Mother of All
Page 14
By the time Oona arrived for the event, the elderly matron had taken a seat on a sofa in the corner and promptly fallen asleep, as evidenced by her delicate snores.
“Well,” Kailee said brightly as she invited her only awake guest into the parlor where the musicians were set to play, “at least we will be able to hear the music without being interrupted by endless gossip and giggles.”
Oona chuckled softly. “What a pleasant way of looking at things,” she commented. In a different tone of voice, it might have sounded sarcastic or condescending, but Kailee detected nothing but warmth and gentle amusement.
The servants had, overly enthusiastically, set out two rows of straight-backed chairs before the small stage they had placed beside a pair of open doors that led onto a balcony. A gentle rain was falling, which was just enough to keep them all indoors despite the temperate weather. Kailee and Oona each took a seat in the front row.
“Is it terribly rude of me to say how pleasantly surprised I was that you accepted my invitation?” Kailee asked. It had certainly seemed clear to her that Oona had no inclination to further sully her already troubled reputation by associating with the prince regent’s scandalous wife.
Oona seemed momentarily taken aback—as many people were by Kailee’s unusual bluntness—but she quickly rallied. “I must ask your forgiveness for how I acted when last we spoke,” she said. “After I left, it became clear to me that I was treating you in exactly the way I was complaining about others treating me. That is not the kind of woman I wish to be.”
Kailee did not like to think of herself as a cynical person, but she couldn’t help wondering if perhaps Oona had simply decided her own reputation was beyond repair and therefore not in need of such vigorous defense. She was glad for the company, however, as the musicians began to play, thankfully drowning out the snoring matron.
Kailee closed her eyes, not wanting even her Mindsight to distract from the startlingly sweet music. She had heard that the quartet was extraordinary, but she had assumed that most of the fanfare had been due more to fashion than to actual quality. The flute, especially, moved her, its pure and delicate notes soaring over the rest in counterpoint to the melody. Something about that ethereal, ringing sound as it flittered and floated on its own path and somehow magically complemented the melody made Kailee’s throat ache with longing.
A soft hand touched her arm, and she heard the rustle of Oona’s dress as the dowager leaned toward her. “Are you quite all right, dear?” Oona asked quietly, so as not to disturb the musicians.
Kailee opened her eyes and was startled to feel the wetness on her lashes. She smiled and dabbed at her eyes. “Yes,” she breathed. “It’s just so beautiful.”
Oona patted her arm again and seemed to accept the explanation, but Kailee wondered if she would have been quite so affected by the beauty of the music if she weren’t so terribly lonely. She swallowed the lump in her throat and took a deep breath, pulling herself back together. She had never been especially bothered by loneliness during her life in Rhozinolm. Surely with a little more time, she would get used to the social isolation once more and would stop dreaming of the warmth and acceptance of Women’s Well.
Kailee and Oona thanked the musicians profusely when they finished playing, and Oona took care of waking—and seeing off—the matron, who had slept through the entire event and managed to speak no more than a sentence or two to her supposed hostess.
“Would you like to stay for tea?” Kailee asked, not eager to be left alone once more.
“That would be lovely,” Oona said, yet again taking Kailee by surprise.
Once they were seated and each had a cup of tea, Oona revealed the true reason she had accepted the invitation.
“I wrote to King Khalvin, as your husband urged me,” Oona said. “He promised that he would send my letter to Delnamal, and I have no reason to believe he did not do so.”
Kailee hated that she felt a tiny pang of hurt to discover that Oona had not come in the spirit of friendship, after all. She had come because she was less uncomfortable speaking to Kailee than to Tynthanal.
“But you have no reason to believe he did do so, either,” Kailee said. “In other words, you have not heard from Delnamal.”
Oona sighed quietly. “No,” she said. “But I can’t say I’m surprised. I knew when I decided to stay in Aaltah that it was something he could never forgive.” It sounded like she was on the verge of tears.
“Then why did you stay?” Kailee asked, unable to tamp down her curiosity.
Oona sniffled. “I have two children to think of,” she said. “Delnamal never quite warmed to his son, and he made little effort to disguise his disinterest in my eldest.”
Kailee had almost forgotten that Oona had a child from a previous marriage.
“Both of my children will have a better future here in Aaltah than they would have if we’d gone with Delnamal, even with the difficulties of my social standing. And I myself wasn’t eager to face life as a fugitive.”
“Surely any reasonable man should understand that decision,” Kailee said, hoping the words did not sound sarcastic. Nothing she’d heard about the former King of Aaltah had painted the picture of a reasonable man.
Oona shook her head. “The man he once was would have forgiven me.” She sighed. “But the man he once was would never have given himself cause to flee in the first place.” The dowager leaned forward, earnestness oozing from what Kailee could make out of her body language. “I’m sure your husband painted as unflattering a picture of my husband as mine did of yours,” she said, “but neither of them has an unbiased view. Delnamal was a good man, once.”
Kailee had heard a great deal about Delnamal from any number of people, and none of it painted the picture of a good man. She attempted to maintain a neutral expression, but her skepticism must have shown.
“He was!” Oona insisted. “Not to his siblings, I have to admit that. But their father has to take some of the blame for making it so obvious that he preferred them to Delnamal. And lest you think that preference was all in Delnamal’s mind, remember that I have known him since we were both children. His father could not have made it more clear that Delnamal was the least of his children, just as Alysoon and Tynthanal made it clear that they despised him. They were not as overtly cruel as many children can be, but they were not kind, either. Tynthanal especially.”
Kailee was surprised by the rush of defensive anger that swelled in her breast. “I cannot believe Tynthanal was ever unkind!” she remonstrated, though she immediately heard her own words as nonsense. No one was never unkind.
“He was always supremely skilled with a sword, as Delnamal never was,” Oona said. “He oftentimes offered to ‘tutor’ Delnamal in the guise of helping him improve. Delnamal’s pride insisted he accept, even knowing he would be trounced. Those ‘lessons’ invariably left him humiliated and covered with welts and bruises.” Oona’s voice took on a brittle note. “Tynthanal was eight years his senior—basically a grown man beating up a child while presenting it as ‘help.’ ”
Kailee squirmed, wanting to rush again to her husband’s defense. She could not conceive of kindhearted Tynthanal acting that way toward anyone, much less his own brother, and yet…Almost everything she knew about Delnamal she had learned from his half-siblings, who made no secret how much they hated him.
“Added to all that was the burden of being heir to the throne,” Oona continued. “From the moment he could talk, Delnamal was hammered from all sides by the need to do his duty above all else, to set aside his own wants and needs for the good of others. I’m ashamed to say that when his father refused to allow us to marry, I begged him to run away with me.” Oona’s voice broke. “I know he wanted to. Wanted to quite desperately. But he could not refuse what he saw as his duty, no matter how much it hurt, and no matter how much bitterness it stirred in him.
“He changed after that. The bitterness took root and grew, but he was still a decent man at heart. Do you know that in the aftermath of the Curse, he spent a great deal of his own money buying spelled kerchiefs to give out to the rescue workers in the Harbor District? He knew that they were almost all commoners who could not afford to protect themselves from the dangers and diseases that came with clearing the debris after the flooding. No one asked him to do that. And no one gave him any credit for it, either.”
Kailee gritted her teeth in an effort to keep in the retort that wanted to burst from her mouth. Having lived in Women’s Well surrounded by women who had once resided in the Abbey of Aaltah, Kailee knew what had been done to them on Delnamal’s orders while he sat on his horse and watched. She very much doubted it was common knowledge outside of Women’s Well, and certainly it wasn’t something Delnamal would have shared with his wife.
Oona shook her head again, sighing with what sounded like regret. “That may very well have been the last genuinely kind thing he ever did,” she admitted. “Losing his heir, losing his hope of ever having an heir by the woman he was forced to marry…That broke something inside him. He had…so much anger.”
“But you married him anyway,” Kailee pointed out. “Married him while you were still in mourning for your first husband.” A husband whom Tynthanal suspected had died at Delnamal’s order, though she refrained from saying that part.
“I still loved him,” Oona admitted. “Love him. I cannot forget the man he once was, the man I fell in love with all those years ago. I was aware how much he had changed when I married him, but I was as foolish as any lovestruck maiden and somehow convinced myself my love could heal the wounds in his soul.”
Impulsively, Kailee reached out and put her hand on Oona’s shoulder. Whatever she herself might think of Delnamal, she could not help but be sympathetic to Oona’s obvious pain.
“I will endeavor not to hold your husband against you,” Kailee said, “if you will endeavor not to hold mine against me.”
“It’s a deal,” Oona said, and although there was still a thread of caution, maybe even wariness in her voice, there was just a trace of warmth and humor, as well.
* * *
—
When Delnamal had built the current abbey on the ruins of the one his father had had razed, he’d decided that the place should no longer be run by an abbess. Instead, he had created the new position of administrator of the Abbey and assigned to it a commoner named Loveland. Tynthanal had met the administrator only once, but even that had been enough to inspire a comprehensive dislike of the man. If the royal council would have let him, Tynthanal would have dismissed Administrator Loveland immediately, for there was no missing his cruelty toward the women who were supposedly in his care.
When he received word that Loveland had come to the palace and was requesting a private audience, Tynthanal had half a mind to refuse. Despite how little real power the royal council had allowed him, he certainly had no trouble filling his days—and his nights—with the business of running a kingdom in crisis. So far, the diminished output of the Well was causing more inconvenience than anything—it sometimes took longer than usual for the Academy’s spell crafters to find certain rare elements, so their production was slower—but that inconvenience created an outsized panic in those who depended on the elements to survive.
Instead of sending the man away, Tynthanal had had his secretary tell Loveland that he would try to squeeze him in sometime during the day, then waited to see if he would go away. If a long wait inspired him to return to the Abbey, then whatever he wanted to talk about couldn’t be that important, Tynthanal reasoned.
Hours later, he’d forgotten about Loveland entirely, assuming the man had left. But when his secretary told him the administrator was still waiting, Tynthanal regretfully decided he’d better grant the audience, after all.
Loveland’s bow when he was shown into the office was decidedly inelegant and awkward. Perhaps that could be the result of his very limited contact with royalty, or from his dislike of being in a subordinate position. Tynthanal had seen quite clearly when he’d visited the Abbey that Loveland enjoyed the frightened subservience of the abigails. One way or another, Tynthanal would get rid of him eventually, but it would likely be easier to manage if he could only make some progress toward healing the Well—thereby finally winning his council’s wholehearted approval.
Ordinarily, Tynthanal would at least have made an effort to be polite, but the day had already been long and trying, with more political maneuvering than he could stomach.
“My time today is quite limited,” he said brusquely as Loveland was rising from the bow. “Whatever it is, please make it quick.”
The man’s hands twitched ever so slightly—as if he had grown accustomed to hitting people who talked to him in that tone of voice. Tynthanal couldn’t help noticing the fading bruises on the knuckles of his right hand.
“I beg your pardon, Your Highness,” Loveland said, though he didn’t sound particularly apologetic. “I fear this might not be a terribly quick conversation.”
Tynthanal made an impatient hand gesture. “As quick as possible, then.”
Loveland shifted in apparent discomfort and cleared his throat. “My abigails have noticed something…unusual of late. I assumed at first that it was nothing but a flight of fancy. Or perhaps merely a coincidence. But now…”
Tynthanal did not like the sound of that. Not one bit. And he had the sinking feeling that he understood the source of Loveland’s discomfort. Whatever it was the abigails had noticed, he’d ignored it for who knew how long before finally, reluctantly, bringing it to Tynthanal’s attention. And whatever it was, it was severe enough that he’d decided to bring it directly to the prince regent rather than working his way up through the trade minister, who was his immediate superior.
“Well, what is it?” Tynthanal prompted. “I assume that the damage to our Well has affected the supply of feminine elements as much as it has masculine and neuter ones.” In point of fact, Tynthanal had personal knowledge that it had, but most people outside of Women’s Well had no idea he could see feminine elements at all.
“Er, yes,” Loveland agreed, “but that’s not the issue.” Loveland licked his lips. “Thanks to the Curse, the demand for midwives has been unusually low over the last couple of years. But it appears that since whatever events occurred at the Well when that Khalpari witch cast her spell on it, the demand has become…significantly lower still.”
Tynthanal could not hide the chill of unease that shivered through him. “How low are we talking?”
Loveland shifted again. “Very low.”
Tynthanal rose from his chair, pushing it back with more force than necessary. “How low?” he demanded, wishing Loveland would just spit it out already.
“You understand that the Abbey serves only the gentry, so that—”
“Answer the question immediately, or I’ll have you removed from your post.” He doubted the council would allow him to do that even now, but it made an effective threat, nonetheless. An expression of genuine alarm—almost panic—lit Loveland’s eyes.
“There have been five calls for a midwife since the incident. And two of those turned out to be false alarms.”
“So, a total of three new pregnancies,” Tynthanal said faintly. He would have loved to think it a mistake, or an exaggeration. But even considering that the count would not include any woman who was not of noble birth—and any noblewoman who disdained to utilize the services of the Abbey or who lived far enough away from Aalwell to make using one of their midwives impractical—that was an appallingly low number.
Tynthanal shook his head in horror. “Three pregnancies in more than three months…” He let his voice trail off, and realized it was more urgent than ever that he and Kailee figure out what Mairahsol had done to the Well.
A part of him wante
d to upbraid Loveland for waiting so long to report this terrible trend, for failing to listen to his abigails when they warned him that the birth rate was falling. But that would require him to spend more time in the man’s presence, so instead, he dismissed him. And began pondering when and how he should share this news with his royal council.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Leethan groaned when she found herself standing alone on a windswept cliff overlooking a rocky beach. It had been only a month since she’d last suffered a recurrence of the nightmare that had plagued her since she was a teenager, and she’d hoped she’d have at least another year or so before another one came. Never before had she had two of them in such a short period of time. She closed her eyes tightly, willing herself to drift back into the depths of sleep—but it had never worked before, and it wasn’t going to work this time, either.
When she opened her eyes once more, the horizon was filled with sails as a tremendous naval battle took place under a lowering sky. If this were happening in reality, the fighting would be too far away for her to hear anything, but the wind carried the sound of clashing swords and cries of agony to her ears. When she looked down at the beach, ghostly figures of armored men wavered into being, attacking one another with a ferocity she could hardly bear to witness.
Leethan groaned again as she suddenly found herself no longer standing on the cliff above it all, but perched on a rocky outcropping in the middle of the chaos. The figures that battled and died around her were all insubstantial, their faces and forms impossible to make out when she looked straight at them, although they seemed real enough in her peripheral vision. And the sounds…For those sounds alone, she would label this dream a nightmare! She covered her ears so she could at least muffle the screams and wondered how so many men could find the idea of battle exciting, even pleasurable.