King Enander gave her an irritated look, perhaps because he did not want to be reminded of Syan’s old debt to Anglin’s line in the fairy wars of the past.
“Yes, it was, my lady,” Briony said. “And as far as I know, still under siege…”
“But we hear that you hid yourself among a company of peasants and escaped—walking all the way from Southmarch! How clever! How brave!”
“In truth, it was a company of players… ma’am.” Briony had learned how to swallow an angry reply, but it did not taste good. “And I was not escaping the siege, but my own treacherous…”
“Yes, we have heard—quite a story!” Enander cut her off before she could say more. It was not an accident. “But we have had only the barest bones—of course, you must flesh them out for us soon. Ah-ah,” he said, lifting his hand when she might have spoken again. “But no more talk now, my dear—you must be exhausted after your ordeal. Time enough for everything when you are feeling stronger. We will see you tonight at supper.”
She thanked him and made another curtsy. So, she wondered, am I a guest? Or a prisoner? It wasn’t entirely clear.
As Lord Jino led her out of the King’s Cabinet, Briony fought against anger and unhappiness. Enander had received her kindly and courteously, and so far the Syannese had treated her as well as she could have hoped. Had she expected that the king would stand up, declare undying loyalty to the blood of Anglin’s line, and immediately equip her with an army to go back and overthrow the Tollys? Of course not. But she also had the distinct feeling from the king’s mien that such a thing wasn’t only to be delayed, it was never going to happen at all.
Briony was so immersed in her thoughts that she nearly walked into a tall man coming across the throne room, headed toward the chamber she had just left. As she started back he reached out a strong hand to keep her upright.
“Apologies, Mistress,” he said. “Are you well?”
“Your Royal Highness,” said Jino. “You are back before we looked for you.”
Briony straightened her clothes to cover her confusion. Royal Highness? Then this young man must be Eneas, the prince. She felt her breath getting a little short as she looked up. Was this truly the boy she had thought about so much during that year of her childhood? He was certainly as handsome as the prince she had imagined, tall and slender but wide-shouldered, with a tangled mass of black hair like a horse’s mane after a long, fast ride.
“There is much to tell,” the prince said. “I rode fast.” He looked at Briony, puzzled. “And who is this?”
“Highness, allow me to present Briony te Meriel te Krisanthe…” Jino began.
“Briony Eddon?” The prince interrupted him. “Are you truly Briony Eddon? Olin’s daughter? But what are you doing here?” Suddenly remembering his manners, he grabbed her hand and lifted it to his lips, but his eyes never left her face.
“I will explain all later, Highness,” Jino said. “But your father will want to hear your news about the southern armies. Did everything go well?”
“No,” Eneas said. “No, it did not.” He turned back to Briony. “Are you dining with us tonight? Say yes.”
“Y–yes, of course.”
“Good. We will speak more then. It is astounding to see you here. I was just thinking about your father—I admire him greatly, you know. Is he well?” He did not wait for an answer. “Jino is right, I should go. But I look forward to our conversation later.” He took her hand, kissed it again, a mere brush of his dry, wind-chapped lips, but looked at her as though he meant to memorize her every feature. “I told them you would grow up a beauty,” he said. “I am proved right.”
Briony watched Eneas go, staring after him for several moments before she realized her mouth must be hanging open like that of some Dalesman sheepherder getting his first view of a real city. “What did he mean by that?” she said, half to herself. “He couldn’t have even known I existed!”
Jino was frowning a little, but he did his best to turn it into a smile. “Oh, but the prince would never lie, Highness, and certainly he would not stoop to f lattery.” He gave a rueful laugh. “He means well, and he is of course a splendid young man, but in truth his courtly manners leave a bit to be desired.” He straightened and extended his arm. “Let me show you back to your rooms now, Princess. We all look forward to the honor of your company again at supper, but you really should rest after your terrifying journey.”
Briony’s own courtly manners might be a touch rustic by Syannese standards but she understood what Erasmias Jino was saying well enough: Please, child, get out from under my feet so I can see to more important business—the business of a true kingdom, not a backwater like yours.
It was another reminder that Briony was at best a distraction for these Syannese, and more likely an annoying problem. Either way, she had no power here, or any friends she could count on. She let herself be led back across the gleaming, echoing throne room, through groups of staring courtiers and more discreet but just as interested servants, already thinking about how that balance might be changed for the better.
2. A Road Beneath the Sea
“According to Rhantys and other scholars from the years before the Great Death, the fairies themselves claim they were not created by the gods, but that rather they ‘summoned’ the gods.”
Flint picked up the broken, bone-white disk in his fingers and waved it at Chert. “What is this?” he demanded, but his adoptive father was several paces ahead and couldn’t see what the boy had found.
“Are we walking all the way to Silverside, old man? ” Opal asked as she came up from behind them, then she saw what Flint was holding. “What do you have there, boy?” She took it from him and carefully rubbed off the dust, then held the pale half-circle up to the light of her coral lamp. “Why, look, Chert, it’s part of a sea imperial. What’s it doing down here instead of on a beach? Did someone drop it, do you think?”
“Must have.” Chert carefully examined the rock above their heads but it looked reassuringly solid and dry. “Nothing dripping here. Besides, the sea doesn’t just dribble if it finds a way in. All that water, all that weight, it’d fill the place in a heartbeat.” He could not help remembering the terrible stories his father had told him about the tragedy on Quarrymen’s Bank, named after the guild that had been extending their living quarters there.
The first law of Funderling Town was, and always had been, that no serious digging of any kind should ever be undertaken beneath the waterline, since one mistake would be enough to bring the sea flooding into the depths, destroying the district of the Mysteries and the temple of the Metamorphic Brotherhood, as well as everything else in the lower caverns. But on that morning sixty or seventy years earlier the Quarrymen’s Guild crew had lost track of how deep they’d dug. It was discovered later that they had also cut too far out toward the edge of the great stony island of Midlan’s Mount on which Southmarch stood.
That day, a rumble of dislodged stone had been followed by a shocking spear thrust of chilly seawater that knocked Funderling diggers head over heels. Within moments the tremendous flow of water began widening the crevice; the thin spurt quickly became a barrel-wide gush. The quarrymen labored fruitlessly to close the hole, fighting the overwhelming power of the sea god himself, but the excavated rooms were already beginning to fill. One of the workers defied his foreman and fled to an upper level to let people there know what was happening. Such members of the guilds as were available hurried to the spot and a decision was made by the Highwardens to seal off the entire bank. A dozen Funderlings were pulled out of the flooded level, but almost twice that number had been cut off in other side passages by the rising water and there was no time to search for them. It had been a choice, Chert’s father had told him with a kind of sour satisfaction, between twenty-three men doomed by an idiot foreman or the hundreds more below sea level in all the rest of Funderling Town.