by Katy Haye
He waved a hand, but that didn’t allay my fears. “Forbidden doesn’t mean impossible. Despite the law, women possess magic and use magic. There were no miraculous cures? No babies who survived an impossible journey into life?”
“No, your highness.” The potion was a hard lump against my breast bone. “No one in the house of compassion would risk it, even if they had magic.”
“And there’s the rub,” Jaran told me. “I believe magic should either be outlawed altogether, or we should take many more risks with it.”
I stared at him. “It’s dangerous. It must be used carefully.”
“So is a sword, but we don’t outlaw them. We train those who use them.”
“Isn’t that what the mages do? For some, at least.”
Jaran huffed gently.
Heat slide down my spine. “You – you don’t trust the mages?” At the last moment, I managed to make the statement a question. I wanted Jaran’s opinion, not to push mine on him.
“I did not say that. But anyone who enjoys great power must use it well. The murder of women who possess magic seems arbitrary when we might educate them instead.”
“You want the mages to take on female apprentices?” Perhaps Rannyl’s dream of women in power wasn’t so outrageous.
Jaran tapped a finger against the tabletop. “I’m not sure the mages should have sole control over magic.”
I had no words. It seemed too good to be true that I had met someone else who distrusted Mage Redmor as much as I did.
He smiled. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to shock you.”
“I am not shocked,” I lied.
He met my gaze. “I would be grateful if you could keep that information to yourself, however. I know your father and Mage Redmor are thick as thieves.”
“I would not tattle to my father!”
“No?” He raised a brow. “What of your loyalty?”
I took a breath. Thoughts battered at me, but my opinion was crystal clear. “I should have added another earlier. I also hold loyalty to my country. Muirland, and its crown, has my loyalty as much as does my father.”
“I am pleased to hear that.” He glanced at the window again. “Forgive me, I must bring our time to a close.” He stood and extended his hand. I placed my fingers in his. I expected a courtly kiss, a brush of his lips over my knuckles. Instead, he turned my hand and lowered his head, pressing a slow kiss to my palm. Heat ran up my arm and stopped my breath. “I enjoyed our time together, Hanna.”
“As – as did I, Jaran.” I walked away from him on feet that felt unsteady.
“Hanna?” I turned as I reached the door. Jaran stood by the table, light glowing around him from the window behind him. He lifted the glass of water I’d poured and raised it in a salute. “It is good to learn who I can trust.” As I watched, he put the glass to his lips and gulped down every drop.
Unable to speak, I dropped a curtsy.
And then I fled.
One of the guards outside his door escorted me back to my room. My pulse had almost returned to normal but then I turned the final corner to see my father pacing outside my door.
My stomach filled with snakes. I had disobeyed my father. And I feared now would come a reckoning.
Prince Jaran
“Tell me uf the gulls,” the king commanded, his gaze as sharp as ever.
Was he improving? Jaran hardly dared to hope it could be so, and his fists clenched at the implications if the improvement was because visitors had been banned.
The girls. Jaran took a seat and watched his father. If he were feeling better, his mind sound, perhaps this was a chance to receive his father’s wisdom. “Do you have a preference, sire?”
The king waved a hand and placed his next piece. “Prutty ud silunt,” he stated.
Jaran tried to be flexible in what he wanted of his future bride, but even he was more demanding than ‘pretty and silent’. Was that what his father had appreciated in his mother? She was still a fine-looking woman, a renowned beauty in her youth. And she had little to say in front of the king, that was true enough.
If that was the most important criteria, he would choose either Glynneth or Hanna. Perhaps Rannyl; she clearly had much she could say, but was skilled at holding her tongue where such a thing was desirable.
Jaran didn’t want silence, though. He wanted a wife he could discuss matters with, another point of view to shed light on council business. Rather than silence, he would prefer insight. Intelligent and pretty. That didn’t dismiss any of the candidates, although Glynneth clearly lacked experience of the world which the older candidates had. “I barely know them,” he admitted. That was the problem with this arrangement; he had a couple of hours in their company and watched them showing off a talent they considered desirable. They were on their best behaviour, which made it close to impossible to assess what they would actually be like in day to day life.
“Draw u lut.” His father recommended with a gruff laugh, moving a counter on the board.
Jaran smiled grimly; he hoped it wouldn’t come to that. “I’m considering their families as much as the girls themselves,” he confessed. “I don’t want to convey power where there is already too much.”
“Clevvr boy.” Rare praise from the king.
“I believe that rules out Venner and Bal.”
The king huffed. “Clofe.”
“I don’t doubt his loyalty, but you’re probably right; he needs no elevation of power.”
“Keep th’ powur yoosulf,” the king stated.
“I’m trying, sire.”
The king lapsed into silence, as though exhausted by so short a conversation. Jaran returned his thoughts to the candidates. He would do what was right for Muirland, but he also needed to do what was right – safest – for himself. The king couldn’t offer him advice when even he didn’t know the secret Jaran had been carrying almost since he was born. Above all else, he needed a wife who could be trusted to keep his secrets, not use them against him.
He was sowing the seeds to test how trustworthy the young women were. His stomach twisted at the idea of watching them fail. He was aware that his own preferences were beginning to make themselves felt. His disappointment would be greater or less depending on who failed to pass the tests. He wouldn’t be ruled by something as temporary as his emotions, and yet, he must have a wife he could bear to share his life with.
And that reduced the candidates immediately.
17 – Wise Advice
“Father, please join me.” I could hardly refuse to admit him, so best to appear as though we were united while the servants were observing. “Could you ask my maid to bring refreshments?” I threw at the guard. He inclined his head and walked away.
I opened the door and walked into my room, father stepping close at my back.
“Well?” He barely waited for the door to close. “Is it done?”
I turned to face him. Father stood with his hands on his hips, his bulk almost obscuring the door. My palms turned clammy. It had been easy to tell myself I was doing the right thing when I was with the prince. Now, it would have been much easier to have used the potion rather than confide a failure to my father.
I considered lying, telling him what he wanted to hear, but I feared the prince’s indifference to me would be easy to see at the evening’s meal. I straightened my shoulders and picked a story that wasn’t quite the truth, but held enough of it that it might appease him. “There was no chance to use the potion.”
“What?” His expression darkened. “What do you mean? This was the perfect occasion. You—”
“He didn’t eat or drink a thing.”
Father took a threatening step forward. “I saw a servant enter with drinks.”
He had been spying? I swallowed, remembering the prince facing me and drinking down his glass as though testing me. Father couldn’t possibly know that, though. “I asked for a drink when he offered nothing, but the prince took no refreshment himself.”
Father cur
sed, his hands tightening to fists. He took another step towards me. I held my ground while my knocking knees longed to run away. “I know you’re useless, but are you entirely witless, too?”
“No, indeed, I—”
His hand swung, his open palm smacking the side of my head. I staggered to the side, my ears ringing, shock slowing those wits. “You could have proposed a toast!” He roared. I saw his hand move but I was too clumsily slow to evade him and his other hand slammed into my other ear. “Must I think of everything?!”
I fell to the ground, my fingers clutching at the thick carpet as though I could pull myself away, out of his reach.
“It was the perfect opportunity and you have wasted it.”
A smack sounded and a sharp pain exploded in my chest. It took a second for my rattling brains to understand he had kicked me, his toe catching my ribs. “Do you know what I risked to get you this chance, and you have wasted it!” He loomed over me. I curled up, protecting myself.
He grabbed the front of my gown and hauled me to my feet. Dizzy with pain, ringing filling my head, I could find only one question. “What hold does Redmor have over you?”
Father’s lips twisted in a snarl. As though moving through water, I saw his hand lift for another strike. A whimper escaped my lips. Please, just let this be over.
And a knock resounded on the door, whipping father’s attention from me.
Father dropped me, taking a step backwards. I landed on the bed, wincing at the jolt. I forced myself upright. “Enter!”
I had never been more grateful in my life when Gulla stepped inside, carrying a tray with refreshments. Father stuffed his hands in his pockets. I flicked a finger and addressed the maid. “On the table.”
Father was breathing heavily. I watched his chest, too afraid to catch his eye. Please, let him leave. I could not bear Gulla to walk back out and leave me with him.
Gulla placed the tray and turned back to me. “Is there anything else, my lady?”
I took a breath. “Draw me a bath, please. I wish to look my best tonight.”
If the servant thought it odd of me to demand two baths in a day, it was fortunately not her place to say.
Father’s fists clenched and flexed. “I have work to do. I will see you at dinner.” He strode from the room and I sighed in relief.
When the bath was ready I allowed Gulla to unfasten the ties of my dress, then I dismissed the servants. I feared I would have bruises, and I would not become the focus of gossip for anything.
Alone, I knelt before my chest and opened the drawer containing my underclothes. I fumbled the phial out of my bodice. I held it up to the light, watching the golden liquid within that seemed to glow where the sun hit it. Fury burned through me. I should throw it away. I could pour the liquid into the bath, but I didn’t know whether I’d enchant myself doing that. Jaran was right; the mages were wrong to hoard magical knowledge to themselves.
My fingers closed around the tiny bottle. I didn’t understand magic, but I knew myself well enough. I didn’t need to enchant myself to fall in love; I was managing that well enough with no assistance.
I bit my lip and pushed the phial deep between the clothes in my drawer. It didn’t matter whether or not I fell in love with the prince; his desires were the only ones that carried weight. If I wouldn’t enchant him, then I had to ensure I won by my own efforts. I could add no more to this afternoon’s work, but my performance was still to come, and I needed to be fit for that.
Undressing, I sank into the water and hoped the heat would draw the pain and stiffness from my ribs. I closed my eyes as the ringing in my ears faded, and wished I might have my time with the prince over again. I would tell him my father deserved no loyalty and I would keep all mine for a husband who would treasure my devotion, not trample it beneath his boots.
~
“What happened with the prince?” Martyn wormed his way to my side as I entered the dining hall that evening, a sly grin dancing around his lips. “Father’s like a bear with a crushed paw.”
My ribs ached with every breath I took. I wasn’t prepared for Martyn’s gleefulness at a failure he understood nothing of.
“I believe he thought the prince might offer marriage this very afternoon. That hasn’t happened.”
Martyn whistled. I followed his gaze to see our father enter the room. With Mage Redmor at his shoulder. I turned so I couldn’t see them. “I think you should steer clear until he calms, sister.”
My ribs twinged. “Thank you for that wise advice.”
“Hanna?” I turned gratefully at Rannyl’s voice.
She glanced at my brother, then focused her attention on me, sliding her arm through mine. “Tell me everything.” She drew me effortlessly away from Martyn. “I’m all ears.”
“There’s not much to tell.” My memories of the afternoon were spoiled by what had happened afterwards. “We played nine dragons gold.”
“Is that all?”
Our conversations came rushing back. But they were confidences the prince had asked me not to share. “I allowed him to win,” I jested.
“Most diplomatic.” Rannyl nudged me, meaning only good humour, but I gasped as her elbow grazed my ribs. “Hanna? What happened?”
“Nothing. I slipped. In my room.” Heat warmed my face. Why could I not tell her what had happened? My father didn’t deserve my loyalty, but I couldn’t seem to help myself keeping his secrets.
Rannyl’s expression darkened. I hadn’t fooled her; I should have practised.
“It wasn’t the prince.” That truth I’d willingly share.
“I’m glad to hear it.” We moved deeper to the back of the room. Rannyl lowered her voice and gripped my wrist. “In the extraordinary event that I become the prince’s bride, I would like to ask you to stay at court as one of my ladies.”
The generosity of her offer made me blink back emotion. “Thank you. I – that’s kind of you.”
She leaned closer. “You could bring a guest, if you liked – your mother, if you think she would enjoy life at court.”
My throat closed. “Thank you,” I managed. I wanted to extend the same offer to her, but I knew it wasn’t necessary. Rannyl was afraid of no one. No; she had no reason to be afraid of anyone. I envied her that.
The meal began. Rannyl chattered to hide my silence. I barely touched the dishes, and when Rannyl rose to perform, playing her flute to entertain the court, I kept my eyes fixed on her throughout. My gaze never flicked sideways, but the whole time I felt my father and Mage Redmor, seated together, watching me.
18 – An Upset
“Will you show me Glide?” Rannyl asked after lunch the next day. Now she had given her performance, and since she would be last to meet with the prince the following day, she was at a loose end.
I had spent the morning practising my dance. I ought to do the same in the afternoon, but my ribs were still sore and I wanted a break. “It would be my pleasure.”
I fetched everything we needed from the mews and we headed out to the lawns. I didn’t want to hunt in earnest today, just show Glide off to Rannyl.
“She’s beautiful,” Rannyl murmured.
I glanced back, smiling at the expression on Rannyl’s face. There was something very pleasing about having my friend admire my bird. A strange, warm feeling slid through my stomach at the realisation that Rannyl was a friend. Perhaps she was the first proper friend I’d had: equal in status and close in age and outlook.
I moved back to my friend. “She is the most beautiful and skilled bird I’ve ever worked with.”
“You’ve kept hunting birds before?”
“Since I was a child. Father’s new wife – his current wife – enjoyed the hobby. We enjoyed it together, for a time.”
“What happened?” Rannyl asked softly. “How did you come to be living at the house of compassion?”
I watched her face, examining her expression for pity. I found none. “Do you not know the story? I thought you knew everything abo
ut each of the families.” I lightened my teasing with a smile.
Rannyl replied with a smile of her own. “My father raised me to understand the political currents. I taught myself to recognise the personalities. But it’s strange, it is much easier to find out about the men of our great families than their womenfolk.”
“My mother was his second wife. His first died in childbirth, giving life to Martyn. That was acceptable behaviour for a wife. My mother gave him a daughter – me – and then another stillborn daughter. That was too much for him to accept. Mama was set aside and he married again. She produced four sons in a row and was happy to have my help about the house. Father was delighted for his line to be so well established, but I believe Dana – that’s his third wife – wanted a daughter, too. But the boys kept coming and in the end she resented me. She told father I was a troublemaker and he sent me away, fortunately to the same house of compassion where mama was living, so we could bear each other company.”
“Do you miss her?”
My heart twisted, my tongue stumbling on the glib response Rannyl probably expected. A voice in my head cautioned that it was unwise to be so open with another of the candidates, but it was such a relief to be able to speak about it. Of course I missed mama, but... “Not as much as I ought,” I told her candidly. “She isn’t well. My father’s rejection twisted her mind. She dwells too much in the past. I love her dearly, but I’m pleased to be here with the chance to build my own life.”
Rannyl examined my face. “You really want to win, don’t you?”
“Of course. Do you really not?”
Rannyl sighed with a smile. “It is pleasant to be admired, but I would just as soon not be caught. I don’t wish my life to rely solely on a man.”
I seemed to have no option in that: either the prince or my father would rule my life. I remembered the potion nestling amongst my clothes. No, the prince, and my father, and Mage Redmor would rule my life if I gave them half a chance. No wonder I envied Rannyl her certainty that there was much else she could do with her life.