The Queen's Gambit: Book One of Imirillia (The Books of Imirillia 1) Page 2

  As if an understanding had crossed the young man’s mind, he considered Eleanor again, his left hand playing with a black leather string on his right wrist for a moment before his bearing changed. Bowing slightly, stiffly, he offered Eleanor a weighted smile.

  “May you have the same,” he said. He turned away, back toward the far western gate.

  Eleanor watched his departure. Wil was taller than most Aemogen men, and he was clearly no farm laborer, merchant or miner. The movements of his body were strong, controlled. They were trained.

  After reclaiming her papers from the potting shed, Eleanor signaled to her Queen’s Own, the soldier Hastian, who stood, waiting in a blind spot, behind a pillar near a back door of the castle. He stepped quickly towards her, his face ashen, probably from watching his sovereign converse with a stranger he knew nothing about.

  “Had I felt worried I would have signaled you, Hastian,” Eleanor said, as he met her along the path. Hastian did not respond, which was no matter. Eleanor knew how to read his silence. “I can see that you intend to speak with Crispin about this breach in protocol,” she said, as he fell into step beside her. “I intend to speak with him as well. I don’t wish to see that happen again.”

  Then Eleanor surprised herself by looking again towards the west pathway, now empty.

  ***

  “Did you shake his hand?” Edythe asked.

  Edythe was setting Eleanor’s hair in place for the morning audiences. Eleanor had bathed, dressed in a gown of soft green, and sought Edythe out in the records hall to ask for her help. Hastian was stationed outside the tall, arched doors, ensuring the sisters’ privacy.

  “Here I am, attempting to study the changes in the Marion constitution, and you keep on about this morning.”

  “So, you did take his hand?” Edythe said, ignoring the deflection.

  “No,” Eleanor replied and shook her head.

  “Don’t move your head.”

  “I simply said it was a pleasure to make his acquaintance and wished him luck,” Eleanor said. “Or something of the sort.”

  “Hmm.” Edythe was twisting Eleanor’s long braids around each other and pinning them into place. “You do realize you have a maid to do this for you?”

  “I like how you do it better.”

  Whenever Eleanor particularly cared about her appearance, she asked for Edythe’s help, as her sister had always been graced at anything requiring artistry of the hands. Edythe was, Eleanor thought—feeling the slight tug and pull on her scalp as Edythe bound her copper hair—quick at everything she tried: dancing, recital, riding, calligraphy, music. Her disposition was sun-filled and sweet, and, for good reason, Edythe was the favorite acquaintance of many.

  Where Edythe excelled, Eleanor was merely proficient, but she didn’t mind: she had worked for her proficiency. Persistence had taught Eleanor to become a sufficient musician, a sufficient horsewoman, and a sufficient gardener. And, while she was not so outwardly gifted as Edythe, her true talents were manifest in the three things she cared for most: the well-governance of her people, the well-governance of herself, and a determination for knowledge. She gave the same passion to her studies that Edythe threw into life.

  “Tell me what he looks like,” Edythe said. “So I’ll know him if he does seek an audience.” Edythe’s voice broke through Eleanor’s thoughts, and she looked up.

  “Don’t move!” Edythe said. “I’m almost finished. You didn’t bring me nearly enough pins.” Edythe retrieved a pin that had fallen to the ground and cleaned it with her fingers. “Well?” she said.

  “You’ll know the traveler immediately,” Eleanor replied, fussing with a strand of stray hair while looking at a faint version of herself in the long window they used for a looking glass. Meeting the reflection of her sister’s eyes, Eleanor allowed herself a quick smile. “He carries northern blood in him: a deep olive complexion and dark hair. Yet, his eyes, his expressions, are those of a Marion. He’s quite handsome for all of it.”

  “More so than Aedon?” Edythe asked, setting a pin too sharply against Eleanor’s scalp. Grimacing, Eleanor considered what she thought to be a silly question.

  “Just different,” she said.

  “For all his good looks,” Edythe made a subtle face, “Aedon’s endless discussions of fen policy can run a touch dry.”

  “He’s good at what he does,” Eleanor defended. “And, if you showed more interest in the workings of the monarchy, you might realize how intelligent his observations are.” Eleanor looked down at the papers before her while Edythe finished her hair.

  “Would you consider Aedon for a match?” Edythe asked slowly, as if she had been waiting to ask this question.

  “I see you’re determined to distract me this morning,” Eleanor said, setting her work aside. “You ask if I would consider Aedon? Possibly.” Eleanor leaned forward towards the window. “He has the makings of a good monarch.”

  “Yet?” Edythe prodded.

  “Edythe, Aedon is just Aedon,” Eleanor answered. “And I don’t want to discuss him in this way.”

  “But?” Edythe’s face dimpled.

  “He is fair, intelligent, considerate, and balanced, despite being a little marinated in his own certainty of opinion,” Eleanor said. “I honestly can’t say what I think about the idea other than it’s very practical. The only thing I want for certain is the company of someone who could challenge not only my thoughts but his own, while realizing he is there to support, not to manage—” Eleanor left off, thinking of her parents instead. They had done this very well, in most things, at least.

  “And someone who looks like your stranger?” Edythe added, making Eleanor laugh. “Beauty is no crime,” Edythe quoted, the words coming from an old Aemogen ballad. “And some beauty you never want to forget,” Edythe finished, almost absentmindedly. “Now, tell me, his face? His figure?”

  Giving up entirely on the Marion constitution, Eleanor answered briskly, trying to be sport about Edythe’s penchant for nonsense. “Masculine, yet graceful.” she said.

  “Was he confident?”

  “What does it matter? I’ll never see him again, beyond these few days that he passes through Ainsley.”

  “It may well be he has set a mark,” Edythe said. “I can tell from the way you’re trying to pinch disinterest into your face. It’s not working; I know you too well. At least someone has caught your attention.”

  “I’m sure there are many young men worth noting in Aemogen, if I ever bothered leaving my desk to consider them,” Eleanor defended, growing impatient. “Enough. Let me simply say he trespassed in my gardens, appeared on the edge of arrogance, and, at one point, called Ainsley and all of Aemogen quaint.”

  “It is quaint.”

  “But the way that he said it, Edythe. As you see, none of his conversation was very impressive by any rate.” Eleanor turned to face Edythe, her eyebrows knit as she mused aloud. “You do realize though, it was the first time I’ve ever not been known as queen.” Replaying his easy conversation in her head, Eleanor pressed her lips together. Standing and shaking out her skirts, she admitted rather openly, “I may never know what that’s like again.”

  ***

  The council had already gathered in the throne room, waiting for Eleanor’s arrival. She entered through her private doors, set behind some large tapestries behind the throne. Upon her appearance, some of the council began to move towards their seats, lined perpendicularly along the west wall.

  “Not many requests and grievances today, I trust,” Eleanor said as she greeted Gaulter Alden, the war leader, who not only served her but had also served her father, the position more honorary than practiced.

  “No more than a handful, I should hope.” The old man looked tired, yet he smiled at Eleanor. “I slept fitfully last night and could use a quiet day.”

  Foreboding pricked at Eleanor’s thoughts, and she looked at Gaulter Alden. “I didn’t settle well either,” she said. “Dreams, echoes of images—” She waved
her hand. “It was a rather long night.”

  “You dreamed that the audience line was infinite, I’d imagine,” Gaulter Alden said and then cleared his throat. “That would cause anyone to feel melancholy when they awoke.”

  Eleanor raised one eyebrow in amused agreement.

  “Your Majesty, Gaulter Alden,” Aedon, Eleanor’s head councillor, said as he came up beside her. He bowed respectfully, first to Eleanor, then to the older man. “I hope your morning has been well,” he added. She knew Aedon’s words were genuine. They always were.

  “I’ve been wanting to speak with you,” Eleanor said.

  Gaulter Alden now faded away in a particular attitude Eleanor knew well. He was as fond of Aedon as he was of Eleanor. So, he left them alone at every possible opportunity. The chief councillor caught the meaning of the old man’s disappearance, and he and Eleanor shared a glance.

  “Every time,” Aedon said, pulling his mouth into a resigned line.

  Eleanor gave a wry smile. “As the sun rises.”

  “You must shock the nation and announce your engagement to someone else,” he said.

  Eleanor ran her finger across her bottom lip in distracted thought. “A distant intention,” she said. “How’s your morning been?”

  “Fine. And yours?”

  Eleanor shifted the weighted sentiments of the morning inside of her. “Puzzling.”

  She had Aedon’s attention now. His eyes focused on hers, giving her his singular focus.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Have you finished reading Marion’s constitution?”

  Aedon shook his head. “Forgive me. I’d just begun, but the weather was so distracting, after such a long winter, that I left my work and spent more time riding than I should have.” He considered her expression. “What is it? Is King Staven altering Marion trade law again?”

  Aedon’s expression was so dismissive that Eleanor thought King Staven could probably feel the challenge from across the mountains.

  “There are some changes to their trade policies that are certainly meant to affect Aemogen,” she said. “But that isn’t what’s kept me worried.”

  “If King Staven wants to bandy trading terms, it’s at his own peril. We, by far, have the advantage.”

  “That’s true,” Eleanor replied, not really thinking of trade law.

  “What are you worried about?”

  “Finish your reading,” she said. “We’ll discuss it this afternoon.”

  “I will,” Aedon said, seriously, as was most often the tone anytime he said anything. “Then I’ll find you in your private chambers.”

  Eleanor nodded, feeling her mind relax. Aedon and Eleanor had relied on one another since her father’s death, which not only had left Eleanor on the throne younger than anyone anticipated but also had abandoned a young chief councillor without the years of tutelage the king had planned to offer. Despite it all, they’d proven a formidable pair.

  The noise in the room had again increased, and it was almost time for the audience to begin. Aedon walked with Eleanor to the throne.

  “Now that the weather has broken,” he said offhand, “I was going to ask you to consider riding with me in the next day or so. When the seed bringers start to arrive, we’ll have no freedom for weeks.”

  “The last time we rode out, you insulted my mount,” Eleanor answered.

  “Thrift is the most ill-favored beast I’ve ever seen,” Aedon replied, unapologetic. “As sovereign, you should consider one of the finer horses in the stables.” He then gave Eleanor a smile that he knew would make her angry. “At least dignify yourself with a horse worth looking at.”

  With a tilt of her head, Eleanor ignored him and stepped onto the dais, taking her place on the throne, as Aedon, still smiling, walked to his seat and began shaking hands with the representatives of each fen. Once the councillors were seated, the observers along the eastern wall quieted as well. Edythe took her place with the rest of the council, from curiosity, Eleanor supposed, rather than political interest. Behind them stood a court representative for each of Ainsley’s fifteen fens.

  “Your Majesty,” the councillor of petitions called from his place beside the large entry doors. “This morning’s assembly.”

  A small group entered and stood in a line before the doors. And, although Eleanor did not look directly at him, she saw the stranger among them. Aedon, as she knew he would, measured the stranger then looked at her to see if she was surprised. When he could see that she wasn’t, he raised an eyebrow. Eleanor gave no signal in return as the first petitioner, an old woman, was called forward.

  She walked slowly towards the throne, her stiff movements reminders of her age. When she stopped, Eleanor studied her face, knowing she’d seen the woman before, but not remembering at which fen.

  “You may speak,” Eleanor said.

  “Your Majesty,” the woman said as she bowed. “It’s late spring, see, and I’ve about run out of flour. I do my own work, harvesting and threshing and all, but it’s become difficult to do by myself. Could the royal stores grant me a small supply? I’ve got a grandson to feed.”

  “Do you have any other family?” Eleanor asked.

  “None to speak of,” the woman said as she looked up. “Just the grandson of six years. We live far outside Small Wood fen and don’t have neighbors, either.”

  That was where Eleanor had seen her: Small Wood. “Do you have a skill to contribute towards fen or country for this flour?” Eleanor asked. Eleanor shifted, watching as the old woman squinted her eyes for a moment, thinking.

  “I do know the old lace quite well,” the woman said. “But, without the finer lowland wool, it’s hard to create. I can only afford the mountain worn.”

  “I’m sure your grandson will grow to be a great help with the planting and harvesting of your own land,” Eleanor said. “But, until then, let us supply you with some lowland wool that you might sell your lace at the fen lord’s market and trade for what supplies you need. We can grant you a small start. If you plan well, you should be able to continue from there on your own.”

  The old woman looked away for a moment, her shoulders catching as if her bones had been worn too close together. When she looked again at Eleanor, her face displayed the emotion she felt. “Lowland wool is hard to come by,” she said. “I’d be ever so grateful.”

  “Catton,” Eleanor said and signaled for the councillor of Small Wood fen. He stood in place and waited. “See to our friend, assess her needs, and address them as I’ve outlined. Also, see that she is well rested before her journey home.”

  “Your Majesty.” Catton bowed and showed the old woman out of the throne room.

  Then the councillor of petitions spoke again, saying, “A request for hospitality from the crown.”

  Wil walked towards the throne, and although his expression was even, Eleanor detected slight amusement in his eyes.

  “Good day,” Eleanor said as if they had not met earlier. “You may speak.”

  “Your Majesty.” He bowed respectively, watching her face. “An honor, truly.”

  “I understand you wish to ask hospitality of the crown, an old tradition, not much practiced anymore,” Eleanor said, repeating the words she had spoken that morning.

  “I do seek hospitality,” he said. “I am a traveler far from home and desire some rest. Hearing tales of Aemogen’s generosity, I now seek such a privilege as I travel through Ainsley.”

  “You do realize that by receiving my hospitality, you promise to share a skill, work, or substantial news?”

  Wil shook his head slightly. “I was not aware until this morning, when one of your gardeners,” he said, emphasizing the word, “mentioned it was expected. I can oblige anything Your Majesty would desire.”

  Eleanor did not respond immediately to the stranger before her. Instead, she took time to observe his figure, the attitude of his bearing, and any other hints his clothing might offer. She knew that he saw through her pause, knew she was scrutinizing
him, and he stared back, perhaps gleaning what he could from her as well. Eleanor thought he exhibited a fierce independence of self. And, although he was young, he did not seem to be foolhardy or inexperienced.

  “Where is it you call home, stranger?” she questioned after a moment.

  “My mother was a Marion,” Wil replied confidently, again repeating what he had told Eleanor earlier in the garden. “I have traveled many lands in my time—the north countries, the west countries—to find myself, at last, in Aemogen.”

  Leaning forward slightly, Eleanor moved her finger along the patterns in the wood grain of the arm of her throne. He had not answered her question.

  “And what is your name?” she asked.

  “Wil Traveler,” he said, lifting his chin.

  “A traveler,” she repeated the common title wanderers often declared for themselves. Eleanor did not press him for more. She was still curious, yet circumspect. They received so few foreigners in Aemogen that were not Marions. Why this young man had a desire to travel here she was not sure. “Our tradition requires a sponsor,” she continued. “Be that the monarch or another member of my house. Since I cannot guess as to your character, I ask my council if any will speak for you and your request?”

  Wil glanced towards the council, his bearing not quite arrogant, but sure. Eleanor’s eyes flickered quickly towards Edythe, whose expression hinted approval.

  “Council, what is your opinion of offering hospitality to this traveler?” Eleanor asked.

  No one moved. Aedon cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair, looking at the stranger intently. Gaulter Alden frowned. At last, Edythe stood.

  “I speak for our guest,” she said. “It has been a long while without a request for hospitality, and as the spring festival is all but here, there is merriment to share. I speak to sponsor Wil Traveler.” Edythe then sat down, turning slightly pink at her public bravery. Gaulter Alden grunted.

  Eleanor schooled any hesitance she felt behind an even expression. “We welcome you to our kingdom,” she said to Wil. “And, we begin by offering you food and lodging, as is customary, for a fortnight.” Eleanor kept her tone gracious. “After which, you shall be expected to know your own way. You may either be shown to the travelers’ quarters now or enjoy the remainder of the morning audiences.”