The Queen's Gambit: Book One of Imirillia (The Books of Imirillia 1) (4 page)

“Immortal. Just below the gods.”

Eleanor laughed, and the entire table looked their way. “Amusing, Wil Traveler,” she said. “Perhaps I should keep you on for entertainment.” Edythe stared down the table towards them with interest, but Wil avoided looking at the other diners. He did not want to draw anyone else into their conversation.

“And I am too causal then?” she challenged. “To close to the people? ‘A mortal’ in your phrasing?” Her smile had not faded as she continued to eat. Wil took a drink from the cup before him then responded in a quieter tone.

“They call you
Eleanor
.” He had said her name carefully, like it was a delicate glass he was not supposed to touch, and the queen stiffened.

“Only those who work closely with me call me that, and the familiarity has not weakened my position,” she said.

“Weaken is exactly what familiarity does.”

“So, I ban those around me from using my name?” Eleanor responded. “Even Edythe?” The thought made her laugh again, but it was softer this time.

“I assume Edythe is second in line for the throne,” Wil said. “As long as you are certain that she doesn’t want your power for herself, she should also foster the distinction of superiority. If she has given you any reason to doubt this, watch her closer than your most dreaded enemy.”

The smile faded from Eleanor’s face. “I don’t believe myself guilty of naiveté, Traveler,” she responded in earnest, “but neither does your level of jaded interpretation fall within my perception of life. Are you so faithless in those around you?”

Wil shifted in his chair and did not answer. The table had again grown quiet, and the queen, noticing their finished meals, stood abruptly. Everyone followed suit, including Wil, who was not satisfied with the way the conversation had ended.

Eleanor looked towards him, as if to speak, but thought better of it. “Pleasant evening,” she said, addressing the assembly. Then her guard stepped forward and escorted her from the hall.

“The queen appeared engrossed in your conversation,” Aedon said, having come up behind Wil. Giving a slight nod to Aedon, Wil lifted his cup from the table, and took another drink.

“Do you mind me asking what it was about?” Aedon’s query was calm.

“No,” Wil said and shook his head. “I don’t mind you asking, but I’ll probably not answer.”

Aedon waited, and Wil set the cup back down on the table, moving away so a serving maid could clear the plates. With no intention of answering the councillor, Wil started for the exit.

“The protection of the queen is a serious thing,” Aedon persisted as he fell into step with Wil. “And you, a traveler, are welcome, but a stranger nonetheless. My question cannot appear to you as unreasonable.”

It didn’t appear unreasonable, Wil thought, but Aedon, who had watched Wil more closely than the rest, was the last person he wanted to engage in conversation.

“That is very good of you, sir, to concern yourself,” he said. “But, I am certain the queen values her privacy, as I do mine.” Wil gave an apologetic smile. “And, prying would hardly be hospitable.” Then he excused himself.

***

Eleanor was descending rapidly, her bare feet touching the cold spiraled stone, the sounds of her steps loud inside her thoughts, beating against the echoes of the dreams she’d had. Despite Eleanor’s candle, the hidden staircase that led from her private rooms to the dungeons was rather dark.

Eleanor almost stopped, her hand pressed flat against the stone. She couldn’t explain why she was acting so irrationally. “Something in my mind, almost a dream—” Eleanor said, speaking as she continued, “—a warning against the spring.”

Faster, Eleanor hurried around the twisting staircase, downward through the walls of Ainsley Castle. The white lace of her nightdress washed against the worn steps like the waves of a frigid ocean. As if she had been submerged, Eleanor could now feel herself below ground level, the earth close around, hugging the castle walls, the chill of the long frozen winter reaching for her bones through the thick stone. She shivered, pulling her blanket closer around her shoulders. In a sudden moment, which startled her from the residue of her dreams, Eleanor found herself at the door.

Old and thick, the door was stooped, tucked away in a small arch of stone. Eleanor held her candle up towards the lock and pulled at the chain around her neck, drawing out the key. After some effort, the tired lock gave way and released the door. Eleanor pushed it open and entered the dungeons of Ainsley Castle.

The rooms rested uninhabited, quiet in the dark. There were, in fact, no prisoners in the ancient dungeons, the cells being filled only with seeds for the coming planting year or in the case of failed crops. The well-ordered seed rooms were the physical expression of Aemogen’s well-being. So, this is where Eleanor came to assure herself that nothing was amiss.

Walking through the corridors lined with rooms, small and large, filled with seed cases resting in the cold, Eleanor was silent. Despite the early hour, she now felt alert and watchful. Everything appeared undisturbed, despite her tight lungs and the dreams sticking to her usually collected mind.

The tall pillars of the largest room leaned in beautiful arches towards one another. It was a calm space that Eleanor often sought out when she wished to think. A long table of aged wood sat stubbornly in its place at the center of the room, and there lay the ledgers and the registers, just as Aedon had left them last fall. Without hesitation, Eleanor withdrew a small stool from beneath the table, turning one of the heavy registers towards her, and opened the familiar pages.

She lit a few more dusty candles, already on the table, for more light. Then Eleanor turned back towards the long lists of stock. Page after page, the numbers had settled comfortably for the winter on the clean paper, exactly as they should be. Nothing was out of place. Aedon’s broad, neat writing assured that all was accounted for. Her fingers moved quickly, her eyes watching the numbers pass as she reviewed each page a second time. Yes, everything was as it should be.

Eleanor closed the large book. She drummed her fingers on the table, and looked up into the darkness. Her mind fell back to the Marion amendments for only a moment. Then she blew out the candles and took herself up to her rooms.

Back in her bed, the early gray of morning hinting at day, Eleanor sat, tucked between cushions and blankets, occupied by her thoughts as she played with the tips of her copper colored hair. She now felt more curious than shaken. Burrowing down, away from the frigid air, Eleanor tried to return to sleep, but her mind was awake, and the attempt proved fruitless.

Gathering a blanket over her shoulders, she slipped off her bed and walked to the ledge beneath the windows, where she sat down, pulling her knees up below her chin, looking out over the early spring gardens. The rain of the night before, heavy and deep, had pushed morning low against the earth. Eleanor shivered and pulled her blanket tighter about her shoulders.

***

Wil didn’t see the queen again until evening the following day. He had taken Hegleh out on a substantial ride, working her through her paces a considerable distance from Ainsley Rise, with every intention of enjoying the scenery. But, instead of admiring the domineering mountains that rose in the distant north, Wil ran through his conversation with Eleanor in his head over and over again. The queen’s manner was like a sliver in his skin, her thoughts, vastly different from his, young and idealistic. Wil did not like to think her wrong, but she was.

Arriving back late, Wil made himself as presentable as the walk from the stables to the hall would allow. Bursting through the doors, he expected to be one of the last to arrive. He had not expected to arrive mid-meal. His own rudeness was embarrassing, and Wil felt foolish for having come at all. But, he was here, so there was nothing to do but play it out.

The queen was talking with Crispin, who sat, laughing, to her right. Eleanor deliberately ignored Wil’s entrance. Nevertheless, there were plenty who stared. Gaulter Alden cleared his throat, watching him to his seat to the left of the queen.

As Wil claimed his conspicuously empty chair, Eleanor looked up.

“Please forgive me,” Wil said as he stood again, bowing to Eleanor in earnest. “I was taking my mare for a ride and went farther than I knew. I cannot convey my embarrassment at having entered so late.”

Eleanor motioned for him to sit down. “You’re forgiven,” she said. “I myself have lost time when riding in the woods around Ainsley Rise.”

Wil gave her a grateful expression as he took his seat. “The groom showed me your horse, Thrift, before I rode out,” he said. “He’s an unusual beast for a queen’s mount, unsightly and ill favored, but his frame underneath that dismal coat looks to be graceful. He must be a joy to ride.”

Eleanor stopped and, with pleasure behind her eyes, turned fully towards him. “Finally, I have an ally. It’s a hard-pressed battle in Ainsley, and I’ve never had anyone side with me on the matter.” She lifted her glass. “You’ve made yourself a friend, Wil.”

He raised his glass in return, shifting so a servant could set his food before him, relieved to have not offended his host. It was, he noticed, the first time she had left off the title
Traveler
and had just called him Wil.

After leaving a comment with Crispin, Queen Eleanor turned back towards Wil. “I wish I could have thrown statesmanship to the wind and joined you in riding. It was the perfect day for it.”

Aedon looked up, as if the idea did not suit him. Eleanor noticed the expression, and Wil tried not to look pleased when she next spoke pointedly to Aedon.

“Wil Traveler has paid a compliment to my horse, Aedon,” she said. “He has an eye for the exceptional, don’t you agree?”

Aedon displayed a challenge on his face, but he refused to answer audibly. Wil focused on his food, pretending not to notice when Eleanor exchanged an amused look with Edythe, who sat farther down the table. Eleanor seemed almost merry.

“I would be honored to join you in riding,” Wil replied when the conversation at the table had resumed its normal course.

“Perhaps tomorrow we can—” she began, but she was interrupted by a disturbance outside the hall.

There was yelling and then noise in the corridor. Wil started as the doors burst open. A young man in simple soldier’s garb came running into the hall. Dazed, he looked around frantically, setting his sights on the queen. Eleanor stood. He began to move towards her then collapsed onto one knee, dizzy and disoriented. He tried to steady himself, but looked as if he would fall.

Gaulter Alden called out for something that Wil could not understand. People shot towards the soldier, no one quicker than the queen. Wil followed behind her. She knelt down, lifting the soldier’s face towards hers, struggling to gather him into her arms as his body began to sway. It appeared that he would lose all consciousness.

“Water!” Eleanor cried out, never looking away from the soldier. “Soldier, what happened?” Eleanor pulled him to her, forcing his helmet partially off. The simple gold band around Eleanor’s hair fell back, ringing sharply as it clattered to the floor. Wil picked it up, carefully. Soon, Aedon was there with water.

Wil stood quietly, his arms folded, his hand wrapped around Eleanor’s crown, watching the scene. The queen took the glass of water from Aedon and held the young man’s face against her shoulder as she helped him to drink. She spoke softly, setting the half-emptied cup on the stone floor, and brushed his hair away from his forehead.

Wil watched Eleanor, fascinated. Her tender confidence, coupled with her personal presence, would have made anyone think her an experienced mother, rather than a girl a handful of years younger than the soldier.

It was a slow process, but, finally, the soldier could focus his vision on the queen and moved as if to speak.

“Mason,” Crispin asked, “is there news from the guard at the pass?”

The young soldier still struggled in his breathing; it was hoarse and tight. His eyes went past Crispin’s, to Gaulter Alden’s, then to Eleanor’s.

“Dead,” he said. “All dead.” He took another breath.

“More water,” Eleanor said as she helped him finish the glass. “Speak only when you are able, soldier.”

The court physician was soon present, and Eleanor released Mason so that Aedon and Crispin could take him to the table. The servants hastily cleared away the meal and withdrew with everyone who was not of the queen’s council. Edythe went with them, keeping them moving as she looked back over her shoulder with concern. Gaulter Alden had motioned to Wil, but Wil, crown in hand, shook his head at the old man and continued to stand behind Eleanor, his arms still folded across his chest.

At long last, when the soldier could speak, he pulled from his tunic a long, tightly bound scroll. “I have ridden two days and nights from the Aemogen pass to deliver this.”

Wil’s heart beat faster. The scroll was beautiful, with black rollers and creamy parchment, a silk ribbon beneath the seal. Eleanor’s slight, fair hand reached around the scroll, and she took it from the soldier. She first looked at Gaulter Alden then calmly walked to the head of the table and, without sitting, broke the thick wax seal the color of dried blood. The wax snapped in her fingers, filling the quiet hall with a brief moment of sound, only accompanied by Mason’s labored breathing.