Trickster's Queen Read online

  Luckily, Aly had the crow fighter Nawat to entertain and delight her through the long months. His courtship grew more passionate throughout the winter, and he finally stopped offering her bugs to eat.

  At the beginning of April, most of the household traveled south to ready the family's home in the capital, Rajmuat. The family and the remainder of the servants, including Aly, took the following few weeks to prepare for the move that would change all of their lives completely and irrevocably.

  1

  RAJMUAT

  April 23, 463 H.E.

  Rajmuat harbor, Copper Isles

  As the ship Gwenna glided through the entrance of Rajmuat harbor, a young woman of seventeen years leaned against the bow rail, taking in her surroundings through green-hazel eyes. Despite her white skin, she was dressed like a native raka in sarong, sash, and wrapped jacket. The sarong displayed her neat, if thin, figure—one with the curves that drew male eyes. The calf-length garment also showed muscled legs and trim ankles protected by leather slippers. Her jacket, worn against the chill of the spring air, covered her muscular upper arms, while the loose areas of her clothes hid an assortment of flat knives designed for her needs. She had a small, delicate nose, inherited from her mother, just as her eyes were her father's. The wide mouth, its lower lip fuller than the upper, was all hers, with smiles tucked into the corners. Her reddish gold hair was cut just below her earlobes to fit her head like a helmet.

  Aly looked the soul of repose as she lounged against the rail, but her eyes were busy. She swiftly took in the panorama of Rajmuat as the city came into view. It sprawled over half of the C-shaped harbor, arranged on the rising banks like offerings laid on green steps. Steam rose from the greenery as the early-morning sun heated damp jungle earth. Patches of white and rose pink stucco marked newer houses, while the older houses, built of wood and stone, sported roofs that were sharply peaked and sloping, like the wings of some strange sitting bird. The higher the ground, the more complex the roof, with lesser roofs sprouting beneath the main one. The roofs of the wealthier houses blazed with gilt paint in the sun. Strewn among the homes were the domed, gilded towers of Rajmuat's temples.

  Above them all stood the main palace of the Kyprin rulers. Its walls, twenty feet thick, patrolled by alert guardsmen day and night, gleamed like alabaster. The rulers of the Isles were not well liked. They required the protection of strong walls.

  In the air over the great harbor, winged creatures wheeled and soared, light glancing off their metal-feathered wings. Aly shaded her eyes to look at them. These were Stormwings, harbingers of war and slaughter, creatures with steel feathers and claws whose torsos and heads were made of flesh. They lived on human pain and fear. In the Copper Isles, ruled by the heavy-handed Rittevons and their luarin nobles, the Stormwings were assured of daily meals. Aly hummed to herself. There had been plenty of Stormwings when she and the Balitangs had sailed north a year before. Now there were a great many more. From the news she had gathered on their voyage to Rajmuat, she wasn't surprised. The regents, Prince Rubinyan and Princess Imajane, had spent the winter rains executing anyone who might give them trouble, in the name of their four-year-old king. Aly nodded in silent approval. It was so useful when the people in charge helped her plans along.

  The Stormwings reminded her that she was not on deck to sightsee. Aly turned her head to the left. Here a fortress guarded the southern side of the harbor entrance. Beyond it, on a short stone pier, stood the posts called Examples. Each harbor had them, public display areas where those who had vexed the government were executed and left on display. In Rajmuat, the capital of the Isles, the Examples were reserved for the nobility. They were surrounded on land by a stone wall broken by a single gate. Over the gate, a banner flapped on the dawn breeze, a rearing bat-winged horse of metallic copper cloth, posed on a white field with a copper border— the flag of the Rittevon kings of the Copper Isles.

  Guards streamed through the gate and onto the pier. At the foot of one of the posts men were arguing, waving their arms and pointing. They wore the red-painted armor of the King's Watch, the force charged with keeping the peace, enforcing the law, and conducting executions. Aly narrowed her eyes to sharpen her magical Sight. The power was her heritage from both parents, and allowed her to read the lips of the men and take note of their insignia. She identified four lieutenants, one captain, and a number of men-at-arms who did their best to pretend they were invisible.

  Someone sniffed behind her. “Carrion crows,” Lady Sarai Balitang remarked scornfully. “What, are they fighting over who gets the ‘honor' of displaying the next wretch? Or just over who does the mopping?” Sarai moved up to stand beside Aly at the rail, her brown eyes blazing with dislike as she watched the men. A year older and an inch taller than Aly, Sarai had creamy gold skin and tumbles of braided and curled black hair under a sheer black veil. An excellent horsewoman, she held herself proudly straight, catching the eye of anyone who saw her.

  “They seem to be missing something.” Thirteen-year-old Dovasary Balitang moved in to stand on Aly's free side, and pointed. Where the Example pier joined the mainland stood a large wooden sign painted stark white. On that sign were three names and the words Executed for treason against the Crown, decreed by His Highness Prince Rubinyan Jimajen and Her Highness Princess Imajane Rittevon Jimajen, in the name of His Gracious Majesty King Dunevon Rittevon. The date was that of the previous day.

  “What happened to their poor bodies?” whispered Sarai, brown eyes wide. “They should be here for weeks.”

  “Perhaps Stormwings dropped down and carried them off,” Dove suggested quietly. Aly's mistress was different from her beautiful older sister, shorter and small-boned. She had the self-contained air of someone much older. She had a catlike face and observant black eyes. Like Sarai, her skin was creamy gold, her hair black, and her lips full. She also wore a black gown and veil in mourning for the father who had been killed six months before.

  Aly knew exactly what had happened to the dead, because she had created a plan for anyone executed and displayed here. The absence of dead Examples was her declaration, as the rebellion's spymaster, that she would turn the Rittevon Crown and its supporters inside out. The spies she had sent ahead with Ulasim three weeks before the family's departure had been charged with putting her declaration into action.

  Body thieves were expected to attack from the land. No one would expect people to swim to the pier in the foul harbor water. Her people had done just that, to remove the bodies, weigh them down with chains, and sink them in the harbor. The plan worked on many levels. The Crown officials lost the Examples they had made, and the Kings' Watch was left with a mystery. Aly knew quite well that mysteries frightened people, particularly those people who were not supposed to allow them to happen. Sooner or later word of the vanishing Examples would leak out. People would start to see that the Crown was not as powerful as it claimed to be.

  “Last autumn Prince Rubinyan told Winna that there would be no more unnecessary executions,” Sarai commented.

  “Maybe he thinks these are necessary,” said Dove, grim-faced. “Or Imajane does.”

  “Hunod Ibadun? Dravinna?” The soft voice spoke the names painted on the announcement board. The voice be- longed to Sarai and Dove's stepmother, Duchess Winnamine Balitang. The girls made space for her at the rail. “They wouldn't harm a fly if it were biting them.” She was a tall, slender woman, elegant in deep black mourning. “Hunod is—was—Prince Rubinyan's friend!”

  “I would guess they are not friends now,” remarked Dove, her voice steady.

  “Winna, I don't recognize the names,” Sarai told her stepmother. “They aren't the same Ibaduns who own those rice plantations on the southern coast of Lombyn, are they?”

  “No,” replied the duchess, wiping her eyes. “Hunod and Dravinna were cousins to those Ibaduns. They have—had—their own estates on Gempang. They grew orchids. Has that become treasonous?”

  “It depends on what they grew along wit
h them, I suppose,” Dove said, squeezing her stepmother's free hand. “Or what Topabaw thought they were growing.”

  Aly twiddled her thumbs, as she often did when thinking. She was not supposed to protect the family this year. She was here to gather information and, through exquisite planning, destroy the people's belief in the Rittevon Crown and promote the longing for a young, sane, raka queen. Aly looked forward to crossing swords with the Crown's official spymaster, who'd held that post for thirty bloody years. She knew Prince Rubinyan had personal spies, because she had caught some of them the year before, but the master of the crown's spies, Duke Lohearn Mantawu, called Topabaw by all, was the man who bred fear. The downfall of Topabaw was to be one of her special projects now that she was back in the capital.

  She was envisioning her plans for him when she heard a change in the Stormwings' shrieks overhead, from normal taunts to rage. Seagulls fled the harbor in silence, and the city's myriad of parrots stopped their raucous morning conversations. The clatter of shipping and the shouts of sailors rang overloud in the air. Aly waited, listening. Goose bumps prickled their way up her arms. Gradually she heard it more clearly, a rough sound, harsh and bawling.

  She straightened with a grin. “Crows,” she announced.

  The crows burst into the air above the heights west of the harbor in a squalling, quarreling, soaring ebony cloud. They turned the sky above Rajmuat's palace black as activity around the harbor came to a halt. The Stormwings grabbed for height with their immense steel-feathered wings, snarling with outrage at the invaders. They darted at the crows, bladed wings sweeping out to hack them to pieces. The crows, smaller and nimbler, scattered. Wheeling, they dropped, then flew up among the Stormwings to peck at the exposed tender human flesh of their enemies. The racket was indescribable.

  I wonder how many of these people know that the crows are sacred to Kyprioth the Trickster? Aly wondered. The raka full-bloods know, but how many part-bloods, and how many full-blood luarin? Are they going to take this as an omen? I hope not. We really don't need omens soaring all over the city.

  Aly sighed. “I had so wished that our return would be quiet,” she said wistfully.

  “I don't believe the crows care, Aly,” Dove replied.

  Sarai added, “I like anything that gives those disgusting Stormwings a hard time.”

  The duchess took a deep breath. “Come, ladies. We'll be landing soon. Let's make sure we've packed everything.” She led her stepdaughters below.

  Aly stayed where she was, her eyes on the city. Things would start to move fast now. All the way here, she had picked up stories of the unrest in the Isles that had begun over the winter and still continued. Soon actual fighting would begin. The fighting, at least, was not her concern, but that of the rebel leaders who served Balitang House. Her biggest task was to make sure they had the most current information available. For this she had access to the network of informants built up by the raka, a network that drew from every skin color and every social category. She also had her own pack, the spies she herself had trained intensively over the winter. They had come south with Ulasim three weeks earlier to start training their allies in Rajmuat. They and their own recruits would gather still more information for her. Most importantly, Aly would collect information from inside the palace, to give the raka as much news of possible allies and the regents' movements as she could. Aly would then bring all the information together, study it, find connections, and get the boiled-down intelligence to the people who needed it.

  She thought the odds of the rebellion's success were good. She respected the raka leaders in the household. Coming south, she had glimpsed how far their reach extended, and was pleased. They had a strong, beloved candidate for the throne in Sarai. Her attractiveness and charm would win the hearts of the more reluctant citizens of the Isles. A child sat on the Rittevon throne, governed by heavy-handed regents who were despised by many. And the rebels had been whittling away at the luarin confidence all winter. Only this morning they had dealt the King's Watch a hard slap with the disappearances of the Crown's Examples. Aly even had a god on her side, if he would ever show up.

  Aly's nerves buzzed. As if he had read her mind, Kyprioth the Trickster appeared at her side. It was Kyprioth who had brought Aly to the Isles, though he was not the reason that she had stayed. Three hundred years earlier his brother, the sun and war god Mithros, and his sister, the moon and fertility Great Mother Goddess, had accompanied the luarin to the Isles and ousted Kyprioth from his throne. Now the Trickster hoped to retake what was his.

  “Hello, you rascal,” Aly greeted him cheerfully. “Why didn't you ask the crows to behave?”

  “If I cared to clack my teeth in a supremely useless exercise, I would have tried to tell them to behave,” retorted the god lightly, his black eyes dancing with mischief. “You'll find that not all of your allies are under your control, my dear.”

  The god was lean and muscled, straight-backed like a dancer. For reasons best known to him, he wore a salt-and-pepper beard and hair, both cropped short. He'd once told Aly he thought this style gave him the look of an elder statesman. Today his coat was a bright mass of yellow, pink, lavender, and pale blue squares. He jingled with a multitude of charms and bits of jewelry. His sarong, a skirtlike garment that men kilted up between their legs, was patterned in black and white diagonal stripes. He wore leather sandals studded with copper, as well as toe and finger rings made of copper and gems. For once he wore no copper earring, only a single blue drop.

  Aly made a face at him. “Where were you all winter? You left me to yearn. I yearned for months, but you never so much as sent a messenger pigeon.” She kept her voice quiet but teasing. The sailors looked too busy to notice her and her companion, even if they could see the god, but she liked to be careful in all she did.

  Kyprioth beamed at her. “I was someplace warmer than the highlands of Lombyn,” he replied. “Don't complain to me. You were having all kinds of fun, training your little spies. All I could do was wait. I did so in a place where I had plenty to amuse me.” His gaze was fixed on the city. A will of stone showed as the corners of his mouth tightened. “I've waited a long time for this spring to come.”

  Aly stayed where she was, though her body wanted to flee. It unnerved her to see that depth of emotion in the dethroned god. “Well, you don't need me, then,” she joked weakly. “I'll just take the next ship for Corus, get home in time for my mother's birthday.”

  Kyprioth turned to look at her. “You're just as eager to see this through as any of my raka. Don't even pretend that you aren't. Which reminds me.” He reached out and pressed the ball of his thumb against the middle of Aly's forehead. Gold fire swamped her mind, making her sway.

  She braced herself against the rail and waited for her normal vision to return. She dug into the folds of her sarong for the bit of mirror she kept there for emergencies. Her forehead looked much as it normally did, pale after the winter and chapped by the sea air and wind. She grimaced and reminded herself to filch Sarai's facial balm, then put the mirror away.

  “What was that?” she asked him. “I thought you'd at least leave a beauty mark or something.”

  “I would not touch your beauty, my dear,” said the god with his flashing smile. “And I would be bereft if you chose to commit suicide rather than be tortured or questioned under truthspell. No one will be able to force knowledge from your lips or your hands.”

  Aly raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh. So they can torture me, they just can't make me tell the truth. An enchanting prospect, sir.”

  His smile broadened to a grin. “I love it when you call me sir. It makes me feel all . . .” He hesitated, then found the words he wanted. “All godlike. So there's no need to commit suicide. You won't ever surrender what you know.”

  “Have you granted the others this splendid favor?” she asked, curious. “I wouldn't want them to be jealous.”

  Kyprioth leaned against the rail, his expression wry. “No one else in the rebellion has put
together as much of the complete picture as you have done over this winter, gathering bits and pieces. You simply had to ferret it all out, didn't you? Ulasim can give perhaps a hundred names. Ochobu can give the names of the Chain and the main conspirators among the Balitang servants. If my other leaders die, they can be replaced.”

  Aly showed him no sign of the chill that crawled down her spine over that matter-of-fact “they can be replaced.” He's a god, she told herself. It's different for them.

  Kyprioth sighed. “But you, my dear, have learned nearly the entire thing—not the foot soldiers, but those in command and where they are, the members of the Chain. . . . You couldn't help it. It's your nature to poke and pry and gather. Even your fellow rebels are ignorant of the extent of your knowledge, which makes me chuckle.”

  Aly fanned her hand at him, like a beauty who brushed off a compliment.

  “Besides, I've grown attached to you,” Kyprioth said, capturing her hand. He kissed the back of her fingers and released her. “I would hate it if you used the suicide spell and left me for the Black God's realm. You know how brothers are—we hate to share.”

  “You'll have to let me go to him sometime,” Aly reminded the god. “I'm not immortal.”

  “That is ‘sometime.' I am talking about this summer,” Kyprioth replied. His eyes darkened. “Make sure you see this through. Once battle is joined in the Divine Realms, we gods draw strength from the success of our worshippers. If you and I fail, the luarin will exterminate the raka. And I will be unable to help them, because my brother and sister will kick me to the outermost edge of the universe.” He brightened. “But there, why be gloomy? We're going to have a wonderful year, I'm sure of it!”

  He was gone.

  For a moment Aly hoped the god was not placing more trust in her abilities than she deserved. Then she shrugged. There was one way to find out if she was as good at her task as she and Kyprioth hoped, and that was to pull off a war. “What's a little thing like revolution between friends?” she wondered, and looked ahead.