Kore's Field

by N. C. Sellars

  “So I take it you’ll not want to wager against him?” she teased.

  “Not in the least.” I laughed. “And more fool to anyone who does.”

  The caller raised his hand, signaling for silence. The crowd obliged and the archers finished testing their strings and reached for their first arrows. All the other competitors blurred into the background as I watched Adam. I could see the intense concentration on his face as he gazed at the target with fondness and mastery, the same way he gazed at his lyre before he began to play it. I knew that look well; nothing could break his concentration now.

  “Each competitor will shoot five arrows,” said the caller. “After the fifth arrow, the judges will tally the score according to where they hit the target and a winner will be announced. Archers, notch your first arrow and take aim.”

  In almost perfect unison, the competitors fitted their arrows to their bowstrings and drew. They all appeared experienced and self-assured—no green archers with wobbly elbows or slacken wrists to be seen. Adam, of course, drew his string in one seamless, fluid motion, his gaze never wavering from the center of the target. He seemed oblivious to the eyes fastened upon him, or even the other archers. He could have very well been practicing in our private archery butts at the castle.

  “Loose!”

  I jumped in my seat, so intently was I watching that I’d forgotten the caller. The air filled with twangs and a series of soft thuds as the arrows found their targets. At once the crowd burst into applause and the caller raised his hand for silence once more as the competitors reached for their second arrows. All of them, except—

  “What’s the king doing?”

  I leaned forward in my seat, along with everyone else in the stands, as Adam strode across the green toward his target. He gripped the shaft of his arrow and pulled it out with a deft tug. It left a small hole behind, in the precise center of the bull’s-eye. He handed the arrow to one of the judges and, after a quick word which no one else could hear, Adam returned to his spot and reached for his second arrow. The box broke out in curious whispers, but no one could quite explain his intent.

  The caller raised his hand for silence once more. “Archers, your second arrow, please. Now, loose!”

  Once again, the targets were peppered with arrows, apart from Adam’s, which only held one. And once again, when the others had lowered their bows he marched straight to his target and pulled the arrow from the bull’s-eye. This time, however, the applause did not die down, it only intensified. It wasn’t difficult to see why: there was still only one hole in Adam’s target. His second arrow had punctured the exact same spot as the first.

  The next two rounds continued this way. After each shot Adam retrieved his arrow from the target and handed it to the judge before returning to his place in line. The other competitors knew they were all playing for second, for no one else had managed to hit the bull’s-eye even twice, much less four times in the same hole.

  Finally, it was time for the last round. The caller raised his hand for silence and, amazingly, the crowd obeyed. No one could tear their eyes away from the astonishing spectacle of the king’s skill. “Archers,” he called, “notch your final arrows, and draw.”

  The green was so quiet I could hear the stretch of catgut and the creak of wooden bows bending in time. A cool breeze picked up and the sun, hidden by clouds all morning, spilled bright light directly in the archers’ eyes. I stood up and rested my hands on the box’s rail, only dimly aware that the rest of the court had risen as well. A few of the other archers squinted or balked at the strong sunshine, but Adam didn’t flinch.

  “Loose!”

  My heart leapt in my chest and every head turned toward the king’s target. After a split second of silence, the crowd burst into the loudest cheers yet. Adam didn’t even have to pull out the last arrow; every eye could see it had fit the hole as cleanly and easily as the four that preceded it.

  The caller was overwhelmed, to say the least. “I think there is no argument that King Admetus is the winner,” he said, though I don’t believe anyone was listening. “You’ll find your prize waiting in the royal box, Lord King.”

  Adam was already on his way, though instead of making for the steps he leapt onto the scaffolding and began climbing. Giddy with laughter, I leaned over the rail and watched him scale the side of the box in his full armor. He finally reached the top and swung his legs over the rail and stood before me, breathless from the climb with sweat gleaming on his temples. The laurel wreath on his head was knocked askew and he looked at me a long moment. I say it was long, though it probably only lasted a few seconds. But it was full, full of hope and patience and joy and something like hunger, though not quite. It was more like the look in a man’s eyes when he’s thirsty from battle or a long day in the fields and stumbles across a cool, clear stream. I opened my mouth to congratulate him, to tell him how beautifully he had shot, when he moved very close to me and gently took my face in his hands. Then, without a word spoken between us or even the slightest hesitation, he kissed me.

  I wish I could tell you the words I said after I shared my first proper kiss with my husband, but I recall nothing of the moments that followed. I only remember how hard my heart was beating, and how all the blood in my body seemed to rush from my feet to my face and back again. I remember that I didn’t stagger from surprise; instead I felt strong and steady, like a tree spreading its roots deep into the earth and feeling safe in the knowledge that nothing, no storms or tempest winds, could ever shake the bond. The very same bond I felt with Adam in that moment. Adam, King Admetus, my husband.

  When Adam drew his face away his eyes stayed locked on mine, brimming with warmth. I was only vaguely aware of everyone cheering, even the most stolid courtiers in the royal box, so happy were they to see their king and queen engaging in affection. But their proud cries were of little importance. For the first time since Adam’s army had invaded Myrilla I didn’t care what anyone thought or said of me. I had just kissed the man I loved.

  He put his mouth close to my ear, and his warm breath tickled the downy hairs at my temple as he murmured, “My darling Alyce, I couldn’t wait a moment longer.”

  A spark of laughter escaped my mouth and I threw my arms around Adam’s neck. He may have lifted me up and spun me around, but I couldn’t tell you for sure. As far as I knew, I was already flying.

  • • •

  When the games were over we processed to the great hall and feasted for the rest of the evening. The athletes regaled their tales and everyone ate until they felt like bursting. The feast lasted so long that it was well past midnight when Adam and I finally made our way back to our chamber, ensconced in the happy glow of celebration. Adam’s arm held my waist firmly as he pushed open the door and ushered me inside. A small fire burned cheerfully behind the hearth; already the warm nights of late summer had turned cool. But I felt no chill that night. Indeed, a blizzard could have blown through the windows and I’d not have noticed it.

  “So, Lady Queen,” said Adam, shutting the door behind us. “What do you command of your champion?”

  I moved close to the fire and sank to the floor, too tired to climb into a chair. “I’ve never had a champion to command,” I replied. “Tell me, Master Archer, what is a customary request?”

  He sat in the chair and removed one of his boots. “Well, I believe duels are customary, but since no one would dare insult the honor of such a fine queen as yourself, we may have to be more creative than that. If you’re hungry I can send for sweets from the kitchens, or something to drink if you’re thirsty.” He dropped his boots on the floor and paused. “Of course,” he said, gazing at me thoughtfully. “I’d burn with envy against any cup that had the privilege of touching your lips before I had a chance to do so again.”

  I blushed and looked away; without a sound, he left his chair and knelt before me on the hearth rug. He put his hand to my cheek and slowly turned my face toward his. My chest had felt warm from wine all evening, but
when I looked at him and remembered our kiss I felt sharp and alert, as though someone had poured icy water down my back. His eyes, too, held none of the lazy softness of a man who’s been celebrating since well before sundown.

  “Stay right here,” he said, in a voice barely above a whisper. “I have something for you.”

  I couldn’t have moved if I’d wanted to. I kept still, just as he said, bound by curiosity. I was nearly trembling with anticipation when he returned with a flat wooden box. He placed it carefully in my hands, kneeling before me. In the firelight I could see the image of a rose carved into the top of the box, bordered by sprawling vines. The wood was polished to satin, a brown so rich it almost looked red.

  “It’s incredible,” I breathed, slowly turning the box so I could see the picture from all angles. “Your skill with a carving knife is unmatched, Lord King.”

  He gave a knowing smile. “Open it.”

  I looked at him, but his face gave nothing away. My fingers found the latch and I lifted the lid almost reverently.

  “Oh, Adam.” My hand flew to my throat and for a moment I could not breathe. Inside the box, resting on the thinnest silk cushion, was a crown. It was the most beautiful object I had ever seen. Delicate and light, it seemed to float above the silk. It was a perfect circle of roses, wrought from wisps of gold so fine they looked like spun sugar. On a wild impulse I reached out my hand to touch it, then drew it back, afraid the crown would shatter in my fingers. I raised my head and saw Adam grinning at me.

  “I know you’re attached to the crown my mother gave you,” he said, gesturing to the gleaming laurel wreath in my hair, “but if you’ll allow me the honor of seeing this one on you, just for a moment, you can wear whichever you favor best.”

  I nodded, my mouth suddenly dry. I lifted the laurel wreath from my hair and laid it carefully in the wooden box, now empty. Adam held the new crown, his calloused hands dwarfing it with their strength. The golden roses seemed to quiver at his touch. I leaned forward and kept very still as he placed it on my head. When I raised my eyes he was watching me with that same look of thirst he’d had after the archery contest.

  “Thank you,” I whispered. “It’s beautiful.”

  He shook his head. “Not as beautiful as you.”

  Normally such a statement wouldn’t be worthy of a second thought. But something deep inside me knew that this was no courtly talk, no polite Itomian prattle. I felt a great weight pulling me down, fastening me to the stone floor, forcing me to pay attention. Something grand was happening. Something magnificent and important, grave and beautiful.

  “You must realize it, Alyce,” he said, taking my hand. “You must know how fair you are, in every sense of the word. You’re gentle when others are rough. You’re patient when others are demanding. You give when everyone else around you only takes.” He bent over my hand and traced the fragile skin of my inner wrist. “I should know. You’ve given me more than I could ever deserve.”

  I frowned at the top of his head. “Adam, that isn’t true. You’re the most generous person I’ve ever known. No other king has done for his people what you have—”

  “I’m not talking about the people, I’m talking about you.” He looked up and touched my cheek, his eyes glowing.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, growing increasingly alarmed. “Adam, is something wrong?”

  He laughed, his hand still on my cheek. “Nothing. Nothing is wrong. In fact, for the first time I can remember, everything is right. Because of you.”

  I looked between his eyes, my uneasiness growing. He’d never spoken to me like this. Earnestly, with such conviction. “I don’t understand, Adam. What am I supposed to have made right?”

  “Me, Alyce. The gods brought me to you, knowing that your strength and kindness and wisdom would wear away my hard, selfish edges and shape me into a better man. Can’t you see that? They knew you would change my life forever. And not just mine, but all of your people’s. Thanks to you, the gods made Myrilla fruitful again. Their favor has made you radiant. They could invite you to their holy mountain and you’d fit in perfectly. Goddess of spring, indeed.” He brushed his fingers through my hair and white flower petals floated to the carpet.

  I knew I should shake my head, tell him to stop with this foolish blasphemy, and ask the gods’ forgiveness, but I didn’t. My thoughts were filled with Adam. The respect and decency he showed me in our early time together, when he was under no obligation to do so. The kind words he used whenever he spoke to me, the care and attention he gave me even though I hardly ever deserved it. The way he made me laugh and always put my interests first. My heart hammered in my chest and to my surprise, I found my eyes wet with tears. I blinked and they spilled down my cheeks, cool and soft.

  Adam’s warm thumb wiped the tears away. “The gods have my allegiance. You have my heart, Alyce,” he whispered. “And with it, my deepest love.”

  I nodded, my cheeks still wet. “And you have mine.”

  With the smallest of smiles, Adam leaned forward and kissed me. I pulled him close, ready to be enveloped by his warmth. His lips still pressed to mine, he lifted me up from the hearth rug and into his arms.

  Earlier in the day I had been crowned queen. That night I became the wife of a king.

  Chapter 27

  I woke the next morning with Adam’s arm slung around my bare waist. The room was dark, with only a hint of grey light peering through the windows. In spite of the early hour I didn’t feel the least bit tired. Just the opposite. My mind was a blur of excitement and plans. Careful not to disturb Adam, I turned over beneath the cool sheets to watch his sleeping face. My heart skipped merrily as I wondered if a tiny prince or princess was growing in my belly. I considered slipping out to the temple early to make an offering to Kore so she might intervene on my behalf to the gods, in hopes of a blessed pregnancy. Then I remembered we were scheduled to arrive at the temple at midday. Only one rite remained in the harvest: the thanksgiving to the God of Souls. Then life would return to normal. Brimming with happiness, I ran my fingers through Adam’s golden curls, burrowed into his warm chest, and slept once more.

  • • •

  The second time I opened my eyes, I was alone in the bed. I stretched in the tangle of sheets, staring up at the ceiling while the smell of breakfast wafted from the tray on my table. Eventually I sat up to eat before it turned cold, and on the tray I found a note from Adam. He wrote that he had left to visit his herdsman and would meet me at the temple before the ceremony of thanksgiving. (There were also promises of devotion and love talk, but I find that is best reserved for the husbands and wives directly involved. I’m sure you understand.)

  After breakfast I bathed and dressed for the ceremony; it was a beautiful day with a clear blue sky streaked with only a few feathery clouds. I chose a gown in pale lilac and stitched in a vine of flowering yellow jasmine so that it wrapped the waist and crisscrossed the bodice. The crown Adam had given me was the final touch. I took it from the carved box and placed it carefully on my head, pinning it to my hair so it wouldn’t slip. When it was secure enough to satisfy me, I beckoned to my maids and we left for the temple.

  Our walk was cheerful and light; I didn’t say much, I simply enjoyed listening to the maids whisper amongst themselves. Normally I would have joined in or offered my opinion on their topic of conversation, but I was engrossed with the scenery. The trees were heavy with leaves so deeply green they seemed to pull the branches toward the earth. As we ascended the hill I spotted the apple and pear orchards in the distance, where the fruit was nearly ready for picking. Already I could see the harvesters at work on the plum and cherry trees, and the late summer vegetable fields were almost depleted of their offerings. The scent of roses and lilies perfumed the air; I fancied I could put out my tongue and taste the sweetness of their fragrance as though it were syrup. I found it difficult to believe it would soon be autumn, with the new planting season not far behind.

  We drew closer to the temple and
I couldn’t stop myself smiling when I saw Adam waiting at the doors. He left the group of courtiers he was speaking with and skipped down the stairs. His eyes bright, he held my shoulders and lightly kissed my cheek.

  “If it’s possible, Alyce, you look even more beautiful than yesterday,” he murmured, then tucked my hand into the crook of his arm. “Tell me I have the privilege of escorting you inside.”

  I laughed, squeezing his arm. “Of course, Lord King.”

  “Then come with me. Most of the court has arrived and Lilianne seems anxious to begin. Tell me again, what part must we take in the ceremony?”

  I tilted my head closer to his as we ascended the steps. “It’s simply our way of showing thanks for the harvest. All we have to do is throw our grain offering into the fire. Lilianne will speak and make another offering to Kore, and we’ll be finished.”

  “Very well then,” he said, and then fell silent as we passed over the threshold.

  At the back of the temple, below the carved panels, Lilianne paced back and forth before the alter, just as I’d found her dozens of times. The only difference between this and any other visit was the presence of Adam. He stood beside me, strong and straight as a pillar, and I silently thanked the gods for blessing me with such a fine man as my husband. We stopped a short distance from the altar, watching Lilianne, and waiting.

  She reached into her pouch of grain and withdrew a handful. Not one speck fell to the stone floor as she weighed it in her hand. “Our king and queen, chosen by you, oh gods, acknowledge the fortune you have bestowed upon them in this rich harvest. For that they offer their thanks. Not because they feel worthy of such blessings, but because you are worthy of honor in times of both famine and harvest.”

  Adam and I stepped forward and held out our hands for the grain. Its sweet, nutty scent filled my nose and I felt it shifting and rolling against my skin. We carried the grain in our carefully cupped hands and cast it into the fire. It vanished at once, devoured by the flames. I looked up at the carving of the God of Souls’ hand reaching into the wheat and smiled. Never had I thought I would see a fruitful harvest in Myrilla, and we had just enjoyed the most bounteous in her history.