Ventus by Karl Schroeder

Karl Schroeder / Ventus / Page 263
sometimes spent whole nights in this place. She often emerged
with new ideas or solid decisions in hand. The queen knew,
from faint scratches around the hinges of the door, that at least
one person had given in to curiosity and broken in. She
imagined they had reacted much as these women to discover
there was nothing here--no secret stairway, no magic books,
not even a chair or a candle. Only a little dirt in the corners,
and the sky for a ceiling.
They had wondered about Galas her whole life. Let them
wonder a little more.
"Has the guest suite been prepared?" she asked.
"Yes, your majesty."
"How are the supplies holding out?"
"Well enough, they say."
"Reward the soldiers who bring our guest over the walls.
Give them each a double ration. Also convey our thanks."
"Yes, your majesty. ...Ma’am?"
"Yes, what is it? Bring me a mirror."
"Who is this person? A spy of some sort?"
"A messenger," she said brusquely. Satisfied with her
appearance, she gathered her skirts and swept from the
chamber. They followed, casting final glances about the shaft.
Out of a sense of devilment, Galas decided to leave the
door open--the first time ever. She hid a smile as she paced
toward the audience hall.
As a girl she had made up stories about the figures
painted on the audience hall’s ceiling. Later she learned the
struggling, extravagantly posed men and women were all
allegories for historical events. By then it was too late; she
knew the woman directly above the throne as the Smitten
Dancer, not as an idealized Queen Delina. The two men
wrestling on the clouds near the west window were the Secret