And What Happens Tomorrow. Chapter One. TORTALL.
Chapter One: Winter, 436 H.E.
Night grows short:
a dream of fifty years
breaks off before it ends.
Her hands contacted ice. She groped, trying to find the hole through which she had come; but it was useless. Shivering helplessly in the water, she groped unsuccessfully for the ember stone. Her hands flailed wildly, searching for anything to help her out...
But her lungs couldn’t take it, and Alanna’s eyes closed to blackness. The Black God was there, was coming…
*
They couldn’t find Faithful after the accident, though Jon had to admit they weren’t looking very hard.
“Gary,” he said, grabbing his friend’s arm, “I’ve got to go to the city. Someone needs to tell George and…And I think it should be me.”
Gary nodded, his face frozen by cold and surprise into a dazed expression.
Jon wanted desperately to cry. Wanted so badly.
But he couldn’t yet.
“Will you tell my parents something when they ask?”
Gary nodded again. He even started to say something, but couldn’t manage it. Jon stumbled off towards the stables.
*
When he reached the Dancing Dove, Jon fell rather than dismounted from Darkness’ saddle. A hostler took the stallion away quietly, and Jonathan stumbled through the tavern’s doors.
It was early still, the Dove was not as busy as it would be later, but George was there already, in front of the fire and a tankard in his hands. Jonathan wondered if he’d found out already…but no. George’s expression was not stricken, as it would have been if he knew. The Thief King looked up, his welcoming grin fading into a worried frown.
“Lad?” he asked, pulling out a chair. “What’s happened?”
“It’s,” tried Jon, “it’s…Oh gods, George, she’s dead. She’s dead and - and - ”
George’s face was dead white. “Who, Jon?” he asked slowly, and Jon couldn’t blame him for the question because he wanted so badly to be able to say a different name. “Jon, who is it? Who - ”
“Alanna, George,” he whispered. “It’s Alanna.”
“Mithros,” George said. “Mithros.” His face was still white, but now his eyes were glassy too, and somehow that made Jon want to cry more than he already did. George blinked, and his eyes regained their clarity. Jon couldn’t help but admire that. He realized George was speaking then, and perhaps he had better listen?
“…they know yet? That she was lying?”
“I don’t know,” said Jon. “They - they’ll be getting Roger to get her out - ”
Then he couldn’t talk and he couldn’t cry. George jerked his head at Solom, who nodded, and grabbed Jon’s shoulder. “We’ll talk upstairs,” he said with a gentleness that was not much comfort. “Come on, Jon.”
And what could Jon do but follow?
*
Jon came back early the next morning a little hung-over. Everyone pretended not to notice, and no one mentioned a time frame for retrieving Alanna’s - though really they thought it was Alan’s - body. Jon asked if they’d sent for Thom, looked relieved when they said they had, and locked the door to his room.
He staggered to his bed and collapsed there, staring at a ceiling he couldn’t see yet. “It’s over,” he said. “We don’t have to worry about slipping up anymore.”
He closed his eyes and went to sleep.
*
The Great Mother Goddess folded her arms and regarded the forlorn cat before her with blazing eyes.
You’re the all powerful goddess, said the cat. I appreciate what I was supposed to do. But I am, after all, only a cat.
“We both know that is not precisely true,” said the Goddess. “They were only human.”
Will you - began the cat, but the Goddess shook her head.
“We are not supposed to interfere too much in the lives of mortals. I do not think I could manage any other changes in the next few years without suffering Uusoae’s fate.”
And by then the only one left will be the Duke.
“Have you a particular desire to meet the creators of the Universe?” asked the Goddess.
The cat shook its head violently.
“No. Well, perhaps he will not be such a bad king,” she murmured. “Go - she is at peace, though you know it well already. Amuse yourself. But stay in these realms.”
He was more than a cat, but she was the Goddess. He trotted away and tried not to miss Alanna of Trebond too much.
*
When they brought up Jon’s breakfast, Myles came with it. “I know you’re not ready yet,” said Myles gently, “but we really do need to talk.”
Jonathan took a deep breath. “Yes, we do,” he agreed. His voice, he was surprised to discover, was perfectly steady.
Jon looked down at the tray he’d taken from the maid and up at Myles. “There’s more than enough food here,” he said. “I…don’t know if I can eat even half of it.”
“Your mother,” Myles said, “was very worried. Eating would alleviate some of that worry.” He smiled tiredly at Jon. “I know we’re in mourning, but I am still an old man and I need a chair.”
Jon blinked. “Uh - of course. There’s - there’s one right here.”
“Thank you,” said Myles. He dropped unceremoniously into a lush red velvet arm chair. “Jon, what was Alan’s secret?”
Jon took a sip of fruit juice. “The whole world will know soon enough,” he muttered. “All right. Alan of Trebond was really Alanna of Trebond. She switched places with her brother.”
“When you put it like that it sounds like a very badly written novel,” said Myles. “It’s gratifying to know I was right. Though naturally I would have preferred different circumstances.”
It was such a Myles thing to say. Jon wished he could smile. Only two days ago he would have. “Yes, I suppose it does.”
“Do you have any inkling as to what Their Majesties’ reactions will be?”
Jon rubbed his eyes. “I can guess,” he said tiredly. “I’m more worried about Uncle Gareth’s.”
*
When Thom of Trebond arrived exactly one week later, he was accompanied by one reluctant Mithran and Coram Smythesson.
Jon had asked to be the first to see Thom and his parents, wary perhaps of his reaction should his request be denied, granted it. So Jon waited just inside the rooms that had been given to Thom, hoping the
sorcerer looked nothing like his sister.
He was disappointed in this, as the only difference between them seemed to be skin tone - Thom had a scholar’s pallor - and that Thom was bearded.
“Coram,” he said, nodding to the man-at-arms. He looked ten years older already, Jon thought. Thom’s gaze flicked to the Mithran behind him. Jon shook his head. “They’ll know what I have to say to you tomorrow, but…”
“It’s not tomorrow yet,” agreed Thom. “Thank you, Master Si-Cham. Your presence was invaluable.”
The Mithran raised a cool eyebrow at the young sorcerer and bowed to Jonathan before stepping out of the room and closing the door behind him.
“You won’t get to Trebond with the weather they’re having,” said Jon, sinking into a chair. He looked at the floor, not at Thom. Never at Thom. “We’ll have to have…the funeral here.”
“Do they know yet?” asked Coram.
Jon shook his head. “Just Myles and me,” he whispered. “They haven’t…gotten anyone to - to bring her out.”
Thom had no problems speaking. “Were you and Alanna - ”
“Yes,” said Jon.
“Well,” Thom said, “there’s one more rumor about the royal family with its roots in truth, isn’t it?”
It wasn’t quite a joke. Jon tensed, but smiled when he saw the slight flush on Thom’s cheeks and the glare Coram was sending the young man.
It was the first time he’d smiled in a week, he realized.
Oh, Mithros.
“I’ll leave you two to settle in,” he said quietly. “Thank you for seeing me.”
Notes: The poem I have quoted is a Japanese poem, but I am neither sure of the title or author, one - or both - of them is definitely Kafu. Also, big shout-out to various members of my friendslist, who betaed this for me.