Bitterblue

This was the staircase that led up to Bitterblue's sitting room and the blue horse hanging.

Down the steps again, Bitterblue said to Fox, 'It's creepy, isn't it?'

'It's fascinating, Lady Queen,' said Fox, stopping before the room's tiniest sculpture, staring at it, mesmerized. It was a human child, perhaps two years old, kneeling with arms outstretched. A girl with something knowing in her eyes. Her arms and hands were turning to wings. Her wispy hair was sprouting feathers, her toes turning into talons. Leck had slapped a streak of red paint across her face, but it didn't manage to deaden the expression in her eyes.

Why would he try to ruin something so beautiful? What is the world he was trying, and failing, to create?

What is the world Runnemood is trying to create? And why must they both create their worlds by destroying?

27

IN THE MORNING, Madlen arrived, rebandaged Bitterblue's shoulder wound, gave her medicines, and commanded her, with clear and specific instructions, to take them, even the bitter ones that were nauseating to swallow. 'They will help your bones knit together, Lady Queen,' she said, 'faster than they could on their own. Are you doing the exercises I prescribed?'

The sun rose while Bitterblue grumbled over breakfast, but dimly. When she dragged herself to the windows in search of light, she discovered a world of fog. Fighting to make out the back garden through the whiteness, she thought she saw a person standing on the garden wall. The person threw something into the garden, a small, slender, gliding thing, bright white and slashing a streak through the thick air.

It was Po with his stupid paper glider. As she recognized him, he raised an arm in greeting to her, then lost his balance, spun both arms like a windmill, and promptly fell off the wall. Somehow he managed to propel himself into the garden rather than into the river. Most certainly Po, and most certainly not well enough to be doing gymnastics in the back garden.

Bitterblue glanced at Madlen and Helda, who sat at the sitting room table murmuring over their morning cups. If Po had escaped from the infirmary again, she didn't want to give him away. 'I feel like a bit of air before I go to my office,' she said. 'If Rood or Darby come for me, tell them to stuff themselves.'

A grand production followed this announcement. The choosing and placement of a scarf, the positioning of her sword, the draping of a cloak over her bound arm. Finally, feeling like a moving coatrack, Bitterblue left them. Helda had altered her skirts so that they made wide, flowing trouser legs like Fox's, and found time yesterday, somehow, to fit the left sleeve of this particular gown with buttons. It seemed that Bitterblue had only to mention a species of attire she liked, and Helda would hand it to her a few days later.

Except, of course, the crown.

IN THE GARDEN, the sculpture of the woman turning into a mountain lion stood stark, screaming. Patches of fog hugged her and drifted away. How did Bellamew make her eyes so alive? Then recognition settled into Bitterblue. She registered the shape of the face, the eyes full of determination and pain. This figure was her mother.

For some reason, the fact of it didn't surprise her. Neither did the sadness of it. It seemed right to her; the sculpture didn't just look, but felt, like Ashen. She was grateful to it for grounding her in the certainty that she had indeed, at least some of the time, known her mother.

'What are you holding there?' Po called to her, for Bitterblue had brought Teddy's list of guilty lords and ladies.

'What are you holding?' she asked him as she approached him, meaning the paper glider. 'Why are you throwing that thing around my garden?'

He shrugged. 'I wondered how it would do in cold, wet air.'

'Cold, wet air.'

'Yes.'

'How it would do what, exactly?'

'Fly, of course; it's all about the principles of flight. I study birds, especially when they're gliding, and this paper thing is my attempt to study it further. But my progress is slow. My Grace isn't so finely tuned that I can grasp all the details of what happens in the few seconds before it crashes.'

'I see,' Bitterblue said. 'And you're doing this why?'

He propped his elbows on the wall. 'Katsa has wondered if a person could ever build wings to fly with.'

'What do you mean, to fly with?' said Bitterblue, suddenly irate.

'You know what I mean.'

'You'll only encourage her to believe it can be done.'

'I have no doubt it can be done.'

'To what purpose?' snapped Bitterblue.

Po's eyebrows rose. 'Flying would be its own purpose, Cousin. Don't worry, no one would ever expect the queen to do it.'

No, I'll be left with the honor of planning the funerals.

The smallest grin lighting his face, Po said, 'Your turn. What did you bring me?'

'I wanted to read the names on this list to you,' she said, shaking the paper open one-handed, 'so that if you ever hear anything about any of them, you can tell me.'

'I'm listening,' he said.

'A Lord Stanpost who lives two days' ride south from the city collected more girls from his town for Leck than any other person,' said Bitterblue. 'A Lady Hood came in a close second, but she is dead now. In central Monsea, townspeople starved to death in a town governed by a lord named Markam who taxed them cruelly. There are a few more lords' names here'—Bitterblue listed them—'but half of them are dead, Po, and none of them are names I know, beyond useless statistics given me by my advisers.'

'None of the names are familiar to me either,' said Po, 'but I'll make a few inquiries, when I can. Who've you shared the list with?'

'Captain Smit of the Monsean Guard. I've told him to look for connections between Runnemood and these names, and also try to find if Runnemood arranged Ivan's murder, or just Saf's framing.'

'Ivan?'

'The engineer Runnemood framed Saf for killing. I shared it with my spies too, just to see if they came back with information that matches Smit's.'

'Don't you trust Smit?'

'I'm not sure I trust anyone, Po,' said Bitterblue, sighing. 'Though it is a relief to be talking with the Monsean Guard about the truthseeker killings, and finally have their help.'

'Give the list to Giddon too, when he gets back from Estill. He's been gone nearly three weeks; he should return soon.'

'Yes,' said Bitterblue. 'I do trust Giddon.'

Po paused. 'Yes,' he said, a bit gloomily.

'What is it, Po?' Bitterblue asked softly. 'You know he'll forgive you in time.'

Po snorted. 'Oh, Beetle,' he said. 'I'm scared to death to tell my father and brothers about it. They'll be even more angry than Giddon.'

'Hm,' said Bitterblue. 'Have you decided for certain to do so?'

'No,' he said. 'I want to talk it over with Katsa first.'

Bitterblue took a moment to take better hold of all the opinions and anxieties she knew she was flinging at him, including her worries over how a talk like that would go, and why Katsa wasn't back yet if all she was doing was exploring a tunnel somewhere. 'Well, Ror knows about you and the Council,' she said, 'doesn't he?'

'Yes.'

'And he's learned about Skye's preference for men. Hasn't he made his peace with those surprises?'

'It wasn't a small matter in either case,' Po said. 'There was a great deal of yelling.'