The Tears of the Rose

by Jeffe Kennedy

  “Yes, indeed.” I smiled, ever the gracious monarch. “It seems Lianore manse was exactly the thing to restore me to myself.”

  He laughed, despite himself, and shook his head. “Well played, Your Highness. Well played, indeed.”

  The following morning, I summoned Graves and his men to my rooms. During the feast, Marin and Veronica’s amazingly efficient housekeeper had arranged to move me and my meager belongings to the best suite. The master suite, in fact, as Veronica confided—when I objected—that she hadn’t been able to bear to sleep in there since Lord Lianore died several years ago of an illness. They’d been married more than thirty years and she’d never been able to get over reaching for him during the night in the bed they’d shared.

  Instead she kept it for special visitors, and she seemed genuinely delighted that she’d be able to say the Queen of Avonlidgh had slept there. She even planned to rename the suite for me, something I decided to simply not argue with.

  It struck me, particularly when she took my hand and expressed her deep sympathy over Hugh’s death, saying that she knew something of how it felt, that our marriages had been totally different—and thus our losses were, too. I’d loved Hugh with a fervent and innocent ferocity. A love I knew he returned. But we’d been so young and had so little time together. Already I felt older, changed in ways Hugh wouldn’t have recognized. How would the years have treated us? Would we have grown closer and steadier, as Veronica and her husband had, or would we have grown bitter, sleeping in separate rooms, like my own parents?

  Whoever had made that situation—my mother or my father, or the two of them mixing together—I had them both in me. I supposed it didn’t matter, since fate had taken such an unexpected turn, setting my feet on this path that had already changed me from that sweet bride full of blushes and shyness. But I reflected on it while I waited for the soldiers.

  Graves led the way into the sitting room, which was flooded with morning light. I sat strategically in the pool of it, wearing a gorgeous pink gown the seamstress must have stayed up all night to make for me. Roses of the exact same shade had been sent over from the local chapel of Glorianna, and they sat on a little table next to me. Graves had seen me dressed to the hilt the night before, but the other men hadn’t, and they drew up short, hovering by the doorway, taking in my elaborately styled hair and regal demeanor.

  Realizing who they dealt with now.

  A pretty dress is far from important, but I’d been different women in the last weeks—the grieving widow, the miserably sick pregnant mother, the traveler through the winter mountains, the midwife’s apprentice, even the naked and carefree lover in paradise—and it had become clear to me that these things mattered. Not that I couldn’t be the future Queen of Avonlidgh dressed in a plain dress and dingy apron, but working my presentation saved trouble.

  The Lianoran guards retired to wait outside the room, closing the door behind them. Graves bowed, and the others, after wide-eyed awkwardness, followed suit. I let them all stew a little, remember how casually they’d come to treat me, the little apprentice midwife in their midst, and I drew out the silence so they’d understand well who had the power here.

  Not them. Not Graves.

  Me.

  Finally, when all but Graves—who retained his granite stoicism—looked thoroughly unsettled, I spoke.

  “I wish to express my gratitude to you all, for your excellent service in conveying me on our mission and safely home again. I’ve arranged with Lady Lianore for you all to receive a bonus from me, as an expression of my appreciation, and of Avonlidgh’s.”

  As I expected, they all brightened at that. A treat instead of chastisement—always a pleasant surprise. Typically, however, Graves frowned. “While your generosity is most appreciated, Your Highness, we expected King Erich to complete the . . . payment for our efforts.”

  I plucked a rose from the vase, to hide my smile, and toyed with it. He thought to remind me who paid his bills. As if I’d forgotten.

  “As to that, Commander, gentlemen, you have a choice to make. I am bound for Windroven. I would enjoy your continued companionship and protection en route. In return, I offer you the opportunity to become part of my elite personal guard. You all have demonstrated loyalty and bravery in the face of a variety of dangers. I would see that you were rewarded commensurate with your new status.”

  They gaped at me, with varying degrees of hope, confusion, and—in the case of Graves—outrage.

  “You ask me to betray my charge?” Graves demanded, forgetting again who he spoke to. “I cannot be bought. Nor can my men!”

  Judging by the consternation on their faces, some of them would argue with that.

  I twirled the rose in my fingers, tilting my head and giving him a sweet smile worthy of Glorianna at Her most beneficent. “That’s your prerogative. However, I feel I should remind you that I will be Queen of Avonlidgh, possibly sooner rather than later if Erich attempts to take my child. Oh, yes”—I nodded at their shock—“this shall be a frank conversation. I’m well aware of Erich’s reasons for insisting you bring me to Castle Avonlidgh. I believe you may have heard the adage that no animal is more dangerous than a mother in defense of her cub. It seems to be true. I’m feeling particularly ruthless.

  “I will go to Windroven. If you choose not to come with me, Lady Lianore invites you to enjoy her extended hospitality, though you might find the accommodations a bit severe.” I gestured at the Lianoran guards in the hall. “Only until the current conflict is over, as I can’t afford to have you running about telling tales.”

  “It seems we have no choice but to serve you or become prisoners,” Graves gritted out.

  I breathed in the perfect scent of the rose. “Well, there’s always immediate execution, should you attempt to actively thwart my plans.”

  “If you have us executed, Erich will demand justice.”

  I shrugged a little. “He can demand all he likes. I don’t answer to him.”

  Considering, Graves took in the guards, assessing them and his chances. The other men looked uncertain. Skunk even chewed his lip in anxiety over the outcome. They carried no weapons, but I knew well enough that they would not be easily defeated, even so.

  “Tell me something, Lieutenant Graves”—I said it softly, waiting for him to meet my gaze—“when you realized our traveling companion was an escaped convict, why did you say nothing about it?”

  Skunk looked guilty and two of the other men exchanged looks. Graves clenched his jaw, then relaxed it and shook his head, laughing softly. “I’ve seen some strange things these last weeks. You’d think I’d have learned not to take anything at face value.” He squared his shoulders and folded his hands behind his back, a soldier facing review by a superior. “I figured a sheltered noble like you would never know what those scars meant. So I judged us safe in keeping it from you.”

  “And your duty to the laws of the Crown?”

  He inclined his head. “You have me there, Your Highness. I chose not to report the man to the authorities. It was a personal decision.”

  “One that we supported.” Skunk spoke for the first time, and the others nodded in agreement.

  “Why?”

  “Since we’re being frank, Princess Amelia?” Graves’s lips twitched with wry amusement. “The prisons are torture chambers. Men are incarcerated for the slightest reasons—often due to petty vendettas of corrupt officials—and then starved, beaten, used for slave labor, and worse. With no hope of redemption. A man like the Wh—our friend, who managed to escape and not only hide himself in plain sight, but thrive there? He deserved my admiration, not my betrayal.”

  I nodded, mostly to myself, pleased that it fell along the lines I’d thought through. “And I?” I asked him pointedly, with arched eyebrows.

  “Each of the men must decide for themselves.” Graves blew out a breath, making the decision, and knelt on one knee. “Glorianna forgive me for foreswearing my vow to King Erich, but I choose you, Princess Amelia
, future queen and mother of my future king. I will take you to Windroven and defend you with my life.”

  Skunk immediately followed suit, echoing the words, but with a grin of sincerity. The others all agreed, also, but I made note of their level of enthusiasm. Two I decided to leave with Lady Lianore for “further arms training.” I couldn’t afford to make any mistakes.

  My revolution had well and truly begun.

  25

  Like sieges, if done properly, revolutions are quite dull. In some ways, I appeared to be no different than the pretty Princess Amelia who’d thrown parties and dances at Windroven—only now I did them for the benefit of the people of Lianore and the surrounding countryside. A great deal depended on King Erich believing I had simply tired of not having a social life or my proper attendants.

  We put it about that I awaited the arrival of my retinue, because I simply refused to journey another moment without them. Erich should believe all was well and that I meekly planned to travel to Castle Avonlidgh. I even commissioned a gown for a ball he meant to hold in my honor, as a letter from him indicated, in terms alternating between impatient command and insincere flattery.

  He looked forward to my particular news he wrote—or rather his scribe did, as I had no doubt Erich did not possess such fine handwriting—and to me sitting at his side for the glory of Avonlidgh. It made my skin crawl, and after a bit of internal debate, I decided to show it to Veronica.

  Her face confirmed my instincts, both in having her read it and that his intentions toward me were not noble. She’d been loyal to my cause from the first moment—thank Glorianna for guiding me to Lianore—but now she turned fierce with it.

  At every possible moment we entertained, providing daytime festivals for the commonfolk and rich evening festivities for the more select. Midwinter was dark and cold, with little to do for distraction. People turned out in droves to make merry. To ensure that everyone could enjoy a carefree time with their visiting future queen, Lady Lianore recruited extra troops so people would not fear the rumored robbers and press-gangs.

  In truth, she was assembling an army for me.

  Finally, to much trumpeting and tossing of forced daffodils, my entourage arrived. I received my ladies privately, and they embraced me with genuine affection. They cooed over my stomach, barely showing still, but emphasized by my clinging gown, as Veronica had wisely ascertained that my people would be moved to see evidence—and proof—that Avonlidgh’s royal line would continue through me.

  Because I’d asked her to, Dafne accompanied them, though she hung back, reserved. I could hardly blame her, as badly as I’d treated her.

  Soon I dismissed Gilly to visit with her mother and the other ladies to rest and refresh themselves for the evening’s welcome ball. Tonight would appear to be all about silly frivolity. With any luck, we’d be gone before Erich’s people awoke from their hangovers. Hopefully my ladies truly would avail themselves of a nap this afternoon, because we’d be traveling all night.

  “Dafne,” I said, as soon as we were alone, “please tell me you brought my mother’s trunk and didn’t leave it at Castle Avonlidgh.”

  I hadn’t been able to think of a way to get that message to her. Too many ways that it could be discovered and my simple plan shattered. If I had to, I’d sacrifice the trunk—and the doll—and make my way without them.

  But Dafne smiled, as pleased with herself as if she’d gambled and won. “I did bring it. I thought sure you’d want it at Windroven. Once we hole up there, it will be difficult to get anything out of King Erich.”

  I laughed. “I hope you’re just very clever and no one else has so easily seen through me.”

  She cocked her head at me. “I didn’t see through you so much as I know you’re a much smarter woman than most give you credit for. The babe must be born at Windroven—and out of reach of both kings. For us, for Avonlidgh, and for the good of all the kingdoms—including the thirteenth.”

  “I hope that’s true.”

  “I have something for you.” Dafne pulled a small package out of her pocket and gave it to me.

  Peeling off the decorative paper, I found a thin glass inside, bound with bright copper at the edges. Inside the glass—no, pressed between two pieces—was the dried rose I’d taken from Hugh’s tomb. Tears pricked my eyes, and it seemed they might actually fall. Though I felt less choked by the knot that kept everything in, I still didn’t weep. But I pressed the glass to my bosom, moved beyond words.

  “You’re welcome,” Dafne said softly, without sarcasm. As if she understood what I hadn’t said.

  “I haven’t been kind to you, and yet, you do this for me. Why?” Dafne cocked her head a little, her cinnamon hair brushing her shoulders. “Because I thought it would please you. It seemed to be the right thing—that you should have some treasures to put in your own keepsake chest, for your daughter to look at someday and remember you by.”

  “You think the babe is a girl, too.”

  Dafne lifted one shoulder and let it fall. “Andi thinks so and that’s enough for me.”

  “Can you keep a secret?”

  “Aren’t I already?”

  True. “I saw Andi and talked with her.”

  Dafne’s fine eyebrows arched with interest, and she tucked her hands in her skirt pockets. “Does that mean you’ve been in Annfwn?”

  I looked around, though we were as private as before. “Yes. But barely inside. Please never tell anyone. Erich sent me to see if I could cross and take someone with me.”

  “He plans to invade.” Dafne’s tone was flat. “I suspected as much.”

  “It’s like a mirror to people without the ability to cross. I lied and said I couldn’t do it, that I wasn’t even sure where it was.”

  “Did you?” Dafne grinned at me. “Look at you, Princess Amelia. I’m impressed.”

  “I’m still not certain why I did. Also, I was able to take someone with me.”

  Her eyes shone at that. A sweet scent of her longing tinged the air, fading roses at the end of summer. “Will that person keep your secret?”

  “I believe so. It was Kir’s assistant priest, the White Monk. I don’t know if you met him.”

  “Ah, yes. We had some interesting conversations.”

  A little pang of envy hit me at that. Of course Ash would have liked talking to Dafne. He undoubtedly appreciated her contemplative nature and deep thoughts.

  “Well, anyway, he stayed there, so we won’t be seeing him again.”

  “Ah.” Dafne nodded, the scent of longing winding between us. “Good for him.”

  “I should have given you the opportunity to come also.” I spoke the words in a rush. “It was thoughtless of me not to. I didn’t understand how badly you wanted to go there.”

  She regarded me with some surprise, her clever mind working. I realized she’d never said she wanted to go and that she calculated I must know some other way.

  “Did you . . . discover new abilities in Annfwn, Princess?” she asked me in a very soft way, making it clear that she knew she crossed a line by prying.

  I debated not answering. But I also thought someone else should know, for my daughter’s sake. Marin wouldn’t understand. Ash had judged her right in that. She wouldn’t have liked to see him work magic.

  “Not me.” I laid a hand over my belly, rounder and curiously solid. “Andi said my daughter can sense emotions, and, while I carry her, I share the gift.”

  “I see.”

  “There’s something else, Lady Dafne. Something I need you to know.”

  She nodded solemnly, pulling her hands from her pockets and folding them in front of her, as if in prayer.

  “Andi said that . . . if anything goes amiss, my daughter may need to be taken to Annfwn. For her health and safety. I haven’t decided what—if anything—I will or won’t do, but if for some reason you see that she is having trouble . . . trouble of any kind, and I can’t take her, will you . . . ?” I’d built up speed as I spoke, an odd sense of urge
ncy driving me that abruptly vanished, leaving my words to trail off.

  “Yes. I will. I will take her to Annfwn if you can’t. I swear to find a way.”

  “Thank you,” I breathed. I added a mental prayer of gratitude to Glorianna, too. “You’ve been a friend to me when I wasn’t one to you. I’m trying to be better about that. If you’re willing to continue as my companion, I promise to do my best by you—and get you into Annfwn if I can.”

  “I appreciate that, Princess. I don’t mind hitching my wagon to your star.” She grinned at me.

  I smiled back. “After all, I will be Queen of Avonlidgh someday.”

  “And a fine one, too, I think, Princess.”

  “Thank you. Coming from you that means a great deal. Now, I plan to nap and advise you to do the same. We have a long night ahead.”

  Our “escape” to Windroven was not dramatic. We kept it quiet and dressed up to please the eye.

  Gilly organized the other ladies—with the exception of Lady Dulcinor, who we decided couldn’t be trusted to keep her mouth shut and so would have to stay behind—having them excuse themselves singly or in groups from the ball. Veronica had arranged for so many invitations that, with the influx of Erich’s people, the manse overflowed. The night turned out surprisingly mild, so people strolled and even danced in the gardens, where bonfires were lit and braziers of coals tucked under benches for cozy companions.

  Even when I slipped out of the party claiming drowsiness, no one seemed to take note; they were having such a fine time. Marin met me in the servant’s room I’d stayed in the first night, and I changed into my apprentice dress, dusting my hair again.

  A group of Veronica’s finest guards—all men and women who’d volunteered to relocate to Windroven—awaited me by the stables and we went off into the night.

  When I popped into the public eye again, it was a full day later, at a popular inn on the main road, well after the fork that led to Castle Avonlidgh. With my ladies about me, all of us dressed in our finest, we took over one end of the dining hall. Wyle played and sang every song about me he knew, and we talked openly—even gaily—about the journey to Windroven.