“I will do my best,” Orkid said humbly.
“I know. You always do your best.” She breathed deeply, telling herself she should go to bed as soon as the morning’s official functions were over, then admitted to herself that she would do no such thing; no successful monarch ever ruled from the bedchamber.
There was a knock, and the double doors to the Usharna’s study opened wide. Dejanus announced Berayma, then stepped out and closed the doors behind him.
Berayma went to the queen’s side and gently placed a hand on one of hers. He looked at Orkid. “Is she asleep?”
“The ruler of Grenda Lear never sleeps,” Usharna said, opening her eyes. “That is another trick you must learn, Berayma.”
“There is time—”
“Not much more.”
“I don’t want you to go,” Berayma said fiercely.
“Die, you mean.” Usharna shook her head. “You can’t even say the word.”
“I don’t want the throne, mother.”
Usharna looked at him in astonishment. “You think I wanted it when my turn had come? To lose my freedom, and in return gain nothing but a life of drudgery, problems, and sleepless nights, with no release except through death?” She looked at him carefully. “You have been coddled and protected all your life, and now it is time you faced your responsibilities.”
Berayma looked hurt. “I already help administer the kingdom for you.”
Usharna looked sternly at her son. “The Kingdom of Grenda Lear and all its realms comprises eleven states, six million people, and a host of lesser kings and queens, princes, and dukes. It spans almost the entire continent, contains forest and jungle, plain and mountain; half of the kingdom can be in drought while the other half is in flood.
“Over the last year, you have spoken for me—on instruction—on some councils, acted as my representative when meeting the odd dignitary or two, delivered a speech in my name at the occasional official banquet, and you have just completed your first ambassadorial mission. This is not administration. I still rule this kingdom and its people.”
Berayma looked abashed. “Is that all I have been? Your mouthpiece?”
Usharna sighed. “No. You are training to be king. But never think you have learned all the lessons. The time will come, soon enough, when you truly will be administering the kingdom and will have to make decisions on behalf of Grenda Lear by yourself.” She glanced quickly at Orkid. “In consultation with your court, of course.”
“I will face my responsibilities, you know that.”
“Yes, I know you will. But don’t worry needlessly. The task before you will not be as great as you think.”
“What do you mean?”
“You will see soon enough.” She waved Orkid closer. “Now, my chancellor and I have things to discuss before we all meet in the throne room.”
“Perhaps I should stay,” he ventured in a whisper, glancing at Orkid warily.
“You are not king yet, my son. Leave us. I will see you again later this morning.”
“What is left to discuss, your Majesty?” Orkid asked after Berayma had left. “My report is finished.”
“The Keys of Power. You still disagree with my intentions.”
“A foolhardy tradition is not worth following. ”
“Foolhardy or not, it is the only way,” she said wearily.
Orkid forbore arguing. The queen was tired, and that would make her more stubborn.
The official court reception for Berayma was held at mid-morning in the throne room. It was a court event, and anybody who had or sought influence there was present.
In her simple basalt throne, balanced on a cushion, sat Usharna herself, her robes of state flowing down the royal dais. On her left hand side stood Chancellor Orkid Gravespear, and behind her stood Dejanus with his ceremonial mace. On the dais’ first step, to the right, was the royal family, presently Areava, Olio, and Lynan. To the left were the kingdom’s senior officials and members of the queen’s executive council, together with Usharna’s ladies-in-waiting.
The group looked out over the palace’s single largest enclosed space, considered quite a wonder in the world when first built some centuries before, and still a matter of some awe for strangers to Kendra. Two rows each of thirty twisting stone pillars, painted gold and black, divided the space into three long sections. The middle section formed the concourse, and a thin gold carpet stretched along it from the dais to the throne room’s entrance. The areas on either side were used by the members of the court to survey any visitors as they made the long and intimidating walk along the concourse, or to wait in silence as the queen delivered speeches, passed judgments, and made declarations.
A hundred arched, stained-glass windows set in polished granite walls let in so much light that it was almost possible to believe the throne room had no roof, but high above the court curved headseed beams supporting thousands of sharrok pine shingles set in patterns that suggested waves lapping against a calm shore. Standing to attention before each of the pillars was one of the Royal Guards, under the eye of their constable standing only a few steps from the dais; next to Kumul was Usharna’s private secretary, Harnan Beresard, sitting behind his small writing desk.
Lynan always felt out of place among the august group occupying the dais. Shorter than most, dressed less finely, and without the haughty demeanor that usually came with rank or blood, he thought of himself as an interloper who at any moment would be exposed and escorted out of the palace. The rest of the court, bigger now than it had ever been before, peered up at them with eager, envious, and often spiteful eyes. The back of Lynan’s neck ached with all the long stares boring through it. He risked turning his head to look behind him, but the faces there were all directed toward Usharna herself, looking splendid and pale on her black throne. Of course no one would bother noticing him. He was only the fourth son of the monarch, half noble and half commoner, and since it was the half-commoner part that obviously counted in the palace, why should anyone pay him any attention at all?
Because I am Elynd Chisal’s son, that’s why! he roared at them in his mind. Because I am the son of the best soldier who ever came from Kendra, the soldier who saved the queen from defeat during the Slaver War, because…
He ran out of reasons, embarrassed by his own anger. There were many more reasons, he was sure, but here and now they did not seem to matter. At least not to the court. He looked over his shoulder again, got some idea of just how many there were behind him, and then did the same for those along the opposite wall. Kumul was right. The crows were gathering for the feast, all hoping it would come sooner rather than later. He wondered how many of them sided with the Twenty Houses, and how many of them with Usharna. How far would the aristocracy go to reclaim the power it had lost to the queen? The only certainty was that no move would be made against the queen herself, such was the love and respect held for her by the common people. But after her death? Where would Lynan stand then, and what chance would he have against the scavengers?
There was a great metal clanging from the other end of the throne room. The wide bronze doors swung open and the court sergeant stood there with his heavy black spear. With great solemnity and grace he made his way up the concourse to the foot of the dais.
“Berayma Kolls, son of Queen Usharna Rosetheme, son of her consort Milgrom Kolls, Prince of the Kingdom of Kendra and all its Realms, returns from an embassy to he Majesty’s realm of Hume.”
“Then let him come to me,” Usharna answered formally The sergeant returned to the entrance and called out Berayma’s name and title. Usharna’s eldest son appeared at the entrance. Tall and wide-shouldered, dark-haired, stern-faced, and erect, he looked splendid in his fine woolen clothes and fur coat. He started the long walk, led by the sergeant and followed by the small retinue he had taken with him to Hume. When he reached the dais, he and his followers bowed low.