Chapter Sixteen Howard #2
She says this as though it provides an answer, but Howard cannot work it out. Aragon tuts. “The youngest of us and the woman who has already birthed a son to her previous husband. Understand?”
Howard’s mouth forms an “O”. That explains why he has been more amorous also.
“Of course,” she says quietly. “I have been very stupid.”
“It helps that you are also very beautiful and very sweet,” Cleves says softly. Howard laughs unsteadily. “Yes, I am a rose without a thorn. But we were discussing how to help Queen Seymour.”
Aragon shakes her head. “I know Cecilia of old, and my contacts tell me she has changed little. Her most treasured weapon is shock. Mark me, she will want to arrive in Elben without prior warning and produce Seymour like a magic trick.”
“That is good,” Parr says, “It will give us time to study the currents of the Swegan Sea, and to pray for Medren’s help.”
“Could Cecilia’s silence be bought?” Cleves says.
Aragon snorts, and the sound is so unqueenly that Howard has to turn away to hide her smirk. “You may buy her for an hour, or a day, but you will have no assurance of her continued loyalty.”
“And Henry is her brother,” Howard says. She does not want to be silent through this conversation, even though she has little to offer in the way of stratagems.
“That is true, sister,” Parr says, although it feels like a pat on the head.
“Then can we exert our influence elsewhere?” Cleves says. “We may not be able to match Cecilia’s warship on the ocean, but I could pay someone to intercept them the moment they step foot on the shore.”
This seems like a risky plan to Howard, to leave the act until the last possible moment, but she does not like to say so.
“Perhaps I could rescue her,” Howard says. “If they are docking at Swegan then …”
She peters out.
Parr says, “It is too dangerous. I think we must exhaust our other options first.”
Howard looks out to the courtyard, and as the queens continue to argue the best course of action, she listens to the lullaby of the Kyttle Falls through glass.
Somewhere beyond that window, beyond the falls, beyond Kywsa Bay, Seymour is caged.
How tangled are her feelings, caught between homesickness and the knowledge of her assured death?
Howard has never left Elben, though she likes the thought of adventure, loves the idea of bone-built Perfugi and the royal cities of Quisto with their streets of baked terracotta.
But she doesn’t think it would take long for her to miss the sound of water, or the smell of dew-steeped flowers on a spring morning.
She would miss looking up at the night sky and catching the glimmer of the bordweal against the stars.
“There is one course of action we have not considered,” Aragon says.
“What is that?” Cleves asks.
Aragon places each word like a stepping stone: heavy, yet somehow inevitable.
“We could do nothing.”
At first Howard thinks she must have misheard. But then Cleves laughs scornfully.
“Are you hoping to pick us off one by one, sister?” she says.
“Not at all.” Howard might think that Aragon was bored, if it weren’t for the reddening of her cheeks.
“I am not denying that it would be a great blow to lose Queen Seymour. She has provided us with invaluable information these last several moons. But it is naive to imagine that we can wrest Elben from Henry without some sacrifices. Did not Queen Boleyn teach us as much?”
“Boleyn would still be alive but for you,” Howard says impulsively. She is too loud, and looks to the door where Susanna stands guard. Could her voice have carried through the oak?
“Boleyn understood that in a game such as this, sometimes the loss of a queen is the only way to win,” Aragon says.
Howard closes her eyes. She sees that moment as fresh as though it just happened. The way Boleyn stepped into nothingness. Her trailing fall beyond the cliff, and then the open sky and the bruise of the bordweal on the horizon.
“Boleyn chose to die,” Cleves says. “Seymour has not, as far as we know. I am not suggesting that we put ourselves in direct danger for her sake, but if we do nothing then how can we hope to work together in good faith?”
“I agree, sister,” Parr says.
Aragon sneers. “Then offer me a solution that stands a chance of success.”
Howard gasps. “I know—” she begins.
“Could one of your nephew’s warships be conscripted to take Cecilia?” Cleves says. “Or are you only willing to sacrifice your sisters?”
“I might ask you the same of your royal brother in Ezzonid,” Aragon replies.
“I think—” Howard tries again. She dare not speak too loudly for fear of Susanna overhearing. She stamps her foot. Why will they not listen?
“Let us take some time to consult our books and think on a different way,” Parr is saying.
“With what time?” Cleves says.
“Please—” Howard says. Then the other three are talking over each other.
It is no use. Howard rises from her stool and goes to the far wall.
She presses one hand on the tapestry that covers the panelling.
It was a wedding gift from her aunt, and once hung in the chamber she shared with Legh and the other wards.
The thread has been worn and bleached over many decades, but the girls used to run their hands over the embroidery of the qilin with its graceful body and elegant horn and mournful eyes.
When they were children, they would spin tales of how they would break the creature free from the wooden cage that surrounded it.
Tales of uncommon bravery and magic that could never work in reality.
“Sister? Howard?” Cleves says.
“I am still here,” Howard says. She returns to her seat at the harpsichord.
“You were trying to tell us something and we were babbling,” Cleves says.
“It was nothing. A childish idea.”
“All the more reason for us to hear it, then,” Parr says. “For children can sometimes spy paths that older eyes cannot.”
Howard feels as she did the day Boleyn gifted her that book of poetry. The gift of more. The gift of greater. But she must earn it.
“We could use the bordweal,” she says. Then, lest she lose her mettle, she continues without watching the queens’ reactions. She works at her gown as she talks, pressing silver silk through trembling fingers.
“I do not know how. Perhaps it is not possible, but the Moon Ball showed us that we can use Medren’s power, did it not? If we could find a way of communing with the bordweal, then could we not turn it against Cecilia and her ship?”
Outside the door, footsteps thump. Susanna says a few muffled words to someone, and the footsteps recede. In the distance, the bells of Sweillan’s sanctuaries toll the half hour. If Howard looks up, she will see the queens’ derision.
“Howard,” Cleves says softly. She draws her eyes to the sunscína. Parr is smiling the way a mother might. Aragon’s head is tilted as she watches Howard. And Cleves: Cleves is grinning.
“I do not know how we might make it work either, but it is a good idea, sister,” Cleves says.
“I will consult my library,” Parr says.
“I also,” Aragon says. “To understand how to wield the bordweal would be a powerful move indeed.”
Howard tempers her bubbling joy. She does not want them to see how much their approval means to her. “Very well, sisters. I will also study my books,” she says.
And like that, they are united in purpose. Aragon looks away, towards a window, bleak sunlight coating her face. “We must consult quickly. With a fair wind behind them, Cecilia and Seymour will reach Elben’s bordweal in three days.”
“Three days, then,” Cleves says. “Three days to riddle Elben’s most ancient power and save a queen. How hard can it be?”