Shadowmarch

“I do not doubt you are right. But that was not enough to endear him to me.The gods may bear witness that I’ll have no husband who thinks he can tell me where to go, what to say, how to…” She stopped herself again. What was it about this girl that had made her say so much more than she intended? “Enough. I did not kill him, if he is truly dead. We do not know who did.”

Elan nodded. She pulled her veil back over her face. “Neither you nor any other woman will have him now.” For the first time there was a muffled noise that might be a sob. “I wish you heaven’s mercy,” she said quietly, then turned and walked away without a courtesy or farewell.

It was indeed a very long afternoon, and as the news of the murdered men found in Marnnswalk began to circulate, along with speculation about their identities, the day threatened to stretch without end. The news impinged directly on Briony only slightly in her royal duties—questions and quiet asides from Brone, a perfunctory meeting with the hedge-baron in command of the Marnnswalk muster who was enjoying his moment of fame and attention, and an expanded set of concerns from Nynor, who had to decide whether to house these particular Marnnswalk troops with all the others brought in to garrison the castle or try to keep them separate—but she also saw speculation in the faces of almost everyone who passed through the throne room. As if things had not been bad enough after her outburst at Hendon Tolly! It was so grueling that the appearance of Queen Anissa’s maid was almost a relief.

“Selia, isn’t it?” With Barrick gone it was hard to hold onto her resentment toward the young woman. “Tell me, how is my stepmother?”

“Well enough, Highness, with the baby so close, but she has concern not to see you.”

Briony’s head hurt and she had trouble making sense out of the girl’s foreign diction. “She wants me to stay away?”

Selia colored very prettily. Like all else she did, it seemed an affront to any woman who wanted to do something other than make men sigh—or at least so it felt to Briony, whose dislike of the maid was already returning. “No, no,” the young woman said. “I do not speak so well. She wishes very much to have talk with you before the baby comes.”

“I am quite busy, as my stepmother knows…”

The young woman leaned forward and spoke quietly; Brone and Nynor worked harder to pretend they were not listening. “She fears you are angry with her. This is bad for the baby, for the birth, she thinks. She was too ill for talking with you before, and now your brother has gone, the poor Barrick.” Selia looked genuinely sad, which only made Briony less sympathetic.

That’s my brother you’ve set your cap on, girl. Aloud, she said,”I will do my best.” “She asks that you come and take a cup of wine with her on Winter’s Eve.”

Sweet Zona, that’s only a few days away, Briony realized. Where has the year gone? “I will do my best to come to her soon Tell her I wish her only well.”

“I will, Princess.” The young woman dropped a graceful courtesy and withdrew. Briony caught Brone and Nynor watching the maid as she walked away and was disgusted that even old men should still be such lechers. She tried to keep it off her face as they all returned to work, but not as hard as she might have.

The day’s business dragged on, as what seemed like almost every living soul in the castle came before her with a complaint or a worry or a request, with problems ranging from the crucial to the ridiculous. What she didn’t see was Hendon Tolly, nor—after her meeting in the Portrait Hall with his sister-in-law—any sign whatsoever of the Tollys or their faction.

“They are doubtless trying to decide what this discovery means,” Brone told her in a quiet aside. “I am told they were out and about as usual this morning, but when they heard the news, they beat a retreat back into their rooms.”

“I suppose it makes sense. But why did we put the Tollys and Durstin Crowel and the other troublemakers all so close together?”

“Because Crowel requested it some time back, Highness,” said Nynor. “At the end of the summer he told me he would be hosting an entertainment with the Tollys during the Orphan’s Day celebrations. I thought at the time he simply meant Duke Gailon and his entourage.”

Briony frowned. “Does that mean they were planning something even then?”

Avin Brone grunted. “I don’t trust the Tollys, but let us not pretend they’re the worst of our problems.”

Old Nynor shook his head. “It is possible they had some scheme, Highness, but it is also possible that all they were planning was a banquet. And, speaking of which, Princess, we must make some arrangements about the feasting.”

For a moment she didn’t understand what he was talking about. “Feasting? Do you mean for Orphan’s Day? Are you mad? We are at war!”

“All the more reason “ Steffans Nynor could be stubborn, and had not been castellan so many years without developing ideas of his own. Briony was irritated and tempted simply to say no and dismiss him, but thought of what her father would say—something like, If you are going to give men tasks to do, then once they have proved themselves, you should let them get on without you standing over them There is no point giving responsibility without trust.

“Why, then, do you think we should do this?'

“Because these are holy days in which we praise the gods and demigods, and we need their help now more than ever. That is one reason.”

“Yes, but we can perform the sacrifices and the rituals without the feasting and merrymaking.”

“Why else do people need merrymaking, Highness, if not to take some of the thorns out of life?' The old man rapidly blinked his watery eyes, but his gaze was sharp and demanding. “Forgive me if I speak out of turn, Princess Briony, but it seems that what a city under siege most needs is courage. Also to be reminded what it is fighting to protect. A little happiness, a little ordinary life, is a powerful aid to both those things.”

She saw the wisdom in what he said, but a part of her couldn’t help feeling it would be a sham, that falsity was worse than misery.

Avin Brone seemed able to hear those thoughts as if they had been spoken. “People will not forget the true dangers, Highness. I think Nynor is right. A muted festivity perhaps—we do not want to seem to be celebrating too grandly in the shadow of war, and most especially in the shadow of Gailon’s murder—and your brother’s death, too, of course—but neither do we want to make this winter any more dreary than necessity dictates.”

“Very well, a quiet celebration it will be.”

Nynor nodded, then bowed and withdrew. He looked pleased, almost grateful, and for an unpleasant moment Briony wondered if the castellan had some other agenda, if he had manipulated her for some secret, selfish purpose.

And so it goes, she thought. I cannot do even the simplest thing without doubt anymore, without fear, without suspicion. How could Father live this way all those years? It must have been a little better in more peaceful days, but still…

Curse these times.

* * *

Before they reached the populous areas, Beetledown announced that he was taking his leave. He dismissed Chert’s worried questions. “I’ll find my way, sure. Naught else, these caves seem full of slow, stupid rat-folk. I’ll go home mounted proud, tha will see.”

He was too tired to do more than thank the Rooftopper again. After all they had shared, it was a hasty and strangely muted parting, but Chert didn’t have long to consider it.

In the midst of such strange times their little procession was not the oddest thing the people of Funderling Town had heard of, but it was certainly one of the odder things they had actually seen: by the time Chert reached his house with Flint and the acolyte he was surrounded by a ragtag parade of children and more than a few adults. He did his best to ignore their questions and fondly mocking comments. He had no idea what time it was, or even what day. The young temple brother Antimony at the front end of the litter told him it was Skyday, fourth chime. Chert was astonished to realize that he had been almost three days in the lower depths.

Poor Opal! She must be cracked with worry.

The news had run ahead on child feet; a crowd of neighbors waited at the mouth of Wedge Road to join the throng. The tale had reached his own house as well: Opal ran out before he had even reached the dooryard, her