Daughter of Regals and Other Tales Page 2

  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.

  I showed him my choice. Bypassing the wealth of beribboned and revealing and ornamental gowns which I had been given to mask my obvious shortcomings, I took from the wardrobe a simple white muslin dress, almost a shift, and held it for his inspection.

  His exasperation came back with a snarl. “Paugh! Chrysalis,” he rasped. “You are already the plainest woman in the Three Kingdoms. Do not seek to flaunt what you should disguise. You must at least appear that you are fit for Ascension.”

  There he hurt me. It was fortunate that I had been well-taught for self-command. With great care and coldness, I replied, “Mage, I will not conceal what I am.”

  Twisting his Scepter in his rough hands, he gave me a glare, then turned and strode from my chambers. But at the last he did not slam the door; he did not wish to give any public hint of his distress.

  And when I joined him to watch the coming of the guests, his manner toward me had become the proper bearing of a Mage toward a woman who would soon Ascend to take her place among the Regals.

  Below us, the three rulers entered together. Then they separated, moved with their Mages and courtiers to opposing places in the large hall—as far as they could be from each other. Count Thornden’s retinue was unmistakably mil
itary in character, obviously armed. By contrast, King Thone had come accompanied by sophistication and gaiety—by style-setters and known wits of every description. But Queen Damia had surrounded herself with the most beautiful maids she could glean from the comely people of Lodan, showing by the way she outshone her entourage that her own loveliness was astonishing.

  Doubtless that accounted for Count Thornden’s loathing of her. Doubtless he had once made advances toward her, driven by one of his many outsize lusts—and she had laughed in his face. But the antipathy of these two altered nothing: the one thing I did not need to fear this night was that any two of the three rulers would league together against the third—or against me.

  When the arrival was finished, the great doors were closed, and the musicians struck up a lively air of welcome. The sounds of talk began to rise toward my window. The rulers stirred where they stood without changing their positions; and the other guests flowed in conflicting directions around the walls, seeking safety, favourites, or excitement. Not raising his eyes from the scene, Mage Ryzel murmured, “It is time, my lady.”

  Is it, forsooth? I responded to myself. From the moment when I joined that gathering, my future would rest squarely in my open hands, exposed to every conceivable assault—and preserved by no power or beauty or love, but only by my own resources. An altogether fragile estate, as Ryzel had often deigned to inform me. Yet I had found that I did not envy those who were not in my place. When the Mage at last looked to me for my answer I discovered myself able to smile.

  “Time indeed,” I said. “Let us go.”

  Glowering because he did not approve—perhaps of me, perhaps of himself—he turned and strode along the passage toward the head of the formal stair, which stretched from this level down into the ballroom.

  I followed at a little distance, so that I would not be seen from below before he had announced me.

  His appearance cast an instant silence over the assemblage. The music stopped; all conversation ended; every eye was raised toward him. He was beyond question an unprepossessing figure, yet his influence was felt in every corner of the Three Kingdoms. And the Sceptre he held would have compelled respect in the grasp of a child. He did not need to lift his voice to make himself heard down the length of the stair and across the expanse of the hall.

  “Monarchs and Mages” he said in a dry, almost acerbic tone. “Lords and ladies. All true friends of the Regals—and of the realm. This is the night of Ascension, when old things become new. I give you the lady Chrysalis, daughter of the Phoenix-Regal and by his command heir to the rule of the Three Kingdoms.”

  A brave speech: one calculated to fan the doubts of my ill-wishers. It was not a flourish of trumpets, but it pleased me nonetheless. When Ryzel began to make his lone way down the long stair, I waited where I could not be seen in order to reinforce those doubts—waited until the Mage had descended into the ballroom, walked out into the centre of the hall, and turned to present his Sceptre toward my coming. Only then did I go to stand at the head of the stair.

  The guests reacted with a sudden murmur—muffled expressions of surprise, approval, disapproval, perhaps of my person or dress, perhaps of myself. But it was quickly stilled. And in the silence I found that I could not say the words of welcome and confidence, which I had prepared for the occasion. Hidden by white muslin, my knees were trembling; and I knew that my voice would betray me. Mutely, I remained motionless while I promised the memory of my father that I would not stumble as I descended the stair.

  By no shift of his hands or flicker of his face did Ryzel express anything other than certainty. He almost seemed to dare the gathering to utter one breath of impatience. Grateful for that, I summoned my courage and started downward.

  With such slow dignity as I could muster, I went to meet those who wished me dead.

  When I saw that in fact I was not about to stumble, I smiled.

  As I gained the foot of the stair, a man concealed at the rear of the crowd called, “Hail the coming Regal!” But no one seconded his shout.

  Then Mage Ryzel’s expression did change. Frowning dangerously, he lowered his Sceptre, folded it to his chest, and began to clap applause for me.

  At first tentatively, then with more strength, the guests echoed his welcome. Unsure as they were of me—and of their own future standing—the consequential people of the Three Kingdoms feared to insult me directly in Ryzel’s presence.

  As the applause faded, I looked to him, letting him see in my eyes that, whatever transpired later, much would be forgiven him for what he had done here. Then, before the assemblage, I said, “Mage, I thank you. The Phoenix-Regal held you to be the one true man in the Three Kingdoms. I am gladdened to learn that there are others like you here.” I spoke brightly, so that no one would miss the threat I implied toward those who did not support me.

  Bearing my smile and my plain white dress in the place of Magic, I moved to greet King Thone and his party, choosing him because he stood nearer to me than the other rulers.

  Around the hall, another murmuring arose and subsided. Everyone wanted to hear what would pass between me and my principal enemies.

  Thone considered himself a sophisticate, and he bowed over my hand in a courtly and suave manner, kissing the backs of my fingers—the only public display of which the Regals had ever required of the three rulers. Yet his eyes disturbed me as much as ever. They appeared milky, opaque, as though he were nearly blind. And their colour concealed the character of his thoughts. As a result, the simple quality of his gaze seemed to give everything he said another meaning, a hidden intent.

  Like several of his adherents, he wore at his side a slim sword as if it were merely decorative, a part of his apparel.

  Nevertheless, I greeted him with an air of frankness, pretending that I had nothing to fear. And likewise I greeted his Mage, Cashon of Canna, though that man perplexed me. He was tall and straight; and until the passing of the Phoenix-Regal his repute had matched his stature, for both strength and probity—and perhaps also for a certain simplicity. Though his home was in Lodan—and though his arts would have been highly prized in Nabal, for the smelting and refining of ores—he contented himself with Canna, where the most arduous work asked of him was the clearing of stubbled fields, or perhaps the protection of frost-threatened orchards. This he did because he had wedded a woman of Canna. Doting on her extremely, he had set aside numerous opportunities to stand among the foremost folk of the realm. So I had been surprised—and Ryzel astonished—when Cashon had suddenly declared his allegiance to King Thone, displacing the monarch’s lesser dependents. We had not thought that this Mage would have stomach for Thone’s invidious pursuits.

  He greeted me at his chosen lord’s right hand and kept his gaze shrouded, hiding his thoughts. But he could not conceal the lines, which marked his face. Some acid of sorrow or futility had cut into his visage, wakening his mouth, causing the flesh to sag from the line of his jaw. He had an aspect of secret suffering which both moved and alarmed me.

  “My lord Thone,” I said, still smiling, “I have not yet had opportunity to congratulate you on winning such a man as the Mage Cashon to your service. You are indeed fortunate.”

  “Thank you, my lady,” Thone replied in a negligent tone, as if he were bored. “I have great need of him. He has made himself a master of Fire, as you know.”

  By this he meant, of course, that Cashon cast images of the Real flame that melted and flowed deep under the mountains of Nabal. There was much debate in the realm as to which form of magery was most powerful. The images of the great Creatures were certainly potent, but many argued that in practical application either Wind or Fire was the sovereign strength. No one comprehended the uses of Wood—no one except Ryzel, who said nothing on the subject—and Stone appeared too passive to be considered. King Thone’s milky eyes gave the impression that he had offered me a hint, which I was too obtuse to follow.

  When I simply nodded, he changed his topic without discernible awkwardness
or obvious relevance.

  “Have you heard,” he said in that same tone, “that Kodar and his rebels intend to commemorate this night with another attack? My spies are positive. They report that he means to put Lodan’s largest warehouse to the torch. An entire season’s timber will be lost.” His fleshy lips smiled slightly. “Would it be wise, do you think, my lady, if I were to warn Queen Damia of her danger?”

  “It would be useless, my lord of Canna,” I replied. “I am certain that she has received the same report.” Indeed, I suspected that every spy in the realm knew Kodar’s plans and movements as well as Thone did.

  ‘Have you observed,” I went on, seeking to turn this king’s hints and gambits another way, “that Kodar’s many attacks are strangely ineffective? He challenges the Three Kingdoms often, but to little purpose. Word of his intent precedes him everywhere. Is it possible, do you think”— I mimed his tone as exactly as I could—’that his purpose against Lodan is a feint?”

  His eyes revealed nothing; but one eyebrow twitched involuntarily. The storages of Canna were certainly as vulnerable as Queen Damia’s warehouses.

  Before he could reply, I bowed to him and moved away to give my greetings to Count Thornden. At the edge of my sight, I glimpsed Mage Ryzel. He looked like a man who frowned so that he would not smile.

  But Count Thornden was more obviously a threat to me than either of the other rulers, and he demanded my full attention. He styled himself “Count” because he proclaimed that he would not be “King” until all the realm acknowledged him. But I considered that position to be the subtlest he had ever taken; he was not a subtle man. He stood head-and-shoulders over me and scowled as if I affronted him. When he spoke, his lips bared his teeth, which were as sharp and ragged as fangs. Pointedly, he refused to take my hand.

  That insolence spread a stirring and stiffening of tension among the onlookers; but I ignored the lesser people who watched me, in hope or dread. Straightening my back, I met Thornden’s stare. “My lord of Nabal,” I said quietly, “I bid you welcome, though you offer me no good greeting. This night is the time of my Ascension, and many things will change. I suspect that before tomorrow’s sun you will be content to name yourself King.”