The Briar King (18 page)

“It had to be Fastia,” Anne told Austra as the two girls walked their horses up the violet-spangled Sleeve. The air was thick with spring perfumes, but Anne was too agitated to enjoy them.

“Fastia is usually more direct,” Austra disagreed. “She would have questioned you about the rose, not taunted you with it.”

“Not if she already knew everything.”

“She doesn't know everything,” Austra said. “She can't.”

“Who did it, then? Lesbeth?”

“She
has
changed,”Austra pointed out. “Become more political. Maybe she's changed as much as Fastia has, but we just don't know it yet.”

Anne considered that for a moment, shifting her seat a bit. She despised riding sidesaddle—or
slide
saddle, as it ought to be called. She always felt as if she was just about to slip off. If she and Austra were alone, she would switch in an instant to a more natural mode of riding, underskirts be damned.

But they weren't alone. Half the nobles in the kingdom were riding up the gently rising field.

“I can't believe that. Lesbeth wouldn't betray me any more than you would.”

“You suspect
me
?” Austra asked indignantly.

“Hush, you stupid girl. Of course not. That's what I just said.”

“Oh. Well, who, then? Who has a key to your rooms? Only Fastia.”

“Maybe she forgot to lock the door.”

“I doubt that,” Austra said. “I do, too. Still—”

“Your mother.”

“That's true. Mother certainly has a key. But—”

“No. Here comes your mother.”

Anne looked up and, with a sudden dismayed prickling, realized it was true. Muriele Dare née de Liery, Queen of Crotheny, was trotting her black Vitellian mare away from her retinue and toward Anne and Austra.

“Good morning, Austra,” Muriele said.

“Morning, Your Majesty.”

“I wonder if I might ride with my daughter for a few mo ments. Alone.”

“Of course, Your Majesty!” Austra immediately switched her reins and trotted off, leaving only an apologetic and worried glance. If Anne was in trouble, odds were good that Austra was, too.

“You girls seem agitated about something this morning,” Muriele observed. “And you aren't riding with the royal party.”

“I had a bad dream,” Anne told her. It was part of the truth, at least. “And no one told us we had to ride with the royal party.”

“That's a shame about the dream. I'll have Fastia bring you some fennage tea tonight. It's said to keep Black Mary away.”

Anne shrugged.

“I think there's more to it than bad dreams, however. Fastia believes there is a deeper cause in your agitation.”

“Fastia doesn't like me,” Anne replied.

“On the contrary. Your sister loves you, as well you know. She just doesn't
approve
of you all of the time, as well she shouldn't.”

“All sorts of people disapprove of me,” Anne muttered.

Her mother searched her with her jade-green gaze. “You are a princess, Anne. You have yet to take that seriously. In
childhood, it is forgiven—for a time. But you've entered into your marriageable years, and it is well past time for you to give up childish behavior. Your father and I were both terribly embarrassed by the incident with the greft of Austgarth—”

“He was a disgusting old man. You can't expect me—”

“He is a gentleman, and more, his allegiance is of the utmost importance to us. You find the well-being of your fa-ther's kingdom disgusting? Do you know how many of your ancestors have perished for this country?”

“That's not fair.”

“Fair? We are not like normal people, Anne. Many of our choices are made for us by our birth.”

“Lesbeth is marrying for love!”

Muriele shook her head. “Ah, this is what I feared, and what Fastia feared, as well. Hers is a fortunate match, but Lesbeth knows no more of love than you do.”

“Oh, yes, Mother, as if you know the slightest thing about love!” Anne exploded. “All of Eslen knows Father spends more time with the lady Gramme than ever he did in your chambers.”

Her mother could move quickly, at times. Anne never saw the slap coming until her face was already stinging from it.

“You have no idea what you're talking about,” Muriele said, her voice low, flat, and as dangerous as Anne had ever heard it.

Tears welled in Anne's eyes and her throat swelled.
I will not cry,
she told herself.

“Now. Listen to me. There are three young men here today, all comely after a fashion. Are you listening? They are Wingaln Kathson of Avlham, William Fullham of the Winston Baronet, and Duncath MeqAvhan. Any of them would be a good match. None of them are disgusting old men. I expect you to entertain each, do you understand? They have come solely to meet you.”

Anne rode in sullen silence.

“Do you understand?”
Muriele repeated.

“Yes. How will I know them?”

“You will be introduced, never fear. It is arranged.”

“Very well. I understand.”

“Anne, this is all for your own good.”

“How fortunate that someone should know what is good for me.”

“Don't be a brat. This is your sister's birthday. Put on a happy face—if not for me, then for her. And for my sake, let us have an end to our arguments, please?” Muriele smiled the cold little smile that Anne never trusted.

“Yes, Mother.”

But inside, despite the slap that still burned her face, Anne's heart felt lighter. Her mother didn't know about Roderick.

But someone knew, didn't they? Someone had found her rose.

For a moment, she wondered if it had to do with Roderick at all. He hadn't been in the dream.

“What's this?” a male voice piped in, from the side. “The two loveliest women in the kingdom, riding without escort?”

Anne and Muriele both turned to greet the newcomer.

“Hello, Robert,” Muriele said.

“Good morning, dear sister-in-law. How lovely you are! The dawn was slow today, fearing to compare with you.”

“How nice of you to say,” Muriele replied.

Ignoring her cool tone, Robert switched his attentions to Anne. “And you, my dear niece. What a stunning creature you've become. I fear this birthday party might become a slaughterground of young knights jousting over you, if we don't provide restraint.”

Anne almost blushed. Uncle Robert was a handsome man, fit, wide shouldered, slim waisted. He was dark, for a Dare, with black eyes and a small mustache and beard that perfectly fit his sardonic manner.

“Best worry about Elseny,” Anne replied. “She's far the more beautiful, and it is, after all, her birthday.”

Robert trotted his horse over and took Anne's hand. “Lady,” he said, “my brother has three beautiful daughters, and you are in no way the least of them. If some man has said this, tell me his name and I shall see the ravens pecking at his eyes before nightfall.”

“Robert,” Muriele said, a hint of irritation in her voice, “do not flatter my daughter so unmercifully. It's not good for her.”

“I speak only the truth, Muriele dear. If it sounds flattering, well, I hope I will be forgiven for it. But really, where is your bodyguard?”

“There,” Muriele said, waving her hand to where the king and his retinue made their way along. “I wanted to speak to my daughter alone, but they are there, and quite alert, I assure you.”

“I hope I haven't interrupted anything. You seemed serious.”

“Actually,” Anne replied—brightly, she hoped—“we were talking about Lesbeth's upcoming wedding. Isn't it exciting?” Too late, she saw the warning in her mother's eyes.

“What's that?” Robert's voice suddenly had a certain coldness to it.

“Lesbeth,” Anne said, a little less certainly. “She asked Father's permission last night.”

Robert smiled briefly, but his forehead was creased. “How odd that she didn't ask mine. Goodness! It seems the joke has been on me!”

“She was going to tell you today,” Muriele said.

“Well. Perhaps I'd best go find her and give her the opportunity. If you will excuse me, ladies.”

“Of course,” Muriele said.

“Remind Lesbeth that she promised to see me today!” Anne shouted, as her uncle rode off.

They continued silently for a moment or two.

“You should perhaps be more careful about what you let drop,” Muriele said. But somehow she didn't sound angry any longer.

“I—the whole castle knows by now. I thought she would have told her own brother.”

“Robert has always been very protective of Lesbeth. They are, after all, twins.”

“Yes. That's why I thought he would know.”

“It doesn't always work like that.”

“I see it doesn't. May I ride with Austra, now?”

“You should join the royal party. Your granuncle Fail is
here—Oh, it looks like he's ridden off with your father. Very well, you may be standoffish if you wish. Tonight you must be sociable, however. And you must be agreeable at your sister's festival.” She pulled her reins and started off. She cast back over her shoulder. “And stay proper on your horse, you hear me? Today of all days.”

The Sleeve curved and rose gradually to the top of Tom Woth, a broad-topped hill that looked down on the reaches of the city east, and upon its twin, Tom Cast west. There was erected an open-sided pavilion of brilliant yellow silk, flying the banner of the bee and the thistle, the imaginary standard of Elphin.

An enormous floral maze surrounded the pavilion. Its walls consisted of close-planted sunflowers and pearly nodding-heads. Up and about those substantial stalks crept scarlet trumpet vines, morning glories, and blossoming sweet peas. Courtiers were already dismounting and making their way into the labyrinth, laughing and giggling. From someplace in the maze a delicate music played on hautboy, croth, great harp, and bells.

Austra clapped her hands. “It looks delightful, don't you think?”

Anne forced a smile, determined to enjoy herself. Things, after all, could be much worse, and the festival atmosphere was infectious.

“Very,” she said. “Mother's outdone herself, this time. Elseny must be positively bursting.”

“Are you well?” Austra asked, almost guiltily.

“Yes. I don't think Mother knows about Roderick, either. Maybe
I
tore up the flower, in my sleep.”

Austra's eyes grew round. “You
have
done such things! You used to walk about, perfectly unaware of anyone trying to speak to you. And you mumble and mutter most constantly.”

“That must be it, then. I think we are safe, my dear friend. And now I need only entertain three young fellows, and everyone will think well of me.”

“Except Roderick.”

“I shall make that up to him later in the day. You'll make the arrangements?”

“Of course I will.”

“Well, then. Dare we enter Elphin?”

“I think we so dare!”

They dismounted and approached an archway that had been erected at the entrance of the maze. On either side stood two men wearing chain mail made of daisies. Anne recognized them as players from the household troop.

“Fair ladies,” one said, in high manner. “What seek you, here?”

“Why, an audience with the queen of Elphin, I suppose,” Anne said.

“Milady, betwixt you and that glorious queen lie the twisty courts of the phay, full of beauty and deadly danger. In all candor, I cannot admit you without you be accompanied by a true knight. I implore you, choose one.”

Anne followed his pointing finger, to where a number of boys stood dressed as knights. They wore outlandish armor of paper, fabric, and flowers. Their helms formed into masks, so it was difficult to tell who they were.

Anne strode over to them, and they formed a line. It took only a few moments for her to be sure that Roderick wasn't among them.

“Which one?” she said aloud, tapping her chin. “What do you think, Austra?”

“They all look quite brave, to me.”

“Not brave enough. I have another in mind. You, sir knight of the green lilies, lend me your sword.”

Obediently, the young man handed her his weapon, which was, in fact, a willow wand painted in gilt and furnished with a guard of lacquered magnolia petals.

“Very good. And now your helm.”

He hesitated there, but she was, after all, a princess. He removed the masked helm to reveal a young, somewhat homely face she didn't recognize. Anne leaned up and kissed his cheek. “I thank you, sir Elphin knight.”

“Milady—”

“May I have your name?”

“Uh—William Fullham, milady.”

“Sir Fullham, you will save a dance for me, when we reach the queen's court?”

“Of course, milady!”

“Wonderful.” And with that, she donned his helm and marched back to the guards.

“I hayt Sir Anne,” she proclaimed, “of the Bitter Bee clan, and I will escort the lady Austra to the queen.”

“Very well, Sir Anne. But beware. The Briar King is said to be about.”

When he said it, something went wrong in Anne's belly, as if she had stepped off of something higher than she thought it was, and the image of her dream flashed behind her eyes— the field of black roses, the thorny forest, the hand reaching for her.

She staggered for a moment.

“What's wrong?” Austra asked.

“Nothing,” Anne replied. “It's just the sun.”

With that, she entered the maze.

CHAPTER TEN
THE TAFF