Golden Fool
“A drug?” I breathed to the Fool.
“No. Only a perfume, a scent from a kindlier place.” A faint smile played over his face. “I knew that scent of old, when I was a child. They traded far for that.”
The next servant approached, and opened his cask at the Queen’s feet. From it he lifted a simple set of dangling chimes, such as any garden might hold, save that these seemed to me made of scaled glass rather than metal. He kept them stilled with his hand until, at a signal from the parrot-man, he shook them, a delicate shiver that still set them to swinging and ringing. Each tone was sweet, and their random pattern swiftly fell into a rippling song. Abruptly the servant muted them, far too soon for me. But then he gave them another tiny shake, and again a shimmering melody burst forth, as different from the first as the crackling of a fire is from the muttering of a brook. He let them play a time, and they showed no sign of stilling themselves. When the servant muted them again, the parrot-man spoke. “Fair Queen Kettricken, most noble lady of both the Mountains and the Six Duchies, we hope this sound pleases you. No one is certain how many tunes these chimes hold. Each time they are freed, they seem to spell a different song. As vast and great as your lands are, and as sophisticated as your tastes must no doubt be, we hope you will deem this humble gift worthy of you.”
Kettricken must have made some sign of acceptance, for the chimes were restored to their chest and brought forward to her.
The third gift was a length of fabric, similar in kind but not in hue to the one the woman wore. This was lifted from a small chest, but when the small woman and the parrot-man moved forward to take it from the servant, the cloth unfolded again, and yet again, and yet again, until the swathe of it was enough to clothe a long table in the Great Hall and drape still to the floor. It shimmered when they shook it, moving through shades of blue from deep violet to pale summer sky. And they folded it effortlessly to a compact square that they restored to its chest. This too was set before our queen. The fourth gift was a set of bells, arranged in a scale. The tone was good but no more than that. What was amazing about them was that the metal they were made of shimmered with light as each bell rang. “This is jidzin, most gracious Queen Kettricken, ruler of the Six Duchies and heir to the Mountain Throne,” the short woman told her. “This is one treasure that can come from Bingtown alone. We are certain that you are worthy of no less than the very best we can offer you. Jidzin is among our most unique treasures. As are these.” She waved a hand at the hooded man and he came forward. “Flame jewels, fair Queen Kettricken. Rarest of the rare, for a rare queen.”
Be wary.
I had not expected the Prince to reply to my warning. His was a thought flung wide rather than a careful channeling of the Skill. All the hair on the back of my neck stood up as I saw the veiled man twitch as if poked. For an instant, he stood very still. I sensed something from him, a reaching I had no name for.
Ssh, I cautioned my prince in a thread of thought. Be very still.
I desperately longed to see the veiled man’s expression. Did he stare at my prince? Did he glance about the chamber seeking me?
Whoever he was, his control was masterful. He made his abrupt halt a ceremonial pause. Then the veiled man bowed low, and presented his gift. He set the cask on the floor before him. At a stroke of his hand, it seemed to open by itself. He reached in and took out a smaller box. This he opened to reveal a torc of gold set with gems. He displayed it to the Queen, and then held it aloft so the gathered nobles might see it. While it was still raised, the bearer gave the ornament a shake. All of the jewels suddenly flared to life, glowing an unearthly blue in the dim hall. As he turned back toward the Queen, offering it for her regard, I heard the Fool give a quiet gasp at the beauty of the thing. The veiled man spoke clearly despite his muffling veils, and his voice was young, almost a boy’s. “The blues are the rarest of the flame jewels, most gracious Queen. They were chosen for you, in the color of Buck Duchy. And for each noble and gracious ruler of each of your noble and gracious duchies . . .”
There were gasps from the back of the hall as the gift-bearer lifted from the cask five additional boxes. He opened each in turn, to show neckpieces of narrow silver rather than wide gold. Each of these bore a single jewel, but they were nonetheless breathtaking. Someone had studied the Six Duchies well, for each gem was the proper color for the duchy it was intended for, even to distinguishing between the pale yellow of the Bearns flower sigil to the deeper gold of Farrow. After the Queen had accepted her collar, the hooded servant moved to the gathered nobles, to bow gravely to each and then proffer the Bingtown gift. Despite the man’s unusual garb, I noticed that no one hesitated to accept his offering.