“The servants can go too,” Simon said. “Miri and I would like a little time to talk alone.”
“Of course, Majesties.” He straightened, whatever was troubling him put aside by the reminder of his duties. Simon hated treating Jeremias like just another underling, but he had reached the point where he was about ready to pick the lord chamberlain up by the scruff and drag him, along with the ladies-in-waiting, the servants, and the squires, straight out of the bedchamber.
When the little caravan had at last departed, Simon pulled off his clothes and climbed under the coverlet. Miriamele put her jewelry back into the box and sat down to brush her hair.
“What do you think all that was about?” he asked.
“What? Jeremias?”
“I was beginning to wonder if he was ever going to leave. I thought he was going to insist on putting my slippers on.” He scowled. “I hate it when he acts like that, like a faithful hound. He’s known me since we were both grasshoppers.”
“You’ve treated him well, Simon. A chandler’s apprentice who became Lord Chamberlain of the High Throne—he doesn’t have much to complain about.”
Simon knew her tone. “In other words, stop worrying so much.”
She caught his eye in the mirror and showed him a weary smile. “Precisely.”
Simon sat higher against the headboard so he could watch her more easily. “I suppose you’re right. It’s not like we don’t have enough to deal with. You heard what Tiamak said about the Sitha woman.”
“He and Thelía and that nice Brother Etan have done all that could be done, Simon. Don’t take every trouble on yourself.”
“But why did they send someone after all this time? And what are we going to do?”
“What can we do?” Miriamele asked. “She is dying. We must try to find out who shot her, I suppose, although it was probably poachers.”
“With poisoned arrows?” Simon shook his head. “Beside, that’s not what I mean. What are we going to do about her? She’ll die if we don’t get her back to her people.”
Miriamele rose from her mirror and came and sat at the end of the bed. “Even if we knew how to find Jiriki and the rest, we don’t know that they could do anything for her. She’s dying, Simon. Any mortal would have been dead before we returned. When the Sithi don’t hear from her, they will send another envoy, or a message.”
“But we can’t just wait!” Simon would have been shocked at her callousness, but long experience had taught him that a tired Miriamele was a rather heartless Miriamele. He took a breath and started again. “We can’t afford to wait, Miri. Do you think it’s just chance that the Sithi were sending her to us now, after years of nothing, at the very moment when the Norns are stirring again—when they’re crossing our borders and that silver-faced bitch, their queen, is hunting for something called the Witchwood Crown?”
“We may be putting too much trust in that bizarre message.”
“But why go to the trouble of sending us any message at all?”
“Perhaps this Jarnalf thought he would be captured.”
“Jarnulf, wasn’t it?” Simon put his hands behind his head and watched his wife looking at herself in the glass. “No, that doesn’t make sense, either. And don’t you see, Miri, even if the Sithi hadn’t sent this messenger or whatever she is, it would still be time to try to reach out to them. Jiriki may know what’s happening with the Norns, but if he doesn’t, he should be told all that we’ve heard.” He sighed. “And I want to see him again so badly.”
“His sister, you mean.”
“Aditu? Yes, her, too.”
“Yes, her, too.” His wife was suddenly distant. “It must be nice to live forever like the Sithi,” she said, staring into the mirror. “To stay young and lovely while everyone else is getting old.”
Simon laughed. “Would you really like that? To stay the young girl I first met while I grew old, old, old beside you? While everyone else around us grew old too? I like your wrinkles and your gray hairs, wife. They remind me of the life we’ve had together.”
She put her hairbrush down with exaggerated care, as if what she truly wanted to do was throw it at him. “So you are telling me that if Aditu were here now, slinking around with her flimsy garb and her charming, mysterious ways, you wouldn’t be following her like a dog smelling raw meat?”
“What is this? Are you jealous? Of Aditu? Dearest, I haven’t seen her for years and years! Not to mention that there was never anything between us. Oh, and that she’s at least a couple of centuries older than either of us.” He tried to be amused, but it was more difficult than he expected. “I thought you cared for Jiriki and Aditu as I did, Miri.”
“You lived with them. I didn’t.” Miriamele sighed. “Oh, I don’t know. I do care about them. I was as excited as you when I thought things would change between their people and ours. But they’ve always been secretive. They prefer to stay hidden, to stay out of our affairs.”
“The Sithi prefer to remain hidden because our people kept trying to kill them, my dear. I hoped—we both hoped—we could change that. But even more important, they know the Norns far better than we do. Now, come to bed. I want to talk to you about something else.”
“I’m very tired, Simon.”
“Not that. But here—climb in beside me. You’ll catch cold, sitting out like that in your nightdress.” He held the coverlet up for her and she slid close, so that he could feel the cool of her skin through the thin cloth she wore.
“I’m here. What did you want to talk about?”
Simon took a breath. “I think we should take the Sitha woman back to her people in Aldheorte Forest. And I think I should go with her. It’s time for us to talk to Jiriki and the rest of the Sithi—to find out why they have been silent so long.”
Miriamele stiffened against his side. “Absolutely not.”
“But why? Miri, you saw those creatures we fought—that giant! What if we must go to war against the Norns again? I would not think of doing it without advice from the Sithi. And I don’t think we can stand by and simply let their envoy die, either. Not when her own people may be able to heal her.”
The queen spoke quietly but she was not happy. “Some of that makes sense, and I need to think about it. But whatever happens, you are not going, Simon. Between that trip to Meremund and then traveling to Elvritshalla for poor Isgrimnur, our people here have scarcely seen you in the last half-year. You tell me there could be a war, but then the first thing you propose is to go charging off across the countryside again like you did when you were young, on some noble, jolly quest to find the Sithi?”
“You are bending my words until I don’t even recognize them.” He hated when she talked to him as if all he wanted to do was be young and without responsibilities again. Of course, there was a secret part of him that sometimes wished for just that—but who did not have such a peevish, childlike voice inside them, urging them to throw off the coils of maturity? “And I am not speaking as the boy you once met, or even as your husband. I am speaking as the king of all the High Ward.”
“And I am speaking as the queen. And the queen says that the king cannot afford to go sailing off on an adventure in the midst of all that we have to deal with. Did you forget Hernystir and the tales of Hugh’s devil-worship? Did you not hear Pasevalles tell us Nabban is a boiling cauldron that could spill over at any moment?”
He kept his mouth closed a long time, waiting until he no longer felt like grinding his teeth together in frustration. “Then what should we do, Miriamele? I won’t simply wait for this woman to die and hope that Jiriki sends someone else.”
She turned her back to him, but stayed close enough to benefit from the heat of his body. “Send Eolair if you must send someone. He is Hand of the Throne. Such duties are his, and he knows the Sithi almost as well as we do.”
“Eolair is so worried about Hernystir he can barely keep his mind on what is in front of him.”
“All the more reason to send him. Give him something important to occupy him until we know better whether Hugh is truly becoming a problem. Send Eolair, or send someone else. But you are not going, Simon.”
He lay silently for a while, thinking.
“Miri?”
She didn’t answer immediately. “What?”
“Are you angry at me?”
“For suggesting you should go riding off to find the Sithi when there are a hundred things here that require your attention? Why should I be?”
“You’re angry.”
She rolled over, put her head upon his chest. “Yes, a bit. It will pass, though. It always does.”
28
Cradle Songs of Red Pig Lagoon
It was a long walk across the camp to the edge of the meadow where Unver and his stepfather kept their wagons, but several days had passed since Fremur had last seen the tall man. Everybody else was spreading the news, but he wondered if Unver had heard anything at all.