State of Sorrow (Sorrow #1)(2)
Taken aback, the first lady blushed. “Whatever was that for?”
“Carpets,” Harun beamed. “Carpets.”
In Rhylla, on the morning of the meeting, the pewter-eyed prince consort, Caspar, smiled at his wife, Queen Melisia, over breakfast. He waited until the serving staff had left them to their privacy before he spoke, in a voice pitched low and loving.
“All well?”
Melisia’s hands moved to her stomach, and she returned her husband’s smile. Cerena was not the only one with child, though Melisia and Caspar’s pregnancy was still a secret they alone shared. Melisia thought of the child inside her, and how good it was that there would be a peaceful world for her to grow up in.
Her half-brother, Vespus, had pushed her to press on, to defeat the Rhannish while they were in chaos after Reuben Windsword’s death, but she’d been glad when the warlord had died and his son had reached out to offer peace. It wasn’t cowardice that had made Melisia want peace – the queen herself was an excellent fighter – but the war had gone on for long enough. Now was the time to rebuild, and rejoice. To grow and nurture and create.
“All well, my love,” she replied. “All well.” She leant across the table, eyes fluttering closed as her lips parted. Caspar moved to meet her in the middle.
An hour before noon, the Rhannish and the Rhyllian leaders approached the Humpback Bridge. It was a midsummer day, the hazy sun already promising higher temperatures to come, the air thick with the scent of jasmine and sandalwood, masking the greenish smell of the water. On each side of the river, young men and women threw flowers into the paths of the nobles as they walked, pink moonstar blossoms on the Rhyllian side, white windflowers on the Rhannish.
Both parties paused inside the fortified towers on their respective sides of the bridge. At the top of the Rhannish tower, in the stateroom, an aide handed Harun his copy of the treaty. As Cerena fussed with Mael, Harun smoothed his moustache again, blotted a bead of sweat from his temple with a silk handkerchief, and looked down at the scene. On his side the red carpet lay exactly halfway along the bridge. And on the Rhyllian side, it was bare, glittering in the sunlight. Queen Melisia was already in place at the foot, Caspar beside her. How small she looked, Harun thought, from so high up.
A tall Rhyllian man, his hair the same shade of blond as the queen’s, dressed in shimmering robes of lilac and green, joined them. As Harun watched, the man stepped forward and raised his hands. From the road beside them vines moved, winding out over the stone, covering it, and when the man gestured earnestly to them the Rhyllian court laughed, loudly enough to reach where Harun stood. Melisia tried to look stern as she rebuked the man and he waved his hands again, commanding the carpet of vines to retreat, but her face was too full of mirth for the frown to take.
Harun, meanwhile, was burning as crimson as his own silken carpet. He looked again at the bridge, the one half carefully covered, and the other still bare and deadly. The Rhyllian queen needed no aid to climb it…
“Pull the carpet away,” Harun snapped at his advisors.
“Your Excellency?”
“Do it.”
With a worried glance Harun’s advisors rushed from the room, and Harun watched as they conferred with the guards. Then the carpet was stripped away, to the shocked murmurs of the gathered Rhannish people.
“What is it?” Cerena asked.
“If they can climb with no carpet, I can too,” Harun insisted.
“But—”
“I will not be made a fool of by that needle-eared baggage,” Harun bellowed.
He stormed from the room, tearing down the stairs and out, the trumpeters stuttering the beginning of the fanfare, so fierce was his haste to get on to the bridge.
As the clocks in both towers simultaneously began to ring the hour, both leaders stepped on to the bridge. It took three steps before Harun’s feet began to slide from under him, and he was barely able to right himself. A glance back at his wife showed her displeasure, and he dared not look up to see if Melisia already awaited him at the top. Slowly, bent at the waist to keep from tumbling, he mounted the bridge like a crab to greet his former enemy.
Queen Melisia made no indication she’d seen the carpet rolled away, nor his struggles, allowing Harun his dignity. The Peace Accords were signed, to the cheers of both crowds, and Queen Melisia and Harun clasped each other’s forearms in respect, Harun clinging to Melisia as he lost his balance yet again. When Melisia nodded to Caspar to approach, he climbed the bridge, sure-footed as a goat, and waited.
It was clear to all that Cerena would not be able to do the same.
“It’s all right,” Melisia said in accented Rhannish.
Humiliated, Harun looked at his heavily pregnant wife and made another decision.
Begging Melisia’s pardon, he slid and stumbled back down the bridge and held his arms out for Mael.
“It’s too dangerous.” Cerena was pale and shrill. When her voice carried, Harun’s olive skin flushed again and he snatched his son from his wife.
His face taut with determination, he began the climb back towards the Queen of Rhylla. Mael wriggled in his father’s arms, his sobs turning to screeches, and Harun, beyond embarrassed, decided to return Mael to his mother and get as far from the bridge as possible. Harun inched his way down, and Cerena stepped forward, reaching for the child.
Harun slipped.