The Beacon: Casus Belli (1)
Episode 19: "A Royal Briefing"
Mia woke to a soft tapping on the guest room door Edgar had led her to late the previous night. She had been so tired that she had only removed her shoes and outer garments before collapsing on the bed and sleeping soundly through the night. Did I hear knocking, or was that a dream? she asked herself. The tapping sound came again, and before she could call out or rise to answer the door, an older woman with mostly gray hair stuck her head into the room and peered about.
“Hello?” Mia said thickly, rubbing her eyes.
“Ah, good, young miss! You’re awake!” a cheerful voice answered. The woman, clearly a servant of some sort, bustled inside, placing a cloth bag on a nearby chair. “I am Mistress Sorina.” She gave a perfunctory curtsy. “But you can call me Rina. Everybody does. The king’s butler, Edgar, said the king wants you cleaned and clothed for the palace, so we must start early to get you ready.” As she spoke, she walked to the curtains and pulled them back, letting the dim, post-dawn light into the room.
Slightly dazzled even by that feeble light, Mia sat in the middle of the bed, blinking her eyes and scratching her head, trying to make sense of what the woman had said. She soon heard water running in the next room, and suddenly, she made the connection that the servant woman—Rina? Is that what she said to call her?—had come to bathe and dress her. As Mia put her legs over the bed’s edge to protest, Rina swept back into the room, picking up the young woman’s strewn shoes and clothing and making a small pile next to the door.
“My Natari will be here shortly with hot water to add to the bath,” she went on. “And Mistress Moliza is coming in about a half-hour to take your measurements. The king is favoring you with new dresses. Lucky you! Your old things will be laundered and mended today—even your shoes will be cleaned, repaired, and polished! We’ll have it all back here tomorrow sometime.”
Still sitting at the edge of the bed, Mia looked at her blankly, barely comprehending what she had just been told.
Rina smiled at her in a motherly way. “I can tell you’re a slow riser like my Natari was at your age. She’s grown out of that now with a job that starts her day before dawn! Ah, here’s Natari now, right on time! Come, Miss Miandra, off to the bathing room with you!”
A younger, dark-haired version of Rina had knocked on the door and let herself in, drawing a small cart behind her, on which a large, covered pot of steaming water had been strapped. With a cheerful, “Good morning!” she nodded to the bleary-eyed Mia as she wheeled it into the next room. In a moment, Mia heard the pot’s contents being poured into the bath.
“Come, Miandra,” Rina repeated more insistently. “Get in the bath while it’s hot!”
With agonizing slowness, her infrequent but enjoyable visits to The Corner Inn floated to the surface of her mind, and Mia grabbed onto the thought of enjoying a hot bath again. Now awake, she scurried into the next room and dipped her hand into the water, which was indeed hot, inducing a smile. The heat was enough to motivate her to untie her braids.
“If you need to use the chamber pot,” Rina added helpfully, “there is one behind the curtain in the corner. You can leave your underthings in there. I brought clean ones for you.”
Feeling overwhelmed by all the attention, Mia was soon relaxing in the hot bath, letting the stress of the journey to Palisade melt away. The two serving women let her soak for a while, chatting while making the bed and putting a few things in the armoire opposite the bed. She felt so comfortable in the tub that her eyelids closed, and sleep almost claimed her again.
Rina’s footsteps returning to the bath woke her. “Let’s wash your hair, Miss Miandra!” she said. “We have a marvelous soft soap for washing hair here in the palace, imported from Satele, I hear. It’s quite expensive, so take advantage of it. I would in your shoes! We’ll rinse with rosewater unless you prefer lavender. Either way, your hair will smell wonderful!”
Thirty minutes later, Mia had never felt so pampered. Rina and Natari had trimmed her hair and nails and presented her with a new burgundy dress made of silk and soft, black, slipper-like shoes to wear in the palace. Arriving just before she dressed, Mistress Moliza took her measurements with a marked ribbon and asked about her favorite colors, fabrics, and styles. Mia could give no opinion on the last topic, having little knowledge of the current fashions. She shocked the talkative seamstress into silence when she told her she preferred pants and shirts because they were better for working, riding, and hunting. After a long moment, Mistress Molina simply sniffed and said, “Such clothing would be unbecoming of a young lady here in the palace.”
After the seamstress left, Rina said, “Natari would have brought breakfast, but Edgar said it would be provided during your audience with the king. We have just enough time to braid your hair, I think.” They had her sit at a vanity and, in just a few minutes, gave her what she would call a “fancy” hairdo. “There, my dear! You now look fit to attend the king!” Gazing into the small mirror on the vanity, Mia hardly recognized herself.
Another polite knock on the door drew their attention. Mia rose, but Natari answered it promptly. A liveried boy, perhaps twelve years old, took one step inside the door and stood at attention. “The king bids me escort Miss Miandra Oldham to attend him,” he said in a treble voice, staring straight ahead.
“I am Miandra Oldham,” Mia said just above a whisper, suddenly feeling very young. “Take me to the king.”
The last of all those called to attend the audience, she arrived at the King’s Antechamber, a compact, luxuriously appointed hall just off the Throne Room where Lorens often conducted private meetings. Once she was announced, the king greeted her and complimented her appearance, saying she did not look as if she had traveled a hundred miles over the last few days. Blushing, she curtsied as the servants had instructed her, saying only, “Good morning, lord,” and “Thank you.” Catching her eye, Adon nodded his approval.
Unmistakably, Mat had also endured being cleaned, groomed, and dressed in new blue pants and a white shirt with a deep red cravat—which she knew he never learned how to tie. As if trying to hide, he stood self-consciously behind a chair on the far side of a large table set for eight diners. Shifting uncomfortably in his new clothes, he gave her a small wave and crooked smile. He looks as out of place as I feel!
“Now that we’re all here, let us sit and enjoy breakfast,” the king said. “I know I’m starving!” He took the seat at the table’s head, directing Adon to the chair on his right and the two Oldhams to those on his left. Obliged to choose for themselves, Artema and Ren sat beside her father while Bandrick took the chair next to Mat. At the table’s far end, Mast sat opposite the king. All of them wore their finest clothes, even Bandrick, who, wearing a fashionable vested suit and not his buckskins, seemed like another person entirely.
When all were seated, Edgar led seven servers into the room, who set plates of food before each of them, returning moments later with water, tea, milk, and juices. After placing small, covered bread baskets on the table, six of the servers exited, leaving Edgar and the lead server to care for the king’s party. They stood on either side of a long sideboard, ready to fulfill any request.
The king began eating, and the others followed suit. After a few bites and a sip of tea, the king asked, “Uncle, tell me what you discovered about the oddity in The Corner’s report.”
Putting his silverware down, Adon said, “Well, lord, the mayor there, a man named Benhale Dolphus, reported exactly what he and the townsfolk encountered that day. We questioned nearly everyone in town, and they all had the same experience: They noticed the strange wave and wondered what it was, but unlike what was reported everywhere else, no one felt anything or changed their behavior. No one had an explanation for why The Corner was different. We all thought it had been a wasted trip.
“But then the mayor’s wife, Betula, suggested we visit the Oldham orphans since the wave had passed through their property before it got to The Corner proper. We stopped by on our way out of town the next morning, and we trespassers found these two aiming arrows from the treetops.” With a grin and an upturned palm, he indicated Mat and Mia, who hung their heads in embarrassment. “But we talked them down without bloodshed and eventually got their story from them. Mat, perhaps you should tell the king directly.”
“Yes, captain,” Mat said, his face still red, his voice trembling nervously. Slowly, with a few interjections of detail from Mia, he related their experience with the emanation, describing his sister’s frenzied digging into their parents’ graves and his feelings of sickness and revulsion, which lingered for a few days. “We talked about it a bit, but when I felt better, and nothing like it happened again, I just went on with what I normally do. Until the captain asked about it, I hadn’t thought about it in a few weeks.”
The king mulled over what he had heard, returning to his food as he thought. A minute later, he turned his head to look directly at Mat. “How do you explain your sister’s mania when the wave crossed your property, yet just a few minutes later, no one in The Corner experienced anything of the kind?”
Mat and Mia exchanged a glance, and Mia returned a quick nod. The young man swallowed. “We can’t be sure,” he began tentatively, “because we are not scholars or have much experience, but my sister and I think I manifested an ability that day.”
“An ability?” Lorens repeated, his brows drawn down. “Do you mean a mystical power of some sort?”
Mat shrugged. “I suppose you could call it that,” he said, his eyes fixed on his nearly untouched plate of food rather than meeting the king’s probing gaze. “We can’t account for what happened otherwise. There hasn’t been another wave to confirm what happened the first time.”
Seeing the king about to scoff at the young man’s claim, Adon asked, “What made you come to that conclusion? You must have some reason for seriously considering such an implausible explanation.”
When her brother appeared reluctant to reply, Mia answered. “For a long time, Mat didn’t want to talk about it or even consider it. I was the one who kept bringing it up. The idea comes from our ancestors’ books and what they say about who we are. Most Penthori are normal folk, but the books often say that descendants of Penthor’s kings are different.”
When she hesitated to continue, Lorens said, “I will ask the obvious question: How are they different?”
The young woman pursed her lips, her first inclination to avoid answering, but taking a deep breath, she pressed on. “Our books say the original king of Penthor, a man named Astar, was strong in what they call ‘the Power.’ He did all kinds of marvelous things with it. Then, his heir, Gilgal, married a lady the books call an elf, and elves were supposedly even stronger in ‘the Power.’ That was long ago, but we can trace our bloodline back to those kings. Could some of that ‘Power’ have cropped up in Mat?” She left the question to hang in the air.
“It sounds like nonsense,” the king said, scowling. He shook his head, muttering one word: “Elves.” He took another drink of his tea, and no one dared add his or her opinion. “Edgar, find me some white wine. This conversation has driven me to desire something stronger than tea.” The butler left the room in haste.
At the other end of the table, Mast shifted in his seat, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Pardon my boldness, sire,” he began in his gravelly drawl. “You know that I’m nothing more than an old ship’s cook. My mates called me a galley monkey. I am certainly no great man or scholar, but my travels have taken me all over Osegra and even down into the Summer Isles way down south. I’ve had a lot of tavern conversations with people who are not like us, who told me some fantastic stories I could scarcely credit. A few spoke of people and objects and events that defy reality. I’m not claiming they are any more than myths or folktales—I have no way of knowing—but the people who told me about them would swear they were real. Perhaps there are abilities beyond what we can explain.”
As Edgar returned and poured the king’s wine, Adon spoke up. “I, too, don’t think we should dismiss it out of hand, lord. I know you despise occultism, and I agree. But I don’t think Mat is of that ilk. It seems to me that his unnatural ability—if that is what it is—may be like the Prophetesses’ gift, which has been passed down from mother to daughter for upwards of two hundred years. As you know, even my father had an uncanny ability to find things, which the Prophetess Zereda considered to be a gift from the Creator, just as her foresight was.”
The king appeared unmoved by their arguments. “So, Mat,” he said, swinging his insistent eyes back to the young man, “if that is so, what do you think your ‘gift’ is?”
As everyone looked at him for his answer, Mat tried but failed to keep from squirming. He took a quick drink, his mouth suddenly dry. “Well, lord, I don’t know exactly what to call it,” he said, gulping air. He took a moment to settle himself. “If that wave hadn’t rolled through that day, I don’t think I would have ever known I had it. But it’s weird—weirdly specific. I think it somehow removes evil.”
A note:
Not many people from Osegra had ever traveled to the Summer Isles. The sun-baked archipelago lay hundreds of miles south of the continent near the planet’s equator, and few ship captains dared venture that far. Besides, sailors’ lore held that the strange flora and fauna would soon kill a man if the natives did not do so first. However, a brave, lucky, and speedy captain and crew could make their fortunes by successfully returning with their cargo hold stuffed with the islands’ exotic fruits and vegetables so coveted by the rich and powerful on Osegra. Mast’s mention of having sailed there and talked to the natives implies that, contrary to what Osegrans believed, civilized settlements existed there, and their inhabitants could readily communicate with visitors from the north.
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