Michael Sullivan: Percepliquis

“Well…” He shrugged guiltily.

“Don’t deny it! I’ve seen you with a crowd of them circling like vultures and you grinning and strutting around like the prize bull at the fair. Do you make a list? Does Julian send them to your chambers by hair color, height, or merely in alphabetical order?”

“It’s not like that.”

“You know, you do have to get married, and the sooner, the better. You have a lineage to protect. Kings who don’t produce heirs cause civil wars.”

“You sound like Father. Maribor forbid I should have any enjoyment in my life. I have to be king-don’t make me have to be a husband and father too. You might as well just lock me up and get it over with. Besides, there’s plenty of time. I’m still young. You make it sound like I am teetering on the edge of my grave. And what about you? You’re pushing old-maid status now. Shouldn’t we be searching for suitable nobles? Do you remember when you thought I arranged a marriage for you with Prince Rudolf, and-Arista? Are you all right?”

She turned away, wiping the moisture from her eyes. “I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry.” She felt his hand on her shoulder.

“It’s okay,” she replied, and coughed to clear her throat.

“You know I would never-”

“I know. It’s all right, really.” She sniffled and wiped her nose. They sat in silence for a few minutes; then Arista said, “I would have married Hilfred, you know. I don’t care what you or the council would have said.”

A look of surprise came over him. “Since when have you ever cared… Hilfred, huh?” He smirked and shook his head.

She glared back.

“It’s not what you think,” he said.

“What is it, then?” she asked with an accusing tone, thinking that the boy who had laughed at her falling from her horse had reappeared.

“No slight to Hilfred. I liked him. He was a good man and loved you very much.”

“But he wasn’t noble,” she interrupted. “Well, listen-”

“Wait.” Her brother held up a hand. “Let me finish. I don’t care if he was noble or not. Truth is he was nobler than just about anyone I can think of, except maybe that Breckton fellow. How Hilfred managed to stand by you every day, while not saying anything-that was real chivalry. He wasn’t a knight, but he’s the only one I ever saw who acted like one. No, it’s not because he wasn’t noble-born, and it’s not because he wasn’t a great guy. I would have loved to have him as a brother.”

“What, then?” she asked, this time confused.

Alric looked at her, and in his eyes was the same expression she had seen when he had found her in the dark of the imperial prison.

“You didn’t love him,” he said simply.

The words shocked her. She did not say anything. She could not say anything.

“I don’t think there was anyone in Essendon Castle who didn’t know how Hilfred felt. Why didn’t you?” he asked.

She could not help it. She started crying.

“Arista, I’m sorry. I just…”

She shook her head, trying to get enough air into her lungs to speak. “No-you’re right-you’re right.” She could not keep her lips from quivering. “But I would have married him just the same. I would have made him happy.”

Alric reached out and pulled her close. She buried her head into the thick folds of his robe and squeezed. They did not say anything for a long while and then Arista sat up and wiped her face.

She took a breath. “So when did you get so romantic, anyway? Since when does love have anything to do with marriage? You don’t love any of the girls you spend your time with.”

“And that’s why I’m not married.”

“Really?”

“Surprised? I guess I just remember Mom and Dad, you know?”

Arista narrowed her eyes at him. “He married Mother because she was Ethelred’s niece and he needed the leverage with Warric to combat the trade war with Chadwick and Glouston.”

“Maybe at the start, but they grew to love each other. Father used to tell me that wherever he was, if Mom was there, it was home. I always remembered that. I’ve never found anyone who made me feel that way. Have you?”

She hesitated. For a moment she considered telling him the truth, then just shook her head.

They sat again in silence; then finally Alric rose. “Are you sure I can’t get you anything?”

“No, but thank you. It means a lot to know that you care.”

He started to leave, and as he reached the door, she said, “Alric?”

“Hmm?”

“Remember when you and Mauvin were planning on going to Percepliquis?”

“Oh yeah, believe me, I think about that a lot these days. What I wouldn’t give to be able to-”

“Do you know where it is?”

“Percepliquis? No. No one does. Mauvin and I were just hoping we’d be the ones to stumble on it. Typical kid stuff, like slaying a dragon or winning the Wintertide games. It sure would have been fun to look, though. Instead, I guess I have to go home and look for a bride. She’ll make me wear shoes at dinner-I know she will.”

Alric left, closing the door softly behind him and leaving her in the blue glow of the robe. She lay back down with her eyes open, studying the stone and mortar above her bed. She saw where the artisan had scraped his trowel, leaving an impression frozen in time. The light of the robe shifted with her breaths, creating the illusion of movement and giving her the sensation of being underwater, as if the ceiling were the lighted surface of a winter pond. It felt like she was drowning, trapped beneath a thick slab of solid blue ice.

She closed her eyes. It did not help.

Soup, she thought-warm, tasty, comforting soup. Perhaps it was not such a bad idea after all. Maybe someone would be in the kitchen. She had no idea what time it was. It was dark, but it was also winter. Still, it had to be early, since there had been no scuttling of castle servants past her door. It did not matter. She would not fall back to sleep now, so she might as well get up. If no one was awake, she might manage on her own.

The idea of doing something for herself, of being useful, got her going. She was actually excited as her feet hit the cold stone and she looked around for her slippers. The robe glowed brighter, as if sensing her need. When she entered the dark hall, it remained bright until she descended the stairs. As she entered into torchlight, the robe dimmed until it only reflected the firelight.

She was disappointed to find several people already at work in the kitchen. Cora, the stocky dairymaid with the bushy eyebrows and rosy cheeks, was at work churning butter near the door, pumping the plunger in a steady rhythm, trading one hand for another. The young boy Nipper, with his shoulders powdered in snow, stomped his feet as he entered from the dark courtyard, carrying an armload of wood, pausing to shake his head like a dog. He threw a spray that garnered a curse from Cora. Leif and Ibis stoked the stoves, grumbling to each other about damp tinder. Lila stood on a ladder like a circus performer, pulling down the teetering bowls stacked on the top shelf. Edith Mon had always insisted on having them dusted at the start of each month. While the ogre herself was gone, her tyranny lived on.

Arista had looked forward to rustling around in the darkened scullery, searching for a meal like a mouse. Now her adventure was ruined and she considered returning upstairs to avoid an awkward encounter. Arista knew all the scullery servants from her days posing as Ella the chambermaid. She might be a princess, but she was also a liar, a spy, and, of course, a witch.

Do they hate me? Fear me?

There was a time when the thought of servants had not bothered her, a time when she had hardly noticed them at all. Standing at the bottom of the steps, watching them scurry around the chilly kitchen, she could not determine if she had gained wisdom or lost innocence.