Matrinka remained patient, as usual. "Marisole, I love Tae like a brother, never like a lover. He adored my closest friend, and I was in love with-"
"-my father," Marisole finished.
Matrinka would not lie. "No, not with your father. I didn't even know Griff, then."
"I'm sorry. That came out all wrong. I meant with my blood father," Marisole said matter-of-factly. "With Darris."
Matrinka stared as her blood grew gradually colder in her veins. She knew this day might come, but she had always hoped to avoid it. "Marisole," she said carefully, "why do you say that?"
Marisole raised one shoulder. "Because it's the truth, right? You loved Darris."
"I did," Matrinka admitted. "I still do. But why are you denouncing your wonderful father?" She took a closer look at her growing daughter. Marisole looked more like Darris with each passing day: the generous nose, the streak of green in her eyes, the full and sensuous lips.
"I'm not denouncing him," Marisole said defensively. "He's the best father in the world, and he's made some extraordinary children." A smile tugged the corners of her mouth. She tipped her head up to Matrinka, and she clearly wanted the truth, obviously needed it.
Over the decades, Matrinka had found peace in understanding Darris' drive to know everything, had come not only to accept his need to use song when imparting knowledge, but to revel in listening to it. Marisole, she knew, suffered the same affliction.
"But I've studied enough to know the bardic curse is passed through blood, from bard to oldest child, through eternity. I can't speak for Arturo…" Marisole choked on her brother's name. "Nor for Halika. But I know for an indisputable fact that I am the blood child of Bard Darris."
Matrinka said nothing.
Marisole pressed, "Aren't I?"
Matrinka could not lie to her daughter. "You are."
Marisole continued to study her mother, speaking slowly. "Have you and Papa ever… shared… a bed?"
Matrinka turned away. "That's an awfully personal question."
"Mama!" A hint of anger entered Marisole's tone. "I have a right to know."
Matrinka shook her head, not looking at her eldest daughter. "You have the right to know about your bloodline. Not about my… bedroom."
"Mama."
When Matrinka continued to ignore her, Marisole continued. "All right, then. Here's what I know and what I believe based on the facts I've studied. Papa's parents were exiled from Bearn because they had an illegal relationship. They were too closely blooded for marriage, but they had sex anyway."
Matrinka whipped back around. "Marisole, language!"
Undeterred, Marisole continued, "Papa's worried about that; he thinks he's flawed in his head. He's never had proper faith in his cleverness. He believes he's 'slow-witted,' and it's due to his close-blooded parents. So, when the populace demanded he marry his Cousin Matrinka, he was afraid to make babies because they'd be closer-blooded even than him. And they might turn out like… Ivana."
"Marisole!" Matrinka could not believe her daughter would dare say anything negative about Griff 's unfortunate elfin daughter.
"Well, it's true." Marisole did not back down. "I love Ivana, Mama; I really do. But let's be honest. No one deliberately sets out to create a child like her, do they? I mean, no expectant mother in the history of the world ever said, 'I hope my baby is unintelligent, drooling, and incapable of speech.' It's not like Papa and Tem'aree'ay have tried to make more offspring."
Matrinka found it impossible to argue, though she still refused to support the point. "What are you trying to say?"
"I'm saying I believe Darris fathered Arturo, Halika, and me, with Papa's blessing." Marisole's stance softened. "That's right, Mama, isn't it?"
Matrinka finally understood Marisole's consternation. She did not want to think her mother was a wanton woman who had deceived and cheated on her father. "Every bit of it." Matrinka sighed. "But I wish you wouldn't tell your little sister yet. I'd rather she never knew, like…" Tears flooded Matrinka's eyes before she could stop them. She had not realized her grief remained so raw. She forced herself to choke out the name, "… Arturo."
Marisole wrapped her mother in a hug. "I didn't mean to bring that up."
Matrinka nodded, returning the embrace and trying to regain control. It came easier each time. "You didn't do anything wrong, Marisole."
"What about… Barrindar?"
Their closeness muffled Marisole's words, and she had also spoken unusually softly. Matrinka was not sure she had heard right. She released her eldest daughter and took a step backward. "You mean Prince Barrindar? Your brother?"
"He's not really my brother, is he?"
"Half brother," Matrinka conceded. "But that's close enough, isn't it? You're all siblings; halves shouldn't matter. I don't think you should treat him any differently than you did…" She still had to force out the name, "… Arturo."
Marisole pursed her lips. Apparently, she was not getting the answers she wanted. "Princess Xoraida wasn't consorting with the bard, too, was she?"
The coarseness of the question surprised Matrinka. She made a mental note to have a serious discussion with Marisole regarding her decorum, but not now. Matrinka did not want to stifle the current conversation; she suspected something important and not yet uncovered lay at the heart of it. "Of course not. But as far as anyone is concerned the king is your father. And Barri's, too."
Marisole's expression turned grim with frustration, and she blurted out, "But Mama, we're not siblings by blood at all. Not even half siblings."
Matrinka wondered why so many people placed such an importance on blood relations. Best friends often grew closer than siblings, and one's truest deepest love rarely shared any blood at all. In fact, the less the better. "Marisole, bloodline's not important. You love him like a brother, don't you?"
Marisole kicked at the stone flooring. Bearn Castle was carved from the very mountains against which it nestled. "No, Mother, I don't. Not… like a brother… exactly."
A light dawned suddenly, and Matrinka understood. She felt like a fool for taking so long to figure out her daughter's need. "You and Prince Barrindar? Barrindar-"
"-and me, yes, Mother."
The thought horrified Matrinka. "You haven't done anything-"
"-illegal? No. But we have… we've kissed. And we'd like permission to court."
Court? "Marisole, you're just too… just too… young." Matrinka realized she sounded ridiculous the moment the words left her mouth. The issue was not age; it was incest.
Taking her mother at her word, Marisole grinned. "When you were my age, you were married with a child."
"Yes… but…"
"But what?"
"I want a better life for you, Marisole."
For a moment, Marisole only stared. Then, she started laughing. It grew from a chuckle to a torrent in an instant, and even Matrinka could not help smiling.
At length, Marisole caught enough breath to speak. "All right, Mother. Let's say for a moment that the destruction of all mankind didn't lay at our feet right now.You're the queen of the most powerful country in the Westlands.You have two healthy daughters. And, while I'll grant you Arturo's death was a calamity, you can hardly blame that on the age at which you courted.The populace, the whole world, loves you. If my life was any happier than yours, I'd be in a constant state of delirium."
Matrinka's grin could not last. As it faded, she pulled Marisole into a much looser embrace and rocked her ever so slightly. "You're right, Marisole. Bloodwise, you're not that close, and Prince Barrindar is very sweet." She shook her head at the enormity of understanding behind that simple statement. "But getting my blessing's not enough. You still have to convince your father, Barri's mother, and the Council, which includes Bard Darris. Even then, you have to consider the populace; the price of being royalty is that you're both ruler of, and property of, your people. And, no matter what you've figured out about your bloodline, they believe you're half siblings."
&nb
sp; Marisole allowed her mother the moments of babying. "We've thought of all of that. And more."
"More?" Matrinka cupped her daughter's face. A long time had passed since teenaged Marisole had allowed her this much contact.
"I'm the next bard," Marisole reminded. "That eventually makes me the bodyguard of the ruler of Bearn. What if the test chooses Barri? Would he let me guard him; or would he try to protect me instead?" Marisole's shoulders rose and fell in resignation. "Worse, what if the test picked me? Would I have to guard myself?"
Matrinka knew no similar situation had ever presented itself because the bard's line and the royal line had always remained distinctly separate. In fact, Darris was Pudarian on both sides of his family as far back as history recorded. "I know we seem old to you, but your parents are not yet decrepit. Griff could rule till he's a hundred, gods willing. Darris might guard him into his own dotage."
"That would make things easier for us," Marisole said plainly, responsibly. "But I'm trying to consider the worst possible cases; because if I prepare for them, I'm ready for anything." She turned serious. "Mother, it's possible that neither of them will survive this war. Or Barri, either."
"Oh, honey." Matrinka could barely contemplate the thought. She had heard Tae's report. She, and only a handful of others, knew the truth. If the continental allies lost this war, no one of their world would survive. The alsona would kill every last one of them: man, woman, or child. She would not burden Marisole with that knowledge, not now. She had enough for any adolescent to deal with. "Griff 's not a fighting king. He'll remain behind the lines, and Darris is pledged to stay at his side. Prince Barrindar's not a warrior either; and he's too young and valuable to risk. The loss of even one life is a tragedy, but those three are more likely than most to survive."
Marisole forced a smile that looked more like a grimace. "You'll understand if I want to spend as much time as possible with Barri?"
Matrinka understood. The two could not present their case to the king or the Council until the war had ended; and, by then, one or both of them might die. We all might die. The thought became a dark, grim noose that she could barely contemplate. Matrinka could still recall the burning desire she had felt for Darris as a teen, a love that still flared inside her at the mere thought of him. The law prevented them from courting, from marrying, yet that had not stopped them. The flame was too hot, the need too great, to bow to laws and family. "Thanks for talking to me instead of sneaking around behind my back."
Marisole nodded and smiled hopefully.
"The intent of the royal incest law is to prevent the line of kings from becoming too inbred, just as other laws exist to keep it from straying from the god-blessed Bearnian blood that keeps the West in balance."
Marisole understood more than Matrinka expected. "You mean the law that kept you and Darris from marrying."
"Yes," Matrinka admitted. "Which is why it's unlikely the heir-test will select you or Halika."
"Or Ivana."
Matrinka bobbed her head. "The Council already decreed before Ivana's birth that no child born of an elf could take the throne."
"So, there's about a one-in-three chance that, if Barrindar and I are allowed to marry, Bard Darris will have to guard his own son-in-law-by-blood. Or I could be in the position of faithfully guarding my own husband." Marisole turned her mother a pleading look that spoke volumes.
Matrinka sighed. The queen understood so much more that Marisole had, apparently, not yet considered. To obtain permission for such a courtship meant announcing Matrinka's infidelity, which might violate significant law of its own. It might also subject Darris to serious, perhaps even capital, punishment. To protect them, Griff would have to admit his complicity, which could bring justice down upon his head as well.
All three had been very young when they spawned the agreement, the eldest only Marisole's current age. At the time, Matrinka had only wanted to dodge a loveless marriage, to couple with the man she truly loved. Although she had considered the danger and consequences since, the worst she had anticipated was the need to lie or to explain the deception to their children. It had never, in her wildest imaginings, occurred to her that her children might want to consort with siblings, like-blooded or not.
Nevertheless, Matrinka knew forbidding young love would only make it flare brighter, become infinitely more sure and desperate. Had Griff insisted on sharing her bed, she would have done her duty and never disgraced their marriage. However, she would have lived in the constant dark depths of depression, longing forever for her husband's bard bodyguard. Always tantalizingly in sight and always forbidden.
"Marisole, spend the time you have with the one you love; but you must keep it secret. I know some herbs that can help keep you… safer."
"Safer?"
Matrinka blushed, weighing her words.
As usual, Marisole blurted the ones Matrinka so cautiously tried to avoid. "To keep me from getting pregnant, you mean?"
Matrinka bit her lip. Now was not the time for pussyfooting or a lesson in manners. "You cannot, under any circumstances, allow that to happen. Even I can't help you, then. Do you understand?"
"Yes." Marisole looked her mother full in the eyes. "I'll use your herbs. Faithfully, I promise."
That did not satisfy Matrinka. "They're not foolproof, Marisole. It's better if you don't take things that far." Under ordinary circumstances, Matrinka would have demanded abstinence. Good women did not have intercourse before marriage. Even she had waited, though she could hardly give lectures on marriage and bedroom protocol. While staring down annihilation, even the most moral citizens of the continent might choose to engage in one last act of love or lust. She doubted many soldiers, married or single, would go to war with their manhood unsated.
"We'll be careful," Marisole promised. "In every way."
Matrinka's gaze drifted back to the ocean, and her concerns for Tae resurfaced. She did not wish to discuss the matter further. "The Council, and your father, have enough to worry about right now. If we win the war, we'll talk more about this."
Marisole fairly danced. "Thank you, Mother."
"Don't thank me yet." Matrinka turned her attention back to the sea. "Your behavior over the next weeks or months will determine whether or not I continue to assist you. And, if you get caught, you're on your own."
"We'll be discreet," Marisole promised. "Secret and careful."
Matrinka bowed her head. The whole conversation seemed trivial when the fate of the entire world hung in the balance. Yet, for Marisole, she knew, it meant everything. If the prince and princess of Bearn were going to die young, they should at least do so in loving arms.
CHAPTER 42
A spy's job is to remain invisible and inaudible-to hold the enemy's fate in his hands.
-General Santagithi
Crouched on his bit of ship wood in the shadows of the largest warship, Tae Kahn watched rowboats arrive from the other, clustered ships, each containing two or three men. One by one, their rowers called mentally for the lines. A team of sailors dropped hook-ended ropes that the newcomers fastened to giant iron eyelets on either end of their boats. The sailors hauled the occupants up the hull and over the gunwales, where they disappeared from Tae's sight. Moments later, the rowboats fluttered back down, minus an occupant. The man or men remaining freed their crafts and headed back toward their own ships.
When it became clear that the only mind-calls would come from rowboaters needing a lift, Imorelda dropped her coverage and spoke directly to Tae,*You're going to do something stupid, aren't you?* She stood beside him, lashing her tail.
Tae continued to watch, digging out the mahogany-colored wig from his supplies and placing it carefully on his head.*Don't I always?* He counted five generals and no more approaching boats. He guessed each man might command ten thousand men. Assuming the Kjempemagiska, the one they called Firuz, did not directly control a unit of his own, the alsona army might consist of as many as fifty thousand men. Fifty thousand. Tae shook his
head. The continental armies might wind up with nearly as many by the time they all gathered, but under many divergent commanders and banners. The alsona, he felt sure, would act with an easy coordination the diverse-background allies could never match.
The cat's tail thrashed harder.*Well, don't expect me to risk my furry neck with you.You can be stupid all by yourself.*
Tae frowned, still calculating. When he put all his knowledge together, combined with logic, he guessed the ships would carry a half measure of sailors, led by the ship's captain, and a half measure of soldiers, led by a commander of some named rank.*All right, Imorelda. Don't come.*
The cat's head jerked toward him, and the tail grew even faster and more jagged in its movement.*You're not even going to try to talk me into it?* *Why would I? You're an intelligent creature; you can make your own decisions.* Tae held out his arms.*Matrinka's been wanting a replacement for Mior, and I imagine one castle's the same as another for a cat.*
Imorelda paced a half circle to face Tae, then sat. Only the tip of her tail kept twitching.*What do you mean?* *Mean?* Tae shrugged.*Isn't it obvious? If I attempt to interact with them but can't send or receive mind messages, they'll know I'm not one of them despite my brilliant disguise.* He adjusted the wig.
Imorelda stared. *Before they kill me, I'll try to send as much information to you as I can, assuming I can reach you.You take the information back to Matrinka and live the rest of your life with her.* Tae tried to look all innocence.*And all her cats, of course. Oh, and your own darling kittens.*
The hair stood up on Imorelda's back, and she hissed.*You don't have to curse me. I'm coming.* *If you insist.* Tae looked at the sky. A crescent moon hung, veiled behind a cottony network of clouds. At the horizon, a pink sky peeked through gossamer strands of blue.*For now, you can sit on my shoulders. Eventually, though, you'll have to stay hidden on their ship.* Tae tried to think of a safe place to put her, but he drew a blank. She made too big a bulge beneath his clothing, whether at the abdomen or back; and she would surely move and give herself away.*Can you do that?*
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