The Night Holds the Moon

by Roberts, Parke; Thompson, Colleen

  Her tiresome physicians had attempted to dissuade her from partaking in such excess, with the usual result: she had threatened to have their mouths sewn shut if they did not give her peace. That kept them silent as they tasted each dish before her. Sadly, tasters were a necessity of her life, and she never touched a crumb unless she had some assurance it was untainted.

  To be certain she had not missed some crucial element, she recounted the details of her decision one last time. The secret counsel of her four advisors had been fairly predictable. If Gold had not his own grievance against Elzin, he'd have taken the position opposite to Val Torska out of sheer spite. Mother Kanzal defended her venerable post by insisting that Elzin was unfit and that the Saireflute must be presented once again to her Virgin candidates. She hinted that a grander ceremony might please the mysterious instrument enough to end the difficulty. Viscount Riverweal did surprise her in that he had, for a change, made up his mind so quickly. The Saireflute, he declared, was a sovereign power whose will was unalterable and he supported its choice, Elzin.

  The decision was no easier for the advice. Curse the blonde and her brother! She wished she'd never set eyes on the pair of miller's spawn, with their rustic manners and backwater names.

  It had seemed worthwhile, at the time, to lure the handsome elite, Elzmere, into her bed. He had been a challenge; grateful for his swift promotion to an undeserved captaincy, but deftly evasive of her most cunning invitations. Intrigued and amused, she had tried to gain his confidence with a bit of easy conversation, as if she were truly interested in finding out about the dull little details of his life. So she had learned of his beloved younger sister and her predicament.

  Elzmere had made his sibling sound so sweet, so vulnerable, that for a time the Queen had actually felt sorry for the girl. Left alone with her brutal father, this fragile flower had no one to love and no one to turn to when the vicious old man raised his walking stick to strike. The last time Elzmere had gone back to the village for a visit, he had found Elzin bravely attempting to hide a multitude of bruises from his notice.

  Hulgmal had graciously offered to have that rocky kernel Elzmere's father called a heart torn from his chest, but, at the suggestion, Elzmere had gone pale and stammered that no, no, he would much rather have his sister close at hand, where he could personally watch over her. She was quite bright, he had assured her, and would be so grateful for some simple position--perhaps an apprenticeship to the Head Loom Mistress or one of the court scribes. He wondered, if it would not be too much of an imposition, if she might be of some assistance.

  In the end, the Queen remembered as her pugs lapped grease and crumbs from swollen fingers, it had been her silence that had drawn him in. Her silence and his fear. His words, "… and if there is anything, Your Majesty, that I might do to merit such a boon…" The moment that the phrase had left his lips, he'd known just what that price would be.

  Ah, how well Elzmere had earned his boon, Hulgmal recalled with a feral smile -- so well that she’d devised a way to keep him close at hand for many months. She took Captain Elzmere's sister as her own lady in waiting and made him understand that if their relationship were terminated, life could become very unpleasant for the girl.

  Although well-educated for a villager, a commoner such as Elzin would ordinarily have no hope of gaining such a prestigious position as the monarch's own lady in waiting. The thought had scarcely troubled Hulgmal. Elzin's employment served a greater purpose, unrelated to her work. Besides, she’d thought, with a fast learner like Elzmere for a brother, just how bad could she be?

  She had learned all too soon. First, the girl was a terrible lady in waiting, completely undependable. To counter her tardiness the Queen had moved her to a room with eastern windows and no curtains. It hadn't helped. Next, this "fragile flower" began organizing large, scandalous parties among the people of the serving class. Ever after, apprentice cooks and gardeners, serving wenches and guards, horse handlers and tailors came to their duties late and hung over, as likely as not. Rules against congregating had not curtailed the activities; they had merely tested the ingenuity of their hostess.

  And now, when a good flogging of the troublesome girl might return Elzmere to her clutches, Elzin had somehow fallen into favor with the inscrutable Flute.

  The Saireflute. Why, in the eight centuries since its one feat of any moment, the worthless instrument had served for little else than an excuse for the nobles to don their trinkets once a week and preen for one another. Its latest act of whimsy doubtless greatly amused the highlander.

  She was Queen; her word was law. She could refuse her handmaid the Flute if she liked. Still, it would be embarrassing if she declared that Elzin would not have the Flute and the Flute would accept no other. Saires had never been appointed; they were chosen. The Saireflute was not known to change its choice.

  Besides, there were advantages, as Val Torska had said. Let everyone think these had been her intention all along.

  Yes. Saire Elzin would be installed then, despite the snickers, the Queen decided with her peculiar, wicked smile. After all, Saires were chosen, not appointed.

  And not immortal.

  o0o

  Baths were still a novelty to Elzin, and this was by far the nicest that she had ever had. Like most villagers, she had avoided bathing at home in Linden Mill, for the only soaps were caustic, home-brewed concoctions that reddened her skin and made her itch for days. Safe in the Keep of Virgins, behind a door guarded by Shelvann, the blonde now rested comfortably in a luxurious, ivory tub of heated, foamy water. She sighed contentedly, and her exhalation sent a trio of lilac-scented bubbles wafting gently to the floor. Tension left her body like the steam rising from the water's surface. Gradually, her eyelids drooped.

  "Great Lady!" Elzin started at the exclamation. For a few, panicked moments she could not remember where she was, but certainly she was late for her duties. Shelvann's presence jogged her memory, but she shook her head in disbelief. Surely, these past days, with their impossible events and endless, gnawing worry, had been nothing but a dream.

  "Great Lady, forgive my intrusion, but I called for you ten minutes ago. The Queen has summoned you to her chambers. Surely, in your situation, you cannot wish to incur her wrath!"

  "Dear Telriss preserve me! I fell asleep!" Bile rose into her throat, but Elzin forced it back. She stood so quickly that Shelvann whirled to face the door.

  "Oh, bother my modesty! Just hand me that towel! She's already ordered my whipping once for being late."

  In a few minutes she had dressed, and, the redhead by her side, she ran the short distance to the castle. Two guards escorted her to the hallway just outside the Queen's chambers.

  Flushed with exertion, Elzin turned to grasp Shelvann's hands. "Why don't you go back? Pretend that you don't know me. Her Hugeness hated me already, before the ceremony. There's no need to drag you into this, too."

  Elzin groaned as the girl dropped to her knees. "You are the Chosen! I will not abandon you!"

  The blonde grimaced. "You won't follow me, either. Not inside. Wait here, if you have to stay." Before Shelvann could answer, Elzin had ducked behind the door.

  o0o

  In silence they made their return. Down the Virgin's Walk, up to the Keep's iron gate, all that long way, and Elzin spoke not a word to Shelvann. With a clash of delicate, silver battle-axes, the priestess-guards stepped aside as they passed, and still the Chosen said nothing. White-washed walls led them past doors as pale as sightless eyes as they traversed the Maiden's Hall to the private quarters of the Candidates. The conversation of a knot of Candidates ceased as their curious eyes searched Elzin with a single, unvoiced question: Why you? The blonde dropped her gaze with the instinct of a servant often out of favor and followed Shelvann into her spartan room.

  The moment the child barred the door, Elzin's tears began to well. She sank to the bed and covered both eyes with her hands, as if to block out the Keep's unnatural pallor.

  Fearin
g the worst, Shelvann embraced her. "We'll stay here. No matter what the Queen decrees, you are the Chosen and she may not harm you. The priestesses will intercede--"

  "No, Shelvann, it's not that," she said, pulling away to perch hunched on the edge of the bed. "I'm Saire now, all right--I'm even out the whipping. Tomorrow I'm to play the Flute. It will be announced within the hour."

  Uncertainly, Shelvann stepped closer. "How can you be so unhappy then, Great Lady? It is an honor to serve the Flute, and the rewards are many."

  Great Lady. This time the title registered. She means me! Elzin shook her head emphatically. "Don't you see? I never wanted this. I've seen the old Saire. She was so dignified, so regal. I can't be like that. Why, it was just last week that Lady Sandicrest took me aside to tell me that girls from proper families don't wear spall-shells sewn into their hems. I'm from a little, back-bay village. I don't have the slightest idea what to do! Maybe I'll run away, back to Linden Mill."

  Eyes wide with wonder, Shelvann shook her head. "How strange you cannot see. It is the Flute that chooses. For you, there is no choice."

  Elzin raised her red-rimmed eyes. "You needn't fear," said Shelvann. "I will guide you. The Flute will guide you."

  "The Queen --"

  "-- is a woman, like any other, beneath the rule of Telriss."

  "That's where you're wrong," the new Saire said grimly. "There's no other woman like our Queen, no other woman in the world."

  o0o

  There were tall trees on either side of the lane, so tall that their grey, naked branches scraped together overhead like soothsayers' truth bones. Elzin stopped for a moment and sighed a puff of frozen breath. The road before her was perfectly straight, seemingly endless. She couldn't guess how long she had walked, but her feet ached with cold and her face was frozen like a mask.

  She turned around, expecting to see nothing but the road, desolate and straight behind her. Instead, a crowd of people gathered: some strangers, others she knew. There was Keltin, the apprentice cook, and her childhood friend, Shintsin. There was her father, bent and angry, and her brother, somber in the proud uniform of the Royal Elite Guard. Her schoolmaster, too, approached, with several other children he had taught with Elzin, but those children hadn't grown. Why were they so young, while she had grown and gone?

  Her lips parted, but no words came. She had noticed the stones. Each person carried a handful, and the younger boys had pouches. Though they shouted without sound, she knew what they had come for. Elzin lowered her head in submission and knelt before the half-circle of the crowd.

  The first stone, hurled by her father, awakened her. Clutching her pillow, Elzin found herself back in Shelvann’s white room in the Virgin’s Keep. A dream, she told herself, a dream. Wearily, she sat up. No dream, she knew -- her future. The tears continued, hot against her cold cheek.

  She would be made Saire this afternoon, but the upcoming ceremony, with all its dangerous uncertainties, had paled to the least of her worries.

  Telriss preserve her, didn't she have enough to fear? First, Elzmere's disappearance from his post as captain of the Prince Royal's elite. Abducted, the officials claimed; met with foul play at the hands of Lhant's enemies. But the rumors that followed soon after rang more true, even to her own ears. Had her brother really been stolen away without a trace, or had he rather deserted to escape the Queen's bed?

  Through all the harrowing days of conjecture, she'd kept herself busy with her friends. Busy, so she wouldn't think about her brother. Busy, so she wouldn't think about herself.

  She laid a curious hand upon her belly. Was it any bigger? Had anyone noticed? Last moon, there had been no blood cycle, and until now, she had not allowed herself to fathom the significance of that. The dream had made her see the truth, while she was asleep and unable to look away.

  From Lhant's barbarous beginnings a cruel custom had been spawned. Unwanted children took bread from the mouths of those more deserving; the women who bore them were considered criminals of the basest type. Villagers stoned to death unmarried women gotten with child. Laws had been passed against the custom, but in Lhant, old customs died hard. And, in the more remote villages, like Linden Mill, they sometimes died not at all.

  Elzin hugged her knees, rocking. Every day she had chewed the leaves the herb woman had given her, hadn't she? Hadn't she? Well, sometimes she was busy, but… She sobbed. It was her own fault, as always.

  As Saire she would be safe. There would be guards and attendants around her always. If she could keep the Saireflute, she need never see Linden Mill again.

  And how long do you think they will let you keep the flute, once they see your belly rise and swell like a high-summer melon?

  If only she could emulate the old Saire. An aura of holy mystery had surrounded the woman. If Saire Welmiann had become pregnant, everyone would have thought it the will of the Flute. It would be difficult to cultivate an air of mystery, thought Elzin ruefully, after having slept with half the men in the castle. After that, just how much mystery could be left?

  Later that morning Shelvann came, with two seamstresses and an elaborate dress of soft, creamy white. It would have to be fitted quickly, and it was not an easy task. Originally made for a woman not quite so well-endowed as Elzin, the dress continued to emphasize her large breasts after a number of alterations. Only after several frustrating hours was it decided that Elzin's immodest proportions had been subdued as much as possible.

  The Chosen admired the results before a polished silver mirror. The Queen's seamstresses knew their craft. The front of the gown had been sewn with thousands of tiny beads, and though the once short sleeves now puffed long and full and the plunging scoop neckline had been raised to more modest heights, not a single bead hung askew. Elzin spun before the mirror, savoring the delicious swish as the skirts flared and then fell to caress her thighs. Finally, she could do more than just admire the beautiful clothing of her betters! There were benefits to her new circumstances that she'd not yet begun to appreciate.

  o0o

  Shelvann watched, amused and pleased with how much more at peace with herself the Chosen seemed this morning. She hadn't even protested getting out of bed. When a servant knocked, Shelvann dismissed her at the door and brought in the tray of steaming rolls, preserves, and butter herself.

  "Will you eat, Saire Elzin?" Shelvann asked, tilting up a honeyed raisin roll for her inspection.

  "Ugh! Not those! I thought by now everyone in Sheldwinn knew how much I hate raisins. They remind me of the rat droppings at my father's mill."

  "Sweet Telriss, child!" A seamstress glared as she pulled the tray from Shelvann's hands. "Will you undo all our work?"

  "The Chosen can feast as she wishes later," the other huffed. "That waist is so tight that a grape could burst it!"

  "To say nothing of the stains and crumbs that would spoil our handiwork."

  "You'd do better to tame the Great Lady's locks."

  "Yes, Sister, indeed she would."

  Unaware or unimpressed with her new importance, Elzin giggled at the indignant women. "Never mind. I won't sneak a crumb until after the ceremony. I'm too nervous anyway. Go ahead though, Shelvann. Eat for us both. Then we can worry about taming my uncivilized locks."

  Shelvann inhaled deeply of the fragrant steam before she bit into a heavily spiced roll. That Third Cook Brenzil, supervisor of the baked goods and long Elzin's friend, would forget the Saire's dislike of raisins irked her, although she loved the fruits herself. Brenzil would have to be reminded to have more care for the Great Lady's tastebuds.

  She sighed contentedly as she savored each sweet, chewy mouthful. First the Saireflute, now raisins -- would the new Saire always surprise her with strange refusals? Shelvann almost mentioned her thought; it was the sort of silly thing that would make the Great Lady laugh.

  No, she could not understand Saire Elzin.

  She would never understand her. She would never have the chance.

  Chapter Two

 
; To castles trek young spiderlings to learn to spin their webs.

  -- Proverb of Lhant

  Each member of the Council of Lords received generous apartments, so that family and servants might accompany them throughout each half-year session. The apartments proved especially roomy for Count Caldan Val Torska and his entourage, which consisted only of his daughter Castandra, her two handmaids, and his valet. Also, of course, the hounds.

  Dagger and Arrow, the count's twin jet coursers, lay on either side of his chair as he read. Castandra, too, attempted to prop open a book with one hand while she alternated between the two silver heads resting on her knees.

  In unison, four long, thin muzzles turned toward the door. Four hounds rose to their feet. Castandra frowned.

  "Guests? It's only three hours before the ceremony; I need to finish this chapter before Miska and Tacha help me dress."

  Olkor, gnarled and reproachful as an ancient mountain oak, opened the door after the first polite knock.

  "My Lord Duke Everfast," he announced.

  "Lowinn! Come in," Caldan insisted as he rose to greet the ruler of the province that bordered Tarska.

  "Caldan! Castandra!" The noble from Talvni took both of the count's hands into his own warm, bear paws, then gave Castandra an exuberant hug. She beamed down at him. Lowlander or not, Lowinn was like a favorite uncle.

  "My Castandra is not ready for the ceremony? It is not every day that we install a new Saire, my dear."

  The girl drew breath to answer, but Lowinn interrupted.

  "-- Tut, tut! No excuses! Did you think that I would let the fairest flower in the kingdom be displayed, on such an important occasion, in old trappings? Gessil!"

  Lowinn's valet knelt awkwardly and nearly dropped the cedar box that he placed at her feet. As portly as his master, he regained his feet only with the help of Castandra and her father.