The Soul of Power

by Callie Bates

  The Butcher is waiting for me to speak.

  I refuse to let him think I’m soft. That I put my own desires before the good of the kingdom.

  I say, “I will marry an Ereni lord.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The Butcher leaves, and Teofila takes his place. I’m shaken. I told myself I wouldn’t give my hand away like a trophy, and here I am, declaring I’ll marry an Ereni lord at the first sign of trouble. There must be another way to prove my devotion to the Ereni, to tell them I’m determined to become the ruler they want and deserve. But at the moment, I don’t see anything else that would be as swift or effective.

  I must be staring into space, because finally Teofila says, “What’s wrong, dear?”

  I just shake my head.

  She gives me a knowing look but doesn’t press. Instead she fusses over me, the way I’ve tried to fuss over her, insisting that I put up my feet when I try to rise, bringing me tea and warm chocolate, a platter of roast beef sandwiches. I do my best but the roast beef, which I ordinarily love, smells terrible.

  “Is there something you’d rather have?” Teofila asks, concerned. For the first time in days—or weeks—she seems to really study me.

  I squirm. Yet my stomach is rumbling and there’s only one thing in the world, it seems, that sounds good. “Cream custard,” I admit.

  She looks at me, lifting an eyebrow, and I feel momentarily naked, obvious, beneath her gaze. But then she smiles and goes to the door. My shoulders ease a fraction. A dish arrives soon after, almost the size of my head—custard with a compote of stewed plums. I try to offer Teofila some of it and end up eating the entire thing.

  Full now, I become aware of the silence between us. Of Teofila’s keen gaze, and the dome of my stomach, swaddled by blankets. But is it invisible if you look closely enough? Teofila knows me better than anyone. Maybe she doesn’t need a rounded stomach to tell her what a mother’s instinct already knows.

  She hasn’t spoken of anything else important, either. Not of the riot, nor of what the Butcher and I talked about. Certainly not of El’s death. I’m afraid to bring it up. For my entire girlhood, Elanna was a captive. Teofila almost never talked about it—the same way I never talked about my mother. Some losses, I suppose, are too profound to be spoken of—even between women who are like mother and daughter—and I never found a way to ask her. Besides, at that time, Elanna was safe as far as we knew; Antoine Eyrlai had brought her up like his own daughter. He might have held a pistol to her head, but he never would have killed her.

  I search for words, but none come. The silence between us holds a soft, low note—a sound that seems to emanate once again from Teofila. A deep, aching sound that isn’t precisely heard. I feel it, rather, in my skin, a foreign awareness that overlays my own senses. I shiver all over.

  “You seem to be feeling better,” Teofila remarks. “Fewer stomach upsets.”

  So she knows, or suspects. My heart kicks, then begins to pound so hard I can barely feel my fingertips. All the same I force my voice even—as falsely casual as Teofila’s own. “I’m much better.”

  “Mmm.” She leans forward and takes the tray from me, setting it on a side table. “I thought you were having trouble with your monthly courses, perhaps.”

  I feel myself go very still. The spoon clatters in my empty dish.

  Teofila’s dark-brown eyes are level. “I think you have something to tell me.”

  There’s no point in trying to hide it further; it was only a matter of time before she saw straight through me. I made this choice, and it’s time to face the consequences. Slowly, I sit up, as straight as I can against the pillows. She perches on the bed, facing me. I force myself to meet her eyes.

  “Sophy,” she says on a sigh. “What are you doing? People are going to notice. They already are noticing—”

  “They think I’m getting fat,” I say. “Fat and lazy, while you and Elanna carry all the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

  Her eyebrow lifts at that. “I haven’t heard anyone call you fat. But the maids must know, or guess—the moment you decided to start a new fashion.”

  Miserably, I confess, “I didn’t think my gowns would fit. And I’d have needed help to get some of them on…”

  “No doubt the maids have noticed you’re dressing yourself.” She shakes her head. “It’s a good thing you’ve been on the road, or they would have already figured out that you haven’t bled in—what—four months? Five?”

  “Close to five.” I lift my chin. “I know people will discover the truth soon, and I won’t be able to conceal it any longer—though I suppose that’s what you’re going to tell me to do. But I won’t do it. I won’t go quietly away into the country when my time comes. I can’t. This child is…” I cut off the words viciously, though they rattle on in my head. Teofila hasn’t been speaking to me. Ruadan’s dead. Elanna’s gone. Alistar is on the front. The child is all I have.

  “I would never have told you to do that!” Teofila whispers angrily. “I wouldn’t tell you to lie to the people.”

  I meet her eyes. “Wouldn’t you?”

  Her gaze shifts away, and I can read the truth there clearly enough. Teofila is kind and openhearted, but she’s no fool. Not like I am. She’d have dealt with this, in one way or another, long ago, if I had confided in her.

  She takes my hand. “Sophy,” she says, “I have already lost one daughter this week. I am not going to lose another.”

  “It’s not going to kill me,” I retort, even though my heart lifts at being called her daughter.

  “Maybe not. But you know what this is going to do to your reputation. The ministers—the Ereni—even the Caerisians…Having a dalliance is one thing, but the queen having a child out of wedlock? And in the precarious position we’re in?”

  “I…” Cold tears overflow my eyes. She’s right. There is no way I can justify what I’m doing, except that I want it. I want this child so badly I’m willing to risk anything for it.

  And I have thought this part through. I’m not a complete fool. I wipe my eyes and say as firmly as I can, “I know it may look mad from the outside. But I want this, and I’m certain that the people will want it, too.”

  Teofila stares at me. “Darling, your enemies are going to tell the people that you’re a whore.”

  I flush again, with anger this time. “Let them say that! A child is the symbol of the future. It’s hope for our new nation. It tells the people I intend to be their queen for some time to come, and, and—”

  I falter to a stop. I can’t stand the pity in Teofila’s eyes.

  “It’s understandable that you would want a child of your own,” she says. “A family of your own, since you lost all your blood relatives. I know I felt the same way when I came to Caeris, though my family still lived—but they were so very far away, and hard to reach when they traveled.”

  I nod. Teofila’s family hail from Baedon but are court musicians, traveling to one royal capital and then another to perform their music. She used to travel with them; it’s how she met Ruadan in Ida.

  “It was such a relief to have Elanna,” she’s saying. “I felt as if I had an ally. Someone I could love unreservedly, and who would love me.”

  “That’s not why I want a child,” I bluster. “I want it to symbolize unity, and peace, and hope…”

  Teofila just looks at me. “A baby isn’t a symbol, as you know perfectly well. It’s a person. You haven’t convinced yourself you need to have a child because of what it symbolizes.”

  I put my hand over my mouth. Tears are leaking out of my eyes. She understands me too well, and she’s not sparing any truth. I want to crawl beneath the armchair and disappear.

  “Have you seen a midwife?” she demands.

  “Of course not! I couldn’t risk anyone knowing. You’re the first person who does.”


  Her eyebrows draw down. “You have to see a midwife! Not only for the child’s sake, but for yours. A healthy mother helps make a healthy child. You know this! Let me send for someone.”

  “No,” I say quickly. “I can’t risk someone coming to this room. People will notice, and talk. They’ll ask questions.”

  She folds her lips, then tilts her head as another thought comes to her. “Is it Alistar’s?”

  I can’t meet her eyes.

  “Have you told him?” she persists.

  “I…He…”

  “Sophy!” she exclaims, and I startle. She’s really angry now. Her eyes are bright. “You’re putting him at as much risk as yourself. He needs to know, and soon!”

  “It’s not as if we’re married,” I say, flaring in response to her anger. “No one needs to know who the father is.”

  “The entire country knows you’re having an affair with Alistar Connell! It won’t be hard to sort out, and however much you might wish otherwise, he’s going to be dragged into it.” She stops, drumming her fingers. “You could get married.”

  “The ministers would be thrilled to hear you say that,” I say darkly. “They seem to think I’m nothing more than a brood mare, best saddled with a husband to settle me down. Ruadan would never have stood for it.”

  “Ruadan would have had you engaged to be married by now, if Finn had lived.”

  I stare at her. “That is not true.”

  “What did you imagine your future would be? He raised you to cement a political alliance through marriage.”

  “He raised me to be the backup heir!”

  “Yes, but he never thought Finn would die. Or that Euan Dromahair wouldn’t actually come to Caeris himself. Ruadan never expected you to claim the throne, Sophy.”

  “So I was second choice to him, as well as to everyone else!” I burst out. “You don’t have to tell me. I already know. I’ve always known that I come second and last. It doesn’t mean that’s what I want to be.”

  She looks at me—up at me, since I’m now on my feet. I don’t know when I got up, but I’m standing now, anger pulsing through me, hot and red.

  “Second?” Teofila asks.

  “Second to Finn,” I say impatiently. “Second to Elanna. I am everyone’s second choice.”

  She stands, too. “Not mine.”

  “What are you talking about? Of course I am. Elanna comes first for you. She’s your daughter, your real daughter. And I…”

  Teofila grabs my arms. “Stop it. This is beneath you. I don’t choose between my daughters.”

  I’m crying again, stupid, helpless tears. Without another word, Teofila folds me against her with one strong arm, cupping my head against her shoulder so that I can weep. And I do—though I’m taller than she is, though it cricks my neck painfully, though I feel that instead of weeping I should be apologizing for what I said.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, “I’m sorry I lost her again. I’m sorry I’m not the queen everyone wants me to be.”

  “Shh. Enough.” Teofila sets me back, and I snuffle down the rest of my tears. She brings out her handkerchief and wipes my face, just the way she did when I was a little girl. I feel completely stupid. I can’t look at her, though she sits down right beside me on the bed, her hand squeezing my kneecap.

  “Sophy,” she says, “have you thought of marrying Alistar?”

  Marriage, again. As if in response to my sudden tension, there’s a flutter in my womb. I touch my fingertips to where I felt the movement. Hesitantly, Teofila brings her hand beside mine. There’s another faint flitter. “Did you feel it?” I ask Teofila. She nods her head, leaning closer. We both sit there, though the baby doesn’t move again, foolish smiles growing nevertheless on our faces.

  In a whisper, I say at last, “I promised the Butcher I would marry an Ereni lord.”

  Teofila looks up at that, sharply. “Why would he demand such a thing of you?”

  “He didn’t. He wanted me to use force to subdue them. I argued that showing my Ereni subjects I valued them would be more effective in the long run. So I…” I swallow hard. “The only solution I could think of was marriage.”

  She looks thoughtful. “It might help, at that. But, darling, is this what you want? Do you want to marry an Ereni lord, for a political alliance?”

  I look away, thinking of Philippe Manceau, with his observant eyes and his entirely enigmatic loyalties. “It doesn’t matter what I want. The good of the kingdom must come first.”

  “There are other ways to win over the Ereni, without giving yourself to a man you don’t love.”

  “But I have to do something.”

  She shakes her head. “You mustn’t give yourself away if you are unwilling. Your desires matter.” She gives me a significant look. “You are allowed to tell Gilbert no.”

  I can’t imagine summoning the Butcher to an audience and then telling him I’ve changed my mind. He would ask why, and I would have to say, Because I’m not in love with an Ereni man. I can just see the expression on his face. It makes me wish the bedclothes would smother me—or maybe him. He has no right to castigate me.

  “You’re the one who has to live with the man,” Teofila says, more urgently. “Sophy, if you marry anyone, do it for love. Life will bring you such hardships, sometimes, that at least you will be able to tell yourself you wed a man because you truly loved him once.”

  I stare at her, but she’s looking at her own hand, still cupped against my stomach. The note that pulses off her now holds both tenderness and an unspeakable grief. Of course, she is thinking of Elanna, and Ruadan. She lived with fear for so many years, and now after she finally got her daughter back, she’s lost her in the most final way imaginable.

  I put my hand over hers. We sit there for some time longer, speaking softly of what the remainder of my pregnancy will bring, talking of what Teofila remembers from bearing Elanna, discussing cribs and nappies and rattles and lullabies. Dreaming, together, of what the future may bring.

  * * *

  —

  SOME TIME LATER, there’s a knock at the door. Teofila goes to answer it. I’ve risen from bed and put on a dressing gown. I heard the deep burr of a male voice, and before I even have a chance to react, he strides in.

  Alistar.

  “I’ll leave you.” Teofila steps out with a last, quick glance at me.

  But I scarcely hear her, because Alistar is crossing the room. He hasn’t even bathed yet; his clothes are muddy and torn, his face tired. Yet his eyes light when he sees me.

  “There’s my lady,” he says. “My Sophy.”

  I hold out my hands. “My hound.”

  Then I’m in his arms, feeling the heat of him. It’s so natural, so comfortable, so safe, I can scarcely remember my initial trepidation.

  He strokes the hair away from my forehead and leans down to kiss me. “They said you fainted when I was assisting the guards. Are you all right? Sophy, I’m so sorry, I was in Tinan so long, I couldn’t make it back until now—”

  “I’m fine,” I say, and I feel myself smiling—a familiar wicked smile, as if El isn’t dead and none of today happened and things are as they always have been. “I was simply overcome. The way I always am in your presence.”

  A grin sparks in his eyes. “Overcome by…my brooding good looks? Or perhaps my valor in battle?”

  “By your goodness,” I say, and my throat catches. I laugh and quickly add, “And by your roguish charm, of course.”

  “I am overcome by you,” he murmurs. “By your beauty, your intelligence, your…regal…presence…”

  He leans closer, pressing his lips to my throat, to the soft tender skin at the top of my breasts. He’ll notice, certainly, that they’re swollen.

  But then he lifts his face and begins to feather light kisses over my cheeks, my forehead. I close my eyes, wr
apping my hands around his neck. This is the truth about Alistar, what most people don’t guess about him, because in the outside world he’s so fierce and boisterous, but always, when it’s just the two of us, he’s so tender. Too tender, sometimes, as if he’s afraid of hurting me.

  He leans his forehead against mine. I pull him closer, drinking in the smell of him, even overlaid with the scent of sweat and horse. We’re almost of a height, and unlike most men, he doesn’t seem troubled being with a woman a scant inch shorter than he is. Not even that first night, four years ago, when we slipped out of the ball at Cerid Aven and he kissed me in the cool air beneath the oaks. We’d met before, of course; Dearbann isn’t far from Cerid Aven, and Ruadan was always throwing parties, since he couldn’t leave his grounds. I’d kissed other boys, mostly in the spirit of experimentation. They’d been all right, but with Alistar it was…delicious. And safe. Awkward, because neither of us quite knew what we were doing, despite our experiments with others. And he was such a gentleman—far more of a gentleman, in my opinion, than he needed to be. When we finished kissing, he’d made an awkward bow and said, “Well, I’ll be seeing you around, Miss Sophy.”

  I suppose he has seen me around, and then some.

  Now his hands drift down to my waist and slip beneath my dressing gown, burning through the thin fabric of my chemise. My skin feels translucent. He leans his lips back down to mine. “Might I request an audience with Your Majesty?” he murmurs. “I haven’t greeted the queen of Eren and Caeris properly.”

  “I’ll have to check with my palace steward,” I say breathlessly. “See if I can fit you in. A queen’s schedule is quite packed, you know.”

  Alistar is making a persuasive argument along my jaw and down my neck. His hands slide lower, caressing the curve of my hips, moving between us to my stomach—

  I jolt to my senses. Gently, I capture his hands, pressing them together between us. He’s kissing the notch of my collarbone.