“It remains your privilege, if you will accept it.”
“What do you mean?”
“There is always room for a wise queen when discussing matters of state,” he said, with a sly smile. “That seat at the council table is yours, if you wish. I would be honored to have you at my right hand whenever matters are to be decided.”
My mouth opened, but no words came out. Never had I imagined he would offer me such a position. No woman in Myrilla’s history had ever sat on the king’s council.
The prince’s face grew uneasy. “Of course, I understand if you need some time to consider it. You have many other responsibilities and I don’t want to impose my wishes on yours—”
“No—no, I’m very grateful,” I stammered. “I’m happy to do it.”
He nodded, though his face remained drawn. In the torchlight his weariness showed itself more plainly than in the sun. My uncle was wrong; the prince wasn’t a monster. He was just a man trying to be a good king. Very slowly, I laid my hand on his arm. He looked down at it, surprise flashing across his face. It was the first time I had ever touched him unbidden.
“I’m honored,” I said carefully. I started to say his name, Admetus, but when I tried to pronounce it, found I could not. The strange sounds felt foreign and clumsy in my mouth. “Thank you,” I said again, slowly, in his dialect. “Thank you, Adam.”
Chapter 9
Adam. It was the closest I could manage. If he minded he gave no sign; for his part he did not call me by my new royal name of Alcestis. That name would be reserved for official ceremonies and state visits. Instead, my husband continued to call me Alyce just as he always had.
Later that evening the prince and I hosted a banquet for our visitors, where everyone dined on braised lamb and toasted the new treaties. Adam (it felt so strange to call him a proper name) sat to my left and gave me the finest pieces of meat from the tray. The musicians played lively music and by the end of the night even Turius looked like he was enjoying himself. When the last of the ambassadors had either begun their homeward journey or poured themselves into bed, I bid everyone goodnight and made my way to my chamber. A fire was lit and waiting in the grate to stave off the chilly night air. The day’s exhaustion struck me like a hammer when I shut the door behind me, so instead of changing for bed I sank into a soft chair.
I had nearly dozed off when I heard Adam slip into the room. “I thought you’d be asleep already,” he said, lighting a second lamp.
“Nearly,” I replied. “It’s been an eventful day.”
“It certainly has. Thanks to you.”
I didn’t know what to say. I gave him a little nod and glanced around the room. My gaze settled on his bow, hanging from two hooks in the wall. The dark wood gleamed in the orange light from the dying fire. Its shine didn’t surprise me; he polished it every day. I couldn’t help admiring its beauty, though when he saw me studying it, I looked away.
“Something wrong, Alyce?” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching.
I reached for my woolen wrap hanging near the hearth and draped it around my shoulders. “Oh, nothing’s wrong. I just—”
Adam swept the bow from its place on the wall and sat before me. “The wood is from a blood oak near my family’s castle in Itomius. It was a colossal tree; the biggest on the grounds. My brother and I used to dare each other to climb it when we were boys. Syrano fell from it once—off the lowest branch, mind you—and broke two bones in his arm.” He smiled, unwinding the bowstring. “Five years ago, lightning hit it during a storm; the entire tree split in half from branches to roots. When it finally cooled I went out to look at the trunk, to see if any wood could be salvaged. Father told me burnt wood meant ill fortune for a bow, but in my opinion it’s brought me nothing but luck. You can hold it if you’d like.”
I held out my hands, carefully cradling the bow. It was heavier than I expected, and the wood was smoother than bone. Even the grain was lovely. The red lines swirled and curved under my fingers, leaping out in stark contrast with the deep brown wood. Any object carved from blood oak was a rare sight in Myrilla; it was considered too expensive a material even for luxuries. “I’ve heard blood oak can be temperamental under a carpenter’s knife,” I said. “Your craftsman did his work well.”
He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. “I made it, actually. But you’re right, blood oak is notoriously difficult.”
I stared at him, amazed. “You made this?” At his nod, I gaped at the bow. “I can’t believe it. This is…” I ran my fingers over the grain once more. “Adam, it’s wonderful. I’ve never seen such a beautiful thing. You are truly gifted.”
He mumbled his thanks and lifted the bow from my hands. “I’ll show you how to string it. You put your foot here, and draw the string toward this notch. The knot slides right in place…and there you have it.” He plucked the string and a bright twang shot through the air. He held it out to me again. “Try it.”
I took it; incredibly, the bow felt different than it had before. It was poised and pulsing with energy, ready for battle. I plucked the string gently at first, afraid I might break the wood. After a few tries I grew more confident, though when I started to draw the string Adam stopped me.
“Careful, Alyce. You’ll get a nasty welt if you release it without mail or an armguard.” He gestured to my forearm, dressed in wool. “If you’d like, I can teach you how to use a bow. This one’s too long, but I’m sure I can find one to suit you. What do you think? I know Myrillans aren’t particularly fond of archery.”
“No, I’d love to learn,” I said, breathless with excitement. “My uncle never liked me to participate in sport.” Actually, his exact words were that it was a foolish risk, and that if I injured myself and failed to produce heirs with whatever foreign ruler he’d secured a marriage contract with, I’d shame the whole kingdom.
Adam watched me for a moment, something like pity in his eyes. “You won’t be injured shooting with me,” he said. “Not to sound boastful, but I’m quite a good shot.” He took the bow and notched an arrow to the string, drawing it close to his ear. He did it so easily I wondered at his strength; I’d struggled in the simple act of pulling the string, I couldn’t imagine how much less skilled I’d be at keeping an arrow in place at the same time. Widening his feet to the perfect stance, he tightened his aim on his imaginary target, then lowered the bow without loosing the arrow. With quick, deft movements, he slipped the arrow back into his quiver and hung the bow on the wall once more.
“I want to thank you again,” he said, resuming his seat before me, “for your help. What we achieved today could not have been done without you.”
I blushed and shook my head. “You’re the one who drew up the papers, made the arrangements and summoned the envoys.” I dropped my voice in shame. “My only role in this was to shout at you and call you a child.”
A great laugh escaped his mouth. “Yes, and that’s precisely what I needed,” he said, to my surprise. “You did just what I should have done all along: kept the welfare of our people as the highest priority. You’ve done a much better job as queen than I have as king. I would do well to learn from your example.”
I frowned, unsure of his sincerity, when he left his chair and added another log to the fire, sending a flurry of red sparks up the flue. “It is no question that Myrilla is still very much a foreign land to me,” he said. “I think I’ve proven quite well that I know little about its history or policies or traditions, and that’s a fault I wish to remedy. I don’t want Myrilla to be an extension of Itomius, a small offshoot that copies my homeland exactly. For one thing, it isn’t practical. There isn’t room to raise sheep or goats, not with so much of the land devoted to farming. Not to mention the fact that the new treaties solidify Myrilla’s role as the primary producer of wheat for ourselves and our neighbors.”
“That’s true,” I said, growing suspicious. It wasn’t like him to speak so kindly of my homeland, not when I’d listened to him muttering und
er his breath about its multiple deficiencies for the past two months.
“I’d like to learn about this place,” he said, gesturing toward the darkened windows. “The last thing I want is to be a mindless conqueror, charging in and changing everything to suit my own needs. Especially when I know such action would be ill received. Many kings would have swarmed your land and torn down the temple, replacing it with one to their own gods. But I chose not to do that. Not only because we don’t build temples where I come from—we believe the gods are everywhere and aren’t bound by stone or walls—but because I didn’t want to disrupt the people’s daily lives more than necessary.” He paused. “Though I’m starting to realize your temple stands empty more often than full.”
I nodded, thinking of how many people had abandoned their practice of visiting and sacrificing grain to Kore. They had seen too many failed harvests to still hold onto hope.
“I want Myrilla to be a happy, peaceful kingdom, Alyce. I want people to raise their families here knowing they’re safe and secure, and able to work and provide for themselves without fear. I’d rather history forget I were king than be remembered as a warring tyrant. And I believe you can help me with that.”
“How? I’m in the same position as you.”
“You’re not, you’re in a better one because you know this place. You know the rites and the traditions. You visit the temple each day and know the gods. Not to mention how dearly the people love you. Haven’t you noticed how whenever someone makes a request in the throne room, they ask it of me but direct their thanks to you? I want to learn from you, Alyce. In a proper way, not by climbing garden walls and holding secret councils. You may not believe this, but I want to be a good king. To the people and to you.”
I bit my lip, pondering his request. He watched me closely, as though willing me to agree and take him on as a pupil. A selfish part of me wanted to say no, to leave him to fend for himself in this great mess he’d created. But I forced down my pride and nodded.
“Very well. We’ll start tomorrow.”
• • •
When I woke the next morning I’d half expected the room to be empty, as it was every other day. Instead I saw Adam standing at the window, pink-cheeked and dressed warmly, peering out over the grounds. He heard me stirring and turned.
“Good morning,” he said quietly. “I hope you slept well.”
I propped myself on one elbow. “I did. You must’ve gotten up earlier than usual.” I looked at his muddy boots and burr-studded cloak. “Have you visited your mountain already?”
“It’s the herdsman’s mountain, not mine. But yes.”
I eyed my gown hanging on the wardrobe door and clutched the covers around me. I had never dressed with Adam in the room, or anywhere near the room, for that matter. Sensing my reticence, he turned to gaze out the window once more, so I could only see his back and none of his eyes. I slid out of bed and padded barefoot across the icy stone and grabbed the gown, carrying it to the bathing chamber. I scrubbed my face with cold water and arranged my hair before dressing quickly. The boiled wool gown wrapped me in warmth, though the thick stockings felt itchy against my legs. I returned to the bedroom and took a roll from the tray, already drizzled with honey and thick lashings of butter.
“Take your time,” Adam said, easing into a chair. “No need to rush.”
It was difficult to relax with him in the room, but I managed to eat my breakfast without wolfing it down. When I had licked the last droplet of honey from my fingers I reached for my cloak. Adam followed me down the corridor; every servant we passed bowed to us, though their startled expressions did not escape my eyes. I couldn’t blame them. It wasn’t exactly common to see the two of us out together.
Adam ordered our horses to be groomed and saddled, and informed the guards that we would be touring the nearby farms. It wasn’t long after that Adam and I were riding out, side by side, into the cold morning air. We passed through the gates and left the castle grounds, with the guards a few paces behind. The royal standard snapped and fluttered in the wind: three ears of wheat encircled with rosemary, all gilded and set upon a pale blue field.
The apple orchards were first; I halted my horse and the rest of the party stopped. Adam leapt from his saddle and motioned to the guard that he would help me down himself. I hesitated, then reached for his arms, not wanting to seem ungracious. His hands gripped my waist firmly and when my feet touched the ground he kept his hold, ensuring I was steady before letting me go.
The orchard workers saw us approaching and removed their hats. A heavyset man dressed in green, whom I took to be in charge, bowed deeply. “King Adme—Admetus—” he stumbled over Adam’s formal name. “My name is Wallyce, and it’s an honor to have you here. And Princess—or Queen, I should say….” He blushed furiously. “I beg your pardon, Majesties. Forgive my stammering. I am unprepared for such a surprise. Such a welcome surprise,” he added.
“We don’t mean to be any intrusion,” said Adam. “We simply decided to take some air this morning and see how you and the other farmers are preparing for winter. What’s that they’re doing back there?”
He craned his neck and the rest of us looked with him. “They’re pruning the trees,” explained Wallyce. “They attach their blades to long poles so they’re able to cut through the high branches without risking a fall.”
“That’s quite clever,” said Adam, and Wallyce’s face brightened at the compliment. “I’d very much like to try that sometime. Is it difficult to maneuver?”
“It’s a challenge at first, but once you find your rhythm and the right pressure anyone can do it. We’ve been using this method for the past two winters, and there are fewer injuries than ever. All thanks to your Lady Queen,” he said, with a humble nod to me.
Adam looked at me. “That was your idea?”
In his excitement, Wallyce answered for me. “We’d had the idea for ages, Majesty, but it was the queen who saw our needs and sent her maids out to give us the equipment. The trees were gnarled and refused to produce any fruit. For the past two years we’ve worked to restore them. We’re praying next autumn’s harvest will bring the rewards of our work and the queen’s ingenuity.”
“I see,” said Adam, still looking at me. “Very good then. Thank you for educating me, Wallyce. We must be on our way now; we’ll not delay you any longer.”
Riding once more, Adam shot me a wry glance. “You’ve kept your vested interests very quiet, Lady Queen.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I knew you had Kore’s ear and the hearts of the people, but I had no idea your hands were so active in the kingdom. That man said you’d ridden out to the orchards before.”
“He was right.”
“Well, I was under the impression that your existence under the previous reign was one of cloistered isolation.”
“It was,” I said, a little crossly. “But I had to learn to ride, after all. My uncle only permitted me to leave the castle walls a few times a year. And then only during winter, dressed as a servant. He didn’t want anyone to accidentally recognize me and associate my face with the harvest, or springtime, or high summer. He feared that if the people connected my presence with any kind of beauty or happiness, his position would be less secure. He wanted them to forget I was supposed to be queen, to forget I was ever born. Because of that, I took pains to help the people I encountered out here. It all had to be kept secret, of course, but I never stopped because I knew that if I helped, I wasn’t just a ghost haunting the castle.”
Neither of us spoke. The horses’ hooves clopped pleasantly along the road, which had turned from paving stones to dirt long before. The orchards gradually melted away into blank, endless fields. Without the protection of trees the wind felt stronger than ever, and chill after chill raced down my spine. I wished for the sun to break through the clouds and warm me, if only for a moment.
“Well, Alyce,” said Adam suddenly, “that’s two days now.”
“
Two days…what?”
He smirked. “Two days in a row you’ve reminded me what a complete fool I am. A complete, blessed fool.”
• • •
Our tour continued well into midday. We paid visits to the vineyards and heard the attendants’ plans for reviving the shriveled vines. We examined the empty cereal fields, newly turned and ready for barley and oats come spring, and acres of failed vegetables that had refused to produce. Each farmer promised again and again that next year would be better and give more crops, and every time he heard it, the alarm in Adam’s face rose. I believe that up until that day, he had thought his mere presence would set the kingdom on proper footing. That his riding in on a charger to free Myrilla from her previous torment would automatically cause the gods to smile on us. But that was not the case, and he saw it. The ink had scarcely dried on his new trade agreements and now he stood faced with the challenge of pulling an entire kingdom up from its knees.
When we reached the wheat fields, home to the most sacred of all crops in Myrilla, we fell silent. Even the guards dropped back, as though they could feel Kore’s presence among the black earth. Adam lifted me down from the saddle and we stood at the edge of the field, gazing out over the pristine rivets cut into the soil. A handful of birds darted overhead, black spots against the flat grey sky. The icy breeze returned and I drew my cloak closer around me.
Adam noticed. “We can go back now if you’re too cold.”
I shook my head. “I’m fine. Better than, actually. I could look at this all day,” I sighed.
“I suppose it is beautiful, in its own way.”
I couldn’t help smiling at the veiled skepticism in his voice. “I know it’s not what you’re used to. A landscape that looks so flat and dull and dead. But it’s not dead. Not really. The wheat’s there, sown and alive; it’ll be months before we see any signs of growth, but that doesn’t mean they’re not there. Beneath the soil there’s new life forming every day.”
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