He nodded. “That’s very profound.”
“It’s the truth. As long as we’re blessed with enough rain this winter and sunshine in the spring, I see no reason why we shouldn’t have an excellent harvest. I once heard the last priest say, ‘The gods do most of their work away from prying human eyes.’ I don’t think there’s any better example of that than the fields.”
“You are confident of the harvest, then?”
I didn’t answer right away. It was easy for him to talk of confidence, when so much of his experience lay with livestock. Disease or unsuccessful breeding might hurt a population of sheep, but you could always buy more elsewhere or try different pairings. Farming was not so simple. You couldn’t force wheat to grow in fields the gods had long forgotten. “I’m confident we will receive our allotted portion,” I finally said. “Whatever that means.”
“I suppose that’s good enough for me, though I hope the members of the treaty are as openminded as you.” Adam turned and led the way back to the horses, where the guards were holding them for us. He cupped his hands to receive my boot and helped me up once more. “Your Kore must require a great deal of patience to accomplish her work.”
“Patience, yes,” I said gravely. “And blood.”
Chapter 10
Indeed, the Blooding was only a few months away. The most important of Kore’s ceremonies. I feel your discomfort, Reader. I feel you wincing, bargaining, denying the possibility that any decent god would require blood. Or perhaps pity has taken up camp in your heart. You read my words and think, Oh, those poor barbarians. Their intellect was so dim, they were so uninformed, they knew nothing of the true metaphysics of the universe. They misunderstood cause and effect, and placed all their hopes on ritual and superstition.
Do not judge me so quickly. I wager many of your gods demand blood, the same as mine.
• • •
We then entered the time of year when the days grow short. Each morning I woke to darkness or a weak sun rising, and Adam called for hotter fires in all the rooms. Even that didn’t warm me; I had never been one to gracefully withstand the cold. Thankfully, Adam had no shortage of wool and furs and animal skins, so it wasn’t long before the seamstresses turned out new bedclothes for the whole of the castle. Many mornings I sat before the fire in our chamber, wrapped in a heavy wool blanket and clutching a mug of hot, spiced wine. I visited the garden less frequently; in its dormancy there was little help I could offer. Instead I did something I had never been allowed in the time of my uncle: I explored the castle.
I know how pitiful it must sound, but it hadn’t occurred to me that the option lay before me. The grounds were as intimate to me as my own chamber; the rest of the castle remained a mystery. The idea struck one morning when Adam returned from his visit with the herdsman and began sorting through a small pile of books.
“Where did you get those?” I asked, watching him.
“The library.”
“There’s a library in the castle?”
He laughed. “You jest, surely.” When my confusion did not lift, he gave me an odd look. “Of course there’s a library. Where did you think all these books came from?”
“I didn’t know. I thought you might have brought them with you from Itomius.” I knit my brow, feeling terribly ignorant. “I had no idea, truly. There’s so much of this castle I’ve never seen.”
He didn’t speak for a moment, just studied the books in his hands. With a sigh, he sat on the foot of the bed and knocked the books together. “You can go anywhere you like,” he said firmly. “This castle is as much yours as it is mine, so you should know its arrangement. It’s no good for a queen to be a stranger in her own home. I want you to leave this room”—with a wicked smile he pulled me out of the chair and nudged me into the corridor—“and don’t return until you’ve opened at least twelve unfamiliar doors.”
I smiled shyly, unwinding the fur I’d wrapped around my shoulders. “If you insist.”
“I do. In fact, it’s an order, Alyce.”
My hesitance didn’t last long. Once I realized that no one was going to scold or punish me for poking around the castle, I began to enjoy myself. I had no inkling of how greatly I had been restricted during my childhood—and afterwards restricted myself. The few rooms in which I had been allowed held unpleasant associations; the very act of peering through new doors stirred hope in me. I could appreciate the beauty of the castle for the first time, and imagine new possibilities. New memories, happy memories, the likes of which I had never known.
Each room was more silent and still than the last, as though waiting for my presence. The heavy dust told me that many had remained empty during my uncle’s reign. In one room the heavy stone walls were painted pale blue, with white clouds sponged onto the ceiling. Musical instruments—harps, lyres, horns, and others I didn’t recognize—lay scattered on the chairs and carpets, as though their owners had abruptly laid them down with every intention of returning later. One room on the ground floor reminded me of a workshop of sorts, with building plans and tools and great windows covered in shutters that could open and shut. I found an old sketch for a park just behind the south wall, featuring a gilded fountain and birch trees. The plans were beautiful, and as I placed the brittle, rain-spotted paper back on the table I wondered why the project had been abandoned. Other rooms were bare, without even a carpet to warm the stone floor. Still more contained antique sculptures and paintings, or swords and pieces of armor belonging to Myrilla’s ancient kings.
The library was one of the few rooms to show any signs of recent activity. It was in the center of the uppermost floor, dark and free from windows. I lit a lamp and closed the door behind me, stepping forward uneasily as I inspected its contents: two tall shelves against the back wall housing modern books, and a dusty table in the corner stacked with parchment scrolls. Old almanacs, military records, things of that nature. Nothing of particular interest to me. Instead I was drawn to the books; I had no idea the castle possessed so many. Bound in different shades of leather and bulky in size, there were at least three dozen, covering a variety of subjects. I could see where Adam had wiped the dust from the front covers in order to see the titles clearly; the books completely free of dust must have been the ones he’d read. Two on philosophy (one written in the strange characters of the Greeks), one religious history put down by a priest a century ago, and one slender volume detailing Myrilla’s wheat production over a ten-year period.
I set my lamp on the floor and pulled out book after book, glancing at the titles and carefully turning the pages. I eventually chose a book containing Myrilla’s royal history and toted it back to my chamber; the volumes were so heavy I couldn’t have carried more than one even if I’d wanted.
Later that evening I sat on the carpet, studying the book in the pale glow of the fire. I had nearly finished the chapter on Queen Mychaela, who planted Myrilla’s first golden rose tree, when Adam burst into the room, his eyes bright. “Alyce, come look out the window.” Before I could reply he rushed to pull back the heavy curtains. I pushed myself up and stood next to him, a smile spreading over my face. The air was filled with millions of tiny snowflakes, drifting slowly down from the grey sky. Even with the moon’s absence the landscape was eerily bright.
“It’s only a dusting,” said Adam, leaning out into the icy night air. “But by morning I imagine it’ll make quite a thick covering.”
I stepped back as he lowered the curtain. “How beautiful.” I beamed. “With Myrilla laying in a valley we don’t get snow here often. I’m sure the farmers will be thrilled; an early snow promises a rich harvest.” The fire beckoned me back to the hearth rug and I sat with my book once more. Adam pulled off his boots and sank into his chair with a pleased grin.
“I see you took my edict seriously,” he teased. “Tell me, Queen Alcestis, are you now the true lady of your house?”
I turned the page. “Not entirely, but I think I’m well on my way.”
There came a
knock at the door. Adam leapt up to open it; a servant bearing a tray stepped cautiously into the room. “Your dinners as requested, Lord King.”
Adam directed him to place the tray near me on the carpet. Steam rose from two earthen bowls filled with thick stew, accompanied by hard rolls and a little flagon of wine. I looked at Adam, puzzled. “We’re not having dinner in the hall?”
“We’ve dined in the hall every night since we wed. I thought we might enjoy a change for one evening.”
“I suppose.” I hesitated, watching him pour a cup of wine. He held it out to me and my fingers curled around the stem. “But where will we eat?”
“Right here is just fine.” He dropped beside me and reached for the bread. “So, what have you learned in your adventures?”
I told him all about the rooms I had discovered and showed him the book I had brought from the library. He seemed intrigued, especially by the chapters on Myrilla’s ancient kings.
“I must have missed this book,” he said, glancing through the pages. “I wouldn’t mind reading it when you’ve finished. There’s still so much I don’t know.” He stopped at an illustration of a young woman standing alone in a wheat field. Flowers covered her gown and fell from her hands, illuminated in gold. “Is this Kore?”
He said it in the Itomian fashion, with the e long, as in the word “see,” which I am told is similar to the Greek pronunciation. I touched the edge of the drawing, rough and worn from age. “It is,” I said.
“She’s beautiful. Though I suppose that could easily be just the artist’s rendering.”
I frowned at the picture. “No, every story says she was lovely beyond compare. But that’s not what drew the God of Souls to her. It was her kindness and joy, her virtue, that made him seek her as his own.”
I closed the book and picked up my stew before it could turn cold. We ate in silence, broken only by our spoons scraping the bowls and the crackle of sparks when Adam placed another log on the fire. The room was dreadfully cold; I drew my fur around me and watched Adam sop up the last of his stew with a hunk of bread.
He gazed at the flames, chewing thoughtfully. “Do you think it’s all real?” he asked.
“What?”
“That story.” He gestured to the book. “Kore and the God of Souls.”
“Of course it’s real,” I said hotly. “It’s the very foundation of Myrilla’s existence.”
He set down his bowl. “I’m not questioning your religion, don’t misunderstand me. I’m talking about Kore. She’s Myrilla’s goddess, yes, but she wasn’t always. According to your story she was a mortal, just like you or me, and one day when she was out in the fields the God of Souls took her away. She simply vanished, gone forever, until her descendants took up the Myrillan crown. Do you truly believe that’s how it happened?”
His face was earnest, not taunting, and I could tell he wanted an honest answer. My brow furrowed as I thought; it wasn’t something I’d ever considered before. Perhaps you think me naïve, but in my kingdom, religion and politics were interwoven so tightly that separating the two was unthinkable. You could not have one without the other. It was the reason I visited the temple each day, praying that the gods would shape me into a queen deserving of the title.
But as much as I dedicated myself to scholarship and ceremony, I had never seen Kore with my own eyes. No one had. Even the priest of my childhood had performed his rites based on what he had been taught, the legacy of his predecessors. The closest I’d come to encountering Kore was standing at the edge of the barren wheat fields.
“I don’t know,” I said simply. “I can only hope it’s true.”
He wrapped his arms around his knees, still watching the fire. “Imagine if it were,” he said with a small smile. “If the God of Souls could take a common man and fashion him into a god. How extraordinary that would be.”
“Extraordinary,” I echoed, thinking of the picture of Kore. The strength and wisdom in her face, and the courage she must have held in her heart, in spite of her fear. If someone so perfect had indeed walked the fields as a mortal woman it’s no surprise the God of Souls took her. After all, nothing less than perfection would ever satisfy him. I smiled to myself and sipped my wine, bitterly aware that my endless catalogue of flaws would keep me safe from the gods.
Chapter 11
Several days after our discussion about Kore, Adam and I were sitting side by side in the throne room receiving visitors when he leaned toward me and said, “I spoke to Lilianne earlier today. Just outside the temple. She hardly ever leaves the place, does she?”
I turned to him, taking advantage of the break in supplicants. “You saw her? When?”
“After you’d left to go work in the garden.”
“Oh.” I felt oddly betrayed. Part of me was pleased that Adam had taken such an interest in my kingdom’s gods, but I hadn’t yet grown accustomed to it. “What did you talk about?”
“The solstice takes place in two weeks and I wanted to discuss plans for the celebration.”
My irritation grew. “Adam, we’re still trying to balance the larder from when we celebrated the new treaties, and that was ages ago. How are we supposed to feast the whole kingdom with a practically bare pantry?”
He smiled as a woman approached, towing three children and holding a baby on her hip. Her dark hair had come loose from its plait and her face was shadowed with exhaustion.
“We won’t feast the whole kingdom,” he said to me. “Just a small portion.”
I did not understand his riddle, and since he deemed it unnecessary to provide an explanation, I didn’t ask for one. I was perfectly content to live in denial while he orchestrated his grand vision with Lilianne. His spendthrift habits could not bother me if I behaved as though they didn’t exist. Besides, I had the castle to attend to.
Accompanied by feasting or not, the solstice is one of Myrilla’s most important days of the year. Light is crucial for the crops’ growth and the return of the sun calls for celebration. Myrilla hadn’t prepared for the winter solstice in the years of my uncle’s tyranny, so under Adam’s new reign I had decided a proper transformation was long overdue. I’d ordered evergreen boughs to be cut and brought indoors, and stayed up many nights by the fire sewing them into long garlands, trimmed with white holly berries, to be draped around the castle or given to any citizen who would like one. I’d painted long, flat leaves silver and fashioned them to look like huge laurel wreaths—in honor of Adam’s heritage—and hung them from every door. Thanks to the beekeepers we had no shortage of wax, so hundreds of candles burned in the evenings, filling the castle with a fragrant glow. The activity kept my mind occupied; I was determined to make Myrilla look beautiful, a joyful spot of light on the darkest day of the year.
My curiosity about Adam’s plans got the better of me, though, when I walked into the hall a few days later and saw him speaking with the master carpenter, their backs facing me.
“I believe the benches I’ve made will be high enough,” the master carpenter was saying. “How many are you expecting, Lord King?”
Adam scratched his chin “At least two hundred—” He stopped when he noticed my shadow on the stone floor. “Hello, Alyce. You look lovely this afternoon.”
The carpenter bowed to me and I smiled warmly at him before cutting my eyes back to my husband. “Thank you, how kind of you to say. You are always so thoughtful and considerate. Now, as for these benches. You are expecting at least two hundred…what, precisely?”
“Guests. For the solstice.”
I stared at him, certain I had misheard. The carpenter shifted uncomfortably. Behind me in the kitchen I heard a metal tray drop with a crash, accompanied by angry shouts from the cook. The noise must have stirred something inside me, for in the next moment I felt my hand reach for Adam’s arm.
“Would you excuse us, please?” I said to the carpenter, smiling at him with blank eyes as I drew Adam away. My fingers gripped his arm like a clamp. “Now,” I said through my hard
smile. “What is this business about two hundred guests?”
“They’re coming the eve of the solstice,” he said, his excitement unaffected by my tone. “I can’t tell you any more, it’s meant to be a surprise.”
I closed my eyes, willing him to adopt logic into his response. “Adam, I want to trust you, I do.” I drew a deep breath and looked at him. “But how do you plan to feast two hundred people? We can’t even feast the court, and that’s a mere fraction. We cannot afford it—”
“These guests don’t expect a feast.” He laughed. “They’ll be thrilled with whatever we provide.”
“And what will that be?” I demanded. “Corncakes and bacon?”
He nodded thoughtfully. “That’s not a bad suggestion. Economical and nutritious. Soldier’s fare. Served with fresh milk you’d have quite a hearty meal.” He managed to extract his arm from my claw-like grasp. “Now, Alyce, don’t ask me any more questions. I don’t want to spoil it. You must simply trust that I would do nothing to damage your reputation as a great queen and charming hostess.”
With that, he left me at the hall doors and returned to the master carpenter, who had nervously turned his hat in his hands all through our argument. I frowned at Adam’s back, desperate to know his plans, then made my way to the grounds where the tree men were waiting to cut whichever boughs I still needed.
When the morning of the solstice arrived, I woke with a strange sense of dread. Out of habit I glanced over at Adam’s side of the bed, but of course it was empty. The air in the room felt wet and heavy and when I pushed back the curtain I saw nothing but grey skies and barren land. The cold seemed to seep into my bones; I pulled on two pairs of stockings and dressed in my thickest clothes, but still couldn’t harness any warmth.
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