Queen of Song and Souls (31 page)

"Your Majesty, it's Jiarine. Lady Montevero."

Silence. Then she heard the sound of the lock twisting inside. The door swung inward a bare crack. "Only you, Jiarine. No one else."

"Of course, Your Majesty," Jiarine shooed the other courtiers away, then slipped inside. When the door closed behind her and she turned, Jiarine was shocked by the appearance of Celieria's beautiful and rightfully vain queen.

Annoura’s face was blotched and swollen from tears, her blue eyes so badly bloodshot her irises stood out in stark relief. With her silvery blond hair hung in a wild tangle around her race, she was the living picture of despair and inconsolable grief.

"Oh, Your Majesty," Jiarine breathed. Never would she have believed that there was anything or anyone in the world Annoura cared for this much.

Once again, an unexpected flash of sympathy for Celieria's queen welled up inside Jiarine. Poor Annoura. She would never know how hard the Mages of Eld had worked to bring her so low. Nor would she ever know how great a role Jiarine had played in bringing this state of affairs about.

Annoura turned away and lifted shaking hands to cover her face. The queen's shoulders quaked and the sound of a shuddering inhalation told Jiarine a fresh torrent of tears was struggling to break free.

"What should I do?” Annoura wailed softly. "The king's departure is in less than a bell, but I can't let anyone see me like this." In a softer voice, she added, "Least of all him,"

Oh, yes, there'd been a break between the royal couple. Exactly the devastating chasm Master Manza had worked so hard to orchestrate. And after her years at court, Jiarine knew Queen Annoura well enough to suspect that nothing would ever be the same between the king and queen again.

Jiarine's thoughts churned rapidly. The queen was expected to see her husband and Celieria's armies off to war. Dorian would not want his people to perceive a divided front. But there wasn't enough time, short of healing magic, to repair the queen's swollen face, painfully red eyes, and tear-splotched complexion before she was due to step out into the public eye.

Jiarine snapped her fingers. "Veils."

Annoura lifted her head from her hands. "Veils?"

"Yes." Feeling more confident, Jiarine nodded. "Veils. Your Majesty, it's the perfect solution."

She turned and hurried to the door that led into the queen's extensive personal wardrobe chamber. Struck by the perfect, almost ironic symbolism of her idea, Jiarine went straight to a scarlet gown that Annoura had had made last year but never yet had the occasion to wear. She also fetched a neatly folded stack of sheer scarlet veils.

She brought them back into the main room and brandished them in triumph, "What better solution than to see them off just as the
shei'dalins
of the Fey see off their men to war?"

Annoura recoiled at the sight of all the scarlet cloth filling Jiarine's hands. "You think I want to look like one of... them?”

There was no time to argue. "Not red, then, white if you prefer. Blue. The color doesn't matter, Your Majesty, only the fact that you can appear in public without anyone seeing your face and knowing how badly you've been hurt."

"I..." The queen hesitated, and Jiarine could see Annoura's pride returning. Her shoulders squared and her spine straightened. She gave her reddened eyes a final swipe and reached for the clothes in Jiarine's hands. "You're right. It's the perfect solution. Come help me put this on. And hurry. We've only half a bell."

Dorian looked shocked when he saw her.

It was the scarlet, Annoura decided. Jiarine had chosen well. Red was the color of the
shei'dalins,
but it was also the color of blood. Like the blood that would soon flow across Celieria's northern borders. Like the blood that gushed from a mortally wounded heart.

His eyes darkened, and his brows drew together in a troubled frown, "Annoura..." He reached for her hands.

She drew them back out of his reach and clasped them at her waist, "Our people are waiting, Sire."

His expression went blank. Not quite as stony as the Fey could manage, but close enough. "Then let us go to them, madam." He turned and held out his arm.

When she laid her hand over his, she was glad for the scarlet satin of the gloves she wore. Dorian was Fey enough to sense her thoughts and sometimes her emotions when she touched him skin-to-skin. In the past, that connection had been a special bond, something that had drawn them closer, until at times they could think and act as one. But now, such insight into her broken heart would only be an unwanted intrusion and a humiliation.

They walked stiffly towards the open doors leading to the grand stair at the front of the palace. And each step that rang out against the polished marble palace floors tolled like a death knell, echoing forlornly in the vast, cold silence of the empty palace.

Outside, the sun shone too bright for a day of such sorrow. The palace courtyard was packed with armored soldiers and cavalry horses. Brilliant blue, white, and gold banners waved in the breeze. Beyond the palace gates, the populace of Celieria City had gathered. The people gave a great roaring cheer when Dorian and Annoura stepped forth.

Dorian did not pause for speeches. He'd already given enough of those to the Council of Lords and to the populace these last days, explaining why it was necessary for the sons, husbands, and fathers of Celieria to march to war—and why even more would be accompanying Prince Dorian when he left for the coast the following week. Now, he and Annoura simply walked down the stone palace steps to their waiting mounts. The lords and ladies of the court followed and mounted their own gaily caparisoned steeds and took up silken banners. The pipers and drummers in the infantry ranks began to play, and with great celebration and pomp, Dorian, Annoura, and the court led the army north through the city to King's Gate and the start of the North Road.

All along the roadside, from the palace to King's Gate, the inhabitants of Celieria had come to watch their soldiers depart. They waved and cheered and threw small bouquets of flowers in the cobbled street before the procession. From second- and third-story windows lining the thoroughfare, flower petals and scented ribbons showered down.

War was such a great, lovely spectacle.

At least, Annoura thought bitterly, until its dreadful ravages arrived upon one's own doorstep.

«
Annoura.»

Behind her veils, Annoura closed her eyes as Dorian's voice brushed against her mind. He could weave Spirit well enough to speak without words. Before now, every time he'd spun words directly into her mind, it had always seemed like a caress, an intimate secret between them, private and treasured.

Now the trust between them had been broken.

Stop it, Dorian. Get out of my mind.
She couldn't weave Spirit, but she knew he would hear her. He was there at the periphery of her mind, listening for her answer.

«
I ride for war, wife. There is a possibility I will not return. I
don't want
harsh words to be the last between
us
.»

Then perhaps you should not have spoken them. Nor dismissed me from your presence like a lackey. I will never forgive you for
that.
Anger bubbled up, acid and burning.

«
Annoura
. »

We are here at the gates.
The party had arrived at the great, majestic arch on the northern side of the city. She pulled on the reins and brought her mount to a halt.
Lead your men. Go to your war. Be with your friends, the Fey. They are the only ones
you truly love.

He leaned across, caught her horse's reins, and brought her up short. "Enough." With a kick of his heels, he brought his horse alongside hers. "I would bid you farewell, wife."

He lifted her veils before she could stop him, and his face froze at the sight of hers. She caught his wrists in a fierce grip. "Haven't you humiliated me enough?" she hissed. "Leave me some shred of dignity." The veils slid from his unresisting fingers and fell back into place.

"Annoura ..."

Her jaw clenched and she had to force the next declaration out through a tight throat. "You. ..
hurt
me." Her voice cracked, and she had to pause to regain her composure. "You promised me you never would, but you did." She drew a deep breath and pulled icy calm around her like armor, "it will never happen again." The invisible distance between them widened to a chasm.

The softness faded from Dorian's eyes and face. "Very well, madam. Since you are determined to put your pride between us, I take my leave of you. We will speak again when I return from this war. Until then, may the gods keep you and our children safe." With a stiff nod, he clucked to his mount, tugged the reins, and rode away. The army followed him, pipers and drummers still playing their joyous march to war.

Annoura stared blindly forward as the army of Celieria passed by. Her sheer scarlet veils fluttered around her face, casting the world in a wash of blood and catching on the damp tracks of her tears.

chapter thirteen

Celieria City ~ The Royal Palace

"Your Majesty, I've taken the liberty of preparing a little surprise for you." Jiarine Montevero gave Queen Annoura her most charming smile. The court had just returned from seeing the king's army off, and most of the courtiers were partaking of a sumptuous banquet on the terrace.

"I'm very tired, Jiarine," the queen replied, "and I'm not fond of surprises."

"Indulge me, Your Majesty. I promise you will like this one. I thought you might desire some peace and quiet away from the court."

The queen was still heavily veiled, so Jiarine could not see her expression, but her years of dancing attendance on Annoura had not gone to waste. The queen hesitated. "What did you have in mind?"

There was just enough curiosity in Annoura's voice. "I've prepared a private meal for you in the south garden. Your Majesty." The south garden was a walled retreat, well away from the noisier lawns and gardens frequented by the rest of the court. Its use was reserved exclusively for the royal family.

Annoura's veiled figure went stiff. "His Majesty granted you permission to use the south garden?"

"No, ma'am," she answered smoothly. "I didn't ask His Majesty. I asked His Highness, the prince. He thought it was a wonderful idea." When Annoura hesitated a moment more, she added, "I've arranged for your favorite food and music. I could keep you company, if you like, or you could be all alone, uninterrupted, away from the prying eyes of the court."

The queen capitulated. "Oh, very well. I suppose I could use a few bells of peace and solitude."

Gaspare Fellows had lost sight of Lord Bolor.

The nobleman had been here, on the terrace, partaking of the luncheon banquet following the departure of the king's army. Gaspare had turned to answer a question from one of the courtiers, and when he looked back. Lord Bolor was gone.

He hurried to the edge of the terrace and scanned the castle grounds. Though he couldn't see Lord Bolor, a flash of scarlet veils caught his eye. In the distance, he could see Jiarine Montevero leading what looked like a
shei'dalin
away from the palace.

Gaspare's heart began to race. The queen had worn scarlet and veils this morning. He lurched forward and Love gave a tiny screech of alarm at the sudden movement.

This morning's pursuit of Lord Bolor had resulted in more questions than answers. After leaving Old Castle Prison, Lord Bolor had traveled to a pub located near the main barracks of the king's army. There, he'd met a young man wearing the uniform of a lieutenant

Gaspare hadn't been able to get close enough to hear what they were saying, but had managed to get a good look at the soldier on his way out: a young brown-haired man with a distinctive, brownish red birthmark on his left cheek—Shadow's brand, superstitious folk would have called it. It was a wonder the man had made it to a lieutenancy with a mark like that on his face.

The soldier had returned to the barracks, and Gaspare had continued to follow Lord Bolor, but the nobleman had returned straightaway to his rooms in the palace, presumably to prepare for the king's departure. The rest of the morning had passed without incident. Lord Bolor had gathered with the rest of the court to cheer the king and his army, and though Gaspare had watched him intently throughout the procession, he'd seen nothing more to rouse his suspicions.

Yet suspicious he still remained.

And now here was Jiarine Montevero leading the queen away from the palace towards the secluded south garden. And Lord Bolor had just disappeared. Presumably into the palace gardens.

Call him a crack-skull, but something about the situation just didn't feel right.

With no thought in his mind but to stop the queen from going wherever Lady Montevero was leading her, Gaspare snatched up a plate of food and a goblet of red wine and hurried across the palace lawn.

He was out of breath, and half the wine in the goblet had left a trail in the grass behind him, but he managed to get ahead of the women and step into their path. "Your Majesty! I spotted you across the garden. Your Majesty, I heard about your distress, and I know you have not eaten this morning. I took the liberty of bringing you a small plate. I thought you might prefer to eat a little something in private, away from the court."