Chanlix hiked up the skirts of her robe and stepped delicately into the crystal clear water that had no place in the middle of the desert. The cold sent an icy shock up her legs, but it was a lovely relief from the blistering heat of the noonday sun. The vegetation that had sprouted all around the water had not grown high enough to provide any shade, but Chanlix imagined that by this time the following year, the spring would be beautifully lush and provide ample shelter.
Under the soles of her feet, she felt the faintest vibration—the hum of the Well that lay at the depths of the spring. Like the one in Aalwell, this Well manifested as a deep fissure in the earth, seemingly bottomless, and the hum that emanated from its depths became more prominent the closer one came. But neither Aaltah’s Well nor any of the other Wells around which the kingdoms and principalities were built also provided water. It seemed this Well provided the trappings of life itself, and though Chanlix knew the water had no magical properties—besides a high concentration of minerals that made it a more effective spell vessel than ordinary water—she found herself taking many a stolen moment to dip her feet in it. The cold and the hum of power were thrilling and calming in equal measure.
Chanlix turned at the sound of footsteps behind her and felt another little thrill when she caught sight of Tynthanal approaching. She hurried to get out of the water then lowered her robes, her cheeks heating in embarrassment at having been caught in so undignified a state.
Tynthanal grinned at her and shook his head as she stuck her feet haphazardly into her shoes. Then he plunked down on the damp earth and pulled off his own boots, revealing a pair of strong, work-calloused feet. Still grinning, he stood and strode into the water, his breath hissing in on a gasp as the cold bit into his flesh. Then he wiggled his toes and groaned in what sounded like ecstasy.
“Come join me,” he beckoned. “That way I won’t have to feel guilty for interrupting you.”
She shook her head. “I should get back to work.” As they continued to build and improve their little settlement, there was always more work to do, and after some initial reluctance, the men had allowed that the abigails need not confine themselves to only traditional women’s work. More than one of Chanlix’s women had shown an inclination to swing a hammer, though Chanlix herself was more apt to whack her own fingers than a nail.
“Join me,” Tynthanal insisted. “I have something I need to talk to you about.”
Chanlix hesitated. She had to admit that it was a little silly for a woman who’d spent nearly half her life as a whore to be so prudish about letting a man see her feet and ankles, but despite all her admonishments to herself, Tynthanal’s good opinion meant a great deal more to her than it probably should.
She sighed and kicked her shoes back off. Tynthanal had been far from scandalized when several of her abigails eschewed their red robes for the convenience of borrowed men’s breeches while they engaged in manual labor. He was no prissy nobleman, despite having once been the Crown Prince of Aaltah. Hiking up her skirts once more, she waded out to Tynthanal.
They stood together in silence for a few minutes, each quietly enjoying the fresh chill of the water and the peacefulness of the spring.
“What is it you want to talk about?” she finally asked. “Or was that just an excuse to goad me back into the water?”
He laughed. “Can’t it be both?”
She tried to look stern, but the twinkle in his eye told her she had failed miserably. She had to fight the temptation to splash him, though she very much doubted such would quell his mischief. “Go on, then, and start talking.” A bead of sweat trickled down her cheek, and with both hands holding her skirts, she couldn’t brush it away.
“I’ll start talking when you remove your wimple,” he said, and she made a sound of outrage that had no effect on him whatsoever. “It’s hot enough out here without wearing such a heavy head covering.”
He wasn’t wrong. The wimple seemed to trap the heat, and removing the sweat-soaked fabric at night was always a huge relief.
“Perhaps you can cut it down later to make a snood. That would keep your head properly covered without suffocating you. But for now, just take it off. It’s only you and me, and I assure you I won’t be scandalized at the sight of a woman’s hair.”
“Just because we’re alone at this precise moment doesn’t mean we will stay that way. Anyone could walk over here and see.”
“Name me the person in this camp who you believe would faint away in shock and horror at seeing your head uncovered.”
Chanlix bit her lip. Some of the older, more traditional abigails might grumble to themselves—they certainly grumbled about those who’d put aside their robes—but the discontent would not rise to the level of shock. She had never before considered taking the wimple off in public, but now that Tynthanal had mentioned the possibility, it was a powerful temptation.
The water rippled and splashed as Tynthanal closed the small distance between them and reached for her wimple. Chanlix started to jerk away, then forced herself to hold still as he carefully removed the pins that held the wimple in place. She should be telling him no in no uncertain terms—she knew him well enough by now to believe he would obey—but somehow that wasn’t what she was doing.
Tynthanal pulled the wimple from her head and tossed the sodden length of fabric onto the shore beside their shoes.
“There,” he said in a low murmur. “That’s better, isn’t it?”
Just then a faint breeze blew by, cooling the sweat that had pooled at the back of her neck. She had not felt the delicious kiss of the wind on her nape since she’d donned the red robes, a lifetime ago. “Yes, it is,” she answered hoarsely, then cleared her throat and put a more respectable distance between them. It was becoming harder and harder to deny to herself that Tynthanal was flirting with her—as impossible as that was to comprehend—but she could not allow either of them to fall into temptation. No matter his near-exile, he was still a king’s son, and she would not have been a fit companion for him even before she’d become an abigail.
“Now my wimple is off, and you may start talking,” she said briskly. He cocked his head at her, and she knew he was debating whether to continue pressing. She was not sure if she was more relieved or disappointed when he chose to allow her to divert him.
“We had visitors this morning,” he said.
“Yes. I noticed.” A trio of riders had ridden into the encampment and met with Tynthanal and his second-in-command. The visit had struck her as curious, and perhaps just a little concerning. “What did they want?”
“They came from Miller’s Bridge.”
Chanlix remembered the little town that had been the last settlement they’d passed through on their journey to the new Abbey.
“Are they hoping to send some more women out to us?” she asked, though she frowned at her own question. The Abbey was meant only for noblewomen, though the occasional wealthy merchant’s wife or daughter found herself banished there. Miller’s Bridge was on the edge of nowhere, hardly the sort of place where nobles or high-class merchants resided. “Or were they hoping the Abbey was open for business?”
Chanlix couldn’t imagine the men of Miller’s Bridge would be so desperate for paid sex that they would ride half a day out to a rough settlement in the desert to spend their hard-earned wages.
“Neither,” Tynthanal said with a delighted grin. “As you know, I sent some of my men to the town to replenish our supplies, and they mentioned that we had found a Well that produces feminine elements. The mayor of Miller’s Bridge is hoping we can come to an agreement to trade potions for additional supplies and manpower. With the help of experienced frontier builders, we can put up actual houses instead of one-room cabins and lean-tos, and we can eventually retire our little tent village altogether. And with our potions, Miller’s Bridge can finally grow enough of their own food to not be so dependent on imported supplies.”
Chanlix bit her lip, for it certainly sounded like an advantageous arrangement for both sides. The elements were so abundant at this Well—and the water so mineral rich—that a single abigail could produce dozens of vials of simple growth potions in a day. But it would be a most unorthodox arrangement, and the Abbey would not have the kind of taxable revenue the trade minister would expect from them. Assuming he expected them to generate any revenue at all out here where there was supposed to be nothing.
“What did you tell him?” she asked.
“I told him I would discuss it with you and we would give him an answer within a week.”
She gave him a startled look, though perhaps she should not have been surprised. He was as unlike his half-brother as it was possible to be, and it would never have occurred to him to impose his own will on the women of the Abbey without consulting their abbess. Regardless of the harsh reality that she had no official power to make any such decision.
“I see no reason why any of us should live in shared tents and makeshift cabins when we can so easily make arrangements for better accommodations,” he said. “Not when it will cost us so little.”
Chanlix curled her toes into the sandy bottom of the spring. “I don’t imagine the king sent us out here with the idea that we should live in comfort and ease.”
Tynthanal snorted. “He can hardly expect us to ignore the resources available to us, no matter how unexpected they might be.”
The king himself was not Chanlix’s true concern, as Tynthanal clearly knew. Her most immediate concern was the trade minister, who would certainly object to anything he perceived as lost revenue. The Abbey’s potions were meant to be sold, not bartered.
“Just how many growth potions can you be expected to sell?” Tynthanal asked. “Surely nothing close to the number you can produce with our resources. You could produce enough to fuel every farm and garden in Seven Wells and still have crates full of the stuff—to the point that it would have very little monetary value. If the trade minister should learn that you’ve bartered potions and objects, I will happily pay the taxes for you. It isn’t as if I have much other use for my money out here.”
“If the trade minister learns?”
Tynthanal shrugged. “I see no reason why my reports should contain information about the day-to-day running of the Abbey. And it seems unlikely the trade minister would be overly interested in the workings of a frontier town like Miller’s Bridge. How would he know about a few bartered potions, unless you chose to report them yourself?”
Chanlix shifted uncomfortably, for while she could hardly argue Tynthanal’s logic, she could not but think it was a dangerous game.
“If you would like me to pay your taxes on those potions, I will do it,” Tynthanal said. “The labor and supplies will benefit me and my men as much as it will benefit you and your abigails. But it seems to me in all of our best interests to downplay the importance of this Well for as long as we can. We can build of our exile an advantage, and the more established we become, the harder we will be to dislodge if and when the Crown should want to do so. But I will leave the final decision to you.”
Chanlix took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. The king had sent her and her abigails to this new Abbey with the express command that they undo Mother Brynna’s spell, which she doubted anyone believed they could accomplish. Eventually, they would be punished for their failure—unless they had somehow made themselves vital to Aaltah’s needs, which would take time.
“I’ll make the potions myself,” she said. “If this decision causes us trouble, it will be entirely on my head.”
“No, it will not,” Tynthanal said softly, then splashed his way loudly out of the spring so that he might pretend not to hear her response.
Alys was shocked at how wan and pale Shelvon looked. Her face was never exactly lively or full of color, but now her skin had an almost translucent hue, and there were dark circles like bruises under her eyes. Alys’s heart ached for the young woman even as she struggled with her own fear of what it meant. Certainly it did not appear that Shelvon was suddenly flourishing in her marriage to Delnamal, with a happy announcement soon on the way.
Hiding her own distress as best she could, Alys smiled at her sister-in-law, clasping her hands and kissing her on both cheeks. Shelvon’s hands were shockingly cold, although the Rose Room was comfortably warm.
As the two women sat by the fire, Alys decided not to pretend she couldn’t see the decline in Shelvon’s health. “Are you well?” she asked with a worried frown.
Shelvon smiled tremulously. “My husband has been combing the city to find fertility potions that were left behind when the Abbey was moved. There aren’t very many to be found, but he’s been quite resourceful. Unfortunately, they keep me up at night.” Her eyelids drooped. “I can’t remember the last time I had a full night’s sleep.”
Alys wasn’t surprised to hear it. Every fertility spell she had learned from her mother’s book included the element Shel, which was usually associated with energy and stamina. There being no official study of feminine elements and women’s magic, no one had quite figured out why Shel was necessary, but from what Alys had read, the potions were useless without it. It was not at all uncommon for a woman taking fertility potions to have trouble sleeping. Which was usually not a problem, since the potions were fast-acting and effective under ordinary circumstances. Women rarely required more than two or three doses, and if they did require more, they either couldn’t conceive at all or couldn’t carry the infant to term.
“How many have you taken?” Alys asked gently, but she knew it was more than two or three.
“Enough that I should be pregnant by now.” Shelvon touched her belly. “Of course without an abigail here to examine me, there’s no way to know for sure whether I am or not.”
Alys didn’t think there was much uncertainty in the matter at all. Surely her mother’s spell—a spell that shook the whole world, created a new Well, and changed the appearance of Rho itself—could not be circumvented by a potion any novice abigail could create.
Shelvon forced a smile and pointedly changed the subject. “How goes the search for a husband for Jinnell?”
Alys’s shoulders drooped. “It seems I underestimated the effect my mother’s spell would have on Jinnell’s prospects.”
Shelvon winced in sympathy. “I had hoped that would not be the case.”
“I’ve received several very polite letters that simply said that marriage negotiations were already underway when I know for certain it’s not true. And quite a number of people have failed to respond at all. Perhaps they’re hoping I will think a flier got lost in transit and therefore not be insulted.”
“What about Lord Tamzin?”
“I received a letter from Queen Ellinsoltah,” Alys said. That had been a very different sort of letter, nowhere near as impersonal as the other responses she had received. Alys had immediately liked the other woman, even though her response had not been in the affirmative. “She said she did not believe my daughter and Lord Tamzin were compatible.”
In fact, she had said a great deal more than that, but most of it was private. The queen was not rejecting Jinnell and seemed to bear no ill will toward her or Alys despite the devastating effect the spell had had on her family. What she had told Alys in strictest confidence was that Tamzin did not live up to his stellar reputation. The picture she had painted of the man as an ambitious, mean-spirited conniver had certainly not meshed with his public image. Alys had no good reason to trust the word of a woman she had never met, but she was inclined to do it anyway. Not that the explanation mattered near as much as the refusal itself.
“Perhaps I needn’t worry about Delnamal sending her to Prince Waldmir,” she said with a wry smile. “Perhaps he, too, will disdain her for her parentage.”
It seemed an odd thing to hope, but then in Alys’s opinion, there were worse fates in life than being unmarried, and being married to Prince Waldmir was one of them.
“I wouldn’t count on it,” Shelvon said. “Jinnell is young and lovely and has an attractive dowry. As you may have noticed, my father considers marriage a temporary inconvenience. Even if he thinks her the granddaughter of a witch, he would likely be happy to have her until he tires of her or she becomes inconvenient.”
“But he needs an heir, doesn’t he? And thanks to my mother’s spell, he needs a willing wife to provide him with one. Surely despite his reputation, he could find a woman who would happily provide him an heir for the prestige of being his wife.” Not that Alys could understand the type of woman who would sell herself in marriage like that. What good were social standing and money when your husband treated you like cattle and could destroy your life—even have you executed—on a whim? And yet she knew they were out there.
Shelvon shook her head. “You’ve never met my father. He has always believed himself a prize catch. My mother once told me she cried all the way to the altar and begged him to release her from the contract. And the whole time he smiled at her and assured her that she was the luckiest woman in all of Seven Wells.” Shelvon’s expression was usually so kind and mild that the fierceness that flashed in her eyes took Alys by surprise. “When she tried to poison him, he was genuinely shocked that she was that desperate to escape the marriage. He has no concept of what other people—especially women—think of him.”
Alys wondered if Prince Waldmir had any idea how much his usually calm and placid daughter hated him. The look in Shelvon’s eyes said just how sorry she was that her mother’s assassination attempt had failed.
For all the troubles Alys had had with her own father after the divorce, it was nothing compared to what Shelvon must have gone through. How could a woman bear to even look at her father when he’d had her mother put to death? It was a strange irony that because her father had executed her mother rather than divorcing her, Shelvon was his only legitimate child. And it was because none of his wives had given him sons that he kept discarding them.
“So if my father offers him Jinnell,” Alys said, “he will convince himself that she will provide him with children no matter how obvious it is to everyone else that she will do no such thing?”
Shelvon nodded. “I’m sure of it. Sometimes I think he believes he could tell the sun to stop shining and it would obey. You have to find another husband for Jinnell, just in case the potions fail.” She rubbed her belly once more, as if force of will could make it swell with child. “What about Zarsha of Nandel? Have you had an answer from him?”
“I haven’t contacted him yet,” she admitted. “I left him as something of a last resort. Jinnell understands the gravity of the situation, but she does not want to go to Nandel.”
Shelvon blinked at her as if she’d said something completely baffling. “You’ve discussed this with Jinnell?”
“Yes, of course. Why do you look so shocked?”
“Is that considered…normal here?”
Alys was fully aware that customs in Nandel were very different from those of Aaltah, and that women had even fewer choices there. She had not realized, however, that a girl expressing a preference for her marriage would somehow seem outside of normal.
“Well, the parents have the final say, of course,” she said, “but it’s certainly not out of the ordinary to at least ask our daughters what they want.”
Shelvon looked awed by this information. “I’ve been here more than a year, and I still find myself occasionally surprised by things I didn’t know. I was told that I was to marry Delnamal after the contract had been signed and arrangements for my travel had already been made. I don’t even know if there were any other suitors.”
Alys shuddered at the thought. Women had so little control of their own lives here in Aaltah, it was hard to credit that they had even less elsewhere in the world. “And there’s a very good reason not to send Jinnell to Nandel.”
“But marriage to Zarsha would be highly preferable to marriage to my father. You should at least contact him and see if he’s interested. Maybe arrange to meet him to see for yourself if he’s the kind of man you want for your daughter.”
Alys had the sinking feeling she was running out of options.