Queen of the Unwanted

by Jenna Glass

  Ellin, at first taken aback by the response, felt a tug of pity. She did not know exactly what was behind Norbryn’s pain and anger, but there was no doubt in her mind that it was genuine and heartfelt. “There’s nothing to forgive,” she assured the girl. “Now tell me what is the matter. I take it you have been in contact with Leebryn?”

  Society expected women who were condemned to the Abbey to be entirely cut off from their friends and family, and such was often the case. But Ellin was hardly surprised to find that Norbryn had not disowned her sister as she was meant to.

  Norbryn nodded. “Our father has forbidden me to contact her, but…” She sighed heavily. “She’s my sister still. And I love her.”

  “I understand.” No one especially close to Ellin had ever been sent to the Abbey, but she imagined she herself would be unwilling to cut ties in a similar situation.

  “When Leebryn first entered the Abbey, the abbess assured her she did not have to work the pavilion,” Norbryn said. “But she could earn ‘privileges’ if she agreed to it.”

  “Yes,” Ellin said. “That is the compromise my royal council devised.”

  Norbryn’s chin jutted out. “Do you know what is considered a privilege in the Abbey?” The fire was back in her eyes, and this time she made no apology.

  Ellin’s heart sank as she realized she had not fully thought through her elegant solution to the problem of the Abbey. Nor had she followed up to see how that solution was being implemented. “Tell me,” she prompted, bracing herself.

  “Any food other than just enough gruel to keep you from wasting away. A cot. A blanket. A full night’s sleep. A rest break. A day off from work when you’re ill.”

  Ellin could only gape in horror.

  “Leebryn says the abbess and the trade minister kept taking ‘privileges’ away one by one, testing to see at what point the denial of those privileges would generate Kai in women who submitted. It seems that as long as the deprivation doesn’t lead to physical harm, there is no Kai generated, however reluctant the abigail might be.”

  Tears rolled down Norbryn’s cheeks unchecked, but she held her head up proudly. “Leebryn refuses to submit, and…” Norbryn hiccuped. “She’s suffering. Please, Your Majesty. Help her.”

  Ellin took a long deep breath in hopes of keeping her temper in check. She wanted to show Norbryn only compassion and save her fury for those who deserved it, but no calming breaths could tame the fire that coursed through her veins.

  “You have my word that none of this is happening with my consent or prior knowledge,” she said through gritted teeth. It sounded disturbingly like an excuse, and yet she could not for a moment allow Norbryn to believe her sister was suffering on Ellin’s orders. “I should have known,” she continued, shaking her head at her own naïveté. The trade minister had been one of the most vocal opponents on her royal council to the decision to outlaw forcible prostitution in the Abbey, egged on by the lord high treasurer who’d despaired at the loss of profits involved. She had trusted that her orders—which the council had agreed to—would be carried out as she intended, and that had been a foolish mistake.

  “I will relieve both the trade minister and the abbess of their posts,” she vowed, even while a part of her murmured that such a decision would not go over well with her council. Even Semsulin would probably suggest a reprimand would suffice, for the trade minister had not overtly broken any laws even while he violated their spirit.

  Norbryn’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open. “Y-you would do that? You would choose your Unwanted Women over a member of your royal council? I had only hoped that you would speak with him and tell him to change the policy.”

  For a brief moment, Ellin wondered if perhaps that was the wisest course of action. Norbryn would clearly be satisfied as long as her sister was not made to suffer or submit, and a stern talking-to would sit much more easily with the rest of her council.

  But how would she ever be able to trust him again? It was no accident that Ellin hadn’t known how he’d chosen to implement the new law. He’d been well aware that she would not approve and had done it anyway. She had a strong suspicion the lord high treasurer was also involved—the man had, after all, been willing to stand with Tamzin when her cousin had attempted to seize the throne. But she had no proof, and dismissing the trade minister would cause enough of a sensation already.

  “What he and the abbess did was despicable,” Ellin said. “I will not stand for it.”

  Norbryn sniffled and swiped at her eyes. “I don’t know how to thank you…”

  Ellin sighed. “It is I who must thank you for bringing this perfidy to my attention.”

  Ellin did not look forward to what was certain to be an ugly scene when she brought her decision to the council. But council members served at the will of the sovereign, and it was within her rights to dismiss any one of them for any reason. A fact of which she would remind anyone who objected too vociferously.

  * * *

  —

  The woman Lord Jailom had escorted into Alys’s office was clearly a commoner. Her clothes were faded from sunlight and washing, patched in several places, and the hands she held clasped nervously in front of her were calloused, the nails short and ragged. In many ways, she was typical of the steady trickle of immigrants who arrived in Women’s Well nearly every day. Alys had set up a citizenship committee to meet with and evaluate new arrivals with strict instructions that they turn back only those they believed were a danger to the population of Women’s Well. At least once a week the committee chairman urged her to raise her standards, for practically every new arrival was an impoverished commoner who brought nothing in the way of riches or special skills. People who in their native lands would likely be beggars—or worse.

  Alys’s curiosity was piqued by Jailom’s decision to single out this unexceptional-looking woman for an audience with the sovereign princess. Jailom rose from his bow, and she did not like the worry she saw in his eyes. There were far too many worries in her life these days.

  “Gracelin here just arrived from Aaltah today,” Jailom said. “I wanted you to hear firsthand what she experienced upon leaving Aaltah.”

  Alys blinked in surprise at the woman’s name, for it was an unusual combination of common and noble. Jailom—no doubt having had the same reaction to the name—explained without prompting.

  “Her mother was a noblewoman who left her family to marry a commoner.”

  “Ah,” Alys said, nodding. It was not an especially unusual story, though of course it was a terrible stain on the honor of the noble family. And it was unusual for the child of such a union to be given an elemental name, even in combination with a common name such as Grace.

  Alys turned her attention to Gracelin, who curtsied again, her eyes slightly too wide. Alys smiled at her in hopes of calming her nerves.

  “Welcome to Women’s Well, Gracelin,” she said, putting as much warmth as she could into her voice despite the unease that Jailom’s ill-concealed concern inspired.

  “Thank you, ma’am. Er, Your Royal Highness.”

  Alys had never thought of herself as particularly intimidating, though she supposed she looked rather severe in her black mourning attire. She tried to will the nervous commoner to relax, keeping her smile firmly in place.

  “Tell her what happened,” Jailom coaxed gently.

  “I came here today with a small group of travelers,” Gracelin said. “There was a guardhouse set up in Miller’s Bridge, and they stopped all of us. They went through all our belongings—such as they were—and confiscated what they called ‘contraband.’ My late husband worked in an Aalwood grove, and I brought a flat of seedlings I’d been given in lieu of my husband’s last wages.”

  Alys grimaced ever so slightly at the cruelty of giving an impoverished woman a bunch of seedlings instead of the money she was due. She wondered if the cruelty h
ad been willful, or just thoughtless—though it mattered little to Gracelin.

  “The guardsmen confiscated the seedlings,” Gracelin continued, “and they told me that if I crossed the border, I would not be allowed to return to Aaltah on pain of death.”

  An audible gasp escaped Alys’s lips, and she finally understood the disquiet she saw in Jailom’s eyes. Only in times of war did Aaltah forbid its citizens from traveling to another kingdom or principality. And even then, citizens might be turned back at a roadblock, but not threatened with death!

  Gracelin stood up a little straighter, her chin lifting with a hint of defiance. “Very few of us turned back. I can’t speak for the others, but I myself am more than willing to work for my living, and I will do whatever work is necessary.” Some of her confidence leaked away. “If you have work that will still allow me to care for my son.”

  “We are happy to have you,” Alys assured her. There was a great deal of land that needed to be worked, and the bounty of that land meant that even with the influx of people, it was not hard to keep everyone fed. “It’s a shame about the seedlings. It would have been nice to see if they could grow here, but I suppose it isn’t likely.” Aalwood trees—prized not just for their strong, dark wood, but for the Aal that occurred naturally in them—grew only in Aaltah, though Alys imagined every other kingdom and principality had made heroic efforts to encourage it to grow elsewhere. Aalwood was Aaltah’s top export, a pillar of their economy, for Aal was required for spells associated with movement.

  Gracelin grinned, the expression brightening her eyes. She patted at the patched skirt of her traveling dress, then stuck her hand in a pocket and pulled out a tied handkerchief. “Well now,” she said, laying the handkerchief on Alys’s desk and tugging its corners open, “they took the seedlings, but they didn’t search my person, and I saw no reason to inform them that I had also brought seeds.”

  Alys’s eyes widened, and she shared another look with Jailom, who chuckled.

  “You can see now why the committee chairman thought you should meet Gracelin,” he said, and Alys nodded.

  “There’s little chance they will grow here,” Gracelin said sadly.

  “But we won’t know until we try it,” Alys responded. “I will lease you a small plot of land. Big enough for a house and a garden.”

  “B-but I have no money for—”

  “You will pay for your lease with goods and services. A portion of what you grow will go to the Crown. And if by some miracle those seeds of yours take root, that lease will become a land grant, and a rather large one at that.”

  Gracelin’s jaw dropped open in amazement, and she stuttered. “L-land grant?”

  Alys smiled. There had been some grumbling on her royal council when she’d first suggested giving land grants to commoners who’d shown themselves especially valuable to the community, but the grumbling had been easily quelled. The nobility of Women’s Well was made up almost entirely of the original band of abigails—who were of noble blood despite the disgrace that had sent them to the Abbey in the first place—and the men of Tynthanal’s company, who were generally second, third, or fourth sons who’d never expected to be landowners in the first place. There was still more arable land than there were people to work it, and the nobles of Women’s Well were not a greedy lot.

  “If you can grow Aalwood here in Women’s Well,” Alys said, “then I would be a fool not to grant you the land you need for it.” And in reality, Alys didn’t think even a land grant would be a great enough reward for so monumental an achievement, but she would discuss that with her council when and if it became an issue.

  Lord Jailom escorted Gracelin out, but Alys was not at all surprised when her lord commander returned to her office shortly afterward.

  “We should institute some border patrols,” Jailom said. “It’s…uncomfortable to think that King Delnamal set up that blockade and we knew nothing about it until now.”

  “Yes, it is,” Alys agreed. “Although we haven’t exactly determined where our borders are, so I’m not sure exactly what territory we should patrol.”

  Jailom shrugged. “The influence of our Well is fairly clear to see. We can just follow the line of greenery. I will see if we can post some markers. I believe one of our newer residents has some experience as a surveyor and mapmaker.”

  Alys nodded, but the thought of a border patrol—as necessary as it might be—gave her pause. “Your patrols must include only your most trusted men. I would not be at all surprised if Delnamal’s soldiers tried to instigate trouble. Skirmishes along our border would do a great deal more damage to our military than they would to his.”

  Lord Jailom bowed. “I will make certain there is a senior officer assigned to each patrol, and I will make it very clear they are not to engage unless absolutely necessary.”

  * * *

  —

  Sister Zulmirna has the face of a horse, Mairah thought as the young abigail was shown into her office. It certainly wasn’t on account of her looks that Zulmirna was so popular when she worked the pavilion, yet she had acquired a nice stable of admirers in her short time at the Abbey.

  Since the discovery of women’s Kai, the Abbey could no longer force its abigails to work the pavilion, but the magic that created women’s Kai was not as subtle or discerning as the Curse itself. Women reluctantly working the pavilion to earn privileges and creature comforts that were not available to the others in the Abbey could hate every moment of a coupling and still not produce Kai as long as they had the option to refuse. More than once, Mairah had seen Zulmirna crying after entertaining a customer. She was also fairly new to the Abbey and so hadn’t had time to form any close attachments to Norah and the rest of Mother Wyebryn’s cronies. Which made her the perfect candidate.

  Sister Zulmirna stood before Mairah’s desk, her eyes demurely lowered and her hands clasped before her.

  “You wanted to see me, Mother?” the woman inquired without looking up. She had a husky, sultry voice that made the question sound almost flirtatious.

  “Yes, Sister Zulmirna,” Mairah said with a smile that she hoped was winning and friendly, though she caught the flash of worry in Zulmirna’s eyes and wondered why she bothered. Making friends had never been her strong suit. “Please sit down.”

  Zulmirna took a seat, her back rigidly straight, as if she were still wearing fashionably stiff stays. The hands she clasped in her lap were white-knuckled, and Mairah realized that already she was gaining a reputation that struck fear into the hearts of her abigails.

  “Relax, Sister,” Mairah said soothingly. “You’re not in any trouble.”

  Zulmirna’s shoulders lowered just a little, and she finally looked up. “Thank you, Mother.” She tried a tentative smile. “I’ve been trying to figure out what I could have done wrong…” She let her voice trail off, less nervous than before, but still clearly wary.

  “How are you settling in?”

  Zulmirna blinked, surprised by the question. “Er…All right, I guess.” She grimaced. “As well as can be expected, at least.”

  “You are in much demand at the pavilion.”

  Zulmirna winced delicately and chewed on her lip. Perhaps to keep it from quivering. There was no question that she found working the pavilion distasteful, and Mairah suffered a twinge of conscience that she quickly quelled. No one was forcing the girl to be a whore; she had decided that degrading herself was an acceptable price to pay for a couple of extra blankets and larger portions at mealtimes.

  “I hear you entertained Lord Deenan last night,” Mairah continued. Once upon a time, Lord Deenan had considered himself a potential contender for Jalzarnin’s council seat. Knowing that, Mairah had made up a batch of Keyhole ointment—the formula for which she’d found in the Abbey’s disordered archives. The Keyhole spell, which created a magical spy hole through which an enterprising individual could both see and
hear proceedings behind walls or closed doors, was officially outlawed. So Mairah had done the Abbey a service by removing it from the archives. And she’d done both herself and Jalzarnin a service by using the spell to look in on Deenan as he enjoyed his perversions in one of the playrooms.

  As luck would have it, Deenan had never figured out where Jalzarnin had gotten the information about his unsavory tastes—information that would ruin him if he made any attempt to supplant Jalzarnin—and therefore he continued as a loyal customer of the Abbey’s pavilion.

  “Yes, Mother Mairahsol,” Zulmirna answered, unable to hide a grimace. Whether her distaste was for the work in general or Deenan in particular remained to be seen.

  Mairah tried another encouraging smile, but the girl was back to staring at her hands in her lap, squirming with discomfort. “What did you think of him?”

  Zulmirna stilled, and she met Mairah’s eyes with a look of confusion. “Excuse me?”

  “I’m asking your impressions of Lord Deenan. Do you think him a good man? A good priest?”

  Zulmirna’s mouth opened and closed a few times, but no sound came out. She would be no good to Mairah if she proved to be too absorbed in the misery of her position to pay close attention to her customers, or if she was too prudish to reveal uncomfortable secrets.

  “I’m asking for your honest opinion of the man,” Mairah said. “You will not be punished if you speak ill of him, and I assure you there is a purpose behind my questions. Now tell me: how did you find him?”

  Zulmirna swallowed hard and squirmed some more. “He is…unnatural.”

  “How so?”

  The girl’s naturally dark face flushed darker still. “He…” She cleared her throat. “He asked me to pitch my voice higher. Like a little boy, he said.” She shuddered with revulsion. “And he…he…”

  “Go on,” Mairah prompted gently, knowing full well just how Deenan liked his women, and pleased that Zulmirna seemed willing to confide in her.