Twenna didn't know which of her inexpert coquetries had worked—she'd done little more than pout—but Harsin returned to her bed not two days after the unfortunate incident at Neya's Day. He showered her with gifts: shot silk for a new dress; tortoise-shell haircombs from Pau'a; and a magnificent set of matching sapphire-and-diamond earrings, collar, ring and bracelets, "the color of your eyes, my dear. You are to keep them forever."
She was back in Elbig's good graces. "Our sponsor would like you to start dropping little hints in his favor, darling."
"Hints, Papa? What hints?"
"Oh, I don't know. Make sure he's in attendance at all your cozy little evenings—invite his friends, too. Compliment Corland's address, his amiability, his reasonableness. How much you like him."
"But I don't like him, Papa."
"Then lie, you ridiculous girl!" he fumed. "The point is, make the King look more favorably on His Grace!"
Twenna pursed her lips in confusion. "I'm sure Borney is already one of Harsin's particular friends. We see him and Cosetta—Mistress Grasian—at the Lodge quite often. He makes pop-eyes at me."
"Yes, but if the King thinks you see him as amiable—oh, never mind. I don't know what he wants with us anyway, that Duke of Corland, but his help got us this far. When he asks us for ours, just remember we are to give it."
"The 'little hints,' you stupid tailor, are to put the King in a more receptive frame of mind to our ideas," said the exasperated Corland when they met the next day on the Promenade. "Your daughter inviting me and the members of my faction to her gatherings gives us political capital, not that you'd understand something like that. Have her mention things like the Heir's bad behavior, how much she'd love a set of Inchari house slaves, how insolent the merchant class is getting—"
"I hesitate to remind you—I hesitate to remind myself, but it must be said—that I come from the merchant class."
"Not for long," said Corland. "Harsin is quite smitten. I wouldn't be surprised if he elevated you to a baronetcy."
A baronetcy! While Elbig had bought himself a certain amount of gentility, a title, even one so modest as Sir, would give him real countenance, real claims as a gentleman. Perhaps then the young men strolling so indolently about the Temple Green would stop turning their noses up at him. "Tailor—no—more!" he said to himself, each word a step down the Promenade. "Tailor—no—more!"
Twenna's artless contriving of dinner parties to always include Corland and his friends began to irritate the King. "Why does Borney have to be at every card party, every musical evening, every damn dinner we give? And his hangers-on—what on earth do we need with longfaces like Edgins and Hoop?"
Twenna paused in arranging the roses he'd brought to the Lodge for her and fought to come up with a half-truth. In the end she settled for the lie. "I find him quite amiable, don't you, darling?"
"I find him the same lump he was in school," said Harsin, flicking the butt end of his cigar into the empty hearth. "A little of him goes a long way."
"Oh. I thought you were friends." She kept her eyes on the flowers in the vase before her lest he see her trying to think of what to say next.
"After a fashion, I suppose. That loathsome son of his is too presumptuous by half, but that's hardly enough to make Borney my enemy. He's politically influential among the True Conservatives, and I need his men in Inchar. But friend? Old school mate is more accurate. Now, Lord Litta—Anvalt is my friend. Why don't you invite him more often?"
"I invite him every time, Harsin." So she had, but her invitations were always answered with the same curt note from Litta's secretary: "His Grace regretfully declines." Now she thought on it, of all the King's friends he alone never danced with her.
"Well, invite him again. No, I'll have Winmer do it. Anvalt's a curious old thing—conservative in the traditional sense, not the political sense."
Twenna's intimate dinners at the Lodge were the kind to which men brought their mistresses, not their wives. Perhaps His Grace had no one like her or Lord Corland's Cosetta to bring? Lord Litta was older but hardly unattractive even with that dueling scar through his brow, and if he was a lover of men, why wouldn't he just bring his young man? "Is Lord Litta perhaps…uncomfortable at occasions such as our dinners?"
Harsin crossed one leg over the opposite thigh and settling back in his chair. "You know, he just might be now that you mention it. He's never cared for outside liaisons—never has any of his own, keeps himself to his wife entirely—and used to scold me about it when we were younger. Suppose he's given up on me by now," he laughed. "Stop fooling with those roses, Twenna, and come to me."
Twenna began to feel rather green a week after Neya's Day, and now, halfway through Spring's Ending, she felt worse than ever. Certain scents became unbearable. She passed an overly fragrant person on the street as she made her way to Mistress Naister's for a fitting and almost fainted. Cooking smells, particularly fish, took her appetite completely; she progressed to nausea and outright vomiting in the mornings and sometimes during the day. She even begged off meeting Harsin, which finally made her father call for a Sister.
The droopy-eyed healer hovered over Twenna as she lay on her bedchamber retiring couch. She took Twenna's pulses and questioned her closely: Sensitivity to smells? Oh, horrid. Nausea? Very much so. Exhaustion? Quite fatigued. Tender bosom? Why yes, how had the Sister known?
"You've missed your moon, if I may venture a guess."
Twenna tapped her chin, thinking. "I may have miscounted."
"No, miss," said Wendia, her ladies maid. "You were due two weeks ago. Our moons come at the same time, Sister," she added, "and mine has come and gone."
The Sister stood. "Hmm. If you miss your next one, petition the Healer's House and we'll assign you a midwife for the duration." She dug in her capacious satchel and pulled out a flat-sided amber glass bottle. "Take this in water. Eat some dry toast immediately upon awakening, and the tincture throughout the day as needed. If you run out, send someone to the nearest Sister's Dispensary for more. Ask for a bottle of Early Mother's tincture. Keep something on her stomach at all times, however small," she added to the maid. "Mint and ginger tisane, dry toast, biscuits, that sort of thing. No coffee or cocoa. Keep out of overheated rooms. You need fresh air, at least in your first two spokes. It should pass by then."
"Oh, Merciful Amma," said Wendia.
"Why, but what is it, Sister?" cried Twenna. "Am I in any danger?"
"Danger? Just of stretch marks, and your midwife will give you a cream for your belly for those. You're young and healthy. You should pull through a birth with no troubles at all." The Sister turned to leave.
"Birth?" blinked Twenna. "But I have...the Traveler Queen..."
"The Traveler Queen gave you a mark, did she? She'll take your money, but whether you get your money's worth in return is up for debate. The Blessed Maeve's marks seem to work if she likes you. You must not've made much of an impression. That reminds me." The Sister cleared her throat and studied the satchel in her hands. "Do, ah, do you need to arrange for the child to go to a Mother's House? You may wish to speak to the Mothers sooner than later. Oh—but then, the King will arrange for anything like that, I'm sure. Good day, now."
"Am I that infamous?" Twenna complained to the empty doorway.
Poor Twenna's interview that night with her father was far from a happy one. "Pagg damn you, girl! What have you done?"
"It isn't as if I did this on purpose, Papa!" she wailed. "I'm quite—quite disambiguated myself! You said the old woman made it so this wouldn't happen!"
"So she promised," fumed her father. "By gods, if this spoils our chances I'll track down the old bitch and beat her to death with my cane!"
As it happened, the old bitch's particular band of Travelers camped in the King's Woods at present, and so Elbig Shelstone walked to Marketgate the next day to search among the cabbages and lengths of cloth for a sign of them. He found them busking where the whiff of the nearby river mingled with the fragrances of eel pies and sizzling sausages wafting from the food carts. Elbig stood on the edges of the crowd until the Traveler musicians ended their reel and the barefoot, buxom dancing girls finished catching tossed coins in their cupped skirts.
He beckoned to the guitarist, a small, dark, fox-faced man. The man approached, his sharp blue eyes smiling and his hand outstretched for a coin. Instead, Elbig took a fistful of the startled Traveler's shirt and hissed, "You tell that swindling Queen of yours I will get my money back for the fake charm she gave my daughter or I'll see her hung at the crossroads for a fraud!"
A hand seized the back of his collar and shook him until he released the guitarist. "You will do nothing of the kind," said a hard, amused voice. The hand released him. Elbig fumbled at the waistcoat that had hitched itself over his belly and stumbled round to face the voice, which belonged to a tall, powerfully built, rusty-haired young man with the same sharp blue eyes as the musician. "You are no threat to my mother, but I will not have you soiling Jesper's shirtfront, little tailor man. You will leave off my people, turn around, and go home."
Which the frightened little tailor man did.
A letter from Mr Winmer came, inquiring after Miss Shelstone's health. She answered she felt rather poorly but was recovering. A note in the King's own hand followed later the same day; might she improve enough to attend a private luncheon tomorrow at Foothill Lodge? Elbig dictated her reply: she would.
In fact, she had improved. The Sister's advice and the flat-sided bottle of Early Mother's tincture had combined to conquer her nausea, and she'd gone to the Lodge strong in both spirits and appetite. Now she sprawled comfortably naked atop the coverlet on Harsin's bed; a soft breeze from the open windows dried the sweat from her body, and she stroked her lover's dark head as he lay pillowed on her shoulder.
He smoothed the glossy brown hair between her legs. "Little mink of mine," he said, dipping his fingers just inside her.
She wiggled obligingly. "We just finished, darling!"
"When you are in my bed, Twenna my love, we are never finished." His thumb inscribed circles on the hard little nub at the top of her vulva; lazy waves spread over her, until she remembered.
He was pleased with her, in quite a good mood, he'd just called her his love. Now might be the time. "Harsin, I need to tell you something, and I hope you will be happy."
His thumb and fingers stopped. "Oh? And what might that be, my dear?"
"I…well, Father—we'd taken precautions, you know, and I'm quite surprised, but…I appear to be…I've missed my moon, and…"
Harsin removed his hand. "Pagg's balls." He flopped back onto the bed, one arm over his eyes. "You're sure?"
"The Sister was quite sure. I suppose my moon might still come."
"That's why you were sick," he said in a flat voice.
Twenna winced. "You're angry with me. My father was quite angry with me."
"Your father can go to the Hill." Harsin rose from the bed.
"Where are you going?" Twenna quavered. She sat up as he shrugged on a robe, stalked from the bedchamber into the drawing room and closed the door; he and a servant carried on a low, muffled conversation on the other side which Twenna imagined in distraught detail. He was turning her out. He was calling for her carriage and the nearest maid to help her dress. "I'm sorry," she whimpered to the empty room.
The door opened. The King entered, closing the door behind him again; his eyes beneath their heavy lids were hard. "Stop crying, Twenna. I care for crying women even less than expecting women."
Twenna swallowed back her rising nausea and wished she'd brought the amber bottle. "Will you send me to a Mother's House?"
"A Mother's House?" Harsin repeated. He laughed. "Don't worry, my dear. I have a property about an hour's ride from the City, called Middlemont. You will live there from now on." He sat down on the bed beside her and picked up a lock of her hair; he ran it through his fingers in contemplation. "I am done with unclaimed bastards," he resumed. "I will recognize the child and care for the both of you for the rest of your lives. You must live a quiet life, away from the City and my Queen. I will recognize my daughter, but I will not flaunt you both in front of Ansella."
Twenna captured his hand. "You won't leave me, will you? You won't stop loving me? Because I love you, Harsin, with all my heart."
"I will come to see you at Middlemont often."
She kissed him, and as their lips parted she realized what he'd said. "Why do you think it will be a daughter?"
"An educated guess," he smiled. He pushed her down on the bed and rolled atop her.
Her stomach complained, but she didn't care. His cock pressed hard against her, and as he moved to fill her she whispered, "Only you, there's only you and will only ever be you."
On his return to the Keep, Harsin called for both Winmer and Teacher and informed them of Twenna's condition; he ordered his secretary to draw up papers making Elbig Shelstone a baronet. "Find a holding. Something quite small and quite far away."
"Are you sure, sir?" said Winmer, wrinkling his nose.
"He is a loathsome little toad and a rascal, but it must be done. I will elevate Twenna to an earldom after the baby is born, and her father needs some kind of rank. Ready Middlemont for Miss Shelstone's prolonged stay. Send Hallik and his wife to run things—apologize to old Crookman and give him a sop to make up for Hallik's usurpation—oh, what is it, Winmer?" snapped the King.
Winmer stopped bouncing on his toes. "Sir, wouldn't it be more expedient to send the child to a Mother's House? There's one catering to the extra children of the nobility, not far from the capital. Quite the picturesque estate, you'd hardly know it was a Mother's House. The girl would be raised with the utmost propriety and a fine education."
"Do what I have told you." Winmer gave a skeptical, almost critical bow and left. Harsin turned to his advisor, who stood like a sliver of black ice before him. "It won't change my decision, but do you approve?"
"I confess to surprise at the depth of your attachment, sir."
Harsin paused. "All of my mistresses have told me they love me. Some of them might actually have meant it. With Twenna—I know she means it, poor girl. I'll do what I can for her, but no, my attachment is to the baby. I will not let another child of royal blood escape my supervision. Not after my brothers, and not after Tellis Ambler's girl. That damned Ansella. She should never have sent the girl away. I need her—I wish to marry her off to Fennows since he's so deuced anxious for an intimate connection to the royal family. I refuse to give him Elly, and there's no question of Sedra whatsoever."
"Dismissing your half-brothers from court when you were born was perhaps the most unwise thing your father ever did."
"We had quite the mess to clean up all around let alone the bastards' claims once I became king, didn't we. My father should have remarried as soon as his first wife died—by the time he married my mother, Perin had convinced himself he was the rightful Heir."
"In the absence of a legitimate son, he would have been king."
"What a mess Father left me. His women kept him too busy to pay attention to ruling."
Teacher bowed. "As you say, sir."
"About that girl—Mattisanis Dunley. I'd meant to search for her over the last year, but haven't had time to spare a thought. The worsening rebellions in Inchar alone have been enough to preoccupy me, let alone Temmin's hijinks. But now with this new child on the way I'm ill at ease. Miss Dunley and her mother should be under my protection."
Teacher gestured to the mirror over the mantel. "Shall I look for her?" At Harsin's nod, Teacher intoned, "If Mattisanis Dunley is anywhere within sight of a reflection in this Kingdom or its territories, show her to me."
The obstinate mirror let not a flicker disturb the reflection of Teacher's silver eyes and Harsin's own somewhat worn countenance; he absently noted the increasing gray at his temples. "Try again." The second attempt was no more successful than the first.
"A different tack," said Teacher. "If Tellis Dunley is anywhere within sight of a reflection, show her to me."
The mirror resolved into a murky black. After years exposed to Teacher's magic Harsin never blinked, but this time something put the hairs on the back of his arms at attention. The distorted image kept jiggling; the reflecting object must be something someone was wearing. The wavering light suggested that whoever it was carried a lantern. The image rested on a niche in a rough wall—stone or perhaps brick. Within the niche lay a coffin.
The person carrying the lantern moved away from the niche, and the mirror presented Harsin's reflection once again, his face somewhat paler. "That was the inside of a Hill, wasn't it?"
"I fear so," murmured Teacher.
"So Tellis Dunley is dead. I'm very sorry for it. She was a beautiful girl." He knocked his knuckles against his chin. "How concerned should we be that you couldn't find my daughter?"
Teacher considered. "It may be she was not in view of a reflection. It may be she is out of the country. It has been a year, after all."
"Keep looking for her—you know best how to use reflections to find an elusive quarry."
"If I do not find her?"
"If you don't find her within a week, we shall send out agents and make inquiries. No—I'll have Winmer do that right away. Coordinate with him. It may be she's married a foreigner and gone off to Sairland or some such for all I know. Contact the Sairish through back channels and see if they will search for her there, without letting them know what she is—let none of our agents know what she is, but that she is to be unharmed in the search. If she's left the Kingdom, Sairland's her most likely destination."
The long, wide strip of parkland running between the two rows of the City's religious institutions was properly called the Temple Green, but it was better known for the broad walk down its middle: the Promenade. Here the upper class and its aspirants strolled, rode and drove, seeing and being seen. The last of the trees had shed their blossoms to the disappointment of the Promenade's regulars; the pink and white petals scattered on their carriages, shoulders and hats were a badge marking the bearers among the Capital's fashionable, genteel, and indolent.
Down the Promenade strolled the overly fashionable, nominally genteel and very indolent Percet Sandopint—Lord Fennows. A great golden knob topped the ebony walking stick swinging from one hand, his black silk hat sat rakishly askew, and his lorgnette searched for Princess Ellika, a Promenade regular at this hour.
Instead, Fennows spied a pair of matched grays drawing a shell-like curricle; a Brother led a smartly dressed contingent of Guardsmen in escort, and two familiar figures sat within. Lady Donnis Provisa, the Dowager Marchioness of Petras, handled the curricle's ribbons almost as well as the Queen beside her would have, but to Percet's eye the Queen looked not quite the thing: pale, almost green. He caught Lady Donnis's attention and before she could look away he raised his hat.
Neither the Queen nor Lady Donnis would have had to do more than acknowledge most anyone else in their acquaintance, but the Marchioness was his mother's cousin and Her Majesty was Percet's godsmother. One might assume some affection between godsson and godsmother, but the miserable summer twelve-year-old Percet spent at Whithorse Estate with the royal family obliterated any tenderness he might have had toward her. She'd tried to stop Temmin's endless pranks—him and that groom, what was his name, Alvo Nollson—but the Heir and his friend were clever, sneaky and cruel. They always managed to escape hands clean. Temmin always escaped consequences for his actions, the bastard, but his luck couldn't hold out forever.
Falling in love with Princess Ellika was almost worse than her brother's gleeful cruelty. She'd paid him kinder attention than Temmin, but at almost fourteen she'd dismissed his love as a little boy's crush. She still dismissed him all these years later. Some day she would be forced to reckon with him, even if he had to wait until their wedding night. Some day he'd pay Temmin and Nollson back too, with interest. Let them all hold him in disdain; if the Sandopints played their cards right, some day they would get everything they wanted from the Antremonts.
With such ties among them, Lady Donnis was required to rein in and accept Percet's address; her cordial mien thinly veiled her dislike. No matter; the Provisas were on his list as well. "Your Majesty, Lady Donnis! How splendid to see you on such a lovely day." The ladies were murmuring their greetings when Percet spied the perfect dart, right to hand. "Oh, look, there's Sir Elbig Shelstone. Who would've thought he'd be elevated."
"Elbig Shelstone has been elevated?" said the Queen, turning even more bilious.
Ah, she'd taken the barb straight to the heart. "Only to a baronetcy, but still. Shelstone's done just one notable thing for His Majesty, and that was, oh, twenty-two years ago, I believe. Though that notable thing has amused His Majesty for weeks now, I should think."
"We have an appointment at the Hearth, Percy," snapped Lady Donnis. "Good day to you."
Percet smiled as they pulled away, the Queen's back rigid and her cousin's furious. "Quite a good day so far," he murmured.
Across the Temple Green from the rose marble Lovers' Temple stood the Hearth—the Temple of Venna the Sister, its dark green stone walls marbled in white, with the enormous gray Healer's House beside it. Donnis pulled Ansella's curricle up before it with a fuming flourish, and a groom jumped down from the curricle's back to take the reins. Ansella stepped out with shaking knees; the curricle's sway and the news about Elbig Shelstone had sickened her so much she'd wondered if she'd make it to her destination without vomiting.
She had vomited every morning for the last few days. She didn't seem to be losing weight, but she was so often chilled. Both Donnis and Miss Hanston had urged her to call a Sister. Ansella had refused, but now she wondered if perhaps she was sick. "Percet Sandopint's a worm, just a slimy little worm to be trod underfoot," seethed Donnis as she took Ansella's arm.
Ansella seethed herself but kept her composure better. "Hush, Donnie, it's all right and we're in public." They walked up the shallow switch-backs into the Sister's Temple, made so the sick and infirm could more easily enter.
Just inside the Hearth's portico waited the newly invested Eldest Sister Imvalda, tall and twiglike in her deep green habit trimmed in the gray bands of her high office, and the Sister’s Embodiment, a gentle, plump woman named Sarra. A woman in lighter green trailed behind them; Ansella recognized her from the brief glimpse of Imvalda's apartments in her receiving room mirror. That night seemed so long ago, but it was no more than a spoke.
Ansella and Donnis bowed to the Eldest Sister and the Embodiment, each touching her forehead to the priestesses' hands; the priestesses kissed the two women on the cheek and led them inside.
Imvalda put her arm through Ansella’s as they walked together through the Temple’s public hall past Venna's great statue, past the Eternal Hearth, and into the private cloister. The clean white halls here smelled of the chlorinated potash the Sisters used to scrub everything in their purview. “How are you, Your Majesty? I'm so glad you came to see us. You look a bit pale. Are you well?”
Ansella smiled. “I’m fine, thank you, Eldest Sister.” They spoke in pleasantries: The King's health? Very good. And the children? Never better. Two Postulant Sisters wielding brooms bowed as they passed; Ansella wondered what there was to sweep.
Imvalda ushered them into her receiving room. “Sister Nadi, tea if you please," she said to the woman Ansella took to be her secretary and probable sweetheart. The woman bowed and left the room, closing the door behind her. The Eldest Sister motioned to a utilitarian but comfortable-looking gray couch, and Ansella and her cousin sat down. "It must be a great comfort to you, Your Majesty, having your cousin with you," said Imvalda carefully.
Ansella took her meaning. "If anything of a delicate nature is said today, Lady Donnis is in my complete confidence." Donnis took her cold hand and squeezed it. "In fact, now that we are in private, I must ask after Sister Ibbit." Donnis squeezed again, harder, but Ansella continued on. "I feel somewhat responsible for her plight."
"The only one responsible for Ibbit's 'plight' is Ibbit," said Imvalda, hard lines forming at the corners of her mouth. "Knowing I may speak freely—" a nod to Donnis— "I must ask if you understand Ibbit’s trespass against you—that her behavior was very wrong?”
“Her behavior?” said Ansella, growing colder by the moment.
“We know the nature of your relationship,” murmured Sarra. “Ibbit confessed, or should I say bragged. This involvement was very wrong of her—her, ma'am, not you. As your spiritual advisor she should never have done such a thing.”
Ansella's breakfast skittered in her stomach. “I’m not quite sure I understand you.”
Sarra looked to Imvalda; the Eldest Sister said, "She seduced you."
All the anger and despair inside Ansella wanted out, as did her fitful breakfast. Imvalda must have seen the signs, for she snatched a basin from a shelf just in time for the final escape. “I knew it,” the Eldest Sister muttered. Sarra went to the room's basin and brought back a glass of water and two damp towels.
“Oh, what a day, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Ansella wept.
“Sorry for what, my dear?” said Imvalda. She wiped Ansella’s mouth with one cloth while Sarra dabbed at her forehead with the other. Imvalda handed her the glass. “Here, rinse your mouth and spit into the basin. Now lay back. Relax.” Ansella did as she was bid and closed her eyes. Imvalda and Sarra discreetly checked her pulses, pressing her slack wrists in several different places, and then her neck and ankles; Donnis appeared worried at first, but a growing understanding started at the tip of her nose and spread over her face. She looked at Sarra, Sarra looked at Imvalda, and they all slid their eyes sideways at Ansella. “When did this nausea start?” said Imvalda.
“Yesterday,” she lied. “I’m not running a fever. I just assumed I’d eaten something that didn’t agree. May I sit up now? Oh—I think I might be sick again—” She vomited into the basin again. “My nerves—something upset me just before we arrived. I’m so very sorry.”
Donnis supported her back down on the couch. "Nerves! Oh, you little liar! You've been sick at least a week. Just when you were getting better, too!"
Imvalda helped Ansella clean up again, depositing the towels in the laundry and passing the befouled basin to a waiting Sister outside; every room in the Hearth seemed to be outfitted like a surgery, even Imvalda's receiving room. “Is it all up now, my dear? Yes? Come lie down again." She settled a shawl over Ansella's legs. “Now, you really don’t know what this might be?”
Ansella closed her eyes again. “It was just the once. My moon’s a little late, that’s all. It’s something else, it has to be.”
Sarra ran a soft hand over the Queen’s forehead. “Your pulses tell the story, ma'am,” the Embodiment said, “but it’s early yet—very early if you’ve only missed one moon.”
Ansella's empty stomach griped and heaved. "Actually, my second moon is due and hasn't come, either." She subsided into silence.
So this was her Neya's Day blessing. She'd loved being pregnant. She loved her children. She would love this one unreservedly—loved her already. It had to be a girl; if she carried a son, Teacher would have known immediately and announced it to Harsin.
What would he think? He'd preen and strut, the smug bastard. Pregnancy would give her an excuse to stay away from him. Except pregnancy usually made her...what was an acceptable word? More...receptive to him? Demanding, more like, said a traitorous inner voice. She might go home to Whithorse and put some distance between them, but she could not leave her three oldest, just before the girls might leave forever. They were all grown and didn't need her any more, but she still needed them. And it would look as if she were running from that Shelstone bitch. She burst into exhausted, frustrated tears. "I don't know what to do. Please don't tell him yet."
No one asked who she meant. “Hush, now,” said Sarra. “We are sworn, and there may be nothing to tell in a moon.”
Ansella shuddered. “That would be worse, much, much worse.” She put her hand on her still-flat stomach.
“Rest, Your Majesty. We’ll send you home with a tincture for the morning sickness,” said Imvalda. “If this moon doesn't come, we will send a midwife to you. How old are you?"
"Forty-two."
Imvalda nodded. "It’s rather late in life, but if your other pregnancies were uneventful, this one should be, too.”
“My pregnancies were all easy. A little morning sickness, and then—just easy. Oh, gods. I’m so tired.”
Donnis murmured reassuring nonsense until Ansella stopped crying and closed her eyes; her breathing steadied into a deep, monotonous rhythm. She lay in half-sleep, still hearing everything going on around her but unable to open her eyes or respond without an effort she could not muster. "What about Ibbit?" said Donnis in a low voice.
"Her trial is next week," answered Imvalda. "Its outcome is a foregone conclusion. We have found a good two dozen sympathizers among the Sisterhood here, and I have sent trusted investigators to the greater Hearths starting at Reggiston. Even though she had ten years there to infect it, Reggiston may not be as bad off as I fear. Several Sisters followed her here to the City—we may have already captured most of her people."
After a silence, Donnis said, "The Queen needn't be part of this trial?"
"She needn't. We've turned enough of Ibbit's confederates, and then there are the heretical books. We even uncovered a plot to poison me—not to kill me, but to make me look weak and stupid. That, and the Queen's sponsorship, would make Ibbit appear the best candidate to lead the Sisterhood. They'd already slipped me the first dose. Easily reversed, but still…" Imvalda sighed. "I'm glad Wirdun didn't live to see this. Anniki's insurrection was so hard on her. Sister against Sister, so much death, and for what? A madwoman's ravings."
"Do you think Ibbit is mad?" said Donnis.
"Ambition is a kind of madness," said Sarra, "and Ibbit is very ambitious."
"And her attentions to my cousin?"
Silence again. "I think," Sarra finally said, "in her way Ibbit does love her, but whether it's for the Queen herself or for her influence I cannot say."
Lead thumbs pressed down on Ansella's heart.
“You mustn’t tell anyone, Donnie,” said Ansella as they drove home an hour later. In her lap she carried a small bottle of tincture wrapped in brown paper and string, the amber, flat-sided bottle within it guaranteed to help her through her morning sickness.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“I wasn't sure. It was just the one time Harsin and I..."
“Well, you’ll feel better soon either way, cos. Your pregnancies have always been easy ones, once you get past that first spoke.”
"Oh, yes. I’ll be fine in less than a spoke. I always am.” She patted her stomach again, watching the sun peek through snow white clouds as the curricle rolled toward the Kingsbridge crossing over the Feather River. "I'm due in early Winter's Ending. A snow baby." Ansella laughed and shivered. "Maybe that's why I'm so very chilled this time."
An ornate carriage carrying Lord Corland's crest jostled through the nearby traffic, heading toward the Foothill Lodge road. His Grace must be off to one of Harsin's little dinner parties. Elevating Elbig Shelstone! How could he do that to her? Perhaps her pregnancy might be a way to eclipse the newly Honorable Miss Shelstone; perhaps she would tell him sooner than later. Yes, she would tell him the next time they were alone. It might at least spoil his fun a little.
She found him in the family entrance preparing to leave, presumably for the Lodge. "A word in private, my lord," she said, formal before the servants. Donnis hovered near the Residence Wing stairs, uncertain whether to stay or go.
Harsin raised his eyebrow in irritation. "Now, lady wife? I have a dinner engagement."
"Oh, I'm aware." She met his eyes without a flinch.
A slight flush crept over his cheeks; he waved his gloves toward the butler's nearby office. "Very well."
Ansella rarely visited this room; Affton and Mistress Mannell the housekeeper came to Ansella, not the other way round. Affton kept his office ruthlessly tidy; the one place to sit was a single hard chair behind the man's desk. She drew herself up as tall as she could. "I have news for you, Harsin."
"Do you, now? So do I."
"Shall I brace myself?" she said, her lips thinning into a pinched curve.
"Oh, I think you'd better. I'd rather you hear it from me than another."
"If you're talking of Sir Elbig Shelstone, I had to hear it from Lord Fennows in the middle of the Promenade!"
"That?" snorted Harsin. "I meant to tell you sooner. I have my reasons for elevating the little toad."
"I know your reasons, sir!"
"No, madam, you do not."
Harsin waited, watching her, and her temper rose in spite of her resolution to remain calm. "Well?" she snapped.
"Miss Shelstone is expecting a child. Mine."
The air left Ansella's body; she heaved and would have vomited again were there anything left to bring up. When her breath returned, she said, "Is there any threat to my son? Has Teacher—"
"Apparently it is to be a daughter. Teacher has detected nothing."
"You're certain of it. That it's a daughter and that it's yours."
"Completely."
"What do you intend to do about it?"
"She is to be settled at Middlemont if she carries past her first two spokes, and if the baby survives Twenna will be created Countess Middlemont, a courtesy title that will devolve upon her daughter but will die when she does."
Ansella turned away from him. She braced her hands on Affton's empty desk. She wished the man weren't so spare; she would have loved to sweep a deskful of papers, inkwells and lanterns to the floor in a great messy crash. "You love this Shelstone woman so very much?"
"I am done with other people interfering with my offspring. You've had a free hand for too long in those affairs, Ansella, keeping the children from me and sending the Dunley girl away where I can't find her! This daughter is mine and shall be raised my way. When she's of age, she'll be useful to me. Sedra is for Sairland, by the way. Thought I should tell you that, too."
"What?"
"Nothing finalized. King Bannig is sending his brother to examine her, and if you know what's good for the girl you'll encourage her to work on her social graces, not her studies. Now if you'll excuse me, I am late for my own dinner party." Harsin opened the office door and strolled out, pulling on his gloves. He left the door open. He thinks so little of me he won't even let me compose myself in private.
She couldn't tell him about her own baby now. She would keep it a secret as long as she could—perhaps entirely—no, impossible, but damn him! Telling her about Sedra's marriage as casually as she'd tell him about selling a horse! Though she could not stop Harsin from marrying off her other two, Ansella would not let her new daughter be "useful" to her father. This one was hers.
A whisper ran through the Hearth that night, carried from one sympathetic mouth in the Healer's House dispensary to various sympathetic ears until it reached a young Sister who worked in the kitchens; she nodded, setting her stubborn black cowlick bobbing. When she returned to her work, she picked up a dinner tray and walked the long stairs into the basement to Sister Ibbit's chilly cell. She gave the renegade her evening meal and murmured, "She is with child, Blessed Ibbit," before she turned away.
Ibbit tore her bread into hunks, the hunks into chunks, the chunks into shreds, the shreds into crumbs. She threw them into her soup and ate with deliberate intensity until the same black-haired Sister came back for the tray. "Tell our friend in the dispensary I have a task for her. Carry it out, the both of you, and then flee," said Ibbit.
The next morning, after the black-haired Sister's work ended, she asked for permission to go into the City on a personal errand. She tucked a brown paper package containing a large amber flat-sided bottle into one sleeve and a small bundle of personal items and food in the other. She walked up the Promenade, through the busy streets to Kingsbridge. The Guards let her through the iron gates into the grounds of the Keep, bowing to her reverently. As she walked up the gravel drive, an estate cart stopped for her and gave her a ride to the Keep itself, where it let her off in the kitchen yard. She walked past the more ornate mudroom door to the delivery door that let straight into the kitchens, and knocked.
"Please, come in, Sister," said the answering footman.
"That's unnecessary," she smiled. "I have a package for Her Majesty from Eldest Sister Imvalda." She handed over the brown paper package, the green wax stamped with the Sister's Temple official seal: a bee. "Tell her it is a stronger, better tincture than the one we sent home with her." The footman accepted the package and made a shy request for a blessing; a nasty head cold was sweeping through the Keep's staff. "May Venna watch over you and keep you from illness. May She watch over all who live under this roof," said the priestess, her hand on his lowered head.
"Thank you, Sister." The footman bowed and closed the door. She wiped her hand on her habit, turned and walked out of the Keep's grounds, through the City and out into the surrounding countryside to hide herself.
By the time the black-haired Sister was missed, the Blessed Ibbit was gone. Ancient, secret passages used for smuggling injured people riddled the Hearth, as they did all Sister's Temples; they were sworn to treat anyone who came to them, even fugitives. The Sisters thought they knew every old tunnel in the Hearth, but they had never thought to look for new ones.
Sedra worried over her mother. Cousin Donnis's arrival had revived her initially, but lately she'd worsened, her face taking on a gray cast. Donnis and Miss Hanston thwarted Sedra's every attempt to find out more.
By nature Sedra preferred solitude early in the day, but now she rode with her mother and Lady Donnis every morning. On this particular ride in the foothills, not long before spring turned into summer on Nerr's Day, the dew on the Fairy Meadow sparkled like the ocean; the sharp, sweet green of wildflowers and fresh grass perfumed the clear air. The three women let their mounts wander as they would, cropping the new plants. Having no particular mount of her own, Sedra rode Temmin's half-Inchari horse LeiLei. She was not the horsewoman her mother was, but the sleek black mare's tidy gait and good wind pleased her. She was scheming how she might get LeiLei away from her brother for good when her mother said, "You should know, Seddy, that your father has spoken to me about a possible match for you."
Sedra pulled back on the reins, jerking the mare's fine head up; LeiLei shook her head in irritation, glanced reproachfully at her rider, and went back to her treat. Sedra patted the horse's neck and murmured an apology, adding to her mother, "To whom shall I be sold?"
"Oh, Seddy, don't say that," fretted Donnis.
"You were allowed to choose, ma'am. Mama was sold to Papa. I think I might know who's buying me," she retorted.
"I wasn't sold, Sedra. I followed my father's wishes, as shall you," said Ansella. "I'm glad, really. I wouldn't have my beautiful girls and that hectic brother of yours if I hadn't. Some day you will look at your children and feel the same way. Amma guides us for our own good, if we but listen to Her."
"Where is Amma guiding me? That's what I want to know."
Ansella flexed her fingers in their fine goatskin riding gloves; her clear blue eyes gauged her daughter's face. "It would appear the King of Sairland is in need of a wife."
"Sairland!" gasped Sedra. So far away? She would almost certainly never see her family again were she to leave the continent for the great island to the east. "I thought…I know I have said some harsh words about His Grace the Duke of Alzeh, and while I have no feeling for the man at least I would still be in the Kingdom!"
"Your father says Sairland is where your country has most need of you," said her mother. "I have heard much good about King Bannig."
"Bannig?" snorted Sedra. "I've heard all he rules over is drinking and dancing."
"Sairland did not come to rule the Amman Ocean by drinking and dancing, my chicken," said Donnis.
"Bannig didn't obtain that ocean himself, cousin," Sedra countered. "His grandfathers did the work for him."
"He maintains it," said Ansella. "Gently, dear, gently."
"I'm sorry, Cousin Donnis," said Sedra somewhat sullenly, though she meant it.
"Bannig is sending his brother to open negotiations in the coming spokes. It is in your best interests to learn all you can about Sairland, its history and its customs," said her mother.
"You're not talking to Elly, Mama," she snapped. "I already know more about Sairland than Papa, I'd wager." She cracked the reins, and LeiLei left the Fairy Meadow at a sharp pace.
"I'm so very glad I had sons," said Donnis after the departing Princess's back.
"Alberto was no easier," said Ansella, "nor Evval."
"Berto and Ev were hectic boys, true, but in the end they grew up and they're still mine. Girls are given away to the families of their husbands, or to the Temples. Rarely are we allowed to keep one, and though it's a solace to us when we can, not having their own household is hardly fair to them, is it?"
"I wonder if there is any fairness to women in this world." Ansella turned Flor's head toward the higher hills and gave the white mare's ribs a heeltap. "Come, let's give Sedra her solitude."
Sedra let her horse pick its way down the steep trail back to the main road through the King's Woods, but on the clearer track she urged the mare to a faster pace. Once on the King's Road itself, she tore away at a run, giving free rein to LeiLei's spirits and her own rage.
The King's favorite child, kept in the dark about her own impending marriage! How much worse could it be were she his least favorite? She was the firstborn, she should be the one to rule Tremont, she was better suited than her feckless brother!
Sedra sensed the horse's flagging energy between her legs and eased into a walk, her initial anger dissipated for now. Temmin wasn't feckless, she admitted to herself. He wouldn't be a bad king, but she would have been the better. A woman king. "When Nerr gets the Heir," she muttered before remembering He had indeed gotten the Heir. Well, never mind, it still wouldn't happen.
Sedra was by no means ready to return to the Keep; her body still jangled, and she hated to be seen displaying anything other than a cool, intellectual cordiality in public. When a promising side road presented itself, she took it.
The further she walked LeiLei up the unfamiliar road the closer grew the trees, forming walls green and brown on either side. The great canopy of leaves overhead choked out the underbrush. She was far from her usual haunts. She had no fear; these were the King's Woods, after all. No one came here other than her own family…and the Travelers.
An uncomfortable suspicion eyes watched her pricked at her neck and forearms. Sedra brought her horse to a stop, uncertain whether she should continue on. She had just decided to start for home when a tall, rusty-haired, well-built young man stepped from the cover of the trees. His eyes were a sharp blue, and he dressed as a Traveler: sturdy, mud-colored pants tucked into dusty brown boots, a cheap brocade vest in deep gold, and an old linen shirt, its sleeves rolled up and a bandana at the open neck. A gold ring flashed in one ear. She couldn't decide if his handsome face reminded her more of a fox or more of a wolf. "I thought it was time I said hello, Princess. Hello!" A broad grin split his neat beard.
"Time you said 'hello'?" echoed Sedra.
"I know it's hardly a proper introduction, but Travelers can't expect proper anything, can we?"
Already angry, Sedra indulged in a rare display of rank. "Who are you to speak to me?"
"Oh, I've been watching you ramble about in these woods for years. My name is Connin. Your family and my family—let's just say we go back a few centuries."
Sedra blinked as a blush rose to her face. She knew the name, and now recognized the man. "I know who you are."
"Teacher read you a story from the History, eh? Which one, I wonder?" Connin came closer. "How many have you heard?"
"Just the one. That was enough to tell me everything about you. Good day."
Sedra gathered her reins, but Connin caught LeiLei's bridle before she could turn. "What did it tell you?"
"That you're a rapist. Let go my bridle!"
"Ah, Teacher read you Emmae's story! Never worry, despite appearances I don't take maidens against their will. I never really have that problem."
Connin looked just as he had in Teacher's book; his rusty beard was neatly trimmed, but his hair was neither short in the modern style nor long in the conservative style, and it ruffled round his face. She became quite aware how handsome he was, and Emmae's experiences in the book tumbled into her head. Sedra shifted in her saddle and gave herself a tiny shake. "What do you call what you did to Emmae?"
"She was under an enchantment to return anyone's desire. What man could resist a woman so beautiful and so outwardly willing?"
"Warin the Wise did."
"After he used her himself. Tell me, was that king really a better man than I? We both knew what we did. He lied to himself until he finished. At least I was honest, and I was under a greater compulsion than Emmae ever was. I still am."
"What do you mean?"
He'd come round to her left side so stealthily she didn't notice until his hand slipped up her divided skirt to caress her calf. "You say you know everything about me worth knowing. What you know about me is what Emmae knew. True, she knew…a great deal about me," he grinned. Sedra slashed at him with her riding crop; he dropped LeiLei's reins and stepped out of range, laughing. "When you want to make some memories of your own before a loveless marriage, Princess, I'm easy to find and quite discreet."
Sedra wheeled the mare around and tore back down the path to the War Road. Did everyone know about her marriage but her? No, everyone knew her future as a royal bargaining chip; Connin's taunt was a goad, not specific knowledge. How dare some Traveler accost her? True, he was no ordinary Traveler—the son of their Queen, as immortal as his mother, and as Teacher. Still insolent, still insinuating, still as seductive as he'd been in Emmae's day, some 700 years before.
She trotted LeiLei into the stable yards, threw the nearest groom the reins, stalked back through the mudroom to the family's staircase to the Residence Wing, and climbed the stairs as fast as she could without running. Once in her apartments, she began peeling off her suddenly constricting riding clothes. "A wrapper will suffice," she told her ladies maid. "I'm not feeling well, Camma, and wish to spend the day in my rooms."
"Shall I send for a Sister, Your Highness? Or perhaps Her Majesty?" said Miss Sinsett, her round face creased in worry.
"No, just find something to do elsewhere for a while, dear. I need to be alone." She stayed curled up on the chaise in her bedchamber until Miss Sinsett finished straightening up and left, casting a dubious look over her shoulder as she closed the door.
Sedra picked up her current book beside the chaise, but Emmae's experiences would not leave her, as vivid as the day Teacher "read" them to her: overwhelming desire; Connin's hands and mouth on her breasts; his cock slowly pushing inside her, bringing her to orgasm over and over; humiliation as her bespelled body betrayed her unwilling mind. Sedra reminded herself over and over that these were Emmae's memories, not her own. She'd been so confused and overwhelmed every time she left the story, struggling with desire. Teacher had been so near, an alluring combination of mystery, a dancer's grace and a mind so sharp…but those thoughts led to nothing but bitterness.
Her hand brushed her breast as she considered Connin's offer. Making memories of her own? What good would it do? At best they would haunt her as she lived trapped in Bannig's court, and in his bed. At worst she might be discovered. What would her father do then?
When the King discovered Teacher's illicit lessons, he shut her in her rooms for an entire spoke, meals included. No visitors were allowed apart from the King himself, Ellika and Miss Sinsett; Mama and Temmin still lived at Whithorse. No long walks, no newspapers, no reading more taxing to the mind than books written for the "improvement of unmarried girls," though Ellika smuggled novels in to her. "Here's to fashion crazes," she'd said, pulling two or three volumes from their hiding place among the yards and yards of muslin making up her skirts. "You'll have something good to read for a change!" Sedra had to agree Ellika's "thrilling romances" beat anything written for the improvement of unmarried girls, but longed for her prohibited studies. Over time, Harsin looked the other way as Sedra crept back to her old reading habits, but Teacher's lessons remained forbidden.
It was just as well. She closed her eyes and fell into a doze in which the unknown Bannig's coming inspection, Connin's lovemaking and her own frustrated pursuit of Teacher ran together.