The Sin Eater's Daughter Page 3

  * * *

  The queen idles with a fan, opening and closing it as she scans the forest for a glimpse of blue, her head tilted for the sounds of the horns that will herald her husband’s arrival. It’s unusual for her to be so attentive to the king’s whereabouts and it puts the company on edge. We are all sitting perfectly straight and still, breathing as lightly as we can. I look subtly back and forth, watching the queen as she fidgets, then scouring the forest for movement.

  We never know when the hunters will join us; they won’t break before the hounds have made a kill, and if they are hunting wild stock there’s no telling when it will happen. Our task is to wait here, looking delightful and picturesque for when they do. The queen wants to be sure that when the scribes record the days of this court, they’ll write of elegance and beauty and tradition. She is determined to reign during her own Golden Age of Lormere, so everything must be perfect.

  “Twylla, what will you sing today?” The queen turns to me and gestures for a page.

  “Would ‘The Ballad of Lormere,’ ‘The Blue Hind,’ and ‘Carac and Cedany’ suit Your Majesty?”

  “Very good,” she says.

  Though she presented it as if I might choose the songs, it’s an illusion. Had I said “Fair and Far” or “A Laughing Maid,” she would have fixed me with cold, dark eyes.

  “And what makes you think they are suitable?” she would say in a treacherously soft voice. “For a hunt, Twylla? Those songs?”

  The ones I have chosen are sung by rote at a hunting party, I know that now. “The Ballad of Lormere” tells how the queen’s great-great-great-great-great-grandfather founded the kingdom. “The Blue Hind” is a more recent song, recalling how the queen’s mother in her kirtle of blue was mistaken for a magical doe and hunted by the then king, only to be saved by him before the slavering hounds could take her.

  “Carac and Cedany” is a battle song, written for the queen’s grandparents. It was their reign that we now call the Golden Age of Lormere, when the last Daunen Embodied was amongst us, and the song is the queen’s favorite. She loves to hear the tale of how we Lormerians beat back the invading Tregellians, decimated their people even after they’d surrendered, and temporarily emptied their vaults of gold.

  King Carac and Queen Cedany wanted Tregellan to give us their alchemists so we could make our own gold, as they do, but Tregellan refused and threatened to put the alchemists to death to protect their secrets. Rather than lose the gold completely, Carac and Cedany settled for having huge sums of alchemic gold sent to us, hence “the Golden Age.” It’s said the alchemists of Tregellan now live in hiding so they cannot be kidnapped and forced to work for us.

  Before I came to the castle, I would sing whatever I wanted, making up songs about the sky and the river and the kingfishers. When I first sang for the king and queen as Daunen Embodied, I sang one of these made-up songs. The queen was not impressed.

  “Who taught you that?”

  “I made it up, Your Majesty. It’s my own.”

  “Then I suggest you forget it. While I’m sure it was suitable for the Sin Eater’s daughter to sing such nonsense, Daunen Embodied will not. The Gods would not like it.”

  I had nodded. Back then I was still desperate to impress her, still desperate to prove myself to her. Before I knew all of what it meant.

  * * *

  There is a terrible scream from the forest and we all turn as one. I try not to imagine the violence of the hounds taking down their prey. I hope it was fast.

  “They are coming.” The queen rises to her feet and claps her hands. “Ready the feast.”

  It is a needless command; the pages ensured everything was prepared well before we arrived, but at her word they move a little faster, topping up carafes of wine, bringing more pies and birds to the already groaning table. We relax our posture, forcing smiles to our faces, eyebrows raised as we turn attentively toward the queen as if she has uttered a jest.

  The horn sounds and the men arrive, sweaty but jubilant as they swing down from their horses, the dogs dragging the remains of the carcass in behind them. The four largest fight over it; snapping teeth and snarling fill the peaceful clearing and I turn away. There will be no spoils from the hunt, no trophies will remain. The dogs will devour it all, even the bones. The thrill for the men is in the chase, and they look satisfied with their work.

  We stand as the king approaches and then my stomach swoops. The prince is with him.

  My jaw falls open. I’m stunned that he’s here, that he’s grown so tall, that he looks like a prince, not the gangly, sullen-seeming boy I used to glimpse on my way to and from my temple. His shoulders are broad, his dark curls brushing the top of his tunic as he inclines his head to his mother. He’s truly handsome, I realize with shock. My betrothed is handsome, despite the same cruel edge to his features his mother has, the same watchful brown eyes.

  Then anger floods me; no one told me he’d returned, or even that he’d been planning to.

  When the queen first brought me to the castle, she said Næht had come to her in a dream and offered the embodiment of her own daughter—me—in place of the lost princess, for her son to marry. Only my marriage to the prince will be enough to sever my role as Daunen Embodied, and that is only because Næht willed it that way. Once I’m married, I won’t be pure enough to be Daunen anymore. But one day I’ll be the queen of Lormere, sitting on the throne where the queen sits now.

  * * *

  As one the court bows, first to the king and then to Prince Merek. For two harvests he’s been away on progress, visiting cantons and spending time with minor lords, learning the way the kingdom works and its history and making friends and alliances. I know he’s spent some time in Tregellan as an honored guest, and I thought I heard two of the maids once say he was in Tallith. No one told me directly where he went or when he’d be back, and I was too proud to ask.

  Prince Merek takes the seat opposite mine and I wait for him to acknowledge me, my heart thrumming rapidly under my gown. When he doesn’t, my stomach twists and I look down at the table, hurt, but, in truth, not surprised. At a ceremony four harvests ago the prince had placed his hand on top of mine and a red ribbon had been placed over them, meaning we were betrothed. It was the last time anyone touched me. I’d hoped that afterward we’d spend time together, become friends before our wedding, but it never came to pass. He never spoke to me, and then he went away and never so much as sent a note to ask after me. I can’t blame him for it, though; if parts of my role sicken me, imagine how they must look to a prince. Imagine taking a bride to bed who would kill you, but for the grace of the Gods.

  “Good sport?” the queen asks the king as we take our seats, the king and queen at the head of the long table, me at her right, the prince opposite me to the king’s left, and then the others, seated according to how much land they hold or how highly favored they are at present.

  “Indeed, indeed,” says the king. “We were led a pretty chase by a devil of a beast—his antlers must have been twice the height of Merek.” He nods at his stepson. “But we brought him down and the dogs had their day.” As he finishes a distinct crack echoes from where the dogs feast and I wince.

  The queen nods. “I am glad to hear it.” She turns from her husband, her expression softening as she looks at her son. “Merek, how did you find it?”

  “Very well, Mother,” he replies, though with none of her warmth. His voice is deep and soft, pleasing to the ear. I watch him furtively as he talks, seeing the curl of his lip as he answers her, the way he lounges in his chair. “It was a pleasant distraction. I would do it again. While we were in Tregellan we hunted boar on occasion. Though not a court, they still enjoy some of the old sports and courtly pastimes.”

  “I’m surprised they find time,” the queen says drily. “I was under the impression it took them the best part of a moon to agree to any decision.”

  Merek raises an eyebrow. “True. But that’s the price of democracy, I expect. Each voice
needs to be heard. While it could be more efficient, I can’t deny the system works. For them, at least.”

  “For them,” the queen says with a tone of finality and Merek looks down at his plate, reminding me of the awkward boy I pledged my hand to. “The Hall of Glass will be complete soon,” she says in a soothing tone, missing the twitch of irritation at his mouth. “We’ve modeled it on the original in Tallith. There are pastimes enough to be found here, too.”

  “I saw the remains of the original while I was there. I’m sure it was quite something. In its day.”

  “I think you’ll find our version will supersede it. While modeled on the Tallithi design, I’ve made some modifications to it myself,” the queen says. “It’s no relic.”

  “It won’t be the same as a tourney, or a sport, though, will it?” Merek says.

  “It’s a more refined entertainment.” The queen’s voice is honeyed. “We’re not savages like the Tregellians. We can take our pleasure from more gentle things.” When Merek doesn’t reply she turns to us all. “My son, the traveler. I only hope Lormere has enough to occupy him now.” She smiles fondly at Merek and moves to take his hand. But he jerks it away, raising his eyebrows at her before lifting his knife and thrusting it into a pheasant breast. He watches her as he brings it to his mouth and tears into it. The queen turns aside and I also look away, pretending I didn’t see his small act of rebellion but glad that I did.

  The queen glares down the table at the court, and we all become occupied with our food. After a moment she pulls a small metal disc on a chain from inside the bodice of her dress and begins to toy with it. Merek puts down his knife and looks at her.

  “You made it into a necklace,” he says quietly, nodding at the medallion pendant the queen holds between her fingers.

  “I could hardly add it to the treasury.” She smiles, showing it to him.

  He frowns. “Where did the design go? The piper and the stars that were on the front?” He narrows his eyes at the pendant. “Did you have them filed away?”

  “Of course I did. What reason would I have for wanting to wear an old coin with a Tallithi musician on it? This is much better. See, now the center is unmarked and it looks like Næht’s moon. And the gold around the edge is Dæg’s sun. I’ve made it Lormerian.”

  Merek shakes his head. “That was possibly the last alchemy-made Tallithi coin in the world. Over five hundred harvests old, a priceless piece of history.”

  “But not our history, Merek. I’m only concerned with our history. Besides, it’s not as if it will tell us the secrets of alchemy, is it? It’s merely a useless coin from an obsolete currency.”

  As she tucks it away, Lord Bennel calls from farther down the table. “Did you find the Sleeping Prince, Your Highness?”

  Some of the courtiers laugh, though it takes me a moment to recall what the Sleeping Prince is. I’ve half remembered a legend about a prince trapped in an enchanted sleep when I realize the company has fallen deadly, treacherously silent. Prince Merek is frozen, his mouth comically open in abandoned reply, but the queen … The queen is staring down the table at Lord Bennel with wild, vicious eyes. The air around her is heavy with malice, as though Lord Bennel has grievously insulted Merek with his question about an old children’s story and now she must defend him. In contrast, everyone else at the table is frozen and pale; even the king looks nervous as we wait for something to break the tension.

  “Forgive me, Your Majesties, and Your Highness,” Lord Bennel says hurriedly. “I did not mean to interrupt you.”

  The queen says nothing and I can feel the anger rolling off her, can feel that she is still, poised to pounce. After a moment, she sits back in her seat and some of the tension leaves the court. People lift glasses to their lips, knives scrape across plates, and the servants approach the table to remove or replenish platters. But from the corner of my eye I can see the queen’s movements are stiff and deliberate; she pushes her plate away, her gaze still stormy.

  “Twylla, you will sing now,” she says.

  Flanked by my temporary guards, I rise immediately, trying not to run as I make my way to the other end of the table where she and the king can see me best, the instinct to flee from the queen almost too much to ignore.

  “You have been given a gift, little Twylla,” the queen told me after I underwent the first Telling. “You have been chosen to represent Daunen here in the world, and today we have dedicated your life to her. Lormere has waited a long time for you to come again. You are anointed now, a sacred vessel, like I am. It’s your destiny. You’re my daughter in the eyes of the Gods.”

  * * *

  I am singing “Carac and Cedany,” my voice soaring as I recount war and bloodshed and righteous glory, when I hear something else underneath it, a soft hissing, whispering sound. I realize that at the table, Lord Bennel is whispering to Lady Lorelle under his breath. She sits white-faced and poker-straight as she desperately tries to ignore her neighbor’s chattering, her husband, Lord Lammos, leaning as far from them as he can. I snap my gaze away, ignoring him as sweat breaks out across my shoulders. When I come to the chorus I sing louder, endeavoring to drown him out, throwing back my head so my hair catches the light.

  Lord Bennel leans closer to her, continuing to mutter, even as she shakes her head violently and nods toward me. His cheeks are red, his gaze unfocused, and my heart sinks as I realize he’s drunk, too drunk to be cautious. Of course he is. When else would he be foolish enough to have interrupted the queen and the prince as they talk? I raise my voice again, thrusting my arms to the side and turning my face to the sky as I sing, desperately willing the party’s attention to remain on me.

  The sound of smashing glass silences us all. My voice dies abruptly in my throat. At the head of the table, the queen holds the stem of a goblet in her hand, all that remains of the glass that has shattered across the golden cloth.

  “Does Twylla bore you, Lord Bennel?”

  Nausea curdles in my stomach, my pulse racing, as all eyes turn to Lord Bennel.

  “Does Daunen Embodied bore my lord?”

  I watch Lord Bennel’s thick neck become blotchy as he stammers his response, his words slurring. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, I was merely saying to Lady Lorelle how lucky we were to live in such times, to have Daunen Embodied amongst us once more. I meant it to be a compliment.” He thrusts a hand out to point to me and knocks over his goblet, red wine feathering across the silk.

  “Odd. Surely a better compliment would have been simply to listen to her and appreciate her, as the rest of us were managing to do. Lorelle didn’t seem to have a problem appreciating the song without talking over it, did she?”

  From where I stand I can see Lady Lorelle gripping the folds of her dress so tightly her knuckles have turned white, and I realize I am doing the same thing, the sweat from my palms staining the silk of my gown.

  “No, Your Majesty.”

  “Perhaps your compliments, as you say, were ill-timed, then?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “Perhaps you’d do better to leave us to enjoy the gifts of the Gods without you?”

  “Helewys—” the king begins, but she waves a hand curtly to silence him. The king glares at her, a shadow passing over his face as his jaw clenches, but he says no more, turning away and staring into the trees.

  “I—Your Majesty?” says Lord Bennel.

  “Go. You interrupt Daunen Embodied with your chatter, and you interrupted a private conversation between me and my son with nonsense. Do not aspire to be in my company until you have learned some manners.” The queen drops the stem to the floor and turns to summon a new glass.

  Some of the tension falls from me. For a horrible moment I had thought she would declare his actions treason and ask me to touch him. I look up again, waiting for my cue to continue and watching Lord Bennel gesture for a page to bring his horse.

  “I think not, Lord Bennel. You may walk and use the time to reflect on your ignorance.”

  My
heart slams against my ribs. We all watch as he stands stiffly, then struggles to remove his slippers and replace them with his riding boots, his cheeks darkening to purple when one becomes stuck around his foot.

  “Continue.” She nods at me.

  “In the West Woods of Lormere, fair Cedany stood tall. She cried …” I falter as the queen beckons the Master of the Hounds.

  “Twylla, continue,” she snaps, and what choice do I have but to try, my voice quavering as I sing to an audience that would give anything to be anywhere but here.

  “In the West Woods of Lormere, fair Cedany stood tall. She cried, ‘Onward for Lormere! The heathens shall fall …’ ” I can’t watch as the Master of the Hounds pulls two of the smaller dogs from the meager remains of their meal, leading them to Lord Bennel’s chair. Lorelle cowers as they move around her, their bristly fur rasping against her gown as they learn the scent of the man who sat there. Then they are gone and the world holds its breath.

  “Carac rode to battle, sword screaming for blood. Tregellan fell as his love said it would.”

  Less than a moment passes before the air is filled with shrieking and snarling.

  “Start again, Twylla.” The queen smiles. “I could hardly hear you over the wildlife. Though less of the theatrics this time, if you please. You’re Daunen Embodied, not a village minstrel.”

  Lord Bennel wasn’t a traitor. I only kill traitors. Though given that he died for insulting me, I might as well have killed him. One glance at the court tells me they agree.

  * * *

  The applause at the end of my performance is painfully enthusiastic; the entire court is hell-bent on appreciating me lest the queen takes their lack of zeal to heart. It makes me sick.

  “You may sit, Twylla,” the queen says pleasantly.