"Oh Gods, Mama," he groaned. "I'm just going riding with a pretty girl. I haven't committed to anything at all," he recited.
"She's not a 'pretty girl,' Temmy. It's very wrong of you to call her that," chided Ansella. "You should refer to her as the Holy One, or Miss Obby at worst! I know you haven't committed to anything, sweetheart. But your father is quite adamant that you have nothing to do with the Lovers' Temple until you're...older."
"He can't keep me from doing it."
"No, and he shouldn't."
Temmin raised his brows in surprise. "Are you saying I should chase the Lovers?"
"I can't go that far," said Ansella.
Her face bore a troubled look, and he said, "Would it make you so very unhappy?"
"No!" she said, her face clearing. "No, it wouldn't make me unhappy at all. To have a child of mine called by the Gods? Nothing would make me prouder, even if it is the Lovers and not my own Venna. Your father believes in the Gods, but only because as king he's...he's seen things. I believe because I want to, I believe with all my heart, and always have since I was a small child. Ib--Sister Ibbit," she stumbled, "advises me you should not chase Them. You know how much she disapproves of the Lovers, strongly disapproves."
"She disapproves of everything," muttered Temmin.
"I share her disapproval, if not to her degree. But if They want you...I won't tell you to chase Them, but I certainly won't tell you not to chase Them."
"Papa didn't ask you to talk me out of it?"
Ansella put her hand over Temmin's. "Oh, of course he did. I told him what I'm telling you...more or less. Your father has his reasons for disliking this, and so do I. But my concern for you is greater than my dislike of the Lovers." She rose, pulling her son with her. "Temmy, you are my youngest," she said, bringing her soft little hands to his face; they smelled of mint-and-chamomile tea. "You are my baby, my only boy. I have to give my girls away. You're the only one I get to keep. I wanted you to stay the same sweet boy you've always been, and so I kept women out of your way."
"What?" he said.
"But if you must go with women," she said in a rush, "this is the best way. Oh, please don't tell your father what I'm saying! But it's true. I would rather see you safely and honorably with the Lovers, than see you dallying with loose women, keeping mistresses, whoring all over the countryside, endangering your children, bringing shame on us, siring bastards on housemaids in my own house--!"
Temmin said nothing. His mother's unintentionally comic tirades against unseen women of dubious virtue were often sources of private amusement for her children. But he'd never connected these tirades with his father. How many mistresses did his father have, he wondered now--how many illegitimate children besides Mattie? Should he worry about sons? "Marriage isn't always a happy ending," Teacher had said.
These thoughts showed in Temmin's face, and Ansella stopped, her face guilty. She recovered herself with difficulty, and resumed, "You know how much I've always hated it that Elly chose the Lovers--"
"Mama, she only goes to Temple but once a year."
"--But you're a man, and you will do what men do, and I'd rather you do it in an honorable way. Your people will be able to look on you with pride, your wife will be able to look on you with pride, I will be able to look on you with pride!" She broke off, choking down a sob.
Temmin took her hands in consternation. "Do I need to call for Hanston?"
"Oh, no, no!" she said. She dropped his hands, fished a handkerchief out of her pocket, and wiped her eyes. "Don't do that or neither one of us will hear the end of it. I'm sorry, sweetheart, your interest in...in women is a milestone I've been dreading. I'm feeling it too greatly," she said. "Go on your ride. Decide for yourself what you will do. And if your father asks if I talked with you, try not to tell him exactly what I said." He left her sitting on the couch again, eyes closed and looking as fragile as the teacup in her hand.
Temmin left his mother's rooms, so deep in thought he barely looked up until he took to the stairs leading down into the family's informal entrance to the Keep, Harsin's sigil in gold inlay upon the huge doors. He wanted to dirty it with soot. How could the King have hurt her so? How could Harsin prefer any other woman to her? She was kind and beautiful, she was cheerful and loving; she was his Mama, and how could any man be cruel to her? The footmen took one look at his scowl and swept the doors open just a little faster than usual, not a ripple of interest on their professionally still faces.
A groom held Jebby's bridle; the big chestnut pawed in good-natured boredom at the fine gravel beneath his hooves. Temmin's anger swerved to apprehensive excitement. He mounted and rode down the switchbacks and the long, long drive to the massive gates at the entrance to the grounds. There he waited, silently rehearsing a little greeting meant to sound nonchalant and sophisticated. "How terribly good of you to come, Miss Obby, or should I say, Holy One, ha ha." No, that didn't sound right...
He stood there only a short while before the heavy stomp of the King's Guard announced someone of importance. The gates shivered as the guardsmen loosed the bolts; they swung inward on silent hinges. The enormous archway framed Allis, astride a delicate black mare with a white blaze on its nose. She turned toward her escort, two Brothers with white swan feathers added to the red horsetails on their helmets, dismissed them with a nod, and walked her mare up the drive. Few women rode so straight-backed and effortless--born to horseback, he thought. A fleeting impression of his mother's skill with horses came to mind and he dismissed it.
Temmin had only seen Allis in formal dress; now she wore a lilac riding suit, much more to his liking than yards and yards of silk. A close-fitting jacket topped a divided skirt; some sort of lace frothed at her throat. She wore her thick black hair coiled beneath a neat gray riding hat--he preferred it down, but what a nuisance on a ride that would be.
She reached him. Dazzled, he forgot to take her hand until she said, "Your Highness," and smiled.
"Miss--Holy One," he stammered as he took her hand at last. He lost the sophisticated little speech and settled for "How are you?"
"No one could be anything but fine on such a splendid day!" said Allis, her smile once again covering him in a foggy euphoria. "Shall we?"
"Oh--yes!" said Temmin, recovering some of his wits. They walked the horses down the drive, taking the road that led up the shallower slope to the stables; the stable hands loitered near the outskirts of the yard with feigned indifference. "Ain't she sumpin!" said a boy in an awed stage whisper, only to have the nearest groom knock his cap off his head.
Temmin responded to Allis's remarks on the weather, his parents' health, and the upcoming Neya's Day ball in happy monosyllables. "Ah--here is the War Road, Holy One. Have you ever ridden it?"
"This is the first unofficial visit I've ever made to the Keep," she said, as they moved from the fine gravel of the drive onto the packed dirt of the War Road into the King's Woods. "Jinny is anxious to stretch her legs, sir, and so--" Off she went at a gallop.
Temmin watched her ride off, wondering if she'd picked the little mare herself. A discerning eye, if so. Such easy communication with the horse, he hadn't seen her tap her heels or anything, and off she'd gone, riding as if someone were chasing her--oh!
He gave Jebby a little swat with the ends of the reins and called out, "Gidyap, Jeb!" The big horse snorted. Letting a snip of a mare outstrip him was unacceptable, and Jebby ran to catch her up. But Allis sensed them coming, and the mare picked up her pace. Soon, they both ran flat-out. But Jebby's stride made nearly two of Jinny's, and soon Jebby ran beside her. Allis reined in, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright with excitement. They were well down the War Road now, the horses' hooves sending up the sweet, head-clearing scent of crushed cedar.
"How long have you been riding, Miss Obby? You ride extremely well," said Temmin.
"I did ask you to call me Allis," she replied. "Since we came to the Temple, about eight years ago. We didn't live there then--we didn't come to live at the T
emple until we turned eighteen, of course. But we were given a very thorough education at the Mother's House where we lived. Lovers and Beloveds came to tutor us, and Teacher, too. That included riding lessons, and they were always my favorite. Teacher gave me Jinny when we took up the Gods last year."
"He told me the three of you are very close."
She slipped into a minute, inward melancholy, but quickly recovered herself to sparkle at him again. He dimly realized her seductive demeanor was in part a facade before she gazed up at him through her dark lashes and the realization left his head. "I do love to ride, and I have few opportunities," she said. "Thank you so very much for this invitation. Issak loves to ride as much as I do. At the risk of presumption, perhaps you might invite him some day? These are such beautiful woods, he would treasure time spent in them."
"I would very much enjoy hosting both of you," faltered Temmin. Issak still confused him. He'd never thought of himself as a lover of men, Alvo notwithstanding, but when Issak looked at him, he felt exposed and unable to resist. He thought of Emmae, and wondered if he too were enchanted. "Do you know anything about magic?" he blurted.
"I'm sorry?" said Allis. "Magic?"
"Never mind, forget I said anything," winced Temmin.
"Nothing beyond fairy tales," she continued. "I suppose one might consider being an Embodiment to be a form of magic. You do realize what being an Embodiment entails, don't you?"
"Well, yes, of course, you take on the Gods at the Spectacles, but surely it's just a mask, you're just--" He stopped himself in time to avoid the word "pretending." Aloud, he said, "I've never been to any Temple's Spectacle in the City--the ones with an Embodiment in attendance," he said cautiously. "I imagine there's more to it than I know."
Her face grew serious, brows together. "There are those who imagine what happens at the Spectacles is play-acting. That all of the Embodiments merely impersonate the Gods when They take us--when They allegedly take us. That Issak and I are simply acting out the passion of the Lovers, as if we were performing on a stage at a bawdy house. I imagine you've heard it all. That is far, far from the case. There is no pretending. The Gods possess us. We have no control over our bodies whatsoever when They take us. If puppets had thoughts, they'd be very much like mine at those times, I suppose." She sighed. "It's not an easy thing, but it is also a glorious thing."
"As if we were performing in a bawdy house," Temmin repeated to himself, with the same disgust and arousal as he'd had the first time he'd heard what Allis and Issak did on Neya's Day. His face must have betrayed his thoughts, for Allis drew herself up even further. "I believe you have a question for me, Temmin," she said in a challenging tone.
"A question? I don't think so," said Temmin, dropping his reins. Jebby came to a halt, and turned his massive head to eye his nervous master.
Temmin picked up the reins, and Jebby sauntered away down the Road, until Allis suddenly sped up and wheeled Jinny around to block Temmin's way. "I said, ask your question, Prince Temmin."
Teacher had said Temmin might ask Allis anything, anything at all, but this was far too embarrassing to contemplate so soon into the ride. "I hadn't intended to ask you anything, Holy One," he said, echoing her formal tone, "until perhaps we'd gotten to know one another better--"
"Ask your question!" she repeated, still blocking the Road.
"Very well, then!" he said. "Do you--have you--what is the nature of your relationship with your brother?"
The high, cheerful murmur of birds suspended, waiting expectantly for her answer. Then she smiled, and Temmin heard the birds sing again. "Was it really so hard?"
"Yes, in fact, it was," he said, with an exasperated grunt. "Forgive me, I'm not used to such frank conversation with a young lady like you."
"You are completely forgiven. And there are no young ladies like me." She unblocked the Road, and they resumed their walk. Allis held the reins loosely in her hand. "Such a lovely wood," she murmured, and said no more.
Temmin waited as long as he could, and then said, "Well?"
"Well, what?"
"What is the nature of the relationship between you and your brother?"
"Later," she said, urging her mare into a trot. "The question weighed on you. You needed to let it go!" She gave a whoop, and cantered off down the path. Temmin swore under his breath, and rode after her.
As they climbed into the lower foothills, Temmin showed her all his favorite places: a fine white waterfall misting into a pool so clear they could see every smooth, amber rock on its bottom; maidenhair ferns, frothing in thick, green waves through the underbrush; and a grove of ancient, towering hemlocks, their roots arched and gnarled. "Some say these trees are as old as the Keep--older," said Temmin as they rode past.
The horses moved out of the trees, into the sloping, sunny clearing called the Fairy Meadow. The rivers' confluence lay spread below them, where the Feather let itself be swallowed up by the Shadow before it continued on its way south to the sea.
The tent pavilion stood open to the view, with the Inchari-style picnic within. Allis pronounced it elegant, charming and original, and let him hand her down from Jinny's back as soon as he dismounted himself. Two grooms appeared and led the horses off to crop the grass elsewhere. Temmin took Allis's hand and led her into the pavilion.
A brazier sat by the low table, to keep tea water hot and to dispel any nip that might still be in the air, even on a sunny day. "How pleasant! It's warm enough today to take off one's coat. With your permission?" Allis shed her gloves, coat and hat, and as Temmin removed his own, she arranged herself gracefully into the enormous pile of pillows by the table.
Temmin had never noticed the way a woman's riding costume hinted at the outlines of legs and hips usually hidden beneath layers of skirts and petticoats, perhaps because the only women he'd ridden with were Mama and the girls. He roused himself from his stare, took his place beside her, and poured them each a glass of pale spring wine: "An '88 Bordigalle, pressed on a crown estate, Holy One," said Temmin, dredging up what Jenks had told him in preparation for the lunch.
"Your father was gracious enough to send several dozen cases of the '87 to us at the Temple," said Allis after a sip. "I daresay this is even better. Was last year a kind one for the grapes in Bordigalle? I know our Temples throughout Belleth reported it a most happy summer generally, but I confess I don't know how Bordigalle in particular fared."
Temmin had reached the end of his knowledge of both Bordigallian wine and weather, and so changed the subject. "How long have you and your brother served as Embodiments?" he said, piling her plate with enough to feed every mouth in the Temple.
The corners of Allis's mouth twitched as she took the heaping plate from him. "A year this Neya's Day. Are you very familiar with Temple practices?"
"No," he admitted. "I'm afraid I'm not terribly devout. I make the rounds at the Spectacles every year, say the blessings for my sisters on Nerr's Day, my mother on Amma's Day and father on Pagg's Day and so on--and I must add I haven't been to Neya's Day," he blushed.
"Ah?"
Temmin looked down into his wine. "I can't, yet. I imagine you've heard I qualify to be a Supplicant," he said, and finished off the glass. "But even if I didn't," he resumed, "my mother does not approve of the Neya's Day observances, though I imagine they're different here in the City."
"My brother and I are here. That's the only real difference," she said. "Why doesn't your mother approve? I thought the Queen was among the faithful."
"Oh, she is! She more than makes the rounds. We said our prayers every night: 'Amma as we fall asleep/We give to You our souls to keep/Please keep the Dark One from our door/And we'll be Yours forevermore.'" Temmin smiled, remembering cozy nights in the nursery, but frowned as he thought of Sister Ibbit's ascendancy in the household. "That stopped after Mama devoted to Venna, and her spiritual advisor became such a fixture. She practically lived with us."
"You didn't care for her?"
"She didn't care for me! She a
voided me as much as possible, which was fine with me. I don't think she likes men--she didn't seem to mind the girls, and was always bothering Sedra to become a devotee of Venna. She told Mama that Venna is the enemy of the Lovers--all Her Brothers, actually, and Her Father--and that illness results from 'indulgence in the senses,' which I suppose means enjoying yourself." Temmin filled a plate for himself, swallowed half a ham sandwich whole, and said, "Listen to this: Sister Ibbit told me once that Venna the Sister hates anything to do with men, and that all men were evil boys at heart. But then, she'd just caught me stealing all the sugar cubes from Mama's tea tray. Elly put me up to it," he added defensively.
"Ah, Sister Ibbit. I know of her." Allis shifted on the pillows. "What do you think of what Ibbit says?"
Temmin shrugged. "I'm not very devout, but I know enough. It all sounded like nonsense to me, and Mama told me later I wasn't evil and Ibbit was in a bad mood. She's in a bad mood a lot."
"It's more than a 'bad mood.' Sister Ibbit's mentor was a Sister named Anniki of Litta, who preached that men and women should lead separate lives but for the necessary--rare--getting of children. The Sisters convicted her of heresy some twenty years ago. Poisoned her, of course. Ibbit leads that faction now. She's been very careful to stay within Pagg's Law in public," Allis said, half to herself, "but if she's teaching Her Majesty lies like that..." She stopped with a little laugh, and said, "Enough of Temple politics. I collect your religious education has been neglected?"
He winced. "I didn't know what a Supplicant was."
Allis held out a plate. "This is a wonderfully tender chicken, have you tried it?" Temmin gratefully took both the chicken and the change in subject, and they ate with a minimum of small talk.
"This is a splendid picnic, Temmin, thank you so very much," she said at last. She wiped her lips, Temmin following the napkin's course with his eyes. "Returning to earlier conversation, as we must," she said, "if your religious fervor is tepid, why are you here with me?"
Lovers and Beloveds Page 18