Magic Under Stone

TELMIRRA

The entrance of the palace of Telmirra was draped in black curtains with the royal seal, but Ifra and Violet didn’t even make it that far before Tamin approached them, followed by stable attendants to see to the horse.

“Greetings, jinn. I know Belin will want to see you immediately.” Tamin had the sort of face that looked perpetually on the verge of a sarcastic comment, even when he was serious and dressed in a drab brown tunic that Ifra guessed to be mourning garb.

Tamin led them around the outside edge of the palace, to the house where Ifra had first visited Belin. Through the bare winter trees, a road cut through the woods where a few groups of fairies went by on horse-drawn sleighs, the bells jingling, and they passed a young woman taking the path by foot, carrying a basket, but the mood was somber, quite unlike the wild mood of most towns Ifra and Violet had traveled through. When they’d stopped at Keyelle and Etana’s house, they found a slew of Green Hoods, coming and going and discussing plans, eager to help compose and deliver a letter for Nimira.

They stopped at Belin’s door to scrape the snow off their boots, then Tamin let them in. “Belin’s been hiding like a mouse since Father died.” He called to a frowning servant girl, “Hey, tell my brother he’ll want to leave his bed for this.”

Tamin took off his coat, looked around for another servant, and made a disparaging sound when the room remained empty. He tossed his coat atop a side table and turned his attention to Violet. “So, you’re the Tanharrow girl, are you? Mmph.” His eyes had a mocking glint, and Violet edged behind Ifra a bit.

Ifra had stopped in the shops outside of Telmirra and purchased some fairy clothes for Violet-a scarlet bodice with embroidered leaves, and a blue-and-white striped skirt with green ribbon trim. Still, she looked so exhausted from the travel that Ifra supposed she didn’t make the best impression for a future queen.

In another moment, Belin was coming down the stairs, his steps heavy. Ifra’s stomach tightened with terror before he even saw Belin’s face. The new king looked as if he hadn’t slept since Ifra left. “You’ve returned, jinn. This is the girl?”

“Yes, master.”

“Your betrothed, milord,” Tamin said, with a little bow.

Belin glared darkly at his brother. “You may go now.”

Tamin picked up his coat again. “You are sorely lacking in servants, brother,” he said, and he shut the door hard behind him.

“I am king now,” Belin said, as if someone doubted it. “And I suppose you will be my queen.” He looked at Violet without much enthusiasm. “You can’t possibly be fifteen.”

“I am almost sixteen,” Violet said, her imperious tone destroyed by the quaver in her voice. “I was born in March.”

“Well. You look like a child bride. Maybe humans like to marry children, but here it is considered vulgar.”

“Don’t marry me, then,” Violet snapped.

Belin made a dismissive motion at her. “We will have to make sure it’s well-known she is small for her age. Still… You might have mentioned this lost Tanharrow is a sallow little thing. I imagined a young woman coming into the prime of her life, not a girl. Maybe something can be done. Maybe the ladies of the court can improve her.” He motioned for the maid to whisk Violet away and turned back to the stairs. “Come with me, jinn.”

Ifra followed, forcing himself not to give Violet more than a very brief glance. The poor girl looked dumbstruck by this treatment, but if anyone caught Ifra and Violet exchanging even one conspiratorial look, all their plans might go awry.

Belin showed Ifra into a humble sitting room-almost a work-room, really, with knives, tools, half-whittled wood, and pale shavings littering the table. Only the game board arranged by a crackling fire and the bright tapestries hanging from the walls lent it more of a leisurely air. It appeared that Belin himself had carved the wooden animals downstairs; the body of a lumbering bear was beginning to emerge from raw material.

Belin motioned for Ifra to sit, but he himself was restless and pacing. “Well, I’m sure you know my father has died. I am your master now.”

“Yes.”

“People are whispering that I poisoned him.”

Ifra had thought this very thing.

“What are they saying, on the roads? Have you heard anything? I’ve had reports. Some people think the peasants will take advantage of my youth and inexperience to rebel.”

“I… am not sure if they’re ready to act.” Ifra didn’t want to give details, but he knew Belin wouldn’t be satisfied without them, and his servitude tugged at his words. “It is true that the first village we came to, people were dancing around bonfires and singing about marching on the king, and lauding rebels past. We were snowed in there for several nights, and every time I went to the dining room, I heard talk about you. They think your father was an impostor, and so are you.”

“Well, who do they think ought to be king?” Belin asked. “That little waif you dragged along? Do you think she’s the hero they’re waiting for?”

“No, master. They want a great ruler.”

“What does that mean? Was my father not a great ruler?”

Because he had a feeling Belin was on the verge of taking his anger out on him, Ifra said, reluctantly, “I don’t know, but that isn’t what the people say. If I can be perfectly honest with you, master…”

“I demand it.”

“You’ve had me cross this country twice now, and I’ve spoken to many of your people. They’ve never felt right about your father’s rule. They say there is a disconnect between the desires of the royal court and the common people-that you collect harsh taxes, but you don’t protect them. You make concessions with the humans. They think… your father seized the throne wrongly and never tried to prove himself worthy of it.”

“And do you think that’s true?” Belin clamped his hand on the back of Ifra’s chair and hissed in his ear. Ifra’s heart was drumming, but he forced himself not to flinch.

“Why do you ask me?” he said. “Don’t you have advisors? Why are you hiding away here and not at the palace?”

“This is my home,” Belin said, with a slightly defiant edge that almost reminded Ifra of Violet. “I have always liked to be alone.”

“But you’re a king now. A brand-new king. With a lot to do, I’d imagine.”

Belin let go of the chair and resumed pacing. “Answer my question. Do you think it’s true? I want you to tell me because you’ve been away from court, and a jinn can’t lie to his master.”

“I think… that once things have calmed down, you should go see for yourself,” Ifra said. “And in the meantime, you should consider the kind of king you want to be. Telmirra is a wealthy city, and it feels like a protected place. When I go to the villages, the people are free and rough and very welcoming. But they live with hardly any barriers between themselves and the wilderness… and it leaves them open to trouble. They’re afraid the humans could invade, destroy their homes, drive them away from the woods that they love and the crops they’ve grown, and they’re afraid the taxes will grow higher than they can afford to give.”

Belin had paced all the way to the window, and then he turned. “Do you think I killed my father?”

Ifra wanted very much to say no, but it was a lie, and he couldn’t lie to Belin.

“Do you?”

“I-I don’t know.”

“Tamin and Ilsin think they should be king. Not me. They’re whispering that I had control of you all along, and I used you to trick my father.” Belin’s voice was taking on a wild edge. “He died so fast, Ifra. I didn’t think he’d die this year. I didn’t kill him. I spent two years traveling through bleak deserts and getting sea-sick, to bring you to my father, to prove I could do something better than my brothers, and now they’re telling everyone I cheated. You know I didn’t. You know I gave you to my father, and he could have wished to have his health back if he wanted.”