Seanna stopped, staring this stranger up and down. She was a beauty, to be sure, but a beauty with little respect.
"The proper address for the queen is 'Your Grace,'" Seanna said.
The young lady sneered. "Of course, Your Grace. I had forgotten." Never before had Seanna heard so much condescension dripping in the title. A quiet arrogance pervaded this woman's entire demeanor, from the words she spoke to the way she held her arms at her sides.
"What is your peerage?" Seanna asked.
"My father is Lord Ecurio Westerburg of Resta, my brother the champion knight of the Holly Tournament. Our lands are renowned for grapes and wine."
"I have never found western wine to be particularly pleasant. Far too dry, like the people who produce it. Your name?"
The woman's face grew red, though she hid whatever shame she felt behind a lovely smile. "Maeria Westerburg, Your Grace." She curtseyed again and made as if to leave. Seanna put out a hand.
"Maeria. A pretty name." She remembered a comment one of the courtiers had made earlier that night: 'The Westerburgs are lucky not to have lost their flower in that fire. Tactless, I've always believed it, to send a daughter away to a convent until she comes of age.'
Seanna's smile held no warmth. "You are fortunate not to have been burnt in the fire, else your best quality would have been ruined."
"Not nearly as thoroughly as yours, Your Grace. I hear a woman's body is never the same after pregnancy."
"You have a quick tongue, Maid Westerburg. If only vineyards afforded dowries that tempted lords into marrying a shrew."
"I should think the miles and miles of bountiful farmland surrounding the orchards to be tempting enough. I have been in society all of a month, yet already received four offers of marriage, as our line is untainted by foreign blood."
How dare she! Seanna forced a smile. Her maternal grandfather, an Eadron ambassador, had married into Dotsch society, and she, like her mother, had inherited his dusky color.
Maeria, taking advantage of Seanna's silence, dipped then glided away, her skirts whispering against the mosaics. Seanna stilled the faint tremors of her angry heart with a deep breath and carried on down the corridor, her encounter with the maiden sliding into the back of her mind. She is nothing to me.
A striking portrait caught Seanna's attention, its subject a beautiful woman with cascading chestnut hair and a radiant diadem atop her curls. She regarded the painting a moment, drinking in the woman's knowing smile, her jeweled dress, the sheer confidence of her posture. I will be like her, Seanna decided. Beautiful, yet in control of all around me. I daresay no one sneered at her. She may have even kept her husband under her thumb. Seanna couldn't envision a greater aspiration than that. And she could have any lovers she desired, and none could argue against her. Beyond that, any children she had she loved deeply, and raised into noble, good rulers. She moved on, picturing herself with such a wondrous life. The baby shifted, and she cooed softly to it.
As the sky outside the palace darkened, Seanna's mood improved. She imagined the warm, scented bath waiting for her in her rooms and the soft sheets on a bed far too large for her, beckoning her to sleep.
But the moment she entered her chambers, peace crashed down into broiling hatred. Henrik glared at her with those scornful grey eyes, the room filled with his kingly presence.
"Henrik." Seanna waved a hand at her maids. "He won't be staying long. Prepare my bath and bed."
The handmaids rushed through the room, grateful to escape the crackling tension between the king and queen. Never taking his eyes from her, Henrik sat, his robes arranged perfectly on the seat. Seanna sat more slowly, feeling ungainly in front of him. Neither spoke.
"You made a fool of yourself in D'Clet," Henrik said at last, his lips tightened in a straight line, his mouth barely opening. "You made a fool of me. They think me a weak king who can't control his own wife. Can you even comprehend how dangerous you are to my very rule?"
"Then perhaps you should respect me more. After all, I–"
"Speak when asked to," he said in his deep rumble, the threat of a distant roar in his tone. "I stand behind Predicant Ropaz, and if you had known your place, you would have agreed when asked by my vassals. Your temper got the better of you, and rumors already circulate about your storming out like a petulant child. I offended him when I decided to marry you, and I had hoped, after your outburst on the docks and your insistence on traveling overland, that you might at least prove yourself to him as a queen worthy of the station. I was a fool. Rask is the most powerful man in this kingdom, no matter the praises sung of me in the streets. He is dangerous, and should he so choose, could secede and take most of the earls with him. I have kept his alliance on a thin thread, and here you come along to ruin everything I have worked for! You stupid, ignorant woman!" Henrik shouted, looming over Seanna, casting a shadow across her stony expression. Seanna refused to show him the fear that had sprung into her throat, gagging her. He paced now, still shouting at her.
"What have I done to deserve a disobedient wife such as you? Have I angered the gods in some way? Vecking hells, Seanna, I tried! I did everything correctly, and yet you still failed when it counted, miserable bitch that you are!"
"At least I don't snivel and grovel to Rask," Seanna blazed back at him.
"You're pathetic and weak-minded. You'll find yourself losing the few allies you have been lucky enough to gain. You've already lost the love of your husband."
"As if to suggest I ever had your love!" she sneered. "I did my best to please you, yet you treat me like the dogs in the kennel. Of course I turned from you; you had turned from me before our wedding day."
"You...the impertinence! The absolute – the nerve that you should speak to me with such a tongue." Henrik lifted his arm, the back of his hand large against the shadow of his face. Seanna did not flinch. Slowly, his expression growing darker, he lowered it, clenching his hand into a fist at his side. "Only for the sake of our child do I resist."
"As if you would dare even were I not pregnant."
"You would be unfit to be seen in polite company for weeks if I did what I wished to now." Henrik stalked from her chambers, slamming the door behind him hard enough to shake the portraits on the walls.
Falling back into the divan's cushions, Seanna pressed cool fingers to her hot cheeks. The baby kicked, and she placed a hand protectively over him. "I'm sorry, little one. I didn't mean to scare you. Mumma will always love you, even if your father doesn't love me." The child calmed, and she rubbed her belly, thinking again of the portrait she had seen in the hall. I will prove Henrik wrong. I'll be a better queen and mother than he believes I am, and show the world how pitiful he is beside me.
Chapter Seventeen
Gwen
BESIDE HER, Druam smiled and waved, his bronze circlet glittering on his proud brow. He looked younger, as if marriage had wholly rejuvenated him. Gwen felt it, too: with him beside her, fears of Daghorn or the nobles' rejections had nearly dissipated. Though she had often turned to her magic to comfort her in Demarren, here she felt secure in being simply Gwen.
Her cheeks sore from beaming, she turned her attention to the crowd. Hundreds of people, mostly nobles or wealthy merchants in a sea of shining jewels and shimmering velvet, screamed and shouted as they pushed against the rails separating them from the arena.
The last tourney of the year, in all its violent glory, commenced as soon as King Henrik and Queen Seanna took their seats. Under the beating sun, Gwen sweated in her silks and fanned herself for some small relief. Before the tournament even began, a hedge knight passed out in his armor and had to be extracted from the heavy chainmail. Other knights ordered their pages to pour water down the backs of their necks as they waited to ride. The smell of body odor and blood combined in a sickening way, and, were it not for Druam's excitement, Gwen would have retreated to the cool rooms of the palace. She wished that he had let them sit under the awning, where the shade provided some reprieve. But Druam had d
ecided that if his fighters were to be subjected to the heat, so would he.
All day, knights came and went, bowing to the royals and then riding around and around each other, dueling with sword, spear, mace, or axe, hitting and unseating their foe or completely missing and falling onto the ground themselves with sickening crunches, only to rise slowly a minute later with blood flowing down their necks and crusting into their mail. In the third duel, one man's sword clanged into his opponent's helmet, then slid into his neck. As the knight tore his sword away, the other collapsed from his blood-coated horse, falling thickly into the dirt, unmoving.
As the sun rose to its zenith, so too did the sweltering heat grow and fester in the humidity. Glancing at her husband, Gwen saw his manic smile, his skin pale and clammy to her light touch though not a drop of sweat beaded his hair. "You should spend some time in the shade," she murmured, grasping his cold hand in both of hers. "You look ill, my love."
"If the knights can stand it, then so can I," he replied hoarsely. His hand grew warmer and warmer until it felt like fire between her fingers.
"Please, Druam..."
The hard grip of his hand slackened, his eyes rolling back in his head as he stiffened and fell from his seat on the hard wooden stand. Gwen tried to catch him, to ease his fall, but too slowly, her mind dim from the sunlight beating on her black hair. There were shouts behind her and the box shook beneath them as lords dashed to their side. On the field, swords collided in a harsh knell.
Gwen didn't know what to do. Eigbrett knelt at Druam's side, feeling his forehead and trying futilely to cover him from the sun's harsh glare. Druam's eyelids fluttered, his mouth moving with no sound. His breath came in short, rapid bursts, as a man running or making love. Others crowded around them and pushed Gwen away. She scrabbled at them, desperate to return to her husband's side.
"Don't move him! It might disrupt his humors," Queen Seanna shouted.
"Call for a curate and bring him into the shade," King Henrik commanded.
Just help him! Gwen wanted to scream, but her mouth wouldn't work. Her hands felt heavy, her vision too bright. She almost felt like she would faint, too. She stood still, dazed and terrified, until some voice within her told her to do something. Druam needed her; she couldn't give into fear now.
Four sturdy servants grabbed Druam's arms and legs and lifted him into the shade. Across the arena, the crowd surged and screamed, unaware of their earl's condition. The knights still rode around and between each other, their weapons clanging over the din of fans and hawkers.
Her hands clutched anxiously, and Gwen finally pushed back to Druam's side. Shepherd Marin scurried over in his curate's heavy robes. He dipped rags in a bucket and wrung them over Druam's head. Suddenly, Gwen didn't want to merely watch as he treated her ill husband; she wanted to do something, anything, to make Druam better.
"Let me help," Gwen said.
"Take the rag and hold it to his forehead," Shepherd Marin ordered, handing the warm, moist cloth to Gwen. She obeyed as he held two fingers to Druam's neck. Then he ran his hands up and down the earl's body. "His heart is weakened. Bring a carriage with a roof; we'll take him to the palace."
"When will he wake?" Gwen asked as she mopped Druam's brow. His eyelids barely moved, and she could feel the heat radiating from his body. She hadn't known anyone could be so ill so quickly; it frightened her, seeing the confident earl in such a state. What if he doesn't wake? A tear fell from her cheek onto his nose.
Marin leaned back on his heels. "It should be any minute now. It's not good if it takes much longer."
"Is there anything else you can do?"
"Not until he wakes. Then, we'll give him water and fruit. But he needs to return to the palace as soon as possible."
"I'll take him." She silently dared someone to contradict her, but no one did. Then she remembered that she was now the Lady of Seastone, and must play hostess. Gwen looked to the king and queen, who had not moved from their thrones. "Your Graces, please do not worry for him. I'm sure he would want you to stay and run the tourney in his stead."
"Of course," the king said. "Give him our blessings when he wakes."
Druam did not stir the entire journey through the city back to the palace. Gwen sat with him in the carriage, stroking his head and humming a Demar lullaby. Not once did she look out to see the city pass by. Druam filled all her sight, and she prayed over him, lips moving silently as she begged the gods to be merciful. Even after he had been carried through his suites and placed in his down feather bed, Druam did not wake. His skin, grossly pale, still felt hot to her touch.
Marin checked him over. "He has a fever. We must bathe him with cool water. Help if you wish it, my lady." He beckoned a servant and whispered a few quick words in her ear. She hurried out of the room as he mopped his brow. "Once she returns, I must leave and prepare the earl's draught. It helps him when he is most ill."
"You've seen this before?" Gwen asked.
The curate nodded. "Ill humors in his family line cause it. But this may be the worst I've seen him. For other ailments, magic might be used, but not for this. The draughts, I've found, are more effective than anything else."
"Then we must pray that it works," Gwen said, her throat tight. "Can the court wizard help?"
"Avallune? He's not a healer. If I went to him, he'd only suggest turning the earl's skin to stone to prevent it from happening again."
Gwen almost laughed, but Marin's expression was serious. If I told the curate of my own magic, perhaps I could help him. Yet when she tried to speak, she found the words didn't come. So she turned back to her husband to hide her shame.
Blood had drained from Druam's lips and cheeks, though his forehead burned when she placed the back of her hand to it. The servant girl returned bearing a basin of water and a stack of linens. With the curate's help, Gwen undressed Druam and lay him atop the sheets, then placed water-soaked cloth all over him. Marin left then, promising to return as soon as the draught was ready.
"Leave us," Gwen said to the servant. She and Druam were alone now in his vast bedchamber. With his hand clasped in one of hers, she stroked his cheek. Fear struck her, fear that he may never wake. What would become of her? She had yet to bear him an heir...
In the silent, mournful air of the room, Gwen's worries began to take hold, and she paced about to ease her mind. The sun caressed her cheeks when she peeked out onto the balcony. She paused for a moment, then opened the paned door and stepped out into the light. Only for a few moments.
Taking a deep, wonderful, humid breath, Gwen shut her eyes. Her lids glowed, giving half-sight to an otherwise strange inner world. Wullum would often spend the hot afternoons with her playing card games. She pictured him next to her, their dark skin absorbing the sunlight, sitting together as they so often did.
"I'm surprised to see you abandon Druam's side." A familiar voice startled her. Gwen whirled to face the one who intruded on her fantasies. Mavian Strilu stood against the doorframe, a tiny frown making a crescent of his thin lips. "Given up hope?"
"I merely wanted some fresh air. He will wake soon," Gwen replied, hoping it was true. Beyond Mavian, she could see the darkened room and Druam's still form. "Who let you in? The servants didn't announce you."
Mavian shrugged. "I know my way around, and my cousin doesn't expect such courtesies from me. I came to see if he had woken."
"Not yet, I fear. If that's all...?"
"It is." Mavian's black hair, pulled back into a long braid, swung over his shoulder as he came to lean against the balcony next to her. "I always come to see him when he's suffering bad humors such as these."
"How often do you visit the palace, Lord...er...." Gwen realized she had no idea which fief he ruled.
"Far-eyes," he prompted. "And I stay most months of the year. I was brought here as my cousin's ward when my father died."
"I am sorry to hear of your father. My parents went to Autorus some time ago, too."
"There wasn't much we could
do for him. The prowlers attacked during an evening hunt."
Gwen waited politely for him to continue. He merely looked out over the city, seemingly content in their silence. As the quiet grew too awkward for her, she asked, "Have you ever captured a prowler?"
"Oh yes," Mavian said. "Though it died not much later. Hard to care for, those beasts. But I learned much in the brief days it lived. They can talk, but only in strange, gibberish tongue. They see, and they learn; it killed one of my guards during its feeding after it had observed the routine. But, most importantly I should think, it has no soul."
"No soul?" Gwen could not think of a more horrid fate. "But what happens to the souls of those that become prowlers? How can they find peace in the afterlife?"
"They don't. I believe they must wander purgatory until their bodies find rest."
"But it's not their fault! No man would turn prowler of his own will."
"True. But, life has never been fair, has it? Why should death be any different?" he said. Gwen pondered before realizing the truth of Mavian's words. Autorus was the most powerful – and the most hated – of the Cythra: elusive, semi-godlike beings. It was because of Autorus that so many feared death, for they must pass through his domain before joining with the gods.
With a sigh, Mavian pushed back from the bannister and glanced inside at Druam. "He still hasn't woken."
"Do you know of anything that can be done for him? Other than the curate's draught?" Gwen stepped gently back to Druam's side as Mavian followed. "I feel so terribly useless."
"Shepherd Marin knows the best remedies, and so we must wait for him. If I knew of any healing magic, I would cast a working that might ease the sunfever, but...well...some that are interested in magic are not so fortunate as to be blessed with it."
The Lantern-Lit City Page 15