White Blood

by Holder, Angela

  “Was he so large when he was born?” Dolia asked nervously, twisting the stem of the rose in her fingers, and darting a glance at Marolan’s tall form.

  Voerell patted her shoulder in understanding. “No, much smaller. He’s grown like a young ox. The birth went smoothly. We have the finest midwives in all the kingdoms here in Loempno. I’d be happy to introduce you to Litholl, who attended me. She has a masterful command of all aspects of birthing lore and magic.”

  Dolia seemed somewhat reassured. “I would like that. Perhaps in a few days, once I have settled—Oh!” She stared at her hand. One of the rose’s thorns had pricked the ball of her thumb, and blood welled from the spot.

  Carlich stepped in before anyone else could react. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think to warn you about the thorns. Let me get that for you.”

  He pulled out a lace;-;edged handkerchief and dabbed at her thumb. A bright red stain spread on the snowy linen. Carlich waved his other hand over the cloth and Dolia’s thumb. A shower of blue sparks erupted. Barilan squealed in delight and grabbed for the bright glints; Maryn stepped back to pull his chubby fingers clear.

  Dolia jerked away. “You speak not the incantation to the Holy One when blood magic you work? You use your hands?” She breathed heavily, staring at Carlich with undisguised hostility. “It is unholy. In Wonora such a thing is never done.” She seemed far more disturbed than Maryn thought reasonable. Carlich might be careless, but he was a skilled sorcerer.

  Carlich released her hand and stepped back, folding the handkerchief into a small, neat square and tucking it into his breast pocket. “It’s not? I had no idea. I’m very sorry if I offended you. Here in Milecha verbal magic is preferred also, but I never heard a priest say anything against the use of gestures.”

  Dolia glared at him, and stepped stiffly closer to Marolan. “Do your priests not know the writings of Bitorlo? He is much honored in Wonora, a disciple of the Holy One. He wrote much of the dangers of blood magic, if constrained not by the words of the sacred language that the Holy One gave to us.” She turned a little away. “I should have known such things here I would find. Your people came long ago from Hampsia. It should surprise me not if to their pagan ways you cling, though you have chosen the worship of the Holy One.”

  So it hadn’t been carelessness at all, Maryn realized. Carlich had contrived to offend Dolia. One way or another, he was going to make sure this marriage didn’t happen. Maryn just hoped he didn’t provoke a war with Wonora in the process.

  Marolan took Dolia’s arm and tucked it firmly around his. “You must excuse my brother. I assure you he is in no way representative of what you will find in Milecha. Of course our sorcerers always make the proper incantations to the Holy One. I will be happy to introduce you to the Royal Sorcerer, Rogelan, so that you can discuss the matter.” His glance at Carlich was cold and dangerous. “Carlich, I’m sure you must have matters to attend to before the ceremony begins. Perhaps you might go check on Father, and see if he’s feeling better.”

  “I think I shall.” Carlich swept a full formal bow in Dolia’s direction. “Until later, Princess Dolia.” He hurried off.

  Voerell beckoned for Maryn. “We should go, also. Prince Barilan needs time to nurse and rest before the ceremony.” She nodded to Dolia. “It was lovely to meet you. I wish you and Marolan every happiness. Come, Whirter.” She nearly dragged her husband away. Maryn shifted Barilan to her shoulder and followed.

  Once out of the garden Voerell’s step quickened. “How dare he!” she fumed at Whirter. “On Barilan’s special day! Everyone knows gestural magic is forbidden in Wonora. Does he think petty rudeness will be enough to drive Dolia to break the betrothal? He gave her that rose on purpose, hoping for the chance to offend her!”

  She stormed through the palace halls, in the direction of the king’s chambers. Maryn trailed behind, too wary of the princess’s temper to dare ask for permission to take Barilan to the nursery. Whirter hurried after his wife. “Voerell, calm down. You’re overreacting.”

  “You don’t know Carlich like I do. This is exactly the sort of thing he always does. If he can’t get what he wants in a straightforward manner, he’ll connive and scheme until he manages to make things go his way. He hasn’t managed to sabotage the treaty any other way, so he’s going to try to get her to do it. But it won’t work. Dolia’s obviously smitten with Marolan.”

  “Still, if there’s a chance he can provoke her enough she goes home, we should support him as we agreed.”

  “He can do what he likes tomorrow. I’ll even help him. But I won’t have him disrupting Barilan’s ceremony.”

  Maryn frowned. She agreed with Whirter. If Carlich was right about the treaty, Barilan’s life was at stake. What was his heirship ceremony compared to that? Was Voerell discounting the danger because she truly believed it was not that great, or could she just not bear to imagine anything bad happening to her son?

  Maryn knew all too well that bad things could and did happen, whether you could bear to imagine them or not.

  They arrived at the entrance to the king’s suite. Voerell threw open the door and stormed in without even pausing to acknowledge the guards who flanked it. They looked scandalized, but let her pass, Maryn and Whirter behind her.

  King Froethych sat on a broad stuffed sofa. Contrary to the report of his ill health, to Maryn he looked robust and vigorous. Carlich sat opposite him. Seeing her brother, Voerell started to speak, but Froethych waved her silent.

  The king leaned toward Carlich. “Well? Is she as pretty as all the envoys made her out to be?”

  “Oh, yes, Father. If anything, they understated her beauty.” Carlich must have hurried to reach Froethych’s room before them, but he sat as relaxed as if he’d been there for hours. He wasn’t even breathing hard.

  Froethych chortled under his breath. “And did she seem pleased with Marolan?”

  “Quite, as far as I could tell. Though disappointed you weren’t there to welcome them.”

  Froethych dismissed that with an airy wave. “No, no, the last thing Marolan needs is his father hanging over his shoulder intimidating the poor girl. Much better to let them have a few moments alone to get acquainted. I’m glad you found a reason to excuse yourself.”

  Voerell executed a sketchy curtsy in the king’s direction. “Actually, Father, Marolan dismissed him. He managed to offend Princess Dolia before he had been in her presence five minutes. He went and performed purely gestural magic right in front of her!”

  Froethych’s bushy eyebrows drew together. “Was that wise, son? I’ve warned you many times to be careful how you flaunt your ability in that regard.”

  “Of course, now I realize it was foolish. But she was injured, and I didn’t stop to think before I jumped in to help her. I apologized profusely, and I think she accepted it.” Carlich spread his hands with an expression of sheepish innocence. Though Maryn was almost certain he was lying, she couldn’t detect any insincerity in his voice or manner.

  “Oh, that’s all right then.” Froethych shrugged, dismissing the matter, though Voerell still fumed. He turned toward Barilan in Maryn’s arms. “There’s my grandson and heir! Come see your grandpa, Barilan.” He held out his arms and Maryn passed Barilan to him. The king nuzzled Barilan’s neck and made a silly face; Barilan responded with an infectious peal of giggles.

  Maryn still felt a little shocked whenever she saw the king abandon all dignity this way in his interactions with Barilan. It was endearing to see Froethych act like any common doting grandfather, but also a bit alarming to consider that the welfare of all Milecha rested in the hands of the man who at the moment was sticking out his tongue and crossing his eyes.

  “I swear, Voerell, he’s grown another inch since yesterday. We’re going to get you confirmed in your position all nice and official, yes we are, aren’t we, Barilan?” Barilan rewarded the king’s further efforts at contorting his face with a broad grin, and grabbed at Froethych’s full beard.

  Froethyc
h disentangled Barilan’s fingers and passed him back to Maryn. He turned to Voerell. “Why don’t you go make sure he’s all ready for the ceremony? It will be starting in less than an hour.”

  “Father, please tell Carlich to stay away from Dolia and Marolan for the rest of the day.”

  Froethych frowned at her. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”

  Voerell clenched her fists, but she did not defy the king. “Yes, Father.” She whirled and strode from the room. Maryn scurried in her wake.

  Whirter caught up to Voerell. “Dear, let it go.”

  She shook his placating hand from her arm. “I keep getting the feeling he’s up to something…” She scowled at her husband. “Don’t you have something you need to take care of?”

  “No. I’ll come with—” Whirter looked at her more closely. “On second thought, I did want to have my boots shined. You go on; I’ll meet you in the hall.”

  “Good.” Voerell stalked away and did not turn her head when Whirter stopped and watched her go.

  Barilan picked up on his mother’s tense mood, and began to fuss. Maryn was glad when they reached the nursery. She settled down immediately into the large soft upholstered chair that was her favorite nursing spot, and put Barilan to her breast. It soothed him as always, and he fell to nursing with gusto.

  Voerell stared into the fire for a while, breathing deeply. She ignored her ladies whenever they tried to get her attention. The continued activity around the hearth kept disturbing Barilan, and he would turn his head to look, pulling Maryn’s nipple with him and allowing his mouth to slide to a painful position so that she had to detach him and start all over. She would be very glad when this day was over, and Voerell resumed her normal distance from her son’s life, leaving the nursery to its regular peaceful routine.

  Just as Maryn was beginning to worry that too much time had passed, and they wouldn’t be able to make it to the palace’s main hall where the ceremony would take place before the bell rang for the fourth hour, Voerell shook herself and came out of her reverie. “We’d better get going.”

  Maryn pulled Barilan’s gown down over his fresh diaper, made one more futile effort to conceal the hasty alteration of his shoes, and fell in behind Voerell as the princess led them through the palace corridors.

  Nine

  Maryn peeked through the wide open doors of the great hall as Voerell led them to an anteroom. Banners hung from the rafters, and flowers and greenery bedecked every surface. It was packed already; noble guests lined the long tables where the celebration feast would be served following the ceremony. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and she shifted Barilan from hip to hip so she could wipe her clammy palms against her skirt. Though she’d rehearsed every move under the Royal Steward’s watchful eyes, she still dreaded making some humiliating mistake. She could imagine the accusing stares and horrified laughter that would follow if she were to trip on her way down the aisle and sprawl with Barilan to the floor.

  The fourth bell began to peal from all the churches in the city. The deep clang of the palace chapel’s bell resonated behind Maryn’s breastbone.

  King Froethych waited for them with the rest of his retinue. “Ah, there’s the guest of honor. Just in time. Begin the procession.”

  The Royal Steward nodded acknowledgment and went to signal the musicians in their balcony. The majestic strains of the Sompirla March echoed through the wide spaces of the hall. The members of the royal party crowded out of the anteroom and clustered in the doorway. Maryn hung back, watching the others enter in turn, stirred despite her nervousness by the grandness of the ceremony.

  Ambassador Honro escorted Princess Dolia into the hall and down the broad center aisle, the rest of the Wonoran embassage in their wake. Everyone craned to see the foreign woman who would soon marry their prince. She nodded graciously to either side, meeting their eager stares with a pleasant, private smile. The rest of the entourage peeled off, taking their seats in the reserved section at the front of the long tables. Only Honro and Dolia ascended the tall dais at the front of the hall and took places at the high table. The Ambassador sat down, and Dolia followed, sinking into her seat, a few chairs to the left of center.

  Carlich strode through the hall, waving and grinning in response to the enthusiastic applause. Normally he would sit at the king’s left hand, but the customary order had been shuffled to give Barilan and his parents pride of place. He went to his lower seat on the right with cheerful disregard for his demotion.

  Marolan accepted the warm welcome that greeted his entrance as if he considered it his due, looking neither right nor left, but fixing all his attention on the high table where Dolia sat. He took his place next to her and bent his head to murmur in her ear.

  Now the Royal Steward nodded at them. Voerell went first, Whirter at her side. Maryn took a deep breath, settled Barilan securely in her arms, and followed.

  The crowd erupted into ecstatic noise. It washed over Maryn like a flood. She hoisted Barilan higher and shrank down behind him. It was the prince everyone greeted with such fervor. She was merely the vehicle for his conveyance, as invisible as the horse he would ride when he was grown to manhood and paraded before his adoring subjects. It was galling to be ignored that way, but at the same time Maryn was glad to take refuge from all those eyes in her anonymity.

  Barilan stared around him, his body taut. Maryn had been concerned that the noise might frighten him, but he seemed enthralled by the spectacle. Even this early the prince was learning to enjoy being the object of adulation.

  They arrived at the front. Maryn placed her feet carefully so she would not stumble as she ascended the steps. She followed Voerell and Whirter around the table. After the princess took her place to the immediate right of the king’s chair, Whirter next to her, Maryn transferred Barilan into Voerell’s lap. The prince fussed a little and clung to Maryn, but Voerell pried him from her arms and caught his attention with a shiny silver spoon. Mollified, Barilan grabbed it, banged it on the table and waved it about before stuffing it into his mouth. Maryn stepped back and took up her place with the other servants, standing at attention behind the table. She wouldn’t get to participate in the feast. Her only duty was to keep a close watch on Barilan and Voerell, helping the princess with her son in any way she might need.

  A trumpet fanfare sounded through the hall. As one, everyone rose and faced the rear. Maryn couldn’t see well for the line of tall bodies before her, but she leaned to the side until she could peer between Whirter and Carlich. King Froethych paraded down the center aisle, nodding to the assembled nobles, occasionally stopping to take a hand and exchange a few words with a favored guest. It took him a long time to advance all the way through the room to the dais. Maryn wasn’t the only one shifting from foot to foot by the time he arrived. Voerell bounced Barilan, trying to keep him happy. At last Froethych squeezed his rotund form around the back of the table and into the grand, ornate chair at the center. As he sat, the music came to an exultant climax and halted. Everyone else sank into their seats.

  A new, more reverent piece of music began. A delegation of priests from the cathedral paced slowly down the aisle, chanting a solemn hymn in the ancient tongue. Prelate Kiellan brought up the rear. Maryn recognized him from the times she’d accompanied Voerell and Barilan to Sabbath services. He was an elderly man, but hale, with a full head of thick white hair beneath the red and gold cap of his office. Maryn had always liked the way he laid his gentle hand of blessing on her head as well as Voerell’s and Barilan’s, his voice the same musical flow of unintelligible words for each of them.

  Kiellan led the assembly in a series of prayers and responsive liturgies. For the most part it was the same as any Sabbath service; Maryn echoed the ritual phrases automatically along with everyone else. At one point, while Kiellan read a long passage from the Holy Scriptures regarding the duty a king held toward his people, Barilan seemed about to erupt into loud, disruptive wails. Maryn was ready to swoop in and take him from Voerell to
soothe him, but Carlich was quicker. He flicked his knife and waved into existence a fountain of the blue sparks Barilan loved so much, hiding them from the crowd below the edge of the table. Whirter pushed his chair back to allow Carlich to extend the bright magical display past him. Barilan grabbed at the swarming blue fireflies, completely distracted from whatever discomfort had bothered him. Voerell bit her lip and glanced down the table at the Wonorans on the far side of the king, but didn’t protest.

  After a very long time the preliminary rituals were complete, and the main portion of the ceremony arrived. Prelate Kiellan summoned the participants forward. Maryn scooted back to let them pass as they made their way around the long table and took up their places immediately in front of it. The Prelate stood in the center, King Froethych on his right, Voerell, with Whirter beside her, holding Barilan on his left.

  “We have come today to witness the investiture of Prince Barilan Sompirla;-;Rottolla as heir to the kingdom of Milecha.” Kiellan had to pause to allow the crowd’s response to die down.

  “By the grace and favor of the Holy One, the magic of the Kingship has endured since it was created by the Blessed Milech, founder and first king of Milecha, by the shedding of his blood. Continually renewed by the blood of those who bear it, the Kingship has passed in an unbroken line from king to king, down through the centuries, until this day. Even when tragedy disrupted the direct line of succession, the Kingship passed safely to those the people of Milecha deemed worthy. Now the current bearer of this sacred trust comes before you to bind the blood of a new generation into the spell.”

  Once again Kiellan waited for the applause to wane before continuing. “King Froethych, do you acknowledge Barilan as a true;-;born heir of your body, rightful member of the Sompirla dynasty through your daughter Voerell? Do you purpose to grant him a place in the line of succession to the Kingship of Milecha, after yourself, your son Prince Marolan Sompirla, and your son Prince Carlich Sompirla?”