Briony would have been one of the first to admit that the throne room back in Southmarch might be dignified, even impressive, but it was not awesome. The ceiling was full of fine old carvings but they were hard to see in the dark chamber except on festival days when all the candles were set blazing. The ceiling itself was high, but only in comparison to most of the rest of the rooms—there were higher ceilings within many of the great houses of the March Kingdoms. And the colored windows that in her childhood had formed her strongest idea of heaven were not even as nice as those in the great Trigonate temple in the outer keep beyond the Raven’s Gate. Still, Briony had always thought that there could not be much difference between her home and the other royal palaces of Eion. Her father was a king, after all, and his father and grandfather had been kings before him—a line that went back generations. Surely the monarchs of Syan and Brenland and Perikal did not live much more grandly, she had thought. But since she had come to famous Broadhall Palace, Briony had quickly lost her illusions.
From the first hour of her capture, as the coach surrounded by a troop of soldiers had passed through the portcullis and gate and onto the palace grounds, she had begun to feel foolish. How could she have thought her family something other than rustic—the same sort of faded, countrified nobles that she and Barrick had found so amusing back home? And now she stood beside Jino in the throne room itself, the voluminous chamber that for centuries had been the heart of the entire continent, and which still was the capital of one of the most powerful nations in the world, and her own witless pretension was a bone in her throat.
The Broadhall throne room was vast, to begin with, the ceiling twice as lofty as that of Southmarch’s greatest temple, and carved and painted in such wonderful, startling detail that it looked as though an entire population of Funderlings had worked on it for a century. (That was exactly what had happened, she found out later, although here in Syan they called their small people Kallikans.) Each brilliant window stained with sun-bright colors looked as big as the Basilisk Gate back home, and there were dozens of them, so that the huge room seemed to be crowned with rainbows. The floor was a swirling pattern of black and white marble squares, an intricate circular mosaic called Perin’s Eye—famous throughout the world, Erasmias Jino informed her as he led her across it. She followed him past the huge but empty throne and the company of armored knights in blue, red, and gold who stood solemnly against the throne room’s great walls, still and silent as statues.
“You must permit me to show you the gardens at some point,” the marquis told her. “The throne room is very fine, of course, but the royal gardens are truly extraordinary.”
I take your point, fellow—this is what a true kingdom looks like. She kept her face cheerfully empty, but Jino’s high-handedness griped her. You do not think much of Southmarch or our small problems and you want to remind me what real grandeur and real power look like. Yes, I take your point. You think my family’s crown is no more impressive than the sham crown of wood and gold paint that I wore on the stage.
But the heart of a kingdom is not small just because the kingdom is, she thought.
Jino led her through a door at the back of the throne room, this one surrounded by a group of guards in different, although complementary, shades of blue and red from those lined along the walls of the throne room. “The King’s Cabinet,” said Jino, opening the door and gesturing for her to go in. A herald in a brilliant sky-blue tabard embroidered with Syan’s famous sword and flowering almond branch, asked her name and title, then stamped his gold-topped stick on the floor.
“Briony te Meriel te Krisanthe M’Connord Eddon, Princess Regent of the March Kingdoms,” he announced, as casually as if she were the fourth or fifth princess who’d come through the door that day. For all Briony knew, she might have been: two or three dozen guards, servants, and beautifully dressed courtiers filled the richly appointed room, and though many of them watched her entrance, few showed any signs of overwhelming interest.
“Ah, of course, Olin’s child!” said the bearded man on the high-backed couch, waving her forward. He was dressed in serious, dark clothes and his voice was deep and strong. “I see his face in yours. This is an unexpected pleasure.”
“Thank you, your Majesty.” Briony made her curtsies. Enander Karallios was the most powerful ruler in Eion and looked the part. He had gone a little to fat in recent years, but he was a big man and managed to carry it well. His hair was dark, almost black, with only a little gray, and his face, though rounded by age and weight, was still strong and impressive, brow high, eyes wide-set, his nose strong and sharp, so that it was still quite possible to see why as a younger man he had been considered a very dashing and handsome prince indeed. “Come, child, sit down. We are pleased to see you. Your father is dear to us.”
“Dear to all of Eion,” said the woman in the beautiful pearled gown beside him. This must be Ananka te Voa, Briony realized, a powerful noblewoman in her own right, but also, and far more important, a mistress to kings. Briony was a little shocked to see her sitting at Enander’s side so openly. The king’s second wife had died some years ago, but the gossip Briony had heard among Makewell’s Men suggested that he had only taken up with this woman recently, after Ananka had left her old lover, Hesper, the king of Jael and Jellon.
Hesper the bloody-handed traitor… !
Briony, who had been in mid-curtsy, almost lost her balance as she thought of him. There were few men in the world Briony would have seen tortured, but Hesper was one of them. She couldn’t help wondering whether Ananka had been at his side when Hesper had decided to imprison Briony’s father Olin and then sell him to Ludis Drakava. Looking at the woman’s sharp, hard eyes, it was easy enough to believe.
“You are both very kind,” Briony said, doing her best to keep her voice even. “My father has always spoken of you with the highest regard and love, King Enander.”
“And how is he? Have you had word from him?” Enander was toying with something in his lap and it distracted her. After a moment she saw the bright little eyes peering out from beneath his heavy velvet sleeve. It was a small animal, a tiny dog or a ferret.
“Some letters, yes, but not since I left Southmarch.” She couldn’t help wondering what the two of them were thinking. They acted as though this was any other audience—did they not know her situation? “Your Majesty is doubtless aware that I left my home… well, let us say I did not go by choice. One of my subjects… no, one of my father’s subjects, Hendon Tolly, has traitorously seized the throne of the March Kingdoms. I suspect he murdered my older brother, as well as his own.” In truth, Kendrick’s death was the one crime she could not with certainty lay against Hendon Tolly, but he had admitted his role in his own brother Gailon’s death.
“Lord Tolly says differently, as you probably know,” said Enander, looking troubled. “We cannot take sides—not without knowing more. I’m sure you understand. Lord Tolly claims you ran away, that all he does is protect Olin’s remaining heir, the infant Alessandros. That is the boy’s name, is it not?” he asked Ananka.
“Yes, Alessandros.” She turned back to Briony. “You poor child.” Ananka was handsome, but she used too much powder—it accentuated the lines of her thin face rather than hid them. Still, she was the kind of woman who had always made Briony feel like a clumsy, stupid little girl. “How you must have suffered. And we have heard such stories! Is it true Southmarch was attacked by the fairies?”