Another jolt of pain radiated from Charlan's wrist, as she maneuvered her teacup from her lips, forcing her to grit her teeth behind a polite smile.
"Are you absolutely certain that your wrist isn't still bothering you, Lady Telias?" asked Queen Brishwyn. "I could ask one of the court physicians to attend it if you would like?"
Both women sat across from each other, a delicate, flimsy table between them, its surface occupied with a handsome, silver tea service. Teacups, enthroned in thin delicate saucers, rested before each on the green embroidered tablecloth. Six soldiers from General Biligrim's detachment stood around the edges of the queen's small salon. Each carried an air-bow.
I've never taken tea before under armed guard, thought Charlan, sipping from her cup despite not relishing the flavor.
She took another sip and forced the liquid down her throat.
The queen's salon was another astounding example of Pre-Waning architecture in the school of Imposition. The floor was hexagonal, a polished sheet of white marble, inlaid with an intricate stag's head, its antlers branching out, all done in wispy silver lines. The walls rose up, columns in each of the corners, all bearing mage-stones, until they reached the ceiling. Unlike the floor, the roof did not extend over them in a flat plane, instead it receded further up, again domed, but made up of infinite geometric shapes fitted together. Each facet had a mirrored surface and its effect nearly made the mind seize. Hanging in the midst of this reflective barrage was a chandelier entirely sculpted from glass, its form of a weaving simplistic elegance. At its center, another mage-light shone, its radiance a soft azure, illuminating every part of the chandelier's glassy curves. The light that escaped ricocheted off the ceiling's many angles, lighting the room with a dazzling effulgence.
"That's quite all right, Your Majesty," Charlan said, her nose filled with the annoying scent of honey and chamomile. Somehow it brought Andsek to mind. "The thought is appreciated, but as I said before, we wights heal quickly. Besides, I hardly think your physician would want to come within a stone's throw of me." Her brow arched wryly.
Queen Brishwyn chuckled. "Yes, I'm afraid not everyone knows you like I do, but that will change with time."
Yes, that will change. Charlan concealed her smirk by taking another drink of tea.
"How's your tea?" asked the queen.
"Very good, Your Majesty," said Charlan, her expression the perfect mask of politeness.
"I don't very much care for tea either," said the queen, leaning in a bit conspiratorially. "Especially at this hour." She set her saucer back onto the table. "What do you say to something a wee bit stronger?" She winked and gestured for a servant to take the tea things away.
Face frozen passive, Charlan's insides tensed. I couldn't have been that easy to read.
The queen's smile had taken on the aspect of a naughty child sharing a secret. The servant deposited the tea service on a table along the wall opposite the door and retrieved a tray laden with two glasses and an earthen bottle. As soon as the servant laid the tray on the table, the queen waved her away, her eyes eagerly resting on the bottle. Taking it up, one hand went about its neck while the other uncorked its mouth. She held its opening just under her nose. Her eyes rolled back into her head before closing, as she savored the scent. Exhaling, she lowered it and extended her arm toward Charlan, offering her the bottle.
Air-bows clicked remindingly behind her as she accepted the vessel from the queen. Putting it beneath her nose as the queen had, Charlan drew in a little of the scent.
Mead, Charlan confirmed, faintly smiling. So, the queen has a proclivity for mead.
From the various notes wafting from the bottle, Charlan detected hints of blackberry underlying the fermented honey bouquet. Delicately balanced and subtly blended, Charlan did not mind this nearly as much as the earthy herb she had been sipping moments before.
"Do I detect notes of blackberry, Your Majesty?" asked Charlan, handing the bottle back to the queen.
"Yes," replied the queen excitedly. "There is a brewer here in the capital that is an absolute genius when it comes to mead." She picked up one glass and filled it. "He takes it as a personal challenge to create new varieties just for me. This," she said, holding up the bottle while passing Charlan the filled long-stemmed glass, "is one of his more successful batches and though it is remarkably simple he still prepares a barrel for me time and again."
Holding her glass, while the queen filled her own, Charlan turned her eyes up toward the ceiling, her focus becoming lost in its impossible complexity and endless reflections.
"Yes, this has to be one of my favorite rooms," said the Queen, drawing Charlan's eyes back down. "I often come here to think."
Charlan nodded still holding onto her glass, her strong fingers delicately holding the stem so as not to crush it. I think I will do the same when I occupy these apartments.
Extending her glass toward Charlan's, the two women clinked them together. A clear high peal rang through the air, reverberating through the crystal of the chandelier and the many angles above. Charlan waited for the queen to take the first sip and then she followed suit. The cool liquid slid down her throat. A slight burn, not unpleasant, accompanied it. Not too sweet, nicely accented with the blackberries' tart quality, Charlan mulled the flavor around in her mouth savoring it with her eyes closed.
It didn't compare with lifelight, but Charlan would have to have a barrel or two stashed away for the occasional nip now and again. She opened her eyes to find the queen staring at her expectantly.
"Well?"
"Exquisite."
"I was hoping you would like it." The queen's eyes shone with pleasure and her voice was bright with it too. "I have several barrels laid up. I would be happy if you would accept one."
"You are too kind, Your Majesty," said Charlan, taking another sip.
"Oh, please, we're alone, call me Wyn." The queen took another drink from her glass letting the liquor settle in her mouth for a moment before swallowing. Setting her glass on the table, she set about brushing an imaginary speck from the folds of her dress. "It's the least I could do considering what Master Elwith... considering that unfortunate display on his part last night."
Unfortunate display? Mistress Charlan thought, the queen's eyes still avoiding her own. Was that what the queen called what happened? And was this her bribery for amends? A little mead and the intimacy of calling her by a pet name?
"You and your husband cannot be blamed for what happened last night," said Charlan soothingly, her finger playing over the moist rim of her glass. "I know neither of you had any idea about Master Elwith's unfortunate prejudices and I can hardly fault him, myself. My kind have been a plague to humans ever since we first came into being. We have filled your nightmares and ghost stories. We have ruined lives and destroyed families. Such action is bound to result in latent feelings of rage and festering thoughts of revenge." Setting her glass on the table, she wrung her hands in her lap. "It sickens me to think of all the lives that have been inalterably changed because of something my predecessors did."
Leaning in over the table, Queen Brishwyn shushed her. "Lady Telias, if we were all judged by the deeds of our ancestors, none of us would be worthy of trust or anything like it. Please, put your mind at ease."
Extending her hand over the tabletop, the queen let it rest before Charlan. Not a tremble betrayed her. In Charlan's mindeye the queen's lifelight, a spiraling mix of shimmering blues and greens, stayed firm and unwavering.
Brave woman, thought Charlan. Or simply naïve.
Taking her hand carefully, the soldiers' leather uniforms creaking as air-bow stocks pressed into them, Charlan returned the queen's affectionate squeeze. A grateful smile lifted her head and brightened her eyes.
"Thank you, Wyn," said Charlan lowly. "You don't know how much that means to me."
Inside Charlan was crowing. With the queen's sympathy she would soon have the king as well. All she needed now was Lady Kyla and the investiture of the Wardenhood and she would have everything she needed. She eyed her glass. And a barrel or two of this mead.
The dry sweet flavor filled her mouth again as she resumed drinking and withdrew her hand from the queen's. The queen took another small sip, before laying her glass aside once more. As the monarch swallowed, any previous emotions that had colored her face slid away. Her features hardened and she deliberately cleared her throat.
Are you going to deliver a death edict? Charlan wondered, draining the last of her glass.
"I also hope, Lady Telias, you understand that we still need Master Elwith," said the queen, her voice lacking any of the previous warmth or affection, "and therefore his punishment might not seem... adequate, considering his actions the other night." Taking Charlan's glass, the queen refilled it, keeping her eyes on the task and away from Charlan's gaze. The sound of the glugging liquid filled the silence between them. Their eyes met as she placed the vessel back in front of Charlan.
Charlan nodded. So, the blasted mage gets away without so much as a slap on his wrist. Typical.
"I understand completely, Your Majesty," said Charlan, her formal air returning. "And I agree. If we are to have any chance of defeating Charlan and her remaining wights, we are going to need all the resources that we can possibly muster."
"I'm glad," Queen Brishwyn returned, retrieving her glass and sipping from it. "I would hate for misunderstandings to arise now that we're beginning to work so well together."
So, you're not all mead and motherly affection, Charlan observed. She could respect that. A woman after her own heart.
"Out of curiosity, what has happened to Master Elwith?" asked Charlan.
"The mages are keeping him subdued with some such method of theirs," said the queen, offhandedly. "Until we can talk some sense into him, he is being held in the cells under constant guard."
"Well, that is something," said Charlan, tracing the embroidery stitched through the tablecloth's silken, green material.
I think I might pay him a little visit, Charlan thought, a plan taking form in her mind.
"You know, I'm sure, Your Majesty, that Master Elwith will come to his senses after he has had some time to consider his actions." She left off her tracing and took another sip. "He'll be back to his usual barbed and belligerent self before too long. Mark my words."
"That is our wish as well," said Queen Brishwyn, abandoning her half-emptied glass on the table. "Especially since my husband and I have finally come to an agreement, and plans will be moving forward much more quickly now that any disagreements we might have had are now gone."
Charlan leaned back into her chair. Taking in the entire person of the queen, Charlan noted that her lifelight had lost all its sympathetic blue and had hardened into the unyielding brightness of pure white light. She sat erect, her posture exact. Her face neutral, but not unkind. A distinct scent of parchment and ink hung about her. She waited with no impatient twitches or huffs. A sovereign comfortable with the power she wielded sat before Charlan, skilled in the art of statecraft and the myriad of deceptions and intrigues that went along with it.
"I'm glad to hear Your Majesty was able to convince the king to agree to the treaty. I must confess that I was always curious as to what misgivings or doubts held him back."
Taking up her glass, Queen Brishwyn rose, obliging Charlan to do the same.
Now what? Charlan wondered. She schooled her face away from wrinkled annoyance. "I hope that I haven't offended Your Majesty."
Moving into the center of the room, directly under the chandelier, Queen Brishwyn gestured for Charlan to follow her. Each of the queen's steps cracked out against the stone floor with assured command and a rustle of skirts.
Taking up her own glass, Charlan did as the queen had indicated, following her silently to the center of the room, a point in the forehead of the stag head. Standing beside the queen, she cast her gaze upward, again following the queen's example. The manifold reflections, glimmers, shimmers, and diffracted beams was almost enough to drive the mind to distraction.
"You know when I tell people that this room is my absolute favorite," said the queen, her tone again more conversational, "they almost always assume it is because of the ceiling and the absolutely mesmerizing effect it has. Now, don't misunderstand, the ceiling is breathtaking and practically staggers my mind every time I look at it, but it is not why I come to this room most often."
Her face never turned to Charlan as she spoke. When her words finished, the queen gathered her breath, letting her mouth remain slightly open. A single, piercing note sounded out with a perfect mezzo-soprano clarity. Rising into the domed space, the note lingered there long after it seemed it should have faded, reverberating off every surface and rebounding back toward the chandelier whose crystal rang out with the note. Finally, it died away leaving a vibrating silence.
"You come here to sing," Mistress Charlan said.
"Yes." The queen acknowledged Charlan's observation with a nod and met her eyes again. "Things are not always what they seem. What many do not know about the sovereigns is that while the king might have command of the army and its deployment, the queen controls the treasury. Put another way the king controls the body and the queen the stomach. The body may go where it chooses but without nourishment it will not go far. The body may have wished to go to war, but the stomach refused to feed it."
"I see," said Charlan, quietly.
So, it was you and not your idiot husband, Charlan raged in her mind.
"I am happy to say," the queen said, raising her glass, "that the stomach will no longer impede the body's movements when it seeks to aid an ally."
Charlan raised her glass in a return salute. "I'm glad to hear it."
They both drank, their eyes never leaving each other.
*DON'T FORGET TO VOTE*