Every day the farms showed new promise. The river swelled from the warm spring rains and set the farmers to irrigating their fields with new vigor. Adam and I rode out to watch them carefully directing the thin streams of water with their spades, using the ancient methods passed down by their fathers and grandfathers. It was slow, painstaking work and absolutely mesmerizing to watch. It wasn’t long before tiny green shoots peppered every vegetable patch.
Of course, the greatest joy of all came from the wheat fields. When I peered through the iron gate and saw the first flecks of green sprouting throughout the black field, I nearly wept for relief. It wasn’t a guarantee—Myrilla had seen green wheat crops die plenty of times—so there was still much patience to be endured. Only when the wheat grew taller than my waist, golden and strong, with its heavy head of berries would we be assured of a harvest.
It seemed we took the air nearly every day. When we weren’t receiving requests from the people, Adam and I spent hours together in my garden. Weeds sprang up as fast as I could clear them, especially following rain, and on those days Adam put aside his lyre and helped me. I’m sure the lords and ladies of Myrilla would have clutched their sides in mirth to see their king and queen crouching in the flowerbeds, arms and hands streaked with black earth. It was good fun, though, and Adam and I laughed together quite often. We took our bows to the archery butts and Adam continued to teach me; we rode out with the court to view the spring and early summer flowers; we spread rugs beneath the great oak trees in the courtyard and invited the servants to join us in a picnic of cold chicken, fruit tarts, and sweetened lemon juice.
One afternoon we were walking through the apple orchards, admiring the ripening fruit, when Adam pulled a roll of parchment from his pocket.
“My father and mother are hosting a banquet at their castle in a fortnight,” he said. “They’ve invited us to attend.”
“What’s the occasion?”
“It’s the beginning of boar season. They put on a great hunt every year for the court. Lords travel from all over Itomius to participate, and they bring their families. My parents will have all sorts of activities planned, it’s always a wonderful time. Would you like to come?”
I frowned. “To Itomius? I don’t know, Adam. I’ve never left Myrilla.”
“You did when you were a baby. Lord Daltena said your whole family visited him at the Sea’s Arm, remember?”
“That’s not the same thing; I have no memory of that journey.” I took the parchment and studied it. Elegant Itomian script, heavy and black, covered the page. I handed it back to him. “If you wish to go, that’s perfectly fine with me. But I don’t think I should attend.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t have any particular reasons, just a feeling.”
He smirked at that. “Right. You do have reasons, you just won’t tell me.”
I gently touched a small apple, saying nothing. It was pale green, but faint red streaks had started to appear along its skin.
“Alyce,” said Adam, “my family would not have invited both of us if they didn’t want you there. You’re my wife, they see you as one of their own.”
“No, they don’t,” I replied. “Do you not remember how much you talked about Itomius when we first married? It was your favorite topic of conversation. You and Turius discussed it nonstop. How the fountains are filled with wine and the palace walls are plated with gold. You told me yourself that when you were growing up your lowest servants ate better than the royalty here. You said Myrilla is a hole compared to Itomius. That your friends mocked you for even wanting to have it for your own.”
He laughed. “I forget what a good memory you have.”
“It’s easy to remember nasty jibes when they’re aimed at your homeland. If that’s the way your family feels about Myrilla, then that’s how they’ll feel about me. They’re going to despise me. I won’t go.”
I started back to my horse but he caught up before I could put my foot in in the stirrup. “When I said those things about Myrilla, I was behaving like a spoiled child who’s so caught up in what he used to have that he can’t appreciate what’s in front of him,” he said, his voice warm. “Besides, we’re both Myrillans now. If anyone there looks down their noses, they’re looking down at both of us.”
I gazed over my shoulder at the orchards and fields spread out in every direction. Each was a hub of activity, peppered with workers tending the crops. It made me terribly uneasy to think of leaving during such a critical time. I opened my mouth to say this, but then I saw the eagerness in Adam’s eyes. He was aching for the hunt, and for me to refuse would hurt him deeply. I also couldn’t help feeling curious about his family. He didn’t speak of them often, and I thought that perhaps meeting them would help me better understand his ways.
“Very well,” I said, breaking into an unexpected smile. “I’d love to come.”
He laughed and lifted me into the saddle. “Itomius will never be the same for it.”
• • •
Because I had not traveled outside Myrilla since I was a young child, I had no inkling of the complexities involved in transforming a stationary court into a mobile one. Adam told me the feast would last a week; he did not deign to mention that the journey to his homeland would take just as long, including an overture in Warkenland to thank King Torbold for reopening the roads between our lands so quickly. The week of our departure I sat in the presence chamber looking at the maps while Adam and Turius—whom my husband appointed deputy during our absence—finalized the details of our train.
“I still don’t understand how it’ll take over twice as long to get there than it will to come home, even accounting the visit to King Torbold,” I said to Adam. “It’s the same road, is it not?”
“No, we’re making a loop,” he replied. “We’ll take the western road to Warkenland, then turn north toward Itomius. When it’s time to come home we’ll go south.”
I frowned at the map. “But there isn’t a road through the mountains.”
“Not on that map, there isn’t.” He joined me, leaning over my back as he traced his finger on the parchment. “We’ll take the mountain pass, which opens straight into the fields. You’ll be able to see the vineyards the moment Myrilla comes into view.”
My ears rang with the words mountain pass. “That’s how we’re getting through the mountains? The road you and your men carved out when you brought your army?”
“Yes, I’m eager to see it again.” He dropped his cheerful tone when he saw my face. “It’s perfectly safe, Alyce, I promise. I wouldn’t have let one soldier set foot in the pass without making certain it was sound. Scouts are there as we speak, inspecting it and making sure it’s clear for our train. If there’s even the slightest hint of danger we’ll come back through Warkenland instead.”
I nodded, though inside I felt sick. The thought of riding through those terrible mountains, mountains that had burned with raging wildfires only weeks prior, chilled my stomach. I forced myself to smile and praise Adam’s plan. The list of supplies and courtiers Turius was putting together soon provided a distraction, however. I found it ridiculous and extravagant and, to put it mildly, utterly absurd.
“Do we honestly need to take three bakers with us?” I said, gaping at the sheaves of paper spilling over the table. “And what on earth will we need two ironsmiths for?”
Turius rolled his eyes at my question. “One of the horses might lose a shoe on the road and need a replacement.” He pushed a scroll toward Adam. “Here’s that boundary post dispute. You’ll want to sign the new order before you leave or the farmers will be at each other’s throats.”
Adam leaned back in his chair to read the agreement. “It’s common practice, Alyce,” he said. “We must plan for any eventuality.”
“Then bring a trunk of extra horseshoes and a groom who knows how to shoe a horse.” I watched, annoyed, as Turius dipped his pen in the ink, then began adding even more supplies in his illegible scrawl. I turned back t
o my husband. “Adam, this is folly. We’ll be gone three weeks, not three years.”
Turius snorted. “I assure you, I wouldn’t have you bringing anything you didn’t absolutely need while you’re away.”
I snatched up one of the papers. “So you’re saying we’ll absolutely need thirty vats of wine, half the kennel of hunting dogs, and sixty pounds of cheese? You might as well uproot the castle and send it with us as well.”
Turius started to argue, but Adam intervened. “This is what happens when a court goes on progress, Alyce,” he said, prying the paper from my fingertips. “The way we present ourselves on the road is the impression we make on the world. We can’t just think of Itomius, there’s Warkenland to consider as well.”
I scoffed. “Warkenland doesn’t care how many courtiers and bakers we bring. They’re so thrilled the roads are reopened that we could show up in sackcloth and they’d still feast us ’til dawn. And we’re going to Itomius to visit your family. Surely they just want to see you, and not have to go through the whole production of entertaining your court.”
He folded his arms. “My parents wouldn’t mind, but—” He stopped.
I folded my arms, waiting for him to continue. “Yes?”
He sighed and scratched his jaw. “My brother will be there, appraising and judging everything that passes under his eyes. Not to mention his wife’s reaction—she’s an utter snake. Everyone’s always thought of Syrano as the success of the family, being heir to Itomius and all. If I don’t impress him…well, it doesn’t matter what he says about me, but Myrilla’s future may one day depend on a good relationship with him. I don’t want to give any impression to make him doubt the prosperity of our kingdom.”
I rested my elbows on the table, pondering his words. I wanted to tell him that any fool would know that Myrilla’s lackluster train, no matter how abundant in quantity and supplies, would never compare to the glittering court of Itomius, but I bit back my tongue before I could snap at him. Instead I smoothed my dress over my knees and drew a deep breath. “What if we tried a simpler tact?”
Both he and Turius looked at me. Adam put down his pen. “What did you have in mind?”
“Well, if your brother is as difficult to impress as you say—”
“He can hardly help it, being blessed by the gods as he is,” he said shortly.
I frowned, surprised by his bitterness. “Then he’s probably expecting you to parade the whole court under his nose. He’ll be looking for things to criticize, so don’t let him. You said yourself nothing you do can match his success. I say don’t bother to play his game.”
Turius straightened his stack of endless lists. “With respect, Lady Queen, Admetus knows the proper way to engage with his family. I should know, having grown up in the Itomian court myself.”
He started to pass the parchment to Adam, but my husband turned in his chair to fully face me and said, “I’m intrigued, wife. Pray continue.”
I licked my lips, choosing my next works carefully. “Rather than create an opportunity for him to be unkind about what he sees before him,” I said, “present a smaller picture of utter bliss and perfection for him to study, and he’ll surely imagine the rest of Myrilla appears the same way. So will everyone else, for that matter. A small, merry party of twenty horses is more likely to win smiles than an exhaustive army of five hundred.”
Turius shook his head dismissively, but Adam considered this. “That’s very good. If nothing else, we’ll be less of an imposition on Warkenland. King Torbold is the most practical man I’ve ever met. He won’t miss the hassle of finding lodging and space for a large court. And it would drive any critics mad with speculation, seeing us blissfully happy amidst such quaint circumstances.”
I smiled. “That it shall.”
Satisfied, he looked at Turius. “What do you think, Deputy?”
Turius gazed at the elaborate list before him, then scored through the whole thing with an irritated sigh. Of course he was angry. Any triumph of mine was his defeat.
“Prudent as ever, Lady Queen,” he said to me in a flat voice. “What a gift from the gods you are.”
• • •
Three days later Adam and I set out for Warkenland, accompanied only by a handful of soldiers and even fewer courtiers. Turius, reveling in his new role of deputy, still could not understand why we had slashed our band to the bone. He saw us off from the courtyard, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“You’re only taking two wagons, and one of them is half full of flowers and fruit,” he said in a flat voice. “Do you plan to sleep on a bed of daisies and berries when you stop each night?”
Adam tightened his saddle girth. “Our trunks have everything we need. The pavilion will be a simple one.”
“And the flowers are for gifts, and to ornament our train,” I explained.
Turius didn’t even glance at me; even then he still preferred to pretend I did not exist. “I still think wine would be much more gladly received than flowers,” he muttered.
I turned from my horse, which was happily munching a carrot, and glared at Turius. “They convey Kore’s favor upon the wearer. Lillianne blessed them in the temple this morning. Just because you don’t appreciate it doesn’t mean other kings and queens won’t.”
Turius mumbled something under his breath, but before I could snap at him to speak up properly, Adam stepped between us.
“Enough,” he said to Turius, then turned to me and put his hands on my shoulders. “Everything is accounted for. Are you ready?” At my nod, he lifted me into the saddle and clapped Turius on the back. “Try not to destroy the crops while we’re gone. I expect detailed reports upon my return. Send your fastest riders if anything goes amiss.”
With that, we rode out of the courtyard and through the castle gates. People crowded the road’s edge, eager to glimpse their sovereigns. It was strange to see Adam wearing his crown outside of the throne room, looking every inch a proper king as he smiled and waved. I did my best to mimic him, though all I could see was a crowd of endless faces, faces depending on Kore to deliver the harvest.
Once we left the gates far behind I felt much more comfortable. The crowd thinned to nonexistence; farmers tending their crops removed their caps and bowed as we rode past, otherwise we enjoyed solitude. The new stones in the road shone like a bright path before us, and the horses’ hooves made a delightful clip against them. Dark clouds gathered in the south, streaks of blue fading to the earth and bringing nourishment to the fields. I closed my eyes and inhaled, grinning at the scent of horse and leather, budding wheat and distant rain.
• • •
The skies remained fair throughout our journey to Warkenland. Adam was right about King Torbold’s reaction to our party. He ushered us into his castle and offered us the choicest rooms for all our number. He praised Adam for a peaceful and just king and offered me the finest bull in his pasture as a gift. I could only stare at the menacing creature, which reached my shoulder in height, and stammer my thanks. Then Adam matched King Torbold’s generosity by offering to buy the second-finest bull in the king’s pasture, an offer the king of course graciously accepted. We danced and feasted and laughed all evening. When I woke up the next morning I was very sorry to leave. I suspected watching Adam try to impress his brother for a week would not be as pleasant as attending a banquet at Warkenland’s royal table.
Chapter 17
The closer we drew to Itomius over the coming days, the happier Adam looked and the sicker I felt. Gone was my cavalier attitude from the presence chamber; I was certain I had entirely misjudged our presentation, and that our pitiful train would be the target of endless mockery. I had no experience with a court on progress; why had Adam even listened to me?
My husband, however, seemed utterly pleased with our decision to simplify. The morning we crossed the border to his homeland, his face grew brighter than the sun. Without the distraction of a great mobile court and all its inevitable problems of broken wheel axles and such del
ays in travel, he was able to enjoy himself. He grew increasingly talkative as we rode on; every rolling hill and fir tree seemed to have a story from his boyhood attached. On our journey’s final night we camped near the northernmost fork of the Broom River and rose well before dawn to prepare for our arrival to the palace. The sun was just peering over the horizon when we set out with our train, festooned with Myrilla’s finest offerings. Garlands of roses and ivory-colored moon ivy were wrapped around our horses’ bridles and hung over our saddles. Adam’s horse blanket glowed with fireflowers I had sewn into the warm crimson wool, matching the arms of his homeland. As a salute to his family’s crest, he wore the wreath of laurel I had made him instead of his crown. I sported a similar wreath, though mine was interwoven with rosemary. Adam’s armor gleamed in the dappled sunlight, and he rode with his bow strapped to his back and lyre hanging from his side instead of his sword, both of which I had adorned with laurel as well. My gown was dyed dark red, Itomian red, and trimmed with white and silver roses. Adam, his eyes alight with joy, looked like a woodland god as our fragrant party rode through the lush forest.
“I swam in that pool when I was a boy,” he said, gesturing through the trees. “Its waters never grew too warm, even in the hottest summers. After a long hunt I’d simply jump in with all my clothes on. And in the winter it was perfect for skating. The ice grew so thick you couldn’t even break through it with an axe. Syrano tried once.”
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