CHAPTER NINE

ON THE SLEEVE

NEIL WOKE EARLY, inspected his new armor for any blemishing its single wearing might have left on it. He checked his spurs and tabard, and finally drew Crow, his broadsword, then made certain the hard, sharp length of her gleamed like water.

Moving quietly, he slipped on his buskins and padded from the room, down the stairs, and out of the inn. Outside, a morning fog was just starting to lift, and the docks were already alive with movement, fishing crews putting out for the middle shoals, seacharmers and salters and whores looking to be taken on, seagulls and fishravens fighting over scraps.

Neil had noticed the chapel of Saint Lier the day before, distinguished by its mast-shaped spire. It was a modest wooden building right at water's edge, built on a raised stone foundation. As he approached, several rough-looking sailors were on their way out. He greeted them by passing his hand over his face, the sign of Saint Lier. “His hand keep you,” he told them.

“Thanks, lad,” one of them said gruffly. “And you.”

Within, the chapel was dark and plain, all wood, in the island style. The only ornament was a simple statuette of the saint himself above the altar; carved of walrus tusk, it depicted him standing in a coracle.

Neil carefully placed two silver coins in the box and knelt. He began to sing.

“Foam Father, Wave Strider
You feel our keels and hear our prayers
Grant us passage on your broad back
Bring us to shore when the storm's upon us
I beg you now
Grant passage to my song.

Windmaster, Seventh Wave
You know the line of my fathers
Held them curled in fingers of spray
Watched them fight and die on the wide sea roads
Neil, son of Fren
Asks you to heed his prayer.”

He prayed for the souls of his father and mother, for Sir Fail and his lady Fiene, for the hungry ghosts of the sea. He prayed for King William and Queen Muriele, and for Crotheny. Most of all he prayed that he himself might be worthy. Then, after a time of silence, he rose to leave.

A lady in a deep green cloak stood behind him. He started, for in the intensity of his prayers, he hadn't heard her enter.

“I'm sorry, lady,” he said softly. “I didn't mean to keep you from the altar.”

“There's plenty of room,” she answered. “You did not keep me from it. It just that it's been a long time since I heard anyone pray so beautifully. I wanted to listen, I'm afraid, and so it's to you I must apologize.”

“Why?” Neil asked. “I've no shame for my prayers. It's an honor to me if you found something in them. I …”

Her eyes gripped him. Sea-green, they were. Curls of black hair cascaded from beneath her hood, and her lips were a ruby bow. He couldn't guess her age, though if pressed, he would put her in her thirties. She was too beautiful to be human, and with a sudden dizziness, it occurred to Neil that this was no earthly woman, but a vision, a saint or an angel, perhaps.

So strong and certain was the feeling that his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, and he couldn't remember what else he had meant to say.

“The honor is mine, young man,” she said. She cocked her head. “You have an island accent. Are you from Liery?”

“I was born on Skern, my lady,” he managed. “But I am pledged to a lord of Liery, as was my father.”

“Would that lord be the Baron Sir Fail de Liery?”

“Yes, my lady,” he replied, feeling as if he were in a dream.

“A good and noble man. You do very well to serve him.”

“Lady, how could you know—”

“You forget, I heard your prayers. Sir Fail is with you? He is near?”

“Yes, lady. In the inn, just up the way. We arrived yesterday; he intends to present me at court today, unworthy as I may be.”

“If Sir Fail wishes to present you, the only thing unworthy about you is your doubt of him. He knows what he is about.”

“Yes, lady. Of course.”

She lowered her head. “You should know that the court will be on the hill of Tom Woth, today, to celebrate the birthday of the princess Elseny. Sir Fail may not know this, having just arrived. Take the northern gate and ride up the Sleeve. Sir Fail will know where. Tell him to go to the stone circle and wait.”

“You command me, lady.” His heart was thunder, and he could not say why. He wanted to ask her name, but he feared the answer.

“I wonder if you would excuse me now,” the lady said. “My prayers are less elegant than yours. The saint will forgive my clumsiness, I know, but I would rather no one else heard. It's been long since I came here. Too long.”

She sounded infinitely sad.

“Lady, if there is anything I can do for you, please name it.”

Her eyes gleamed in the darkness. “Take care in the court,” she said softly. “Stay true to yourself. Stay who you are. It is a … difficult thing.”

“Yes, lady. If you ask it, it will be done.”

So saying, he left her there, his feet feeling oddly heavy on the cobbles of the street.

“Quite a sight, isn't it?” Fail de Liery said.

Neil couldn't keep his head still. “I've never see anything like it. I've never seen clothes like this, so much color and silk.”

Hundreds of courtiers were riding up the greensward, along with dwarves, giants, jesters, and footmen, all in fantastic costume.

“You'll see more. Come, those are the stones ahead.”

They spurred their mounts to a gallop, toward the small circle of standing stones near the forest edge. A large group waited there, mounted and on foot. Neil noticed knights among them, all wearing livery of black and deep sea-green trimmed in bronze. He didn't know whose colors they were, and they bore no devices.

“Sir Fail!” a man called out, as they approached. Raising his hand in greeting, he rode out of the circle. He was unarmored, a man of middle years, his auburn hair held with a plain gold circlet, clearly a fellow of some importance. Sir Fail dismounted, and so Neil did, too, as the newcomer also swung down from his horse, a handsome white Galléan stallion with a peppering of dark spots on his withers and muzzle.

“You old de Liery warscow! How are you?”

“Right well, Your Majesty.”

Neil's knees went suddenly weak.

Majesty?

“Well, I'm well pleased to see you here,” the fellow went on easily. “Well pleased!”

“I'm glad I found you! I would've been going up to an empty palace, right now, if it weren't for my young squire, here. May I present him to you?”

The king's eyes turned on Neil, suddenly, lamps whose light seemed both intense and weary. “By all means.”

“Your Majesty, this is Neil MeqVren, a young man of many talents and great deeds. Neil, this is His Majesty William II of Crotheny.”

Neil remembered to drop to one knee and bowed so low his head nearly hit the ground. “Your Majesty,” he managed to croak.

“Rise up, young man,” the king said.

Neil came to his feet.

“He's a likely looking lad,” the king said. “Squire, you say? This the fellow I've heard so much about, the lad from the battle of Darkling Mere?”

“It is, Sire.”

“Well, Neil MeqVren. We'll have some talks about you, I expect.”

“But not now,” a prim-looking young woman said, sidling up on the back of a delicate-looking bay. She nodded to Neil, and he felt an odd sense that they had met before. Something about her hazel eyes was familiar, or almost so. She was a severe beauty, with high cheekbones and glossy hair several shades browner than chestnut.

“This day is for Elseny, and none other,” the woman went on. “But I'll wish a good day to you—Neil MeqVren, is it?”

It took Neil an open-mouthed moment or two to realize she was presenting her hand. He took it, albeit belatedly, and kissed the royal signet ring.

“Your Majesty,” he said. For this was surely the queen.

A laugh trickled through the group, at that, and Neil realized he had made a mistake.

“This is my daughter Fastia, now of the house Tighern,” the king said.

“Hush your laughing, all of you,” Fastia said sternly. “This man is our guest. Besides, it's clear he knows royal quality when he sees it, at least.” Her smile was brief, more of a twitch, really.

At about that moment, another young woman came flying into Sir Fail's arms. He whirled her around and she shrieked delightedly.

“Elseny, what a sight you are!” the old man said, when he managed to step back from her.

Neil had to agree. She was younger than Fastia— seventeen, or thereabouts—and her hair was raven black, not brown. Where Fastia had a hardness to her beauty, this one had eyes as wide and guileless as a child.

“It's so perfect to see you today, Granuncle Fail! You came for my birthday!”

“That part was the work of the saints,” Fail said. “Surely they smile on you.”

“And who is this young fellow you've brought us?” Elseny asked. “Everyone has met him but me!”

“This is my charge, Neil MeqVren.”

Neil's face grew warmer and warmer at all of the attention.

Elseny was clad outlandishly in a colorful silk gown elaborately embroidered with flowers and twining vines, and she wore what looked for all the world like insect wings sprouting from the back. Her hair was taken up in complicated tiers, and each level had a different sort of flower arranged in it: hundreds of tiny violets on the first, red clover next, pale green saflilies, to a crown of white lotus.

Like Fastia, she offered her hand. “Granuncle,” she said, as Neil kissed her ring. “Really! Today I'm not Elseny, you should know! I am Meresven, the queen of the Phay.”

“Oh my! I should have known. Of course you are.”

“Have you come to be knighted?” Elseny asked Neil, quite suddenly.

“Ah—it is my greatest desire, Princess—I mean, Your Majesty.”

“Well. Come to my court, and I will certainly make you a knight of Elphin.” She fluttered her eyes and then, quite swiftly, seemed to forget him, turning back to Fail and taking his arm. “And now, Uncle,” she said. “You must tell me how my cousins in Liery fare! Do they ask after me? Have you heard I am engaged?”

“And here is my son, Charles,” the king said, once it was clear Neil's introduction to Elseny was done.

Neil had noticed Charles peripherally when they first rode up. He had seen such men before, grown adult in length and breadth but with the manner of a child. The eyes were the sign—roving, curious, oddly vacant.

At the moment, Charles was talking to a man clothed from neck to foot in garish robes that looked as if fifteen different garments had been torn, mixed, and patched back together. On his head sat an improbably broad-brimmed, floppy hat hung with silver bells that jangled as he walked along. It was so large, in fact, the fellow resembled a walking hat.

“Charles?” the king repeated.

Charles was a large man with curly red hair. Neil felt a little chill when the saint-touched stare found him.

“Hello,” Charles said. “Who are you?” He sounded like a child.

“I'm Neil MeqVren, my lord,” Neil said, bowing.

“I'm the prince,” the young man said.

“That is clear, my lord.”

“It's my sister's birthday, today.”

“I've heard that.”

“This is Hound Hat, my jester. He's Sefry.”

A face peered up at him from beneath the hat, a face whiter than ivory with eyes of pale copper. Neil stared, amazed. He had never seen a Sefry before. It was said they would not venture upon the sea.

“Good day to you,” Neil said, nodding to the Sefry, not knowing what else to say.

The Sefry put on a malicious little smile. He began to sing and caper a little, the huge hat wobbling.

“Good day to you, sir!
Or not-a-sir
For I can see
No rose on thee
Pray, in your land
Or far-off strand
Do you perhaps
Take knightly naps
In pens where pigs and horses craps?
Is that what marks the warrior there?
Tell us, traveler, ease our care!”

The jester's song brought howls of laughter from the crowd. The loudest was Charles, who slapped the Sefry on the back in his delight. That sent the jester flying. He tumbled crazily, grasping the corners of his huge hat and rolling into a ball. When he came near someone on foot, they kicked at him, and he tumbled off in another direction, hooting. Within instants, an impromptu game of football, led by the crown prince, had distracted everyone from Neil, but his ears still burned from their laughter. Even the king, Fastia, and Elseny had laughed at him, though thankfully Sir Fail had merely rolled his eyes.

Neil tightened his mouth, locking a reply to the jester inside of it. He didn't want to shame Sir Fail with the tongue that had brought him trouble more than once.

“Don't mind Hound Hat,” Fastia told him. “He mocks everyone he can. It's his vocation, you understand. Here, walk alongside me. I will continue your education on the court. 'Tis plain you need one.”

“Thank you, lady.”

“We're missing a sister—my youngest, Anne. She's sulking down that way—see, that's her with the strawberry hair? And, look, here comes my mother, the queen.”

Neil followed her gaze.

She no longer wore a cowl, but Neil knew her in an instant, by her eyes, and by her faint smile of recognition. And now he understood why Fastia and Elseny had seemed so familiar. They were their mother's daughters.

“So, you roused old Fail,” the queen said.

“Majesty. Yes, Majesty.” This time, he did knock his head against the grass.

“You've met already?” Fastia asked.

“I went to the chapel of Saint Lier,” the queen said. “This young man was there, praying like a poet. They teach prayer like that only on the islands. I knew he must be with Fail.”

“Your Majesty, please forgive any impertinence I might have—”

The king interrupted Neil. “You went without an escort? To the docks?”

“My guard was near, and Erren just outside, and I was hooded. Disguised, as it were.”

“It was foolish, Muriele, especially in these times.”

“I'm sorry if I worried you.”

“Worried? I did not know. That's what worries, after the fact. From now on you will not go about without escort. Please.” He seemed to realize that his voice had turned sharp, and calmed it. “We'll discuss it later,” he said. “I don't want to welcome Fail and his young guest with a family quarrel.”

“Speaking of quarrels,” Queen Muriele said, “I hope you will all excuse me a moment. I see someone with whom I need to speak. Young MeqVren, I apologize for my deception, but it was worth it to see your face, just now.” She looked over at her husband. “I'm going only so far as over there,” she said, “if you wanted to know.”

Neil was glad she had switched the object of her conversation so quickly, for he had nothing at all to reply. He felt guilty for something he could not name.

“It had to be Fastia,” Anne told Austra as the two girls walked their horses up the violet-spangled Sleeve. The air was thick with spring perfumes, but Anne was too agitated to enjoy them.

“Fastia is usually more direct,” Austra disagreed. “She would have questioned you about the rose, not taunted you with it.”

“Not if she already knew everything.”

“She doesn't know everything,” Austra said. “She can't.”

“Who did it, then? Lesbeth?”

“She has changed,”Austra pointed out. “Become more political. Maybe she's changed as much as Fastia has, but we just don't know it yet.”

Anne considered that for a moment, shifting her seat a bit. She despised riding sidesaddle—or slidesaddle, as it ought to be called. She always felt as if she was just about to slip off. If she and Austra were alone, she would switch in an instant to a more natural mode of riding, underskirts be damned.

But they weren't alone. Half the nobles in the kingdom were riding up the gently rising field.

“I can't believe that. Lesbeth wouldn't betray me any more than you would.”

“You suspect me?” Austra asked indignantly.

“Hush, you stupid girl. Of course not. That's what I just said.”

“Oh. Well, who, then? Who has a key to your rooms? Only Fastia.”

“Maybe she forgot to lock the door.”

“I doubt that,” Austra said. “I do, too. Still—”

“Your mother.”

“That's true. Mother certainly has a key. But—”

“No. Here comes your mother.”

Anne looked up and, with a sudden dismayed prickling, realized it was true. Muriele Dare née de Liery, Queen of Crotheny, was trotting her black Vitellian mare away from her retinue and toward Anne and Austra.

“Good morning, Austra,” Muriele said.

“Morning, Your Majesty.”

“I wonder if I might ride with my daughter for a few mo ments. Alone.”

“Of course, Your Majesty!” Austra immediately switched her reins and trotted off, leaving only an apologetic and worried glance. If Anne was in trouble, odds were good that Austra was, too.

“You girls seem agitated about something this morning,” Muriele observed. “And you aren't riding with the royal party.”

“I had a bad dream,” Anne told her. It was part of the truth, at least. “And no one told us we had to ride with the royal party.”

“That's a shame about the dream. I'll have Fastia bring you some fennage tea tonight. It's said to keep Black Mary away.”

Anne shrugged.

“I think there's more to it than bad dreams, however. Fastia believes there is a deeper cause in your agitation.”

“Fastia doesn't like me,” Anne replied.

“On the contrary. Your sister loves you, as well you know. She just doesn't approve of you all of the time, as well she shouldn't.”

“All sorts of people disapprove of me,” Anne muttered.

Her mother searched her with her jade-green gaze. “You are a princess, Anne. You have yet to take that seriously. In childhood, it is forgiven—for a time. But you've entered into your marriageable years, and it is well past time for you to give up childish behavior. Your father and I were both terribly embarrassed by the incident with the greft of Austgarth—”

“He was a disgusting old man. You can't expect me—”

“He is a gentleman, and more, his allegiance is of the utmost importance to us. You find the well-being of your fa-ther's kingdom disgusting? Do you know how many of your ancestors have perished for this country?”

“That's not fair.”

“Fair? We are not like normal people, Anne. Many of our choices are made for us by our birth.”

“Lesbeth is marrying for love!”

Muriele shook her head. “Ah, this is what I feared, and what Fastia feared, as well. Hers is a fortunate match, but Lesbeth knows no more of love than you do.”

“Oh, yes, Mother, as if you know the slightest thing about love!” Anne exploded. “All of Eslen knows Father spends more time with the lady Gramme than ever he did in your chambers.”

Her mother could move quickly, at times. Anne never saw the slap coming until her face was already stinging from it.

“You have no idea what you're talking about,” Muriele said, her voice low, flat, and as dangerous as Anne had ever heard it.

Tears welled in Anne's eyes and her throat swelled. I will not cry, she told herself.

“Now. Listen to me. There are three young men here today, all comely after a fashion. Are you listening? They are Wingaln Kathson of Avlham, William Fullham of the Winston Baronet, and Duncath MeqAvhan. Any of them would be a good match. None of them are disgusting old men. I expect you to entertain each, do you understand? They have come solely to meet you.”

Anne rode in sullen silence.

“Do you understand?” Muriele repeated.

“Yes. How will I know them?”

“You will be introduced, never fear. It is arranged.”

“Very well. I understand.”

“Anne, this is all for your own good.”

“How fortunate that someone should know what is good for me.”

“Don't be a brat. This is your sister's birthday. Put on a happy face—if not for me, then for her. And for my sake, let us have an end to our arguments, please?” Muriele smiled the cold little smile that Anne never trusted.

“Yes, Mother.”

But inside, despite the slap that still burned her face, Anne's heart felt lighter. Her mother didn't know about Roderick.

But someone knew, didn't they? Someone had found her rose.

For a moment, she wondered if it had to do with Roderick at all. He hadn't been in the dream.

“What's this?” a male voice piped in, from the side. “The two loveliest women in the kingdom, riding without escort?”

Anne and Muriele both turned to greet the newcomer.

“Hello, Robert,” Muriele said.

“Good morning, dear sister-in-law. How lovely you are! The dawn was slow today, fearing to compare with you.”

“How nice of you to say,” Muriele replied.

Ignoring her cool tone, Robert switched his attentions to Anne. “And you, my dear niece. What a stunning creature you've become. I fear this birthday party might become a slaughterground of young knights jousting over you, if we don't provide restraint.”

Anne almost blushed. Uncle Robert was a handsome man, fit, wide shouldered, slim waisted. He was dark, for a Dare, with black eyes and a small mustache and beard that perfectly fit his sardonic manner.

“Best worry about Elseny,” Anne replied. “She's far the more beautiful, and it is, after all, her birthday.”

Robert trotted his horse over and took Anne's hand. “Lady,” he said, “my brother has three beautiful daughters, and you are in no way the least of them. If some man has said this, tell me his name and I shall see the ravens pecking at his eyes before nightfall.”

“Robert,” Muriele said, a hint of irritation in her voice, “do not flatter my daughter so unmercifully. It's not good for her.”

“I speak only the truth, Muriele dear. If it sounds flattering, well, I hope I will be forgiven for it. But really, where is your bodyguard?”

“There,” Muriele said, waving her hand to where the king and his retinue made their way along. “I wanted to speak to my daughter alone, but they are there, and quite alert, I assure you.”

“I hope I haven't interrupted anything. You seemed serious.”

“Actually,” Anne replied—brightly, she hoped—“we were talking about Lesbeth's upcoming wedding. Isn't it exciting?” Too late, she saw the warning in her mother's eyes.

“What's that?” Robert's voice suddenly had a certain coldness to it.

“Lesbeth,” Anne said, a little less certainly. “She asked Father's permission last night.”

Robert smiled briefly, but his forehead was creased. “How odd that she didn't ask mine. Goodness! It seems the joke has been on me!”

“She was going to tell you today,” Muriele said.

“Well. Perhaps I'd best go find her and give her the opportunity. If you will excuse me, ladies.”

“Of course,” Muriele said.

“Remind Lesbeth that she promised to see me today!” Anne shouted, as her uncle rode off.

They continued silently for a moment or two.

“You should perhaps be more careful about what you let drop,” Muriele said. But somehow she didn't sound angry any longer.

“I—the whole castle knows by now. I thought she would have told her own brother.”

“Robert has always been very protective of Lesbeth. They are, after all, twins.”

“Yes. That's why I thought he would know.”

“It doesn't always work like that.”

“I see it doesn't. May I ride with Austra, now?”

“You should join the royal party. Your granuncle Fail is here—Oh, it looks like he's ridden off with your father. Very well, you may be standoffish if you wish. Tonight you must be sociable, however. And you must be agreeable at your sister's festival.” She pulled her reins and started off. She cast back over her shoulder. “And stay proper on your horse, you hear me? Today of all days.”

The Sleeve curved and rose gradually to the top of Tom Woth, a broad-topped hill that looked down on the reaches of the city east, and upon its twin, Tom Cast west. There was erected an open-sided pavilion of brilliant yellow silk, flying the banner of the bee and the thistle, the imaginary standard of Elphin.

An enormous floral maze surrounded the pavilion. Its walls consisted of close-planted sunflowers and pearly nodding-heads. Up and about those substantial stalks crept scarlet trumpet vines, morning glories, and blossoming sweet peas. Courtiers were already dismounting and making their way into the labyrinth, laughing and giggling. From someplace in the maze a delicate music played on hautboy, croth, great harp, and bells.

Austra clapped her hands. “It looks delightful, don't you think?”

Anne forced a smile, determined to enjoy herself. Things, after all, could be much worse, and the festival atmosphere was infectious.

“Very,” she said. “Mother's outdone herself, this time. Elseny must be positively bursting.”

“Are you well?” Austra asked, almost guiltily.

“Yes. I don't think Mother knows about Roderick, either. Maybe I tore up the flower, in my sleep.”

Austra's eyes grew round. “You have done such things! You used to walk about, perfectly unaware of anyone trying to speak to you. And you mumble and mutter most constantly.”

“That must be it, then. I think we are safe, my dear friend. And now I need only entertain three young fellows, and everyone will think well of me.”

“Except Roderick.”

“I shall make that up to him later in the day. You'll make the arrangements?”

“Of course I will.”

“Well, then. Dare we enter Elphin?”

“I think we so dare!”

They dismounted and approached an archway that had been erected at the entrance of the maze. On either side stood two men wearing chain mail made of daisies. Anne recognized them as players from the household troop.

“Fair ladies,” one said, in high manner. “What seek you, here?”

“Why, an audience with the queen of Elphin, I suppose,” Anne said.

“Milady, betwixt you and that glorious queen lie the twisty courts of the phay, full of beauty and deadly danger. In all candor, I cannot admit you without you be accompanied by a true knight. I implore you, choose one.”

Anne followed his pointing finger, to where a number of boys stood dressed as knights. They wore outlandish armor of paper, fabric, and flowers. Their helms formed into masks, so it was difficult to tell who they were.

Anne strode over to them, and they formed a line. It took only a few moments for her to be sure that Roderick wasn't among them.

“Which one?” she said aloud, tapping her chin. “What do you think, Austra?”

“They all look quite brave, to me.”

“Not brave enough. I have another in mind. You, sir knight of the green lilies, lend me your sword.”

Obediently, the young man handed her his weapon, which was, in fact, a willow wand painted in gilt and furnished with a guard of lacquered magnolia petals.

“Very good. And now your helm.”

He hesitated there, but she was, after all, a princess. He removed the masked helm to reveal a young, somewhat homely face she didn't recognize. Anne leaned up and kissed his cheek. “I thank you, sir Elphin knight.”

“Milady—”

“May I have your name?”

“Uh—William Fullham, milady.”

“Sir Fullham, you will save a dance for me, when we reach the queen's court?”

“Of course, milady!”

“Wonderful.” And with that, she donned his helm and marched back to the guards.

“I hayt Sir Anne,” she proclaimed, “of the Bitter Bee clan, and I will escort the lady Austra to the queen.”

“Very well, Sir Anne. But beware. The Briar King is said to be about.”

When he said it, something went wrong in Anne's belly, as if she had stepped off of something higher than she thought it was, and the image of her dream flashed behind her eyes— the field of black roses, the thorny forest, the hand reaching for her.

She staggered for a moment.

“What's wrong?” Austra asked.

“Nothing,” Anne replied. “It's just the sun.”

With that, she entered the maze.