“Ah, you are the great leaders of our religion across the sea,” she says. Not for the first time, she is glad of the correspondence she has received from her butterflies, for it would not do to reveal that the king does not communicate on such matters with her.
“His Majesty wishes to consult us,” the man says.
“Of course. You must take supper at my castle. You must be weary after your long journey.”
Some of the other men look up at that, clearly eager for food. But their leader shakes his head. “We must travel directly to High Hall. The king has arranged transport for us.”
Cleves says nothing of the rudeness of turning down a queen’s invitation, for she has no desire to host these men. She nods graciously and turns her back on the lot of them, summoning Lelij to her side with a click of her tongue.
“Come, cousin,” Cleves says, sweeping back up the dock and climbing onto her horse. Johana is given his own steed and takes his place by her side as they make their way back through the town. He exclaims loudly at everything he sees: “What a wonderful town! These fruits, they look so sweet! Your Elbenese weather, it is quite charming!”
When they reach the castle, Cleves goes directly to her presence chamber, taking with her a pack of animals. She settles them around her feet – the pigs on one side, Lelij on the other and a lapdragon upon her gown. Servants bring delicacies from both Ezzonid and Elben, and some that take inspiration from both in a fusion that Cleves rather enjoys. Rye bread smothered in soft Elbenese goat’s cheese and peppered with dill. Local apples poached in spices from Ezzonid’s southern markets. Johana presses his hands together in thanks, exclaiming over the delicious smell and the way everything is presented. Cleves’ people, won over by his effusions, bow and titter and angle the plates towards his end of the table.
As soon as the servants have retired and Cleves and Johana are alone, his smile drops. “This country is abiskizan. A shithole. Let me assist you in escaping, cousin.”
“What happened to everything being so charming?” Cleves says.
“I am a diplomat. I would say that your king’s piss was the height of fashion if it would help our country.” He grows thoughtful. “Do kings with divine powers piss?”
“He would have us think not,” Cleves says, offering him a platter of apple fritters. Johana spears one on his knife. He bites it and grimaces.
“The apples are delicious,” Cleves says, feeling oddly defensive of the island she now calls home.
“Too sweet,” is all the reply she gets.
Cleves stares at Johana. He grins. “I jest. This is an excellent fritter. I merely enjoy teasing you.”
“I had forgotten how much my family enjoy their jests.”
“Do not tell me you have grown serious in your old age?” Johana says. Cleves plucks the half-eaten fritter from his knife and takes a bite in reply.
As Johana selects more food, Cleves feeds the remains of the fritter to one of her pigs, then crosses her legs, musing how to approach the meat of the conversation.
“I shall not keep you in Elben for long, cousin,” she begins.
Johana frowns laconically. “You shall not keep me anywhere I have no wish to be. Indeed, I was the one to invite myself to join you.”
“Indeed? I had quite forgotten.”
“Six years and not a single summons, cousin. It is outrageous.”
Cleves shrugs. “It was my duty to acclimatise to my new country.”
“And have you? Acclimatised?”
She does not like the way he is studying her.
“What do they say of me in Ezzonid?” she asks.
“You did not answer my question.”
“You did not answer mine,” she counters. “And I think that tells us both everything we wish to know, does it not?”
Johana smiles as he cuts a slice of cheese and dips it in lavender-kissed honey. They allow the silence to stretch, like a rousing cat.
Eventually, Johana says, “Are you not lonely? When we were pups, you were the centre of every ball. You could charm the magic from a witch and the faith from a priest. You could make even your lady mother laugh. Your spirit could conjure company from the quietest of forests. The palace ever rang with the sound of your merriment.”
“And much good it did us,” she snaps. She hears it then, in the soft puffs of Lelij’s breath, and the shouts of the servants in the courtyard outside her window. Other shouts, other huffs; needles from the past.
