peerless_thayet

"You'll have to excuse - ah, yes. I forgot I'd dropped that there - the mess in here," Thayet says, clearing the way for Tavi to come through the door.

A little known fact about the Queen of Tortall: she can be a tad messy. The door that opens to Milliways is unfortunately found in the series of small, connected closets that access her dressing room, a larger space with mirrors, boxes, small bottles of scent. Sometimes, it seems, garments do not always make it to their storage space.

This is what happens when she tells the servants "Oh, for goodness sake, go to bed, I can manage myself."

"Just let me move this cloak. There we are." She smiles at Tavi and opens another door to a sitting room lit by candles and waning afternoon light. It's summer in Corus, and thus the air is still and heavy until they pass an open window and the fragrance of a large, well-tended garden drifts past. "Welcome to Tortall," she says with a wide smile.

At night, after the trainees not on watch had crawled into bed, George's study became a congregation spot for the likes of the queen, the baron, the mage, the officers and even the Lioness's husband, each seeking the solace of company.

"You've been pacing for an hour," Thayet observed the evening of Alanna's departure. "I very much doubt you can will her back by scowling and tiring your legs."

Adam shot her a glare that soon softened when the queen failed to look up from her book. Feeling his regard, Thayet arched an eyebrow. He sighed and ran a hand through his messy, sun-shot hair. "I know."

Over by the window, George folded his lanky frame into his favorite chair and grinned. He'd done his own fair share of pacing. Numair nodded, absently agreeing, and leaned down to study the skies.

The fire crackled in the silence that followed. It was too quiet; that was the problem. Thayet coughed and rustled her page just to relieve her nerves. After reading the same paragraph a third time she admitted defeat and let her thoughts wander to Jonathan. Where was he now? What fief was he visiting? Did he think of her when he glanced at the full moon tonight?

Of course he did.

Thayet echoed Adam's sigh. When George's deep voice rang out, she lifted her head, grateful for the distraction. "What's all this?" he asked, and she could tell by his tone he wasn't engaged in idle conversation. Following his sharp gaze, Thayet let out a yelp at the sight of Daine standing in the doorway, flanked by Sarge and Roald, covered in bats.

"They won't hurt anyone," Daine insisted, clearly steadying herself and the creatures clinging to her small frame. The captain of the guard, Josua, hesitated, dagger at the ready.

"It's only bats, Mama," said Roald.

"It's important, sir," Daine continued. "I wouldn't have brought them if it wasn't."

Numair peeled himself away from the window and gestured to a hoary bat. "May I?" His face was grim.

"What news have your friends brought for me?" George inquired, studying Daine as Numair and the bat got acquainted.

"Have you a map?"

Thayet turned to the worktable even as George indicated that's where Daine would find a map of the Swoop. A faint but steady hum of tension began to move through her veins, giving her no choice but to follow and watch the girl carefully place small, colored stones at various points north, south and east. She paused occasionally, as if listening to voices only she could hear. Slowly, a half circle about a mile away from where they stood, relatively speaking, began to take shape. "All this since twilight," Daine said at last. "We think it's more'n five hundred, all told."

A cold wave of certainty washed over the queen.

They were surrounded.

Thayet drew in a fortifying breath and announced, "We must prepare."

George was ready for this. "The villagers'll be safer here."

"I'll see you get no trouble from their animals, mum," Daine promised.

"And I'll send word to the king, once we take a closer look at what we face." Numair handed the bat back to Daine.

Immediately the castle surged to life. Together with Josua and Sarge, Thayet raced for the barracks to wake the trainees. They would bring the villagers to safety. Hooves were muffled with scraps of old horse blankets and whatever else was on hand, and Thayet shook her head when a trainee reached for a torch. "The moon is all we'll need," she explained quickly, leading Merrily into the courtyard.

Josua's men took great pains to keep the gates quiet as they slid open.

In the village, the livestock were lined up in their pens, waiting. Roused from their beds, the villagers greeted the unnatural sight with gasps and invocations, before a Rider hissed warnings and reminded them to keep quiet. Thayet wrapped a blanket around an elderly woman's shoulders and led her from her home as Josua opened her pen; her three pigs went to join the other animals.

"Never have I seen such an evacuation," whispered Josua, mystified.

"Let us hope our luck holds," Thayet replied. Her eyes flicked up to the castle; the pale glow from the moon bathed its stone walls in a ghostly light. "For I fear we'll need it."


[Scene and some dialogue from Wild Magic, by Tamora Pierce.]

Ten tiny fingers.

Ten tiny toes.

A small nose, no hint yet of a distinctive curve.

Eyes that already show signs of deepening to the Conte blue.

For the fourth time in an hour, Queen Thayet takes a tour of her new daughter's features and falls further under her spell. This adoration, this enchantment with every silky black hair, is different than what she felt when Roald was born. With him there had been a feeling of relief, of a duty fulfilled. Now there is only amazement.

It's that way with mothers and daughters, she thinks. Even more so when the daughter is named after her grandmother, the most beautiful woman in the world: Kalasin. Thayet breathes the name like a prayer and feels her heart warm. Years have passed, but she's never truly gotten over the manner of her mother's death. At first, there hadn't been time to think about it; survival trumps grief. Then she came to Tortall and discovered a singular happiness, a rich life she had never expected to lead, and she began to feel guilty for indulging in even small sorrows.

But this girl-child in her arms is a balm for old wounds she’d forgotten to tend.

Kalasin.

The name is loaded with meaning for Thayet and every daughter of Sarain. It's strength, humility and a true nobility of purpose as well as blood. It's honesty. It's dark, kind eyes and fairness. It's remembering one's past, and honoring one's ancestors. It's sacrificing the self for the good of others, and beauty that goes beyond the ephemeral surface.

Kalasin of Conte’s namesake stood in her window and sang of her shame at the laws her husband had enacted against her people. She threw herself to her death so that jian Wilima and everyone who heard the tale would know that it's not right to abuse the K’mir -- to abuse anyone. The news spread, and when they could, K’miri men and women broke the assembly laws and chanted to honor the Warlord’s dead K’miri wife.

Thayet tells the tale to her daughter, even though Kalasin's far too young to understand anything except the cadence of her mother's voice. And she'll tell it again and again, until the child knows it by heart, until it's almost a memory in her mind the way it is for the people who were there.

A quiet knock echoes through the darkening chamber. Sunset is only a few minutes away.

“Come in,” Thayet answers, tearing her eyes away from a fascinating miniature fingernail.

The door opens, admitting a dark, compact K’mir wearing a determined expression; she’d also lost a mother that day, and a brother.

“Good. You're just in time, Buri.” Thayet’s smile lights the room. “We have a birth chant to sing.”

Not long after Midwinter, the air turned bitingly cold. Word is a great frost settled in the north, and has yet to lift.

At least the royal apartments are kept warm, Thayet thinks, kissing her son's forehead. Still, she tightens the sash on her thick robe before she slips out, leaving him to his dreams. Warm and clean and perfectly cozy.

Trailing her fingers along the wall of the passageway leading back to her bedroom, she stifles an ungracious sigh and watches her long, slim toes peek out from under her lavish hem as she walks. Things have looked different to Thayet since Roald was born. More and more she focuses on simplicity where it can be found, lest she choke on the splendor.

She's not unhappy or ungrateful, far from it, but sometimes when she's speaking with Buri, or manages to groom her own horse, she finds herself missing certain aspects of her old life.

Jon is in her room, as he is most every night, reading border reports. He says he likes the light, but she knows he likes the company and the freedom. It's one of the only places in the palace where he knows he won't be disturbed. Seeing him in the big chair by the fire, she smiles fondly.

"My lord, there's something I'd like to discuss."

Thayet's brow wrinkles. She hadn't intended to bring it up tonight, but now is as good a time as any.

I'm getting married tomorrow.

No matter how many times she thinks it, Thayet can't quite believe this is really happening. A large court wedding, something she had tried to avoid, has now become something with the power to make her smile as if somebody had just handed her her fondest wish.

That doesn't mean she's not nervous.

Escaping Buri had been rather difficult, but Thayet needs some time to think. The fact that she chooses the garden for her late-night wandering when Jon has been known to do the same is purely coincidental.

Right.