visit the daughter who missed her so....
That daughter lay awake many nights, long after her handmaidens had tucked her into bed, staring up into the darkness and plotting to rescue her lost mother from a flowering prison threaded by endless, tiled paths....
Nothing had been right since then. It was as though her father had drunk of some slow poison when her mother had died, some terrible venom that had festered within, turning him into stone.
Where was he? What was High King Elias doing at this moment?
Miriamele looked up at the shadowy, mountainous island and felt her moment of joy swept away as the wind might snatch a kerchief from her hand. Even now, her father was laying siege to Naglimund, venting his terrible rage on the walls of Josua’s keep. Isgrimnur, old Towser, all of them were fighting for their lives even as she floated in past the harbor lights, riding the ocean’s dark, smooth back.
And the kitchen boy Simon, with his red hair and his awkward, well-meaning ways, his unconcealed concerns and confusions—she felt a pang of sorrow as she thought of him. He and the little troll had gone into the trackless north, perhaps gone forever.
She straightened up. Thinking of her former companions had reminded her of her duty. She was posing as a monk’s acolyte—and a sick one at that. She should be below decks. The ship would be docking soon.
Miriamele smiled bitterly. So many impostures. She was free now of her father’s court, but she was still posing. As a sad child in Nabban and Meremund, she had often pretended happiness. The lie had been better than answering the well-meaning but unanswerable questions. As her father had retreated from her she had pretended not to care, even though she had felt that she was being eaten away from within.
Where was God, the younger Miriamele had wondered; where was He when love was slowly hardening into indifference and care becoming duty? Where was God when her father Elias begged Heaven for answers, his daughter listening breathlessly in the shadows outside his chamber?
Perhaps He believed my lies, she thought bitterly as she walked down the rain-slicked wooden steps onto the lower deck. Perhaps He wanted to believe them, so He could get on with more important things.
The city on the hillside was bright-lit and the rainy night was full of masked revelers. It was Midsummer Festival in Ansis Pelippé: despite the unseasonable weather, the narrow, winding streets were riotous with merrymakers.
Miriamele stepped back as a half-dozen men dressed as chained apes were led past, clanking and staggering. Seeing her standing in the shadowy doorway of one of the shuttered houses, a drunken actor turned, his false fur matted with rainwater, and paused as if to say something to her. Instead, the ape-man belched, smiled apologetically through the mouth hole of his skewed mask, then returned his sorrowful gaze to the uneven cobblestones before him.
As the apes tumbled away, Cadrach reappeared suddenly at her side.
“Where have you been?” she demanded. “You have been gone nearly an hour. ”
“Not so long, lady, surely.” Cadrach shook his head. “I have been finding out certain things that will be useful. Very useful.” He looked around. “Ah, but it’s a riotous night, is it not?”
Miriamele tugged Cadrach out into the street once more. “You’d never know there was war in the north and people dying,” she said disapprovingly. “You wouldn’t know that Nabban may soon be at war, too, and Nabban’s just across the bay.”
“Of course not, my lady,” Cadrach huffed, matching his shorter strides to hers as best he could. “It is the way of the Perdruinese not to know such things. That is how they remain so cheerfully uninvolved in most conflicts, managing to arm and supply both the eventual victor and the eventual vanquished— and turn a neat profit.” He grinned and wiped water from his eyes. “Now there’s something your Perdruin-folk would be
That daughter lay awake many nights, long after her handmaidens had tucked her into bed, staring up into the darkness and plotting to rescue her lost mother from a flowering prison threaded by endless, tiled paths....
Nothing had been right since then. It was as though her father had drunk of some slow poison when her mother had died, some terrible venom that had festered within, turning him into stone.
Where was he? What was High King Elias doing at this moment?
Miriamele looked up at the shadowy, mountainous island and felt her moment of joy swept away as the wind might snatch a kerchief from her hand. Even now, her father was laying siege to Naglimund, venting his terrible rage on the walls of Josua’s keep. Isgrimnur, old Towser, all of them were fighting for their lives even as she floated in past the harbor lights, riding the ocean’s dark, smooth back.
And the kitchen boy Simon, with his red hair and his awkward, well-meaning ways, his unconcealed concerns and confusions—she felt a pang of sorrow as she thought of him. He and the little troll had gone into the trackless north, perhaps gone forever.
She straightened up. Thinking of her former companions had reminded her of her duty. She was posing as a monk’s acolyte—and a sick one at that. She should be below decks. The ship would be docking soon.
Miriamele smiled bitterly. So many impostures. She was free now of her father’s court, but she was still posing. As a sad child in Nabban and Meremund, she had often pretended happiness. The lie had been better than answering the well-meaning but unanswerable questions. As her father had retreated from her she had pretended not to care, even though she had felt that she was being eaten away from within.
Where was God, the younger Miriamele had wondered; where was He when love was slowly hardening into indifference and care becoming duty? Where was God when her father Elias begged Heaven for answers, his daughter listening breathlessly in the shadows outside his chamber?
Perhaps He believed my lies, she thought bitterly as she walked down the rain-slicked wooden steps onto the lower deck. Perhaps He wanted to believe them, so He could get on with more important things.
The city on the hillside was bright-lit and the rainy night was full of masked revelers. It was Midsummer Festival in Ansis Pelippé: despite the unseasonable weather, the narrow, winding streets were riotous with merrymakers.
Miriamele stepped back as a half-dozen men dressed as chained apes were led past, clanking and staggering. Seeing her standing in the shadowy doorway of one of the shuttered houses, a drunken actor turned, his false fur matted with rainwater, and paused as if to say something to her. Instead, the ape-man belched, smiled apologetically through the mouth hole of his skewed mask, then returned his sorrowful gaze to the uneven cobblestones before him.
As the apes tumbled away, Cadrach reappeared suddenly at her side.
“Where have you been?” she demanded. “You have been gone nearly an hour. ”
“Not so long, lady, surely.” Cadrach shook his head. “I have been finding out certain things that will be useful. Very useful.” He looked around. “Ah, but it’s a riotous night, is it not?”
Miriamele tugged Cadrach out into the street once more. “You’d never know there was war in the north and people dying,” she said disapprovingly. “You wouldn’t know that Nabban may soon be at war, too, and Nabban’s just across the bay.”
“Of course not, my lady,” Cadrach huffed, matching his shorter strides to hers as best he could. “It is the way of the Perdruinese not to know such things. That is how they remain so cheerfully uninvolved in most conflicts, managing to arm and supply both the eventual victor and the eventual vanquished— and turn a neat profit.” He grinned and wiped water from his eyes. “Now there’s something your Perdruin-folk would be
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