Mother of All

by Jenna Glass

  Alys remembered all too well how Grunamai had screamed in agony when the poison first began its assault. She was glad she herself did not have a seer’s talent, for she didn’t know if she’d have had the courage to take a poison if she knew what it would do to her.

  Chanlix shifted on her chair, wincing in discomfort and letting go of Grunamai’s hand so she could put both hands on her belly. “Could we perhaps discuss the results of the test? I think you’re both right and I should get a little rest, but I’m not leaving until I know what Grunamai saw and how well it matches what you remember.”

  Mairahsol’s notes had claimed her potion, when added to a seer’s poison, would cause the seer to have a vision of something that had happened in the past. Something that the seer herself had never witnessed. The problem being that if the seer had not witnessed the events, then it was hard for her to know whether what she saw in her vision was accurate. To that end, Alys had asked Grunamai to trigger a vision of an event Alys herself had witnessed and never told anyone about. Something it was impossible for Grunamai to know, but that Alys could verify.

  There was no point in not checking to find out whether the spell had worked, so Alys set aside her guilt for the time being—knowing full well she would revisit it later.

  “Very well,” she said. “Tell me, Lady Grunamai. What happened the very first time I peeked at a primer?”

  Elsewhere in the world, it was strictly forbidden for a respectable woman to study magic, and yet Alys had been fascinated by magic long before her Mindseye had developed. She’d also had a thirst for knowledge—especially knowledge that was deemed unsuitable for girls—and had made a frequent habit of sneaking into the library in the residential wing of the palace. It was in that library that she had found the forbidden magic primer. It had included detailed paintings of the elements, along with descriptions of what those elements were capable of, and she’d been fascinated.

  Even in her weakened state, Grunamai smiled. “It seems you were a precocious—and naughty—child. I saw a child of maybe seven or eight years sneaking into a darkened library in what looked like the middle of the night. You were carrying a candle instead of a luminant, and you were moving so furtively I was sure you had slipped out of bed under the nose of your governess.”

  Chanlix glanced quickly over at Alys, raising her eyebrows in inquiry. Alys nodded to acknowledge the veracity of what Grunamai had said so far. It was impossible for anyone to know about that forbidden night, for Alys had never spoken of it, not even to her late husband.

  “I saw you find the primer,” Grunamai continued, “and you were looking through it when you heard voices approaching. You quickly shoved the primer back on its shelf, then hid behind a brocade curtain.”

  Alys’s face heated with remembered embarrassment. She’d been frightened at the time, knowing she’d be thrashed for her audacity if she was caught, and she’d pinched out the candle’s flame moments before the library door opened.

  “Come here, you,” she heard her father’s voice say, and at first she’d thought he’d been speaking to her, that he’d seen her sneak in and might take her over his knee.

  Then there was a muffled feminine giggle, followed by footsteps and the swish of long skirts. The door slammed shut, and the sounds that followed were ones that a little girl had no place recognizing, although even at that age, Alys had had at least an inkling of what was going on. She did enjoy acquiring forbidden knowledge, after all.

  Grunamai smiled, reaching over and patting her hand gently. “I imagine it was traumatic for a girl so small to hear that, even if you perhaps didn’t fully understand what you were hearing.”

  Alys raised one shoulder in a faint shrug. “I had the gist of it. Enough to feel properly mortified and to fear that my parents would see my knowledge on my face the next time I saw them. I stuck my fingers in my ears as soon as I realized what was going on, but…”

  She let her voice trail off in amusement, and only then noticed the slight widening of Grunamai’s eyes. She frowned as Grunamai looked quickly away.

  “What is it?” she asked, unable to fathom why the other woman suddenly looked so uncomfortable. It was impossible to spend much time in the Abbey of the Unwanted and remain a prude, so surely the sight of Alys’s parents having sex could not have had this effect on her.

  “Nothing,” Grunamai said unconvincingly. “I’m only picturing your discomfort.”

  Alys’s frown deepened. “That’s not it.”

  Grunamai squirmed in the bed as if trying to escape Alys’s scrutiny.

  “Tell me what’s bothering you,” Alys commanded, but Grunamai started coughing and shook her head. Alys was half-convinced the cough was forced, but she was reluctant to press in case she was wrong.

  “I suspect the woman in question was not your mother,” Chanlix said, and it was clear from Grunamai’s expression that she’d gotten it right.

  “Of course it was!” Alys protested, an almost reflexive need to defend the memory of her parents’ happy marriage. “My father would never…” She cleared her throat and tried again. “I was only eight when that happened. It was before the troubles started, when my parents were still very much in love.”

  Chanlix gave her a look that held a hint of pity. “It was before the troubles got bad enough for you to know about them,” she said. “Mother Brynna told me there had been other women in the latter stages of the marriage. She did not tell me much about what happened between her and the king, but I do know it was more complicated than anyone supposes.”

  Alys shook her head. “It was my mother,” she insisted, hearing once again that feminine giggle and trying to remember if she’d truly recognized it. It had sounded like her mother. Hadn’t it? Or had her child’s mind merely leapt to the expected conclusion?

  “I’m sorry, Your Royal Highness,” Grunamai said, sounding more weary now. “I did not realize…”

  “No apologies necessary,” Alys hastened to assure the other woman. “You have made a heroic sacrifice in testing the potion, and if I learned an uncomfortable truth, it’s my own fault for choosing that memory to have you see.”

  Grunamai said something else, but Alys was unable to hear her over Chanlix’s sudden cry of pain. The cry was quickly followed by a gasp as Chanlix clutched her belly. She met Alys’s eyes, looking both frightened and excited.

  “It’s time!”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Ellin opened her eyes, stretching and yawning, to find herself, as always, alone in her bed. She sat up and rubbed the grit from her eyes, wondering if she would ever wake in time to find Zarsha still beside her. They’d been married a full month now, and he had shared her bed the entire time, leaving the bed in the consort’s suite untouched. But in all that time, she’d never once awakened before him.

  There was a rustling sound outside the bed curtains, and the air filled with the mouthwatering scent of freshly baked pastries and generously spiced tea. Dishes rattled on a tray, and soon the curtains parted to reveal Zarsha holding that tray.

  Ellin smiled at him and sat up, fluffing some pillows behind herself. “Star,” she said with a shake of her head, “you look nothing like yourself today. I hope all is well.”

  Zarsha grinned at her and set the tray down over her lap. “Star is enjoying a much-deserved sleep-in.”

  Ellin covered her mouth with the back of her hand to hide a yawn. With the curtains shut, she had little sense of the exact time of day, but it felt early. If the tray of food weren’t teasing her senses, she might easily have turned over and gone back to sleep. Her days always began with a breakfast tray from Star, though she usually consumed that breakfast in hurried nibbles while Star was dressing her for the day, for a queen had not the luxury of lying abed.

  “I know that look on your face,” Zarsha said as he reached for a steaming bun that dripped with honey. He tore off a corner
of that bun—getting honey all over his fingers—and held it to her lips. “I’ve woken you early so that we might have a little time together before you begin your day. You have time to eat a proper breakfast.”

  The tantalizing scents of yeast and honey persuaded her not to scold her husband for depriving her of the extra sleep she probably needed, and she opened her mouth and allowed him to lay the morsel on her tongue.

  “Mmm,” she hummed in pleasure, savoring the burst of flavor. She enjoyed watching Zarsha lick the excess honey from his fingers, as well, but she knew he had not awakened her early in hopes of a morning romp. Which was a shame, for the troubles that still lay between them were so easily cast aside when they were in bed together and it was impossible to think through all the feeling.

  There were two teacups resting on the tray, and Ellin filled each while Zarsha tore off another corner of the bun.

  “You don’t have to feed me,” she scolded.

  “I wasn’t planning to,” he responded, then popped the corner of bun into his own mouth. “This is delicious,” he said with his mouth full, “and there’s more than enough for two.”

  She grabbed for the tray to hold it steady while he climbed over her to position himself at her side on the bed, his left arm draping over her shoulders. Not the easiest position for eating, but Ellin found she could not object. She could not deny that she still felt…uncomfortable with Zarsha’s long habit of seeking out—and keeping—secrets. But he’d promised he would keep no more from her, and when she was cuddled next to him like this, it was easy to believe him. It was only when he was not by her side that she sometimes wondered if she was being dangerously naïve about him.

  They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, elbows occasionally jostling, the tea occasionally threatening to escape the confines of its cups with their movements. Between them, they finished off every crumb of pastry on the tray until they were left with nothing but the tea, which had finally cooled to a less-painful drinking temperature.

  Ellin had to admit she was enjoying this semblance of a leisurely morning, but of course it couldn’t last. Queens did not get leisurely mornings. Nor did prince consorts.

  “If you have something you think we should talk about,” she said regretfully, “we’d probably better get to it. I don’t suppose we’ll have much longer before we’re interrupted.”

  Zarsha sighed. “No. I don’t suppose we will.” He took another sip of his tea, then set the cup aside and turned to face her. “I’ve been thinking lately about the succession.”

  Ellin blinked in surprise, for the subject seemed to come out of nowhere. “Oh? Why?”

  He smiled wryly. “Because likely sometime in the not-too-distant future, we’re going to have our first child. And if that child should happen to be a girl, I would hope that she can succeed you to the throne.”

  Ellin’s chest tightened with sudden panic, and she covered her discomfiture by refilling her teacup, giving the task more attention than it deserved.

  She’d lain with Zarsha practically every night since the wedding, and yet somehow, she had never put any thought into the possibility of children. At least not to the possibility of having children soon.

  It was what was expected, of course. Producing children was supposed to be the primary purpose—if not the only purpose—of marriage, and newly married couples often had children within the first year or two. Surely everyone assumed Ellin would provide an heir to the throne as soon as possible, for that was one of her most urgent duties as a sovereign.

  But just the thought of adding a baby to her already chaotic and often bewildering life was enough to make her heart race and her palms sweat. She’d been through so much change in the past two years, all of it so vast that she still struggled to cope with it. And what more dramatic change could there be than having a baby?

  Beside her, she felt Zarsha grow tense, and realized that her fidgeting with the tea was doing nothing to hide her feelings.

  “Of course,” Zarsha said, his voice tight with some emotion she could not put a name to, “we’ll only have children if you want to.”

  “I want to,” Ellin reassured him hastily, turning to her husband in hopes that she could read his feelings as well as he could read hers. Unfortunately, Zarsha was much better at being inscrutable than she was. The tension in his body and the tightness in his voice told her he was feeling something with alarming intensity, but she couldn’t tell from looking at his face whether it was anger or sadness or hurt or something else entirely.

  Whatever it was Zarsha was feeling, Ellin wanted it to go away, so she tried forcing a tremulous smile. “I’m being a ninny,” she said. “I want to have children. I just hadn’t given it any thought, for some reason. And I certainly hadn’t thought about what would happen if our firstborn is a daughter.”

  Every word she said was true, but there were many that went unspoken. As well as being her husband, Zarsha was in many ways the closest friend Ellin had ever had. It was possible that if she told him she wasn’t ready to have children yet, he would understand. After all, he’d been understanding of her relationship with Graesan even while he’d been aggressively courting her. But it seemed to her more likely he would take her reluctance as a sign that she did not fully trust him after he’d revealed how he’d created his information network—and after he’d prevented Graesan from seeing her. She had declined his offer to arrange a meeting with her former lover via talker, but she couldn’t help the residual stir of resentment she felt whenever she thought of what he’d done.

  His always-piercing gaze seemed to take in too much. “Are you still angry with me for keeping secrets?”

  “Are you still angry with me for agreeing to Waldmir’s terms?” she countered.

  Zarsha sighed. “Touché,” he said, then gave her a wry grin. “I don’t suppose our relationship will ever be completely uncomplicated.”

  “And yet I love you anyway,” she said, meeting Zarsha’s eyes and willing him to hear the sincerity of her words. For all that had come between them, for all her occasional doubts and worries, of that she had no doubt.

  He reached out and stroked her cheek, and she closed her eyes with pleasure. What she had felt for Graesan was a candle flame compared to the roaring bonfire of her feelings for Zarsha.

  “And I love you,” he assured her. “We are neither of us uncomplicated people.”

  She laughed, for she suspected he was right.

  “Now that we’ve established that,” Zarsha continued, “do you mind if we talk a little more about the succession? Whether we have our first child soon, or years from now, I think it best we begin laying the groundwork as soon as possible. You know that as the law is currently written, a daughter would stand below any sons we might have—and below Kailindar and his sons—in the line of succession.”

  Ellin nodded. “She would only succeed to the throne under dire circumstances, as I did.”

  “Exactly. I don’t want that for our daughter, if we have one. And I think it would be easier to convince the council to change the law before we have a daughter on the way.”

  Ellin bit her lip, momentarily letting go of her internal qualms and approaching the issue with logic. “Easier, perhaps,” she agreed. “But still not easy. The council is now at least grudgingly accepting of my rule, but I hardly enjoy their wholehearted support. And they unquestionably see me as an exception to the general rule that females are not capable of handling such masculine responsibilities. Far easier for them to believe that I am a rare, exceptional woman than to admit the possibility that women in general may be capable of much more than they imagine.”

  Zarsha swigged some tea, frowning in thought. “Regrettably, you’re probably right about that,” he finally concluded. “But that’s why we have to start trying to change their way of thinking as early as possible. Don’t let them get too comfortable assuming t
hat you will bear a son, and that son will succeed you and return things to ‘normal.’ We have to change their perception of ‘normal.’ Does that make sense?”

  She nodded, though she was perhaps not as hopeful as he that such a thing was possible. “I suspect I can convince Semsulin and Kailindar that I am not the only woman capable of ruling,” she said thoughtfully. “Semsulin has often referred to me as extraordinary, but I’ve never had the sense that he holds other women in contempt. Kailindar clearly adores his daughter, and I can tell just by talking to him that he respects her even while he’s often exasperated by her. The trade minister will certainly support me.” The trade minister and Kailindar were the only two members of the council she herself had chosen; the rest she’d inherited from her grandfather’s reign.

  “But the rest of my council members…” She sighed. “Nothing I do will ever win over my lord high treasurer or my lord commander.” Those two men had been firmly in Tamzin’s camp when her cousin had tried to yank the throne out from under her, and though they had ceased their active resistance, she was under no illusion that they would support her in any radical changes.

  “Then perhaps you should look into the possibility of replacing one of them. The junior members of your council will be easily swayed by powerful voices like Semsulin’s and Kailindar’s as long as you can muzzle the strongest opposition.”

  Ellin shivered and hugged herself, unable to fight off the visceral memory of the last time she’d dismissed one of her council members. She would never forget the terrible day when he’d tried to assassinate her, when one of her guards had given his life to protect her. She could still feel the weight of the dying man’s body on top of hers, feel the hot blood that covered her.

  Zarsha put his arm back around her shoulders and squeezed. She suspected he would have pulled her into his arms if it wouldn’t have upset the tray and risked soaking them both with hot tea.

  “It needn’t be anything as dramatic as Lord Creethan’s dismissal,” he said gently, his hand stroking up and down her arm. “It could be something as innocuous as giving your lord commander some gentle inducement to retire. He is getting on in years, after all, and he could easily have retired five years ago.”