Shadowheart (116 page)

“Do not murder me!”

“She must have a trial, no matter what, Highness,” said Nynor. “Her father has been a close ally for years.”

“A close ally who harbored agents of the autarch. Who allowed those same agents to send a witch here to murder my brother!” She wanted nothing more at that moment than to have done with Anissa once and for all, but she could not bring herself to do it. “Yes, you will have a trial, lady. Then you will be locked away so long that your name will be forgotten. You will die unremembered.”

The child was crying now, too, moved by his mother’s loud distress. As Vansen detailed new men to relieve those who had been guarding the Tower of Summer until he better understood their loyalties, Briony held the small body close to her breast.

As she reached the door and stepped out into the cold night air, Briony stumbled. The weight of what she had undertaken suddenly seemed too much—she felt she would never have the strength even to reach her chambers. But Ferras Vansen reached out and caught her arm to steady her, then they walked back to the residence side by side.

—from “A Child’s Book of the Orphan, and His Life and Death and Reward in Heaven”

 

 

 

I
N HONOR OF THE ROYAL VISIT, Gem Street was ablaze with lanterns, so Funderling Town’s famous ceiling and the faces of its public buildings could be seen in all their intricate, ornamented glory.

“It is quite astonishing,” Briony said, staring up as Vansen led her horse along the narrow main road. “All this beauty. I knew it was here, but I scarcely noticed—my father brought me here several times, you know.”

“Try to look down as well, Highness,” said Nynor. “Your subjects desire your attention, too.”

“Don’t scold me, Count Steffens. I know they’re waiting. That’s why I’m here.” But she made certain to wave and smile as they passed the junction of Gem and Ore where the crowds were gathered close together and had been waiting for some time. “There, I see the guildhall,” Briony said. “Most impressive, isn’t it, Captain Vansen?”

He grunted, being too engaged at the moment in trying to clear a path for Briony to approach the building’s wide front steps. The castle was at peace in the largest sense, but a few of Hendon Tolly’s most desperate supporters still lurked in the unfrequented outer reaches of Funderling Town, and there were rumors that some Xixian soldiers and even a giant
askorab
or two might be hiding in the outer tunnels as well. After a time so strange it was hard to guess when anything would be completely ordinary again.

Several Funderlings called out Vansen’s name, which surprised him. When he turned, he recognized men who had fought with him in the Maze and saluted them in return, but he felt awkward doing it. He was moved that they should consider him one of their own, but he didn’t like being at the center of things and he never would.

And what will I let myself in for as lord constable, then? I will never be able to look the true nobles in the face . . .
But, he reminded himself, many of the “true” nobles had managed to avoid fighting for Southmarch entirely. Many of those same nobles had also made it clear they would never come down into Funderling Town, even to hear what the princess regent had to say today.
Which shows that birth alone does not make or mar any man completely
, he thought, catching an upward drift of his heart and clutching it firmly for once.
Look at me! The princess says she loves me—do I have cause to complain of anything?

It did not harm his mood that almost as many Funderlings seemed to be cheering for him as for Briony, though he carefully gave no sign of it. He helped her down from her horse in front of the guildhall and formed up her royal guards to accompany her inside.

“You are a well-liked man in these neighborhoods, Captain,” said Briony, smiling.

“Any man who did not cut and run from trouble would be treated the same way.” But he couldn’t help being pleased she had noticed.

“Your Royal Highness,” called out Malachite Copper, dressed in high finery, arms and neck glinting with gems and polished metal, “please forgive me for bearing bad tidings, but I must report that your captain is a terrible liar. There is no man more honored in our city, ordinary or Big.”

“I know that, Master Copper,” said Briony. “And it is a pleasure to see you again in less trying circumstances than on the day the ocean rushed in.”

“The sentiment is mutual, Highness.” He bowed and extended his arm. “Come, let me take you into the guildhall. You may leave your gloomy escort to join you when he is ready.”

“She may certainly walk with you, Master Copper, but I will be right behind you,” Vansen said firmly. “Her Highness goes nowhere without the captain of her guards along to keep her safe. She owes it to her subjects. Am I not right, Princess Briony?”

She smiled as she took Copper’s arm. “Of course, Captain Vansen. You know best.”

 

It was a baffling gathering, he thought—like something from the depths of the months just passed, when so many different kinds of folk had been thrown together by the desperation of their situation. A good number of the Southmarch royal court was there, and, of course, the Funderlings were present in force—it was their guildhall, after all—with the four Highwardens in their usual positions of power. That was not the end of those who crowded the council chamber, either. The Skimmers were present in large numbers as well, most of the men wearing ceremonial hats and mantles of fish skin—thoroughly dried and almost odorless, Vansen was glad to note, since the chamber was not large. The Rooftoppers had also made an appearance, their entire delegation seated on top of a Funderling ore wagon specially prepared for them. Even the Qar were represented, although only by the eremite Aesi’uah and a few silent, robed figures; like the rest of her kin, Aesi’uah looked as though she could wait politely until the sun itself was consumed if necessary. Barrick had not come.

One of the Highwardens, a Funderling named Sard who looked to Vansen’s eyes to be older than the ancient building itself, opened the proceedings with words of greeting and extravagant promises of Funderling fealty which somehow had a less than sincere ring to them. Vansen wondered if he was the only one who noticed.

“And now, in a gesture which we must take as a show of great respect,” the wizened elder finished, “she has come to our humble habitation to speak to us. Give heed to your monarch, the daughter of Olin Eddon and Princess Regent—yes, yes, soon to be crowned as queen, I’m told—Princess Briony. All bow.”

Briony stood up in the general murmur and rustle of the Funderlings showing their respect. Of all those present only the Qar did not bow or salute. Many of Briony’s courtiers saw that and did not like it, Vansen could not help noticing.
It is those who did not fight who have the least patience with our strange allies,
he thought.

“I accept this honor in the name of the throne, and of my father,” Briony said loudly. “But I do not deserve it for myself. I hope one day it will be otherwise.”

Some of the Funderlings murmured, confused.

“We have survived a terrible danger,” she went on. “I believe that we were delivered from our doom by Heaven itself—but for a reason. Everything that we treasure was within a breath of annihilation—our kingdom, our city, our lives, perhaps even our souls. I cannot believe that such things happen without reason. And whether it was the gods my people worship, or the Earth Elders of the Funderlings ...” A stir passed through the crowd as she listed the sacred names, “Egye-Var, Protector of the Skimmer-folk, or the Lord of the Peak,” she nodded toward the Rooftoppers’ wagon, “the matter stands thus—we were saved when it seemed certain all would die.

“We are here in part to thank those who fought for Southmarch, from the smallest to the tallest—I will speak of some of those contributions later—but perhaps even more importantly, we are here because I am determined that we should learn from what has happened.

“We may never know exactly what mysterious hand shaped the destiny of the people of this castle, the Qar, and the Xixians, and brought us all together in this place. What we can know is that only with the help of every single one of us were we spared a terrible doom. I cannot rule this kingdom in good faith without understanding Heaven’s clear message to us.

“Funderlings!” Her voice suddenly rose. “My family, which once called you brothers, has in more recent years treated you poorly. We enjoyed the fruits of your work but gave you little say in your own governance. So, too, with the Skimmers. And you Rooftoppers—well, we cannot entirely be blamed for that, because you hid so well under our very noses that all but a few of us had forgotten you even existed.” A shrill chorus of laughter arose from the delegation in the wagon bed, a little like the chirping of crickets.

Briony next turned toward Aesi’uah and the other hooded eremites. “And even the Qar deserved better of us.” This caused a resentful murmur among the ordinary citizens. “It seems likely that we deserved better of them as well,” Briony added, but without hurry or concern. “No one can answer that riddle yet. The hurts we have done to each other will not be unraveled in an afternoon.

“But now the time has come for us to rebuild Southmarch, from these beautiful streets and houses of Funderling Town, cracked by cannon’s fire, to the deserted wilderness that the mainland city has become. We will need everyone’s help. And thus, as we make right what has been harmed by war and treachery, we will need to work as one people. No longer will there be a royal council that has no Funderling members, or decisions about Southmarch that do not take into account all its residents. Do not mistake me!” And here Briony’s voice rose a little as the crowd began to murmur. “Decisions will have to be made and not all will be popular. That is why the one who sits on the throne, whether it is I or perhaps one of my brothers someday, must have the weight of law behind them, just as before. But never again will that law be exercised without all Marchfolk being heard.”

The voices of the crowd, which had grown louder during this strange and unexpected speech, became so loud that for a moment Vansen thought he might have to pull Briony from the dais for her own safety—some of the Funderlings were actually shouting. After a moment though, he came to realize that most of the noise was being made by a group of younger Funderlings cheering for the princess regent. The older Funderlings, as well as many of the courtiers and Skimmers, mostly looked dumbfounded.

“I come here today,” she went on, “to proclaim a new synedrion which will advise the ruler of the March Kingdoms. This Council of Southmarch will be made of all the peoples of Southmarch, big folk and small, drylanders and Skimmers. Together we will keep safe this ancient seat that is home to all of us—dear to all of us . . .”

 

The long afternoon was finally ending. As Vansen waited, his beloved listened to Steffens Nynor, who was trying to speak to her confidentially in a guildhall full of Funderlings and others.

“But, Highness,” he said in an agitated whisper, “there is no precedent for this!”

“Royalty makes its own precedents,” laughed Dawet dan-Faar. “Briony begins her rule like a true queen. It is to be commended.”

Nynor scowled. “There is no precedent for you, either, Master Dan-Faar. It seems to me that the last time we saw you, you were ransoming our king.”

“It’s true,” Dawet said. “I am a busy man.”

Vansen stepped between the two of them, not that he thought Nynor would do anything dangerous, but he did not like to see the old man teased, either, and Dawet was a bit like a cat. “Please, Highness,” he said to the princess, “you should be getting back to the residence.”

She gave him a look. “Why is it everyone seems to think I must be looked after like a child?”

“Because like doting parents, we none of us have anything else so precious and dare not risk it.” Dawet was pleased with himself. Vansen found himself wondering when this smooth, dangerous fellow would move on to cause trouble in some other kingdom. For him, it could not be soon enough.

Vansen was startled to find Aesi’uah standing beside him. She had appeared as if from nowhere, and her coven stood with her, faces hidden in their hoods; everyone else on the guildhall platform seemed happy to give them a wide berth. “Princess Briony,” the eremite said, “I beg your pardon for interrupting. I bring a message from your brother.”

“Really?” Briony’s voice was cool. “Surely it is not so far to your camp that he couldn’t come himself.”

“Do you wish to hear the message?”

The princess flicked her hand. “I suppose.”

“He wishes you to know that we are leaving tomorrow. The survivors of the People will go back to Qul-na-Qar. But he said he would like to speak to you one last time, if you will come to bid him farewell.”

“Where?” Briony looked angry, but there was something else in her face that Vansen could not quite understand.

“Where the two of you said good-bye the last time he left.” She brought her hands together on her breast. “The Coast Road at sunset. If you cannot come so far he will understand ...”

“I will be there.” Briony turned from her as though the Qar woman had ceased to exist. “Come, Captain Vansen, round up your men. Nynor, you may tell the castle folk that we are going back now.” She smiled, but it was the merest tightening of her lips. “We have given them all something to talk about today, haven’t we?”

Nynor shook his head and sighed. “Oh, Highness, you certainly have. You are your father’s daughter, true enough.”