Recurve

“Come, sit by me, Larkspur.”

I made my way up to the dais and sat at his feet as he lowered himself onto his throne. “You look like your mother in that dress,” he said softly, putting a hand on the top of my head. I closed my eyes and leaned into his hand, wanting nothing more than to feel his approval.

“I am glad it pleases you, Father.”

“It does. Now, let us see what today’s supplicants bring.” He clapped his hands and spoke over the crowd. “Come, let those who would be heard step forward.”

A small number of people came through the crowd, lining up in a proper fashion.

The first was a Tender from the outer edge of the forest, far to the east. He made a stiff legged bow. “Your Majesty, the trees are dying in our section of the forest. There seems to be no natural cause. Would you consider sending one of your healers to us? I fear we will lose too many and then whatever this is will get away from us.”

My father considered, closing his eyes as he thought it over. When he opened his eyes, I already knew the answer, could see it easily. He shook his head. “No, it is the way of the forest, some must die so that others may live. If it is still a concern in the next season, come again and we will revisit this.” The supplicant slumped, and nodded. What else could he do? It was the word of the king.

But I knew what it meant to the Tender, similar enough to the Planters in their duties. Leaving a potential disease to run rampant was not a good idea. In the planting fields, blight on the seedlings, if left untreated, could spread like a wildfire. You could lose not only the crop, but also the fields they lay in if you were not diligent in scourging the blight clean. I frowned up at him. “Father, may I speak?”

“Of course, that is what you are here for.” His tone, though, said otherwise. I swallowed my trepidation and raised my voice, knowing the shaky ground I traversed.

“I think, perhaps, you should reconsider and send a healer. Just one, to evaluate the dying trees. If there is truly nothing to worry about, then it will not tax you to send a single healer. But if there is a cause for this, a need for help, you will be further ahead of what could become an out of control disaster.”

He laughed and the crowd laughed with him. It took everything I had not to drop my chin. “My daughter, the Planter, thinks to advise me. Fine, to ease your worries, child, I will send a healer. Just one, though.”

The supplicant gave a sigh of relief and bowed to us both. He scooted forward, took my hand and kissed the inside of my wrist, a submissive gesture. “Thank you, Princess.”

Heat suffused my cheeks, as much for the bow and the kiss, as the way my father had mocked me. In front of everyone, as if he didn’t care that I was sitting right there.

And that was the main reason I hated to come to these things. I wanted him to love me like he loved my other siblings, but I knew I would never be strong enough for him to do so. Still, I came with hope, and every time I left with less rather than more.

There was a shuffling of bodies as a healer came forward and went with the ranger from the outer reaches. They conversed in low tones and then left together.

Shouting erupted from the far side of the room, and a flurry of gray and brown cloth seemed to spin through the crowd, easily dodging the two Enders attempting to detain him. Or as the case turned out to be, her.

She stopped, breathless at the foot of the dais where she could look up at the king. Which meant I got an up close and personal look into her face. She wasn’t that old, or at least not any older than my father with the way our people aged; it was hard to tell. The silver strands here and there sparkling in her hair gave the biggest indication. Her eyes were tinged with madness. The washed out blue, almost violet, iris in the center shook as if her trembling followed through to even the miniscule parts of her body.

“Your Majesty, a storm comes.” Her head bowed and her shoulders slumped. “A storm, a storm, a storm. You will see, you will see. Finally, you will see what has been in front of you all this time. Your love will know, the Lady Ulani will know, ask her.” She raised her head and looked at me, her eyes and hands beseeching.

At the mention of my mother’s name, the room dropped into a silence borne of horror.

The king stood and then crouched in front of the woman. “Lady Niah, you were once a bard, a singer of songs, and teller of tales. Madness eats at you. This”—he swept a hand toward me—“is Ulani’s daughter.”

Niah looked at me, squinted her eyes, and lowered her voice. The acoustics in the room should have picked up her words, but it was if a blanket were thrown over our three heads, muffling the world outside our tiny circle. “She has the power of Ulani and the power that comes from your bloodline. Yet, she is broken, too.”

My father let out a breath. “I know. She is weak.”

I closed my eyes, and a tear slipped down my cheek. How much harder was it to hear my father say that I was weak? Bad enough that I knew it, that everyone knew it, but to hear it from his lips and know that he thought me useless . . . my heart could barely stand the thought.

“I would hear what the bard must say.”

I stiffened my spine to fight the cringe that wanted to take me over and make me hunch in on myself. Cassava’s voice rang pure and sharp through the room and the world was clear in front of me again. The queen wore a ridiculously skin tight, black dress with a slit clear to her hip, easy to see as she stood over us. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun that left the lines of her face as hard and clean as ever. To some, she would be beautiful, but not to me. Not for the first time I wondered what my father had seen in her.