The Ale Boy's Feast (22 page)

Cyndere scratched the long, silky ears of the hound, Trumpet, whose enormous head rested in her lap. With a fingertip she lifted the dog’s lip and looked at the strong white teeth. The sleeping beast made her think of Jordam. The beastman had left Bel Amica to search for King Cal-raven, and so long as he was gone, her dream of gathering beastmen and striving to tame and help them was at risk.

“Worn-out.” Queen Thesera contorted her face. The Seers had cut, sculpted,
and soaked it in potions so many times that the seams were showing. “I look worn-out.”

Cyndere seized the mirror’s edge, pulled it away, and threw it out the window. Both her mother and Trumpet lunged as if they’d leap out after it.

“That mirror was a gift from …”

“The Seers, Mother. You said you’d thrown their mirrors away. They lie to you. They make you think you need them. You don’t. You’ve defeated them.”

“If I’m finally free of their strings,” said the queen, “why am I running away?”

“We’ve been over this,” Cyndere sighed. “We all agreed it would be best for you to distance yourself from protests and riots. Let Partayn and me bring the house back into … back into tune.”

Her brother had bet her that their mother would change her mind and turn the carriages around. But Cyndere bet with her hopes, wagering her favorite sea-shells that Thesera would run from trouble, set sail from the temporary harbor south of the Rushtide Inlet, and leave them alone to restore order.

“The islanders will welcome you, Mother. It was your idea, and a good one. The Seers didn’t ruin that head of yours.”

“No. Just my face.”

Partayn snorted, opened his eyes, and announced, “There must be a secret stair.” His eyes closed, and the snoring continued.

Cyndere laughed, but the queen scowled and wrung her hands, so Cyndere reached out to cover them with her own and calm her. But Thesera was increasingly agitated. “Stop the procession!” she suddenly shouted.

Partayn lifted his head, blinking.

“And bring me my new goblet!” Thesera exclaimed.

“What?” Partayn was alarmed. “No, we’re not to the harbor! And dawn is hours away.”

“It’s never a bad time for a ceremonial drink,” snapped the queen. “I want to offer prayers to my ancestors under the night sky, the way my mother once did. And breathe some open air. Let’s raise a glass in defiance of the moon.”

The carriage slowed, and in a few moments they stood at the base of a hill,
staring skyward at fields of stars. The carriage drivers and guards—forty in all—lit torches and spread out to keep watch.

“Where are we, Cyndere?”

“The Baalke Hills, I think. Where father made star maps for his voyages.”

“I so rarely see starlight in Bel Amica for the fog.” Thesera pulled her feet from her slippers and brushed the grass with her toes. “Constellations. Look at them, Cyn. The kite people. The herons. But I could do without that moon. All those prayers. The Seers convinced me they were heard and answered.”

“But notice which prayers the moon answered—only those that worked to the Seers’ advantage. They were tricking you, Mother. Stealing your house. They taught each follower to pray for her own gain. That’s why the people are angry. As the illusion shatters, they remember they’re weak.”

As others disembarked from their carriages, Sisterly Emeriene limped up to take Cyndere’s arm. The tightness of that embrace reminded her that Emeriene, who usually sought to support her, was in a terrible state. Cesylle’s betrayals had come as no great surprise, but the proof of his depravity and the damage done to her young sons, Cesyr and Channy, had shaken her.

Another figure leaned against Emeriene, and Cyndere recognized Bauris’s childlike grin. The old soldier who had protected them when they were both children was traveling with them again. Emeriene had taken to caring for him since his fall into the enchanted well at Tilianpurth had knocked his senses sideways. He smiled all the time, living with one foot in another world, speaking in riddles when he spoke at all.

“They’re all around,” he whispered excitedly. “They’re so full of questions.”

“Who, Bauris?” Emeriene’s grip tightened. “Who’s there?”

“My new friends,” he smiled. “They’ve come up from the deeper river. Something’s about to happen.” He glanced up at the copse on the hilltop. “Those dying trees, they make my new friends sad.”

“Hush, Bauris. Nothing’s going to happen,” said Cyndere. And yet she could hear murmurs among the guards, some of whom carried torches to ascend the tree-crowned hill.

We’re not alone
.

“We should go, Mother.” Partayn was anxious and with good reason. In a procession just like this, he had been attacked by beastmen and dragged off into slavery. “The ships are waiting. We’ll attract attention here.”

Standing at Partayn’s side, Lesyl cupped her hands around a glowstone. It was unsettling to see them together, bound by such obvious affection, as all of House Bel Amica had heard the rumors of King Cal-raven’s feelings for this soft-spoken musician. The people adored Lesyl for more than her extraordinary music; seeing her with their future king gave them hope that another heir in the line of Tammos Raak might soon be squalling in the royal nursery.

Cyndere could see her mother considering that future in this surreal scene under the star-strewn sky. “Dear Lesyl,” said Thesera, “will you watch over my son while he rules in my absence?”

“I must do my king’s will,” Lesyl answered solemnly. “King Cal-raven, that is.”

“Of course.” Thesera lost her smile for a moment, then fought to reconstruct it. “Son, perhaps you can have words with Cal-raven if he …”

“When,” said Cyndere urgently. “
When
he returns. And he will return.”

Emeriene embraced Cyndere’s arm as if the possibility frightened her.

“There he is,” said Bauris, pointing toward the dark hilltop.

“Who?” asked Emeriene sharply. “Who do you see, Bauris?”

“Where’s my goblet?” The queen stamped her foot.

Captain Henryk approached from the back of the procession, his sad eyes downcast, and he quietly informed the queen that he had found the new crystal goblet’s wooden case empty.

Thesera’s eyes narrowed. “I was in the glassworks when Frits nailed the case shut.”

Captain Henryk opened his hands. “We do not know who removed it. It could not have happened along the road.”

“Someone stole it in the glassworks then,” said Thesera.

“Perhaps there was a mistake,” said Cyndere. “Mother rejected the first goblet Frits made for her, the one with Bel Amican symbols. She liked an unfinished cup she’d seen in the glassworks.”

“It was simpler,” said Thesera. “Clearer. Silverblue, and its stem was like a tree
with a bowl caught in its branches. Something that would make me think of Bel Amica’s future instead of its past.”

“Perhaps someone misunderstood and thought the wrong goblet had been packed for you.”

“It’s been stolen.” The queen spoke as if she were bringing down an ax in sharp strokes. “I’m going back for it.”

“No, you most certainly are not,” said Partayn. “If we show no sign of alarm, it will be easier for me to catch the thief when I return.”

“Bring me a cup,” the queen growled. “Can the queen of House Bel Amica be granted that much at least?”

Henryk offered a handsome goblet of clay speckled with slivers of glowstone. The queen winced as if it pained her, and then he produced the bottle of wine.

As ordinary cups were distributed, she shivered. “What’s that noise?”

“Dawn-frogs, Mother,” said Cyndere. “It’s almost morning.”

Thesera raised the cup, but Partayn interrupted. “Since you’ve asked to speak your ceremony here, allow me to share something I’ve … we’ve prepared for the occasion.”

Thesera frowned, but the expression faded as Partayn began to sing and Lesyl drew out a small wooden flute to accompany him.

Lesyl joined him in a hushed and haunted harmony.

As the last note resonated, the stars seemed to brighten.

Henryk emerged again from the dark beyond Partayn’s shoulder. Bel Amica’s heir raised his eyes and unsheathed the sword that had seemed, until now, ornamental.

“Betrayed,” whispered Emeriene. “Cesylle’s betrayed us. I should go to my sons.”

“No, it’s nothing to do with Cesylle,” said Partayn. “The archers have sighted a beastman. Mother, we must get you back to your carriage.”

The queen cursed and threw her cup down, spilling wine on the grass.

As fear rippled through the assembly, Cyndere took a step forward, straining to distinguish one shadow from another on the hillside. She saw a figure standing in the open with no fear. She did not hesitate. Pulling free of Emeriene, she ran between the torchbearers and up the slope, crying out, “Put away your arrows!”

“Cyndere!” Partayn came after her.

“Jordam?” she cried, both hopeful and dismayed.

The beastman put a hand to his mouth, and the trill of a shrill-whistle sounded sharply.

Partayn seized Cyndere’s arm, but she pulled way, ascending. The beastman walked toward her, and as her brother’s objection rang out, she fell into Jordam’s embrace.

“rrBel,” Jordam sighed. Cyndere could feel his rumbling voice through his chest, his massive hands pressed against her back. He was unafraid, unmoved by the fiery array that approached.

“How did you know I was here?”

“rrComing from the Core to Bel Amica. Heard the song.”

Partayn stopped. “Good to see you, Jordam,” he said, suspicious, sword in hand. “But why have you come?”

“rrMuch to tell.”

“Bring my sister back into the circle. We’re in danger here.”

“rrDanger, yes,” agreed the beastman. He glanced over his shoulder toward the trees, and then, with Cyndere taking his arm and leading him forward, he trudged down into the assembly of awestruck and troubled expressions. And as he stepped into the light, she began to stare herself.

Jordam, you’re still changing. You’re less a beastman all the time. You’re a giant. A broken, battered, scarred giant. But a man
.

“What do you want?” the queen asked sharply, leaning back.

“Mother,” Cyndere said softly, “remember, we owe him our lives.”

“Perhaps, but surely we should not lose our caution.”

“rrPrisoners,” said Jordam. “Bel Amican prisoners. Free.”

“What? Where?” Partayn looked back up the hill. “Are they here?”

“No. rrUndergound. River. Boats. Far, far below.” To Cyndere he said, “O-raya’s boy found them.”

“The ale boy? He’s alive?”

“How do we bring them up from the river?” asked Partayn.

Jordam shrugged. “rrRiver is strange. Runs that way.” He pointed south. “But they come against the water.” He pointed north.

“I know this river,” Cyndere whispered, remembering strange lights and the voices she’d heard during her ordeal at the bottom of Tilianpurth’s well.

A hiss turned the company’s attention to two small boys who had come to Emeriene’s side. Cesyr had a rock in his hand, and he looked as if he might throw it at Jordam. Channy had an arrow that he must have taken from a soldier.

“No, boys,” said Emeriene, kneeling. “That’s Jordam. He’s helping us.”

“He’s a lying monster,” sulked Cesyr.

“Beastmen are no good,” spat Channy, who was almost as big as his older brother.

“Don’t let them offend you,” Emeriene said to Jordam as she tried to pry the rock from Cesyr’s hand. “They’ve had some horrible teachers.”

“rrMore,” said Jordam to Cyndere. “King Cal-raven.”

“Is he alive?” Emeriene stood up.

“Alive,” said Jordam.

“Alive!” Emeriene pressed her hands to her mouth, and her eyes sparkled. Then she seized Cyndere’s arm again fiercely.

“Where is he?” asked Partayn. “Is he safe?”

“Safe,” said Jordam. “He has … a helper.”

Cyndere watched his face intently. There was more to this than the beastman was saying. She was about to ask him to go on, but then Jordam looked back up the slope to the tree at the top. “rrSomething to give you.”

“What is it?”

“Someone … she needs your help.”

“She?” Cyndere looked up into the darkness, having no guess at all until Jordam returned from the hilltop with a warm, squirming bundle. She drew back a fold of cloth and saw moonlight glint in the dark eyes of a small, ferocious face.