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“More than her, you loved the name of King.”

  Her father’s eyes closed again. “Go away, child.”

  “I don’t want to go, Father,” she said. I loved Berry more than I loved you, she did not say.

  “I don’t want to see you when I think of her,” said her father.

  “Why not?” asked Asineth.

  “Because you made me kill her.”

  “I?”

  “If you hadn’t told me of her treasonous words, I wouldn’t have had to kill her.”

  “If you had merely laughed at the words of a child, she could have lived.”

  “A King must be King!”

  “A weak King must be what other Kings have been; a strong King is himself, and from then on the meaning of the name of King is changed.” The words could have been Berry’s, for Berry understood these things, and Asineth only still guessed at all that she meant.

  “What does it matter?” said the King wearily. “You said the words, the King heard them and had to act, Berry had to die, and now I mourn her and wish that you had died in birthing, and taken your mother with you, by the Hart I wish it, by the Sisters I swear it, now leave me, little girl.”

  She left him. Until that time, she had been the one person in all Burland who did not fear King Nasilee. Now there was no one left who did not fear him, for he was King, and could break anyone with a word.

  ASINETH’S LESSON OF JUSTICE AND MERCY

  It was the day of Palicrovol.

  The terrible rebel had roused all the people of Burland against the King. With that traitor Zymas he had defeated army after army, not in open battle but by cutting off their supplies, separating, wooing soldiers, troops, whole armies to desert and serve Palicrovol. Now, at last, after fifteen years of a war that had never come to battle, Palicrovol’s army was outside the walls of Hart’s Hope. Hart’s Hope, the great city on the Burring, the capital; and Nasilee looked out and saw no help.

  For the last ten years tax payments had fallen steadily, ceasing first in the outlying counties, and finally diminishing to almost nothing. The commerce of Hart’s Hope itself had failed, for Palicrovol had built a highway in the west and forced all the river traffic to travel overland, though it raised prices; Hart’s Hope was starving, and the people fled. Now Nasilee waited inside the impregnable walls, watched as Palicrovol, a Godsman, gathered his white banners, each with a hundred men around it, until the land outside foamed white as the crests of the sea.

  Asineth also waited. She watched her father consult his wizards—the few that remained. She watched him wander the half-empty halls of the palace, haunted by the knowledge of his own death. Everyone knew that the walls of Hart’s Hope could not be breached. They were miles long, rods high, yards thick; even the few soldiers Nasilee had left could hold it against Palicrovol’s army, even with Zymas the traitor in command.

  But Asineth was afraid. She was old enough now—twelve years old, with her womanhood newly on her—to know that her father was a wicked man, that the people were right to hate him. Asineth knew that Palicrovol was beloved of the people, for even the servants in the palace, loyal as they were, talked wistfully—and quietly—of the freedom and prosperity that Palicrovol brought wherever he conquered. Asineth feared that her father’s soldiers would betray him and open the gate for Palicrovol. And so she prayed to the Sweet Sisters. She brought the blood of the moon with her to the altar of women in the secret place, and said, “Make the hearts of these men loyal to my father, so we are preserved from our enemy.”

  The morning after the night when she burned blood for the Sweet Sisters, the gates of the city swung open, and the soldiers of the outer wall raised the white banner of Palicrovol’s God. Word was that Zymas had come to them alone in the night, unarmed, and with his stirring words had won their hearts.

  Asineth took four strong guards with her to the Sisters’ shrine, where no man had ever been brought before, and commanded them to break the altar in pieces. They broke in with four blows of a sledge-hammer. Inside, the solid rock of the altar was hollow. Like a little pot it held ancient water that had been there since the world first gleamed upon the point of the Hart’s Horn. The water spilled upon the floor, and Asineth trod in the water and muddied it with her shoe. “I hate you,” she said to the Sweet Sisters.

  Now Palicrovol’s army held even the city of Hart’s Hope itself. Word was that Palicrovol had changed the city’s name. Now he would call it Inwit, and he was causing half his soldiers to work on building a great temple to his God. He forbade anyone to offer blood at the shrine of the Hart.

  This gave Asineth hope. Even though the Hart was a strange god to her, as to all women, she was sure that the Hart would listen to her. Weren’t they allies now? Wasn’t Palicrovol an enemy to both of them? She prayed to the Hart, then, to be a shield around the Castle walls. There was no chance of treachery now—only a few guards remained, and King Nasilee himself held the only keys that would open the rooms where the gate could be lifted or the postern door unblocked. But Palicrovol had Sleeve, the greatest wizard in the world, and what no man could do, Sleeve might do. So Asineth prayed to the Hart to protect them.

  And in the night, at the very moment she was pleading with the Hart to preserve her father and herself, she heard a great cracking noise like a thousand trees breaking in a storm and knew at once what it meant. The huge gate of the castle had been broken by Sleeve’s magic, and there was no more thwarting Palicrovol now.

  Asineth ran searching for her father through the labyrinth of the Palace. She looked in every hiding place; she did not know her father as well as she thought. He was not in a hiding place. So she did not find him until the soldiers did, in the Chamber of Questions.

  “Father!” she cried.

  “Fool!” he shouted. “Run.”

  But the soldiers knew her at once, and caught her, and held her until Palicrovol came.

  I hate you, Hart, said Asineth silently.

  They came into the Chamber of Questions within the hour: Palicrovol, tall and strong, with the light of God in his face, or at least the light of triumph. Zymas, the traitor, with arms and legs like the limbs of an ox, and the look of battle black in his eyes. Sleeve, gaunt and ghostlike with his white skin and white hair and pink eyes, drifting like a fog over the floor.

  “He should die as so many thousands of his people died,” cried Zymas. “Sit him naked on a stake, and let the people spit on him as he screams in agony.”

  “He should be burned,” said Sleeve, “so that the power of his blood is returned into the world.”

  “He is King,” said Palicrovol. “He will die like a King.” Palicrovol drew his sword. “Give him your sword, Zymas.”

  “Palicrovol,” said Zymas, “you should not take this risk yourself.”

  “Palicrovol,” said Sleeve, “you should not dirty your hands with his blood.”

  “When the singers say that I vanquished Nasilee,” said Palicrovol, “it will be true.”

  So Asineth watched as her father raised the sword they gave him. He did not attempt to fight—that would have been undignified. Instead he stood with the point of the sword upraised. Palicrovol beat twice upon the sword, trying to force it back, but Nasilee did not flinch. Then Palicrovol thrust his sword under the King’s arms, beneath the breastbone, upward into the heart. Asineth watched her father’s blood rush gladly down Palicrovol’s blade and wash over his hands, and she heard the soldiers cheer.

  Then she stepped forward. “I am the daughter of the King,” she said in a voice that was all the more powerful because it was so feeble and childish.

  They all fell silent and listened to her.

  “The King my father is dead. I am Queen as of this moment, by all the laws of Burland. And the King will be the man I marry.”

  “The King,” said Zymas, “is the man that the armies obey.”

  “The King,” said Sleeve, “is the man clearly favored by the gods.”

  “The King,” said Palicrovol, “is the man
who marries you. And I will marry you.”

  With all the contempt she could manage, Asineth said to him, “I scorn you, Count Traffing.”

  Palicrovol nodded, as if he honored her verdict upon his honor. “As you wish,” he said. “But I never asked for your consent.” He turned to one of the servants cowering under the gaze of the soldiers. “Has this girl her womanhood?”

  The servant stammered, as Asineth answered for her. “Why don’t you ask me? I do not lie.”

  At those words Palicrovol’s face brightened, as if in recognition. “I knew another woman once who would not lie. Tell me, then, Queen Asineth. Have you your womanhood?”

  “Three times,” said Asineth. “I am old enough to marry.”

  “Then marry you shall.”

  “Never to you.”

  “Now. And to me. I will not have it said that I do not rule in Burland by right.”

  They dressed her in a wedding gown that had been made for a child bride eight generations before her. It had never been worn, for the child had died of a plague before her wedding. Now, as they carried Asineth in a prison cart through the streets of Inwit, with ten thousand people jeering at her, cursing her though she had never done them harm, she prayed.

  She prayed to the only god left, Palicrovol’s God, whose temple was rising in the southeast corner of the city. God, she said to him, your triumph is complete, and I also scorn the Sisters and the Hart. Be merciful to me, God. Let me die unmarried to this man.

  But there was no miracle. No unwatched knife lay near her hand; she stood at no precipice; there was no water larger than the contents of an urn. She could not slit her throat or leap to her death or drown. God had no mercy on her.

  The image of the Hart had been torn from its place at the Shrine and now stood shabbily in front of Faces Hall. A thousand generations of wizards had stood upon the back of the Hart to pray for Burland and offer the blood of power. Now only Palicrovol stood there, waiting for her, dressed in the short tunic of the bridegroom. There would be no Dance of Descent, no rites; it was plain to anyone with eyes that Palicrovol intended to consummate this marriage in full view of ten thousand witnesses, so that no one afterward could say that he had not been the duly wedded husband of the daughter of the King.

  Asineth had known all her life that as daughter of the King, her body was the Kingdom, and whatever man had her, had Burland. What she had not realized was that as daughter of the King, above all laws and customs, she had no protection now. There was no law that said a girl of twelve could not be publicly ravished by a husband she did not want—if she was the daughter of the King. There was no custom that said the people should turn their eyes away in shame at such cruelty to a child—not if the child was daughter of the King.

  They forced a ring upon the thumb of her left hand—it was Palicrovol’s only gentle gesture to her at that time, to name her Beauty at her wedding day. She saw also that he had his ring upon the thumb of the right hand, signifying strength. “Now everyone will know how strong you are,” she said, “to conquer a dangerous enemy like me.”

  He did not answer her. He only watched.

  They tied padded boards to her hands, making them so heavy and unwieldy that she could hardly lift them. They put a gag on her mouth, with barbs in it so if she so much as touched it with her tongue or tried to clamp her teeth upon it, it cut her painfully. Then they lifted her to the back of the Hart, and before all the citizens and soldiers of Inwit her husband said the words of the vow, then cut her dress from her. Asineth felt the breeze on her naked skin as if it were the darts of ten thousand eyes. I am the daughter of the King, and you have made me naked and defenseless among the swine. You gave my father the dignity of a King’s death, but me you will degrade as the worst of whores is not degraded. Asineth had never known such terrible shame in her life, and she longed to die.

  But her maidenhead was Burland, and Burland would be his. Zymas the traitor took Palicrovol’s clothing from him; his wizard, Sleeve, anointed him for the marriage bed. And as he was anointed, Palicrovol looked upon the girl he meant to defraud of all she had, saw in her anguish how terrible a thing it was that he must do to this child, and yet for the kingdom’s sake he did not flinch from what he must do.

  Because she was the daughter of the King, she looked back at him. These gawking churls will see a princess broken, but they will not see her bow. She bit savagely into the barbs of her gag, hoping to drown in her own blood, but the barbs were too slender to draw the heavy stream she needed, and she could not keep her throat from swallowing.

  Then she saw the pity in his face, and she realized for the first time that he was no monster of power, but a man; and if a man, then an animal; and if an animal, then a prisoner of his body. Palicrovol was not as strong as a god, for the gods had no mercy, and the gods were weak or malicious anyway. Palicrovol had the power to ensure that she would be alive when he broke into her secret chamber and left his slime. But did she not have the power Berry had taught her: to make this man remember her? She began to move her girlish body as she had seen Berry move. She saw Palicrovol’s surprise, and then Palicrovol’s eyes filled with—desire. Her movement was so subtle that it could not be seen by anyone but Palicrovol; but once he saw it, he could see nothing else. Asineth was not surprised at his fascination—she had learned from Berry, and Berry was perfection.

  Palicrovol trembled as he took her, and Asineth ignored the pain and tried to use him as Berry had said a woman must use a man if she is to be remembered. When he was done at last, he stood, her blood glistening upon his triumphant horn, and she watched them set the Antler Crown upon his head, and put the Mantle of the Stag upon his shoulders. His eyes were distant, and his knees were weak, and she knew that she had shaken him. She thought he was trembling with the memory of her body, as men had trembled for Berry.

  “The Hart has ridden the Hind,” he said. He cast away the Mantle, and instead donned the white robe of a Godsman. And he was King. The people cheered and cheered.

  The rite was finished, and the few participants withdrew from the crowd into Faces Hall. “Kill her now,” said Zymas. “You have what you need from her. If you let her live, she will only be a danger to you.”

  “Kill her now,” said Sleeve. “Women can take vengeances that men cannot understand.”

  Kill me now if you dare, Asineth challenged him, her tongue flicking painfully against the barbs. All gods have forsaken me, I have done what little I could do, and I long not to live. Kill me now, but I will haunt the inner chamber of your heart.

  “I will not kill her,” said Palicrovol.

  And Asineth believed, for that moment, that she was Berry’s true disciple, that he had found her body too beautiful, too desirable to be slain. Of course the others, who had not known her flesh, did not understand his need.

  “Mercy to her is injustice to Burland,” said Zymas. “If she lives, you promise us all a future of war and suffering.”

  Palicrovol’s eyes flashed with anger, and he said nothing for a long moment. Asineth waited for him to speak of his love for her. Instead he looked at her and tears came from his eyes and then he said, “I can kill a King, I can ravish a child, all for the sake of God and Burland, but in God’s name, Zymas, wasn’t it to stop the killing of children that you first came to me?”

  Sleeve touched the King’s shoulder. “She is Nasilee’s daughter. Imagine how much mercy she would have if she ever had the Flower Princess in her power.”

  At the mention of the Flower Princess, King Palicrovol bowed his head. “I remember the Flower Princess, Sleeve. I have not forgotten. This girl is so much Nasilee’s daughter that even as I took her, she tried to seduce me. That is the sort of animal that was bred in Nasilee’s palace.”

  Asineth went cold, for he sounded horrified at the memory. She had tried to be Berry, but this man only pitied her, and the others looked at her with contempt. Her shame before had been the shame of a King’s daughter degraded; now her shame was of a woman despi
sed, and she hated herself for having tried to make him love her, and hated Berry for being so much more beautiful than she, and hated Palicrovol and Zymas and Sleeve for knowing her pitiable attempt at womanhood, and hated most of all this unknown Flower Princess who never would be raped upon the Hart. She cried out against the gag, and Palicrovol ordered them to free her tongue.

  “If I am an animal, kill me!” she cried. With no crowd to watch her now, with all dignity gone, she was willing to beg. “Kill me now! Like my father!”

  Palicrovol only shook his head. “It is not her fault that she is what she is. If she had been born in any other house, to any other father, she would not be what she is. If she had been born across the southern water, she might have been the Flower Princess.”

  “But never Enziquelvinisensee Evelvenin,” said Sleeve.

  “No,” said Palicrovol. “But we ask the gods for only one miracle in a lifetime.”

  “You have broken and humiliated her,” Zymas said. “Nasilee’s daughter will not forget.”

  “I have broken and humiliated her,” Palicrovol echoed, “and killed her father before her eyes, and taken away her kingdom, and to harm her any more would make me despise myself more than I can bear. If I do not temper my victory with one act of mercy, even one that is dangerous to myself, then how will I look in the crystal and say to God that a better man than Nasilee now wears Nasilee’s crown?”

  There was a moment of silence, and then Sleeve stepped forward and took Asineth by one of the clumsy boards that encased her hands. “If you insist that this broken creature live, then put her in my care. I alone am strong enough to guard her in her exile, and hide her from the eyes of all your enemies who would love to find her and use her to destroy you.”

  “I need you by me,” protested the new King.

  “Then kill this woman.”

  Palicrovol hesitated no longer. “Take the little Queen, then, Sleeve, and be kind to her.”

  “I will be as kind to her as you will let me be to one whose only desire is to die,” said Sleeve. “By my blood I wish that you had truly been merciful.”