“Get dressed,” said Chism, picking a crumpled tunic off the floor and tossing it to him. “Lady Cuora has business for us.”
Brune continued to complain as he crawled from his cot, loudly relieved himself in a chamber pot, and dressed. “Sometimes I wish I would’ve stayed in Shey’s Orchard,” he said, finally joining Chism in the corridor.
“Where?” asked Chism.
What are the chances of that?
“Shey’s Orchard. It’s between here and Far West Province.” After wiping the sleep from his eyes he shuffled along the tiled floors. “It’s got a fine inn, and I was second only to the innkeep. I’d be giving the orders by now, instead of waking in the middle of the night to run errands for someone else.”
Though little of the week Chism spent in Shey’s Orchard was in the town itself, he knew the inn was barely big enough to require two stories. But Chism wasn’t about to reveal anything about his time there, so he listened to Brune brag about how important he was in the “grand city” of Shey’s Orchard as they meandered through the outer city toward the marketplace. Caught up in tales of his glorious past, Brune didn’t bother to ask about their destination.
The little alley that Tardad led them to could not be more out of the way, making Chism wonder how the man ever sold anything. There was no answer the first time Chism knocked so Brune stepped in, preparing to kick the door in.
“No,” said Chism, blocking the door. “We do this my way.”
Brune grabbed Chism’s shoulder. “Says who? Get out of my way.”
Chism swung his foot behind Brune’s knee and used the larger man’s momentum to take him straight back into the dirt. He left the surprised Knave floundering like a cockroach. With his back turned he added, “Says Lady Cuora. And if you touch me again, even she won’t be able to protect you.”
“I owe you for that one,” said Brune from the ground. “And I hate to be in debt.”
“Anytime you want to throw the knife,” said Chism absently as he tried the door. The hinges creaked as he pushed it open. “Hello? Mirror maker?”
I didn’t even ask the man’s name,
he chided himself
.
No answer came. Enough light trickled in from the door to let him see the shop was empty except for a single mirror on a wooden framework. A door at the back of the shop opened into small, vacant sleeping quarters.
The mirror was the same style as Lady Cuora’s new purchases, and inspecting it further, Chism found a note. During extra tutoring at the Elite Academy, he’d learned to read. Angling to allow light from the doorway to shine over his shoulder, he read the six words, written in careful script:
For the Queen of my Heart.
“What’s it say?” asked Brune from the doorway.
“It’s for the Lady. You can ask her.” Chism suspected she would tell him, but he would enjoy seeing Brune writhe in ignorance until then.
They walked in silence back to the inner city, and found Lady Cuora pacing in the entry of her palace. When the pair entered alone, with Chism carrying a mirror, her eyes filled with tears.
“No,” she uttered as they approached. Chism passed her the note, wondering if he imagined the tremble in her fingers, then held the mirror so she could look into it. There was no way to know how a woman who routinely ordered a dozen executions before lunch would react. Her two guards sensed the tension as well and shifted uncomfortably.
The note and mirror only combined to increase the flow of tears. With a shaky voice she managed to say, “I knew it. That’s why I couldn’t go myself.” She attempted, unsuccessfully, to blink tears away as her hand traced the wavy border of the mirror.
“What does the note say?” asked Brune. His underbite and heavy eyebrows made him look ready to rip someone’s throat out. “I’ll find him and make him pay. Just say the word.”
Her eyes sharpened as they swept to Brune, changing instantly from grief to tempest. “Summon Marky, Knave. Tell him to meet me in my throne room. Knight, escort me back to the shop.” She stormed from the palace, down the ornate stairs and into the courtyard. Chism motioned the two bewildered guards to follow and rushed to keep up with her.
Once back in the small alley, Cuora entered the shop with reverence. The guards stood by either side of the door while Chism tried the only other shop in the alley, where an old tailor was bent over a table.
“Excuse me,” said Chism. “Do you know where the mirror maker went?”
Looking up through spectacles, the old man said, “No, but he departed in a hurry. I don’t know what occurred, but he looked as if someone ripped his very heart out, and took his soul for good measure.”
Chism was about to interrogate him further when Lady Cuora pushed past him. “Do you recognize this script, tailor?” She held the note out.
“I should,” he answered. “It’s mine.”
Stressing every word, Lady Cuora asked, “Where is he?”
“I just finished telling your man that I don’t know. I’m awfully sorry.”
“What did he say before he left?”
The old man scratched his bald head. “He wanted me to show him what I knew about making hats.”
“His exact words?” Every syllable was precise as the Lady fought to control her temper.
“He said, ‘Would you consider teaching me to make a hat I might hide in?’ As close as I can remember, anyway.”
“And you did?” asked Lady Cuora.
“As much as possible in one evening. He already knew quite a bit, though I can’t say I agree with his views on style. But he’s got a skill as a maker. He’ll manage.”
“Tell me every word he said to you last night.”
“Begging your pardon, Lady, but my mind doesn’t work like that anymore. He babbled on about going to mine cinnamon or synonyms. It didn’t make any sense to me. I always thought cinnamon grew in sticks.”
“Cinnabar,” said Lady Cuora.
“That might have been it,” said the tailor with a shrug. “Still means nothing to me.”
“It’s a red ore from which mercury is extracted. What else did he say?”
“Not in so many words, Lady, but I could see he cared for you something fierce.”
The emotions on Cuora’s face were impossible to read. Rage? Loss? Confusion? She breathed deeply. “Send word to the palace if you recall anything else. I would be most appreciative.”
She fled the shop and hurried through the outer city. Summoning one of the guards with a finger she ordered, “Muster the Elites in the courtyard in front of my palace.”
Dismissing him, she ordered the second to gather her entire personal guard and have them assemble with the Elites, fully armed and armored. He hurried off as quickly as the first.
Alone with Lady Cuora, Chism asked. “My Lady, what does any of this have to do with the mirror maker?”
She stopped abruptly, and Chism had to backtrack two steps. “It’s time for a change, Knight. It’s long overdue.” At a faster pace, Lady Cuora started toward the palace. “I thought I could be two people, a ruler first and foremost, and a woman on occasion. I believe impossible things on a regular basis, but that pushed the limit.”
Captain Markin paced the throne room when they entered. Brune gave Chism a jealous look, but his former Captain didn’t even notice him. His attention was focused on Lady Cuora. “You look ghastly, Cuora. What is it?”
“This nonsense of rule by council is over. We should have expelled the young king along with his traitorous mother.”
Markin’s mouth hung open. “But, he’s the son of King Barash, who was the rightful ruler of Maravilla…”
“And is now dead,” finished Lady Cuora. It was obvious she didn’t appreciate Captain Markin questioning her. “The Provinces defy us. Why should we allow the son of their queen to rule here, even as a figurehead?” Markin knew the question was rhetorical and waited for Lady Cuora to continue, which she did only after closing her eyes and drawing a slow breath. “You and I will be married. I will rule as queen with you by my side as king. As an afterthought she added, “And Antion can run crying to his mommy.”
Captain Markin froze, his face like the unbelieving visage of a man rescued from the headsman’s block.
But Lady Cuora took no notice and spoke low, to no one in particular. “Cuora the woman is gone. I am a ruler. A queen.” Without looking at the note in her hand, she tapped it against her open palm. “Yes,” she continued quietly. “I am the Queen of Hearts.”
The great room plunged into weighted silence. The Queen of Hearts was an obvious reference to the note from the mirror maker, but Chism could make no sense of it. Cuora on the other hand seemed immensely amused.
Eventually Captain Markin approached her from behind and settled his hand on her forearm. “Do you mean it, Cuora?”
“Of course, Marky.” Linking arms, she led him from the room with Chism, Brune and two Elite guards sharing shocked looks before following into the corridor.
Her voice regained its directness. “We should have formed a partnership when you suggested it years ago. Maybe I could have avoided this whole mess.” Chism was sure he was the only one who caught the full meaning of that.
Moving his hand to encircle her waist, Captain Markin said, “If this situation is what it took for you to accept my hand, then blessed be it.”
Spotting the new mirrors on the walls ahead of them, Lady Cuora patted Captain Markin’s chest and said, “You go ahead. The Elites are assembling in the courtyard. Await me in the entry.”
Obediently, Captain Markin and his two Elites went on. With an unreadable expression Lady Cuora stared into the odd mirror. Her back straightened and her eyes grew more focused, until Brune’s voice shattered the moment like a falling icicle. “What prompted all that, Lady?”
“You have as much couth as a suitor at a funeral, Knave.”
Looking as determined as ever, Lady Cuora walked to the grand entry of her palace where Captain Markin waited, looking more severe and confident than he had since taking his place on the Council.
“The Elites are key to a smooth transition,” said Lady Cuora. “Is there any doubt of their loyalty to you?”
Chism knew the answer. “None,” said Captain Markin. “Elites’ loyalty is to the corps of the Elites. They swear allegiance to the Elites and to the Captain of the Elites in defense of the king. If the king happens to be the same man as the Captain of the Elites it simplifies the issue. ”
“Well, my dear king,” said Lady Cuora formally linking arms with her betrothed, “it’s time we became royalty.”
***
Ten hours later Chism stood with the newly proclaimed Queen and King, Brune, and eight guards watching as Antion’s retinue formed a train out of the inner city. It was a bloodless coup, or
modification
as Lady Cuora referred to it.
No, not ‘Lady Cuora’,
thought Chism.
Cuora, the Queen of Hearts.
The Elites in the courtyard were in the same situation as Chism. None of them felt comfortable with the change in rulers, but with no affront to the Circle and Sword, they simply followed orders, which came from the pair that now ruled the interior kingdom of Maravilla. Usurpers, some would call them. But at least they were peaceful usurpers.
No one spoke on the main terrace of the Queen’s palace as they surveyed the fleeing faction, until the Queen excused Markin, Brune, and the rest of the guards. Chism felt their curious gazes as they filed into the palace, also wondering why he’d been retained.
As soon as they were out of earshot, the Queen confided, “I’m worried, Knight.”
“I can see that, my Queen. Your mind keeps wandering to something far away and fear shows on your face.”
“He’s too young and decent to make it in the world, Knight. I’m sending you to find and protect him. Please.” For the Queen of Hearts to ask a favor, she felt more strongly about the mirror maker than he’d realized. Strong enough to send away her Knight. “When you find him, send me word that he’s safe.”
“As you say, Highness.” It couldn’t be worse than palace life.
“I’ve chosen a different path, and there is no part for him in my new role, but I need to know he’s not left to his own resources.” Bringing the full force of her gaze to bear on him, she said, “Swear to me you won’t abandon him until I give you the order.”
“I swear it,” he said without hesitation. He had a feeling his life was about to become much more interesting. “But how will I know him? We never met.”
The grin from two days before returned to her lips. “He’ll be easy to find. You’ve never seen anyone so colorful. I take that back,
you’ve
never seen
anyone
colorful. He wears a purple, turtle-shell hat, dresses finely in garish colors, is the most ingratiating person you’ll ever meet—”
“And his name is Hatta,” interrupted Chism, chiding himself for not realizing it sooner.
“Yes, didn’t I mention that?”
Chism shook his head.
“Then how did you know?”
Chism turned to look out over the courtyard, debating with himself how much to tell her. Keeping secrets had always served him well in the past.