The Rose Throne (16 page)

The sting of her father’s assessment was sharper than the pain of the poison. “He is dying,” she said, trying to decide if she should mourn or rejoice.

“And what of yourself? Do you not care if you are dying?” asked King Haikor.

She stared at him.

“How well did he kiss you? For how long did you taste his tongue?”

Ailsbet spat at her father’s vulgarity, but he had already turned away.

He clapped his hands for his servants to remove her to her own chambers. As she left, he said, “It is
not a fast-acting poison. He will die slowly. And you will not know if you are to die with him for weeks to come.”

She did not die, but there were many hours when she wished she would. Her room stank of illness and sweat, and her maid came in often to wipe her brow and change her bedding. She did not know how much time had passed until she was nearly over the worst of it, and Prince Edik came to see her. He told her it had been three days.

“You should not be here. He will be angry,” Ailsbet whispered to him.

“You came when I was ill,” said Edik.

“That was different,” Ailsbet said. She was not ill. She had been poisoned, by her father and by her own stupidity.

“Umber?” asked Ailsbet.

Edik shook his head

So the man was dead. By now, she felt only relief.

“She is coming,” said Edik suddenly.

“Who?”

“Princess Marlissa of Weirland is coming at midsummer to finalize the betrothal,” said Edik.

And so Ailsbet would do what her mother had asked, and make sure that Edik and Marlissa were married and the two kingdoms were bound once
more. What would happen to the weyrs she did not know. Perhaps it would not matter, if she went to Aristonne after the wedding. What place would she have here in Rurik then? Princess Marlissa would not want her there to threaten any heirs she and Edik had, and the other princess would have no use for a woman who had no neweyr.

I
N LATE WINTER
, news came to Weirland that Queen Aske had died under mysterious circumstances, and Issa wondered if this would affect her betrothal to Prince Edik. But some weeks later, Issa received a letter from Prince Edik himself.

“Read it and think on it. Then come back and tell me what you think he has revealed of himself,” said King Jaap. Their relationship, once so warm, had become rather distant. Issa did not know how to heal the breach or even if she wanted to.

“Thank you for the privacy,” said Issa. She took the letter and went away from the castle to the Queen’s
Garden. She sat on her favorite, moss-covered stone bench and read with only the scent of the lilacs to distract her.

It was a good letter, far better than Issa had expected. He did not sound like a child, as he had seemed in his portrait. He did not sound like his father, either, at least as Issa had heard King Haikor described. There was no arrogance in the letter, and there was a hint of warmth, of need. Perhaps he was as lonely in his world as Issa now felt in hers.

She looked up and realized it was nearly sunset. She was normally so connected to the neweyr that she did not lose track of time. She hurried back to her father in the Throne Room.

“And what do you think?” he asked.

“The handwriting is polished, the letters well formed,” said Issa.

Her father made a face. “What else? We do not know if it was written in his own hand. He could have dictated it.”

“Then it may be nothing is his,” said Issa.

“That is possible. But I do not think that is a letter that King Haikor would have written himself, so I suspect the words, at least, are the young prince’s. Or something like.”

“You have already decided yourself what it
means,” said Issa. “Why don’t you tell me?”

“Because I want to have your opinion. And be sure that you are able to make your own judgments before I send you off to another kingdom alone.”

Before he sent her off, because he would send her off. “He spoke well of you,” said Issa.

“Another proof that it was not King Haikor who wrote it. He would choke on his own tongue before he would say anything in my favor.”

“Is he mocking you, do you think? It could be King Haikor’s sense of humor,” suggested Issa.

“His sense of humor is not so subtle,” said King Jaap. “Now, what else?”

“It seems humble,” said Issa. “He says he is not a scholar, and that he has no intention of flattering me.”

“You are not offended that he does not praise your beauty?” asked King Jaap.

“Are you?” asked Issa. But before he could answer, she shook her head. “No, I am not offended.

“He speaks of matters of substance. Of our kingdoms, of the different styles of ruling, and of the hope for the future,” said Issa carefully.

“Yes. What of that?”

Issa thought for a moment. “The prophecy,” she said. “He hints at it.”

“Are you sure?” asked King Jaap. “It is never clear.”

“It could not be, if King Haikor was to allow it to come to us. He hates the prophecy, or so you have always told me.”

“Yes. He threatens death to any who speak it on the street in the capital city, let alone the palace itself.”

“But Edik knows of it and believes it,” said Issa. “It is part of why he looks to the betrothal with a happy heart.”

King Jaap nodded. “Perhaps. I hope it is so. I hope that you and I shall find a meeting place in that, as well as in other things. But it is a good beginning.”

“And the part about the hounds of the king—” Issa began. “Do you think that Duke Kellin told him of the gift I planned to offer him on my arrival?” She did not know if that would spoil the surprise.

“I do not think so. I think it is a genuine confluence of interest,” said her father.

“Well, then,” said Issa. She was not sure how to take that. It seemed a very good sign.

“Can you love him?” her father asked.

“I think I can,” said Issa. But as soon as she said it, she thought again of the portrait.
Love
was a word
that had many meanings. She did not know if the boy she had seen would ever stir her heart to thump wildly in her chest or make her wish for the touch of his lips. But she could be his friend, his confidante. She could find a kind of happiness with him, even if it was not the kind of happiness she had seen her mother and father share.

“Then can you forgive me?” her father asked.

Issa did not like to admit how angry she had been. She bowed her head. “I understand why you did it.”

Her father lifted her head and stared into her eyes.

“Yes,” she said.

“It will be difficult for you there. I understand that. You will have to learn to understand what is meant, and not what is said. Nothing is on the surface in Rurik. You will have to read faces and gestures and think ahead to survive. You will have to twist yourself into a new shape, one you have never conceived of before.” It seemed to Issa that this, too, was part of her father’s apology. Though it sounded a good deal like Duke Kellin’s advice to her on that last fateful day in the library, and for that she disliked it.

“Streams twist, and when they do, they offer water to more places. Trees twist in the wind, and it strengthens their trunks,” said Issa.

“If they do not break,” said her father. He kissed the top of her head, then sent her on her way.

Back in her own chambers, Issa put the letter in her chest and locked it.

When it was full spring, with the roads to the land bridge still too muddy to travel on, King Jaap called all the noblemen of Weirland to the castle for a jousting tournament to disperse any buildup of taweyr that had occurred over the winter when the weather had kept the men apart.

The blue-and-green flag of Weirland that flew overhead was an old one and had been slashed and repaired multiple times. Her father was proud of it, since it had been made in the first year of his own reign. Issa felt a nostalgic twinge at the sight of it.

Issa and the other ladies of the court sat in the shade of a willow tree, in a good position to watch the tournament. At her side were Lady Willa, Lady Sassa, Lady Neca, and Lady Hadda, all close to Issa in age and all adept in the neweyr.

As they waited for the men’s competition to begin, Lady Hadda put a hand on the ground and drew up a
stunning tulip in a purple so dark it was nearly black, with edges of deep red.

Issa clapped at this use of the newyer, and the others joined in.

The ladies looked at one another. Who would best this?

It was Lady Willa, who drew up an enormous iris, with each petal a different color, from pink to pale blue to lilac and butter yellow.

Issa realized it was five different iris plants melded together at the stem and that before the petals opened, Lady Willa had chosen the color of each one.

Now Lady Sassa put both hands on the ground and leaned over it, as if her breath itself would cause a flower to grow. Then she stepped back to show a rosebush that she had grown waist high in just a few moments. The roses were the pale blue of the sky in spring, and the color of the Weirese flag.

Issa hesitated and she knew that all the ladies were waiting for her reaction. The rose was lovely, but it was also the flower of Weirland. Lady Sassa seemed to be making a statement about Issa’s loyalty to Weirland, since she was leaving for Rurik in mere weeks.

Issa plucked one of the blooms and said, “I shall have to take this with me to Rurik to plant just
outside the palace and remind me of home. Thank you, Lady Sassa.”

With that, the tension dissipated, and the ladies turned their attention to the jousting field. Lady Neca’s brother, Riob, was in the tournament, as was Sir Tomah, who was betrothed to Lady Willa. As for Lady Sassa and Lady Hadda, they seemed to be in love with every male figure that they could see and cheered for all. Issa knew how like them she had once been and how shallow she must have appeared. But she had been happy, as well, and she missed that.

For the jousting, her father cleverly paired rash noblemen who were rich in taweyr with others who had great physical strength. The contest would leave both with so little taweyr that they were no threat to the kingdom. The jousts were King Jaap’s way of containing the taweyr that might otherwise be set against him. Issa thought her father generally had better relationships with his nobles than those in Rurik.

Lord Riob rode by with his worn and blackened helmet under his arm and waved to his sister. He wore his family’s sigil of the boar on his breastplate, but no ribbon from a lady.

“So dashing, so muscular,” said Hadda.

“I would not mind having those strong arms around me,” said Sassa.

“You should be so lucky,” said Neca. “My brother will not throw himself away on a pretty face.”

“Oh? He wants land to go with it?” suggested Sassa.

“He wants a mind. And a heart,” said Neca tartly.

“Ha!” said Willa. “No man wants that. They may say they do, but it is never more than bluster. Men want a pretty wife with a little neweyr to help them along, but no more than that.”

Would anyone think she was pretty in Rurik?

“Make him come closer,” Sassa begged.

Neca beckoned to her brother. For a moment, he seemed not to see her, but then he turned his horse toward them.

Lord Riob had a freckled face from spending a great deal of time outdoors. His hair was sandy with streaks of gold on top. He held himself well in his seat, and his back was straight and tall. Though his breastplate and helmet were little different from any other, there was something in the way he held himself that made him appear very regal.

“Princess Marlissa,” he said, nodding to her first.

“You look very strong, Sir Riob,” said Issa.

“Looking strong is hardly the point,” said Lord
Riob soberly. “I must prove my strength on the field of battle.”

“Are you afraid of the joust?” asked Lady Sassa. “I know I would be. Though, of course, I have no taweyr.”

Lord Riob said, “I have learned to control whatever fear I may feel, milady.”

Before Lord Riob could ride away, Hadda said, “Lord Riob, I see no ribbon under your armor. I could offer you one of mine.”