The Rose Throne Read online

  First published by Egmont USA, 2013

  443 Park Avenue South, Suite 806

  New York, NY 10016

  Copyright © Mette Ivie Harrison, 2013

  All rights reserved

  www.egmontusa.com

  www.metteivieharrison.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Harrison, Mette Ivie, 1970-

  The rose throne / Mette Ivie Harrison.

  p. cm.

  Summary: An ancient prophecy hints that the kingdoms of two princesses from rival lands, one with magic and one without, will be united under one rule—and one rule only.

  eISBN: 978-1-60684-366-6

  [1. Magic–Fiction. 2. Princesses—Fiction. 3. Fantasy.] I. Title.

  PZ7.H25612Ros 2013

  [Fic]–dc23

  2012024692

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher and copyright owner.

  v3.1

  FOR CANDICE

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One: Ailsbet

  Chapter Two: Ailsbet

  Chapter Three: Issa

  Chapter Four: Issa

  Chapter Five: Issa

  Chapter Six: Ailsbet

  Chapter Seven: Ailsbet

  Chapter Eight: Ailsbet

  Chapter Nine: Issa

  Chapter Ten: Issa

  Chapter Eleven: Ailsbet

  Chapter Twelve: Ailsbet

  Chapter Thirteen: Ailsbet

  Chapter Fourteen: Ailsbet

  Chapter Fifteen: Ailsbet

  Chapter Sixteen: Issa

  Chapter Seventeen: Issa

  Chapter Eighteen: Issa

  Chapter Nineteen: Ailsbet

  Chapter Twenty: Issa

  Chapter Twenty-one: Issa

  Chapter Twenty-two: Ailsbet

  Chapter Twenty-three: Issa

  Chapter Twenty-four: Ailsbet

  Chapter Twenty-five: Issa

  Chapter Twenty-six: Ailsbet

  Chapter Twenty-seven: Issa

  Chapter Twenty-eight: Ailsbet

  Chapter Twenty-nine: Issa

  Chapter Thirty: Ailsbet

  Chapter Thirty-one: Issa

  Chapter Thirty-two: Ailsbet

  Chapter Thirty-three: Ailsbet

  Chapter Thirty-four: Issa

  Chapter Thirty-five: Ailsbet

  Chapter Thirty-six: Issa

  Chapter Thirty-seven: Ailsbet

  Chapter Thirty-eight: Issa

  CHAPTER ONE

  Ailsbet

  “PRINCESS AILSBET, your father demands your attendance at court this morning,” said Duke Kellin of Falcorn, bowing. He was King Haikor’s new favorite, looked hardly older than Ailsbet, and was dark-haired, tall, broad-shouldered, and handsome in a dark sable cloak over a silver-embroidered tunic.

  “You will give me a few minutes to prepare myself,” said Ailsbet. It was a request, though she spoke it as a command.

  At sixteen, Ailsbet was of marriageable age, and it was time for her to build an alliance that would be of use to her father. Since she had shown no neweyr, the magic of life that bound women to the earth, and was past the age of developing it, she was now considered unweyr. The well-born unweyr were occasionally used as ambassadors to the continent, where others would suffer deeply without weyr, but that was unlikely in Ailsbet’s case. Her father would want to use her marriage to strengthen his own seat on the throne, as well as her younger brother Edik’s claim to it in time.

  “Your father is anxious to see you. It would be wise for you to avoid his displeasure,” said Kellin in the careful accent of the palace itself, more southern than northern, the harsher consonants smoothed out. What his true accent was, Ailsbet could not tell.

  Was there true concern for her in his eyes? If so, he was the first of King Haikor’s noblemen to see her as anything other than an oddity. Ailsbet knew she was no beauty, for she looked too much like her father. His red hair was fading now, and his skin had grown coarse, but Ailsbet still had the bright flame of color around her face, and her fair skin was dotted with freckles. She had the king’s arresting nose and nearly his height, taller than every other woman at court by at least half a head.

  “And do you think I am wise?” asked Ailsbet. The duke could not possibly be as bland as he seemed, always agreeing with her father, wearing somber clothing in comparison to King Haikor’s elaborate court costumes. She wanted to know who he was, behind his pointed chin and correct demeanor.

  “Wise? Your Highness, I think you are your father’s daughter in every way,” said Kellin.

  “In every way?”

  “Your Highness, I serve your father,” said Kellin.

  “Only my father?” asked Ailsbet.

  “In truth, I serve the kingdom of Rurik,” said Kellin, his eyes distant, as if he saw something far off in his mind, something bright and perfect. “I serve an ideal, of safety and protection to all the people within the borders of our land. I serve the king, who has done much to ensure that security. But more than that, I serve the future of our kingdom.”

  “And does my father not call me to him now because he believes I will help secure the future of Rurik?” Ailsbet asked. She often watched with detached bemusement as her father’s lords jostled for position. In recent months, some had dared to hint at an offer of marriage for Ailsbet despite her oddity; others mentioned a sister or daughter who might be a bride for Edik. But soon there would come a time when it would no longer be a game, and a choice would have to be made by the king. Was today that day?

  “Your brother, Edik, is the one who will secure Rurik’s future as heir to the throne,” said Kellin. Edik was twelve years old and had already shown a small measure of taweyr, the magic of death and war, which male animals and humans shared with the forces of the world itself. Since men developed their weyr later than women, Edik would have until he was eighteen to prove himself fully capable of taking his place in taweyr, and then he would be named the official heir to the throne.

  Ailsbet felt a fierce, burning surge of anger at Kellin’s dismissal of her place in the kingdom. She turned away from him, not wanting to show her feelings.

  “I require a moment to myself,” she said.

  “Your Highness—” Kellin said, and then stopped.

  Ailsbet itched for her flute. When she was angry or agitated, her music could bleed the feelings from her. She closed her eyes and thought of an old, familiar lullaby about a child and a bluebird.

  “Princess?” Kellin said.

  “What is it now?” she asked, opening her eyes.

  “Your Highness, your brother—” said Kellin.

  “I know my brother is the one who matters, not I,” said Ailsbet. All her life, Ailsbet had been told that her father had sacrificed for the kingdom, that her mother did, that she must.

  “Perhaps not now,” said Kellin.

  He said no more, though Ailsbet waited to hear him elaborate on that comment. Perhaps he meant she must in time produce an extra heir, in case Edik’s children were not sufficient?

  “Give me a moment,” said Ailsbet again, and retreated to her inner chambers to examine herself in the mirror.

  There were spots of red standing out on her cheeks, as if she had a fever. She dipped a cloth in cool water and pressed it to her face. What man would want a woman who was so tall and strongly featured? Who did not have the neweyr to speed the growth of plants or enhance the birth of animals? Who was not as his mother and sisters were, and could have only a di
stant conversation with other women about such things?

  Only a nobleman who planned to spend his life at court, where the neweyr did not matter at all, would value a marriage with her. Only a nobleman who would never care for her personally, but for what she brought him in political connections.

  Ailsbet had known all her life that her father would choose her husband for his own reasons, and she would be yoked to a man who did not love her. She would bear it, not for the sake of the kingdom, but for her own dignity. It would be foolish for her to imagine that she would find happiness in her marriage.

  She turned away from her reflection and reached onto her shelf for the carved wooden case of her flute. She wished she had time to play it now. Few people with the weyr seemed to appreciate music, but it was the one thing she did well. She meant to bring it to court to remind her father of her rare gift.

  Holding the flute in its case, Ailsbet left the inner chamber and walked with Kellin down the steps of the Queen’s House, where all the women of the court lived. They passed through the muddy courtyard, where guards practiced with their taweyr and swords. Ailsbet could smell the anger and sweat in the air, and the sound of the swords rang in her ears like badly played music.

  The courtyard was empty of greenery, the mud a dull-grayish black. Small stones were thrown down every few weeks to give some traction, but they quickly disappeared into the mud. In the distance was the river Weyr, and Ailsbet could hear the ships coming into port from the continent, the groan of the timbers and the shouts of the men. She could see the tops of buildings not far from the palace, though none was higher than the King’s House, which was built from fine black stone and red oak brought all the way from the northern end of the Weyr, nearly at the land bridge to the other island.

  At the entrance to the King’s House, Ailsbet and Kellin stopped in front of the guards. They stood in front of the enormous, strikingly white door, twice as tall as any man, carved with the face of King Haikor himself as well as the stag that represented the kingdom of Rurik. The guards nodded as Ailsbet announced herself, then allowed her and Kellin inside.

  The Throne Room had a high ceiling and red-and-black stained-glass windows looking out onto the Tower Green. Her father had had the windows made at the same time that he had replaced the old wooden and dirt floors of the palace with marble. On the walls, there were still a few ancient wool tapestries showing the kingdom’s history, but more often the wall hangings were the colorful, new silk imports from Caracassa, a kingdom many days’ journey to the east across the ocean. Her father’s heavy taxes in weyr and gold ensured that his nobles were limited to the less expensive trade from kingdoms on the continent to the west of Rurik, a few short miles across the water.

  The throne was the only object in the room that was original to the King’s House. Too large to move very far, it was made of ash and carved all over with intricate roses. It was the same throne that King Haikor’s father had sat on, and his father, back generations until the beginning of the kingdom of Rurik nearly one thousand years in the past. The legend was that the wood itself had come from a tree that had stood at the juncture between the two islands, and had been the last place where the two weyrs had been held together before the islands split apart. Ailsbet thought that was fanciful, but the throne was certainly impressive. The seat was as high as most men’s shoulders, and upon it, her father towered like a giant over anyone else at court.

  Ailsbet approached the throne a step behind Duke Kellin.

  “Duke Kellin, my thanks,” said King Haikor as Kellin knelt before him. The king wore a grand black leather robe over top of his elaborately slashed coat. His thin legs, clad in hose, seemed incongruous compared to the rest of him.

  Every time Ailsbet saw King Haikor these days, it seemed his girth had increased. He wore the gold crown of Rurik, with the great black sapphire in the front, surrounded on all sides with rubies, and by diamonds around the back. Underneath, his thinning hair was turning gray.

  Her mother, Queen Aske, sat at the side of the king on her own throne, smaller and less impressive than her husband’s. It was carved of white birch, with delicate, spindly legs. She wore a gown of faded red, and while it might once have been beautiful, it was now out of date and stiff at the seams. The queen held her head erect and her back straight. Everything about her posture was perfect, and in her bones there remained the lines of beauty that had been present when she had been crowned queen. She often excused herself from court, but the fact that she was here today seemed to lend credence to Ailsbet’s assumption that she would hear from her father that she was to be betrothed. Edik was too young to be forced to court when there was no need for him there.

  “Princess Ailsbet, greetings and welcome to court on this auspicious occasion,” said King Haikor formally.

  Ailsbet curtsied, focusing on keeping herself calm. A betrothal would change many things, but it would not change everything. She would still be princess, and still her father’s daughter.

  King Haikor gestured to Earl Deiderik of Wilfors, a young nobleman who stood at his side.

  The earl was ambitious, thought Ailsbet. He was blond and handsome, with a strong chin and fine eyes. His teeth were straight. But there was nothing else about the man that she found attractive. Whenever Ailsbet had spoken to him in the past, he had always seemed to be hinting at some coarse joke. He was also a man who was known to be continually in debt, and therefore not the first man she would have thought her father would choose for her. King Haikor’s lavish style of living had caused the crown to fall deeper into debt over the last few years, and the king had mentioned several times that a nobleman’s wealth might make him a better candidate for Ailsbet’s husband.

  The earl of Wilfors grinned at Ailsbet, leering crudely.

  Ailsbet cringed, but her father either did not see it or did not care.

  King Haikor nodded, and the earl went down on one knee before him.

  “You willingly offer a double tax of the taweyr?” asked King Haikor.

  Ailsbet heard an audible murmur throughout the court as Deiderik nodded his assent, and she herself was shocked speechless. A double tax of taweyr was the stuff of legends, given by the old heroes in the time just after the two weyrs were split, but it had never happened in living memory.

  King Haikor officially collected taxes twice a year, in both coin and taweyr. The neweyr could not be gathered in the same way, and he would not have done it in any case. As for coin, tax collectors went about to each district in the kingdom, but the taweyr had to be paid personally by each nobleman. Ailsbet had never seen a man die from the tax, but she had seen men faint and have to be carried from the room.

  In this way, King Haikor made sure that his lords were not strong enough to rebel against him, as they had against his father, who had taxed taweyr only once a year. King Haikor’s father had put down three bloody rebellions in his lifetime, each of which had nearly destroyed the kingdom. Haikor had not had the same difficulties, because he had proved himself far more ruthless than his father, and at an early age.

  The king leaned down and put his hands squarely on Wilfors’s shoulders. The man jerked suddenly and then let out a slow hiss. The air in the Throne Room grew warm as a bit of taweyr leaked out from the exchange. Ailsbet could see some of the nobles moving closer.

  Vultures, she thought. She felt no particular sympathy for Wilfors, who must have thought her father would reward him for his sacrifice with his daughter’s hand in marriage and a close relationship with the crown. Ailsbet knew her father better than Wilfors did, it seemed. The young nobleman would be dead soon, and then what? She would go back to waiting for her father to decide her future, knowing that at least one man had died for her sake.

  King Haikor threw back his head. He looked as if he were in ecstasy.

  Ailsbet glanced at her mother. Queen Aske was turned away from the king, as if embarrassed.

  Wilfors began to rock back and forth. There was a smell like burned hair that filled the
room.

  Suddenly, the king pulled his hands away and Wilfors fell to the floor. Ailsbet was surprised to see that he was still alive. He opened his eyes and glanced at her, lips twitching as if to speak. Did he think he had triumphed?

  “He overreached himself,” said King Haikor. “And he has his reward. Is there anyone else here who dares to put himself forward to take my daughter in marriage and challenge my son for his place as heir?”

  The Throne Room was dead silent. No one breathed or moved.

  King Haikor clapped his hands to call for his servants. “Take him away,” he said. “Throw him into the river.”

  The tidal river would take away the rest of Earl Wilfors’s taweyr. If by some miracle he survived, he would surely know better than to come back to the court. But looking at his lax body and rolling eyes, Ailsbet did not think he would last a moment.

  “Now, onto the true business of the kingdom,” King Haikor said. “Princess Ailsbet.”

  Ailsbet stepped forward and met her father’s eyes directly. He liked that in her, though few others in his court could get away with the same.

  “I am here at your command, Your Majesty,” said Ailsbet. “But first, if it pleases you, I would like to play my flute for you. I have been working on a new piece, which Master Lukacs left for me before he returned to Aristonne. It was written four hundred years ago on the continent.”

  That should prick her father’s pride. When young King Haikor was newly come to the crown, Prince Albert of Aristonne had crossed the ocean to challenge him. With a force of ten thousand men and the claim that the islands had always belonged to Aristonne, the prince had nearly taken the palace. But King Haikor had used the taweyr against him and the Aristonnians had no magic of their own, though they believed their superior numbers would be sufficient to conquer the taweyr. Twenty years later, King Haikor still delighted in proving that Aristonne was the inferior of Rurik in every way.

  “Four hundred years ago?” said the king. “Then I shall hear it. Do you play it well?”

  “Listen and you will be the judge,” said Ailsbet. “If it is not well played, you may send me away and tell me never to bring the flute into your presence again.” She thought her father might admire her for daring to suggest this. This was her own game now, and she hoped she played it better than the earl of Wilfors.