The Queen's Architect
an excerpt

I thought, perhaps, that my father's body would have already been moved, as the sun was showing quite brightly in the few places it could poke between clouds. The sky in those same breaks was stunningly blue. It seemed somehow wrong.

But no, the huge iron coffin was still there, in the front of the chapel. The place was completely empty, and I guessed that this was the gray time between the exit of the mourners and the entrance of cleaning and burial staff. Just my luck.

Suddenly I wanted to turn around and go back to bed, but I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep unless I looked. Odd, how I simultaneously had to and wanted nothing less.

I walked slowly down the central aisle, between straight-backed wooden benches. The last and only time I'd been in here was at my christening, and I remembered nothing of it. The windows, unlike those of the gallery, were gem-cut colored glass, refracting the sparse sunlight as it came through so that it shone on the floor. Occasionally, when a cloud moved, a new ray would hit just right, and when I reached the coffin, a section of it had been painted violet by the filtered sun. I kept my eyes averted for a long hesitation, but then, gripped by a new resolve to get this over with, turned to look.

This was my father, and at the same time it wasn't. Had his hair held this much gray the night before? Was his face this pale? It irritated me, irrationally, that I couldn't remember. His hands were folded over his chest, and a single strand of black silk had been tied between then, symbolizing his newfound connection with another world. His eyes, mercifully, were closed.

It hit me then, for the first time, that he really was gone. He was not only no longer king; he was no longer there, no longer present, in the castle or in my life, or in Hannah's. Much as we tried to pretend otherwise, we were barely more than children. How in the world would we survive this?

I felt my eyes begin to burn and rubbed them irritably. It was nothing more than weariness. I would not cry. It just wasn't an option.

I heard the door creak open behind me and jumped up, my hood falling down in the process. The man who had just entered stopped guiltily, but I saw him narrow his eyes, trying to place me. I, in turn, required a moment to recognize him. Then I got it. Better groomed and garbed than before, it was unmistakably the strange man who had mistakenly called me first king, then king consort, the evening before.

“Odd,” he said quietly enough, but his voice echoed through the chamber. I noted that the ceiling of the chapel was vaulted and shuddered slightly. “From what I've been led to believe, I would think that this was a rather heavy broach of protocol.”

No title, no respect. Granted, he wasn't openly mocking; he sounded honest enough, just making an observation. I still wanted to punch him.

“The sun's already risen,” I said. “Your being here is nearly as strong a broach.”

“Point to the prince,” he replied, sounding vaguely impressed. “I'm afraid I went straight to sleep upon falling into bed last night—it was a bit of a long day.”

He took a few steps forward, then looked past me, toward the coffin. “Perhaps we should...that is to say, it might be more respectful...to continue our conversation elsewhere.”

It pained me to say it, but he'd earned it, after all. “Agreed. Follow me.”

Drawing my hood up, I strode past him and into the chapel foyer. A few turns later and we were in the hedge maze again, a shaded, out of the way corner. The sun was starting to ward off some of the chill, but I was still glad of my layers.

“Please understand,” said the stranger, leaning against the hedge--he was wearing at least as many layers as I, I think more, and the plant didn't prick through them. “I...I meant no disrespect by visiting the chapel. I just felt that...it wouldn't be proper not to.”

“So you break protocol in the name of propriety,” I said scathingly. “That makes all the sense in the world, good sir.”

“Speak not to me of it, and I'll speak not to you,” he returned, not missing a beat. “Or of you, come to think of it. I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that no one knew you were there.”

Point to the stranger. “Have you anything else you wish to discuss? I should go, else I'll be missed.”

“I wouldn't dream of imposing further,” he said, “but perhaps, sometime today, I might see your sister? She is the new ruler, is she not?”

“She is,” I said, looking away, “but I doubt that she'll be in any state to recieve visitors for some days to come. Affairs will be handled by our rather extensive staff of officials until that time.”

“I see,” he said. “I've also been led to believe there's another coronation this evening.”

I nearly cursed. I'd forgotten Josiah's ceremony. “That...is correct, sir. My brother-in-law will be crowned king.”

He was silent for a long moment. “I gather you're less than pleased at it.”

“Sir, I don't believe you've told me your name,” I said, cutting across him. “You stride into our palace, burst into the royal gallery, trespass on the chapel, and you claim, unless I'm mistaken, that you were invited.”

“I was invited,” he said, and I swear he stuck out his chest slightly, ruffling like a peacock. “By your late father, granted. He requested my help at court through the spring.”

This sounded familiar, but it didn't strike me until he said with a signature flourishing bow, “Silas Donai, at your service.”

For the second time in as many days, I gaped at the man. “You're...” I said, completely disbelieving. “You're the master architect?”

“That I am.” He smiled slightly. “I wondered if you'd heard of me. I would guess your father has spoken of me for some time—the invitation came months ago.”

“No.” A large part of me thoroughly enjoyed popping his over-inflated ego. “I first heard of you the night before last, at the equinox banquet.”

“Oh,” he said, after a long, deflationary pause. He recovered with, “Well, architecture might sound boring to a prince, but I do a great deal of engineering work too—”

“I said I hadn't heard of you,” I said, “not that architecture was boring.”

“Oh,” he repeated. I grinned slightly. He would learn not to underestimate me, especially if he stayed through the spring. “But I suppose you wouldn't dream of it as a trade.”

“One day,” I said, “if you enjoy our hospitality at court for a long enough time, you will learn to stop supposing.”