29. Kew and Frin Meet the Willow LadyAn Interlude in Yellow Tower

29. Kew and Frin Meet the Willow Lady

If it had not been for the Lady so near, Frin would have shouted at Kew. By the time that urge passed, their vision had cleared, and they could see the throne room and its occupants.

The semicircular wall slanted inward, and dozens of high, narrow windows lined it, throwing harsh sunlight. A polished onyx floor reflected them, as if the boys were floating amid white bars. Traceries of onyx formed the ceiling, where the glass turned yellow, and in the center of the ceiling was the eye of the Willow dynasty, staring at its own reflection two or three hundred feet below. Masses of courtiers and officials stood around the perimeter, all in black robes or gowns, all sparkling with gold jewelry. And in the center of the wall, directly across from the door and the boys, was the throne.

It was even bigger than the Obsidian Lady's palanquin. It was possibly as tall as Grey Tower itself. The throne's arms held their velvet cushions fifty or sixty feet off the floor, and the proud spines of its back reached nearly to the ceiling. Rose canes twisted together to form its arms and legs, and interlaced for its seat and back. They were made of iron, and iron thorns thrust out from them, and iron flowers bloomed on them. At the throne's apex, the vines wound around five spires like the tower's, with the central and largest one bearing a calm face with closed eyes.

The throne's occupant was on a much lesser scale. She was, in fact, hardly bigger than Frin. Wearing a puffy black dress and a white ruff, the Willow Lady sat on the throne with her feet sticking out before her, like a baby in its parent's chair. Her skin had a strange texture that only became apparent when she motioned for the boys to come closer: she seemed woven together of cords. Kew soon saw that, instead of cords, she was made of willow charcoal. Among the dry, crackling sticks of her flesh, she had a single golden eye, placed roughly where a nose should be.

How do you come to have Thistle honey? the Willow Lady asked. There has been so little for so long, and I know the others take whatever they can find. Obsidian keeps her own. Ebony found a cache years ago. She's a Lady now. Sometimes more is found and Ebony takes it before I can get to it. I wish to have my own. I am the true Lady. I am the ruler here. If it can make her a Lady, it can make of me a greater Lady. My lineage is true. My rule is legitimate. She is a petty princess of a petty fief. I am the ruler of the palace. I will have that honey.

"Of course, Your Ladyship," said Kew, bowing.

"Kew—" said Frin. "What—"

"Silence, squire," said Kew. "My Lady, I am the Guardian-apprentice of Grey Tower. And before we negotiate for the honey, I must warn you."

He paused. What was he to warn her of? The smell of the Obsidian Lady rushed over him. He saw the eyes of Ebony. He felt the touch of Rook's hand.

Meanwhile the Willow Lady laughed. The charcoal of her face split diagonally, and a dusty rasp came out. The court laughed with her.

Negotiate! I, negotiate!

"Pardon," said Kew. Vertigo nearly made him stumble. "I meant only to say that I hope to be rewarded for this favor."

Rewarded? I suppose that is proper for the Lady of Black Tower. She turned to the ibis-headed official. Tell the palace that I will reward those who bring me gifts. Tell them I want gifts. Tell them I am owed gifts. I have spoken.

The official scuttled out of the throne room—to the speaking tube, one must assume.

What do you want as your reward ? said the Lady.

"I want to be named Hawthorn. My master is dead. The palace is without a Guardian, and the Beast—" Vertigo seized him again. "—the Beast rises. Obsidian—no, that's wrong. The Beast rises, and a Guardian is needed."

Silence, said the Lady.

The whole court went still. She raised her hand. A small shower of dust fell as she moved.

When this boy has given me my gift, I will grant his wish, said the Lady. He will become Hawthorn, Guardian of Grey Tower and of the palace's heart.

"Kew," said Frin, trembling and nearly crying. "Kew, don't . Not to her. Not this one."

Silence him, said the Lady. Or I will.

Kew gripped Frin by the face and jerked him closer. "I said silence ." At the same time, his other hand gently squeezed Frin's shoulder.

Frin's trembling eased but did not stop. Kew released him and opened the pack. He drew out the jar of apple blossom honey.

Yes, said the Lady with a sigh that was a puff of dust. Bring it to me.

Kew took a step toward the throne. The Beast rises and I have made peace with it, and will ride it to the conquest of Black Tower— had he spoken? Yellow feathers seemed to rustle in his mind. Was he speaking now ?

"Kew?" said Frin, and he realized he was listing to one side.

The Lady had cocked her head. Is there a problem? she said.

"Thistle honey is a wondrous thing," said Kew, rubbing one hand across his eyes. The floor was tilting wildly. He took another step. "It is too powerful for me." He nearly fell, but he kept walking. His stomach was doing flips. "But for one of your lineage—for the Willow Lady—"

Yes, said the Lady. Yes, yes, yes. For me, it will be perfect.

She sighed again, and Kew, at the foot of the throne, felt a soft rain of soot on his face. The Lady stood up on the edge of her seat and jumped. Her skirt ballooned out, making her fall slow and graceful. She landed right in front of him, and her eye gleamed into his.

I have never seen a light like I see in you, she said. You are a fitting giver of gifts. She put out a hand like a bundle of singed twigs. Give it to me.

He set the jar in her hand. The Lady was laughing.

Your wish is granted, she said as she uncorked the jar. Let it be known that Kew of Grey Tower, he who has brought me this miracle, is henceforth Hawthorn, Guardian of the Grey Tower and a Knight of the Lady, and let all do her honor.

The floor turned upside down, and Hawthorn slid, her body pressing itself onto what was now the ceiling. Frin's face bent over her, swimming.

"Kew—" said Frin. "Hawthorn!"

In the background, she saw the Lady extend a wet pink tongue to lick up the contents of the jar. The hum in the air took on a higher pitch. She was giggling, spewing dust into the honey even as she drank it. Hawthorn convulsed. In a voice not her own, she said,

"The Beast rises and I, the Obsidian Lady, have made peace with it, and will ride it to the conquest of Black Tower."

The Lady began to scream with rage. Hawthorn's vision dwindled to Frin's face. Weeping, Frin guttered like a candle and went out.