Tad Williams: Shadowrise

Jino led her across the residence and then through one of Broadhall Palace’s great gardens and into a quiet hallway built along the inside of the palace’s great wall. Such a vast dwelling—the palace alone as large as all of Southmarch, castle and city. And she knew not a soul here, had no one to trust…

Allies. I need allies in this strange land.

The Southmarch players were sitting on a bench in a windowless chamber under the eyes of several guards. Most of them already looked frightened; the sight of Briony, confirmed now as their ruler and dressed in expensive clothes Jino had provided for her, did not make them any less so. Estir Makewell, whose last words to Briony had been angry and unpleasant, even blanched and hunched her shoulders as though she expected to be struck. Of all the players on the bench, only young Feival did not look cowed. He eyed her up and down.

“Look at what they’ve got you up in!” he said approvingly. “But stand up straight, girl, and wear it as though you mean it!”

Briony smiled in spite of herself. “I’ve lost the knack, I guess.”

The reprobate Nevin Hewney was eyeing her as well, frowning in wonderment. “By the gods, they told the truth. To think—had I but tried a little harder, I could have knobbed a princess!”

Estir Makewell gasped. Her brother Pedder fell off the bench and two guards lowered their halberds in case this might be the start of some general uprising. “Blessed Zoria save us!” Estir cried hoarsely, staring at the fierce blades. “Hewney, you fool, you will have us all on the headsman’s block!”

Briony could not help being a little amused, but did not feel she could afford to show too much familiarity in front of the guards and Jino. “Be assured that should I take offense,” she said, “it is only Hewney who would pay the price for his ungovernable tongue.” She fixed the playwright with a stern gaze. “And were I to read out the bill of particulars against him I might start with the time he referred to myself and my brother as ‘twin whelps sired by Stupidity on the bitch Privilege.’ Or perhaps the time he referred to my imprisoned father as ‘Ludis Drakava’s royal bum-toy.’ I think either of those would suffice to put the headsman to work.”

Nevin Hewney groaned, a touch too loud to be convincingly repentant—the man was either almost fearless or stupefied by years of drink. “Do you see? ” he demanded of his comrades. “That is what comes of youth and sobriety. Her memory is horrifyingly sharp. What a curse—never to forget even the slightest bit of foolishness. Your Highness, you have my pity!”

“Oh, shut up, Hewney,” said Briony. “I’m not going to hold you responsible for things you said when you didn’t know who I was, but you’re not half as charming or clever as you think you are.”

“Thank you, Highness.” The playwright and actor sketched a bow. “For, since I think quite highly of myself, that still leaves me with a formidable weight of charm.”

Briony could only shake her head. She turned to Dowan, the soft-spoken giant for whom she had a particular fondness. “In truth, I’ve just come to say goodbye. I’ll do my best to get them to let Finn go quickly.”

“Is it really true, then? ” he asked. “Are you really… who they say you are, Mistress? Highness?”

“I’m afraid so,” she told him. “I did not wish to lie to you, but I feared for my life. I’ll never forget the kindness with which you treated me.” She turned to the others and even found a smile for Estir. “All of you. Yes, even Master Nevin, although in his case it was interspersed with lechery and his unending love for the music of his own voice.”

“Hah!” Pedder Makewell was sitting up again, feeling better. “She has scored another hit on you, Hewney.”

“I care not,” said the playwright airily. “For the mistress of all Southmarch has proclaimed I am half of the most charming man in the world.”

“But I am not the mistress of all Southmarch.” Briony looked over to Erasmias Jino, who had been watching the entire performance with a polite smile on his face, like a theatergoer who had seen better work only the night before. “And that is why you must not go back there—not yet.” She turned to the Syannese nobleman. “News of my presence here will reach Southmarch, will it not?”

He shrugged. “We will not keep it secret—we are not at war with your country, princess. In fact, we are told that Tolly only protects the throne against the return of your father… or, presumably, you.”

“That’s a lie! He tried to kill me.”

Jino spread his hands. “I’m certain you are right, Princess Briony. But it is… complicated …”

“Do you see?” she said, turning back to the players. “So you must stay here in Tessis, at least until I know more of what I will do. Play your plays. I’m afraid you’ll have to find another actress to play Zoria.” She smiled again. “It should not be hard to find a better one, I’m sure.”

“In truth I thought you were coming along quite well,” Feival told her. “Not enough to make them forget me, thanks to Zosim and all the other gods, but nicely.”

“He speaks true,” said Dowan Birch. “You could still make a grand player someday, if you but worked at it a little.” He looked around, reddening, as the others laughed.

Briony, though, wasn’t laughing. She had felt a sharp pang at his words, at the glimpse into an impossible other life where things were different, where she could have lived as she chose. “Thank you, Dowan.” She stood up. “Don’t fear—we’ll soon find you all a place to stay.” And in the meantime, Briony could keep the players close by and consider the idea that had come to her. “Farewell, then, until our next meeting.”

As the players were conducted out by a pair of guards, Hewney broke away from them and came back to Briony. “In truth,” he whispered, “I like you better in this role, child. You play the part of a queen most convincingly. Keep it up and I foresee good reviews for you in future.” He gave her a quick kiss scented with wine—and where had he gotten any wine, she wondered, while in King Enander’s custody?—before following the others out.

“Well, by the sweet Orphan,” Lord Jino said, “that was all most… interesting. Sometime you must tell me what it is like to travel with such people. But now, you are called to a more elevated performance—a command performance, as such are called.”

It took her a moment. “The king?”

“Yes, Highness. His august Majesty, the King of all Syan, wishes to meet you.”

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.