by CS Hale
“Astrid. What is it?”
I dipped my head. I should have said ‘no,’ I thought. He’s pinned all his hopes on me and it will all come to ruin.
Valemar lifted my chin. “What if I’m not the savior?” I whispered. “What if I can’t save you?”
“Do you trust?” he gently asked me.
I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t say “yes” when all I thought was “no.”
Valemar wrapped his arms around me and tucked my head under his chin. “Then I’ll just have to do that for the both of us.”
I’D TAKEN PART in several negotiations of wine sales and, out of curiosity, had read up on what was involved in making it. I’d had a general idea of how to make wine on Earth. Take a bunch of grapes, squish them, let them ferment, bottle the wine. But what about strawberry wine? Or dandelion? What was involved in the process?
It turned out there was a reason that grapes were the main source of wine on Earth. They had the perfect balance of sugar, acid, tannin, salt, and yeast. Most other fruits and herbs needed a boost, be it from sugar or yeast.
On Zigbar Three, a melon-like fruit, known as the cambari, made the most heavenly wine I’d come across — sunset orange, sweet yet tangy. Earth wine had been a little hard to get used to again after that perfection. Sietti Nine produced tiny currant-like fruits with a high carbon-dioxide output when fermented. Its wine is ruby-red, sparkling, almost like a Lambrusco, but with a richness that Lambrusco doesn’t have. I was curious what was used here on Teridun Four. Or Crenfor, as I supposed I would now know it as.
Brinna and I joined Jaros and Valemar on darana to inspect the closest field. The men would ride farther every day while we were here, but they began with a field within the shadow of Torfin’s walls.
The fruits were walnut-sized, about the shape and color of plums. Valemar jumped off his mount and picked one for me. “We call them pilva,” he said, and handed it to me. It had a sparkling flavor, sweet yet acid. The seeds were small, and I plucked them from my tongue.
“Have I had the wine?”
Valemar laughed. “Frequently.”
“Then I’m sure I enjoyed it.”
Valemar swung back into the saddle and moved his animal forward with just a leg command. He and Jaros began to talk about expected yields and harvest dates.
“So you’ll be back for the harvest,” Brinna said to me.
“Will we? Valemar helps with the harvest?” It didn’t seem like a thing a king would do.
“Do you not know?” Brinna’s eyes grew gleeful. “No one’s told you?”
“Told me what?”
“About the king’s wine.”
“What about it?” I definitely was missing something.
“For the last … oh, hundreds of years, the king presses wine.”
If Brinna got any more joyful, she’d explode. “With a press?” Brinna bit her lips but the corners of her mouth still curled up. She shook her head. My eyebrows flew up. “Not … surely not …” Brinna nodded tightly, her lips still clenched between her teeth. “… with his feet?”
Her smile widened even further and pulled her lips from her mouth. “Umm hmm.”
I sat back hard enough that Loenir shied. “Easy.” I gave her neck a pat as I blinked. Somehow I couldn’t quite picture Valemar barefoot and bare-legged, stomping fruit.
“Does the queen stomp grapes — I mean pilva — too?” I asked. That would definitely be a first for me.
Brinna laughed, and it trilled, just like her voice. “Reina? No.”
“Would I be expected to?”
“If you wanted to join the sale.”
My forehead wrinkled. “Valemar presses his own wine to sell?”
“Oh!” Brinna’s eyes lost their glee and softened. “You don’t know. The story is that several hundred years ago, Bánalfar, indeed all of Crenfor, had a very cold year. Crops suffered. People began to starve. The Cordair raided along Fairfada more than they had since they’d been pushed out of our lands.
“The pilva didn’t mind the cold weather. The fruit wasn’t as sweet without the warmth, but it did grow. King Haldan saw how his people were suffering, and yet how good the harvest of pilva was. He came to Torfin to oversee the harvest and pressing, which was done by foot then.
“The juice was tart but drinkable. Haldan told his people it was just like the year — not sweet, but survivable. He shucked off his hose, tied up his tunic, and joined them in the press.
“The wine was distributed throughout the land.” Brinna’s eyes began to twinkle again. “Some bottles were sweeter than others. It was said that those were bottles made from the juice pressed by Haldan’s feet, that the touch of the king had transformed the pilva. A demand grew for them and prices rose.
“Haldan saw all this and came back the next year for the harvest. Again, he pressed the pilva, alone this time. But these bottles he claimed as the King’s Wine.” This time I heard the capitals in the name. “Haldan sold the wine and used the money to buy food to distribute to those who had worked yet were still suffering. His descendants still carry on the tradition.”
I began to see how Valemar’s house had endured for two thousand years. “Do you have the poor, then?” I asked. I’d seen them everywhere in the galaxy. There were a couple of places that didn’t, but those cultures had a policy of executing anyone, other than children and the elderly, who was a “drain on society.” Every planet, every society, had people who struggled to make ends meet. And on every planet there were also people who didn’t want to work, if they could help it. Sometimes the two were connected. Sometimes not.
“Aye,” Brinna said. “Life is hard for some poor souls.” She frowned. “And life can be too easy for others.” She smiled again. “We usually know the difference.”
“So you’ve never had a Queen’s Wine?” I asked, already thinking how I could help, how my notoriety and the uniqueness of such an offering would work in the business world. The Protocol Specialist Carr part of my brain awakened and stretched.
Brinna’s eyes flashed with glee again. “Maybe it’s time.”
We ate in the shade of a large tree. The pilva bushes stretched into the distance, rising and falling with the gentle hills, perfuming the air with the subtle sweetness of fruit. The breeze was warm and carried the hum of insects. I relaxed on the rug and tried to stay in the here and now of this summer and not ones past. Valemar handed me a glass of wine, pale and golden and sweet.
“Is this from fruit grown here?” I asked.
Valemar shook his head. “Those bushes —” He gestured toward them with his glass. “— produce the red wine you like so well. The skins and flesh are darker. I’ll go inspect the fields this wine came from tomorrow.”
“Brinna told me the story about your ancestor,” I said.
“I was surprised she hadn’t heard it,” Brinna said.
Valemar smiled. “They come up as they need to.”
“Yes,” I said. “Two thousand years’ worth of stories takes time to be told. And heard.”
“How about you?” Brinna asked. “Would you share some stories of the moon with us?”
Valemar’s sharp glance pinned me to the spot. I’d been evasive the few times he’d asked me about the moon.
“It’s not so different from here,” I said, and watched as Valemar’s eyes narrowed. “On a fine summer day, people picnic on the grass, eat good food, drink good wine, enjoy the company of others.”
“Wine made from … grapes?” Brinna asked.
I laughed. “You’ve got a good memory.” Valemar gave me a quizzical look. “When Brinna told me about the King’s Wine, I got mixed up and called the pilva ‘grapes.’ On the moon, we make wine mainly from grapes. They grow in clusters on vines. The fruits are smaller, fingernail-sized. It sounds like the process is the same though.”
“And do your kings make wine?” Valemar asked. I caught the thread of something there. Instinct told me he was probing. Perhaps, for the first time, wondering jus
t who I did come from.
“No,” I said. “Kings drink lots of wine. They do not help in the making of it. There are a few who oversee agriculture, but for the most part —”
I stopped. How could I explain that the few kings and queens left on Earth were governed rather than ruled? They were important as the line that connected the past to the present, both symbols and divining rods, yet held no true power. “For the most part, they are like the King’s Wine. They do what they can to help their people.”
“And your family?” As Valemar drank, his eyes met mine. A seed of doubt glowed in them as he looked at me over his glass.
The base of my skull buzzed and indignation filled my veins. I sat up taller. “My ancestors were warrior kings. Not so different from you — tall, blond, blue-eyed, and good with a blade. They traveled the world in sailing ships with dragon prows and sails of red. But every warrior eventually longs for peace. Every man wants his sons around him.”
Valemar’s eyes flashed. I recognized my mistake too late. I held back a gulp and plowed on.
“So they turned their attention away from their neighbors’ lands and focused on their own. The urge to travel never settled, though. We still travel, seek new experiences, new places.”
“Is that what brought you here?” Brinna asked.
Is it? Valemar asked with his eyes, hiding again behind his glass.
“It is,” I said. And then the image of Viktor, missing half his face and most of the skin on his arms swam before me. My ears filled with the echo of Doc’s last rasping breaths as he died in my arms. My hands twitched, covering body after body with white shrouds, folding the cranes, and programming the journey to the sun.
I set my wine aside as the twitching grew in strength and clasped my hands together to hide their shaking. Jaros, Brinna, and Valemar shifted uncomfortably. I tried to force a smile onto my face. They deserved an explanation for my reaction to Brinna’s simple question.
“I was traveling … and there was an accident. I —” But my lips wouldn’t form the words. My throat constricted, adding its voice to the Don’t say it! Don’t say it! that filled my head. I took a deep breath and changed my answer, kept the full horror to myself. “I managed to reach the emergency ship, and it brought me here.”
“You can travel beyond the moon?” Jaros asked, his voice husky with wonder.
“Yes.” I looked over at Valemar. His hand covered his mouth. His eyes were now unreadable. “But I’ve no way back.”
“If your people travel,” Jaros asked, “won’t they come looking for you?”
“I’ve no way to contact them.”
“But surely …” Brinna said, though that was as far as she got before her awe silenced her.
“They don’t know I’m here. They’re sure to think I perished in the accident.” Practice enabled me to say it calmly, for I’d thought it a thousand times.
“Won’t they come looking?” Jaros asked again.
“It is forbidden,” Valemar said. All eyes, including mine, turned to him. “It is forbidden to come here.”
“But the —” Jaros started then stopped.
He knows about the strangers trading with the Cordair, I realized.
“She’s under our protection now.” Valemar sat up and handed me my wine. I sipped it thankfully. “Are the sulee doing as well as these?” he asked Jaros.
“The variety we’re drinking,” Brinna softly said to me when I frowned. “The pilva in this field are known as pinwah.”
Thank you, I mouthed at her, and let the men’s discussion slowly erase the cloud that had settled.
I lay on Valemar’s chest, slowly tracing the outline of the barat leaves. His strong arms drew me closer to him. “Tell me about the accident,” he said. “When you mentioned it before, I didn’t realize …” I pushed away, but his arms tightened and held me fast. “I should have asked you about it earlier, why you came here.”
My heart pounded, trapped between Valemar’s embrace and the memories that stalked me. I couldn’t do it, relive it yet again. And I knew once I did tell Valemar, he’d know the Mödatal had been wrong. He’d realize that I wasn’t the Moon Princess. Everything would change.
And I didn’t want it to.
Tears slipped down my face, forming small puddles on Valemar’s chest. His arms loosened their grip. His hands began to stroke my back, my hair. And still I stayed silent. He wouldn’t comfort me if he knew who I really was.
Valemar sighed. “I wish you would, but I can see you’re not ready.”
I brushed my lips against his chest and wiped away the tears with my hand. Then I burrowed into his embrace and hid, from the past, from the future. Valemar continued to caress me, as if to reassure me that all would be fine. But it wouldn’t. There would come a time when I’d have to tell him. And it was a tale that had the power to destroy us both.
VALEMAR HELD MY hand the next day when we toured the fields of pilva that produced the white wine and personally explained how the pressing process worked. He inspected the new kegs in the winery that were being prepared to replace the old ones. The Alfari, too, used a special wood to impart tannins and flavor into the wine.
None of the wine-sales I’d negotiated had afforded me a first-hand tour of how it was made. Or provided me with such an attentive host. The only thing missing from the experience was an actual harvest and press. Something that would be rectified when we returned in a month or so.
“The queen wondered yesterday, since there is a King’s Wine, whether there was a Queen’s Wine, as well,” Brinna told Valemar as we toured the racks of wine aging in their casks.
I blushed. “I wasn’t sure what the tradition was.”
“We could do a Queen’s Wine,” Valemar said. “Preferably with the sulee. I wouldn’t want your beautiful feet stained,” he said with a smolder.
“Do you press the pinwah?” I asked.
“I do. And will have red feet as a result.”
“I would love to help,” I said. Valemar read the unspoken, Since I can’t help you with the outsiders.
He took my hand and drew me forward and kissed the top of my head. “I would expect nothing less from a queen who believes that nothing is beneath her.”
My head snapped up, nearly hitting him in the nose. “What?”
Valemar eyed Brinna and Jaros. Someone had been gossiping, telling tales that had traveled to Valemar’s ears. He just wasn’t sure they’d heard the story as well.
His eyes returned to my face, and he stroked my cheek. “My queen believes that she needs to serve and shelter others. Since the king does that through the King’s Wine, then my servant queen should have a Queen’s Wine.” His eyes told me he’d heard the rest of my speech to Laera and the others.
Valemar looked over at Jaros. “Could you secure the arrangements?”
“Absolutely, my king.” Jaros grinned broadly. Such a unique opportunity would be a boon to Torfin, and Jaros was already counting the profits.
I was pretty sure the source of the story from the solar could be traced back to one person. Laera and the others wouldn’t want to make me look good. But someone else would.
“How did Valemar know about my little speech to Laera?” I demanded from Daria when she arrived to dress me for dinner.
She blanched. “It wasn’t me. I wouldn’t tell tales about you to anyone.”
I sat down hard on the dressing table chair. “I’m sorry. Valemar quoted it back to me this afternoon, practically word for word.”
Daria gave me a sad smile and picked up the hair brush. She opened her mouth and then closed it.
“Go on. Say it,” I told her as she began her brushing.
Daria lifted a section of my hair and held it tight by my scalp as she eased out the snarls. She kept her eyes on her work. “It’s not my place.”
“Do I have to command you?” I asked, half in jest.
She met my eyes in the mirror. “You know what they say about asking questions.”
&
nbsp; I did. But I said, “Go ahead and tell me.”
“While you meant it in earnest, and I’m sure the king quoted it back to you as a compliment, there are others that would have … taken it as a rebuke. And quoted it. Where other ears then heard it.”
“And reported it to the king.” It stung, knowing they’d made fun of me. But it did make Valemar’s desire to get me away from Aedenfal more clear.
“I’m sorry,” I said again to Daria.
She held the brush in both hands. “I’d do anything for you. When I worked in Reina’s household, I was really just another face.” She smiled. “But you treat me as a friend.”
“You are a friend,” I said. “And I thought moon children were treated as equals.”
Daria picked up another section. “Not equals. We are important, and we could even be the children of kings or princes or steward’s daughters, but my role is to serve.”
“As Heymond’s or Orin’s is to protect.”
“Yes.”
“And you have served me. You are doing so now. I can brush my own hair,” I said.
“But you are weary. You’ve done your own work.”
I snorted. “Tell that to the farm wife with four young children. She needs your service more than I do.” But my words hurt Daria again. She dipped her head. Her lashes fluttered as she blinked.
“What I mean is that I don’t work nearly as hard as she does. And she has no help. You say that I treat you as a friend, and that is true, for I do not feel worthy of your waiting on me. And yet, you do.”
“But how would you get dressed on your own?” Daria asked.
“I would need gowns that don’t lace up the back. But then I would miss out on spending time with the person who’s encouraged me the most since I came to Crenfor. You’ve stood by me through everything. And for that, I shall be eternally grateful. You are my friend.”
Daria sniffed and blinked again. “And I shall always stand by you, my queen.”
My heart swelled. With her by my side, maybe I could become a true queen.