Heir of Scars I: Parts 1-8 (26 page)

It was a new demand for her when, in the days following the tournament, Adria worked up the courage to inquire about her father directly. Somehow, she had come to understand that there were times when her father was present at the citadel, but nonetheless was never to be disturbed.

“It is the Lord Steward’s place to decide who may and may not visit His Royal Majesty.”

Adria was undaunted. “But surely the king will allow a visit from his daughter, or else I can be given some reason why this is not so.”

The Sister frowned uncomfortably. “I will take your question to the steward then.”

“Very well,” Adria sighed. She did not expect a favorable response.

Later that day, it was Matron Taber, and not the Lord Steward, who summoned Adria.

“You have been asking of your father.” The Matriarch diverted only some small attention to Adria, instead focusing upon the papers held before her by her attending Sisters, which she scanned quickly before signing.

“I have,” Adria said weakly. 
She’s sending me away
, Adria thought as she watched the papers being signed. 
I’m being married away already, to some lord of a foreign land
...

But no such pronouncement was forthcoming as Taber dismissed the Sisters and their documents and turned her attention fully to Adria. After the door closed, the Matriarch motioned for her to come closer — a rare gesture.

“Adria, your father is ill,” the Matriarch said, with an uncharacteristic softness to her voice.

Adria only nodded, counting habitually for Taber’s next words.

“I understand that you must be disappointed that he did not attend your tournament.”

Again, Adria nodded. It was a rather long count this time, and Taber’s eyes appeared more thoughtful than usual, instead of already decided.

“Your father would have been proud, of course.”

Have you told him?
 Adria wanted to ask, but did not want to appear so eager for attention. Instead, she surprised herself.

“And my mother…?”

The Matriarch did not seem to have expected this either, but she continued, after a moment, in the same voice.

“Adria, your mother is dead,” she said. “But… yes, I have no doubt that she would be proud of you as well.”

Adria stood, still and silent, for her own count of ten. She tried, as hard as she could, to figure out if Taber was speaking the truth, and what purpose she had in saying this, truth or no.

If she is dead, then why all the secrets?
 she thought. 
What does it matter?

“My father is ill,” she repeated aloud, determined not to back down or be patronized. “I shall attend him.”

Only a brief count before Taber replied. “I am afraid you cannot.”

It was a difficult tone to read — neither gentle nor commanding, merely stating a fact. Adria searched for reasons why she would be disallowed.

“And why shall I not?” she asked, unwilling to make the guesses which crossed her mind, and then changed her mind, adding, “Is my father dying?”

After a long silence, which Adria somehow forgot to count, the Matriarch only shook her head, slowly, silently. After another count, she waved her hand in the way she sometimes used in formal situations to dismiss the Sisters — with more ambiguity even than the usual tone of her words.

She then turned her attention to the Sister waiting at the door, motioning for her to approach and escort Adria.

But Adria stood her ground, and raised her hand for the Sister to hold her position.

“I am not a child, Matron,” Adria managed after a moment. “I will not be played with as one, nor shall I be dismissed on a whim.”

“Indeed.” Taber answered, and her attention returned. “I have been assured by those who attend you that you are not yet a woman. Is this not true?”

Adria did not know how to answer, but felt betrayed that Kaye or another of her servants was communicating such things. Of course, she knew this must be the case, but for the Matriarch herself to know such details was discomfiting.

Adria counted to twelve before Taber nodded, several times, very slowly.

“Leave us,” she said at last, and it was clear she addressed the attending Sister and not Adria, who realized she could not remember ever having been completely alone with the Matriarch.

“Remove your clothing,” Taber commanded.

Adria swallowed, then slowly did as asked, removing her woolen cloak, her velvet gown, then finally the smock that rested against her bare skin, and stood before the Matriarch. Gathering her will, she refused the impulse to cover herself with her arms in any way, though she felt her face flush against her will, and her limbs trembled with the cold.

They considered each other for what seemed a very long moment, Adria naked upon the stone tiles, the Matriarch seated and elevated, robed in her customary violet. Adria again forgot to count, and instead imagined herself at archery, holding herself still, staring near to the sun and trying not to blink.

But you are not the sun, Matron. You are a Matriarch and not a Mother.

“It is unseemly to be embarrassed,” Taber said, and motioned for Adria to remove her clothing from the floor. “You are a Prince of Idonea. You are above the incident of lesser emotions.”

Adria did as asked.

“This palace of marble and wind is small, Idonea,” Taber said as Adria dressed herself, fumbling only a little with the atypical motions of replacing her own clothing. “This citadel and this city, this nation and even this world.”

Adria did not look up as she tied the lacing of her gown as best she could.

“Understand now that there are worlds beyond the one we see each day,” Taber continued. “Worlds where our angels and our demons wage war for the souls of the dead and the living, worlds where the past and the future are woven together, where what will be can be remembered, and where what once was may yet be overcome.”

“These are the worlds of the One-Who-Will-Come,” Adria said, intending a question, but not wanting to reveal either faith or disbelief in her tone. These were things she already half-knew from her lessons, and yet… the wording was altered. Taber seemed to be telling her something a little more.

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” the Matriarch answered. “But the core of our faith is not all so simple to understand as the Doctrine would make it seem. Some things are meant to be learned and not understood. At least, for a time. And some things must be believed without being known.”

Adria only nodded once, not letting her guard down even in the face of this decidedly strange forthrightness.

“You remain a child, but are woman enough to understand this.” And the Matriarch did not smile. She did not placate or patronize. “I once had the perfect window to the Everlasting, but realized this only much too late. And ever since, I have sought to find another way, to peer into the shadow and the light and to hear the Voice, to find whatever way I could to… best bring order to our world.”

She seemed to hesitate a moment. “Long ago I saw that your family, Idonea, was… the one best path for us all. Your father’s path in the War of Scars… the conquest of Heiland… I knew that here I would find a home for the Sisterhood. I saw it. I knew that the House of Idonea would unite the Aeman and Somanan princedoms, that unconquerable Highreach would indeed fall, and that Windberth would be built upon this very mountain, to house the citadel and the High Temple. I saw these things where shadows parted from the light, and I listened as the stories were whispered to me from beyond the curtains of this world.”

Still, Adria said nothing, and merely waited for Taber to finish her lesson, wondering how it would be made relevant to her own concerns.

“But there was far more to the Idonea family I first foresaw. Only far too late I understood that Ebenhardt Idonea could part those same curtains, could see into that same darkness which has given me wisdom of the past and vision of future possibilities. And I did not see, until it was too late, how far it was he had flown in search of the same…”

Adria counted to six, and then asked, “My father is a prophet?”

Matron Taber considered. “The world is ruled by war, Scion, by warriors such as your father and your uncle, by hawks and by doves and by birth and by blood. But though hawks and doves may rule this world, it is the crows who carry our souls into the Everlasting.”

“My father is dying.”

“Your father, Idonea, is losing himself,” Taber answered at once, suddenly showing real, though still restrained emotion. “Angels and demons too often speak with the same voices, and too often wear the same faces. In this world and the next, it is not so easy to know good from evil. It is one thing to be given the gift of flight, and quite another to find the land again. More and more, the king passes through the curtains that few among us can even see, and it is not ever certain if or when he will return.”

“And if he does not?” It felt as if something coiled inside her stomach.

“Thereafter, just as now, your father will not be the one you know — not the one any of us have known.”

Adria shook her head slightly, uncertain what all to believe of the story, though it could hardly be fully doubted.

“Do you understand why I have not told you before?” Taber asked.

Adria only nodded. None of this comforted her. In fact, she now felt far more alone than she had before, though she was determined not to show her emotion again.

“And do you understand that you cannot see your father, for your father is not truly there for you to see?”

Reluctantly, Adria nodded to this as well.

“Then with whatever faith you have, pray for your father’s safe return, and know that I do the same. I know that you will speak of this to no one. Though your body remains that of a girl, it is true you are, in many ways, no longer a child.”

“Thank you, Matron,” Adria said simply, inclining her head as she turned on her heels to leave. When the doors closed behind her, she closed her eyes and counted to ten.

Several months later, upon her fourteenth birthday, Adria’s finest present was also the strangest. Among the obligatory finery given by the great Heiland lords via their courtiers, and amidst similar foreign exotics brought by the diplomats of the Kingdoms of the Northlands and the Empire of Somana, lay a beautifully carved bow of strange dark wood tipped in rune-engraved bone. The ribbons tying its package were black and violet, embroidered with the symbol of her father and her house.

Adria’s face flushed with pride and surprise, and for the rest of the festivities her eyes returned to the gift often, and her hands longed to make use of it. Disappointment came when she could, at last, take her bow out upon the field, where she was finally allowed to practice as an archer among the boys. Not only was the bow obviously too tall for her, but it drew with such weight that she could not even manage to string it.

Some of the least noble boys used this as an opportunity to find humor, but Brother Sergeant Rodham merely shook his head at their chattering as he knelt down beside Adria and smiled.

“Your Highness, may I be of help?” When Adria assented meekly, the Knight took up the bow and turned it in the sunlight, tested its strength with his hands, though unstrung, and whistled. “Ma’am, this is truly the finest shaft I have ever seen.”

Adria nodded, and forced herself not to be sullen, responding, “Father has given me a fine gift.”

Sir Rodham sighed thoughtfully. “I cannot let you know a lie, Highness. This gift is from our Matron and not His Majesty.”

Her forced smile faded, her eyes blinking away tears. “That does nothing to console me.”

He only nodded, then chuckled — a rare display of humor for him. “When I was seven, Highness, my father gave me a sword I could barely lift with both hands — and certainly could not hope to make use of, not for many years. Though I respected and loved my father without fail, I resented this sword. At seven I already wished to be knighted, as nearly any young lad does, and I didn’t really understand that such a thing had to be earned, and could not merely be gifted. Knighthood does not come with a sword, or a garter, or a horse and spurs. It took until I could wield that sword to learn that the sword itself was the least part of a knight, and that my father had begun teaching me that with that very first ill-fitting gift.”