tinwright.”

“Do you not wish to hear my latest verse? Inspired this very day in this very room?”

She tried to tell him no, that she did not wish to hear it, but Tinwright was not the type to wait long enough for rejection—a trick he had needed to learn early, judging by his verse.“

”Dressed all in mannish black she stands, like the thunderheads of Oktamene’s dour wrath in the summer sky Yet beneath those sable billows there is virgin snow, white and pure, that will make the land in cool sweetness to he .’.”

She couldn’t help sympathizing with the lord constable’s groans, but she wished Brone might be a little more discreet—the young man was doing his best, and it had been her idea to encourage him: she didn’t want him humiliated. “Yes, very nice,” she said. “But at the moment I am in the middle of state business Perhaps you could write it down for me and send it so that I can . .    appreciate its true worth without distraction.”

“My lady is too kind.” Smiling at the other courtiers, having established himself as one of their number—or at least believing so—Tinwright rose, made a leg, and melted into the crowd. There were a few titters.

“My lady is too kind by half,” Brone said quietly.

Steffans Nynor still lingered, a slightly nervous look on his face. “Yes, my lord?” Briony asked him. “May I come near the throne, Princess?”

She beckoned him forward. Brone also moved a bit closer, as though the scrawny, ancient Nynor might be some kind of threat—or perhaps simply to hear better.

“There is one other thing,” the castellan said quietly. “What are we to do with the Tollys?” “The Tollys?”

“You have not heard? They arrived two hours ago—I am shamed that I did not inform you, but I felt sure someone else would.” He gave Brone a squint-eyed look. The two were political rivals and not the best of friends. “A company from Summerfield Court is here, led by Hendon Tolly. The young man seems much aggrieved—he was talking openly about the disappearance of his brother, Duke Gailon.”

“Merciful Zoria,” she said heavily. “That is dire news Hendon Tolly? Here?”

“The middle brother, Caradon, is doubtless too pleased to find himself next in line for the dukedom to want to come stir up trouble himself,” Brone said quietly. “But I doubt he tried very hard to stop his little brother—not that it would have done him much good. Hendon is a wild one, Highness. He must be closely watched.” As the lord constable finished this little speech, one of the royal guard appeared at his shoulder and Brone turned to have words with him.

“Wild” was not the word Briony would have chosen. “Almost mad” would have been closer—the youngest Tolly was as dangerous and unpredictable as fire on a windy day. Her sigh was the only voice she gave to a heartfelt wish to be out of this, to turn back the calendar to the days when there had been nothing harder to think on than how she and Barrick would avoid their lessons.

And curse Barrick for leaving this all to me! A moment later she felt a pang of sorrow and even fear about her unkind thought: her brother needed no more curses.

“Treat theTollys with respect,” she said. “Give them Gailon’s rooms.” She remembered what Brone had said about the Summerfield folk and the agents of the Autarch. “No, do not, in case there has been some communication left behind in a secret place. Put them in the Tower of Winter so they are not underfoot and will find it harder to move around unmarked. Lord Brone, you will arrange to keep them watched, I assume? Lord Brone?”

She turned, irritated that he was not paying attention. The guardsman who had spoken to him was gone, but Brone himself had not moved and there was a look on his face Briony had never seen before—confusion and disbelief. “Lord Constable, what is wrong?”

He looked at her, then at Nynor. He leaned forward. “You must send these people away. Now.” “But what have you heard?”

He shook his great, bearded head, still as slow-moving and bewildered as a man in a dream. “Vansen has returned, Highness—Ferras Vansen, the captain of the guard.”

“He has? And what has he discovered? Has he found the caravan?”

“He hasn’t, and he has lost most of his company beside—more than a dozen good men. But, stay, Lady—that is not what is most important! Call for him. If what I hear is true, we will need to speak to him immediately.”

“If what you hear is… But what do you hear, Brone? Tell me.”

“That we are at war, Princess, or shortly will be.” “But… war? With whom?”

“The armies of all fairyland, it seems.”

26. The Considerations of Queens

THE DISTANT MOUNTAINS:

We see them

But we will never walk them

Nevertheless, we see them

—from The Bonefall Oracles

He arrived with surprisingly little ceremony, not  mounted on a dove this time but on a fat white rat with a fine spread of whisker. She was accompanied only by a pair of guards on foot—their tiny faces pale and drawn because of this great responsibility—and by the scout Beetledown. Chert had been sitting longer than he would have liked and was glad he was not expected to rise; he was not certain his legs would bend that well without a little limbering first. But neither could he imagine greeting a royal personage without making some show of respect, especially when he hoped to beg a favor, so he bent his head.

“Her Exquisite and Unforgotten Majesty, Queen Upsteeplebat, extends her greetings to Chert of Blue Quartz,” announced Beetledown in his small, high voice.

Chert looked up. She was watching him in an intent but friendly way. “I thank you, Majesty.” “We heard your request and we are here,” she said, as birdlike in pitch as her herald. “Also, we enjoyed your generous gift and it has joined the Great Golden Piece and the Silver Thing in our collection of crown jewels We are sad to hear that the boy is missing. What can we do?”