Outraged, Ventillas protested, “That is not what happened—”
Cas exchanged a glance with Lena, her uneasiness a reflection of his.
“The story changes daily, depending on who tells it.” Angry color slashed the queen’s cheekbones. “War is an ugly business, my lord of Palmerin, and it is never one-sided.” She stared tightlipped at Ventillas, who glared right back. King Rayan rubbed his temple as though the ache within were tremendous.
The silence lasted long enough for Queen Jehan to take a deep breath and settle back in her chair. The fire crackled. “Ventillas,” she said, her voice softening. “My friend.”
Ventillas’ own words were gruff. “Forgive me.”
“There is nothing to forgive. He is your brother and harm was done to him. If I were in your place, I too would want to set the world afire.”
One of the lynx woke and stretched. The size of a foal, it padded toward Cas and lowered itself beside him. Lena eyed it, wary. She edged closer to the queen. Cas buried his hand in its fur, scratching behind its ears and feeling its purr ripple along his arm.
“It’s a bitter pill to swallow,” King Rayan said. “No reparations from Brisa, but you will have them from us. The lords of Palmerin have been good to my family. Cassia, if there is something you wish for that is in our power to grant, you have only to ask.”
The king had barely finished speaking before Cas answered. “There is nothing.”
A silence. Ventillas cautioned, “Cassia . . .”
“I won’t profit from what happened,” Cas said flatly. “Accept gold or land, or a new title, because I’m alive and my friends are not.” The thought sickened him.
Lena’s words were quiet. “That is not why they offer.”
“Lena. I can’t accept it.” Cas remembered himself too late. The familiar use of her name, when they should have only just met, settled into the quiet that followed. Lena winced and avoided looking at her brother, whose eyes had narrowed. Hastily, Cas added, “But I’m grateful for your offer, Your Grace. Your Grace.”
Queen Jehan looked from Lena to Cas, eyebrows raised. She said only, “You saved our son’s life. Will you not allow us to thank you for it?”
“You have already thanked me.”
“Very well,” King Rayan said, his tone brisk. “We will consider the matter of Brisa settled. Don’t look at me like that, Ventillas. It wasn’t I who taught him to be so noble.” He wrapped both hands around his mug. “As for our son, my wish is that you make no decision now. You’re young, Cassia. There are many years ahead of you. You don’t know when you will find yourself in need of a king’s favor.” When Cas opened his mouth to respond, King Rayan held up one hand. “This is my wish.” There was steel behind his words, and this time Cas kept his mouth shut.
Lena rose and changed the topic entirely. “You were eyeing the tapestry earlier,” she said to Cas. “Would you like to see it?”
“Yes.” Cas gave the lynx one last scratch before following her across the chamber. “Sorry,” he muttered when they were far enough away from prying ears.
“Oh well,” she said under her breath. “He finds out everything eventually. I don’t know why I bother.” In a louder voice, she said, “Isn’t it lovely? Abril drew the original pattern, but the weavers are all from Palmerin. From your guild.”
Enough space had been left between the coils for a person to walk without trampling the tapestry. It was divided into a number of scenes. Cas studied the first one. There were four ships, great bulky carracks with forecastles and aftcastles. Silk threads dyed the deepest blues and greens were used to represent the sea. The ships themselves were threaded with browns and golds and blacks. Lena seemed to be expecting a response.
“It’s big,” Cas commented. The others had drifted over and were strolling beside the later scenes, speaking among themselves.
Lena said, “There are thirty weavers here every day, along with Abril. Sometimes more. It will go to Elvira when it’s finished.”
“To the palace?”
“Yes. It will hang in the great hall. It’s meant to show gratitude toward the people of your city, who offered sanctuary to a new queen in the darkest, most desperate of times.”
Formal words. Pretty words. It sounded as though she had already begun writing that history. Cas pointed to the figures on the ships. “Who are they?”
“Queen Jehan’s entourage,” Lena said promptly. “Princess Jehan, then. More than a hundred traveled with her. Envoys, soldiers, servants, musicians—”
“Friends.” Queen Jehan spoke softly ten feet away.
“And Lady Mari,” Lena said quietly. “Princess Jehan’s closest companion. There she is, in green.”
Cas peered closer. Of the four ships, one sailed slightly ahead of the others. People crowded the main deck, but high up in the forecastle, two figures stood alone. Two women, arm in arm. One dressed in yellow and the other green. He glanced at Lena. She shook her head slightly at his unspoken question. The journey had ended badly for Lady Mari.
“They disembarked in Trastamar”—Lena moved on to the next panel of images—“where they were supposed to rest for several days and prepare for the journey overland. But by then the pestilence had struck the city. Many soldiers died there, along with our royal historian.”
There was a hitch to her voice. Royal historian. Now he understood. “Your grandfather?”
“Yes. The last entry in his journal is dated the day they disembarked.”
She looked so sad. Cas was no good at comfort, but, surprising himself, he shifted slightly so that his arm touched hers. Lena smiled up at him, a smile that wobbled around the edges. Behind them, Ventillas coughed delicately. Cas stepped away, fast, and heat warmed his ears. He had completely forgotten their audience.
The next minutes were spent following Lena along the coiled landscape. In the port city of Trastamar, a large group of travelers was depicted on horseback and in carriages, making their way south toward the capital. Well-known landmarks showed the route. The ancient bridge at Ollala. The double-steepled church at Salome. The hospital in Gregoria. Unsettled, he saw that the farther the entourage traveled, the smaller it became. By the time they arrived at the gates of Elvira, the group had been reduced to four figures on horseback. The princess and three others.
“So few,” Cas said.
“Yes.” Queen Jehan appeared beside them. “There is your brother.” She pointed to a man with a shield on his back. The flag he held bore the symbol of their kingdom: the head of a snarling bull next to a pomegranate flower in full bloom. “You’ve met Faustina, my son’s nurse.” Beside Princess Jehan was a woman wearing white robes and a wimple. The queen added with a fond smile, “She was my nurse too, once upon a time.” Her smile faded. “And that is Abril.”
The fourth figure was off to one side. Set apart. Alone. A woman dressed in black. Behind her was a wooden box splattered with paint.