Law of the Broken Earth (18 page)

“Events want to—?” Mienthe began.

“And what precisely does that mean?” Tan demanded at the same time, much more sharply.

Iriene said to Mienthe, “You don’t see it?”

Mienthe looked closely at Tan, who found himself flushing under her regard. But then she only opened her
hands in bafflement and said to Iriene, “No, esteemed healer, I don’t think I see anything.”

“Huh,” said Iriene. “And that griffin who came to see your lord cousin. You were there when he was? You met him? That’s right, is it?”

Mienthe nodded.

“And did you hate him, then?”

“
Hate
him,” Mienthe repeated, clearly still baffled. “No, I don’t think so. I thought he was frightening—and beautiful—and dangerous. But I didn’t see any reason to hate him. I mean, he’s my cousin’s friend. Or something like a friend, I think,” she added, with a finicky air of conscientious precision that made Tan want to laugh, though at the same time he appreciated it; so few people could manage to say anything at all with precision.

“Then I don’t think you’re rising into mage power,” said Iriene. “I couldn’t say what else might be coming along for you.”

Mienthe gazed at her. “Do our mages detest, um, theirs?”

“Oh, yes. Passionately,” Iriene assured her. “Overpoweringly. Not that I’ve ever seen a griffin mage, you know, but that’s what I understand. Meriemne—that elderly mage in Tihannad, do you know her?—she wrote up a warning and sent it around after all that bother six years ago. She said the loathing earth mages feel for fire ruins their judgment when they encounter a griffin mage.” The healer lifted a sardonic eyebrow as she added this last. “As though anything’s likely to ruin
Meriemne’s
judgment. Hah! I don’t think so. Anyway, I don’t suppose it’s ever likely to matter, down here in these marshes, but I don’t think you can be rising into mage power.”

Mienthe nodded solemnly. Tan couldn’t tell whether she was relieved or disappointed by this verdict. He said, “Esteemed Iriene, before you go, may I ask also about the odd book Mienthe—Lady Mienthe—brought back from Linularinum?”

“Oh, yes,” Mienthe said, clearly much happier now that they weren’t talking about her. “It had blank pages. All the pages were blank. Have you seen it? I think it’s in my cousin’s study—I could get it—”

Iriene held up a hand, shaking her head. “Books and such are matters for a legist, not a mage,” she said firmly. “Healing’s my business. Let me look at that knee of yours, esteemed Tan, and we’ll see if you might be able to hobble down to a proper breakfast tomorrow morning, if not supper tonight. Though I warn you, you are not to attempt to walk without a cane, much less run, regardless of any unfortunate
necessities
that may arise.”

“Queen Niethe’s sending a formal protest across the river,” put in Mienthe, before Tan could produce his own sharp response.

“Is she?” Tan was amused. “Yes, I imagine if the old Fox realizes that Her Majesty’s taken official notice of Istierinan’s indiscretions, he might very well haul Istierinan around on a close rein. And if he
hasn’t
known, what a treat for him when he finds out.”

Mienthe’s mouth crooked. “I’m sure. So rest easy, if you please, and try not to press the esteemed Iriene’s goodwill too hard, do you hear?”

Tan bowed his head, trying to present the very image of perfect docility.

Mienthe laughed and rose to her feet. “I’ll leave you, then, but I hope I’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow—if not
supper tonight.” She made a face. “Supper will be with the queen and all her ladies.”

She did not actually say
And I’m going to hate every minute of it
, but Tan heard that in her tone, and no wonder. A girl with so little artifice, thrown in among all those court ladies? Even ladies of Feierabiand’s court would not be short of artifice. Mienthe would be like a sparrow caged among canaries in that company. Though he was a little surprised he cared how the girl fared among the queen’s ladies, Tan found himself wishing he could attend the supper himself. He could support Mienthe—he could be so subtle neither she nor anyone else would realize what he was doing, and yet make certain she did herself proper credit.

But he knew without asking that the healer wouldn’t change her mind or her prescription for rest. Tan didn’t protest Iriene’s swift, ruthless examination—he wouldn’t have dared, and anyway he, too, hoped to see Mienthe at breakfast. No doubt a passing urge for the young woman’s company was quite well explained by boredom. And she was, after all, reasonably pretty.

Mienthe was sorry to leave Tan—he was so interesting, and he seemed clever, and she knew he must be terribly bored left on his own with nothing but orders to rest. But if she was the Lady of the Delta, it was her task to make sure her cousin’s household was fit to entertain the queen without shaming the hospitality of the Delta, and she’d neglected that duty terribly.

Very soon thereafter she found she had developed a raging headache.

First Eris, the cook, had sent a kitchen girl running to
say that the mutton had gone a bit off, and the morning’s catch out of the sea had been disappointing, and could they possibly serve Her Majesty fish out of the marshes? And if not, whatever should they do? Did Mienthe know of any dishes Her Majesty particularly favored? Or disfavored? That they could actually prepare, nothing made of air and rose petals such as they made at court, no, and would plain cream pastries suit Her Majesty at all, could Mienthe guess?

As a deluge is foreshadowed by a single drop of rain, this first problem was followed by others from every corner of the house. The master of the stables sent a boy to inform Mienthe that the queen’s favorite mare wouldn’t be fit to ride for a few days as the animal had been kicked by another horse when the beasts had been turned out into the house-pasture, and could Mienthe possibly tell the queen herself so the staff wouldn’t have to risk displeasing her? And then the upstairs maids sent a girl to tell Mienthe that in all the flurry of the previous night no one had remembered to cut flowers for the vases, and would the queen insist on flowers on her supper table tonight or might they possibly wait to cut some for tomorrow? And then the laundry maids reported that a cat had had her kittens right in the midst of the finest bed linens and now there weren’t enough for all the queen’s ladies, as Her Majesty had brought twice as many as they had expected, and what could they possibly
do
when there wasn’t time to wash the linens before bedtime and all the shops in town were closed at this hour?

If Tef had still had charge of the great house’s cats, that last problem would never have arisen. It was thinking of Tef that gave Mienthe the headache, she was fairly
certain. She longed to go sit on his gravestone and plait grass stems and flowers into a bracelet as he’d shown her, and forget all about the queen and her ladies.

Instead, she told the kitchens that fish of whatever origin would be delicious, and she suggested they round the menu out with duck and agreed that the queen would assuredly love cream pastries.

Then she sent the boy back to the stablemaster with the suggestion that the queen, if she wished to ride out in the next few days, might like to try the paces of that pretty gray mare her cousin had just purchased—the animal had nice manners, didn’t she? The stablemaster might make sure the mare was kept clean and perhaps the boys might braid ribbons into her mane. Or early flowers. The queen liked flowers and would undoubtedly find the gesture charming. Although Mienthe was quite certain, she assured the upstairs maids, that no one would mind doing without flowers on the dining table just this one evening.

Then she patiently sent two of the younger maids, along with one of the guardsmen, to rouse out the proper shopkeepers and buy new bed linens, instructing them to pay extra for the favor even if the shopkeepers didn’t request it.

After that, Mienthe had the headache.

She would have liked to beg off from supper, but of course she could not do anything of the kind. She wished Tan could have come down for it, or if he couldn’t, she wished she might simply have a tray in her room. The little princesses, not even needing broken legs to excuse them, were not present, their nurses having taken them away to have their suppers privately.

That left Mienthe and the queen, and the dozen or so ladies Her Majesty had brought along on this progress—indeed, twice as many as she ever had before. No wonder the maids were fretting about the linens. Nearly all of the ladies were older than Mienthe, and all of them wore more elaborate and stylish gowns, and more ostentatious and expensive jewels. And they all chatted with one another in an oblique way that, Mienthe thought, might fit right in at the Linularinan court, because she didn’t understand more than a phrase here or there.

Mienthe smiled and nodded when anyone spoke to her, and fervently wished Tan were at the table. He would probably be able effortlessly to translate all those little barbed comments, even though he was more closely acquainted with the Linularinan court than the one in Feierabiand.

The fish was good, though, and the duck superb.

“How quiet you are this evening, Mienthe!” the queen said at last, gazing down the table. She spoke with warm good humor; if she even noticed the edged tone of her ladies’ chatter, it wasn’t apparent. She said, plainly intending to avoid any difficult topic, “Tell us all the gossip of Tiefenauer and of the Delta, do. Such a large and complicated family you have here! There must be all sorts of interesting frivolities and nonsense we might hear of, to lighten the hour.”

Mienthe’s smile slipped.

However, even the most interminable evening must end at last, and to Mienthe’s great relief the queen professed herself weary before the sweet wine was poured. That allowed Mienthe to declare her own exhaustion and
retire, if not altogether in good order, at least not in an obvious rout.

Breakfast would be better. Not only would Tan be there—probably—but also the queen would rise early and breakfast while most of her ladies-in-waiting yet drowsed. Even if Iriene didn’t permit Tan to come, Mienthe could ask the queen about her daughters. Niethe could chatter on endlessly about her daughters, so that would work well, and Mienthe would not be required to do anything more demanding than nod occasionally.

Also, perhaps by then this truly ferocious headache would have cleared away.

Mienthe was very tired. She missed Bertaud suddenly and fiercely; she wanted to be able to run up to his suite right now and find him there. Oddly, she also wanted to visit Tan once more. That was odd and a little embarrassing—what if he thought she was flinging herself at him?—but it was true. She wanted to go up and see that he was still safe and well. She found she had turned, without consciously deciding she would, toward his room.

The headache pounded. Mienthe lifted a hand to press against her eyes and walked blindly down the hall and around a corner, down a short flight of steps and around another corner, and at last out a side door into the garden, where a shortcut might take her to the house’s east wing by a shorter path. But then she lingered. The breeze tonight had much less of a chill to it; though it was not exactly warm, one could feel the promise of the coming summer in the air. She could hear, out in the darkness where the lamps did not cast their glow, the urgent piping of the little green frogs. Somewhere a night heron
made its harsh croak and after a moment its distant mate answered. The headache eased at last, and Mienthe sighed and straightened her shoulders. She was very tired. But she still wanted to see Tan—at least to glance in on him and see that the maids hadn’t forgotten him in the midst of this royal visit.

The headache returned between one step and the next, pressing ferociously down upon Mienthe as though it came from something outside her, something in the air or in the very darkness. Half blinded by it, Mienthe sat down right where she was, on the raked gravel of the path, and bent over, pressing both hands hard against her temples. She had never had such a headache in her life.

Mienthe reached out with one hand and, with her fingers, scraped a spiral in the gravel of the path. Something in the air or the darkness twisted about, echoing the shape she’d drawn; she felt its movement as it followed the spiral pattern. Her headache eased suddenly, then pounded with renewed intensity. She found herself on her feet, walking in a spiral, from the inside out. Something walked with her and behind her like a shadow. That was how it felt. It was her headache, or she thought it was. It wasn’t part of her at all, but followed her as closely as her own shadow. Her actual shadow flickered out madly in all directions because of the house lanterns and the moon high above, but the thing that followed her stayed right at her heels. She drew a spiral in the gravel and the earth and the air, a spiral that opened out and out and out. The thing that followed her followed the spiral, followed it farther than she had drawn it or could draw it, ran in a spiral out into the night and dissipated like mist.

In the house, someone shouted. Then someone else.
Someone was speaking. His voice echoed all through the house and the grounds, but Mienthe could not understand the words. No, not speaking, exactly, there was no actual voice. But someone was doing something
like
speaking, and the whole house seemed to bend around to listen to that person. Only that person’s voice, or whatever, twisted around in a spiral that opened up and out, its power dissipating. The house seemed to shudder and settle firmly back upon its foundations.

There was more shouting. Someone ran out of the house, past Mienthe, too far away for her to see anything about him; his shadow trailed at his heel, strangely constant in its direction despite the multitude of lanterns. He vanished into the lamplit city below the hill, his shadow tucked up close behind him. Someone else followed the first man. Several more people, pelting through the garden in different directions. Mienthe stepped back out of the way, pressing close to the wall of the house. It stood solidly at her back, a warm, strangely solid presence—why
strangely
solid? How should a house be but solid? Mienthe rubbed her hands across her face, trying to think. Her mind felt sluggish as mud. Within the house was an uproar that reminded her of the wild tumult that had swept through the house one autumn when a hurricane had come off the sea and lifted the roof off half a wing.