Columbo Queen
The next day my hosts took me to visit the peasants' hospital, which was particularly surprising given Nerian's habit of displaying his assets and hiding his faults. The four of us rode together -- me and my bodyguard, the count and his paramour -- in a huge-wheeled private coach surrounded by armed guards.
" Dear Nerian," I pouted, settling myself into the plush velvet seat, "do we really need this many attendants to visit a simple hospital? It seems a bit excessive, even for your tastes."
The count pointedly ignored my jibe. "Trust me, majesty. The peasants have been restive as of late."
"Oh really?" I gave him an innocent stare. "How odd. They should be much happier since you implemented the changes I recommended before Parliament."
"To be sure." Only the clench of his jaw gave Nerian's anger away. "I've done everything in my power to make my constituents happy."
"He's right, your majesty." Minesa chimed in, every inch the dutiful lover. "I'm sure you'll be delighted with our progress, especially with regard to the hospital."
And to a certain extent, she was right. The hospital now boasted two full-time healers, one for the day shift and one for the night, as well as a full complement of nurses. But the cost of intensive care remained high; and with Nerian skimming off most of the peasants' earnings, few could afford more than basic, non-magical services.
The count confined our visit to a single ward -- specially prepared for our arrival, no doubt -- and led the way, chatting awkwardly with adults and ruffling the hair of children with non-lethal illnesses. He wore his most convincing benevolent-landlord expression, but even the smallset kids saw through his act.
Toward me the peasants were somewhat friendlier, especially when I insisted on sitting down with them and hearing their stories. I even hugged one old man around the neck and whispered, "Things will be better soon; I promise." His eyes teared up, but illness and dementia kept him from responding.
Barely containing his disgust, Nerian ushered me away from the bed, dropping a coin in the old man's lap as he went. "Let's move on, shall we?" he gestured. "Minesa and I have planned a full day for you, your majesty."
Another patient met us in the hall, shuffling toward us on arthritic knees, bedclothes flapping around him like a sail. "Queen Analendra, Queen Analendra!" he cried, one hand raised in shaking supplication.
"Ignore him," Nerian muttered, shepherding me half-heartedly toward the door.
I shook off his hand and turned around. "What can I do for you, friend?" I asked, smiling as gently as I could.
The peasant quailed, as if overcome suddenly by the crowd of noble strangers. "Queen...?" he faltered, his hands withdrawing behind his back.
"Yes," I said, "I'm Analendra." I pushed the others aside and started down the hall alone, treading gently so as not to frighten the poor man any further. Again he reached out one hand -- long-nailed, callused and filthy -- and I took it without hesitation.
His eyes held the most tragic mixture of pain and fear I'd ever seen. "I'm sorry," he whispered, fingers tightening on mine. Then his other hand whipped out from behind his back, aiming a short-bladed dagger at my throat.
Only my supernatural reflexes saved me. I threw my head backward, feeling the blade hiss past my chin, and grabbed the man's knife hand at the top of its swing. Then Obed was on us, thrusting himself between me and my attacker and wresting the peasant to the ground.
I felt Nerian's hands go around my shoulders: a horrible breach of etiquette, under any other circumstances. "Are you all right?" he barked. But before I could even respond, he had stooped to my attacker and picked up the fallen dagger. "How dare you?" he snarled, jamming the tip of the blade against the man's neck.
"Please!" the peasant wailed, "n -- n -- aghh!" And then he was dead, before Obed or I could even think of protesting. How convenient, I thought bitterly, letting my gaze drop to the thin, haggard face of the corpse. I didn't doubt for a second that Nerian had forced him into this deed; my only question was whether he'd used bribery or blackmail. I'll avenge you, I told the dead man silently, I promise.
Two days passed in relative peace, although it was hard for me to get too comfortable when I expected another assassination attempt at any moment. The fact that none came did more to upset than soothe me. I'd never been much good at waiting games, and now even Obed betrayed the occasional twinge of tension. How long would I have to wait for another attack? I wondered. Would there even be another? Maybe Nerian wouldn't risk it after two such blatant failures.
Under ordinary circumstances, I could have used this down-time to advantage, sneaking out at night to question peasants or to spy on Nerian through an open window. Flight and Fury-shadow would have made me practically undetectable. But thanks to the spy-screens, I couldn't be sure I was alone even in my room; and thanks to the memory orb, I wouldn't have dared fly even if I could be sure of privacy. Anything I said or did now would be on permanent record. Besides, I told myself, I'd promised the real Queen that I wouldn't use my supernatural gifts unless I had no choice.
All things considered, then, it should come as no surprise that I spent those intervening days in a state of high frustration. I was imprisoned by walls, spy-screens, prying eyes -- even by another woman's body. I ached to have my own form again: human or Fury, it didn't matter which. I ached to spread my wings and fly away from all these constraints. But a critically ill woman in Selinnen depended on me to avenge her.
"We have a surprise for you, Queen Analendra," Minesa simpered as our fifth night's dinner drew to a close.
"How sweet of you, Minesa. What is it, dear?"
The woman lowered her eyes deferentially, but I caught a flash of what might have been anger before we broke eye contact. Not even Nerian spoke to Minesa in those tones. "Some of Nerian's staff are professional entertainers. We've prepared a short musical routine in your honor, based on dances from my native land."
"How utterly charming." Back off, Kyriel, I chided myself. You're starting to sound like Mrs. Howell from Gilligan's Island. If only it wasn't so much fun to tease Minesa. Her passive-aggressive act just brought out the worst in me. Besides, if my hunch was right, she was a major force behind the assassination attempts.
We adjourned to Nerian's audience hall, a bare but spacious chamber with intricately detailed parquet flooring. The Count made a big show of offering me his personal seat at the head of the dais. He chose the chair to my right, and Minesa and Obed sat in front of us, one step down and out to either side. I found myself automatically running through the possibilities for ambush; but really, it seemed I had the most protected spot in the room. Behind me was solid rock; before me, my own bodyguard. Only Nerian himself had a clear shot at me, and when it came to dirty work, he clearly preferred to delegate. Still, I almost would have welcomed an attack by this point.
The music came first: slow, deep, sensual drums interwoven with tweedling flutes. Then came the musicians, marching in one by one, black-robed and somber. Dancers flitted through their ranks like wraiths. Quickly the musicians found their stations and squatted, wrapping themselves in shadow, and the dancers took center stage.
There were four of them, two male and two female, decked out in so much body-paint and gauze that it was hard to tell flesh from fabric. The men were arctic blue and green; the women, flaming red and orange. They danced like fire and ice, alternately burning and freezing, flickering and flowing, flirting and repelling. At times their movements seemed almost preternatural, so that I found myself watching for any sign of a telltale flicker in their eyes. But no, the dancers were only human, and probably non-magical humans, at that. Only their skill made them appear to be more.
The music picked up speed, pounding like a beating heart, while the dancers twirled their way around the room. Now they were at the bottom of the dais, now on the dais, the lead couple leaping up to tickle Obed and Minesa with their scarves.
This could be it, I thought. My left hand clenched reflexively, aching for the iron dagger; but I couldn't call the Fury here, no matter what happened. I let the hand slide toward my waist instead. Among the items hidden in my belt was a tiny blade. It might be enough, in a pinch; but oh, how I ached to be myself.
The male dancer had stationed himself above Minesa and the female above Obed; but for the moment, at least, their moves seemed more seductive than threatening. Only a fraction of my bodyguard's face was visible, but I saw no concern in his features. I tried to force myself into relaxation, but then the second pair of dancers made their move, leaping past their partners and on to the top of the dais where Nerian and I sat. The music pounded.
In my guts the Fury screamed, but all I could do was clench my teeth and stay alert as the blue man gyrated above me. Up close, I could see that his coloring was 90% paint and only 10% fabric. Well, I told myself, at least you know he doesn't have a weapon; he wouldn't have anywhere to put it. I tried to see around the man, to catch Obed's attention, but my view for the moment was blocked. My fingers closed tight around my belt.
After nearly a quarter of a minute, the dancer shot me a last smoldering glance and leapt away. His partners following a heartbeat later, leading the musicians out of the hall. At last, we were alone. I let out an explosive breath, but whether I was more relieved or disappointed, I couldn't have said.
There was only one thing I could be sure of. Pinning the Count with my sharpest glare, I grated, "Nerian, I realize your little friend here may be deficient in Paraiyanan etiquette; but you, at least, know how inappropriate that was."
The Count did his best to look abashed. "Forgive me, my Queen," he stammered. "Of course, I would never have allowed the dancers onto our platform if -- Minesa?"
That's right, moron, pass the buck, I thought; but Minesa didn't seem the least offended.
"My deepest apologies, Queen Analendra," she murmured. "The last thing we meant was to offend. I gave the dancers permission to improvise, but I told them that they should stop at once if your bodyguard indicated they had done anything wrong." At this, she glanced innocently toward Obed: passing the buck again, of course.
My bodyguard was characteristically stoic. "I did not believe the dancers posed a threat," he commented blandly.
My eyes practically bugged from my head. Oh, you didn't, did you? How could he could be so blind? But there was nothing I could say about it here. The last thing I wanted was to give our enemies reason to gloat. I'd have to hold off until we got back to our private quarters -- no, wait, there was that spy-screen to contend with.
Hell, I thought, What kind of a place is this? You can't even get a proper fight around here.
On that count, at least, I couldn't have been more wrong.
