The last district, which surrounded the great harbor like the dirt ring left in a washtub, was comprised of hovels crammed between warehouses. Many of its inhabitants slept in the open, scrounging what cover they could from the garbage left by those better-off Closer to the water the smell of the sea mixed with the not entirely unpleasant aroma of drying nets and tar, and the smells from the cooking pots of a hundred cultures that all great ports seemed to attract.
The procession reached the docks, continuing north until it again met the old city wall, where the funeral pyre was waiting for them. Usharna’s bier was carried to the top of the pyre where Berayma set it alight. At first, the fire caught on only slowly, but a brief incantation from the Maleficum of Air brought in a fresh sea breeze and in no time at all flames were leaping high into the air. A thick column of brown smoke spread inland, hiding the morning sun and casting a gloomy shadow over the whole city, eerily mirroring the unhappiness of Kendra’s citizens. There was a brief moment, as the cloud started to break up, in which it seemed to take on the shape of Usharna’s face, and as it dispersed, it was as if her own soul was finally being released from its earthly prison. Lynan noticed that the subtle performance had strained most of the malefici and their faces were covered in fine films of sweat. He hoped the assembled citizens had appreciated the illusion.
The pyre burned fiercely for two hours. When the flames started to hiss and die and curl into gray tendrils of smoke, the entourage made its way back to the palace. This time there was no music to mark their procession, just the solemn tramping of the mourning march and the Royal Guards closing in behind it, their spears reversed.
The palace gates were thrown open for Usharna’s wake, and everyone was welcome to come and celebrate the life of their late queen. There was plenty of food and drink, and soon people were laughing again, some nervously but most from relief. Usharna had been a popular ruler, but the dead could not be brought back to life and it was best to look forward to the future as hopefully as possible. There would a new monarch and a new beginning for Grenda Lear. The cloud from the funeral pyre had blown away, and the sun again shone down on the city. The only signs left of mourning were people’s somber dress and the black flags and pennants that fluttered from the palace’s tallest towers and from the masts of ships in the harbor far below.
Lynan found it difficult to join in the spirit of the wake. He was still confused about losing a mother he had hardly known, and yet who had, at the very end of her life, shown she had thought of him as a son. He managed to avoid the most patronizing and the most sycophantic of the well-wishers, people who, before his gaining one of the Keys of Power, would studiously have ignored him. As the celebrations became even more earnest and rowdy, he made his way alone—except for the company of a leather flask filled with red wine—to the palace’s south gallery, a long, narrow room on the top floor decorated with fine paintings and tapestries.
The gallery’s wide double doors were open to let in light and fresh air, and he stepped out on to the balcony. From here, he could see over all of Kendra and its three hundred thousand people, a large number of whom presently occupied the palace’s courtyard and the grounds immediately beyond.
Lynan sipped his wine slowly, enjoying his privileged view. The sun was just beginning to touch the rising ground to the west, reflecting off windows, the color mixing with the red and green of the city’s roofs to form a beautiful tapestry that merged with the lapping waters of Kestrel Bay, saffron in the afternoon light. In the distance he could just make out the rainforest-cloaked shores of Lurisia.
Lynan found himself absently fingering the Key of Union. I am to be Berayma’s representative in Lurisia and the other provinces, he thought. It’s ridiculous. What do I know of such things? Who will teach me?
He took a large swig from the flask and turned to leave, depressed by the weight of his new responsibilities. With a start, he saw Areava standing under one of the large double doorways, studying him closely.
“How long have you been there?” he asked, irritated that she had said nothing.
“Not long. We missed you downstairs at the wake.”
“We?”
“Your siblings. There is a great deal we have to discuss.”
Lynan snorted. “About the Keys of Power.”
“Of course.” She joined Lynan on the balcony. “You are very lucky, you know. Most of us believed our mother would leave you nothing.” Lynan kept quiet, Areava shrugged, and continued. “You haven’t been trained for such a duty, brother. What will you do?”
“I don’t know yet. I’m still getting used to the idea of being accepted as a true prince of the blood.”
Areava winced but recovered with a smile. “Possession of one of the Keys does not change the circumstances of your birth.”
“You’re right,” he said dryly. “Usharna is still my mother.”
“And your father was a commoner,” she returned calmly. “Whereas Berayma’s father, Milgrom, and my and Olio’s father, Tafe, were noblemen, members of the Twenty Houses. There is a distinction between you and us, Lynan, and it will out eventually.”
Lynan looked away so that Areava would not see his face burning. “I share with you the name of the Great House, Rosetheme,” he said defensively. “The queen’s blood flows in my veins as strongly as it flows in yours.”
“Yes, but that’s not all that flows in your blood, is it? Look, Lynan, I don’t hold anything against you because your father didn’t come from one of Kendra’s original families, but let’s face the truth. When our mother married your father, she thought she was well past the age for conceiving. If she had known she was still fertile, she would have married someone from one of the Twenty Houses.”
“My father may not have come from the nobility, but he was the best general the kingdom ever had. Where the great families failed Usharna in her struggle against the Slavers and their mercenaries, my commoner father prevailed, leading his commoner troops in defense of the throne.”
“I have never belittled your father for his deeds. He was a courageous and skillful soldier.” She came closer and put a protective arm around his shoulders. His muscles tightened until they ached. No one had ever done that to him before, and he did not know how to react to it. “But it’s you I’m thinking about. You don’t really want the responsibility that goes with a Key of Power. You don’t have the background, the training—the inheritance—to make it work for you.”
“I haven’t tried yet.”
She let her arm drop, sighed sadly and deeply. “We don’t want to see you get hurt, Lynan. You are our brother.”
Lynan laughed bitterly. “Even though my father was a commoner?” He was suddenly curious. “What, exactly, is your offer?”
Areava smiled. “You hand the Key back to Berayma, and in return you’ll receive a pension for the rest of your life. You and your descendants will be recognized as a branch of the royal family. Your children will become the first members of Kendra’s newest noble family—the Twenty-first House.”
“It’s a very generous offer, but hollow for all of that. It does not give me anything the Key has not already supplied.”
“But you will have none of the responsibilities, Lynan. The heavy burden of public office will be taken from your shoulders.”
Lynan shrugged. “I might enjoy the burden.”
Areava’s voice tightened. “You are making this more difficult than it has to be. Everything would be so much simpler if you just agreed to face reality.”