The last days of Spring's Ending turned increasingly pleasant. The icy mountain winds blowing down the City's two rivers mellowed in the strengthening sun: fresh, kind, their edges softly rounded. The City overflowed in greenery, and the gardeners at the Lovers' Temple proliferated like the flowers they tended. On this late morning, they worked around Temmin in a mild buzz of snipping and pruning as he sat on the lawn, his tunic off and his drawstring trousers rolled up to feel the sun on his skin.
In fact, it was too bright on the grass for him to read his latest missive from Ellika. He shifted into the nearest tree's dappled light, lying flat on the grass and holding the letter over his head. He began to skim what he assumed would be her usual cheerful nattering about what she would wear to this coming Nerr's Day parties—the last of the season—hints as to what his brother's gift would be, and society gossip about people he barely knew. What he read was quite different:
Temmy, please come home and see Mama before Nerr's Day! I know it's a busy time at the Temple, but something is wrong and she refuses to speak to either me or Sedra about it. Cousin Donnie is just as tight-lipped as Hanston, I can't get anything out of either of them no matter how hard I wheedle!
As for Nerr's Day, can you arrange a private meeting for us on the Eve? I fear this may be Sedra's last Nerr's Day with us, and I don't like the idea of her giving you your brother's gift in public! You know how emotional she gets, it's why she hides behind newspapers. I don't mind everyone looking at me, you know I don't, and I can't wait until you see my new dress, it's the perfect aquamarine to contrast with all that Nerr's Day rose, but Sedra doesn't like it at all—everyone watching, not my dress, she mumbled something about how very pretty it was, but could I get her to call for Naister and have something more fashionable made up for herself? I could not, it was all I could do to coax her into a new dress at all.
Oh, and you've probably guessed why this is likely to be her last brother's gift to you: Papa is increasingly serious about marrying her off!! I heard rumors of everyone from the Duke of Alzeh to that fathead Fennows, but now Sedra tells me it's SAIRLAND!! Merciful Amma, please let it not be Sairland!! She would be a Queen, and there's much to be said for that I suppose, but I do not like the idea of her being so very far away. Alzeh isn't so very far away, and the Duke comes to the City for the height of the season at least, so we would see her, but Sairland! We'd never see her again! Of course I have no idea what King Bannig looks like, but the Duke isn't so terribly bad, even with that dark Alzehni complexion. One good thing I hear about the King is that he does love a good party. So at least she'll be amused in Cordeneen. Come to think on it, maybe not. She's not one for parties, is she? Maybe I should marry Bannig! No, I don't want to move to Sairland, either.
In any event, Mama is not at all well. Cousin Donnis says Mama's stomach is delicate at present, but she is obviously uneasy about it. Mama started turning odd colors at meals and stopped coming downstairs entirely about a week ago. My Iddie tells me the cooks say all she eats is dry toast and mint-and-ginger tisane! And she won't send for a Sister and she won't tell me what the matter is! That odious block Hanston won't let me near her for more than a few minutes!!
Papa is up to his tricks again and has elevated his mistress's greasy little father to a baronetcy! Gave him a holding on the coast of Kellen, some miserable little fishing village in the middle of nowhere, but at least one doesn't have to see him in society at present—he's there now, gloating. And then! Papa put up the Shelstone at Middlemont!! I'm not supposed to know about it, of course, but how do you keep a secret like that? Papa thinks Mama is sulking. Maybe she is, but I don't think so.
I think perhaps Mama might tell you what is wrong, and if it is your absence, I shall be very put out with you for going away like this even if it was for good reason and I suppose a direct invitation from the Gods is a good reason but really, it's caused such a great deal more fuss than I ever expected. I should never have helped you had I known.
You simply must come home to see Mama!!
Your loving sister,
E
The letter's length alone convinced Temmin that perhaps he should ask permission to visit the Keep, but the news about Mama…and then Twenna Shelstone…
From the little he knew, he didn't think his father had ever gone so far as to elevate a mistress's family. This did not bode well. He rolled down his trouser legs, donned his shirt and began composing his request to the Most Highs in his head as he walked back into the Temple.
Two days before Summer's Beginning on a sunny Vennaday, the merciful Most Highs sent Temmin back to the Keep. He shot his cuffs and twitched under his now-unfamiliar shirt collar in the warm weather; there was much to be said for the loose, comfortable Temple garb as the temperature rose.
He sought out his younger sister on arrival and found her in her apricot-and-gilt private sitting room, pacing on the needlepointed roses of her carpet. Ellika pounced on him as soon as he came through the door. "Oh, I'm so glad you're home, Temmy, it's been the most vexing spoke ever!" She poured out her sorrows: the odious Elbig Shelstone's elevation, the hussy Twenna Shelstone's residence at Middlemont, their father's frequent, indiscreet absences, Sedra's impending engagement, and their mother's troubling indisposition. "You look well at least," she sniffed.
"I'm here," he said, kissing her forehead. "Doesn't that satisfy, you little baggage?"
"What will satisfy, you vulgar creature, is your going to Mama's apartments and storming Castle Hanston. Go! Off with you, or I shall prick you with your brother's gift and there's your hint! Go go go!"
Ensconced in a bed full of pillows, Ansella pushed the soft boiled egg and toast away untouched. “I just can’t, Donnie. Please take it away, the smell is giving me a terrible headache.”
“You must let me call the Sisters!” said Donnis. “You're getting worse, not better.”
“It’s just the baby, cos. It will pass in a spoke.”
“I’m not sure you have a spoke!” said Donnis, taking the tray. “If you can’t eat a little something by tonight, I’m calling the Sisters whether you want me to or not!”
“I beg you not to! I don’t want him to know about the baby!”
Donnis dropped the tray to her hips in exasperation. “Why, in Amma’s name?”
Ansella set her pale face. “I will not compete with that Shelstone woman!”
“Oh, Annie, you can’t stay in here the entire six spokes—” A racket rose from the sitting room.
“I’m sorry, Your Highness, but the Queen cannot be disturbed!” Miss Hanston's voice boomed. “Sir, please!” Donnis clanged the tray down on a nearby console; she had specified no visitors.
“Very sorry, Hanston,” Temmin's voice came, “but I’m only here for a short visit." What was he doing here at all? "Mama! Fair warning, I’m coming in!” The rangy young man dashed through the door, Miss Hanston rumbling after.
“I did try, ma’am!” she said.
“It’s all right, Hanston,” smiled Ansella. “He’s welcome, as long as he can be quiet and not rattle the teeth in my head.” Miss Hanston gave the Prince a stony look that said she very much doubted it, retired to the wardrobe, and closed its door behind her.
“Hullo, Mama!"
"Hullo yourself, antic boy, what are you doing here?" said his mother.
"An impromptu visit at the command of the Princess Ellika. What's on the tray, Cousin Donnis?” sniffed Temmin.
“Ellika? Haven’t you eaten, sweetheart?”
“It’s been at least an hour, Mama.” He examined the untouched plate. “Donnis, is she eating?” he demanded.
“No, she's not,” Donnis answered. She took the tray out to Miss Hanston, Temmin eyeing it wistfully even though all it contained was toast and soft-boiled egg.
When she returned, Donnis found him holding his mother’s hand at her bedside. “You do not look at all well, Mama.”
“It’s just a touch of something. I’ll be right as rain in a day or two.”
“Elly says you haven’t been downstairs in a week, that’s not a ‘touch of something.’ Has she been this ill the entire time, Cousin Donnis?”
“She’s gotten worse the last day or two." She told him over Ansella's protests about the headaches, the weakness, the vomiting, the vanished appetite. “But she won’t let me call the Sisters! I’ve given her until this evening, and then I’m calling them whether she likes it or not,” she finished.
“I’m not giving her five minutes,” said Temmin. “We’re calling them now, and there’s an end to it. Papa will be furious when he finds out you’re ill and haven’t gotten help, Mama!”
“If your father cared, he would have enquired,” said Ansella.
“Elly says he thinks you’re having a sulk.”
“And don’t I deserve one!” she said, high color and her old temper breaking through her lethargy.
“About Miss Shelstone—”
“Don’t bring her up, Temmy,” warned Donnis.
“The Honorable Miss Shelstone can have him!” shouted Ansella, rising off the pillows and then sinking back, shaking. A spasm racked her, and she cried out in pain.
“Right," said Temmin. "Donnis, I’m sorry to order you about—”
Donnis was already on her way to the sitting room. “Hanston, off you go. Find the nearest footman and have him fetch the Sisters. Be quick about it!”
“Past time!” huffed Miss Hanston. She picked up her skirts and rolled from the room.
Breaking glass brought Donnis into the bedchamber at a run. Ansella was panting, doubled over in Temmin’s arms; pieces of a drinking glass lay in a puddle on the floor. “I tried to give her some water—I dropped the glass and it hit the edge of the table, don't tread on it—I had to catch her—” Ansella cried out and clutched at Temmin’s shoulders. “Cousin Donnie, what’s wrong!” Temmin said.
Donnis rushed to the right of the bed to hold Ansella on the other side. “She might be miscarrying,” she said. “There, Ansella, let go of Temmy, I have you!” she soothed as another spasm shook the Queen.
“Don’t tell him! Don’t tell him!” Ansella wept as Donnis rocked her.
“Tell me what?” said Temmin. He stood up and just missed stepping on the glass shards. “Miscarriage? What?”
“Not you, Temmy. Go get Mistress Mannell, right now!” said Donnis.
Temmin ran out the door to find the housekeeper, nearly tripping on the rug.
“I don’t want to lose the baby, I don’t want to lose her!”
Clammy, cold sweat stuck Ansella’s golden hair to her cheeks and forehead; Donnis reached for a damp cloth on the bedstand. “I know, sweetheart. Let’s make you more comfortable. There, now, cos, it’s all right.” Donnis lay Ansella against the pillows and peeled off the bedclothes; blood already stained the sheets.
Ansella turned on her side and drew her knees up to her chest. “It hurts! Donnie, I feel wet.” She put her hands between her legs; she brought them out bloody and began keening in earnest.
Mistress Mannell bustled in, arms full of toweling stacked in a large basin. Behind her stood Temmin, stock still in the doorway, white-faced and staring. “Hanston!” she called. “Get His Highness out of here!” Miss Hanston tugged hard at Temmin’s sleeve, but he didn’t budge. “Temmy, go find your father!” said Donnis. This had the desired effect; he fled the room, and Donnis turned back to her charge.
She climbed onto the bed and took her cousin into her lap, using a flannel damp with lavender water to clean Ansella’s hands. “Mannell’s here, now there’s my girl!” she murmured. “The Sisters will come soon, now there’s my girl!” Ansella lay limp against her, breath shallow.
Mistress Mannell and Miss Hanston flew around the bedchamber, stripping off the crumpled covers, covering the bed in toweling, starting a fire and putting a large copper kettle on to boil. Donnis had miscarried twice before Alberto, both times quite early. It hurt, but not like this, and she hadn't bled like this. By the time Eldest Sister Imvalda and the midwives arrived, Donnis only hoped they might save her cousin’s life.
Temmin had a time tracking down his father. He wasn’t in his rooms, he wasn’t in his office. The council room contained a few Ministers, alarmed and irritated at his headlong intrusion. He finally thought to ask Affton and tracked him down to the servants' hall. “Riding, I believe, Your Highness,” said the butler. “May I say I took the liberty of sending a groom to find His Majesty as soon as the call for the Sisters went out, sir.”
Temmin slumped against the kitchen archway and let out a shuddering sigh. His eyes burned, and he wiped at his brow with his handkerchief. “Thank you, Affton, I should have known you’d think to find him.”
“May I also suggest, sir, that since there’s nothing you can do for the moment you might have a cup of tea?" Affton murmured. "I can send a tray up to your room, if you’d like, or the Small Sitting Room.”
"If I go upstairs I'll have a hard time staying away...and Lady Donnis made it clear..." he trailed off. Affton glided him back through the kitchens to the Small Sitting Room. Temmin sat in his shirtsleeves drinking tea and eating plain buttered toast, huddled in a corner of the big room.
His mother, her hands covered in blood: the vision he'd had more than a year ago at Neya's Day in the Gods' bed. The image had receded in his mind—who wants to think on such things? Dread radiated through him, pricking from his scalp down his back to his fingers and toes as he remembered them all: Jenks leading a cavalry charge. Harsin on a battlefield. Sedra shielding a child from some unknown danger. Ellika, of all people, facing down a squad of Tremontine soldiers. Finally Teacher and the Traveler Queen, flames all around them. He had hoped perhaps they’d been metaphors of some kind, but now it all seemed possible, almost inevitable. Could he stop any of it from happening?
Neya said he’d be called either Liberator or Magnificent. She hadn't said which path he should take, or even how he could tell them apart. Could he even choose it? Or was it all pre-ordained, like the blood on his mother's hands? Temmin finished his tea and returned to his rooms, where he threw himself on the bed. This was not how he'd intended to spend his day at the Keep.
In time, Miss Hanston's voice in his study called Temmin from his bedchamber. Temmin hurried into the room. “Hanston, is my father back yet?”
“No, sir. He. Is. Not. But the Eldest Sister is in Her Majesty’s receiving room waiting for you, Your Highness.”
Temmin shrugged into his coat and followed Miss Hanston down the hall into the Queen's incongruously bright receiving room, where Sedra sat listening intently, Ellika huddled against her in misery. “She may be out of danger now,” Eldest Sister Imvalda was saying. Dark patches stained her deep green robes; Temmin looked away, unsure if they were water or something worse. “We should have been called much, much sooner.”
Ellika raised her head from Sedra’s arm. “Did you know, Tem? Did you know she was expecting?”
Temmin shook his head. “I don’t think anyone but Cousin Donnis and Hanston knew.”
All eyes swiveled to the crumbling Miss Hanston, who said, “Beg pardon, Your Highnesses, Eldest Sister, but if my lady says ‘don’t tell anyone,’ I don’t tell anyone! Nor would you if you were me!”
“It’s all right, Hanston,” said Sedra. “Please continue that policy for now and tell no one. Go downstairs and have a cup of tea.” Once she was gone, Sedra fetched a kerchief from her pocket, put her face in her hands for a moment, and wiped her eyes. “How far along was she, Eldest Sister?”
“Less than two moons—not quite a spoke, as the Eddinites would say, miss.” Imvalda smoothed a fold in her habit. “Sarra and I have known since she visited us last, but of course we could say nothing ourselves. You shouldn’t refer to the baby in past tense,” she added. “The Queen may keep her yet. It’s still too soon to say. She must be still and in bed for at least a spoke.” Though Imvalda didn't say the words aloud, Temmin heard them clearly: If she lives.
Ellika burst into fresh tears and Sedra gave her a fresh handkerchief. “It’s a girl? How do you know?”
“Teacher would have known if it was a boy, and he didn’t say a word to me,” said Temmin. “I think he would have.”
Ellika opened her mouth to ask another question, but the Eldest Sister interrupted. “There is more." She held up a large, flat-sided amber bottle. “This came to the Keep from the Sisters’ Temple not long after Her Majesty visited us, but it came neither from me nor from Sarra Embodiment.”
“What is it?” said Sedra.
“The Sister who delivered it claimed it was a morning sickness draught, stronger than the Early Mother's tincture I gave Her Majesty myself. It is not. It’s an abortifacient—a slow-acting poison meant to cause your mother a miscarriage, and probably worse.”
“Who would do such a thing!” said Temmin.
“Ibbit,” said Sedra.
The Eldest Sister slowly shook her head. “We never suspected she would do this to a woman she…forgive me…she swore she loved. All but one of her confederates escaped with her, but rest assured we will be investigating further. We thought we had rooted out the immediate blasphemy. Apparently we still have work to do." Imvalda studied her hands, her face careworn and guilt-ridden. "As for tonight," she resumed, "My best midwife will remain here. I will send others so she might rest when necessary, and I’ve sent for my poisons expert. We've given your mother the first dose of the antidote we think is needed, but we have more study to do. I won't lie to you. She is in considerable danger, perhaps mortal danger. She’s more comfortable now but she will have no visitors other than the Dowager Marchioness and Miss Hanston to wait on her."
"Not even Papa?" sniffed Ellika.
Imvalda considered, her eyes to one side and a dismayed frown hovering around her mouth. "His Majesty may make a brief—brief!—visit, but I recommend he not visit frequently. The Queen must not be agitated. Now," she said in a different tone, "in no case are you to accept any medicine for her, or for anyone in this family, from any hand but mine or Sarra's in future—directly from one of us and no one else, however well known to you or trusted.” Imvalda called for the Sisters not staying behind and took her leave.
The three siblings sat silent; Sedra stroked Ellika's back. Temmin rose to his feet. "I’m going to find Father myself, since no one else has managed to.”
He strode out into the hall, just in time to see Winmer disappear into the King’s apartments next door. “I am not going into a sickroom in all my dirt!” his father said as the door closed.
Inside, Harsin was stripping as he hurried into his bedchamber; his valet Gram followed behind, stooping to pick up the discarded riding clothes, and his secretary Winmer brought up the rear. Harsin changed into fresh clothes and washed his face. “This would have to happen when I was at Middlemont. Cancel any appointments for the next three days, Winmer, and send word that while it was a lovely interlude et cetera, I will not be seeing Miss Shelstone in the immediate future. Do not under any circumstances say anything about the Queen’s indisposition, to Miss Shelstone or anyone else.” Winmer nodded, scribbling in his neat little book, and Harsin stepped through his bedchamber door through the private hallway and into the Queen’s bedchamber.
In one corner Miss Hanston was giving a nervous midwife a flinty going-over. The ladies maid bobbed a quick curtsey to him and rumbled into the sitting room, dragging the protesting Sister behind her. Donnis stood up. “I’ll give you a moment, Your Majesty.”
Harsin took her hand in his; it was damp with Ansella’s sweat. “My dear Donnis, stop a moment. How is she? What’s happened?”
Donnis breathed in, long and slow, and let it out. “Ansella may be miscarrying, Harsin. She wouldn’t let me tell you she was with child.” Harsin’s heart soared—a baby he could claim as his own legitimate daughter—and just as quickly tumbled down as he remembered his wife's face when he'd told her about Twenna Shelstone. Had he caused this?
“It’s worse,” continued Donnis. Miscarriage, disguised poison, still in danger, Ibbit—when he found the rebel Sister, he would kill her personally, trial be damned. “I’ll leave you,” said Donnis, “but do not stay long. She must be still and rest. Don’t agitate her, Harsin, I beg you." She closed the door behind her.
Harsin sat down and studied his sleeping wife and her shallow breathing. Stubborn woman, you have been nothing but trouble. He brushed away the hair slicked to her cheek, and she fluttered awake.
“Harsin.”
He leaned down closer to hear, stroking her jaw with a gentle thumb. "I'm here, Annie."
“Harsin,” his name came again in a tiny, dry chuckle. “You came through the door first. I win.”
He laughed, a short, soft bark. “You win, sweetheart,” he said through tears. "You win."
Meanwhile, Sedra pushed Ellika away and stood up. "Where are you going?" said her sister.
"I have something to do."
"Temmin's doing something, you're doing something, what am I supposed to do!" wailed Ellika.
"Go to your room. Wait here for news. I don't know, find something to do! I'll be back later." Ellika burst into tears again, but Sedra didn't spare a backward glance as she went through the door.
Through the Keep's warren of new and ancient corridors and galleries Sedra ran, scattering footmen and maids, until she came to its oldest part: the original tower that had begun the great fortress, its round base carved into the living rock beneath the Keep. To one side, enormous decorated wooden doors led to the family chapel. To the other side rose stairs, winding up the tower walls higher than she could see. Prayer on one side, action on the other. She chose action and began climbing the stairs, grateful for her long walks and the strong legs that went with them.
Sedra lost count how many steps she'd taken by the time she reached the top and the landing's only door for the first time since her father banned her from study. She knocked.
Teacher opened it. "Your Highness! I am surprised—are you allowed to be here?"
"It doesn't matter, I need you, Mama needs you," she said, pushing past into Teacher's library.
"How may I serve you?"
"Have you heard about Mama?"
" I am afraid I have heard nothing. I have been here in the Tower, looking for several wanted personages. What is amiss?"
"I think Mama is dying." Sedra recounted her mother's condition and Imvalda's sobering assessment. "I need your help."
Those silver eyes shone cold as ever, even in Teacher's sympathetic face. "There is little I can do. My power does not extend to women's magic."
"No," she said impatiently, "but you know where the Traveler Queen is. You can convince her to help!"
"I cannot take you to her, nor can we speak to one another," said Teacher, "and you know the pain when we are too close to one another."
"But you know where she is," Sedra insisted. "Tell me. I'll go look for her on my own if I have to, but I know you already know where she is, even if you can't be near her—you can get me to her more quickly!"
Teacher took her hands in a long, cool grip. "Calmly, Your Highness."
"You used to call me Sedra, not 'Your Highness.' You said you were my friend, even if you could be nothing else, even if I wanted something else."
"You were not alone in that wanting…Sedra," Teacher said, "but I did not choose what I am, and there is another I have waited for a long while now. Of course I will help you, never worry. I care for your mother very much, though she does not care much for me. I cannot take you to the Traveler Queen, but I can bring you quite close." Teacher turned her to face the great mirror hanging from the round room's ceiling. "Show me Mirror Clearing." The mirror's image shifted; a round, irregular window framed forest greenery.
Teacher paused. "Before we go, I must caution you against Maeve's son."
Sedra said nothing about her encounter with Connin. "Will he try to prevent me from taking the Traveler Queen to Mama?"
"No, no, but I cannot stay to bring you back. He must do it—he possesses much of the same power I do, and he is not bound to the King as I am. He will help you, but be aware he is a sly one." Teacher reached to touch her cheek; Sedra reflexively flinched. Teacher's hand dropped hastily away to take her own, and they swirled through the mirror.
Her stomach twisted; just before she became grossly sick, they arrived in a clearing in the King's Woods in an area Sedra avoided on her walks. It was among the Travelers' haunts, and while she knew longstanding if confusing connections existed between the Travelers and the Antremonts, the vagabonds still made her uncomfortable. She looked around for the reflection they'd used; nothing but trees surrounded them. "Thank you," she said, releasing Teacher's slender fingers. "Which way?"
"Straight down that path you will come to their camp. Now, goodbye, Sedra. I hope Maeve can help your mother, but do not expect her to." Teacher paused. "Give her a message from me. Tell her I love her, and that the time may be coming soon."
Sedra let out a small, astonished breath. "Yes. Yes, of course."
Teacher faced an old, gnarled tree. "Show me my Library." The slight black figure became liquid and swirled into a large knothole in the tree; Sedra's nape pricked.
She stared at the knothole. The Traveler Queen had been her rival? She liked to think she had long since patched her heart after its girlish disappointment—but Teacher preferred an old woman? She glared down the path. Colorful glimpses shone through the young leaves: red, gold and blue painted caravans, the bright wagons that served as both home and conveyance to Travelers throughout the Kingdom. She picked up her skirts and ran, ran faster, until she bowled into the clearing headlong into a rusty-haired young man.
"Hold, hold!" he laughed, seizing her arms. "Look, everyone! I've caught a pretty girl!"
"Release me this instant!" she huffed.
Connin grinned. "Some day you may change your mind, but for now…" He let her go and swept a low bow. "Your Highness, how may this humble band of Travelers help your family, since you always need us to get your sorry asses out of every scrape you find yourselves in?"
The camp erupted in roars; men, women and children who had been attending to cooking, dandling babies, mending tack, tuning instruments, all laughed at her. She flushed. "I have come for the Traveler Queen's help. My mother was poisoned. The Sisters say she might die."
"Who's here?" came a creaky voice from across the clearing.
"The Princess Royal," answered Connin, keeping his eyes on Sedra. "Her family craves a boon, as usual."
"I have never asked anyone for a boon," snapped Sedra.
Connin turned his head over his shoulder. "Mother? Will you speak with her, or shall I send her packing?"
"Don't be so cruel, Connin, the girl's worried about her mama," said the old woman, toddling across the clearing. Connin grabbed a nearby folding stool and helped her onto the seat.
Sedra had never seen a crone so old. Her pate shone white and mottled beneath grizzled hair. Her clawlike hands worked to tie a bandana over her head, until Connin took the kerchief from her and gently fastened it behind. She cocked her chin at Sedra, and her wrinkled face broke into a grin reminiscent of her son's but for the missing teeth. "Well, now! It's the eldest daughter. I haven't seen you since you were a baby, not this close up at any rate. You've turned out well. What's amiss, child?"
"My mother is ill…" Should she call the old woman Your Majesty? Lady? "…ma'am. She's with child, and she's been poisoned."
The Traveler Queen listened as Sedra told the story once again, the old crone's face grave and sympathetic. "It depends upon the poison, child. I might not be able to help her."
Sedra's helplessness concentrated into a flare of anger. "Might not, or will not?"
"Have a care, Princess," growled Connin.
"Every moment we stand here my mother is suffering, every moment we stand here could mean the difference between living and dying!"
The crone spoke so softly Sedra bent down to hear her. "Do you know how many people are dying, right now, just in this Kingdom? Child, Harla gathers up Her harvest every minute." She tapped her withered chest. "I can feel every dying breath, but I feel the first breath of every baby born, as well. So many births, and so many deaths, every moment, day and night. You do not understand what you ask."
"She is my mother! She is my mother and she is your Queen. Come and save her!"
A rumble from the surrounding Travelers. A sharp-eyed man who held his guitar more like a club than an instrument started toward her. "We don't recognize your family's sovereignty, girl. We have our own Queen."
"Jesper, stand down," ordered Connin.
"Will you help me or not!" cried Sedra.
"Connin, help me up," said the Traveler Queen. "Girl, your temper matches your wit—both too great to be controlled at times, I fear."
Sedra pressed her lips together and closed her eyes long enough to pray: Amma give me strength. "So I have been told, ma'am. I can hide my wit when necessary, but sometimes my temper escapes me. Forgive me. Please, just tell me whether you will come. If you will not, I must go home and hope the Sisters have better news. I'm on foot now and it's something of a walk." She remembered her promise. "I have a message for you, from Teacher. I don't know if it's for your ears alone, or…" She trailed off, embarrassed at feeling put-upon when she was the one asking for help.
"Tell me."
"He says he loves you, and that the time may be soon."
The old woman took in the color burning on Sedra's cheeks. "A difficult message to deliver. Thank you."
Sedra swallowed a humiliated retort that would ruin any chance of the Queen's cooperation. "I ask you—beg you—one last time, ma'am: will you come?"
"I will come, though it may not do any good," nodded the old crone. "Connin, take us there."
He frowned as he took his mother's elbow. "But the pain—"
"I'm sure there's no risk. Teacher expects me and so is far away by now—Inchar at best, Oldtown at the worst," she chuckled.
Sedra prepared herself to creep down the path, but to her surprise the Traveler Queen walked as briskly as she herself did. In the corner of Sedra's eye, a much younger, dark-haired woman flickered, superimposed on the withered Queen's figure; when Sedra looked at her directly, the flicker disappeared.
They stopped before a large knothole in a gnarled tree. "You've asked my mother prettily," said Connin, "but you haven't spoken so to me."
Sedra bit back sarcasm and squared her shoulders. "Do you wish me to beg?"
"I wish for you to kiss me."
"Amma give me patience, boy, stop it!" said his mother.
"You must kiss me," he repeated. "Are you too proud to kiss a Traveler? You'd be the first princess among the many I've asked if so."
Passing time scratched at her throat; she might be too late already. "All right, very well." She made to kiss his bearded cheek, but Connin caught her up and kissed her full on the mouth.
Ellika wore her enthusiasm for the opposite sex like a bright, fluttering pennant, but Sedra kept her own passion tightly furled and stowed away. She'd never been kissed though she'd often longed to be, especially after hearing Emmae's story. While she'd experienced her ancestress's memories as if they were her own, she now discovered actual kissing was greatly to be preferred. Perhaps it was as well that Papa married her off soon.
She closed her eyes and enjoyed Connin's beard against her cheek before breaking away in hasty guilt. "Are you satisfied?"
"Oh, not nearly as much as I should like to be," he smiled.
She just had to tolerate him long enough to get through the mirror, Sedra chanted to herself. She took one of his hands, the Traveler Queen the other. "Show me Queen Ansella's…" Connin turned to Sedra. "Where shall I put you?"
"Mama's receiving room."
"Very well, show me Queen Ansella's receiving room."
Sedra couldn't see the mirror that must be in the knothole, but she could feel the nauseating, dissolving displacement as they swirled into it.
They came out the other end into the round celadon room. Sedra led them into her mother's private drawing room. She made to open the door to the bedchamber, but the Traveler Queen stopped her. "I must go in alone. I shall send your mother's attendants out to you." She gave her son a sharp look. "I think it might be best for all concerned."
"Damn," muttered Connin. He threw himself into the nearest chair.
The old woman yanked open the door, to the startled exclamations of the Queen's attendants. In short order Lady Donnis, Miss Hanston and the Sister midwife found themselves marched out of the room and the door closed behind them. The distraught Miss Hanston spotted Connin and almost distracted herself making sure he didn't steal anything. The Sister kept staring in astonishment at the closed door; she excused herself to kneel in a corner and tell the prayer beads she pulled from beneath her habit.
Sedra pulled Donnis aside. "Is it truly the Traveler Queen?" whispered Donnis. "How did you get here so quickly?"
"Teacher helped me find her. I can't explain, it's too complicated, but she promised to help if she could." Sedra took Donnis's hands. "It's bad, isn't it?"
Donnis nodded, her face lined and distraught. "It is, my dear, very bad indeed. Harla take that Ibbit!" Sedra flinched; her cousin had never sworn in her presence before. "Well," sighed Donnis, "there's nothing to do but wait. I need a cup of tea, desperately."
Two hours later a neat stack of little plates that once held cakes and sandwiches sat before Connin on the tea table. No one else seemed to have an appetite, and "I should hate to see such a lovely spread sent back to the kitchen untouched."
Sedra began to wonder whether the Traveler Queen would ever come out. Was it a good sign she stayed so long, or a bad one? The midwife didn't know and mumbled something about the Traveler Queen's sanctity; she seemed both terrified and elated to be near the old woman and had paused her prayers just long enough for a single cup of tea.
Just when Sedra had made up her mind to knock on the bedchamber door, it opened. The Traveler Queen emerged, her face grave. "She's alive," said the old woman, "and for now she will strengthen—she is already stronger, but the poison has done its work."
"She is stronger? Will she live?" cried Sedra. "Will she keep the baby?"
"It's up to her," said the crone. "It's completely up to her. She will be able to eat now. No restrictions—give her anything she asks for. Spoil her. Give her all her favorite delicacies. She will be able to take exercise in a few days, and I recommend she do so. Let her ride as long as she can get into the saddle, and let her drive as long as she can reach the reins. I've told her to go home to Whithorse, but she's refused." The Traveler Queen looked older than ever, her face collapsed into itself. "Connin, take me home. I'm exhausted."
Donnis stepped forward and took the old woman's hands; the midwife gasped, in horror or perhaps envy. "Thank you for saving her, thank you so much! She is my dearest friend and to lose her…oh, thank you so very much!" After a final squeeze of the crone's hands and an acknowledging nod to Connin, Lady Donnis led Miss Hanston and the still-awestruck midwife back into the Queen's bedchamber.
The Traveler Queen peered through her wrinkles up at Sedra. "Wit and temper. Temper and wit. You need to conquer both. Teacher is not allowed to share all the years of knowledge with you, I'd bet." Sedra said nothing but colored again, lifting her head a little higher on her neck. The Traveler Queen chuckled. "Don't be proud. Don't be resentful. When you want to know more, come to me."
Connin snatched Sedra's hand and kissed her knuckles before she could pull away. "Your Highness, perhaps we'll run across each other in the Woods. You know where our camp is. You're welcome any time." He took his mother's hand and faced one of the two mirrors flanking the fireplace. "Show me Mirror Clearing." The greenery framed in the knothole appeared; Connin and his mother disappeared in a swirling mass, and the mirror once again reflected the celadon receiving room. Sedra rubbed the back of her hand where Connin had kissed it.
Laughter seeped out of her mother's bedchamber. Roused from her contemplation, Sedra hurried into the room without knocking. She found her mother sitting up in bed; color had returned to her cheeks. Miss Hanston rumbled past, a grin like a fissure splitting her face. "She's calling for tea and biscuits, miss, tea and biscuits and a slice of cheese!" The happy ladies maid disappeared through the door.
"Seddy!" called her mother, holding out her hands. Sedra ran to the bed and sat down on the edge just long enough to kiss Ansella's hands before she flung herself onto the bed and sobbed into her mother's breast. "Oh, there now, sweetheart, never worry, I'm all right," said her mother, smoothing Sedra's glossy dark hair. "Tsk. What has Sinsett been up to? Your hair's a mess." Sedra cried and laughed as she burrowed against her mother's side.