Domitia’s mouth dropped open.
Cornelia’s gaze shifted into the distance beyond us, her face frozen.
Horatia’s eyes went slightly squinty.
“This will become official on our wedding,” Cassius continued. “But you should behave as if it is official now.”
Gallienus made a sneering noise.
Horatia looked to her husband.
The others looked toward the ground.
“And the wedding will be going forward,” I proclaimed gaily, gaining all the women’s attention. I forced my voice to remain light as I said words I did not wish to say. “So perhaps while Cassius discusses the state of Sky Bay and this dreadful siege, we can talk about happier things, like how the wedding plans are coming along.”
“These affairs are handled by the steward,” Horatia snapped. “He is seeing to the planning.”
“Well, since I’m here now and it’s my wedding, I shall be taking over supervising the arrangements.” I was pleased with myself I got that out without gagging, and since I was on a roll, I kept going. “So let us all get briefed and after,” I looked up to Cassius, “you can give me tour of your home.”
“This is not going to work,” Cassius said to me.
“What?” I asked mock-innocently.
He studied me.
Then he lifted a hand, his fingers curled in, but his thumb extended, and with it he stroked my cheek.
Another gasp (again, I suspected coming from Domitia), as Cassius murmured, “No, it will not work, my lamb. But it will at least be amusing to watch you try.”
“I’ve decided to be married in pink,” I proclaimed abruptly, sounding slightly strangled as I forced out those words. “Yards and yards and yards of frothy pink.”
I heard Jazz make a noise like she was very much being strangled.
Cass just stared at me.
Then he threw his head back and roared with laughter.
I watched, stunned immobile at how beautiful he looked laughing, and how exquisite was the sound of his laughter.
He had not, not once in all our time together, laughed with that abandonment anywhere near me.
It was gorgeous.
Still doing it, he caught my face in both his hands, dipped his head and kissed me thoroughly.
I vaguely heard another gasp (also likely Domitia), but mostly I just smelled and tasted Cassius and his kiss.
He lifted away minutely and whispered, “Yes, it will be amusing to watch you try.”
I smiled at him.
He shook his head, let me go, looked over my shoulder and queried, “The sergeant-at-arms is waiting to attend us to share his briefing?”
“Yes, sir,” a male voice barked efficiently.
“Let us go,” he sighed, looked down at me, lifted his hand again to glide his thumb along my cheek, and then he stepped away.
I instantly turned to the Ladies Royal and quickly claimed Domitia and Cornelia by linking arms with them, stating my preferences immediately, and casting Horatia into a position she was going to have to get used to.
No one ruled a sister.
Be they king or bully.
“Let us go, have some wine, get to know one another and talk about adventures and weddings,” I bid as I moved them toward the doors.
As we walked, I sensed something even more unpleasant than the air we were breathing and cast my attention in the direction from whence it was coming.
There, I saw a comely maid standing amongst the other servants, staring daggers at me.
I did not have any experience with such.
I still knew why that emotion was aimed at me.
Cassius had had her.
And she was feeling proprietary.
Shite.
My heart pinched, my eyes locked with hers, and I realized Circe had been right, though at the time she didn’t know how right she really was.
I had to conserve my energy.
For I had a number of battles on my hands
And none of them would be won with staffs and arrows.
I was not adept at the tactics that would bring these kinds of victory.
Nor did I have Melisse (who was, thank the goddess, upon news from the last bird we received, still with us) close to guide me.
I was on my own.
I was also (effectively) Princess Regent of Airen.
Thus, I was going to have to learn.
And do that quickly.
94
The Summit
Queen Farah
Queen’s Dressing Room, Birchlire Castle, Notting Thicket
WODELL
“Sling.”
At my husband’s voice, my eyes, aimed at the mirror, shifted from watching Helga work at the laces at the back of my gown, upwards, to my husband’s face as he approached me.
“I’ll return shortly, my queen,” Helga murmured, dipping, and then quickly, and silently, gliding from the room.
“True—” I began.
He stopped behind me, dropped his head and touched his lips to the exposed skin of my neck where it met my shoulder.
I fought a shiver.
His green eyes then lifted to mine in the mirror.
“I miss doing your laces,” he murmured.
I did too.
I also missed him undoing them, and more, wished we had moved on to him undoing them for more purpose than to help me prepare for bed in order to sleep.
Before I could reply, he repeated, “Sling.”
“My arm is stiff,” I told him.
“It’s healing,” he told me.
“It’s annoying,” I shared.
“I can imagine,” he replied. “You’re still wearing it.”
“I’m fine. It’s fine. It’s time to move it and—”
“Farah, three more days, and then we’ll assess.”
“One day,” I haggled.
He smiled at me in the mirror and said softly, “Two.”
I did not wish to wear that bloody sling two more days.
Yes, there was still pain.
But I’d examined my wound closely just that morning (and the morning before, and so on). The skin was knitting nicely. There was no longer any swelling. There was barely any redness. In fact, I could likely have the stitches removed entirely in two days.
And then, perhaps, I could do something I very much wished to do.
Consummate my marriage with my king.
I stared into my husband’s eyes and saw the fatigue he could not hide.
He did not sleep very well on the whole. A soldier’s lot, these terrors in the night that drove rest away.
But lately, since his mother had perished in such an ugly, quick, public way…
And I had been injured.
And Alfie had been wounded so severely.
And now, he was king, taking his throne in troubled times where he had to make terrible decisions.
It seemed he barely slept at all.
“Two,” I agreed.
He put his hands to my waist, turned me, and I saw he was still smiling when he settled me facing him.
I rested my hands on his chest and was heartened by the softness that invaded his features, the contentment that faded the weariness in his eyes at my touch.
“Ophelia arrived this morning,” he informed me.
“Good,” I replied. “Did you see her?”
“I did. We spoke at some length.”
“She is well?”
“She looks better than she did in Fire City.”
“Good,” I repeated.
“She brought many prisoners. They will be detained in Crittich Keep,” he shared.
I nodded.
“However, that business sorted, she doesn’t wish to delay. As discussed, she and the Nadirii will be launching a rescue effort to release the Airenzian witch, Fern, from her confinement. Thus, later this morning, we will have the summit. Her, her lieutenants, me, Father, Apollo, Tor, Rus, Tint, and the representatives of Go’Doan. However,
she asked to speak to Serena immediately. They’re talking now.” He gave my waist a squeeze. “Do what you will this morning, but I ask you to meet me at ten o’clock in my formal study.”
I was surprised.
“You wish me there?”
In return, he appeared surprised at my question.
“Of course.”
“But, I—”
“You’re very wise, Farah,” he said over my words. “And I learned many things from my mother, one of the most important being, if you have wisdom around you, no matter the gender of the person who wields it, you utilize it.”
I veered closer to him, putting some weight into my hands at his chest.
“And you are queen, my queen, this country’s queen, and as such, you will have a voice,” he went on.
One could say Mercy and I did not have a very easy start.
And we did not have time to change that when she made it clear she wished to do that.
Even so, this was not the first time, and I knew it would be far from the last, that I wished she was still among us so she could witness what she had wrought in her son.
“I will be there,” I promised him.
True slid his hands around to the small of my back, pressing my hips lightly against his, asking, “And what will you do in the meantime?”
“I will visit with Alfie.”
He drew in a breath so deep, it pressed his chest against my hands.
“I will escort you to do that,” he said as he released it.
“He will be happy to see you,” I lied.
“Liar,” True whispered.
I pressed my lips tightly together.
True visited with Alfie as often as he could.
With more time to do so, I visited with him more frequently.
What could heal for Alfie was doing just that.
What could not heal was the problem.
It was not that he was angry with True.
I was that Alfie didn’t wish to see anybody.
True’s gaze moved over my hair and face and down my gown, which was Dellish, thus heavy. A flaxen velvet with an embroidered trim in gold, red and green at the deep vee of the chest and the wide hem at the bottom. The sleeves poofed at my shoulders and upper arms but were dotted with pearl buttons down my inner arms from above the elbow to my wrists, these buttons closing the material tight against my skin.
I did not much like the heaviness of the gown, the tightness of the sleeves and bodice.
In this cold clime, I did like the warmth of it.
And I very much liked the belt at my waist made of square, golden disks and the silk underskirts of a warm olive green felt lovely on my legs.
Therefore, I focused on those last.
“I…” I hesitated, drifting a hand in the direction of my hair, which was free, something I had noted nearly everywhere was not the fashion of the Dellish, before I finished, “Don’t really know.”
True chuckled and called, “Helga!”
Mercy’s maid, now my maid, who was offered this position by True, and took it, though I was not certain she did so for any reason outside her need for employment, came bustling in.
I watched her covertly as True shifted to my side and asked, “Is my wife ready to face the day?”
“I…her…um…” she stammered, her attention acute on his face in a manner it was clear she didn’t want to turn it to me. “Yes,” she concluded, but it sounded like a guess.
“True,” I called quietly, my gaze to my maid. “Will you give us a moment?”
I felt him look at me, but I didn’t take my eyes from Helga.
“Of course,” he murmured.
Only then did I tip my head back, fortunately just in time for him to touch his lips to mine.
He left us, entering our chamber and closing the door behind him.
I faced Helga.
“Am I ready to face the day?” I repeated my husband’s question.
“Yes, of course, Your Grace,” she answered.
I did not believe her, and I determined it was time to do something about this.
Therefore, I set about doing that.
“I speak sincerely when I say that I do not wish to hear what you think I wish to hear. I wish to hear your honest answer to whether or not I’m ready to face the day,” I said carefully.
She fidgeted.
“I know you loved her,” I announced.
Her eyes widened.
“I know you grieve her,” I continued.
She clasped her hands in front of her and held them tightly.
“I will never replace her. That would be impossible. There was only one Queen Mercy for this land, and for you, in your heart,” I went on.
I took a step toward her and kept speaking.
“But I would wish that you and I could build our own rapport, over time. That you would trust me. That we—”
“I would trust you?” she interrupted me, then immediately rushed on, “Begging your pardon, Your Grace.”
“How about, in this room,” I lifted both hands, “I am Farah and you are Helga, and you are free to say what you will, and me the same?”
She stared at me.
“You are a servant of this castle, a servant of your queen, and always a servant of your king,” I carried on. “But we share many intimacies, you and I. I have no friends here. No allies. None but my husband and his men. I would be honored if you could find your way to being one of them.”
She was silent, and she was this way for so long, I was about to open my mouth to speak in order to end this so I could get to my busy husband, when she blurted, “You did not flinch at the executions.”
Oh dear.
“Helga—”
“I went. I watched. I watched you. Many did. And you did not flinch.”
“In my land, we execute traitors,” I said warily.
“In this land too. We hang them. Though I have never witnessed this for this has not happened in my lifetime. But Carrington…” She shook her head and whispered, “You did not flinch. You watched that entire sentence carried out and did not flinch, nor once look away.”
“It is my culture that we deal severely with those who would endanger the king or his queen,” I explained.
“I would have humiliated him,” she suddenly hissed, leaning my way. “I would have walked him through the streets, naked. Allowing our people to throw excrement at him. Tear at his hair. Scratch his skin to shreds.”
By the gods.
“The people,” she continued. “They saw you watch without emotion.”
Oh no.
Was she saying…?
“Do they think that I have some unhealthy sway over True and this is why Carrington met that particular end?”
I feared this, but I couldn’t believe it to be correct, for as True suspected, the people had cheered the grisly entirety of Carrington’s sentence and the end to the traitorous archers.
“No,” she stated, leaning back. “His mother was murdered on his wedding day. His bride injured. His treasury sacked for decades. His father is considered widely to be an imbecile, and for some, that word is kind. Our land had been floundering for many years, the people felt it, and they did not like it. They thought it was our king. Now they know it was him as played by Carrington, which is not only no better, it is worse.”
I could not disagree with anything she said, but she was not finished.
“There is much talk of the ships being built in the north, the men finding jobs there. It is sweeping the realm, how shepherds, farmers and foundry owners must learn how to raise more sheep, grow more crops, craft more pewter to load on those ships. There is hope in our land, for once, now True is our king. So, no. It would not be met with surprise that our new king showed mercy to a traitor, any of them. It is King True’s way. But that would have been met with disappointment.”
This was a relief.
“Then I don’t understand why you mention that I had no reaction to the executions,”
I noted.
“Because my queen, my Mercy, my…” Her voice broke, and I held myself carefully in order not to go to her as the emotion ravaged her face. She drew breath into her nose sharply, straightened her spine, lifted her chin and finished, “My queen Mercy, she…would not…have flinched.”
I felt my own spine straighten and warmth gathered in my chest.
“I miss her,” Helga whispered.
“Of course,” I whispered back.
“You should bind your hair,” she said, still speaking quietly. “I will roll it so the back is long, but it is away from your face. It will be Dellish, but it will be lovely, and it won’t take long.”
“I would like that,” I replied.
She nodded.
I moved to the door to the chamber, opened it, and poked my head through.
True was standing, appearing impatient, something he wiped clean the minute he turned his gaze to me.
“Fifteen minutes?” I asked. “My hair needs to be rolled.”
His lips twitched.
“I’ll meet you in your study,” I told him, “then we’ll go together to Alfie.”
“I have work at my desk here, darling,” he replied. “Take your time. I’ll wait for you.”
I smiled at him.
He tipped his head to the side before he turned toward the desk that was in the sitting room, off our chamber.
I closed the door and moved toward Helga.
I sat on the chaise.
She fussed about me.
“Our king appears,” she began hesitantly, “tired.”
“He does not sleep well,” I shared unhesitantly.
“I can imagine,” she muttered.
“It is all that is happening, but it is also a soldier’s burden,” I told her as she gathered my hair.
“I have heard of this,” she murmured.
“I had not, and I cannot tell you how frustrating it is that there is nothing I can do.”
She clucked and rolled my hair.
I said no more.
But I was pleased.
I’d never had a maid.
However, I was thinking I would enjoy this acquisition greatly.
And not simply because her hands in my hair felt sublime.
“There’s no bloody point to it.”
“How about you let me be the bloody nurse and you be the bloody patient?”
“How about you be bloody somewhere else and leave me bloody be?”
The Dawn of the End (The Rising Book 3) Page 14