Daughter of Regals (2 page)

Behind them came their
Mages, famous men in their own names: Cashon of Canna, Scour of Lodan. Brodwick
of Nabal.

Any one of them would
have attempted my life already if Ryzel had not stood by me since my father’s
passing— and if they had not secretly feared that I would yet prove myself a
Creature, capable of holding the realm against them all.

The Ascension for which
these festivities had been prepared would be the test. At midnight this night, I would rise to the Seat which the Basilisk-Regal had created for his line.
Into that Seat had been set a piece of Stone, a Real span of slate on which
nothing that was not also Real could rest its weight. If the Seat refused me, I
would die at the hands of the forces arrayed against me—unless Ryzel contrived
some means to save me. Perhaps I would be dead before dawn.

Ryzel believed that I
would die. That was the source of his distress, the reason for the sweat on his
pate. He believed that I would fail of Magic as my grandmother had failed. And
I would not be rescued by the factors which had spared her life—by the surprise
of her failure, and by the presence of her son.

Therefore the Mage had
spent a good portion of the afternoon arguing with me in my private chambers.
While I had pretended indecision concerning what I should wear to the feast and
the ball and the Ascension, he had paced the rich rugs from wall to wall and
rehearsed all his former efforts to dissuade me. Finally, he had protested, “Chrysalis,
give it up!”

But I had only smiled at
him. Not often did he call me by my given name.

“If the thought of death
will not sway you,” he continued, glowering, “think of the realm. Think of the
price which your fathers have paid to achieve some measure of peace for this
contentious land. It is not yourself alone that you risk. We must act now.
Now,
while we retain some leverage—while the thought that you may yet succeed
still causes fear. Once your failure is assured, we will be left with
nothing—neither fear nor doubt, coercion nor promise—by which we may secure
your life. And the Three Kingdoms will run to war like mad beasts.”

I was tempted to retort
that his point had not escaped me. He and the Phoenix-Regal had taught me well
to consider such questions. But I held to my purpose. Fingering the elaborate
satin of gowns I did not mean to wear, I replied only, “Mage, do you recall why
my father chose the name he did for his daughter?”

In response, Ryzel made
a rude noise of exasperation. Again, I smiled. Among other things, I loved him
for his lack of ceremony. “He named me Chrysalis,” I answered myself, “because
he believed that in me something new would be born.”

A thin hope, as I knew.
But the Mage saw it as less. “Something new, forsooth!” he snorted. His Scepter
thumped the old stone of the floor under the rugs. “Have we not labored for
five years in vain to discover some ground for that hope? Oh, assuredly, your
father was a Creature, not to be questioned. But in this he was misled or
mistaken”

I turned from my
wardrobe to challenge him; but he was too angry to relent. In truth, he
appeared angrier than the case deserved. “My lady, we have tested you in every
possible way. I have taught you all that lies within my grasp. You are not Magic.
You have no capacity for Magic.

“It is
known
that
the ability which makes a Mage is not born to everyone. And where that ability
is born, it may be detected, be it active or latent. No surer test is required
than that you are unable to place hand to my Scepter.” That was true: my
fingers simply would not hold the wood, no matter how I fought for grip. “Thus
it is shown that you are not Real in yourself—not a Creature such as your
fathers before you—and that you lack the blood or flesh which enable a Mage to
treat with the Real. But we have not been content with one test. We have
assayed every known trial. You fail them all.”

“All but one,” I
murmured falsely. “I have not yet attempted my Ascension.”

“My lady,” he replied, “that
is folly. The need of the realm does not forgive folly. Do you doubt that the
crisis is upon us? You cannot. Your father did not rear you to be a fool. Count
Thornden openly musters his forces into readiness for war. King Thone hides his
harvests in secret storages, defying the command of the first Regal so that he
may be prepared to starve both his foes and us. Queen Damia designs new ploys
of every description. Uncertainty alone keeps these fine monarchs from our
throats.”

As he spoke, I sifted
through my trays of jewelry and ornaments, holding baubles to the light and
discarding them. But my apparent preoccupation only served to whet the Mage’s
anger. That was my intent: I wished him an-pier and angrier—angry enough,
perhaps, to betray his covert thoughts.

He did not, however,
reveal anything of which I was ignorant. Grimly, he continued, “And that is not
the full tale of the peril. Kodar and his rebels mount fiercer attacks with
every passing season. They desire an end to all rulers, forsooth. Fools!” he
growled. “They are blind to the fact that throughout history the Three Kingdoms
have known no freedom from violence and bloodshed except through rulers—powers
strong enough to impose peace.

I had no need to hear
such lessons; but I let him go on while I sought the chink in his secrets.

“Canna has no wood.
Lodan has no metals. Nabal has no food. This wild Kodar believes that each
town—or each village—or each family—or perhaps each
individual
—will do
well to fend alone. Does he credit that Canna will gift its harvests to all
Lodan and Nabal? It will not; it never has. It will sell to the best buyer—-the
buyer of greatest resource. And how will such resources be obtained? Hungry
towns and villages and families and individuals will attempt to wrest them
from each other. Similarly Nabal with its mines and ores, Lodan with its great
forests. Kodar seeks anarchy and ruin and names them freedom. The first Regal
did not found his line in the realm because he sought power. He was a Creature
and had no need for such trivialities. He brought the Three Kingdoms under his
rule because he grew weary of their
butchery.”

And Mage Ryzel himself
hated that butchery. I knew him well enough to be sure of that. Yet my father
had warned me against him. And I had seen my father rise from his man-form into
a Creature of wings and Real glory, almost too bright to be witnessed. I could
not believe that he had lied to me in any way. Even Ryzel’s long-proven
fidelity was less to be trusted than the least word of the Phoenix-Regal.

My father was vivid to
me, never far from my thoughts. Remembering the whetted keenness of his eyes—as
blue as the sky—and the wry kindness of his smile, my throat ached for him. I
could not bring him back. But he had promised me—had he not?—that I would follow
him in splendor.

No. He had not. But his
hopes had the force of promises for me. He had named me Chrysalis. And he had
spoken to me often concerning Ascension.

A Regal is both human
and Creature,
he had said—
fully human and fully Real. This state is not
easily attained. It may be reached in one way, by the touch of Stone to one
whose very blood and flesh are latent Magic— not merely capable of Magic, but
Magic itself. In that way, the first Regal found himself. And for that reason
he built the Seat, so that his heirs might be transformed publicly and formally
and the realm might acknowledge them.

But this blood and
flesh must be ready. It must be mature in its own way and touched by the
influences it requires, or else it will not transform.
His smile was bemused
and dear.
it would have been well for the realm if I had Ascended when your
grandmother failed. But the Magic latent in me was not ripe, and so for four
years Mage Ryzel was needed to sustain the peace of the Three Kingdoms.

Was it wrong that I saw
a promise in such talk? No. How could I not? I was his daughter. And he and
Ryzel had reared me to be what I was. I was full of memories and grief as I
turned at last to face the Mage.

Softly, I replied, “All
this is known to me. What is your counsel?”

My father had said of
Ryzel,
He is the one true man in the Three Kingdoms. Never trust him.
Now
for the first time I began to sense the import of that caution.

He mopped at the sweat
on his pate; for a moment, his gaze avoided mine as though he were ashamed.
Then he looked at me. Roughly, he said, “Propose marriage to Count Thornden.”

I stared at him so that
he would not see that I had considered this path for myself. From Thornden I
might get a son. And a son might prove to be a Creature where I was not.

“Assuredly he is a
beast,” said Ryzel in haste—the haste of a man who liked none of his words or
thoughts. “But even he will not dare harm to a wife who comes to him from the
line of Regals. Some at least in the Three Kingdoms know the value of peace,
and their loyalty will ensure your safety. Also their support will enable
Thorn-den to master the realm. Already he is the strongest of the kings, and
the boldest. if you name him your husband—and ruler in your stead—Canna and
Lodan will be taken unprepared.

“He will be an ill
monarch”—Ryzel grimaced—”but at the least he will hold the realm from war while
we pray for the birth of another true Regal.”

I measured his gaze and
watched his soul squirm behind the dour facade of his face. Then, slowly, I
said, “This is strange counsel, Mage. You presume much. Have you also presumed
to suggest such a course to Count Thornden, without my word?”

At that, he stiffened. “My
lady,” he said, striving to match my tone, “you know that I have not. I am no
fool. To be managed, the lord of Nabal must be surprised .He prides himself too
much on his force of arms. Only surprise and uncertainty will bend him safely
to your will.”

“Then hear me, Mage
Ryzel,” I said as if I were the Regal in truth rather than merely in
aspiration. “I say to you clearly that I count death a kinder resting place
than Count Thornden’s marriage-bed.”

If he had allowed me
time to soften, I would have added, So you see that I truly have no choice. But
at once he swore at me as if I were a child—as if I had denied him something
which he prized. And before I could protest, he said, “Then you have but one
recourse. You must attempt the Seat now, before the coming of the kings. You
must learn the truth of your heritage now.
if
you succeed, all other
questions fail. And if you do not—” He shrugged abruptly. “Perhaps you will be
able to flee for your life.”

Now I let him see that I
was not taken aback. That, too. I had considered. How not? From girlhood, I had
dreamed repeatedly of Ascending the Seat—in public or in secret, according to
the nature of the dream—and becoming Regal. The right to do so was the gift
from my father which I most valued. And he had spoken so often of the
transforming touch of Stone.

But I did not tell the
Mage the truth—that I had already done as he advised.

The previous night in
secret, I had entered the Ascension hall. Commanding the guards briefly from
their posts, I had crossed the strange floor and mounted the marble steps to
the Seat. But the Stone had refused the touch of my hands.

Yet I met Ryzel on his
own ground without flinching. though in my heart I winced—betrayed by myself if
not by him. “And if I fail and must flee,” I asked, “will you accompany me?”

He lowered his head. His
grip was hard on the wood of his Scepter. “No, my lady. I will remain where I
am.”

I took a moment to
wonder what he might hope to gain from my flight—what dream of his my
abdication might make possible—and also to let him observe that I wondered.
Then I said simply, “My father commanded that I Ascend the Seat at midnight on the eve of my twenty-first birthday, under the light of the full moon. You
have said that I am not Magic, and in all truth it would seem that I am not.
Yet I would heed the plain word of any Creature. Still more will I obey the
wishes of my father, the Phoenix-Regal. At midnight and not sooner I will attempt
my Ascension, let come what may.”

My regret that I had
already disobeyed was fierce in me; and it held me to my purpose in the place
of courage and confidence.

Ryzel’s eyes were bleak
as he saw that I would not be swayed. He began pacing again between the walls
of my chamber while he mastered himself; and his bald heed shone wetly in the
light of the lamps.
The one true man in the Three Kingdoms.
I studied
him as he moved, but did not know how to disentangle his fear for me from his
fear for the realm.
Never trust him.
His helplessness did not sit well
with him. Often I had believed that I would still be able to take my place as
Regal and rule the Three Kingdoms even though I was not Magic—if only the Mage
Ryzel would put forth his full power to support my claim. For what other
purpose had my father given him his Scepter? But his talk of flight showed
that my belief was vain. if I Ascended the Seat and failed, he might attempt to
save my life—but he would not pretend me Regal.

In my turn, I would not
trust my decisions to him.

And I gave him no
glimpse of the pain my aloneness caused. I could not now afford to let him know
how much I needed him.

By degrees, he regained
his familiar gruff balance. Still shaking his head, he came to stand before me.
“Soon the arrival of the guests will begin,” he said as if my refusals had not
trapped him among his bitter secrets. “My lady, what will you wear?”

That was very like him.
Often he had told me that no detail of behavior, attitude, or appearance was
irrelevant to the craft of rulers; and he had shown his belief by advising me
on everything—how to bear myself at table, how much wine to drink, when and
where to laugh. I was not surprised by his desire to know what I meant to wear.
Beauty, like power, was vital to the position for which he had trained me.