She froze on the threshold; he blushed; the queen said quickly, “Close
the door.”
Perdita did so, a bit crossly, guessing that he had been telling the queen
much the same thing she had listened to for half the night. “Good morning,
Sir Leith. In a few minutes, it will be my duty as Calluna’s guardian to tell
you to leave this holy place, where no one dedicated to the god Severen is
permitted to cast a shadow or loose a breath in the goddess’s sanctum. I hear
you are going off on this quest as well?”
“Only reluctantly, Princess,” he said, and added with wry honesty, “I’m
too old to go looking for such mystical powers. I would have to relive my
life.”
She nodded, hearing as well what he didn’t say. “The king wants you to go.”
She looked beyond him at the queen, who was adrift beside the window, her hair
disheveled, her expression unsettled.
Genevra said, “I asked Leith to come here before he left, to give us details
about the Assembly. It seems to have been confusing, well-intentioned, and
entirely mystifying.”
“Father didn’t tell you?”
“It probably didn’t cross Arden’s mind that we might want to know.” She
looked quickly at Leith, as though, far away, she had heard a footstep turn
their way. “You should go.”
“I will see you before we leave.”
“Yes.”
“Take the tower stairs,” Perdita advised. “Aunt Morrig hovers near the
inner stairway to check on the acolytes. Just don’t breathe,” she reminded
him dryly, as he slipped out across the goddess’s tranquil antechamber.
Perdita closed the door behind him, met the queen’s eyes long enough to
recognize her own expression in them, mingling love, exasperation, and the
aftermath of a very short night.
The queen opened the wardrobe, handed Perdita the long turquoise guardian’s
robe, with its collar and cuffs of mossy green. “So Gareth is going as well,
” she said.
“Yes,” the princess sighed, drawing the robe over her clothes. She kicked
off her shoes; the queen handed her sandals. Perdita sat down to put them on,
and added tightly, “From his description of whatever it is he’s searching
for, he’s very likely to find it, perfect, gentle knight stuffed full of
rectitude as he is. There will be no room left for me.”
“Don’t worry,” the queen said, a rare, cold glint in her eyes. “Nothing
involving Severen ever had much to do with perfection.”
Perdita finished tying her sandals, sat for a moment gazing at them. Memory
pursued memory; she retraced them, shod in Calluna’s sandals, and remembered
what had gotten misplaced in the past chaotic days.
She looked up, found the queen watching her. “What is it?” Genevra asked. “
What do you see?”
She had long ago stopped being surprised at her mother’s unexpected leaps of
perception. “I had a vision,” she answered thinly. “In Calluna’s cave when
I searched it. Under the last images in the stones at the very end of the
passage: the goddess’s face on one side, and her hands, across the river,
letting water spill out of them. I saw Daimon’s face, reflected in the river,
looking up at her.”
The queen drew breath sharply, loosed an imprecation in the general direction
of the river god. “My fault,” she said harshly. “I told Arden it was long
past time to explain to Daimon who his mother was. Apparently—”
“Do you—”
“I don’t. I never wanted to know. She died; I never had to live my life
wondering who, among those I might meet every day, was Arden’s lover and
Daimon’s mother. Now I want to know.”
“That’s not all,” Perdita said slowly. “Daimon seems to be in love. And
very short-tempered about it, as well as secretive.”
“Is she married?”
“He said no. He also said—” She hesitated, frowning. “Something that made
me realize he knows more about his mother’s family—and cares more—than
seems likely. We used to tell each other everything. Now he barely talks to
me. As if there are things he doesn’t want me to know. Or anyone. He leaves
the palace through back ways. He seems troubled.”
“Enough to draw the attention of the goddess,” Genevra said tightly. She
stood silently a moment, arms folded, staring at the floor. “Who,” she said
finally, drawing a solution out of a rumpled turquoise rug, “do we trust to
follow him?”
“Me,” Perdita said promptly.
“No. I’m not sending another of my children into the wilds of Severluna. We
have no idea where he goes. One of the knights, who can fight for him if need
be.”
“They’re going off questing.”
“Well, somebody must be questing around Severluna. Is Daimon?”