Ansella lay cuddled beside her lover before her private drawing room fire, Ibbit's arm heavy around her. "You're spending a great deal of time here lately, love. Shouldn't you be more at the Hearth?"
Ibbit squeezed her waist. "I have others helping my cause there. For now, I think it best I should be known to be with you as often as possible."
Ansella frowned, absently running her fingers along the woolen weave of Ibbit's green robes. "Why is it so important that your being here be known?"
"I saw your son today," said Ibbit, playing with a curl escaped from Ansella's hair. "He was paying a mourning call with his senior clergy—and I use the term 'clergy' lightly. When I'm Eldest Sister, there will be an end to visits from the likes of them, I assure you."
Ansella sat up and took Ibbit's hands. "How is he? Did he say anything? Did he look well?"
"He looked the same as he did at his birthday," said Ibbit, jerking her head. "He asked after my health very prettily. I'll say this for that whorehouse, they've taught him impeccable manners."
Ansella dropped Ibbit's hands. "Ibbit, you know I dislike it when you talk about the Lovers' Temple in that way."
"He sent you a message, though." Ansella brightened and brought her hands back to Ibbit's thigh. "He said to tell you he loves you and misses you and hopes to see you as soon as you might come to him now that his father seems to have ended open warfare against him. You won't go, of course."
Whyever not? Ibbit disapproved of her relationship with her son; Ansella never understood why. Ibbit had known him since childhood. True, they had not often gotten along, but as his religious advisor Ibbit had to know what a good boy her Temmin was—so cheerful, so kind. He had grown into a good man, strong and full of conviction, walking in the ways of the Gods, if not the Gods she would have chosen for him. Ibbit preached that men and women were inherently incompatible—certainly true in Ansella's own marriage and her parents'—but that couldn't extend to her only son. When Ibbit got like this, Ansella had learned it was best to nod and be silent. Let her lover think she agreed; it cost her nothing. She would find a way to see Temmin soon without Ibbit discovering it. She returned to the Sister's arms.
"Oh, my sweet girl, I'm so sorry," said the priestess.
"I imagine Temmin and I will run into one another at some state occasion or other."
"Oh no, not for that. No, I meant about the King's current slut openly disrespecting you yesterday."
Ansella blinked. Harsin had promised her he would never bring shame on her, never place another woman above her in the public eye. "What do you mean?"
"Didn't you hear? Twenna Shelstone rode through town bold as brass, straight up to the Foothill Lodge gate for everyone to see—practically a parade. She may as well have worn a sign round her neck with 'King's Whore' painted on it. Then she sat in the Duke of Corland's box at the theater last night. Everyone knows Corland wouldn't have been seen with her except at the King's request. He even came to sit with the Duke during intermission and acted surprised to see her there, but kissed her on both cheeks in front of everyone. Or so I heard."
Ansella choked with rage. "He's acknowledged her publicly?"
"I'm so sorry, my sweetheart, but men betray us. We're better off without them."
Angry tears stung Ansella's eyes, and her heart gave an unexpected thud. "Yes!" she cried. "Yes, we are!" She subsided into silence. I will not cry over Harsin's faithlessness, I will not cry.
Ibbit broke the silence. "You have never sounded so sure of it."
"I've never been so sure of it," said Ansella into Ibbit's shoulder. "I hate them."
After a pause, Ibbit said, "You support my candidacy as Eldest Sister, don't you, Ansella?"
Ansella blinked away her last unshed tears. "Yes, of course!"
"You will say so when the time comes?"
She snuggled closer into Ibbit's arms. "Nothing could make me happier."
"Then it is time for me to tell you why it is so important, why you must. So very much is at stake. Do you swear you are a true daughter of Venna?"
"Of course I am!"
"Swear it, Ansella. Say, 'I am a true daughter of Venna.'"
"I am a true daughter of Venna," the Queen repeated in some consternation. "I have always been true to Her, above all other Gods. She has been everything to me, my sole support since I began taking instruction with you."
Ibbit stood. "I must go back to the Sister's Temple, but I will leave you with this." She took two books from her apron pocket, one the familiar green-bound Sister's Saga and the other a thin book bound in gray leather. She handed the second to Ansella. "This is one of the last copies. Do not show it to anyone—no one, not even Sedra. She will come to know it in time as she learns the faithlessness of men. Hide it. I have given you almost all the teaching, and would give you this final teaching myself, but there isn't time, and this explains it so clearly, so forcefully! When you've read it, you will know why it is so vital I become Eldest Sister. The old guard, they know nothing. I can bring us back to the True Way of Venna, and help restore the Goddess to Her Oneness." Ansella frowned. Oneness? Ibbit pulled Ansella to her feet and kissed her, driving the question from her head. "I need you standing by my side, darling. Will you be beside me?"
"Until I die, Ibbit. I love you."
The priestess smiled and kissed her again. "I love you too, my sweet girl." She straightened her robes, strode from the drawing room into the formal receiving room, winked and shut the door.
Ansella sighed and settled back onto the couch; it was already growing cold where Ibbit's solid body had been. The warmth and security Ibbit brought never lasted long after the priestess's departure. Yet in the last few spokes, especially since Wirdun's health failed and the competition for Eldest Sister began, Ibbit's attentions were more suffocating, her conversation more pointed. Something was not quite right between them, to the point that Ansella had suffered unfamiliar bouts with nerves. She didn't eat when she was out of sorts; she'd taken to wearing tippets to hide her protruding collarbones. Though she still loved Ibbit, she withheld more from her now.
How Ansella loathed the City. It scraped against her soul like a cloak woven of fresh nettles; she wished to throw it off and ride home to Whithorse's rolling hills. How long it had been since she'd ridden. Social obligations overwhelmed her, and Ibbit took up her remaining free time.
She wasn't sleepy, and had no one to call for company. She would have loved to talk with Temmin; though she was proud of him, she wished he were home. Listening to him ramble on in his funny way about the goings-on in the stables and his sisters' foibles was usually enough to banish a dark mood. Sedra's nose was out of joint at present, and she was sulky around everyone. Ellika was never home of an evening; tonight it was a card party in the City. Ansella would die before she called for Harsin.
Harsin's unfaithfulness weighed more on her at the Keep than it had at the Estate. She always knew who his mistresses were; everyone did, though publicly he danced with them now and again and not much more. Never took them to the theater or the opera, never rode out with them, never walked the Promenade with them, always made sure they were never seen going directly to assignations at the Lodge or anywhere else, never brought them into the Keep unless for some event such as a ball, and never kept one under his own roof. Their bargain was this: she would not cause a public scene about the other women, he would not parade them. He'd kept his promise for twenty-three years, but now, just when she'd finally returned to the Keep, just when she needed him to keep that promise the most, he'd broken it. He'd never openly acknowledged a favorite before. Never. Of all his women, sophisticated beauties the lot, why would he flaunt this brainless Shelstone chit?
She looked at the little gray book in her hand. It had no writing on its worn cover. The first two dozen or so pages were a text on beekeeping, but finally she turned to a page that read: "The Truth About the Gods." Ibbit's words about the "oneness of the Goddess" resounded; cold tendrils wound around her chest and squeezed.
Ansella turned the page and began to read.
In the beginning there was the Void, and the Void took form and became the Lady. She was all that there was, and she was beautiful. But the Lady was lonely; She wished for children, and so she took one of Her eyes and one of Her finger bones and made a spindle. She spun Her hair into fine thread and unwound it all around Her in a great cloud, and from it she formed all things—the earth, the stars, the plants, the animals and the people, all spun from Her hair, woven by Her fingers, enlivened with Her breath.
All were as the Lady. There was no male thing in the world—
Ansella threw the book from her in horror. These were the words of the Murderess of Turus—the heretic Sister Anniki of Litta.
Had she been so smitten not to see it? Ibbit had never come right out and declared men an abomination. She'd said men were so busy thinking about their pricks they had no desire for a spiritual life, and Ansella's experience had thoroughly borne that out—excepting her own son.
But no. Ibbit had said much more, and in her anger against Harsin and love for Ibbit, Ansella had let the priestess's meaning pass over her.
Ansella recalled Sister Anniki's trial nearly twenty years gone. Ansella was heavily pregnant with Temmin then and did not want to be there, but Anniki stood charged of treason as well as heresy; her plans for rebellion had included the murder of the royal family. Harsin was to pass judgment on the woman, but he never got the chance; Venna seized Her Embodiment without warning and passed judgment Herself. Ansella remembered Anniki's bruised purple face as the Goddess squeezed the life from her, how the blood sluiced neatly around Venna's feet, and how She threw Anniki's drained husk down into its own gore. Just before She released Her Embodiment, Venna said the words that reverberated throughout Ansella's life: Guard your son.
Ansella had done so; she'd sheltered him from assassins and loose women alike for the first eighteen years of his life, but she'd missed Ibbit completely. Was it possible he'd been given some long-acting poison? The Eldest Sister must see him at once. No, the Eldest Sister was dead—Imvalda. Imvalda was acting Eldest Sister. Temmin might be dying right now, she must do something. Fear, rage and mortification rose up from her stomach; her hand shook as pulled on the bell for her ladies maid.
Miss Hanston served as unofficial gatekeeper to those who might be an annoyance to Her Majesty, including Her Majesty's offspring. To those so deemed, she was as rocky and impenetrable as the Keep itself, but on her royal charge she showered her softest and most beneficent expressions. "Hanston," said Ansella once the boulder-shaped lady was before her, "go fetch Teacher. I need him immediately."
"Teacher?" shuddered Miss Hanston. "Oh, ma'am, he's way up in the Tower Library!"
"Send a footman—I can't wait for Harsin—" Ansella leapt to her feet; she ran through her round receiving room to the hallway, where a duty man waited near her door. "Josip. Run up the Tower stairs and fetch Teacher. And I mean run, not walk quickly!" At the suppressed fear in the young man's face—either of Teacher, the steep climb, or both—she stomped her foot. "Must I find someone properly obedient? Run!"
Josip started. "Yes, Your Majesty!" He pelted down the hallway.
Ansella turned to Miss Hanston, who had rumbled through the receiving room after her to the hallway door. "Go find Winmer. Tell him the King must attend to an urgent matter immediately."
"Yes, ma'am," said Miss Hanston, her face creased in worry. She clasped the Queen's shaking hands, a liberty allowed by long acquaintance. "My dear, dear lady, what's amiss? Are you ill? I'll send for a tisane, shall I?"
"No. I shan't be going down to dinner tonight. I want nothing—only send for the King. If he..." If he is with the Shelstone woman... "If he is not at the Keep, tell Winmer he must be found. It is most, most urgent. Never worry, Hanston. Find the King and send Teacher to me. All will be well." The maid hesitated, unwilling to leave her mistress in such a state. "Go, Hanston, please, just go!" Ansella begged, squeezing the other woman's hand. Miss Hanston curtseyed and hurried down the hall toward the King's suite.
Ansella returned to her drawing room, fingers steepled against her mouth as she wandered back and forth before the fire. Ibbit, an Annikan. I will not cry over her, an enemy of my son is an enemy of mine. But the tears fell no matter how often she repeated it.
Was there anyone who could be trusted in the Sister's Temple? Perhaps Imvalda was an Annikan. No, that couldn't be. Ibbit ranked lower than Imvalda. Wouldn't it be easier to take control of the Sisterhood without a fight over the succession? Imvalda was still relatively young, though; if she weren't an Annikan, it would be at least twenty years—perhaps thirty—before an Annikan could try again. Ibbit would need the sponsorship of a great personage to beat Imvalda…someone like the Queen.
She paced and paced, waiting for Teacher. Why hadn't Ibbit killed Temmin, when she'd had five years to do it? No—it made sense. If her only son died, Ansella would be set aside for a younger woman who could bear a new Heir; it had happened in the past. Ibbit needed a Queen, so Temmin lived—until now. She wouldn't need Ansella much longer. No, not much longer at all, the false woman, the woman who'd said she loved her, and why wouldn't she kill Temmin now? Ansella let out a panicked moan.
Teacher arrived quicker than she'd expected, slender, elegant hands clasped before the habitual black robes draping the counselor's slight frame. "Your Majesty, how may I serve you?" said Teacher with a bow.
In her anguish, Ansella ran up and caught the pale hands in her own. "It's Ibbit—you must make sure Temmin is safe, she might do something—might already have done! I don't know where Harsin is, and—"
Teacher tugged on her wrists. "Stop! Calm yourself, ma'am. I can find the King if Mr Winmer is unavailable, but you must tell me what has happened." Ansella retrieved the gray leather-bound book and gave it over. Teacher didn't even bother to open it, silver eyes wide in astonishment. "I thought these were all destroyed when the Scholars burned Anniki's body. Where did you get this?"
"My religious advisor. Sister...Sister Ibbit." Ansella covered her mouth and nose with her hands and turned away.
"Very well," said Teacher. "First we will see to Prince Temmin. I shall go to the Lovers' Temple and alert the Temple's Own immediately. Until this situation is resolved, the Prince should be kept here. The Most Highs will understand. I will bring him back with me, and then I will proceed to the Hearth to speak with the Elder Sisters."
"You will tell me when Temmin is here?" said Ansella, her voice breaking at last.
"Lady, I will bring him directly to you." Ansella followed Teacher into her elegant, bright, circular receiving room where a set of mirrors flanked the fireplace. "I will be back as quickly as possible," said Teacher. "Show me the Supplicants Chamber lavatory." The right-hand mirror flickered. A small, white-tiled room replaced the celadon-walled receiving room's reflection; Ansella's stomach lurched.
Teacher paused, slender fingers half-sunk into the nauseating, fluid mirror, and in a gentle voice added, "Your Majesty, Temmin is alive and well, and will remain so. You have done the right thing, as painful as it is at this moment." Teacher swirled into the mirror until all that was left were the hems of the long black robe; they too passed through, the image in the mirror resolved into the celadon bowl of her receiving room, and Ansella was alone.
She returned to her darkened drawing room and curled into a ball on the couch before the fire. She glanced at the porcelain mantelpiece clock, a blue confection trimmed in gilt and pink porcelain roses. Harsin had given it to her on their first anniversary. He'd said it reminded him of her: the blue of her eyes, the gold of her hair and the blush of her cheek. Where was Harsin? He must be with the Shelstone woman.
Now and then would come a knock at the door and a polite request to see to the fire, trim the lamps, bring Her Majesty a tray, perhaps her bedtime tea? Ansella did not answer. She stared into the flames, hugging her knees. The already-starved fire burned low; a lamp flame fainted.
Sisters, Lovers and Beloveds passed between the Lovers' Temple and the Healer's House all the time. Who knew what might happen before the Sisters rooted out the Annikans? Teacher would see to it. No harm would come to Temmin. Please, Sweet Venna, let no harm come to him. Guard my son.
"What do you mean, the kitchen's closed?" said Temmin.
"I mean it's closed," said Anda, lounging on her alcove bed with a book. "Not the cooks' fault you decided to see that hulk of a Postulant instead of eating."
"Mathanus and I've been trying to get some time alone for weeks now!"
"Was it worth missing dinner, oh bottomless pit?"
Temmin considered his stomach, and then the rest of him. "Let me put it this way. Math needs practice with women. You won't regret giving him some." He flopped down on the bed next to her. "You have nothing squirreled away? Not even chocolates?"
"You ate the last of my chocolates, little piggy—oof! Giant piggy! Get off!"
"I'm searching you for chocolates!"
"Are you now?" Anda giggled. "I wouldn't hide chocolates there."
"Really? There's plenty of room under here."
"They'd melt."
"I could lick them off."
"Could you now—Oi!" yelled Anda. "Where in Harla did he come from?"
Temmin rolled away from her and jumped to his feet, ready to fight. "Teacher?" he said, dropping his fists. "What are you doing here?"
"Where did he come from?" repeated Anda.
"The lavatory. Good evening, Miss Barrows," Teacher said to the puzzled Supplicant. "I am glad to see you well, Your Highness."
Temmin swept the slight figure up in his arms. "Teacher! I've missed you so much!"
"And I you—Temmin, put me down, please."
He did so and helped smooth the robes covering Teacher's severe white shirt, black suit and Tremontine red cravat; Temmin wondered if the Tower Library closet contained anything besides. Or perhaps there was just this one set of clothes.
"How're Mother and my sisters? How's Jenks? Is he still in Reggiston? How are you? What in Pagg's name are you doing here? Tell me everything!
"I am here to take you back to the Keep immediately. You are in danger."
Temmin settled back down on the edge of Anda's bed; Anda herself had retreated into its recesses to peer out at the curious pale figure with the iron-colored hair and strange eyes. "I'm always in danger," said Temmin.
After extracting a promise of secrecy from Anda on her vows as Supplicant, Teacher summed up the situation. "This is a more pressing danger than even your uncles' assassins. We do not know who among the Sisters currently in the Lovers' Temple may be trusted, nor do we know if you have sustained any damage from a long-acting poison Ibbit may have slipped you. You must be seen by a trusted Sister, or...or better." Teacher's face clouded over in thought. "I do not think it likely, but all possible threats must be assessed. In any event, you cannot stay here. I must take you back to the Keep until the situation is stable—at the least until Sister Ibbit is taken up and her sympathizers identified."
Anda had scooted across the bed to slip concerned arms around Temmin's neck from behind. "We should get word to the Most Highs, or at least Allis and Issak. Shall I go?"
"The Embodiments are not involved in this. Temmin, on my authority you are excused until such time as we can guarantee your security here. The Most Highs will not dispute this." Temmin rose and tugged at the fastenings of his red linen trousers; Teacher put a restraining hand on his arm. "We have no time for you to change. Your mother is sick with worry. We must go back to the Keep, and I must go to the Hearth to see the acting Eldest Sister. I will speak with High Beloved Malla in the morning."
Anda walked with them into the lavatory and gave Temmin a quick kiss goodbye. "I'll be back soon," he said. "Give Allis and Issak a kiss from me. Don't be scared at what you're about to see, it's harmless, I promise." As Teacher pulled him through the mirror, he looked back into the white-tiled room; a terrified Anda touched her head, her heart and her groin: Amma's Sign, a blessing to protect against the Black Man.
They emerged into his mother's receiving room. Temmin blinked against the room's brighter light, and a chill shot through him. He wore nothing but his thin Supplicant uniform, and the Keep was considerably colder than the Temple. His mother ran to him from her drawing room door. He caught her up in his arms. "I'm all right, Mama, I'm fine, see? Please don't cry. Where's your handkerchief? There, now." He reached into the pocket in her wrapper where he knew she always kept one, awkwardly dried her eyes and dabbed at her nose. He'd done this many a time for petitioners, but comforting the woman who'd always comforted him made him clumsy; she'd never presented such a face to him before, lined with tears and care.
"You're well? Have you had him checked for poisons yet, Teacher?"
"Ma'am, we have just returned. I must be off to the Hearth now to speak with Sister Imvalda. I believe there is time yet before His Highness must be examined. The Traveler Queen is nearby if necessary."
Ansella swallowed hard, fighting back a new gust of tears so fiercely she shook in Temmin's arms. "That is good. Tell Imvalda I will support her as Eldest Sister to the best of my ability."
"Where's Father?" said Temmin.
"On his way back to the Keep, I surmise," answered Teacher. "Mr Winmer has been sent personally for him, and if he has not arrived by the time I am returned from the Hearth I will fetch him myself. Now, I really must go." Teacher turned back toward the nearest of the two mirrors. "Show me Imvalda of the Sister's Temple."
The receiving room mirror wavered into the image of a middle-aged woman sitting in a comfortable if sparsely furnished apartment. Her image was somewhat distorted and to one side; Temmin thought it must be a reflection from something shiny rather than from a smooth mirror. The woman's habit was the Elder Sisters' inky green. Her uncovered hair was black, heavily salted with silver and shoulder-length in the Sisters' style. Her profile was strong but not unkind—a patient, watchful, handsome face. She leaned against a slightly younger woman clad in green a shade lighter, her expression intelligent and filled with humor. They both held books in their hands, and golden light as if from a fire flickered across their faces. The younger woman absently kissed the black-and-silver head against her shoulder.
Teacher swirled through, and the image vanished.
Ansella stumbled against her son, and Temmin grabbed her by the elbows. "Come, Mama, back to your fire." He supported her into the gloomy drawing room and onto the blue tufted couch beside the fire; he propped her feet up on the couch and covered her in a thick shawl draped across the couch's arm. "It's dark as Harla's Hill in here." He made to turn up the nearest lantern and discovered the wick had burned all the way down. He trimmed and relit it, turned up the second lantern on the table opposite, and stoked the fire into a fine blaze again. "You used to sit in the dark and brood at home when you were upset. You haven't eaten, have you?" He didn't wait for her answer but went straight to the bell pull and called for Miss Hanston.
The ladies maid appeared as if she'd been waiting outside the door, already bearing a laden tray and an expression that said she'd spoon it into the Queen's mouth herself if she had to. Her stony facade crumbled into pebbles at the sight of Temmin. "Your Highness! When did you arrive?"
"I snuck in the back door, Hanston, how are you?" he grinned. He took the tray from her, set it on a small table before the fire and shook the maid's hand. "She won't tell me anything, and so I must resort to you. Has she been poorly for long?"
Miss Hanston shook her heavy rock of a head. "She hasn't been eating proper for some spokes, sir—hasn't—" and here her face petrified again— "hasn't since you left us, in fact, but especially this last week." She twisted her hands, spoiling her foreboding walls and crenellated battlements.
"It's all right, Hanston, you may go," said Temmin. "I'll make sure she eats."
Miss Hanston left with a dubious glance and closed the door behind her. Temmin raised the cover on the plate; a fine aroma of roast chicken struck his nose, and his stomach gurgled for its lost dinner. "I'm not hungry, sweetheart, why don't you eat it?" said Ansella.
"No, none of that. You eat this, or it's Nurse's beef tea and custard. I'll bring her here from the Estate nursery if I have to, and then you're in for it." He settled on a footstool and gazed up at her. She frightened him—as pale and transparent as onionskin, so unlike the happy, strong mother he could always depend upon.
She took up her fork and began picking at her food. "Really, Temmy, I can't eat, I can't..." The fork clattered to the tray, and she pressed her hands to her face. "I am not ill, sweetheart," she said, her voice muffled. She dropped her hands. "At least I am not...not bodily ill. I suppose one could say I suffer from an oppression of the spirit."
"But what is oppressing your spirit, Mama—or is it a who? I hope it's not me—please tell me it's not me," he said, putting his hands on her knee.
"No, no, though I've missed you and worried for you dreadfully." She cupped his cheek, brushing his golden beard with her thumb. "I am so, so very proud of you, sweetheart."
Her hand was cold. He took it from his cheek and chafed it, willing warmth into her. "You haven't answered me, Mama."
She burst into tears, her free hand shielding her eyes from him. "I hate it here! I want to go home, but I can't!"
"It's Father, isn't it? Is he hurting you?" cried Temmin. Ansella gave a small shrug that said perhaps, but far from all. "Then who? Mama, tell me who it is and I will...I will do something, I will make him stop."
"I've stopped her myself!" she sobbed.
Temmin had never seen her like this. She resembled Ellika as a child, shaking in unfeigned, complete grief over some trouble; they were so much alike. An idea crept over him, obvious and uncomfortable enough for him to wish it hadn't. "Stopped who, Mama?" Her? He ran through every woman close to his mother. Not the girls, obviously. Hanston? Dear Amma, no. The only woman that might matter this much to his mother was...
Ansella shook her head, still shielding her eyes. "Please—don't ask any more!"
He didn't need to. Every sign he'd been trained to see had been there all along. Anyone seeing her now would know, with no training at all. He swayed inside like a tree with its roots cut. Ibbit—that horrid woman had insinuated herself into their lives at the Estate more than he knew.
When his equilibrium steadied, he moved his mother's legs to sit beside her. He gathered her into his arms as he would any petitioner seeking the most basic human solace and held her close. Ansella calmed and settled against Temmin's side, their roles reversed; her sobs slowed to a few gasps as she swallowed her grief.
When Miss Hanston arrived after a discreet period, he relinquished his limp mother to her maid. He expected a grim remonstrance, but instead, Miss Hanston's rutted face stayed soft: gentle in her dealings with the Queen, near-despairing when she looked up at him. "Get her to bed, Hanston, she's worn to a nub." At this, Miss Hanston hardened into a gray brick wall with I know my job, thank you written across it. Temmin gave his mother a last kiss and hug. "Good night, Mama, I will see you at breakfast."
As he strode down the corridor to his old rooms, the thought of the next day's breakfast reminded him he'd had nothing to eat. He would order a tray once he'd changed into warmer clothes. He opened the door to his study.
The fire had been lit, as had the lamps. Everything appeared just as it had the night Teacher had spirited him away to the Lovers' Temple almost a year ago, right from under his father's nose: the moss green velvet sofa; the wing chair he never sat in; the wuisc, brandy and barisha decanters lined up on the sideboard; the tea table by the windows; the heavily-laden bookcases; the globe atop the long library table. One new thing now inhabited the room: a lectern he recognized from the Tower Library, Teacher's own study. Atop it lay a familiar book bound in ancient Tremontine red leather. The faded gilt lettering on its front cover read, An Intimate History of the Greater Kingdom.
The book. The magic book that had changed his life in so many ways.
Temmin's magical sensibilities had grown since he'd first looked in the book; he saw sigils invisible to others—the fertility charms glowing silver on the twins' left hips, the glow of possession when Gods came down into their Embodiments—and when Teacher watched him in a reflection he could see his observer clearly. He couldn't use reflections himself to see or travel without Teacher's assistance, but he wondered if some day he might. Teacher seemed to think so, a prospect frightening as well as enticing.
When he'd first opened it a year ago, the pages were blank. Only when Teacher "read" to him did they come alive. First, words bloomed on the page. Then the words turned to pictures, the pictures began to move, and he was drawn into the story, experiencing it from one set of eyes and then another. Last year the book had told him the story of his ancestor King Warin the Wise and the enchanted Princess Emmae of the Kingdom of Leute—now the Duchy of Litta. It was a story of such erotic passion that he'd had difficulty remembering who he was whenever the book released him. The kings of Tremont still had magic then, magic his family lost some 350 years ago, and though Warin was powerful it wasn't enough to break the curse on Emmae. Instead, she broke it herself.
Temmin learned so much from that story. Leadership. Sacrifice. Servitude. The wages of pride. The hearts of women—or at least the heart of Emmae, his spirited, many-times great-grandmother. How it had helped him see what he had done to Mattie! Would he still consider that moment in the hedge a year ago good fun otherwise? He couldn't say, but it had stopped him from doing the same to Arta Dannikson.
Temmin wondered what the book might still teach him, and if he'd ever be able to read it himself. Perhaps that time had come? He crossed to the lectern, anxiety mixing with anticipation as he opened it.
He peeked at the pages. Still blank. He frowned and said, "Once upon a time...?" Nothing. Well, it would have been a mixed blessing anyway.
Temmin shambled through his bedchamber into the gigantic wardrobe, everything as neat as if Jenks were in the next room instead of kicking his heels in Reggiston: clothes brushed, shoes and boots polished, fresh linen and stockings filling the drawers, for all the world as if he were expected back any moment rather than a year from now. He shucked off his uniform, pulled on an old pair of trousers and a shirt over clean undergarments, and shoved his bare feet into his most broken-down, comfortable pair of carpet slippers.
After a tug on the study's bell pull, a footman appeared to take an order for "something edible and plenty of it," and to summon however many of Temmin's sisters who might be flitting about the Keep to his room. In moments, his oldest sister Sedra flung open the door. "What are you doing here?" She ran up and took him by the hands. "Do Mama and Papa know you're here? What's going on? Are you all right?"
He kissed her cheek. "Too many questions before I've eaten! Here, sit. Shall I call for barisha? My decanter's empty."
"Brandy, please. Elly drinks barisha. It's too sweet for me." He raised an eyebrow but poured two fingers from the sideboard decanter into a snifter and handed it over. She warmed the glass in her hand and settled into the wing chair. "One question at a time, then: What are you doing here?"
He laid out the story, skipping the intimate connection between their mother and her religious advisor. "I'm fine as far as I know. Mama's worried I may have some long-acting poison in me or something, but I'm far more worried about her. Seddy, she's come undone!"
Sedra took a breath to speak, but a discreet knock heralded the arrival of Temmin's meal; she sipped at her brandy instead. One footman set the tea table before the fire, while the other laid out the cart's plentiful something edible. Their task completed, they left the room with a visible excitement in their step. They would be popular tonight; none of the other servants had seen the mysteriously returned Prince.
"This is what I've missed the most," said Temmin. "Our kitchens close after a certain hour, but I can always get something to eat here."
"What you've missed most is the food?"
He gave a small, snorting laugh. "No, of course not." He took a huge bite from a cold chicken leg, swallowed, and added, "I've missed you girls and Mama—and Jenks. Have you heard from him? He is an indifferent correspondent at best."
"You of all people haven't any grounds for complaint. Jenks writes to Mama. She says he's doing well, something about training your friend Fen Wallek. Listen, Tem, I don't want to talk about Jenks! I'm terribly worried about Mama. I've tried to get Papa to intervene between her and that Ibbit, but he doesn't care about a single thing I say..." She shrugged angrily and took a full enough drink from her snifter that Temmin almost choked from the imagined fumes. "I've been trying to get her away from Ibbit for the last year. Since you left for the Temple. I even wondered if that bitch was poisoning her. I did manage to get Papa to insist she be seen for her lack of appetite and listlessness—he was beginning to worry about her himself. She wanted Ibbit to do it, but Eldest Sister Wirdun said it wasn't proper for her religious advisor to be her healer."
"And?"
"She's fine. At least she's not being poisoned." Sedra rubbed her eyes; how tired and drawn his sister looked, far more than she had at his birthday ball. "I just wish Mama didn't love her so."
Temmin dropped his fork, tried to catch it on the way down to the floor and nearly knocked over his wine glass. "I'm sorry—what?"
"All that fancy training, and you didn't know Ibbit is Mama's lover?"
"I...I grasped it when I came home tonight. How long have you known?"
Sedra slowly shook her head, keeping her eyes on the amber liquid swirling in her glass. "About five years now."
"That's almost as long as Ibbit's been Mama's religious advisor!"
"Oh, she started in on Mama almost immediately."
Temmin sat back against the couch cushions, his supper forgotten. "How did you know?"
"You're not the only one with a talent for observation. And Ibbit left a love letter Mama wrote tucked into a book she lent me," she added sheepishly. "I think she wanted me to know for some reason."
The two siblings stared moodily, Sedra into her snifter, Temmin into his food. He cut a hunk of cheese, topped it with pickled onion and mustard, and ate it while Sedra took another long sip of her brandy. He swallowed and said, "What I don't understand is why."
"Why what?"
"Why Mama took a lover!"
"Oh, honestly, she's not just your mother, she's a woman, and still fairly young—Tem, if you don't get that look off your face, I'll slap it off. D'you think it's been enjoyable to know all this about my own mother and have no one to talk to about it?" she snapped.
"You could have told me, or Elly." He ignored her answering scoff, and continued, "But why did she pick a woman? Especially Ibbit?"
"Who else could she turn to? She's the Queen! She can't take a male lover—she'd be executed. She can't even go to the Lovers' Temple. Have you learned no history?" In truth, his only tutor who'd ever said anything about the Kingdom's royal women was Teacher, and they'd finished only Emmae's story before he'd left the Keep. His sister continued. "Mama was lonely and vulnerable, and she's too proud to admit she loves Papa, and...and he's a hard man to love." She stifled a sob. Temmin winced inside; seeing Sedra so emotional was like surprising her in her underclothes. "Ibbit found an empty space and filled it. She can be very charismatic and charming when she wants to be, and in the right light is quite attractive."
"I don't think the human eye can see that sort of light. At least mine never have."
"Don't women come to your Temple for comfort in the arms of other women?"
Temmin recalled the many times in the last year he'd seen women make love to one another, thoughts of his mother firmly tamping down any erotic impulse. "Of course. But they come to us because they are at a time of life when they risk pregnancy otherwise, or because their husbands forbid them Lovers but not Beloveds, or because their impulses are childish and they desire women. In time we hope they'll mature, but often they don't, poor things."
"And among the women of your Temple?"
"Well...they do it because they must practice for the petitioners' sakes."
Sedra laughed. "You really believe that? And why, oh servant of the Lovers, are affairs among men tolerated, even encouraged, and not among women? Why do young nobles become Students to older Mentors—why is that partnership honored, revered as the most meaningful, pure and virtuous of all, and two women loving one another is considered childish, foolish, degrading and sordid, even though Neya and Venna both took mortal women as lovers?"
"Because..." Temmin furrowed his brow. He'd never thought about it. No one at the Temple had said anything to him about it all year, and he'd never thought to ask. It was just the nature of things; everyone knew this.
Sedra rose to her feet and hugged him. "It doesn't matter, just something to think about. I'm glad you're here. Mama will be easier with you close."
He slept fitfully that night in the now-unfamiliar bed, wondering how he could have missed something so obvious. A year ago, before he'd become a Supplicant, Allis had said he was quite perceptive when he wanted to be. He must not have wanted to perceive very much at all if his mother had been having an affair right under his nose for five years. Then there was this supposed threat to his life. He just couldn't take it that seriously. His uncles' assassins with crossbows and daggers? Yes. Grumpy, man-hating Sisters? Not really. He finally dropped off, missing Anda's snoring.
Temmin woke the next morning to someone moving through his room. "Jenks?" he called, sitting up and ruffling his hair.
From beyond the bed-curtains came a level voice he recognized as Gram, his father's valet. "No, sir. I'm tending to your needs until my nephew Mr Harbis arrives this afternoon." Gram opened first the bed-curtains then the draperies, letting the gray winter light creep apologetically past the valet's square shoulders into the bedchamber.
Temmin flung himself down on the pillows again. "Harbis? Oh, Pagg's balls," he muttered to himself. He'd had to put up with Harbis as his valet last year when Jenks was called away. The elegant man was irritatingly good at his job, his sole flaw being that he wasn't Jenks—Jenks, the dispenser of advice from fashion to horses, more a father to him than the King. The gravel-voiced ex-cavalryman had been Temmin's personal servant since he could remember. The year they'd spent apart had been busy enough that Temmin hadn't had time to miss him much, but here outside the Temple he felt his old friend's absence greatly. "Gram, your nephew is all very well and good, but I'm not going to be here long enough to need him!"
"As you say, sir. Nevertheless, Mr Winmer has requested his presence. If you do not need him, I am sure there is some further employment for him here."
"Let him be Winmer's valet, then," grumbled Temmin. Harla take Winmer anyway. All the worst things at the Keep seemed to originate with his father's secretary—forcing Arta Dannikson into seducing him, blackmailing the twins, the near-murder of Arta and her sweetheart Fen Wallek, and now foisting an unwanted valet on him. It was enough to put a man in a mood.
Mood or no, he took the bath Gram drew for him and put on the clothes Gram set out for him. "I believe His Majesty expects you at breakfast this morning, sir."
Temmin found his father and sisters already sitting at the breakfast table in the sunny, robin's egg blue morning room; they stood at his arrival. Ellika bounded from her chair, almost overturning it in her eagerness. "I wanted to see you so much I got up for breakfast!" she crowed, hugging him tight.
He kissed her on both cheeks, patted her back toward her chair, and kissed Sedra before he turned to Harsin. Temmin took the King's outstretched hand and shook it warily. "Sir."
"Good morning, son, I'm glad to see you looking well after last night's excitement."
"I'm still not sure it was necessary, sir. The Temple's Own does a fine job."
"They could not protect you against a Sister the Lovers' Temple trusted." Harsin sat back down, his children followed suit, and his arrival's good feelings evaporated into an uncertain tension. Sedra picked at the corner of the newspaper at the top of her habitual morning stack; Ellika concentrated on spreading apricot jam on toast until she'd covered it in a thick, even coat from crust to crust.
Temmin fidgeted until he could stand it no longer. "What are we going to do about Mama?"
Harsin swallowed a bit of sausage. "We've done it. Ibbit is imprisoned awaiting trial, and the Sisters are purging Annikan sympathizers. I wouldn't go anywhere near the Hearth for the next four spokes for all the tea in Nija," he added in a mutter.
"I mean she's miserable, have you noticed nothing?" said Temmin.
"Have I noticed nothing—of course I've noticed it! Your mother does not do well in the City, it's why she's lived at the Estate all these years. I'd send her back if I could, but we'd both lose face now that you're grown."
"But what can we do for her?"
Harsin had taken on the red beginnings of a fine shade of purple when Sedra murmured, "I've called for Cousin Donnis."
"What?" said Harsin, his ill temper switching to his oldest daughter. "Without consulting me?"
"It seemed more important to bring her here quickly than ask for permission first. You won't deny Mama the comfort of her closest friend, surely?"
Harsin squinted at her in irritation. "Outmaneuvered again. I wish you were one of my generals in Endan. Damned Incharis don't know what's best for them. No, I won't begrudge her Lady Donnis, I've always liked the woman." He tapped his finger on the table. "Temmin, your mother will be better just having you near. I attribute her worry over you more than anything to her indisposition of late. It, ah, it's not too late to withdraw from the Temple. If you're worried about your mother, I'm sure the Most Highs would give you dispensation if you asked—or if I asked for you."
Ellika fumbled her toast; Sedra rattled her newspaper open.
"You're asking me to break a vow, sir, a very serious vow," Temmin said, turning an answering shade of red.
Harsin picked up his fork and pointed it at his son. "Worth a try. But the damage is done, in any event. Coming home now would probably make things worse, now that I think more on it." He tucked into his sausage.
"Well, that's good," said Temmin, "because I'm due back there sooner than later. Neya's Day is coming up."