Cobweb Empire (17 page)

Prince Osenni’s grim expression changed to
thoughtful, and the intensity of his gaze eased somewhat. “Is this
true? You are the girl? The one who supposedly did some magic
mumbo-jumbo or witchcraft or other unholy nonsense and cured her
grandmother?—not cured, I should say, but killed her?”

“Your . . . Royal
Highness. . . .” Percy lowered her head again, took
a breath and looked up into the old man’s tired sorrowful eyes. And
as she did thus, seeing their true nature, her own terror receded.
He was not a Crown Prince, but just an aging man, grieving for his
own mother, nothing more. “Yes,” she said, meeting his gaze with
her own clear eyes. And then added: “If there is something similar
I can do here—”

“Yes!” Princess Lucia exclaimed. She rushed
forward and gripped Percy, and squeezed her arm until it hurt. “You
can help Her Majesty pass on!” Then, glancing at Grial, she added:
“Oh, yes, I knew you would come up with something, dear Grial,
thank you! Oh, thank you—”

“Wait! No, no, this is impossible, how can
we be certain she can do it, whatever it is she does, or that it
would work?” The Prince frowned, suddenly indecisive when given the
prospect of a real choice in the matter.

“It never hurts to try, Your Royal Highness.
Nothing to lose, that hasn’t been lost already,” Grial said. Her
so-very-dark eyes trained on him were sympathetic. And as always
they made the Prince of Lethe inexplicably
shiver. . . .

Prince Roland Osenni inhaled deeply, tasting
this sudden new air of choice. For it was not merely grief that
moved him. Oh, grief was there, proper and filial, naturally. But
if things took their proper turn, he was profoundly aware that he
would be King.

P
ercy was taken
through several finely decorated corridors along luxurious runner
carpets upon which she gingerly took each step with her dirty
peasant footwear. While others of their party remained in the first
chamber, she followed the Crown Prince, Princess Lucia, Grial, and
several liveried servants, into a great opulent chamber, dimly lit
and smelling of linen, rosewater, and old age.

A roaring fire was lit in the marble
fireplace to keep the boudoir of the Queen comfortable, and the
brocade window curtains were drawn to keep the daylight out.

In the center was a great four-poster bed
with tasseled, gathered valances, and rich ancient wood that had
been polished and trimmed with gold. The bedding was soft mahogany
fleece and pale cream silk, imbued with layers of time and royal
tradition. Generations of royalty had been lulled in it to their
rest.

Several physicians were present, and half a
dozen servants performed quiet useless tasks because they must.

Yet another tray of food stood cold and
untouched, going to sinful waste at a time of coming universal
hunger, next to a tray of elixirs, medicinal brews, and mixtures in
flasks and decanters.

But the first thing, of which Percy became
aware when she entered, was the regular rasping sound of the old
Queen breathing.

The death rattle. . . .

It instantly reminded her of Gran. Like a
flood, the memories came, of only two days ago, when she first took
death’s shadow by the hand and gave Gran her release.

And now, here it was, the death-shadow of
Queen Andrelise, standing up like a royal sentinel at her bedside.
As soon as Percy entered, the shadow focused, gathered its shape of
translucent smoke and darkness . . . and it turned
to her. The Queen’s death-shadow regarded Percy as a hound regards
its master. And the old Queen herself, a goblin creature of
shrunken flesh and bones, lay, surrounded by the ocean of silken
bed coverings, and her rolling eyes followed Percy’s movements.

“Well. . . .” Prince Roland
came up to his mother, and taking her withered hand in his own, he
regarded her silently. After a few moments he started to shake and
broke down, his age-lined face contorted into a disarray of grief,
tears coming in big sloppy drops that turned to running
streaks.

Percy stood at the foot of the bed.

“What must you do?” Princess Lucia was right
next to her, whispering in her ear.

“It is not much,” Percy replied. “I need to
touch her, just for a moment, I think. It takes only a
moment. . . .”

“Then
do
it!”

“No, wait!” The Prince raised his
tear-soiled face. “Not yet—”

Rasping, drowning in her spittle, the old
Queen breathed . . . and breathed.

“Will it hurt her?”

Percy thought for a moment, remembering.
What was it like, she thought, in each of those moments as the
death-shadow entered the body? Could she recall any pain, any
wrongness in those instants of mutual connection? But no, it had
all been empty serenity, nothing more.

“No,” she replied gently to the Prince. “It
will take the pain away.”

He nodded then, quieting, squeezing his
mother’s cold fingers that barely flexed in return. Did she blink
at him in those moments? Was she even aware any longer, or was it a
trick of the firelight?

Percy approached the bedside. She gathered
her breath with each step, her mind filling with turbulent darkness
that was
power
. It filled her, the power, filled the
bottomless well of her, resounding in her lungs and gut and skull,
and the cathedral bells came to life, tolling with bass
bone-rumbling echoes, filling her,
flooding. . . .

One instant, and Percy held her
grandmother’s hand again. Only, no—this time, it was the
grandmother of a nation. And this time the death-shadow came to her
on its own—bowing before her as though
she
were the
queen—and was pulled within, with a rush of seraph wings.

Percy Ayren, Death’s Champion and now
Kingmaker, watched the old Queen Andrelise Osenni of Lethe sink
into oblivion.

When it was over, for the first time in
days, the new King of Lethe heard only the crackle of the
fireplace, and the perfect relief of winter silence.

Chapter
9

T
he bells rang all
over Letheburg, echoing and reverberating in the cold somnolence of
the morning and then day. They had started ringing early, just a
few hours after dawn, the majestic sound coming from every church
and cathedral, in the solemn bittersweet tradition of the passing
of kings.

Queen Andrelise was dead.

The Kingdom of Lethe now had a new King and
Queen.

“The Queen is dead, long live the King!”
spoke the courtiers solemnly all over the Winter Palace. And those
who bore witness to the passing in the Queen’s quarters spoke the
ancient words while bowing before the former Crown Prince of
Lethe.

In the dark royal boudoir that was now a
funereal wake, Percy received curt but sincere words of gratitude
from both Their Majesties. After he was done speaking, King Roland
Osenni again wept, with his whole body shaking, at the bedside of
his mother’s blessedly lifeless, frail corpse.

“You have done a true and loyal service to
your Queen and country, child,” Queen Lucia whispered. “You will be
rewarded. But for now, you must wait outside, and come when called
only. And you too, Grial.” The Queen motioned to servants hovering
nearby, continuing to speak in a soft voice so as not to impose
upon the grief of the King. “Take them back, provide refreshments,
rooms, give them whatever they like. Have them wait. Meanwhile,
bring the Archbishop and—ring the bells.”

And thus, Grial took the somewhat stunned
Percy by the arm, and led her quickly out of the chamber of death,
while Percy’s head continued to be thick with residual power and
darkness, and the cathedral tolling that she heard was now both
inside her mind and all around the Palace and the city of
Letheburg.

“Well done, pumpkin, well done!” said Grial
as they walked, squeezing her hand, and glancing at her warmly.

“Grial . . .” Percy said
tiredly. “Do you know what it is that I do? Am I a monster? How is
it that I do this thing?’

“Come now, dearie, do you really think a
monster would grant much needed relief to those in mortal
pain?”

“No. . . .”

“Then you’ve answered your own ridiculous
question. Death gave you a
gift
. But it’s not the silly kind
of gift you put on a shelf to admire, or box it up and take out
once a year on holidays. No, what you have here is a gift of
action
. So, use it! But do it wisely, girlie, because now
that more and more people learn that you have this gift, they will
want to use
you
.”

Percy nodded. “I have a feeling,” she said,
lowering her voice so that the servants walking before them in the
corridor would not hear, “that now that the King and Queen have me
here, they might—they might not want to let me go.”

Grial, pacing at her side, lowered her face
to her ear. “Smart girl! Your feeling is exactly right!”

A few paces later, Grial whispered again.
“Now that the deed is done—mind you, it was a very important and
necessary deed, and Her Majesty is at peace, and the power of the
land has been transferred properly—now we need to get you out of
here, and back on your way. But for now—hush!”

Moments later they were led into a mid-sized
parlor which was not the same chamber where they had met the Royals
earlier. It was decorated with gilded wallpaper and cornices, and
there were several divans and sofas and settees, covered in pale
chartreuse brocade, and lacquered side-tables along the walls
underneath chandelier sconces. Upon one sofa sat the Infanta, ivory
hands folded in her lap. Her dark grey death-shadow billowed at her
side and immediately regarded Percy.

Percy tried very hard
not
to look at
it.

The Marquis Fiomarre stood a few steps away,
with his back turned, gazing into the bright window and the pallid
winter city beyond.

Lord Beltain Chidair paced the length of the
chamber, his chain mail ringing softly.

As soon as they entered, everyone turned to
Percy. Beltain immediately approached her with a sharp movement
and, glancing from her to Grial with unusual intensity, said: “So,
it is done. . . . The bells started tolling a few
minutes ago.”

“Yes,” said Grial, “as you can hear, Her
Majesty has been laid to rest, all thanks to our Percy.”

Percy stood saying nothing, her hands at her
sides, clenching the rough burlap fabric of her skirt.

“What now?” the Infanta looked up at
Grial.

Grial turned to the impassive servant who
brought them here and still lingered in the room. “Would you be a
dear man and bring us some tea? Oh, and a bit of pastries and rose
petal jam would be lovely too, if that’s not too much trouble.”

The servant bowed and exited. As soon as the
door closed behind him, Grial spoke in an excited whisper: “What
comes next is, you all must go! And quickly!”

“What do you mean?”

“What Grial means,” Percy said, her hands
still gripping the fabric at her sides, “is that because of me, you
may all be held here. Or at least, delayed—Your Imperial
Highness.”

“Why so?” It was Vlau Fiomarre speaking now,
looking with concern.

“I see. . . .” The black
knight regarded Percy with an unblinking gaze of his slate-blue
eyes. “Having control of Death’s Champion is a high-level military
advantage for the new King, in these complicated times. To have her
at his disposal could mean a great deal. And to keep Her Imperial
Highness here a bit longer, no matter how briefly, would provide
additional grounding in his newly acquired power.”

“But—” said Claere Liguon. “How is it that
you come to this mistrustful conclusion? The Crown Prince, who is
now King of Lethe, is an honorable man of his word and a loyal
vassal of my father. And he has just promised to support me and to
do whatever he must to aid me, and help me return home! Are you
saying he will go back on his word?”

“Your Imperial Highness,” said the knight.
“When a Prince becomes King, he becomes someone else. It is a
necessary evil, and no, I do not presume to say he is forsworn,
merely that now things have
changed
.”

“It is so,” Percy said. And at the sound of
her voice everyone again turned to her.
They all look at me so
closely now
, she thought.
Every time I open my mouth, they
expect something impossible, some new
strangeness. . . .

However Beltain just as quickly looked away
from Percy, seeming, in that quick movement, to dismiss her. He
again addressed the Infanta, with a tone of courtly responsibility.
“Regretfully it has been my own mistake to bring Your Imperial
Highness here to the Palace, even though this entire consequence
having to do with the Queen was unprecedented. I did not think it
through. But I intend to remedy it.”

Percy glanced at him, frowning without
knowing why. There was something in his superior tone, in the
subtle way he assumed control of the situation—even though he had
every right—that grated at her. She knew there was no good reason
for it, but it did. “What else did My Lord think would happen?” she
said with a slight edge, wanting to add:
You had to know the
King would want me to attend his dying mother
.

Beltain turned again to look at her, and
this time his glance was searing, in the probing way he seemed to
see
her, almost see right through her to her insecurity.
“Whatever I’d thought, Percy, I should have taken into
account—
you
.”

“What exactly happened in there?” Vlau
Fiomarre asked in turn, his own dark gaze piercing her with
worry.

“Nothing. Same thing you’ve seen before. I
put the dead to rest,” Percy replied grimly. “The only difference
is, this time I also made a King. And he will not let me go, I
could see it in the new Queen’s eyes, and in his own, in that first
instant, right after. . . .”