Chapter Text
X
When Nymeria was ten years old, she almost drowned.
She was playing in the Rhoyne, feeling the way the water flowed between her fingers, just the way that Horan had told her to. If you found the flow of the water, the true flow—not the current, the current was easy, but the way the water curled together, wrapped around itself and was one and ten thousand all in one—then you could bend the water to your will. You had to truly understand the Mother Rhoyne to command her waters, and so you must learn. You must play in the water.
And Nymeria did. Every day, she played in the Rhoyne, listening to the sounds of younger children splashing along the banks of the water, watching the reflections of the waves against the pale stone archways that crisscrossed the river and brought eastern and western Ny Sar together.
She was watching, and listening, and feeling the water move through her fingers, around her legs, between the soft hair that grew on her limbs, trying to feel it all and only one droplet at once, and a fishing boat knocked her under the water. She had been so intent on the water that she hadn’t noticed it until it was too late.
It was a large boat—one that sailed up and down the Mother Rhoyne between the sister cities, carrying indigo and gold up from Sar Hoy to trade in Ny Sar for her turquoise jewelry and the pottery made from the white clay that could be found within ten miles on either side of the river. Nymeria saw stars in her eyes, and swallowed a mouthful of the Mother Rhoyne. She was a strong swimmer, but when the rudder hit her in the arm, she let out a cry and coughed, and gasped and inhaled.
I must not drown, she thought. My mother will die.
Her mother would never say it. Her mother was the Princess Meria of Ny Sar, and her mother did not show sadness for she could not, not while her people feared the dragons in the south. But her mother would die. Her mother hadn’t been the same since her father had died, but had hid all that behind the mask of Princess Meria—that was what Elia had said. So Nymeria prayed. Mother Rhoyne, do not let me drown.
When Nymeria next breathed, she was lying on the eastern shore of the city, and Elia was crouched over her, pressing her breastbone and muttering under her breath. “You stupid girl, did you not see the boat?” But she didn’t sound angry. She sounded scared. Nymeria felt water on her lips and chin and she was coughing. She knew she did not have to speak. She knew that. But Elia was sad. Her braid was mussed and wet, and her dress was damp. She must have dove into the water fully clothed to drag Nymeria up. Nymeria saw people watching from a distance.
“I’m sorry,” Nymeria managed to say when she finished coughing.
“You’re supposed to feel the river, not breathe it,” snapped Elia, before wrapping her arms around Nymeria. “What would I have told your mother if you’d drowned?” Nymeria chewed her lip. “Don’t chew your lip,” Elia said. “A princess does not chew her lip.”
They sat in the sunshine for a while. Nymeria saw the people begin drift away. They must have come to see what was going on, she thought. She wondered why none of them had come to help Elia.
There was no breeze today, and the sun warmed her skin. Periodically, Nymeria let out a cough. Elia went and found her dress and dropped it over Nymeria’s head and she struggled into it while sitting.
“Did you feel the Mother, at least?” Elia asked.
“Nearly,” Nymeria grumbled. “If that stupid boat hadn’t come along, I would have.” She was not sure if she would have, but she couldn’t tell Elia that. She could tell Elia many things—anything, really. But she didn’t want Elia to know that she of all her friends had yet to feel the power of the Mother Rhoyne.
Elia snorted. She was calmer now that Nymeria was very much not drowned.
“You’ll get there,” Elia said, reaching down and ruffling her hair. “It’s not easy. If it were easy, anyone would do it.”
“It looks easy,” Nymeria grumbled.
“It’s supposed to. It’s like the myrmidons. They make fighting with a sword look easy. But is it?”
Nymeria remembered the first time she’d picked up a sword. Her hands had been rubbed raw with blisters and she’d been covered in bruises for a week. But the myrmidons who drilled in the city, and who marched her walls, made it look almost like dancing. Fighting with a sword was easier than water magic, though. Everyone said so. She wanted not to believe it, but she had yet to feel the Rhoyne. She wondered if Princess Meria was disappointed in her.
Elia sighed. “Just because things look easy doesn’t mean they are, little sister. I’d have thought your mother had taught you that?” She held out both her hands, and Nymeria took them, letting Elia pull her to her feet.
“She does,” Nymeria said. “Everything’s more difficult than it looks. Being a Princess is an important duty, and one must make it look effortless, while putting it before everything else that you do.”
Elia nodded, approvingly. “Making things look easy is hard.”
“I’ve noticed,” Nymeria grumbled, glaring at the river. Elia laughed and wrapped an arm around her shoulder and they walked back up the banks to the eastern river road.
*
“You nearly drowned?” Princess Meria’s voice was not light, nor was it heavy. It was even. Which meant Nymeria had angered her.
“I didn’t mean to,” she said, hastening to explain. “The boat came—out of nowhere, mother and—”
“You didn’t see it coming?”
Nymeria bit her lip. She loved her mother—truly she did. But her mother was not a warm woman. Elia was far warmer, though Elia was her father’s daughter and not her mother’s. With Elia, at least, you knew whether it was anger or sadness.
“I did not,” she said at last. Princess Meria had taught her long before that it was worse not to accept responsibility for something that was your fault than to be blamed for it. There was no honor in lies, and she was to be a Princess besides. One day, she would be responsible for the lives of everyone in the city of Ny Sar.
Princess Meria watched her evenly.
“You must be careful,” she said at last. “I cannot afford to lose you.”
And that was it. Nymeria bowed her way from her mother’s chambers and she hurried down the hallway, breaking out into a run when she rounded the corner that would take her to Elia’s chambers. She knocked on her sister’s door twice before it was thrown open and she saw Elia standing there, her hair hanging unbound and her tunic on askance.
“Everything all right?” Elia asked breathlessly.
“Yes,” Nymeria said, but Elia frowned as if she didn’t believe her.
“Are you sure?” Elia asked, kneeling down so that she was eye to eye with her little sister. Nymeria heard a cough behind her, and she looked over Elia’s shoulder.
“Why is Yandar hiding behind a curtain?” she asked.
Yandar was one of the young myrmidons who guarded the palace. His father was Ar Noysh and his mother mother was from Ghoyan Drohe and they’d met in the middle in Ny Sar. He poked his head out from behind Elia’s curtain, smiling sheepishly at Nymeria. “Don’t tell your mother,” he said.
Nymeria frowned. She wasn’t supposed to lie. Princess Meria always knew when she did. She looked back at Elia, who was watching her closely.
“Was Princess Meria angry with you?”
“I think so,” Nymeria said sadly.
“She was just scared to have lost you. I was too,” Elia said, drawing Nymeria into her arms.
Nymeria let herself sink into her sister for a moment, but she smelled more like Yandar than like Elia, and she shook herself. “Yes, but you at least said as much. Princess Meria never does.” And as she said it, she wished her mother did.
Elia sighed.
“Your mother has much on her mind,” Elia said.
“I know,” Nymeria whined. She wished she didn’t whine. She knew that Princess Meria had a lot on her mind. Her mother had the dragons to consider, and the sister cities, and everyone in Ny Sar. But all the same, she wished sometimes that her mother could put down the mantle of Princess Meria and just be mother, the way that Elia was always sister.
XI
“Nym! Nym!” She heard Serra calling for her somewhere behind her. Serra was constantly trying to tell Nymeria what to do. Nymeria didn’t call back. Nymeria was watching.
It wasn’t often that Nymeria was able to sneak out of her mother’s palace. She’d been protected, ever since she was very young. She was her mother’s sole heir, the Princess of Ny Sar, and should anything happen to her, the five houses would make things difficult for her mother. Nymeria knew all this. And when she’d been very young, she’d contented herself to only leaving the palace with her mother, her mother’s guards, her teachers, or Elia.
But not today.
Today, Nymeria had decided it was time to see the city, and she’d dragged Serra and Ysil with her. Serra was the daughter of the Family of Dronye, one of the oldest blood in the city. She kept her hair in shells and always seemed to have a snotty expression, even when she was smiling. Ysil was a merchant’s son with an easy smile. His father sold perfumes that were so famous they were renowned even in the Old Town of Westeros and the shadow city of Asshai. His mother was noble, and like Nymeria’s mother, she had married for love, but Ysil’s blood was not so old as either Nymeria’s or Serra’s.
Ysil had come willingly—excitedly, even. He didn’t leave her mother’s manse much, either, and he had been raised on the western shore of Ny Sar, near the feathermarkets and the manse of the Bar Soyne. But Serra was nervous. Serra didn’t like breaking rules, and Nymeria sneaking out of her mother’s palace was definitely breaking a rule.
“Nym!” Nymeria heard Serra call again, and she even heard Ysil’s added “Nymeria!” now, but she didn’t make a sound, even though she knew it would calm them.
Nymeria’s eyes were locked under an overhang from the back of a riverwoman’s house. The riverwoman was shaking a skinny little girl, who was crying.
“I told you not to come back here!” the riverwoman was shouting. “I’ve got nothing for you.”
“Then where do I go?” the girl sobbed, and the riverwoman slapped her.
“Not my problem,” she said. She shoved her back, and the girl stumbled down onto the ground and let out another cry. The riverwoman slammed the door shut.
Nymeria watched her as she rubbed her eyes, then her elbows. They were bleeding, and there were scrapes on her knees as well. The girl turned to look over her shoulder. She didn’t see Nymeria, or at least, Nymeria didn’t think she saw her.
Nymeria had thought there was no one else in the alleyway, but she was wrong. A little boy, no more than four, clutching a puppy to his chest, came towards her. His face was dirty, except for the tearstreaks.
“What do we do now?” Nymeria heard the boy mumble.
The girl got to her feet and brushed herself off. Her jaw was set, but Nymeria saw body trembling, as though she were trying to hold back her tears.
“We’ll find something,” the girl said.
“Nym!”
“Nymeria!”
They weren’t far, Serra and Ysil. They were close enough that Nymeria could hear them shout, at least. Serra was loud—louder than anyone Nymeria knew, but Ysil was less so, especially while his voice was oddly raspy as it grew deeper and deeper.
They only ever called her Nymeria when no one else was around—not even Elia. Otherwise, she was Princess. Always Princess. A Princess tends to her people. That’s what her mother said. Princess Meria always tended to her people, and Princess Nymeria would do the same. She did not ever want to let her mother down, though she was still glad that her friends saw her as more than just her title.
Nymeria stepped out of the shadows. “I’ll help you,” she said, and the girl started then stepped in front of the boy with his puppy.
“Who’re you?” the girl said, and she didn’t sound close to tears anymore. She sounded wary—harsh, even.
“Nymeria!” she heard Ysil calling.
“I’m Princess Nymeria.”
“You’re not. You’re lying,” said the girl.
No one had ever called Nymeria a liar before. She wasn’t a liar. At least, not about important things. She lied plenty to keep Ysil out of trouble when he went to practice with his pike after dark, or when Serra didn’t get to her basket weaving because she’d gotten lost in the current of the Mother Rhoyne. Serra only ever broke rules for the Mother Rhoyne. Serra wanted to be the greatest water witch the Rhoyne had ever known.
“I’m not,” Nymeria said. “But if you don’t believe me, come with me.”
“We don’t have anything for you to rob,” the girl snapped, her eyes narrowed. It gave Nymeria pause. No one ever narrowed their eyes at her, and even if they did—it was a smart point to make now that she thought about it. Though one that also could be a lie.
“I don’t need to rob you. I have plenty already,” Nymeria said, a little peeved. She did not like people being smarter than her. She took a step closer to the girl, who took a step back, her foot landing on the boy’s.
“Ow!” he shouted, and the puppy began to bark.
The barking attracted attention, and the riverwoman appeared in the window and shouted, “I said get away!”
The girl looked at the riverwoman then grabbed the boy’s hand and ran down the alleyway, brushing past Nymeria.
“Who was that?” Nymeria asked. Her legs were longer than the girl’s, and so she kept up with her easily.
“No one,” the girl said.
“And you call me a liar,” Nymeria retorted.
The girl glared at her. “Our mother worked for her,” the girl said. “And our mother is dead. She says snot-nosed children keep men away.”
They had reached the Shell Road, and they all paused. “I’m sorry about your mother,” Nymeria said. “How long has she been dead?”
The girl’s face crumpled and without even thinking, Nymeria reached out and wrapped her arms around the girl. “It will be all right,” she said. “I’ll help you. I promise.”
“Nym!” She felt Serra’s hands on her arms. “We’ve been looking for you. Where have you been? Who’s this?”
“Friends,” Nymeria said, stepping back. The girl was rubbing her nose.
“Friends?” Ysil had arrived too, and was looking down at them over his big hooked nose. “Friends named what?”
“Saria,” the girl said. “And Gerris.” She patted her brother on the head.
*
If Princess Meria was displeased that Nymeria had brought home Saria and Gerris, it did not show on her face.
“I can’t find places for every street urchin you bring home, so best not make a habit of it,” Princess Meria said gently, stroking Nymeria’s hair. Nymeria relished her mother’s touch. “But these two—these two we can help.”
Nymeria smiled at her mother, and her mother smiled back.
XII
Meria of Ny Sar was a small woman, and Nymeria didn’t look much like her. She looked like Elia, tall for her age and slim like a pike. Her mother was shorter, and rounder, but at times, you couldn’t tell.
Indeed, it was something Nymeria often forgot—that her mother was shorter than her ever since she was eleven and shot up the way that Elia had. “She seems taller than even Garin the Grand,” Nymeria whispered to Elia from the archways to the side of her mother’s high seat. By rights, Nymeria should be standing to her left, a place of protection, carrying a silver shield hewn to look like a tortoise shell. But one did not stand shielded before a visiting Prince, not unless you wished to insult him, so Nymeria stood off to the side with Elia.
“She’s greater than Garin the Grand,” Yandar said. Nymeria was not so tall as Yandar—at least, not yet. No one was as tall as Yandar, with his broad shoulders and long horse-tail hair. His eyes were on Garin the Grand, who was speaking of ties of friendship as old as the Mother Rhoyne.
“She’s not greater than Garin the Grand,” Elia muttered, and Yandar elbowed her. “She’s good. But you can’t say better. You don’t know Garin the Grand.”
Yandar rolled his eyes. “He came to her,” he pointed out.
“So? Sometimes you go places. That doesn’t make the person you’re visiting better than you,” Elia said. Nymeria rolled her eyes and looked back at her mother.
Princess Meria was now inclining her head to Garin the Grand’s son, a man of nearly twenty years of age, who was bowing to her, sweeping his arm out grandly. It was bulging with muscle, and Nymeria saw Serra across the hall staring at it. It was an impressive set of muscle. Nymeria had to admit that. Her own muscles would never be so large, though she was not weak. She was sure that Serra would be gushing about how handsome Garin the younger was when they dined that night. Nymeria couldn’t get passed his pug nose that made his face look scrunched.
“Nymeria,” hissed Elia. Nymeria started. Her mother was looking at her, and Elia gave her a push, and she did her best not to look jarred as she strode across the hall and bowed before Garin the Grand and Garin the younger. She should have been paying attention to her mother, not to Serra’s gaze.
“My daughter,” Princess Meria said. “Nymeria.”
“As lovely as her mother,” said Garin the Grand. Nymeria didn’t feel it. She felt oddly tall. She was taller than both Garins, and stood near a foot taller than her mother already, and she was only twelve. Horan said she was like to keep growing for another year. Sometimes, Nymeria feared she would never stop growing. She looked down at both men and heard herself say, “A great pleasure to meat such grand Garins.”
The hall chuckled, and a smile spread across the face of Garin the Grand, though not Garin the younger, and she felt her mother curl her arm around Nymeria’s elbow.
“I am sure you will find your stay both pleasurable and inspiring,” her mother said.
“As am I,” said Garin the Grand, and with that, the formal audience ended, and Princess Meria led Nymeria from the hall.
“Keep an eye on the younger Garin,” her mother told her, “should he be of interest to you.”
“Why should he be of interest to me?” Nymeria asked. He’d had a pug nose, and hadn’t smiled at her once. Her mother raised her eyebrows. “I’m too young to think of marriage!” Nymeria yelped. She was only twelve, and had only recently had her first blood. Her mother hadn’t married until she was nearly thirty, after all. Though that might have been for loving a man married to another, even if no one spoke of it in such terms. Nymeria had thought that perhaps she too would marry for love, but as her mother watched her closely, she cringed. Perhaps it was a stupid thing to have thought. Her mother had done that, but Nymeria was not Princess Meria. Of course Princess Meria would have expected something else of her.
“Yes,” her mother agreed. “But all the same, he may be of interest to you.”
“He seemed stuffy,” said Nymeria.
“So did your father,” Princess Meria said, her voice quiet and Nymeria looked down at her mother. Her mother only rarely spoke of her father, and when she did it was only ever sad. Nymeria could not remember him. He’d been tall, was all she knew. And Elia loved him, and remembered him playing with her in the Mother Rhoyne, but even Elia did not speak of him frequently. It was as if he were some ghost that haunted them both, and who haunted Nymeria as well if only because she would constantly wonder if he would have liked her, if he would have been proud of her.
Nymeria frowned, and her mother squeezed her arm. “He may not appeal to you,” she said. “But do not judge a man by a first impression. It does neither of you justice.”
Garin the Younger was, as it turned out, stuffy. He was also annoying. He only ever spoke of battle tactics, and the swollen size of Chroyane’s armies. “We’ll swat the dragon lords on the nose,” he said boastfully over dinner.
“So long as they don’t actually bring their dragons,” Nymeria said.
He gave her a look as though she were only a child. Just because I’m younger than you doesn’t mean I’m stupider, she thought. Anyone can tell a dragon is dangerous.
“The dragonlords don’t bring their dragons far from the Fourteen Flames,” he said witheringly.
“Yet,” Nymeria appended.
Garin raised his eyebrows. “You think they’ll change their tactics?”
“Wouldn’t you if you lost?” she demanded. Maybe he’d never played Mother May I in the river. Elia and Serra and Salom and Ysil were all very good, and sometimes you had to change your strategy just to win, even if you’d won all the previous rounds.
He glared at her. “Chroyane does not lose,” he said simply. “They do not call my father Garin the Grand for nothing.”
Nymeria knew better than to rise to that bait, though. She would not be so stupid as to insinuate anything lesser of Garin the Grand while he was in her mother’s palace. To do so would be a great insult. So she glared at Garin the Younger and decided that he had less wits than her, for all he was older even than Elia.
She looked around the hall, wishing that she could sit with Elia. Elia, at least, would be easy to talk to. But Elia was sitting with Yandar and two of Yandar’ friends—Morgan and Chrovan—laughing and playing with her turquoise and lapis necklace. She looked happy—happier than Nymeria, and every now and then, she would rest her head on Yandar’ shoulder and smile up at him.
Nymeria wondered what would happen if she laughed and rested her head on Garin’s shoulder. The image of his expression almost made her giggle and she hid her smile behind a sip of elderberry wine.
*
Nymeria watched her mother closely. Princess Meria sat straight-backed, her hands resting on the arms of her seat as she listened to Prince Garin speak. Her expression was pleasant enough, but her eyes were shrewd, and Nymeria had the sense that her mother was reading into Prince Garin’s very soul.
Nymeria shifted her gaze to Prince Garin, wondering what her mother saw there. He had a confidence to him, but behind that confidence, what was there?
So she watched, and listened, and tried not to glow too much with pride when her mother would make a comment that would cause Prince Garin’s mask of confidence to flicker. He does not know her as well as she knows him, Nymeria thought. She has a better read on him than he has of her. Does he think her weak?
She glanced at her mother. Princess Meria was short, and warm enough to this foreign Prince, but he’d be a fool to think there wasn’t force to her. There must be force to me too, one day, Nymeria thought, and she straightened her back in her seat, her head rising taller now than anyone at the table’s. Perhaps she was not yet as strong as her mother—perhaps she never would be. She still had so much to learn.
XIII
Nymeria looked at her mother’s maps, studying them carefully. The Rhoyne sliced through the land, but was no thicker than a thread compared to the vast earth around it. It was nothing like the sea. Even the so-called Narrow Sea was hundreds of times the width of the Rhoyne. Nymeria almost couldn’t believe it.
The Rhoyne was wide—over a mile in many places, and closer to two towards Chroyane. What must the sea be? Nymeria almost dreaded it.
“Nymeria?” She blinked, and looked up at her mother. Princess Meria’s smile was gentle, though her eyes were stern.
“We cleave to the river,” Nymeria said. “The Mother will protect us.”
“And if the dragons burn it?”
“The dragon flame couldn’t dry the river, mother,” Nymeria said. Everyone knew that. Besides, the dragonlords of Valyria had shown little interest in the cities on the Rhoyne. The Mother’s people were safe.
“Dragons can burn cities,” Princess Meria said calmly. “Ghis was salted and her people enslaved, and Sar Mell survived her sacking only barely.”
Nymeria bit her lip. “But if we do not cleave to the river, what becomes of us?”
Princess Meria smiled sadly. “That is the question.”
Nymeria frowned. Her mother had grown gloomier of late. She maintained a correspondence with Garin the Grand, though often his letters seemed to leave her more anxious than calm. It was not the sort of thing that others might have noticed, for Princess Meria’s face was a smooth mask. Ny Sar thrived under her rule, and she was well loved, and she served her people tirelessly—and so she ensured they never saw the subtleties in her expression. But Nymeria could—a tightness around the mouth, lines around her eyes that meant worry. Nymeria did not wish to add to her worry, and she felt herself swell with determination. She would make her mother proud, be the heir her mother would have wanted from her.
She looked at her mother closely, and saw her mother’s gaze go distant. She tilted her head slightly and Nymeria knew she was worrying on something far away, and only a fool would have wondered what on. She hesitated for only a moment, before knowing that there was no reason to fear asking the question.
“Do you fear the dragonlords, mother?” Nymeria asked.
Princess Meria closed her eyes and breathed deeply for a moment. When she opened them again, she looked lost. “A wise leader fears that which could destroy her,” Princess Meria said. “A fool thinks they can fight a dragon.”
Nymeria frowned. “They can be slain, though. Horan said that if you quench the flame within their bellies they shrivel and die.”
Princess Meria was shaking her head. “Our water wizards believe that. Perhaps it is true. But do they expect a dragon not to fight them back? They are fearsome creatures.”
“Have you ever seen one?” Nymeria asked with bated breath. There was something exciting about dragons. They were vicious creatures, to be sure, and feasted upon the flesh of man, but when they appeared in stories, it was always incredible. Truly incredible.
Princess Meria shook her head. “They have never come so far north in their wars. I have not seen them. Nor do I wish to,” she said. “Should I see one, it will be the death of me.”
“Even if a dragonlord comes to hold audience, as Prince Garin did?”
“Especially then. There are worse things in life than never drawing the attention of dragons.”
XIV
“Where are you going?” Nymeria’s hand shot out and grabbed Gerris’s arm. He squirmed for a second, then turned to her, grinning, and up ahead, his dog Veron turned and whined, wondering what had cut him short. He wore the shelled jerkin of one of palace’s pages, and his hair had been cut short to his head so that it was little more than a black fuzz.
“I’m training today,” he said happily. Nymeria felt comprehension dawn across her face.
“You’re to be a myrmidon?”
Gerris nodded.
“I’m to pick out a pike and a sword.” He looked excited. Nymeria crouched down and looked him in the eyes.
“You’ll be a great hero,” she promised him. “There’ll be legends about you, Gerris of Watersedge.”
Gerris scrunched up his face. “I need a better name than that,” he said, rolling his eyes.
“Train hard. And if you need ointment for your blisters, find me later. I still have some from when I began training with a blade.” She patted her sword at her hip. It was more for show than for anything else. More often of late, her lessons were not with Horan and his water magic, or with Mell and her blades, but with her mother. And though she trained every day, she knew that she would never match her friends in skill. Serra’s skill with the currents of the Rhyone was already far greater than anything that Nymeria could hope to attain, and Ysil was faster with a blade than anyone she’d ever seen. He would rise high, she knew. Part of her was jealous of their skill. “They have less responsibility,” her mother had said when she’d complained of it once. “One day, you will lead your people. You must know that leading a battle and swinging a sword are not one and the same. And the former is far harder, though the latter may seem more prized at times.”
Gerris nodded, then hurried off excitedly. He was growing. Gerris’s dog Veron was already fully grown, but it wouldn’t be long before Gerris wouldn’t be a little boy anymore. He’s already not little, Nymeria thought sadly. He’s to be a myrmidon. She didn’t know why the thought made her sad. It shouldn’t. He would make a good young man—strong, and brave and quick thinking like Saria. But she was fond of the little boy and his wide smiles. She wondered, vaguely, if Elia hadn’t felt sad that she, too, had grown past her childhood.
Nymeria shook herself, then went off in the direction that Gerris and Veron had come from and before long came upon Saria, who was bending into a fountain and scrubbing.
Once, Nymeria might have splashed her, or even shoved her into the water because it always led to a good game, but she didn’t today. Instead, she sat on the edge of the fountain and watched Saria.
The girl was small for her age—in the same way that Gerris was big for his. Her hands were rough from scrubbing. She always seemed to be scrubbing. Nymeria had once asked if she wouldn’t rather do something else, sure that she could help find Saria a different task to occupy her days, but Saria had shaken her head. “I get to be on my own when I scrub the fountains,” she said. So Nymeria had let it be. Once, she’d thought that the girl should be her handmaid. That was what she’d proposed to her mother when she’d brought her back triumphantly from the city. But that hadn’t happened in the end. Princess Meria had not allowed it, for Saria was too lowborn and it would offend the Five Families if a street rat was chosen over one of their fine blood.
“Gerris is to be a myrmidon,” Nymeria said at last, and Saria looked up, and brushed a loose strand of hair from her face.
“He is,” she said. “The captain said he was worth the study.” She smiled. “He’ll be a great warrior. Fearsome.”
Nymeria nodded. “And you?” she asked. “Don’t you want to learn to fight? Or to learn the water magics?”
“And who’s to say I’m not teaching myself?” Saria said, putting her hands on her hips, which, far from making her look older and wiser made her look more like a little girl than before. She hadn’t grown into her woman’s body yet, and Nymeria grinned at her.
“Are you?”
“Not to fight,” Saria admitted. “At least, not beyond smacking Gerris to make sure he makes his bed. But water magic…” her voice trailed away. She dipped her fingers into the fountain and closed her eyes. Nymeria held her breath, watching. Everyone knew you had to touch the Mother Rhoyne to work her magic. It was why there were not water wizards in Valyria, or across the narrow sea in the disputed riverlands of the Kingdoms of Westeros. Only the Mother Rhoyne held magic, and even if this fountain drew her water from the Mother…
Water hit Nymeria full in the face and she let out a yell. Saria was laughing though, and splashing her again.
“I’m the greatest water wizard of them all!” she sang, dancing away from Nymeria’s splashes. “Greater than any wizard. You don’t need magic to fight with water.” She let out a squeal as Nymeria flung some water at her, and before long, both girls were completely soaked and breathless with laughter.
XV
Elia painted her face, lining her lips with blue dots and wrapping her neck in a turquoise choker that had been a gift from Princess Meria.
She garbed herself in blue, the color of the Mother Rhoyne, and Nymeria helped her tie her hair so that it would fall in waves down her back. When she stood, she looked like the river. She took Nymeria’s hand, and squeezed it.
“Are you ready?” Nymeria asked her excitedly. Elia nodded.
She kept Nymeria’s hand in hers as they walked down into the courtyard together, and an honor guard of ten of her father’s household myrmidons came to stand in a circle around them as they walked down to the banks of the Rhoyne. Nymeria looked around for a glimpse of her mother, but suspected she would already be by the river.
When they reached the banks of the Rhoyne, they saw Yandar in his grey-green garb. His eyes were light as he watched them approach, and Nymeria kissed her sister on the cheek and whispered, “don’t get hit by a boat.” Elia giggled, a blush creeping across her face. She turned away from Nymeria and stepped out from the honor guard and took Yandar’ hand. Together, they stepped into the river, walking slowly and steadily until they were both neck deep in the water, their hair and clothes billowing out around them. Then they turned and faced one another.
“Mother Rhoyne,” Nymeria heard her sister proclaim. “Bless this man for I take him within me, as you take your Turtle King.”
“Turtle King,” Yandar responded loudly. “Bless this woman, for she is my home as the Mother Rhoyne is yours.”
Nymeria looked down the shore and saw Horan. He was ankle deep in the river and he was waving his arms as though swimming and Nymeria saw the water around Elia and Yandar stand still. They each raised their arms from the water, setting the water to ripple around them. They took one another’s hands, weaving their fingers together, then bent to kiss.
There was a sigh from the gathered crowd, and Nymeria felt a hand on the small of her back. She turned to see her mother standing next to her. She was watching Elia and Yandar, but her eyes were far away.
Nymeria had never seen that look on her mother’s face—some strange combination of wistful and bittersweet. She is thinking of my father, Nymeria thought with a jolt. She looked back at Yandar and Elia, trying to imagine instead her father—tall like a pike—and her mother glowing up with him as though the rest of the world was not there to see them. Their marriage had been one for love. Her father’s blood was worthy of a Princess of the Rhoyne and how lucky her mother must have felt to have had the smart choice in a husband be her love as well. I should know better than to hope for the same, Nymeria sighed to herself. She was a Princess, with a duty was to her people, and she doubted that she would have such luck as her mother. The best she could hope, she supposed, was that she would have a husband who would like her well enough, one who would be a good companion and a better father to what children he gave her. A thought for later.
The festivities lasted well into the night. Candles floated in every fountain in her mother’s palace and the music of xylophones and kettle drums filled the halls. Nymeria danced—first with Serra and Ysil, then with Elia, and even with Yandar, though never for long. The newlyweds hardly seemed to notice the world around them when they danced, their eyes were so full of one another. Nymeria smiled to watch them, but she also felt her heart constrict. I will never find someone to look at me that way, she thought. She knew. She was a Princess, the heir to Ny Sar. Yandar came from a good house, and Elia did as well, but they were equals. I have no equal save Garin the snot and the rest so far away.
Perhaps she would be like her mother, alone until a man she loved became a widower. Being a ruler is lonely business, her mother had once said. Nymeria hadn’t wanted to believe her. She loved her friends too well, but had noticed her mother seemed close to no one but her. And father, Nymeria thought.
She did her best to shrug it away, of course. Tonight was the celebration Elia’s wedding, and soon enough, she was sure, she would have little nieces and nephews to love and teach. So she danced, feeling the way her heart thudded in her chest, and trying not to imagine dancing with someone the way that Elia was dancing with Yandar, her eyes as bright as the sun.