Queen of Song and Souls
Page 73
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Oh, yes, there'd been a break between the royal couple. Exactly the devastating chasm Master Manza had worked so hard to orchestrate. And after her years at court, Jiarine knew Queen Annoura well enough to suspect that nothing would ever be the same between the king and queen again.
Jiarine's thoughts churned rapidly. The queen was expected to see her husband and Celieria's armies off to war. Dorian would not want his people to perceive a divided front. But there wasn't enough time, short of healing magic, to repair the queen's swollen face, painfully red eyes, and tear-splotched complexion before she was due to step out into the public eye.
Jiarine snapped her fingers. "Veils."
Annoura lifted her head from her hands. "Veils?"
"Yes." Feeling more confident, Jiarine nodded. "Veils. Your Majesty, it's the perfect solution."
She turned and hurried to the door that led into the queen's extensive personal wardrobe chamber. Struck by the perfect, almost ironic symbolism of her idea, Jiarine went straight to a scarlet gown that Annoura had had made last year but never yet had the occasion to wear. She also fetched a neatly folded stack of sheer scarlet veils.
She brought them back into the main room and brandished them in triumph, "What better solution than to see them off just as the shei'dalins of the Fey see off their men to war?"
Annoura recoiled at the sight of all the scarlet cloth filling Jiarine's hands. "You think I want to look like one of... them?”
There was no time to argue. "Not red, then, white if you prefer. Blue. The color doesn't matter, Your Majesty, only the fact that you can appear in public without anyone seeing your face and knowing how badly you've been hurt."
"I..." The queen hesitated, and Jiarine could see Annoura's pride returning. Her shoulders squared and her spine straightened. She gave her reddened eyes a final swipe and reached for the clothes in Jiarine's hands. "You're right. It's the perfect solution. Come help me put this on. And hurry. We've only half a bell."
Dorian looked shocked when he saw her.
It was the scarlet, Annoura decided. Jiarine had chosen well. Red was the color of the shei'dalins, but it was also the color of blood. Like the blood that would soon flow across Celieria's northern borders. Like the blood that gushed from a mortally wounded heart.
His eyes darkened, and his brows drew together in a troubled frown, "Annoura..." He reached for her hands.
She drew them back out of his reach and clasped them at her waist, "Our people are waiting, Sire."
His expression went blank. Not quite as stony as the Fey could manage, but close enough. "Then let us go to them, madam." He turned and held out his arm.
When she laid her hand over his, she was glad for the scarlet satin of the gloves she wore. Dorian was Fey enough to sense her thoughts and sometimes her emotions when she touched him skin-to-skin. In the past, that connection had been a special bond, something that had drawn them closer, until at times they could think and act as one. But now, such insight into her broken heart would only be an unwanted intrusion and a humiliation.
They walked stiffly towards the open doors leading to the grand stair at the front of the palace. And each step that rang out against the polished marble palace floors tolled like a death knell, echoing forlornly in the vast, cold silence of the empty palace.
Outside, the sun shone too bright for a day of such sorrow. The palace courtyard was packed with armored soldiers and cavalry horses. Brilliant blue, white, and gold banners waved in the breeze. Beyond the palace gates, the populace of Celieria City had gathered. The people gave a great roaring cheer when Dorian and Annoura stepped forth.
Dorian did not pause for speeches. He'd already given enough of those to the Council of Lords and to the populace these last days, explaining why it was necessary for the sons, husbands, and fathers of Celieria to march to war—and why even more would be accompanying Prince Dorian when he left for the coast the following week. Now, he and Annoura simply walked down the stone palace steps to their waiting mounts. The lords and ladies of the court followed and mounted their own gaily caparisoned steeds and took up silken banners. The pipers and drummers in the infantry ranks began to play, and with great celebration and pomp, Dorian, Annoura, and the court led the army north through the city to King's Gate and the start of the North Road.
All along the roadside, from the palace to King's Gate, the inhabitants of Celieria had come to watch their soldiers depart. They waved and cheered and threw small bouquets of flowers in the cobbled street before the procession. From second- and third-story windows lining the thoroughfare, flower petals and scented ribbons showered down.
War was such a great, lovely spectacle.
At least, Annoura thought bitterly, until its dreadful ravages arrived upon one's own doorstep.
«Annoura.»
Behind her veils, Annoura closed her eyes as Dorian's voice brushed against her mind. He could weave Spirit well enough to speak without words. Before now, every time he'd spun words directly into her mind, it had always seemed like a caress, an intimate secret between them, private and treasured.
Now the trust between them had been broken.
Stop it, Dorian. Get out of my mind. She couldn't weave Spirit, but she knew he would hear her. He was there at the periphery of her mind, listening for her answer.
«I ride for war, wife. There is a possibility I will not return. I don't want harsh words to be the last between us.»
Jiarine's thoughts churned rapidly. The queen was expected to see her husband and Celieria's armies off to war. Dorian would not want his people to perceive a divided front. But there wasn't enough time, short of healing magic, to repair the queen's swollen face, painfully red eyes, and tear-splotched complexion before she was due to step out into the public eye.
Jiarine snapped her fingers. "Veils."
Annoura lifted her head from her hands. "Veils?"
"Yes." Feeling more confident, Jiarine nodded. "Veils. Your Majesty, it's the perfect solution."
She turned and hurried to the door that led into the queen's extensive personal wardrobe chamber. Struck by the perfect, almost ironic symbolism of her idea, Jiarine went straight to a scarlet gown that Annoura had had made last year but never yet had the occasion to wear. She also fetched a neatly folded stack of sheer scarlet veils.
She brought them back into the main room and brandished them in triumph, "What better solution than to see them off just as the shei'dalins of the Fey see off their men to war?"
Annoura recoiled at the sight of all the scarlet cloth filling Jiarine's hands. "You think I want to look like one of... them?”
There was no time to argue. "Not red, then, white if you prefer. Blue. The color doesn't matter, Your Majesty, only the fact that you can appear in public without anyone seeing your face and knowing how badly you've been hurt."
"I..." The queen hesitated, and Jiarine could see Annoura's pride returning. Her shoulders squared and her spine straightened. She gave her reddened eyes a final swipe and reached for the clothes in Jiarine's hands. "You're right. It's the perfect solution. Come help me put this on. And hurry. We've only half a bell."
Dorian looked shocked when he saw her.
It was the scarlet, Annoura decided. Jiarine had chosen well. Red was the color of the shei'dalins, but it was also the color of blood. Like the blood that would soon flow across Celieria's northern borders. Like the blood that gushed from a mortally wounded heart.
His eyes darkened, and his brows drew together in a troubled frown, "Annoura..." He reached for her hands.
She drew them back out of his reach and clasped them at her waist, "Our people are waiting, Sire."
His expression went blank. Not quite as stony as the Fey could manage, but close enough. "Then let us go to them, madam." He turned and held out his arm.
When she laid her hand over his, she was glad for the scarlet satin of the gloves she wore. Dorian was Fey enough to sense her thoughts and sometimes her emotions when she touched him skin-to-skin. In the past, that connection had been a special bond, something that had drawn them closer, until at times they could think and act as one. But now, such insight into her broken heart would only be an unwanted intrusion and a humiliation.
They walked stiffly towards the open doors leading to the grand stair at the front of the palace. And each step that rang out against the polished marble palace floors tolled like a death knell, echoing forlornly in the vast, cold silence of the empty palace.
Outside, the sun shone too bright for a day of such sorrow. The palace courtyard was packed with armored soldiers and cavalry horses. Brilliant blue, white, and gold banners waved in the breeze. Beyond the palace gates, the populace of Celieria City had gathered. The people gave a great roaring cheer when Dorian and Annoura stepped forth.
Dorian did not pause for speeches. He'd already given enough of those to the Council of Lords and to the populace these last days, explaining why it was necessary for the sons, husbands, and fathers of Celieria to march to war—and why even more would be accompanying Prince Dorian when he left for the coast the following week. Now, he and Annoura simply walked down the stone palace steps to their waiting mounts. The lords and ladies of the court followed and mounted their own gaily caparisoned steeds and took up silken banners. The pipers and drummers in the infantry ranks began to play, and with great celebration and pomp, Dorian, Annoura, and the court led the army north through the city to King's Gate and the start of the North Road.
All along the roadside, from the palace to King's Gate, the inhabitants of Celieria had come to watch their soldiers depart. They waved and cheered and threw small bouquets of flowers in the cobbled street before the procession. From second- and third-story windows lining the thoroughfare, flower petals and scented ribbons showered down.
War was such a great, lovely spectacle.
At least, Annoura thought bitterly, until its dreadful ravages arrived upon one's own doorstep.
«Annoura.»
Behind her veils, Annoura closed her eyes as Dorian's voice brushed against her mind. He could weave Spirit well enough to speak without words. Before now, every time he'd spun words directly into her mind, it had always seemed like a caress, an intimate secret between them, private and treasured.
Now the trust between them had been broken.
Stop it, Dorian. Get out of my mind. She couldn't weave Spirit, but she knew he would hear her. He was there at the periphery of her mind, listening for her answer.
«I ride for war, wife. There is a possibility I will not return. I don't want harsh words to be the last between us.»
