The Raetians never declared themselves to be ruled by a king; instead, they acknowledged a hereditary prince. There is little difference in practicality, but they maintain a polite fiction that in the event of a true Etalan Emperor, they would remain loyal.
* François du Lutetia, A History of Narvonne
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1st Day of High Summer’s Moon, AC 297
Chunks of ice struck the bow of the Perce-Pierre as she cut through the scattered floes on her way into Basilea harbor. Around the cog, the masts of trading ships from Skandia, Kimerria and Maʿīn rose, many coated in rime. Clarisant shivered, pulling a fur-lined cloak of thick Falaisian wool tight around her body. “Every time I see my breath fog in the air,” she said, “I’m still surprised. This should be the warmest time of the year.”
“There’s always snow on the peaks of the High Taurn,” John Granger said, from his place along the rail at her right hand. “But even for Raetia, I’ve never heard of anything like this.” He swept a hand out toward the city of Basilea, where the roof of every building shone white with a crust of snow under the starlight. “It’s been two weeks of darkness, and the world is only growing colder. I can’t imagine any of the summer crops have survived. If there isn’t already famine here, my lady, it is coming soon. You need to allow us to protect you.”
“You need have no fear of that,” Clarisant said. “I am not my husband, I have never been trained for war, and I know it. I have different talents. I will trust you and Ettie to guard me.”
Granger nodded. “To the palace, first, then?” Around them, sailors rushed about, striking sails and preparing to tie the cog fast to the quay.
“Yes. I will present the king’s letter to Prince Conrad’s people, and I would expect they will provide us with apartments for the duration of our stay,” Clarisant explained. “I do not know how he will react to His Majesty’s request.” She cast her eyes up to the crest of the mountains behind the city, rising up into the blue winter sky. “Do you know how far north we need to go to see the lights?”
Granger shrugged. “I came here only once,” he admitted. “Soon after Sir Rience and Lady Cecilia were married. We stayed long enough to retrieve some of her possessions and sell a bit of property. I saw the lights once, on a particularly clear night, but I recall being told that you needed to cross the mountains and travel north to get the full effect. There is a pass,” he continued, “though I don’t recall the name of it. The locals travel in sleighs pulled by rather peculiar northern stags when they need to cross the snow. I will look into it once you are settled in at the palace.”
“Once we access the king’s accounts at the Bank, we will have sufficient funds for the journey,” Clarisant said. “Make certain you find trustworthy guides. And send one of the pigeons we brought.”
“Are you certain you want to make the journey?” the master of arms asked. “It’s dangerous enough to treat with the faeries we know, in the Ardenwood. This Queen of Winter is something else entirely.”
“The Horned Hunter seemed to think that she could help us,” Clarisant reminded him. “I do not know that I would trust him about anything else, but where his sister is concerned, surely that counts for something?”
“Perhaps,” Granger said. “Let me go see if they’ve finished packing our things. I suspect we can be off shortly.” Indeed, the port side of the Perce-Pierre’s hull bumped up against the wood of the quay as he spoke, then drifted back a yard or so until the sailors had finished tying the ship fast.
Dame Etoile and Yaél had, it turned out, finished with the packing, and with Henry and Granger’s assistance, carried all of their packs and chests up onto the deck, and from thence onto the quay. Clarisant left Etoile to negotiate a carriage for them, and once it had come got herself inside and seated while the trunks were loaded without her. With the door closed, she finally pulled her chilled hands out from under the fur of her cloak, rubbed them together, and blew on her fingers, trying to warm them again.
“Are you safe and warm in there?” Claire whispered to the child in her belly. Not quite three moons had passed, and she did not expect to show until the fourth had come and gone. Her mother had told her that she should not expect to feel the babe move for even longer, but at least the nausea had settled somewhat. She was so tired all the time, even on days that she’d hardly left the cabin.
When the doors of the carriage swung open next, it was to admit Dame Etoile, Yaél, and Henry. “John’s riding up front with the driver,” the hunter let Claire know, before taking a seat opposite her on the other bench. Yaél settled next to Claire, while Etoile slid in next to Henry.
“Are we really going to ride through the mountains on a sleigh?” the quire asked, cheeks flushed with the chill.
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“I intend that we shall,” Clarisant said, nodding. “But first, we must negotiate with Prince Conrad.”
“I don’t know much about him,” Etoile admitted. “Save that he only came to power a few years ago. I recall your father speaking of it.”
“That’s correct,” Claire said, as the carriage jostled them all and set off down the quay for the city streets. “He was the younger son, and no one expected him to succeed his father. I recall there was some sort of sailing accident - the elder prince, Henlyn, drowned, along with several of his friends. It was something of a scandal, as they were all said to have been quite drunk. Now, when we arrive at the palace, you must all let me speak. If someone greets you, you may respond. Yaél, you remember what I taught you?”
“Grüezi,” Yaél said, haltingly.
“Good,” Claire said, with a smile and a nod. “Anything past that, simply switch to Narvonnian and apologize for not speaking Raetian. With anyone at the prince’s palace, that should be enough.”
“This is all too fancy for me,” Henry grumbled, glancing out the carriage window. “I mean, just look at this place.” The carriage rolled up to the gate of a curtain wall, where guards in the livery of the Prince of Raetia: a white mountain flower, on a field of blue, with white trim. Granger, at the front of the carriage, spoke with the guards briefly, and then they were permitted to pass beneath the outer wall and into a courtyard paved with wide granite stones. Once the carriage had rolled to a halt, the door was opened, and Dame Etoile was the first out. Claire waited until the armored knight reached back into the carriage, and then she used the stronger woman’s arm to help herself out.
“Lady Clarisant du Camaret-à-Arden,” one of the guards addressed her, inclining his head respectfully. Though his Narvonnian was accented, his words were perfectly clear to her. “Your man tells us that you come bearing greetings from Prince Lionel of Narvonne.”
“It is so,” Claire confirmed, pulling the letter with the king’s seal out from within her cloak so that the guard could see it. “I am instructed to deliver it to Prince Conrad directly.”
“Of course. You must be weary from your long journey,” the guard said. “Please, come with me. My men will see to your things.”
They crossed the courtyard, and the wind pulled at Clarisant’s cloak so that she had to clutch it about her to keep it closed. Torches guttered in sconces set along the walls, and the limestone of the palace reflected the light of the stars above. She could barely make out the red, rounded roofs of the towers, which rose to a sharp point so that the snow would slide off, instead of piling up.
“I am Riddersman Reinolt,” the guard introduced himself, as he led them into the palace. “In your language, you would call me a knight, though the word has a somewhat different meaning here in Raetia.”
“It is my very great pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir Reinolt,” Claire returned the greeting. “To my right is Dame Etoile du Rocher de la Garde, and behind her Yaél du Havre de Paix, my husband’s squire. John Granger here is our master of arms, and Henry one of my husband’s loyal men.”
“I pray you will forgive me, Lady Clarisant,” Reinolt said, taking them up a grand staircase to the second floor of the palace. “I am familiar with the names of the Barons of Narvonne, and even some few of their heirs, but I cannot claim my knowledge is extensive. Might I recognize the name of your husband?”
“Sir Trist du Camaret-à-Arden, Exarch of Acrasia,” Claire gave the name. For a moment, she saw him again, as she’d glimpsed him on the deck of the Perce-Pierre at night, with a bandage wrapped around his eyes. She thrust her worries aside to focus on what was in front of her.
“An Exarch!” Reinolt exclaimed. “It is an honor to receive you, indeed. We always keep at least one set of guest chambers in readiness, of course, for any guests the Prince might receive.”
“Riddersman Reinolt!” a woman’s voice called from behind them, and Claire looked back to see a young lady in a dress of dark winter wool hurrying to catch up. Her hair was a blonde as pale as butter, and her blue eyes sparkled like ice at dawn. “We are receiving guests, I see?”
Reinholt stopped, turned, and bowed. “Princess Keterlyn,” he said, “Lady Clarisant and her companions have just arrived from Narvonne.”
“Princess,” Clarisant greeted the young woman, reaching down beneath her heavy cloak to grasp her skirt and make a curtsy. “It is my honor to meet you.”
“Narvonne,” Keterlyn repeated, frowning. “We have heard tales of the war tearing apart your country. You have my deepest sympathy, Lady Clarisant. With all the troubles in the world right now, I cannot imagine the horror of a civil war on top of that.”
“I would not call it a civil war,” Clarisant said, rising. “Rather treason. But I have faith that the conflict will be short lived, and that King Lionel will sit his father’s throne when everything is over.”
Reinholt and Keterlyn shared a glance, and Clarisant realized that her mission would not be an easy one.
“My brother does not think it appropriate to recognize one side or the other during another kingdom’s internal conflicts,” Keterlyn said. “I see Reinholt is taking you to the Silver Fur suite. It is one of my favorites; my mother had just finished redecorating it before she passed. I will leave you to make yourselves comfortable, but I am certain we will speak later. Good day, Lady Clarisant. Reinholt.” With an elegant nod of her head, Keterlyn swept away.
“If my lady would turn this way,” Sir Reinholt said, and Clarisant followed him. Two guards in the same blue and white livery waited outside the entrance to the suite, and one of them opened the door without being asked.
As Princess Keterlyn had said, the rooms were decorated beautifully, in shades of silver and a deep forest green, with furniture of dark wood. There was a large window looking out on the mountains in the sitting room, and Clarisant could see multiple attached bed chambers, every room with a hearth built around a central point.
“I will leave you all to rest,” Reinholt said, bowed, and closed the door behind him when he left.
“That was odd,” Dame Etoile remarked, as Henry threw himself down into a chair by the window. “Something did not feel quite right about it all.”
“That,” Clarisant said, “Is because Avitus has gotten here before us. Or at least, one of his instruments has. I fear those two guards outside the door may not be entirely for our safety.”
“What do you mean?” Yaél asked, the girl’s brow furrowed.
“I suspect that we have just become Prince Conrad’s prisoners,” Claire said.