The First Day of Spring's Beginning, 991 KY
Twenna Shelstone stepped down from her father's carriage into the throngs crowding the Lovers' Temple for the Neya's Day Spectacle. An orderly procession flowed from the Promenade to the Temple garden gates, where the Spectacle would be held. Postulants and servants bore hundreds of bright lanterns through the crowded gardens until every leaf seemed illuminated. Twenna fretted to be without even a footman to look after her, but she reassured herself. Harsin had said Winmer would find her there and protect her from unwanted advances.
Many spectators aimed sideways glances and outright stares at her; those who actually knew her greeted her in abstracted familiarity, too absorbed in anticipation of the night's events. What those events might be were in the most vague outlines in Twenna's mind: the Gods would possess their Embodiments, Nerr would chase Neya through the gardens until He caught Her—or until She let Him catch Her depending on how you interpreted the Sagas—and They would make love as the faithful filed past. Witnesses were blessed for the year in all the Gods' activities: music, poetry, performance of all kinds, and of course, love and sex. So blessed, the onlookers then found someone—or someones—to emulate the Gods and ensure the fertility of the earth, at least once on living ground if possible no matter how cold the night.
She pulled her fine wool cloak a little closer and wished she'd brought a muff with a handwarmer hidden inside, but her dresser had put her foot down: "Past the season, miss." Twenna wished someone had told the weather it was past the season.
Once inside the gardens, Twenna looked for her expected escort. Mr Winmer had chaperoned her at more than one event she'd unofficially attended with the King. But he was nowhere in sight, and no substitute came forward. Troubled, she began looking for Harsin. If she could keep him in view, her mind would be easier.
Embis Winmer was having a difficult evening.
First he'd trimmed one side of his little mustache shorter than the other. For one horrifying moment it appeared he'd have to shave his lip bare for the first time since he turned seventeen. After a tense series of snips the little mustache was quite a bit littler, but at least it was still there, and it was even.
Then his tailor sent word his new formal suit would not be ready. His current best was more than adequate for the occasion, but this was the first Neya's Day Spectacle he'd attended in ten years; he had high hopes for the evening once he'd delivered Miss Shelstone to the King for the night. Usually royal paramours who'd won the lottery had husbands to escort them and there was no need for Winmer to chaperone, but the young lady's father, the former tailor, had not won a ticket and Winmer had.
He left in more than enough time to beat the crowds or so he'd thought, but his carriage became snarled in the aftermath of an overturned barouche at the foot of Kingsbridge. By the time he arrived at the Lovers' Temple, he was just in time to see the gates locked. A Temple's Own captain barred his way. "Very sorry, sir. Ticket or no, you're not getting in."
Winmer raised his voice to an unaccustomed shout. "But I am the King's Secretary!"
"I don't care if you're the King himself," said the captain. "The Spectacle is beginning. Opening this gate before the Gods retire is dangerous." Neither cajoling nor threats moved the man. Winmer turned away, his face the color of the Tremontine red livery his coachman wore. Were he not an atheist, Winmer would have sworn the Gods were after him. He rarely failed the King, and tomorrow would be a difficult day in the office. And then there was the girl herself; leaving her alone among the revelers distressed him. He hoped Miss Shelstone had the sense to find a Lover to escort her until the King fetched her, poor little featherbrain.
Inside the Lovers' Temple itself, the Gods had nearly arrived. Starved, beaten, blindfolded, barely conscious, the twins now hung suspended on frames, each in separate but connected rooms. Barik, Temmin and the terrified Mathanus Postulant attended Issak; in the Goddess's Chamber, Glaes Beloved, Anda and an equally terrified Postulant Beloved named Justinna attended Allis.
Heavy clusters of rubies dangled from clamps on each of Issak's nipples and from his ball sac. He was panting now, head held low and sweat plastering his hair to his head. His erection had lengthened with the pain, seemingly the one unbreakable part of his body and the part the God would use the most mercilessly. His suffering increased his beauty, and Temmin fought the urge to take that length in his mouth and give Issak the release his body wanted, though Issak himself wasn't there any more.
Putting Issak through all this pain still made Temmin nauseous, but at least this time he was prepared for it. Mathanus was not. He wandered into the fumes of the censer at the frame's foot, the smoke's dream-inducing poison disguised in rich amber and woods; Temmin dragged him back, but between the drugged incense and the Embodiment's condition, Mathanus became violently ill. "Never worry, Mathanus Postulant," Barik told him as the big man rinsed his mouth. "It's why we have a basin here. Someone's bound to need it at some point."
Temmin doused the incense at a sign from Barik. The doors to the next room opened, letting in a whiff of Neya's tuberose-and-gardenia incense, and there was Allis, bound, blindfolded and clamped with diamonds. She was weeping, sagging against her restraints. Justinna Postulant and Anda stood at each side of the frame; Glaes knelt between Allis's legs. Barik sent Mathanus to open the doors to the gardens, and the men took up their positions around Issak: Temmin and Mathanus to each side, Barik kneeling between his legs.
At a signal, all six whipped off the clamps and pressed down hard on the tortured flesh with fingers or tongues as the twins screamed and bucked. Then, silence.
Barik and Glaes removed the blindfolds. Suffering fell from the two sculpted figures hanging on the frames. A rosy glow began in the twins' green eyes, growing until it enveloped their bodies. The Gods had arrived.
"Hello, Sister," said Nerr-in-Issak.
"Hello, Brother," said Neya-in-Allis.
They exchanged Their ritual taunts:
"Will this be the year You simply give Yourself to Me, Neya?"
"Why, are You afraid I'll outrun You this year?"
Back and forth, until Neya screamed at the mortals to release Her. Unfettered, She ran into the gardens to the gathered worshippers' roar. Nerr followed close behind Her, Temmin, Anda and the two Postulants after them both.
They ran along the gardens' lit paths, until they came to the wide expanse of lawn between the formal gardens and the grove of trees stretching dark and wild toward the river. Lantern-bearers hurried behind the runners, waiting to stake out a path for the worshippers. Behind them, muscular Lovers loitered with sections of a portable dais; the King and Queen attended the Spectacle this year and would be given a proper viewing platform wherever the Lovers happened to fall.
Fall They finally did, on the lawn near the fringe of the forest, but first Neya and Nerr led them all a chase through the trees, whipping rhododendron branches back into Their followers' faces to Temmin's great irritation. When they assembled the guarding circle round the Gods, they were all breathing hard; Justinna Postulant had lost her vest, the flounce on Anda's best skirt had ripped clean off, and Mathanus's blond hair resembled a haystack more than ever.
Nerr-in-Issak and Neya-in-Allis began Their ferocious annual coupling, rolling in the grass teeth bared and snapping at one another. The Supplicants and the two Postulants formed a loose ring around the Lovers. Other Temple staff caught up and reinforced the circle to keep the Gods in and the crowds safe; there had been lethal interactions in the past between the Lovers and Their worshippers during the Chase.
Lanterns formed a path from the Temple to the Gods' writhing bodies. The worshippers filed past to receive the blessing, some of the men already clutching themselves in arousal. Temmin found it less so. He knew Issak and Allis too well, empathized too deeply with their ordeals, found the Gods' incestuous use of their bodies too disturbing. He thought of the all-too-rare times he'd truly made love with the twins. Last Neya's Day and again on Nerr's Day were the only times they had all three been together, but the Gods possessed the Obbys then, as they did now. Some people, atheists or just the cynical, believed the twins were play-acting—or worse, perverted. Temmin knew better, perhaps because he alone among the worshippers could see the glow of possession about them. A rustling and clatter broke out behind him. His parents were ascending the portable dais. My happiness is complete.
Neya was screaming in ecstasy now, Her borrowed breasts bouncing as She straddled Nerr. With no Supplicant to deflower this year, who knew how long They'd be at it. Temmin resigned himself to a long, anxious night on the lawn.
Ansella's attentions were split. She grew agitated watching the Gods coupling and re-coupling on the lawn; she looked away to her son in the Lovers' guard, but that only increased her embarrassment. Where to look? The sooner this night was over, the better.
Harsin, on the other hand, was enjoying himself immensely. Neya's Day was one of his favorite Spectacles.
As a boy he'd waited all year for Eddin's Day as children do, but once he'd started attending the Neya's Day Spectacles at age 14, his enthusiasm for the day of toys and candy had dimmed considerably. Now it was a toss-up between the Farr's Day tournaments and the lovemaking of Neya's Day; he gave himself over to the holiday spirit at them both. He'd missed Neya's Day last year. That Temmin, making a fool of himself and endangering the throne—Harsin couldn't give his approval with his attendance, the commoners be damned. He'd even attempted blackmail by proxy against both Temmin and the Obbys to stop it, at the risk of his soul. No, he would have been allowed in, but he wouldn't have been made welcome. Ansella, on the other hand, had gone against her own inclinations and appeared on the dais last year, alone, to support her son.
Harsin glanced over at his wife. Her lips pressed tightly together, her eyes searched for somewhere to light, her cheeks were flushed. Would she ever admit to even a fraction of her passion? In their youth they'd suited one another in spite of themselves, and an unexpected yearning came over him. He wanted to lay his head in Ansella's lap again, as he had before she'd moved back to Whithorse and left him to his list. Why couldn't things be different between them?
He glanced into the crowd and found Twenna Shelstone there, younger than he was by more than twenty years—younger than Sedra. Her guileless eyes reflected the lantern light as she shifted from foot to foot; he couldn't see Winmer, but he was surely somewhere nearby. Harsin decided on a different outcome to the evening. He would make it up to the girl another time.
Harsin looked back at his wife. They were the same age. Experience lay in the corners of her eyes. A line between her brows had formed since her arrival at the Keep; he wondered if he were its cause, and how he might smooth it away.
Ansella looked up in time to catch a small smile twitching at his mouth. "My Lord?"
His smile widened. "I was remembering when we first were married."
The Queen blushed and pretended to watch the crowds. "That was long ago. What brought those times to mind?"
"The night, I suppose—we haven't attended a Neya's Day Spectacle together in years. I should never have let you go to Whithorse with the children."
"So you have told me many times."
"Ansella, look at me." She lifted her chin but kept her eyes on the nearby trees. "Were those times so terrible for you? We found a solace with each other, didn't we? More than solace."
"We were not a love match."
"Yet we have three children. Had you stayed, there would have been more." He took her hand in both of his, tracing the lines of her palm; he remembered she liked that.
Ansella curled her fingers around his. "What are you doing?"
"I'm seducing my wife. Be one with me tonight. Tell me you will, say 'Be one with me tonight,' say yes, Ansella."
Her hand stiffened in his, her temper radiating into his palm. "You maneuver your current mistress into the Spectacle, and then you try to seduce me," she growled.
Harsin stooped down. "I am asking you, not her. I have waited years for you, whether you think it or not. Say yes!" he whispered in her ear. His beard brushed against her skin. She shivered; her blush crept over the tops of her breasts. It still worked, he smiled to himself. "If you were not the Queen, I'd have you right here."
Ansella closed her eyes. Was she picturing it? "But I am the Queen."
He cupped her chin in his hand. "Say yes and we will leave right now, you and I, and I will have you the moment we are alone. In the carriage if you will. Say yes, say it, Ansella!"
"Yes," she whispered in a rush. Her voice was awestruck and surprised, her eyes still closed.
He kissed her. "We're leaving." He gave a quick nod to the captain of the Temple's Own, who began parting the crowd. Harsin took Ansella's hand and pulled her down the path to the garden gates. "I wonder if we might secure a room here," he murmured to her as they hurried along.
"Harsin!" How good to hear her say his name with laughter in her voice. "I don't think so, not tonight of all nights!"
"Then it will have to be the carriage!"
Twenna watched them leave in horror. He'd cut her. He'd cut her in front of his wife and hadn't given her a backward glance. It couldn't mean what it appeared to mean. This had to be something about appearances, but why had he gone to so much trouble to have her admitted if he'd intended to leave with his wife? There must be a reason, a reason she wasn't clever enough to understand. He loved her; she took comfort in that certainty. He would send for her later, surely.
The swaying lanterns planted in the lawn took on a cold look, less like soft yellow moons and more like predatory eyes. What would she do now? She knew no one in the crowd who might protect her, no man she might trust not to take advantage of the Neya's Day festivities. She stayed close to the fierce-looking Lovers in armor still standing beside the royal dais, in hopes one of them might have been given instructions to escort her, but the workers disassembled the dais and took it away, along with the Temple's Own and her hopes.
Screams and cries of a less divine origin had long since filled the wood and gardens when the Lovers finally stood, sated for the time being. "Glaes! And Anda!" hooted Nerr, tweaking a nipple on first the one, then the other. "How are two of My favorite mortals? Well, here's someone new!" the God said to Mathanus, and kissed him until his lip bled. The huge young man stumbled unconscious into the arms of his fellows, who came close to dropping him.
"Temmin Heir of Tremont," Neya said, slipping her arms around his waist. The rosy halo around Her seemed to pulse, and Temmin realized She hadn't spoken aloud. "My darling boy, My King, kiss Me." She wrapped herself around him, pressing Allis's breasts against his chest. His discomfort and near-boredom vanished, replaced with the crushing lust She'd drawn from him a year ago. He kissed Her, matching Her moods from gentle to probing to violent, until She reached into his trousers and took hold of him. He closed his eyes and whined into Her mouth. "Look at Me," said the voice in his head, and he obeyed.
A year ago She had shown him many things in Allis's deep green eyes: his mother bloody-handed; Jenks riding hell-bent from Whithorse Estate sword in hand; his father in battle; Sedra protecting a child; Ellika facing down soldiers; finally, Teacher and the Traveler Queen, wreathed in flames.
This time, a woman appeared. Her figure curved in lush abundance, but her huge blue eyes were those of a child. She grew more real until he could even smell her—sweet honeysuckle like the flowers he'd eaten as a boy, crushed dandelions like the ones his sister Ellika used to make into chains, and the soft, musky desire of a woman. "She is yours," said the Goddess. "You will find her tonight. You and no other will have her, and I will give you this." Her fingers closed on him in a single stroke.
The woman in his mind dissolved into fierce white light as he spasmed in Neya's hand. He thought he might be screaming but the light muffled his hearing, obscured everything. He'd spent like this a year ago in Her bed, over and over, and now it pierced him in a spike from his crown down his spine through his cock into the ground. He hung on it transfixed until he crumpled in a heap at Her feet.
The lantern-bearers followed the Gods as they moved back toward the Temple; Twenna did as well, not knowing what else to do.
In the darkness, a man pulled at her arm. "Be one with me tonight, beauty!" He couldn't be Harsin, nor did he sound like Mr Winmer. Was the man angry? Cajoling? She murmured a polite refusal and tried to shake his hand away, but he persisted. "Come now, you wouldn't be here if you weren't looking for someone for the night. You're here all alone, come be one with me, you won't regret it! If you don't like me, I have some friends—you can have any of us—all of us! We'll keep you warm all night!" He pulled her close enough to get an arm around her waist. Twenna cried out, knowing no one would pay any attention to her. So many cries echoed through the garden.
Another set of hands brushed against her, the gentle touch striking her like a blow. His friends must have found them, and now she was lost. The hands moved; they fastened onto the first man's wrists and not her own. "Let her go, son," said a deep voice.
"I saw her first. There are plenty of women here, go find your own! OW!" The man dropped Twenna's arm. "Pagg damn you, you nearly broke my wrist—oh! Oh, I'm sorry, Senior Lover, I didn't realize...I'm sorry, I'll just..."
Twenna watched him back away into the night and turned to her rescuer. All she could see in the dark was that he was short and stocky, and he wore Temple garb. "Thank you."
"Never worry, I'm a Lover. No one will hurt you or make you do anything you don't wish to do. May I lead you back to the Temple?" He offered his arm, she put her hand upon it, and they walked back across the wide lawn. "Neya's Day is not about force," continued the priest. "Some celebrants forget that. It's why a good number of the Lovers' clergy—the men, mostly—don't celebrate the holiday until late in the evening."
"For instance, you?"
"For instance, me," he said in an amused, resigned tone. "I've been a Lover for more than thirty-five years now, and for half of them I've patrolled at the Neya's Day Spectacle. I don't mind. Much." She laughed and slipped her arm through his, a burly arm, well-muscled and comforting—fatherly. "Truth be told, I rather like it. Especially when I can help an inexperienced woman left behind to fend for herself." He paused. "I didn't think the King would do that."
"You—you know who I am?" said Twenna in a small voice. The priest nodded. She hadn't thought beyond her pain at Harsin's faithlessness. The King had cut her not just in front of his wife but in public. Word would travel, and when her father heard—oh, she was in more than romantic trouble. "I imagine people saw what happened, didn't they?"
"Not everyone knows you on sight."
"Not everyone has to." The lanterns bobbed ahead of them. They'd almost caught up, and she slowed her pace; on this man's arm, the dark seemed safer. "I wish...I wish life weren't so complicated."
The Lover slipped his arm around her and hugged her against his side. "We have the strength within us to face almost anything, and when we don't, the Gods carry us if we ask them to. If you are confused and heartsore, make the rounds and leave offerings. Go to the Hill and visit your dead—sometimes going there clears my head more than anything. Yes, even as a priest of Nerr."
They were in range of the lights now, and Twenna could see her rescuer was a man in late middle age wearing a Lover's rose-colored clothing; row after row of elaborate embroidery at the hems marked him as high-ranked, very high-ranked indeed and yet he still patrolled on Neya's Day. Close-cropped, graying hair crowned his balding head but for a little curl of a queue at his nape; limitless kindness filled his large brown eyes. "Who may I thank for my rescue?" she asked.
"My name is Barik Lover, and it's customary in the Temple to say 'thank you' with a kiss. May I?"
Twenna kissed him herself. It wasn't an entirely chaste kiss—rather, a surprisingly skillful and thought-provoking one. At its end, she squeezed Barik's arm and walked away to seat herself among the spectators around the main dais where the Gods would make their farewells. Harsin might be faithless, but she was not.
Excitement rustled through the gathering; the Gods had returned from Their wanderings in the gardens. They moved through the gasping crowd, bestowing a touch here, a kiss there. Neya pulled an older well-dressed woman to her feet and kissed her so thoroughly the woman cried aloud and collapsed into the onlookers' arms, swooning and twitching in obvious bliss. She disappeared under a swarm of worshippers eager to share the blessing she'd received, and reappeared in the arms of two men. They carried her half-undressed into the gardens, a scattering of men and women following behind to watch or join in if they could.
Twenna had never imagined such things. She'd seen this quite respectable woman at various social events, though they'd never been introduced. Her husband had been one of those carting her off into the hedges and didn't seem in the least perturbed that other men were undressing his wife at the same time. Harsin had told her something about Neya's Day, but far from enough.
Harsin—how could he have left her here alone with no one, no escort at all, and gone off with his wife, right in front of her? She should go home.
A hand brushed her hair; a shock flowed from the caress, a tightening of her skin, an unbearable, delightful pressure molding her body. She looked up into the borrowed green eyes of Nerr. "Come here, pretty thing." A yearning obedience overwhelmed her, and she stood. Nerr kissed her, moving His hands down her body to her hips. He broke off long enough to say, "This might sting for a moment," and resumed the kiss.
A sharp burning began under one of His hands, focused in a tight circle on her left hip. She whimpered. In her mind He whispered, "Hush now, little Twenna, this is for the greater good. You will find him—" A golden-haired young man, familiar—what was his name?—filled His eyes, growing to take up all her sight. "You will find him and you will be one with him and only him tonight. No one else will touch you, no one else will know. You will burn until you find him, and when you do, this will be your reward."
Twenna's whimpers turned to moans against His mouth as the burning subsided; pleasure rippled from His searching tongue directly to her core. Nerr pushed His knee between her legs and ground His thigh hard against her mound. His cock was hard against her belly even through her clothes, and she struggled as if she might somehow manage to impale herself on Him, single-minded and frantic in her desire. The pressure grew, squeezing and insinuating itself into her every part, dragging her to a terrifying edge. He ground against her again, sucking on her tongue, and she fell.
Her orgasm flowed up her spine, down her legs, to explode from every finger, every toe, her eyes, her mouth. She saw and heard nothing, stiff and quivering in bliss until she fainted dead away.
Nerr laid her down in the respectful circle of space around them. "You will none of you touch her," He commanded the crowd. "She belongs to one man tonight." Every man, every woman, nodded hazily; they forgot her, and wandered off into the night to find their own blessings among the hedges and trees.
Twenna awoke, her mind clouded. The crowd was flowing around her as if she were a decorative rock: careful not to step on or run into her, but not really seeing her either. She didn't notice them. The vision Nerr had given her filled her head, spilling over into an overwhelming desire that pricked at her skin. She must find the golden-haired man. She must take him inside her. They must become one like the Lovers, and she must enter that promised ecstasy once again. She began searching.
Temmin stumbled through the shadowed gardens, swatting away worshippers eager to be one with him. Where was the girl with the sapphire eyes? He should know her name, but what did it matter? Neya said she was his, he would find her, and when he did—
There! She was running towards him, she was in his arms, she was clawing at him. "Wait—wait," he said. He picked her up and slung her over his shoulder; passers-by cheerfully hooted congratulations. Where could he take her? He shifted her weight with a grunt and headed for a nook few knew about, where the grass grew long and bushes blocked the wind.
Once in the deserted nook, Temmin dropped the woman on her feet and unfastened the ties of her cloak as she did the same to the drawstring of his uniform trousers and took him in her hand. Her hands were warm, almost feverish in the spring night chill. He bit her neck, and she babbled something about Nerr. "You are mine, Neya gave you to me, you will be one with me," he growled in her ear. Far away in the back of his mind came the idea that his voice sounded different, as if it didn't belong to him, and that the woman was no stranger. He ignored these timid thoughts and returned his attention to the hooks closing her bodice. He tore the last few in his impatience and pushed her down.
The woman tossed up her skirts and Temmin fell atop her, rooting among the petticoats until he found her cleft. She worked at her white brocade corset until her breasts spilled from her chemise. He slurped a nipple into his mouth and shoved his fingers inside her, all the exquisite technique he'd learned in the last year forgotten in his haste and need; she made no objection, opening her legs wide for him and pulling at his shirt to feel his skin against her. Neya gave him this woman, ordered him to be one with her, and as he slid into her heat a sliver of the immeasurable ecstasy he'd found in Neya's bed a year ago pierced him. He buried himself deep inside the woman, she cried out, and they rocked together, spending over and over in infinite time.
Stillness reigned at the Keep the next morning. Most of the footmen went through their chores blinking and yawning, for while they'd been out the night before till all hours, work still waited in the morning. The pointedly energetic maids—all unmarried and thus assumed to be stay-at-home virgins—huffed at them to "move it along, you cock's egg, yer blockin' the way!" Just one downstairs maid looked suspiciously sleepy, and the widowed housekeeper Mistress Mannell wore a drowsy, happy smile herself.
Ellika and Sedra had spent a quiet night playing cards with their fellow unmarried ladies. ("It's so unfair I have to stay home!" Ellika had said. "Do be quiet and deal," Sedra had replied.) This morning they breakfasted early, alone in the cheerful morning room.
"Where d'you suppose Mama is? She almost never sleeps in, not even after a Spectacle," said Ellika.
Sedra's voice floated out of the inky depths of The Tremontine Spectator. "Don't know, El. There's always a first time."
"No surprise Papa isn't here, he's always out late on Spectacle nights."
"Mmm."
"Oh, must you read at the breakfast table?"
Sedra folded back a new page with a rustling flourish. "Must you talk at the breakfast table?"
Ellika threw down her napkin. "I'm going to see what's the matter with Mama."
"You do that." Sedra groped for the toast rack with one hand, peering over the Spectator when her fingers ended up in the jam pot.
Ellika trotted up the stairs to her mother's suite and knocked on the door, but Miss Hanston turned her away. "Her Majesty is well but indisposed, Your Highness," said the brick wall. "I will tell her you inquired after her."
In fact, Miss Hanston had no way of knowing whether Her Majesty was well or not; she wasn't there. Ansella herself didn't know, either. She lay staring up at the canopy over Harsin's bed, clutching the covers to her chin and wondering what had possessed her the night before. The Shelstone girl had stood right there in front of her last night, and yet Ansella had gone to Harsin's bed as if all were well between them.
She turned toward her husband; he slept on, his face slack. It had been many years since they'd shared a bed, but asleep he still looked the same as he had on their wedding night—almost innocent, though she doubted Harsin had ever been innocent. He'd probably tried to seduce the midwife the day he was born. Her pride had slipped away with her clothes the night before; now she began gathering it to her like the sheets clutched to her chin.
Perhaps it would be wisest if she left. He would surely wake up wondering how on earth they'd made this huge mistake—she certainly had.
Ansella gingerly folded back the covers and slid from the bed, searching for something to cover her. Harsin's hand stopped her, his grip on her thigh gentle but firm. "Where do you think you're going, lady wife?"
She jumped. "Oh! I—I thought perhaps you'd sleep better were I to leave."
"Ansella, it's morning, I've slept enough. Come here."
She resolutely turned her mind against the hand stroking her thigh into cooperation. "Is that a request or a command, My Lord?"
Harsin removed his hand in surprise. "It's a request. Please, Annie, come back to bed. Just for a little while. Please." She returned to the covers but kept herself apart. Harsin pulled her close, pillowing her head on his chest. "I'm just asking for a little closeness with my wife."
Ansella raised her head. "You will forgive me my confusion."
He stroked her messy blond hair away from her face and drew her back down against him; his heart beat steady in her ear. "Our children are grown. Forgive me if this makes me melancholy and nostalgic for my youth."
She laughed slightly. "Harsin, we're hardly old. We're forty-two."
"Even so. I look into your face and I remember a different time."
Ansella paused, remembering their early marriage. She had loved him, though she thought she'd schooled herself out of it by now. She wondered if he'd loved her then or simply wanted her. He couldn't possibly love her now, not after so many years apart. "I'm surprised you're nostalgic for that time. I know I'm not."
"You never think back on our early days?"
"Not in the way you seem to." She moved away from him onto her back to stare up at the canopy again.
Harsin twisted onto his side and propped his head on his hand. "What do you think of?"
She shifted her gaze to his face. "You really wish to know?" He nodded, and she sharpened her tongue on her resentments. "Very well. I think about having no choice but to marry you. No choice but to leave the Estate. No choice in sharing your bed." No choice in sharing you with other women. "No choice in—"
"Stop," he almost shouted. He sat up. "Ansella, you've been allowed to do whatever you want!"
"Really? How very odd," she snapped back. "How did I end up here?"
"I do not recall dragging you into this bed last night."
"I—one mistake doesn't mean I've had things my way, quite the contrary."
"'Quite the contrary?'" Harsin repeated, his mouth twisting in disbelief. "You've had everything your way! I've let you have your own establishment a thousand miles away, where you've done whatever you pleased!"
"That was part of my bride price," she said, sitting up herself; in her agitation she let the sheet drop into her lap, leaving her breasts bare. "When I conceived an heir I could go home, and the children would come with me. You agreed!"
"Because Teacher said I should!"
"Don't blame me because you listened to that black crow!"
"Ansella, he was on your side!"
She stopped in confusion. Teacher had supported her, vigorously. "Well—why do you care where I was?"
"Because I missed my children. I missed my wife."
"You knew where we were."
"Oh, for the love of Pagg." Harsin rolled out of bed and pulled on a robe. "I had a kingdom to run."
"Oh yes, affairs of state, I see." She cast about for something to throw on, and finally found her chemise atop a heap of her hastily shed clothes on the floor. "Mustn't let your wife and children get in the way of affairs of any kind."
He whirled around. "Is that it? Jealousy? Your part of the arrangement was not to care what I did outside our bed, if I recall correctly!"
"I haven't!" she spat.
"Then why bring it up!"
"I don't know!" Tears stung her eyes, as if she faced into a cold wind. "I don't know! Why are you commanding my presence in your bed when you have a half-dozen hussies under this roof alone?"
"I don't have a single bedwarmer in the Keep, and my mistresses have never had any bearing on my regard for you—you are still my wife and the mother of my children. I didn't 'command' you, you came to my bed of your own free will!" He cocked his head. "A little morning-after remorse and now you're trying to convince yourself you had no choice but to make love with me?"
Ansella drew herself up as regally as she could in a wrinkled chemise and wild hair. "This conversation is ended, Your Majesty."
Harsin crossed the room so quickly she squeaked when he seized her. "For now. We will continue it another time. You will return to my bed. You won't be able to stay away, not after last night. The doors between our rooms are to remain unbarred, and I swear to you that you will be the one to cross the threshold first." He let her go.
She stumbled onto her feet and smoothed out the crumpled chemise as best she could. "Your over-confidence has always been distasteful to me."
"And your prudery even in the face of your own desire is distasteful to me. Leave me now." Harsin turned his back on her.
Ansella swooped down on her clothes, scrabbling them into a huge pile. Why did clothing for state occasions have to be so bulky! She threw the heavy skirts in her arms back onto the heap and decided to have it all returned to her later. She stalked through the concealed door into the narrow private hallway between their bedchambers and slammed into her room, frightening Miss Hanston. "Is the Marchioness awake? Please send her to me." The ladies maid assessed the Queen with a hard squint, gave a landslide of a curtsey and disappeared. As soon as she left, Ansella burst into tears and sank onto her bed, where Donnis found her not long after.
"Ansella? Hanston said you needed me—oh, dear cousin!" said Donnis, wrapping her arms around the queen and pulling out the two large, practical handkerchiefs she carried in her wrapper's pocket. "What happened?"
"I don't know!" she sobbed. "Something—came over me at the Spectacle, and—and—and now—"
"Sssh," said Donnis, rocking her gently. "Oh, cos. Whatever it is, it'll be all right."
"You don't understand!" She told Donnis all, describing it as a religiously-inspired, temporary insanity. "This is how I am repaid for my devotions! I must make Hanston swear she did not see me come through that door!"
"You will do no such thing—you'd break her heart! As if she'd ever tell anyone a jot of your business! Annie, it's perfectly natural for a loving wife to visit her husband."
Ansella's sobs redoubled. "I—have—NEVER—loved him!"
"So you've said, many times." Donnis offered her a third handkerchief from the nightstand.
"What am I going to do?"
"About what?"
"About Harsin!"
"Is it so horrible to be called to your husband's bed—and on Neya's Day? Can't you just take the blessing and leave it at that?"
Ansella wiped her eyes on the last dry corner of her handkerchief. "I'm sorry to fall apart. I've been so emotional since…" She left Ibbit's arrest unspoken. "This is a passing fancy. He'll be back to ignoring me within the day. I thought he was still seeing that Shelstone girl—I saw her at the Spectacle, bold as brass and completely unchaperoned, the hussy. He must be between women. Not that he's ever chosen me over his women before." She sighed and patted Donnis's arm. "Please have Hanston draw me a bath, my dear. I promise I will stop this ridiculous mewling and not mention it again."
Ansella watched Donnis out the door, took a deep breath, and sat down at her vanity to brush the morning tangles from her hair. Can't you just take the blessing and leave it at that? she asked herself. Not when she could still feel Harsin's hands on her, not when she could see the marks he left on her fair skin, not when even now all she wanted was to run through the door and beg for him to kiss her. A blessing? More like a curse.
Temmin usually missed having windows in his bedchamber, but this morning—whatever time it was—he was perfectly happy to wake up to nothing but low lamplight. His head was three sizes too big for his body, and his lips were crusted and dry. He flailed his arms in an attempt to get up and hit something warm and lumpy on the outer side of his alcove bed. A deep grunt issued from the lump's closest half: Mathanus. The other half said, "You just hit me in the nose, clumsy boy." Anda.
He was not surprised to find them in his bed—last night was the Spectacle, after all—but why couldn't he remember what happened? Anda and Mathanus at the same time? How could he not remember that? "What happened?" he croaked.
"You passed out on the lawn," yawned Anda. "Neya kissed you but good. That's the last I saw of you."
"You went down like a bag of rocks," added Mathanus.
"Last thing I remember, you'd fainted, Math," said Temmin.
"Eh, I came to right quick. I'm from hardy peasant stock, Yer Highness."
"Hmf." Temmin went to scratch his belly and discovered he still wore his garb from the night before. "Why'm I still dressed?"
"You got up and just walked off," said the Postulant. "Then things got...busy, I mean, it was Neya's Day, and the next I knew, I found you passed out again near the maze. I brought you back here and dumped you on your bed before someone stepped on you. And then Anda came in and sat down next to me here on your bed, and I think we'd planned on going to her bed, but..."
"It was Neya's Day, yes," finished Temmin. He smacked his lips, searching for a trickle of saliva. "Did we get drunk last night?"
"On Neya's Day? On duty? Of course not, silly," said Anda. "Anyway, it's time we all got up. Allis and Issak will be awake soon and they'll be ravenous. At least this year they won't have to contend with greedy guts here for their first meal." She reached over Mathanus and poked Temmin in the ribs.
"I like it when you squash your boobs against my chest," rumbled Mathanus.
"Do you, now? I'll do it some more, shall I?" She planted a sloppy kiss on him, and they began to wrestle.
Temmin rolled away from them, groaning. "If it's time to get up, get up! Or at least go to your own bed!"
Twenna Shelstone awoke in her bedchamber. Her headache throbbed in time with the chirps outside her bedchamber window. How had she gotten home? She remembered Harsin leaving with his wife, she remembered the sweet, paternal Barik Lover escorting her to the Temple...and after that, nothing.
She put a hand on her queasy stomach. Her fingers fell on the stiff silk wales of her bodice; she was in last night's dress, and she lay atop her still-made bed. Her headache tried to keep her down, but she rose enough to pull aside her bed-curtains—opposite the windows just in case the draperies were open. She tugged at the bell pull and fell back against the pillows again.
What had she done last night so horrible she couldn't remember? Harsin had smiled down at her as if she were an obedient puppy, and left with the Queen he'd said he hadn't made love to in six years. He'd abandoned her in front of everyone. That kind Lover had escorted her back toward the Temple, and then—nothing. Tears ran down the sides of her face, but she couldn't raise her heavy hands to brush them away.
Her maid Wendia poked her head through the curtains, made a quick assessment, and came back with tea, dry toast, and the promise of a bath. Twenna pulled herself upright and took a long sip of unsugared tea, burning her tongue a little; the mellow bitterness revived her, and she took a tentative nibble of the toast. Better.
She let Wendia undress her and took ever-bigger bites of the toast as her hunger increased. "You've torn some of the hooks clean off, miss," the girl murmured.
"I..." The toast stuck in Twenna's throat. The blank between Barik and this morning clutched at her heart with terrible white fingers. Had she and Barik...? Surely she would remember that, and she doubted the Lover's gentle hands would have torn her bodice. If someone else had taken advantage of her, he wouldn't have left her fully dressed in her own bed. "Yes, I was so tired I had trouble removing my dress last night and just gave up before I did more harm." That must be the truth. "Why weren't you awake to help me?"
"I'm sorry, miss, but you gave me the night off. You, ah, weren't expected last night."
Twenna let the maid lead her to the bath waiting in the fashionably modern bathroom attached to her bedchamber. What did it matter anyway? If she didn't remember it, she shouldn't remember it. She placed her trust on the charm against childbirth the Traveler Queen had placed on her left hip. The thought cleared the toast crumbs from Twenna's throat.
She sipped her tea as she sat in the hot water and tried to think what she might say to her father about the King's behavior. He certainly hadn't acted the besotted lover he'd seemed to be. She needed to remedy that. For the first time in her short career as a mistress, Twenna began to plot.