For the day that she is away I go to the king and sing for him, just as I did the first time we met. The queen makes it clear that it’s an indulgence, and she refuses to be part of it, claiming it’s a frivolous use of my gifts. But the king asks for little from her and she has decided to allow him this, as far as I know the only boon she has ever offered her second husband.
Her first husband, the previous king, was the queen’s own brother, a marriage forged in tradition. Lormere must be ruled by both king and queen; no one may rule alone; that is an edict that has never been broken. And for generations, in order to keep the royal bloodline pure, brothers have been married to sisters. There’s no law saying the rulers must be siblings, but the desperation to keep the bloodline wholly royal means each set of parents must produce at least one son and one daughter to be considered successful.
In the villages we knew the dangers of this, we’d seen the kittens and piglets born of those kinds of unions, some deformed and blind, some spoiled and out of their minds. Though there’s a strength, of sorts, in preserving a bloodline, it comes at a cost and the cost is high. Blood should be mixed if you want to avoid death and madness.
The queen and the first king lost both their daughter and the prince’s future bride when Princess Alianor died before her third birthday. And, as always happens, no matter how highborn or lowborn the deceased is, they called my mother, the Sin Eater of Lormere, to Eat the dead princess’s sins.
My mother is a fat woman, made large from gobbling the sins of the dead, the meal prepared and served to her as if she were a queen for the day. For an Eating, the mourners cover the surface of the coffin with breads and meats and ale and more, each morsel representing a sin known, or suspected, to have been committed by the deceased. She Eats it all; she has to—it’s the only way to cleanse the soul so it can ascend to the Eternal Kingdom. To not finish the meal is to condemn the soul to walk the world forever. We’ve all heard the tales of the wraiths that haunt the West Woods because people less dedicated than my mother could not finish the Eating.
She sat before the princess’s tiny coffin and ate her sins, sins flavored with pomegranate and nutmeg and sugar, sins too rich and decadent to belong to a little girl. She ate them, and the first king and the queen mourned their lost child, even as they tried to make another to replace her, for the eight-year-old prince still needed a bride if he would ever be able to take his throne. But within two moons of Alianor’s death the first king had sickened and died, too.
With the queen now a widow and the prince both brideless and too young to hold the throne, the kingdom was thrown into chaos and uncertainty. I remember my mother hiring two local men, armed with scythes and short swords, to escort us to and from Eatings. Even she was scared of how quickly lawlessness had gripped the land, and for my mother to feel threatened is no small thing. But a solution of sorts was eventually found; the queen married her first cousin and he became king. Though unconventional, he is of the blood; his parents were the siblings of the queen’s parents, the bloodline was still secure. But their union is not considered wholly pure: Although they grew up in the same nursery they did not share the same womb and therefore the blood is not true enough. They say that is why the queen has not been able to have another daughter for her son, despite many, many trips to the mere.
* * *
I met the soon-to-be king at the dead king’s Eating and I had taken to him instantly. As my mother’s apprentice, my role was to observe her perform the Eating, to learn the order the sins must be consumed in, the time that must be spent ingesting each one according to severity. It hadn’t taken long for me to grow tired of watching her consume the seemingly endless meal. So as she had entered the rapture that comes with a large Eating, I wandered off into the castle, singing to myself. I hadn’t known the soon-to-be king had followed and was listening to me. When he’d clapped I tried to run back to my mother, but he’d stopped me and asked me to sing another song. And I basked in his attention, sang my heart out for him, relishing his applause before he eventually took my hand and led me back to the Eating.
After we left the castle I asked my mother if he was my father. I’d never known my father, nor that of my brothers and sister, for I doubted they were the same man. When I learned how children were made, I couldn’t attend a man’s Eating without wondering if he were my father, whether one of the sins my mother ate was because of me. I scanned the faces of the relatives for my eyes, my hair, but never found my likeness in them. I didn’t find it in the face of the soon-to-be king, either, but still I wanted him to be my father. I imagined him realizing I was his long-lost daughter, being taken to the castle and becoming a princess to replace the lost one, saw myself bringing a smile back to the queen’s eyes. My mother hit me, hard enough to loosen one of my milk teeth, and told me never to say “my father” again.
Four harvests ago, a great carriage appeared outside our cottage, surrounded by tall guards mounted on jet-black horses. It was the queen herself, the queen of Lormere, dressed in blue, at our door, asking for me. I thought all of my dreams were coming true at once.
Because I didn’t want to be the next Sin Eater. I wanted to grow up, to get married, and to be happy. I didn’t want to be aloof and secretive and think only of my role. I didn’t want to live alone, isolated from everyone around me because of what I was. I wanted a normal life.
For years after we’d attended the first king’s Eating, I couldn’t stop thinking about the castle. So much light and beauty; nothing like the dark, dreary cottage that I’d grown up in. I imagined everyone had their own room and bed in the castle, not four children crammed in one bedroom while their mother sequestered herself in another. In the castle surely everyone spent their days laughing together before attending sumptuous feasts in jeweled gowns. To be summoned there, by the queen herself, to become a lady seemed impossible. And yet here she was, claiming me as her ward.
“And what of her duty as a Sin Eater?” my mother said to the queen as I gazed in awe at the liveried guards, their armor polished so brightly I could see my reflection in it, could see my fingers twitching with the desire to stroke the rich velvet cloaks that flowed from their shoulders. “What of her responsibilities to the realm?”
“She has a bigger responsibility to the realm,” the queen had said, resting a hand on my hair.
“She’s needed here,” my mother had replied. “She needs to learn her role and she needs to keep the others in line. She’s to be the next Sin Eater. It’s what she was born for.”
“And I say she was born for another purpose,” the queen retorted smoothly. “There is a duty her queen and her country needs from her. You’ll be compensated for it, of course. But why don’t we ask Twylla what she wants?”
I looked from the queen and the golden carriage to my mother. Behind her I saw Maryl’s small face staring at the queen with round, shining eyes, and I knew her expression must mirror my own. I looked at my sister, in her patched clothes, and then back at the fine lace of the queen’s shawl.
The queen must have followed my gaze, because she shrugged the shawl off as though it were a forgotten thought and held it out to Maryl, not even flinching when she darted forward and snatched it like an animal. The image of my sister with her tangled hair, wrapped in gossamer fine lace, her face blissful, was all I needed.
“My duty is to the queen and my country,” I said, earning myself a smile from the queen as my mother closed the door of my former home in my face.
I stared at it in shock before the queen took me by the hand and led me to the carriage.
“We’ll have to have new dresses made for you.” The queen’s lip curled as she examined my plain black smock. “You’ll need something more fitting for what you’re about to become. Do you like red, Twylla?”
I did like red, back then. Now I can’t stand it. Since I’ve been at the castle the list of things I dislike has grown ever longer. Now I dislike things I never even knew existed four harvests ago.
But the only th
ing I hate is the queen.
I dress and pin my hair up before Dorin and Lief come to escort me to my audience with the king. The queen and he have claimed the whole of the south tower as their private domain, much as the west tower is mine, though my tower can only be accessed by the corridor leading to it. The south solar can be reached through the royal doors in the Great Hall or, the way we walk today, down the long hall and along the walking gallery, where the courtiers spend their time gossiping and politicking. They fall silent as we pass; everyone knows today Daunen Embodied must attend her royal appointment, and they bow to me with much more vigor than usual. No one wants to be the next Lord Bennel.
I am announced as the king’s men open the doors to the royal solar, and the king rises from a damask-covered love seat to greet me.
“Twylla.” He smiles as my guards melt away for the few hours of respite they are allowed, leaving me alone in the gilded room with the king. It’s round, like the shape of the tower it sits in, and artfully arranged with cushioned love seats and broad oak benches, tasseled footstools, and side tables holding crystal decanters and goblets. It has a dining table with four carved seats like those we take hunting; there are shelves full of jeweled boxes and books bound in leather dyed every color imaginable. It’s a room that shrieks of privilege and luxury, and above that, privacy. In a castle that has never felt like a home, this room more than most makes me feel like an outsider. This is the queen’s inner sanctuary, and portraits of her and the first king keep a severe watch over it. My feet sink ankle-deep into the thick rugs under my feet as I walk over to the king.
“Your Majesty.” I bow and smile back at him. I like the king; I always have, and secretly I think he looks as out of place in this room as I must.
“And how does today find you? You look well.”
“I am well, Sire, thank you. Might I ask after your own health?”
“You find me in good spirits, Twylla. I look forward to the delights of today. It is the highlight of my days, to hear you sing.”
This exchange is a script for us; we play our roles by rote at each meeting. For someone who is revered in part for her voice, I don’t have much chance to use mine, so coming here is a pleasure—a chance to talk, as well as sing—and the king is gentle and happy company when it’s just he and I.
I take my place before the window, my back to the stained glass, the heavy brocade of the curtains framing me as I begin “The Ballad of Lormere.” My voice soars and fills the room, and I’m not the vessel of Daunen anymore. I am Twylla. The queen, the castle, the horror all fall away. It’s the only part of my life that I love, when I can sing and forget. When I sing I could be anyone, anywhere. When I sing I am free.
I am about to begin “Fair and Far” when the door is thrown open and the prince enters unannounced. As the guards scramble to close the door behind him, my heart leaps into my mouth. So this is why he was so keen to know when I would next sing. He meant to watch me.
“Merek, my boy. I am glad you could join us. Twylla was about to begin ‘Fair and Far.’ ”
Merek’s eyes slide to me, narrowed as he frowns. “I do not know it.”
“One of my tutors taught it to me when I was younger than you are now, and I in turn taught it to our Twylla.”
“Indeed,” Merek says, looking back at me. “Could you move from the window, Twylla? The light hides you.”
I look to the king. He nods at me and I move, standing between the windows, my back to the small expanse of wall between the panes.
“Better,” Merek says, lounging in one of the love seats, his long legs stretched before him and crossed at the ankle, his arms folded loosely across his chest. “Please continue.”
I am afraid I will falter under his scrutiny. But my voice stays true and I don’t look at either of them, keeping my eyes on the wall above their heads, singing as though my life depended on it. As I finish a song, the king calls the name of another, giving Merek no time to comment or applaud. When it’s time to break for luncheon I am exhausted, and when Merek stands and leaves the room without speaking to either of us, it’s as if the room fills with air. I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath until the door closed behind him.
“It does not disturb you that he was here?” The king’s voice is soft. “I had not thought he would join us.”
“I’m happy for him to be here, Sire.”
“I suppose we ought to be flattered that he thought our company was worthy of him, should we not?” He laughs, but the sound is hollow. “He is a good boy—or man, as he is now. Forgive my confession, but I fear the castle will be a cage for him, after his time in the realm. Perhaps it would be different if he had people his own age to spend time with. Children need siblings, do they not? You had brothers and sisters?”
“I did, Sire. Two brothers and a sister.” There is a sharp pang under my ribs when I think of my sister. I would give almost anything to know how she is, whether she remembers me. I see her again in my mind’s eye, wrapped in a delicate shawl that’s surely fallen apart by now. To become Daunen meant to give up my old life completely, including my family, a choice I hadn’t fully realized I was making at the time. I’d gathered from the door in my face that my mother was content to be rid of me and that our relationship was at an end, but Maryl … I’d thought I might keep her. I’d thought we would still be part of each other’s lives in some way at least, visits to each other, a few snatched hours spent together, even if rarely. But the queen had said it would be unseemly for me to associate with my former family, that it would anger the Gods if I spurned my new life and clung to my old. There was also the obvious fact that the queen despises my mother as much as the rest of the kingdom does, but since the women in my former family have held their roles as Sin Eaters for much longer than the royal family has been in power, she tolerates her. After all, my mother holds the keys to the Eternal Kingdom in her meaty hands. For now. But one day Maryl will be the Sin Eater and I shall be the queen, and no one will be able to stop us from being sisters then.
My thoughts fly back and forth in time with no regard to the present until I realize the king has asked me a question and is waiting for my reply. I turn red, embarrassed to have been so rude to one of the few people who is kind to me. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, I forgot myself for a moment.”
The king looks at me with concern. “Are you well? Can I call for something to help you?”
“No, Your Majesty. I’m well. Merely lost in thought for a moment. Forgive me; it was rude of me to allow my concentration to lapse.”
“Happens to the best of us.” He smiles. “I asked if you remembered much of Prince Merek before he left for his progress.”
“Not much, Your Majesty.”
“I said as much to Helewys, you know. That you and he should be brought together a little more. She forgets that she and I, and Rohese as well, were brought up in the same nursery and you and Merek were not. I—” He stops, remembering himself before continuing. “Still, he keeps himself occupied. He’ll make a good king.”
“Gods willing, you and the queen will serve the country for a good while yet,” I say smoothly.
“Gods willing.”
Merek returns as we are about to begin again. His expression is still impenetrable and I have to look away because I worry my own is not as closed. I don’t understand this prince who barely speaks with words yet whose eyes speak a language I don’t know. I don’t know what he expects from me.
“Twylla will sing three more songs.” The king’s voice is firm and I know he’s noticed how uncomfortable his stepson’s scrutiny makes me.
“A pity,” Merek says. “I had hoped to teach her some of the songs I heard on my progress.”
“Another time,” the king replies. “She has worked hard enough today.”
Merek looks back and forth between me and the king. “Perhaps Twylla might like to decide for herself?”
The king looks at me expectantly and I hesitate. How do I choose between the man
I’m going to marry and my sovereign king?
“I cannot learn new songs so quickly,” I say softly. “I would not do them justice if rushed. But another time when I can give it my full attention, I’d be glad to. More than glad.”
“A perfect solution,” the king says.
Merek says nothing, not acknowledging his stepfather at all. His eyes remain on me. Finally he nods. “Another time,” he says, and I realize too late that both his words and my offer echoed the king’s decision.
I take a deep breath and sing the remaining songs, keeping my eyes fixed on the wall above my audience’s head. When my concert is over, Merek rises, nodding briskly at me.
“Very good, Twylla. Very nice. How pleasant to spend an afternoon without the need for theatrics, don’t you think?”
He sweeps from the room as abruptly as he arrived, leaving the king staring at me in confusion. My hands are damp with sweat, the same sweat that cools on my back, and despite his words I cannot shake the feeling that I have been tested and found wanting.
* * *
I’m tempted to stay in my room the next day, ashamed to admit that I’m scared of going to my temple in case the prince comes there, asking more odd questions. But I am supposed to be his betrothed, so I pull myself together and attend, singing softly to the totem, dusting off the silk atop Næht’s Well and rearranging the screens.
When it is time to return to my tower and take lunch, I tell Dorin and Lief that I want to walk back through the gardens. Where the sunlight manages to break through the clouds the garden is bright, but there is an edge to it, delicate fingers of autumn stroking the edges of the shadows. It won’t be long until all hands turn to the fields to begin the harvest, and I find myself wondering again what is happening at my old home, how my brothers and even my mother are. But as always it’s Maryl I think of most. How can it be four years since I’ve seen her? She’ll be eleven now; her hair may have darkened from white blond to the color of corn. I imagine her grown out of her childish softness, taller—she could even be as tall as I am now, reed-slim and graceful, following my mother around the kingdom as I used to, learning to be the Sin Eater.
The Sin Eater's Daughter Page 5