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She was tired enough to fall asleep without first seeing him. In Maceweight It would have been more proper. Here she did not know.
They had spent no time alone that day. She wanted to talk to him. She knocked, and when he answered went into his room. She sat on the edge of his bed. His left arm was gone, so she sat at his right side. She set her candle on an end table.
He watched her come in the room. He looked very tired but too tense to sleep. He gave her a weak smile and said, "We were brave. It is done. There will not be a war."
She ran a finger along the collar of his pajamas. Silk, a wedding present, matching hers. She smiled back. "What is keeping you awake?"
"Many things." He lifted his hand to touch her hair. "I hope we fall in love. Besides being good for each other."
"Me too. How am I good for you?"
Their marriage was good for the empire.
Until two weeks ago he had led the Northrange military. He was a war hero. Then his father had died. Now he was the new marchio over the Northrange colony in Spyragia. His title was above all but the empire's royalty and dukes. But his grandparents had been sent abroad to start the colony as a polite exile, and other, stronger noble families wanted the colony.
As the emperor's youngest daughter she was exceptionally educated and above polite criticism. Their wedding told those other families to give up hope for Northrange: the emperor was happy with how the current family ruled the colony. Yet she was the homeliest among many sisters, as well as the youngest. Her marriage would strengthen a bond, but could not forge a new one.
Tomorrow people would call her a marchioness, not a princess. Marchio and marchioness, not marquis and marquise. The emperor had used the old form of the title when establishing the government of Northrange to remind people its land was a marshy frontier.
He lowered his arm, and with a stronger smile said, "I am glad you are here." After a moment he spoke more. "While at war I would be awake on my bunk, trying to sleep. I would think about how I was keeping people at home safe. If I fought well they would have security and peace." He sighed. "Now I am home and I find I am not used to peace. But starting tomorrow making Northrange feel peaceful is my job."
She touched his hand, and asked, "Do you believe you deserve peace? Do you deserve being home? Do you deserve rest?"
"What do you think?"
She withdrew her hand and looked at him.
"What?" he asked.
"People asked me that when we were at school together," she said. "Before my father was chosen by the empire's magic to be the new emperor. When we were both only minor nobles."
He added, "When we were friends."
She nodded. "But when I was young? Before we met I was a cute little girl. My role was to sit near papa and look pretty and smile at people as they made decisions. Then I got older...and rounder...and most people treated me as if I was invisible. Then at school...well, you remember how we were treated. After we finished school, and our families changed, and we went different ways...my role as the youngest princess was to stay out of the way of the people who made decisions. No one asks the youngest princes what she thinks about anything."
He looked at her in silence. She went on, "I was taught how to run a palace: to manage servants, plan events, and balance the books to make sure merchants were not cheating us and nobles were paying their due. But mama did all that. She never needed my help."
He patted the duvet. "You look ready to fall over. Come, put your head on my shoulder until one of us falls asleep."
She looked at him again. "Also not what people tend to ask a princess."
He laughed. He still had a nice laugh. "We are both too tired for more, or for less."
She lay on the duvet. He was under it. She cautiously put her head on his shoulder. He almost moved his arm, but decided not to touch her again. They slowly relaxed. "I will need your help," he said. "I know little about events and accounts."
"Okay," she said.
He said, "I still want to know what you think. Do I deserve peace? Do you?"
She shook her head a little. "Life is responsibility and toil. Maybe some nice plans can earn us peace for a little while. But, no, no one simply gets to have peace. Peace is when you can choose your worries. Only the healthy and protected get peace, and only for a time. But part of ruling is to let people think they do deserve peace...that a lack of peace is solvable, and that their kids could live a long time in peace."
He chuckled. "You were always the wise one. How am I good for you, my dearest?"
"Do not call me that."
He laughed. "Why not? It is true. Unless we count my mother, may she rest in peace. You know I have no siblings. Who else would I hold dear? Grumpy anut Nelda?"
"The other officers you fought with. I hope."
"Well, we trusted our lives to each other's valor and choices. But if I ever called them dear they would launch me from a catapult!"
She asked, "Do you trust me?"
"Of course! In our school days I could tell that you were the smartest in our class. And not just bookish. Wise, too. You understood people. Even when that only made things harder. You could always explain anything with a metaphor or story."
She was quiet. He went on, "As a youth I of course dreamed of having a wife famed for her beauty. But now, more grown up, and with the responsibilities of a marchio, I get more comfort from having you at my side than anyone else I can think of."
A tear came to her eye. "That is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me."
"What? Nonsense! You are a princess! People say nicer things to you all the time."
"To my face they do. Then behind my back they call me ugly, dough-faced, dumpy, and fat." After a few breaths she added, "You must think that too. But this is relaxing."
She relaxed more. Then she said, "I will need your help too."
"Hm?"
She backed a bit away from his side and raised herself onto one arm, so she could see his face again. "I will tell you a story."
"A bedtime story?"
"No. It is too short, and too...sad."
He smiled up at her. She began. "One day long ago when I was little, I was looking at a chess problem when papa came into the room. I asked him, 'Papa, here is the emperor, and here is the queen. But where is a princess?' Papa is very wise. Can you guess what he said?"
"No. I am not as wise as our emperor. Nor am I used to anyone calling him 'papa'. Even if he was not emperor yet in your story. But go on."
"He said the hand of the oldest princess could stop a war. Tens of thousands of lives could be saved. And the hand of a youngest princess could prevent a war from starting."
"We know that happened today," he agreed. "You saw their faces. You know who I mean. And others that did not even attend."
There was a long quiet. Her parents also did not attend. It was not safe enough for them to travel to Spyragia. The day the emperor learned the old marchio had died a ship was made ready. Her parents wept a farewell as she got onto the ship. But they did not attend her wedding.
She went on. "So I was not a piece on the board. I...we...kept a board from being set up. We kept a game from being played and saved many lives. But now what? My turn is done."
"They will still try to trick and shame us. They will make gambles that try to take what is ours. You are a now a card player, not a chess piece."
"Hm." She rested on his shoulder again. "I never thought I would become a gambler. That does not seem right for a princess."
"My parents made few gambles. You will see that ruling here is slow and calm, but busy. Northrange is large in land but does not have many people. You and I...we are not only the heads of state. We are the state. It is not like life at the imperial palace. But I do hope you learn to like it."
They were quiet. She said, "Papa once said I was lucky. As the youngest, I could pick what I would grow up to be like. I could become responsible, but did not need to. I could become regal, but did not need to. I could become wise, but did not need to. I could become an inspiration, or a healer, or a diplomat, but did not need to. I could become all sorts of things. But unlike him, no one would die if I was foolish or weak or clumsy or uninspiring."
"You picked to become wise. Which others?"
"You will laugh," she said.
"Maybe," he said, "if what else you picked is funny."
"It is funny to me," she said. "I have never told anyone else." He waited. She went on. "I thought a lot about it as I grew up. At first I picked sweet but then saw sweet people were used and tossed aside. Then I picked happy but saw many happy people hurt by fate. I thought about strong or bold but those are not me. So I picked..."
He waited.
"I picked solid. To be reliable as well as wise. To keep trust. To always be me. But you cannot tell anyone because it sounds too much like fat. Which is why I think it is funny, and part of why I picked it."
He laughed again. "I am glad I have a wise and solid wife."
She tried to think what to call him in return besides brave. But he was asleep before she found the best other word.
The candle began to flicker. She had been warned of his nightmares. His thrashing could be dangerous. She must return to her own bedroom.
She thought again about the long day. Not just the standing, and feeling, and dancing, and endless endless talking. There had been so many words and looks chosen with care to keep a game from being played.
He had caring as well as care. She did too. But some types of caring were too much for her. She knew how to comfort her sisters when they had nightmares. But those were bad dreams, not real memories of people at war whose insides had become their outsides. And her sisters might turn into birds while asleep, not a giant wolf.
She took the candle back to her own room.
She dreamed of a morning at the palace where she woke at sunrise, rang a bell, and twenty servants came to help her start a boring day.
She woke long after sunrise. She wanted time alone. Perhaps that would not be difficult here. Papa and mama had told her that all of Northrange Manor had only ten servants (including the falconer, groom, and beast-hostler who seldom went inside the mansion)! She had chosen to only bring her dresser, Ms. Annla Tintor.
She got out of bed, drew back the curtains, and let the sunlight cheer her. She was Princess Jalcotta Zuri the Duchess of Senrevni (that last part meant nothing—Senrevni was a tiny city, but she and her sisters had to be made duchesses of somewhere). This was her first morning as Marchioness Jalcotta Champer Zuri of Northrange. She was not sure what this new day would hold. She was eager to find out.
She had joined a family whose name held both honor and scandal. Lord and Lady Champer had led a rural revolt back on the mainland. They had tried to protect their land's people by repelling greedy logging and mining firms from the cities. The revolt was crushed. All who were part of it were cursed.
Therions develop therianthropy, most often in their teens. The get to turn into one type of animal. Most get to be their favorite pet at that time. Animal forms with the most honor are rare songbirds, well-bred lap dogs, fancy cats, striped micropachycephalosaurus, or miniature pegasi. Animal forms with the least honor are vultures and wolves. Lord and Lady Champer, and all others in the revolt, were cursed so they and their kin would always be wolves.
She had been told the people of Northrange treat their kids like puppies.
Her own therianthropy was a secret only she and papa knew. Even mama was not told when her therianthropy form had changed.
During past travels she had of course learned that meals worked differently in different cultures. Would she break her fast here in her room? Was her husband awake yet?
She rang a bell. Annla soon arrived with a smile and a curtsy. "M'lady, you look well." Annla clearly had much to say. But it was not proper to say more yet.
Jalcotta saw that Annla's shoulders quivered slightly, and eyes got even bigger. A lot to say.
"Good morning, Annla. Is Marchio Nathiel awake?"
"Awake!" Annla exploded. "Princess, if half of what I hear is true, he has been awake since before sunrise. He 'went for a lope' around most of the colony, whatever that means. Now I hear he is at the breakfast table with children climbing on him!"
Jalcotta put a hand to her mouth. "He has children?"
"Not his children! The servants' children!"
That was much better, but still inconceivable. "Well, dear Annla, you clearly want to see such a sight with your own eyes. So let's get me dressed, and I will take your arm as we go to break my fast."
Marchio Nathiel was at the breakfast table, and there were children climbing on him. When Marchioness Jalcotta arrived he stood, using his one hand to deposit a squirmy boy on the floor before walking to greet her. Annla nodded politely, letting Nathiel take Jalcotta's hand from the dresser's arm, to hold hands formally as they walked to her chair. (Etiquette required he put his other hand under Jalcotta's elbow, but he did not have that option.)
Several servants stood in the doorway to the kitchen. This was the first time most had seen their new marchioness. They had wide eyes and either big smiles or slack jaws. The children clambered from near or under the table to grasp their parents' skirts or trousers.
"Good morning, my dear. Shall the children be dismissed, or do you have a story to share with us that is fit for the press?"
She asked, "A story?"
He sat in the empty chair beside her, still holding her hand. "Northrange is much too small for anyone to publish a broadleaf. And the staff," he gestured at the servants, "would never pry for news or spread gossip. Instead, any personal items intended to become news are shared with these children, and soon all the colony knows."
He smiled at one very young boy, who mistook the attention as permission to speak. He eagerly stepped towards Jalcotta, suddenly clasped his hands behind his back to remove the temptation to touch her dress, then announced, "This morning he ripped out someone's throat!"
She merely patted the back her new husband's hand. "I have no stories to publicize this morning. Although perhaps there will be time this afternoon to hear some poetry these children have recently composed." She gave the children a warm smile and nod of dismissal, and was grateful to see it interpreted correctly as they bowed and curtsied and hurried away through the kitchen.
That noise subsided, and food was quietly served. She unfolded her napkin and asked, "What is meant by 'went for a lope'?"
A meal being served meant Nathiel must return to his side of the table. He seated himself, then answered. "In this morning's case, it refers to a custom, a ritual, that my father had. After he returned from travels, the next morning he would run around the colony's settled area in his wolf form while howling. It frightened farm animals. But the people appreciated his assurance that he was home and rested and again on duty. He might even pause if someone waved urgently at him. People wanted to share their news: a complaint or a cause for celebration. That happened a lot this morning, although we all knew no one could get the time they deserved."
She nodded. "And this involves ripping out throats?"
He shook his head. "No. That was something else. An arsonist had been caught in the act. In Northrange only a marchio or marchioness can carry out a capital criminal punishment. He had been waiting over a week in jail. He was a very troubled person. We spoke for a while."
He paused, sad. "All people at times know a thing they should do, but then do not do it. We can be too lazy or fearful to do what is right. It is a small change to have the other side of lacking self-control—to not be able to stop yourself when you are doing something you know is wrong. May Bittersweet keep us from being like that."
She had nothing to say. She realized the servants had not been dismissed, and suspected all ten were either visible or a bit out of sight. Well, she was a new celebrity. But their faces said there was more.
Nathiel had spoken of sharing a story with us. He had asked Bittersweet keep us safe. She recalled what he had said to her last night: 'You and I...we are not only the heads of state. We are the state.' He was not treating these servants like family. He was treating himself like he was all of Northrange, and they did too. What he said, what he did, even who he fought or killed—all of Northrange did that.
She could see that these servants were fond of him. But there was more. Their children's affection was for him, but also for the colony. His linens were clean, and his silverware polished, because they valued the colony being tidy and orderly. When the colony must do something unpleasant... She asked, "As a wolf you ripped out his throat!? Why not hang him?"
She thought about her own therianthropy. If anyone saw her animal form it would start a civil war...if a person saw and lived to tell others.
He did not reply. He politely excused himself and left the room.
She half stood, her meal not finished, but a servant stepped forward, ready to speak. She stood and asked, "Yes?"
"Beg pardon, marchioness. We do not speak of his wolf form, especially if he is present. Please ask him about it later, when you two are alone."
A second servant (she must learn their names) added, "To answer your question, marchioness, a hanging would not be personal enough. Certain criminals must be killed. But Northrange must be disgusted by it. Northrange must see the terror in the eyes of the condemned, and spit out the blood. It is our way."
She saw pain in their eyes. She had understood incorrectly. Nathiel did not kill an arsonist so they did not have too. Northrange had killed an arsonist, which meant they had participated. Nathiel's story must have made them imagine they too needed to spit out the blood.
She was no longer able to look at her food.
Before she left the breakfast room she had learned the names of all the servants and their children.
She wondered what was different about Nathiel's wolf form. There was something unmentionably wrong with her husband. Yet only a few minutes ago children had been giggling on his lap.
Her father had once told her that to understand people she must understand what they fear. She did not know what her husband feared. But she stopped worrying that he might be too brave to be understood.
She did not rush back to her bedroom. Years of imperial court life kept her walk slow but casual: regal but not stately. But once beside her bed she threw herself onto it so she could think better.
She felt exposed. Maybe even garish. In the palace she had been almost invisible. Her parents and older siblings got all the focus. She had learned how to step forward and shine, or step back and fade, at the proper times.
Now she was Northrange. Her trained response of pretending to value the children's stories later that day had actually been ideal. Northrange valued their stories.
She had seen her parents live that way. When a merchant brought them new cloth samples from a distant province, it did not matter how much they bought. What mattered was how much they praised each sample. If the Empire liked that particular cloth then whomever wove it would have endless customers.
From now on, the only time she would feel invisible was when alone. The only person who would see her as only herself—as her plain self—was Nathiel.
It had been many years since that was true. Long ago. Simpler days and lives.
When she was a young girl, long before the empire's magic had chosen her father to be emperor, her family's lands were pleasant and rural. Nathiel's family lived near enough to visit. They played together as children, in each other's homes and in the safe woods nearby.
Then they got older. As teens they got their sad therianthropy forms. Both were so very unlucky. No nice or trendy animals, but wild animals whose forms are not wanted.
She gained the form of a gabonica viper: dangerous, poisonous, and the ugliest of snakes. She had no mean streak and could always control her temper. But not everyone knew that, or believed that.
He could become an opossum: awkward, nearly blind in bright light, scraggly and with a naked tail. Neither of them had a form useful for flying or hunting or spying or playing.
While home, or visiting each other, those forms were not so bad. There were new games in the woods. But with that change it was time to leave their governesses and get proper schooling.
Their parents did their best to train them for city life. Lessons about walking, eating, greeting, dancing, and so many other ways to take care. But the noble teens from the cities saw at once who "grew up in the sticks". There were no more invitations to join classmates at parties and dances and shows. Once they were in an empty classroom together, trying but failing to learn the steps to a new dance, when a haughty student saw them. Needing to practice was bad. Practicing badly was even worse. Only having a partner as bad as you to practice with was the worst. The same teens that offered no other options teased them for having no options.
Other teens also talked about using therianthropy forms, They did trips to fly or hunt. They had time together as cute animals. Again the two of them had no way to hide. "What are your animal forms? Eeek! Eew! Vile! Revolting!"
There was one place they could hide. The school had one of Futhorc's echo dungeons. Its history and puzzle did not matter: they ignored those. All that mattered was that when they went in together, they were in their own copy of the event. No one would find them or tease them. They could talk. Sometimes he turned into his opossum form and she brushed his fur until he looked cute instead of ugly.
Then, one day, they decided to resolve that echo dungeon. Fifty years ago the school had dealt badly with a small scandal. What other questions should the dean have asked? How could she have led the school better? They pretended to be students in those old days and did some detective work. After many tries they solved the puzzle.
Not all echo dungeons go away when solved. Futhorc has some he loves and keeps around for new visitors to solve. But this one went away and a new echo dungeon appeared in another part of the school, about another old issue. The problem from history was much less a big deal. But they were students and seeing what their school was like in days past was still fun.
They solved that echo dungeon too. And the next.
Then they stopped trying to solve the new echo dungeon. What if it was the last one? Where else would they find safety from other students if it was the last one and went away after they solved it?
They had found a safe place, years ago. They had been a safe place.
She had memories that began "They had..." She needed to get that back.
But the old emperor had died, and the empire's magic had chosen her father, Kanaza Zuri, to be the new emperor.
During the Age of Adventure, the Mibuki dynasty united dozens of kingdoms to establish the Empire of Maceweight. That unity was not only political. There were magic rituals and also blessings from Yarnspinner, Laurel, and Soot Erica.
Part of that old magic was that only one therion at a time would get the animal form of a tyrannosaurus rex. That animal form would forever show who was the rightful emperor.
A messenger arrived with the news and to pack the few things from her dorm room. She was no more a shy girl who "grew up in the sticks" and studied at a boarding school. She was now an imperial princess who would be educated in the palace.
The haughty students watched her leave, wanting to laugh but only able to tremble.
She left her room to ask Nathiel about his wolf form. Through his closed door she heard him talking.
"...the tall boots today, Aggie. Extra shine. People will be looking closely."
She did not know he had a valet. The name Aggie sounded like a girl's name, a sweet form of Agatha. Were things that different here?
She was flustered, too rushed. She knocked, and as he spoke went in the room. It was too late when she realized his voice had told her to wait.
The room had no ceiling. Above her was the sky. All of the sky, a nighttime view that grew way too big around her. Every star and planet. Vast galaxies lit in wonder. She was tiny, a mere speck, a nothing. There were no walls, and the ground did not matter. Only the vast expanse. Then every star opened and was an eye. Endless eyes, looking down at her, and she was so tiny...
His voice seemed so far, but so loud. "Aggie! Let her go!"
The room was back to its real size. Just below the ceiling floated a black rectangle full of eyes, with tentacles that were holding a pair of tall boots and a boot shine kit.
She had fallen to one knee. Her head reeled. She felt his hand on her back, steadying her. His voice still seemed far away. "I had told her about you, that you were not a threat to me..."
Part of her shock was that she had been so defenseless. She always wore magic rings and other jewelry. She was a princess, a likely target, and so had on her fingers enough magic to deter an army. But that thing had bypassed it.
She grasped his arm to stop from swaying. "Why do you have a cosmic horror for a valet!?"
He lifted her to her feet. She leaned against him, nearly nauseous. Her arms drooped and felt weak. He put his hand on her shoulder and leaned slightly to support her, perhaps unsure if any pressure would make her sick. This was not how she had imagined their first hug.
"My squad found it in a cave far to the north, in the mountains. It is a bugaboo, a child's agoraphobia. Its eyes can see what is invisible, or therions in animal forms. It is useful. It helped us in the war. It keeps the estate safe..."
"So you made it your valet and named it Aggie!?"
"It has a much better eye for colors than I do. With how the stars are aligned now it says it is more female. At other times I call it Aigor."
She stepped away from him. "Wait. It watches the estate...so it can see through walls? It sees me all the time? Where was it last night when I visited your room? Or when I went to sleep?"
"I had sent it into my closet. It needs to be against a ceiling. Yes, it sees through walls. But it soon forgets what it sees. It is not a person..."
She turned to storm back to her room. But he might not follow, and it would still see her. She turned back and collapsed onto him, her head on his chest, her arms around him. "I need to catch my breath. I need a better hug. Do you have any other monsters in your house?"
He put his arm around her. "No other monsters. Is this our first hug?"
"I think so. I do not think it counted when you were an opossum on my lap and I brushed you."
"No," he agreed.
She looked up at him. "I came in here to be brave. I had said the wrong thing at breakfast, and no one would talk about your wolf form. I wondered if, similar to the opossum form, maybe I could be okay with it."
"I like that you are brave. Aggie...when she does that, it does not matter how brave someone is. But seeing my wolf form is not about being brave."
"I do want to see it. Maybe after a short walk? Why is it taboo to talk about if it is not scary?"
"It is scary. But even more abominable. Why do you want to see it and be okay with it?"
She sighed. "I do not know. Because I only know the part of the story that everyone knows? Because it is part of who you are, and being okay with who you are used to be important to me?"
He stopped the hug and took her hand. "Let's walk to the atrium in the middle of the manor. I do not think you have seen the atrium yet. It has some very nice rare plants. It is open to the sky. My parents had magic done to keep it safe and private. No one can enter while in animal form, to protect from flying spies. Talk cannot be overheard."
It was a lovely place, and large even though the manor around it was no palace.
They sat on a bench. He asked, "So what story does everyone know in the capital?"
She said, "You were angry at seeing your men killed by the undead armies you fought. You went into an Enchanted Forest. You wanted to change your animal form: not just a normal wolf any more, but a huge wolf, like the werewolves in campfire stories, that could not be hurt by weapons. You got that, but you came out with only one arm while in your normal therion form. And it worked. It was a turning point in the war against the vampire lords."
He took a deep breath. "There are parts no one else knows. The last part of the quest was meeting a witch. She asked me if I would give up my arm. I said yes. More than that, I agreed immediately. Her role was to count how long I hesitated. The longer my delay, the weaker the new werewolf form would be. But there was no delay."
He stood up and began pacing. "Then she asked what it should look like. I told her, 'Whatever it looks like when real wolves imagine the wolf of which they are most afraid.' Do you still want to see?"
She nodded.
He showed her. She screamed. He quickly changed back. Then she said, "I am more ready now. It will not be a surprise. Show me again."
It was huge, for wolves respect size. It had terrible teeth, huge and wrong but shaped to be even more deadly. Its fur was long and its sebum made it into a thick, winter-proof layer. It shone with an aura of menace. It looked ready to kill, to rule the pack, to be unstoppable.
She studied it for a long time.
She said, "I am not a wolf. I had imagined scars, and a torn ear. But wolves would not think a blemished record is ideal. Your werewolf looks like it has never lost a fight. I had imagined an oily, matted coat. But a staring coat is a sign of bad health and is not what wolves would find ideal. Your werewolf looks like it has the leisure to groom itself well."
She studied it again. "Aside from Aggie's magic fear, that is definitely the scariest thing I have ever seen outside the imperial throne room."
She stood up and said, "I need to use a little phantasmography." She used illusion to change her clothes, so she looked like she wore a rich gown and imperial jewelry. "People respect money," she explained.
Then she said, "The rest will be me, some of what I learned in the palace. Papa had me learn about posture. He wanted my schooling to be thorough." Then she changed her posture. She became not merely proper but stately. Her face became hard and regal. Her eyes became cold. No more was she a young woman of good breeding. She looked like an empress who had just sent ten thousand men to war.
In her mind she took a deep breath and steeled her shoulders. But he could not see that. Her breath looked steady. Her shoulders already looked like steel.
She walked over and pet his wolf form. His coat was so thick it felt spiky. "Tsk. Well, no extra grooming this time."