A/N: Thanks so much everybody for sticking with this. Here's the next chapter, early as promised. I must say, it's great to be getting back into this story! I think I missed my characters. Well, Dantalion has been ruling on his own now for a couple of years. What could possibly go wrong?
Palace Tales
"Where are you going?"
King Dantalion paused with his hand on the doorknob with an air similar to that of a startled rabbit. Penemue very nearly smiled at the image, but kept her expression reproachful. "I have a meeting," her husband mumbled, avoiding eye contact.
Penemue put her hands on her hips. "At this hour? What could possibly require your attention now?"
Dantalion's hand dropped from the doorknob. The King was apparently resigning himself to the fact that he had been caught sneaking out of his own bedroom by his wife. "Our ambassador in Ancelstierre just sent a letter," he explained. "It seems that Sir Tralusan is planning to run for Chief Minister."
"And why is that so remarkable?" asked the Queen as she furiously tried to remember who that man was. The name sounded familiar…
"If he wins, it will take the running of Ancelstierre out of the Royal Line. And my Council thinks that it will weaken ties between the two countries. He's Anti-Wall, for one thing. A lot of people are – you've seen the petitions. And the very last thing we need right now is a war between us."
Penemue finally remembered where she had heard the name before. "But isn't he your distant cousin? He should be faithful to you."
"He is related only by marriage. My uncle, Prince Orrofin, was Chief Minister for life. Orrofin's daughter is filling in only temporarily. Tralusan is his nephew, and has little allegiance towards the Crown."
"I will speak to my sisters and find out if they Saw anything," said Penemue. "Should I come with you to this meeting?"
"No." Dantalion placed his hands gently on her shoulders. "You have had a busy day. I want you to lie in bed, read your books, and promise not to arise for any state business. You need to relax."
"I promise," she grinned. After a quick kiss, Dantalion hurried out of the room to attend his meeting. Even if the Kingdom wasn't troubled by necromancers and demons, it seemed that politics would always arise to keep them on their toes.
Penemue snuggled down into the soft mattress of the four-poster, looking forward to an evening of undisturbed peace. She had her beloved copy of Kile and Aurina, the warming-pans placed at the foot of the bed were keeping her toes nice and toasty, and a large mug of tea sat on the endtable. She gave a contented sigh as she opened the book to the scene where Kile firsts asks Aurina to dance…
Before she had finished the first paragraph a tentative knock sounded on her door. Penemue briefly considered ignoring the person and pretending to be asleep, but then decided that wasn't a very queenly thing to do. "Come in," she called, marking the page.
Her son poked his head around the door, taking a quick look around before entering. "Hi, mother," he muttered, closing the door behind him. At nineteen, Andromis was just losing the gangly awkwardness that had plagued his years of adolescence. He was a head taller than his mother, something she was almost painfully aware of as he came to sit beside her on the bed. "Where's father?" he asked, grey eyes darting to and fro.
"He is staying up late to finish some work with the Council," said Penemue, shifting over to give him more room. "What is it, Andy?"
The Prince of the Kingdom avoided her gaze. He wasn't very good at disguising emotions, although he could conceal his boredom very well when occasion required, such as during dances and festivals. No, right now Andromis looked almost nervous. Penemue tossed her book onto Dantalion's empty pillow, deciding that she had some serious maternal duties to attend to.
"I'm just…" Penemue's son shook his head, running a hand distractedly through his blond hair in a way that reminded her eerily of Dantalion. "I'm just nervous about tomorrow, all right?" said the Prince, gesturing helplessly with his hands.
The Queen's mind was working overtime, and then something clicked. "The trials!" she exclaimed, seizing upon her son's source of disquiet. "Oh, I know that you will do just fine, Andy. You were always so good at sports and riding and weaponry. And there isn't a better tracker under the palace roof. It will be all right."
"It's not that part," the boy sighed. "Applicants also have to write an academic exam. I was never a really good student, mother. I've tried studying all day, and nothing will stick. All that memorization of names and dates and formulae and theories…"
"All you need is a passing grade," Penemue assured him. "You have never failed your lessons. And before you know it, you will be off to one of the Regimental Outposts to train as an officer."
"Yes, and then what?" asked Andromis mournfully. "Two years of service before I can even think about applying for Lieutenantship, and everybody knows how difficult that exam is – barely anyone passes the first time, and you are only allowed to take it once a year! I'll probably remain at the outpost until I'm old and grey…"
Penemue smiled. "Now what kind of talk is that?" she chided gently. "You will just keep taking the exam until you pass, never mind how long it takes. Besides, if your father could pass that exam then I am certain you can."
Andromis grinned, and Penemue resisted the urge to enfold her son in her arms; he would probably hate being coddled. "Which Regiment were you thinking of joining?" she asked conversationally.
Before Andromis could reply, somebody knocked on the door.
"Who is it?" Penemue called.
"It's Sitri, mother," a voice answered.
The Prince jumped to his feet. "Sitri?" he hissed, looking wildly around the room. "She can't know that I came in here! I'd never hear the end of her teasing!" Without further ado he dove underneath the bed. His feet disappeared just as the door opened and the youngest child entered the Royal Bedchamber.
In appearance, Sitri reminded Penemue of her mother Tirelle. In manner, the Princess had many little quirks. She always wore a black waistcoat, even going so far as to belt it over her evening dresses. Penemue disapproved of this un-royal behaviour, ignoring her daughter's protests that a silk waistcoat was appropriate for dinnerwear. The Queen knew that Sitri loved the waistcoat because of its enormous pockets, fit for carrying around books, pens, and paper.
Sitri cocked her blond head to the side like a bird's, seeming to sense something amiss. But before she could ask any questions, Penemue spoke. "What is it?"
"I just finished packing," the girl said in a whisper. Her normally-bright eyes looked distracted. Penemue reached out, and Sitri gratefully ran across the room and jumped onto the bed to embrace her. The mattress bounced and the Queen thought she heard a muffled grunt from beneath the bed, but her attention was diverted to Sitri. She stroked her daughter's hair as she tried to hold back her own tears. Now that she was fifteen, Sitri was going to join her aunts and cousins at the Clayr's Glacier.
"You won't be too far away," soothed Penemue. "And you will be with family."
"I know," said Sitri, her voice muffled against Penemue's neck. "I have gone to the Glacier before, but… it's not Belisaere. It's not home."
"If you do not wish to go, you do not have to."
"No, I should," said Sitri miserably. "My visions – they're coming more frequently now. Living at the Palace like that is hard, and my aunts can help me with this."
Suddenly remembering the silver mirrors, Penemue smiled. "Let me tell you about something." She held her daughter at arm's length. "The Wallmaker crafted something that would allow different people to speak to each other, even if they were far away." Sitri's blue eyes lighted up with interest. "The Wallmaker has one, and so do Lord Abhorsen and your father. And your Aunt Neryl has one. If you ever want to speak with any of us, just ask her about it."
The girl smiled and nodded. "Okay."
"Now," said the Queen in a mock-serious tone, "where were you all day? No, let me guess – you hid yourself in a tree to read? Again?"
Sitri nodded sheepishly. "I may have put a concealment spell around it. Sorry if I caused any trouble."
Penemue sighed. Her youngest was an extraordinarily talented Charter Mage and tree-climber, something that made her nigh impossible to find if she wished not to be disturbed. It also caused widespread panic among the guard whenever the young princess went "missing".
The girl opened her mouth, no doubt to say something in the way of an explanation, but she paused when a loud knocking sounded at the door.
"Mother?" an urgent voice called from the hall. It was Farelle.
"By the Charter!" Sitri murmured. Penemue was too surprised at the interruption to reprimand her daughter's language. She wondered who would come knocking on her door next – Dantalion, perhaps? So much for an evening of relaxation.
Sitri scrambled to her feet, dancing up and down in panic. "I need to hide!" She made to slither underneath the bed, but Penemue caught her by the arm.
"Not under there, Sitri!" she cautioned, remembering Andromis, and ushered her over to the closet. Slamming the door behind her, she called out, "Come in!"
The door banged open and Princess Farelle swept inside. Her hair was tousled, her shawl was skewed, and her face was red – she had been crying. "Farelle!" Penemue exclaimed, taking a step towards her firstborn. "What ever is the matter?"
In answer, the young woman burst into tears. A confused Penemue held her tight as Farelle sobbed her heart out onto her shoulder. "He doesn't like me," the Princess wailed. Ah. That explained it.
Deciding not to ask any questions, Penemue continued to comfort her daughter. Over Farelle's shoulder she spotted her son emerging from under the bed. He winked, put a finger to his lips, and began to crawl stealthily across the room, making for the door. Farelle suddenly pulled away and turned to wipe her eyes, and Andromis just managed to whip out of sight behind a chair, landing with a muffled thump that luckily escaped his sister's notice.
"Farelle," said Penemue as naturally as she could. "Why don't you go and wash your face? Then we can talk about it." The Princess nodded and shuffled off to the bathroom.
As soon as she was gone, Andromis scrambled to his feet. "Thanks, mum," he whispered as he darted to the door, slid it open, and ducked outside with a quick wave. The Queen leaned against the wall and heaved a sigh of relief – that had been much too close!
Deciding that she should take advantage of Farelle's absence, Penemue let her third child out of the closet. Sitri's fair head suddenly jerked around, and they both stared with barely-concealed horror at the handle of the bathroom door – which was turning. Penemue knew that they had only seconds before Farelle emerged, and that Sitri wouldn't have enough time to make it across the room and out the door. But before she could even think of what to do, her youngest child had bounded behind the curtain with surprising agility.
Farelle emerged from the bathroom looking much better, although her eyes were still red. She sniffed slightly before coming to sit with her mother on the bed.
"All right," said Penemue, comforting someone for the third time in thirty minutes. "Who is this person who supposedly does not like you?"
"Javen," whispered the Princess. A small sound of surprise came from the direction of the window, but Penemue covered it with a feigned coughing fit.
"And who is Javen?" she prompted once she could speak again.
"He's the new member of the Royal Guard," explained Farelle, looking as if her pet bird had just died.
"The – the Royal Guard?" Penemue repeated incredulously. "Could you not have chosen anyone else? Like perhaps a bandit? Your father would have been so much happier."
Farelle rolled her eyes. "I know, mother. I know. But you never have control over who you fall in love with."
Another small gasp came from the curtain and Penemue faked a few more coughs, cursing Sitri's lack of discretion.
"Are you all right, mother?" asked Farelle in concern, arising out of her melancholy for a moment.
"I'm fine, I'm fine," said the Queen waving her off. "So, it really is love, then?"
"It cannot be anything else." Farelle sighed, and her eyes took on a misty look. "He's so much nicer than all the other young men. I hate it when those noble families introduce me to their eligible sons, as if they were putting them up for sale. And those boys are always so boring anyway. They never talk to me about anything interesting – they only talk about themselves. Or their parents talk about them and they don't utter a single word, let alone an intelligent one."
"And Javen converses with you?"
"Oh yes. That is, he never says anything inappropriate. We just chat sometimes whenever I pass his post. Did you know that he likes to dance, too? And that he can play three instruments?"
Penemue knew that her daughter loved music. "I'm sorry Farelle, but I did not even know he existed until you told me about him. But he does sound like a nice fellow."
"Yes." The smile suddenly faded from the young woman's face. "Except… only a moment ago I asked him if he would like to walk with me in the gardens – just to talk, you know. But he turned suddenly cold and declined." Tears gathered in Farelle's eyes once more, which shocked Penemue because her eldest daughter almost never cried, and certainly not twice in one day. "He probably thinks I'm just some – some – some silly shameless girl!" she wailed.
"Nobody who knows you would think that of you," said Penemue, embracing her daughter again and wondering where her children got these ridiculous ideas. "You are a real Lady, and the Crown Princess. And the Kingdom could not ask for a better one."
"So why did he say no?" demanded Farelle, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her nightgown.
The Queen shrugged. "He was on duty, so he could not walk with you even if he wanted to. Besides, he was probably scared to death of your father, and what the King would do to him if he presumed to take a walk with you."
The Princess let out a choked laugh. "Father can be… overprotective."
"That is the diplomatic way of putting it," Penemue observed. "He wants the best for you, Farelle. I am sure a Royal Guard is not what he had in mind. At best this Javen is the second son of a Lord, and at worst he is the bastard son of a minor noble. There are many young men of higher noble blood available."
"But I choose Javen, if he will have me," Farelle proclaimed, setting her jaw.
"Take your time," cautioned Penemue. "You are only twenty-one. And besides, who knows how long it will take to convince your father?" They shared a smile.
Farelle suddenly shivered, pulling her shawl tightly about her arms. "Do you feel that? It's so cold in here!" She got up, and approached the window where Sitri was hiding. Penemue leapt to her feet, but before she could interfere Farelle had drawn aside the velvet curtain.
"And no wonder," said the Princess with a small laugh. "The window is wide open." Penemue stared at the window, through which a chilly breeze was issuing. Apparently Sitri had found a path of escape other than the door. Farelle closed the window against the cold night air, and smiled. "Thank you," she said, and kissed her mother before leaving the room.
When she was gone, Penemue fell back onto her bed, spreading her arms and letting out a heavy sigh. She didn't care what Dantalion said; the duty of being a mother to three children was far more challenging than the duty of running a Kingdom.
A/N: The physical actions of this scene were inspired by the movie "The Pink Panther" (That's the original version with Peter Sellers and David Niven). There's a sequence in a hotel room where Inspector Clouseau's wife is trying to keep her husband, her lover, and her lover's nephew hidden from each other.
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