by Jenna Glass
Muttering softly to herself, Star lifted the edge of the tapestry to reveal the door hidden beneath. She slid back the bolts, expressing her continued disapproval by not then opening the door. Zarsha hesitated a beat, then pulled open the door himself. His eyes twinkled with good humor as he flashed his most charming smile.
“Good evening, Star,” he said with a bow of his head that might be taken as either respectful or mocking.
“You have to stop doing this,” she said boldly. It was entirely improper for a servant to speak that way to any nobleman, much less a member of the royal family of Nandel.
“Star!” Ellin scolded, taken aback by her maid’s behavior. Star had always seemed to like Zarsha—even in the days when Ellin herself had despised him—so this sudden enmity was shocking.
Star was unrepentant. “You have no parents to look after your best interests, so I will have to do it myself,” she said to Ellin, then gave Zarsha a narrow-eyed glare. “And if you want what’s best for our Ellinsoltah, you won’t object to those who love her trying to protect her.”
Zarsha dispensed with his usual easygoing smile. There was no hint of annoyance or anger in his expression, which instead looked grave and uncommonly serious—at least for him. “I don’t object. She is lucky to have you. But there are many things she and I cannot speak about in public, and it would arouse far too many uncomfortable murmurs if she were seen to grant me too much official access during the day. I am not popping in for the pleasure of your lady’s company.” The mischievous grin returned, his foreign blue eyes—which Ellin had once thought disturbingly cold—dancing. “Well, not just for the pleasure of her company, at least.”
Ellin doubted Star was completely mollified, but she subsided with a soft grumble. “You will let me know when you are ready to continue preparing for bed?” Star said, half question, half order.
“Of course,” Ellin confirmed, then fell silent as Star slipped out of the room.
“She used to like me,” Zarsha said when the door had closed behind her.
“She still does. She just thinks you’re being overly familiar. Which you are.”
He smirked. “I’ve always been overly familiar. It’s part of my charm.”
Ellin smiled despite herself. “But you really shouldn’t come to my room unexpectedly so often. She was fine with it when we knew you were coming, but…”
“If you didn’t expect me to make an appearance on the evening of your first day out of mourning, then that is evidence of a certain lack of foresight on your part,” he said dryly. He gestured toward the chairs by the fireplace. “May I sit?”
It was a peace offering of sorts, for he rarely observed the formalities when they were alone in her room at night. “Yes, let’s sit,” she agreed, realizing he was right. She should have expected him. She had wanted a little time to think and process the discussion of her royal council before speaking to Zarsha, but of course he had known the topic of their marriage would be broached today and was eager to learn how it had gone.
They each took a seat before the warm glow of the fire, and Ellin regarded her would-be bridegroom with assessing eyes. He had never suggested Waldmir might find it offensive for his nephew to take the title of prince consort to a sovereign queen, and Ellin couldn’t help wondering why that was so. Did he simply not think it was a problem, or had it been a willful omission in an attempt to present marriage as a reasonable and trouble-free solution to the problem of the trade agreements?
She was firmly convinced that Zarsha was a good man, and he had made an outrageous number of accommodations for her over the course of their on-again, off-again courtship. And yet she was always painfully aware of his hidden layers, of his not-always-clear motivations. He did such a good job of presenting himself as open and honest that she sometimes almost forgot he had a spy’s skill for subterfuge.
She could approach her questions subtly and diplomatically, but so far she had found that with Zarsha, the best strategy was usually directness, lest he manage to steer the conversation in the direction he desired.
“My trade minister brought up a potential obstacle to a marriage agreement that I had not previously considered,” she said.
Zarsha raised his eyebrows and looked genuinely interested, no hint of shifty-eyed guilt on his face. Not that she would expect him to give anything away so easily.
“What might that be?” he inquired, and she told him.
To her astonishment, Zarsha laughed.
“Why is that amusing?”
He shook his head. “Because it involves some misapprehension of a close, personal bond between myself and my uncle that would cause him to be insulted on my behalf.”
“You have made it quite clear you and your uncle are not overly fond of each other,” she pointed out.
“That is, perhaps, understating the situation. I believe it would actually give him a great deal of pleasure to think of me as some kind of kept man, groveling at the feet of my wife.”
“Why?” she asked, not for the first time. She had received from him only vague and unsatisfactory responses, but now that the possibility of marriage seemed more immediate, it behooved her to press. She would marry Zarsha for the good of her kingdom, but if she was going to allow this man into her bed—and maybe even into her heart, though she wasn’t sure if she could ever lower her guard enough to allow such a thing again—she needed to know more about him than he had so far been willing to reveal.
“I’ve told you why.”
“You’ve told me he doesn’t like you because you’re nosy. That is hardly a detailed explanation, nor does it explain the level of enmity you’re describing now. What is there between you?”
Zarsha was rarely one to squirm, but he did so now, averting his gaze. “I know things about him that he would rather I did not. Things that he fears I might one day use against him.”
“Blackmail, you mean?”
He nodded. “He is a cruel and ruthless man, my uncle. If I had not…taken measures to protect myself, I would have found myself in a secret grave by now. He hates me for what I know, for the fact that it gives me a certain level of power over him. However, I am still his nephew, still a representative of the royal family of Nandel. He can hate me all he wants, but he cannot disown me. He might see my marriage to a woman who outranks me as some kind of insult to my manhood, but he could easily separate the insult to me from any insult to Nandel. I can guarantee that he won’t make an agreement easy, but any pretense he makes at feeling insulted is just that: a pretense.”
Ellin was struck by the suspicion that there was something Zarsha was leaving out of the explanation. Something other than the very obviously omitted details. She couldn’t put a finger on what made her feel that way, for his demeanor seemed unremarkable, despite a degree of visible discomfort.
“What is it you know about Prince Waldmir that he is so anxious to keep hidden?” she asked, though surely if he had intended to tell her he would have done so already.
She was not surprised to see Zarsha’s shields go up, his expression becoming guarded.
“It is not a secret I am free to share. I am not loyal to my uncle personally, but I am loyal to the office of the sovereign prince, if that makes any sense.”
“What good is blackmail material if you aren’t willing to share it?” she pressed.
“I said Waldmir fears I might use the information against him, not that I would. He is not a man inclined to trust anyone, not even family.” He frowned. “Maybe even especially family.”
She shook her head and leaned back in her chair, still convinced she was being lied to. Or at least being provided an incomplete accounting of the situation. “Are you saying that giving this information to me would be giving me something I could use against your uncle?”
He groaned and squirmed a bit in his chair. “The subject is ridiculously difficult to
talk about without specifics, yet I cannot give you those specifics. I understand why you want them, and I understand it is not for idle curiosity, but my life—and the lives of other people I care about—depends on my continued silence.”
Ellin chewed her lip as she digested the cryptic response. For all the conversations she’d had with Zarsha, she couldn’t remember him ever before making reference to caring about anyone in Nandel. She hadn’t realized how odd that was until this moment. Just how many secrets was he hiding, anyway?
“Who are these people you care about who might be endangered if you break faith?”
Zarsha rubbed his eyes—an unusually vulnerable gesture for a man who so prided himself on his self-possession. “Let it go, Ellin. Maybe when we are bound by the vows of marriage, I will feel free to tell you more, but I can’t even guarantee that.”
“But—”
“I know many uncomfortable secrets about many people. Yourself, for example.”
Ellin flinched at the unwelcome reminder. It was possible that with Tamzin dead, a revelation of her lack of chastity might do little material damage to her reign, but it would certainly undermine her moral authority.
Zarsha leaned forward and put his hand over hers, but she pulled away from the intimate gesture.
“You can trust me with your secret,” he said earnestly. “Just as my uncle can trust me, whether he is willing to do so or not. I know my silence has made you doubt me, but it is the very reason why you should not.”
She met his gaze, trying for all she was worth to see behind his façade. “There is more to this story than you are telling me,” she accused. “It is not just a case of omitted details.”
“Be that as it may, I have said all I am willing to on the matter. When I am your husband, my first loyalty will be only to you, and that may free me to tell you more. But for now I am naught but a representative of a foreign court, not bound to you by anything save what I hope is mutual affection.”
Ellin had no choice but to accept his refusal, though she had to admit it stung in a way that might not be strictly logical. His friendship had meant so much to her over the difficult last year that she had perhaps presumed a level of intimacy that did not exist. It was an important reminder of why he had always been a most complicated friend.
CHAPTER SIX
The worst thing about having Mairahsol as the new abbess, Norah thought as her stomach rumbled with hunger, was no longer being able to meet in the abbess’s apartment. She was careful to tread lightly as she made her way through the darkened halls of the Abbey toward the kitchen, which would be empty at this hour of the night. She had no fear that the door would be locked against her—the new abbess had more than enough ways to enforce her punishment without physically blocking Norah from the food—but the meeting would feel far more furtive and dangerous in a room that was meant to be public. Grief for Mother Wyebryn squeezed her heart, and she wondered how they would function now that they no longer had the leadership—and protection—of the abbess.
Norah entered the kitchen to find a dozen of her sisters gathered round a single lit candle in the far corner. She had no doubt that they would all be punished if Mairahsol were to discover them gathering like this, but it was a risk they would all have to take if they were to continue honoring the Mother of All as they had each been called to do.
She closed the kitchen door and hurried to join her sisters, who were whispering anxiously amongst themselves and welcomed her into their circle with hugs and words of support. Sister Ide offered her a crust of bread that she had secreted within the folds of her robe, but Norah refused with a shake of her head—and a growl of her belly.
“If Mairahsol has any reason to believe I have cheated, she will not hesitate to force a purgative on me,” she said with a grimace. Considering Mairahsol’s spiteful love of revenge—even against the most minor of perceived offenses—it was possible Norah would be forced to drink purgatives anyway, but she would avoid the additional misery if she could.
Sister Ide gave her hand a squeeze of sympathy. “It is an offense to the Mother that that woman has been named abbess,” Ide hissed, and the other women all mumbled their assent. There was no woman in the Abbey more roundly disliked than Mairahsol, and to have her suddenly vaulted to the most honorable position of abbess was intolerable.
“She cannot last,” Norah said with a shake of her head. “She might have convinced that lover of hers that she can reverse the Mother’s correction, but he and the royal council will soon learn that her own assessment of her power is greatly exaggerated.”
There was no denying that Mairahsol could see a great number of elements, but her claims of power were hard to verify. Just because she said she could see elements no other women in the Abbey could see didn’t mean it was true. And though Mairahsol clearly had a seer’s talent—as evidenced by the ridiculous vision she’d reported and no one had believed—she had not a seer’s courage. She would not have drunk even that first mild poison had Mother Wyebryn not forced it on her, and she’d certainly shown no inclination to subject herself to the experience a second time.
The woman was a fraud, and when the lord high priest learned that he had been duped, she would trade the abbess’s apartment for a dismal cell in the dungeons. If her head remained attached to her body, that is.
“Don’t underestimate her,” Ide cautioned. “She has already shown that she is willing to do anything to hurt those she feels have wronged her. And I’m sure every woman here falls into that category.”
More nods and worried murmurs.
“We are taking a grave risk even meeting like this,” Ide continued. “If she should find out there’s a group of Mother of All worshippers in the Abbey…”
Norah could not deny that it was a concern. The membership in their sect—she refused to think of it as a cult, no matter what the priests might call it—had swelled since the casting of what so many referred to as the Curse. It seemed the plainest sign imaginable that the Mother of All was unhappy with the ways in which Her children had chosen to live their lives. Mother Brynna, her daughter, and her granddaughter had clearly been guided by a divine hand, for their ability to cast a spell that would affect the Wellspring itself was well-nigh unthinkable. And what hand would guide them to free women from the betrayal of their own bodies except that of the Mother of All?
“We took risks even when we met in Mother Wyebryn’s apartments,” Norah said, hoping she did not look as worried as she felt. It was something of an open secret that the Mother of All was worshipped throughout the kingdom of Khalpar, but the practice was officially outlawed. Some kings of Khalpar had been happy to ignore it and pretend it didn’t exist, but King Khalvin was not one of them. Worshipping the Mother of All was especially risky for women of the Abbey, who had been disowned by their families and therefore had no protection should the authorities decide to crack down on the “heresy.”
King Khalvin could well decide to reassert the authority and superiority of men by executing women who dared claim that the Mother had given birth to the Creator and was thus both His predecessor and superior. It wouldn’t be the first time a king of Khalpar had ordered a purge.
Ide’s unattractively thick eyebrows drew together in a severe frown. “That was hardly the same and you know it. There’s a reason there are only a dozen of us here tonight.”
Norah couldn’t blame her sisters for being afraid. When Mother Wyebryn had passed, everyone assumed Norah would be appointed abbess and they could continue to meet and worship under the abbess’s protection. In some ways, being virtual prisoners of the Abbey worked to their advantage, for there was no chance of their meetings being witnessed by a priest or some overly pious servant with a big mouth.
“If you’re looking for guarantees of safety,” Norah snapped, “I can’t give you any. We are both Unwanted and outlaws, and there is no safety to be had for any of us. I
f some of our sisters are too timid to worship the Mother of All without the illusory protection of the abbess’s apartments, then they are cowards and were never true believers to begin with.”
Many of the abigails flinched from her anger, and Norah closed her eyes to calm herself. She couldn’t help feeling she had failed her sisters when she had not been appointed abbess as expected. It was her duty as Mother Wyebryn’s chosen successor to protect her sisters, and yet with Mairahsol as abbess, she couldn’t even protect herself. The injustice of it all made her want to lash out.
“Forgive me, sisters,” she said. “I have no cause to take out my anger on you.”
“What shall we do, Mother Norah?” Sister Melred, the youngest and most timid of the gathered abigails, asked in a tremulous voice.
Norah let out her breath on a long sigh, feeling calm return as she released the anger and fear that had built in her chest. Whether she was abbess in the eyes of the law or not, she was abbess within this worship circle. That meant it was her duty to lead, which required her to demonstrate confidence even when she didn’t feel it.
“First,” she said with a gentle smile that she hoped would take any sting out of her words, “you should refrain from calling me Mother Norah even in private. Make a habit of it and you might let it slip at some inopportune moment.”
The abigail blushed and bowed her head. “My apologies.”
“None are necessary,” Norah assured her, then turned her attention to the full gathering. “We are needed now more than ever. The lord high priest has maneuvered Mairahsol into the position of abbess because he believes that the two of them working together can undo Mother Brynna’s spell.”
“Surely that’s impossible,” Ide said, but there was an unmistakable tone of questioning in her voice. She wanted to believe it was impossible, but she was not sure.
“We all read Mother Brynna’s letter,” Norah said.
The late Abbess of Aaltah had sent fliers to all the kingdoms and all the principalities explaining just what her spell had done—and explaining that the spell had been generations in the making and that the only three women who knew how they’d done it had died in the casting. Mother Brynna—who by all accounts had been a gifted seer as well as an extraordinary magic user—had stated unequivocally that the spell could not be undone. Norah saw no reason to disbelieve the claim, no matter how desperately the men of Seven Wells wished otherwise.