Kore's Field

by Sellars, N. C.

  “He’s a precious child,” I murmured, wiping my eyes once more. “He shouldn’t have to experience this.”

  Adam moved closer to me and rested his hand on my lower back. I waited for him to make some platitude about the gods and their plans, as he’d done so many times before when I was upset, but he didn’t. All he said was: “No, he shouldn’t.”

  • • •

  After the luncheon we finished the preparations for our homeward journey. So many visitors and dignitaries had arrived for Syrano’s funeral that Adam and I were able to slip away unnoticed before fruit and cheese were served. Adam made for the stables to ensure our horses were fit and ready and that the wagons were properly loaded, while I took a final sweep of our rooms to confirm we had forgotten nothing. Once I had checked the last corner I stood in the center of the great bedchamber for the final time, gazing around at the unabashed opulence. The warm, midday sunlight streamed through the windows, transforming every tiny gilded detail into a glimmering spectacle.

  There was a knock at the door. “Come in,” I said absently, thinking one of the maids had arrived to strip the sheets and blankets from the bed for washing. But the voice that greeted me did not belong to a maid.

  “Alcestis.”

  I whirled around and saw Adam’s mother standing in the open doorway. I curtseyed at once, but so great was my shock that I forgot to do so in the Itomian style, with my hand extended invitingly and that elegant turn of the neck. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to mind my lack of grace, if the serene smile on her face was any indication.

  “Madame,” I said breathlessly. “How may I be of service?”

  She stepped into the room. “I only wanted to see that you and my son were well set for your departure. Is there anything else you’ll require for your journey home?”

  I shook my head, flattered that she would come all the way to our room just to check on our packing progress. “Not at all, Madame. We are nearly ready; we wouldn’t dream of imposing on your hospitality a moment longer.”

  Adam’s mother said nothing, she just watched me with a curious look on her face. I heard birds chirping outside the window and the grooms shouting to each other in the stable yard below. When I thought the queen was about to bid me farewell, she said, very gently, “You have much to learn about family, Alcestis, if you think your presence here is an imposition.”

  I lowered my head. “You’re right, Madame. I thank you.” Chastened, I kept my head down until I felt a cool hand on my arm. The queen was smiling at me, and she gestured toward the open door.

  “Come with me,” she said. “I have something to show you.”

  I obliged, following her through the curved corridors until we reached the other side of the palace. I had not seen these rooms before—of course the palace was so big it would take many weeks to visit and catalogue each chamber—but I soon realized we were in the royal wing, where Adam’s mother and father lived their private life. The queen led me straight through her bedchamber (four times the size of mine and Adam’s) into a room full of trunks and gowns. Bolts of fabric lay in neat stacks, labeled meticulously and sorted according to their use. A handful of maids were scattered throughout the room, organizing and mending the gowns. They curtseyed upon our entry, then returned to their silent work. The room was bursting with beauty and Itomian style, but my memory of my brief time in Aveline’s constricting clothes turned my admiration a bit sour.

  The queen must have noticed. “Aveline told me you refused to wear her gown for dinner,” she said. “You found it uncomfortable, didn’t you?”

  I bit my lip, searching for a tactful reply. At my hesitation, she smiled. “There’s no need to be ashamed, dear. No one finds them comfortable. Even after all these years I’ve never grown accustomed to them. I much prefer your Myrillan style of dress.”

  The queen crossed the room and opened a polished wooden trunk, drawing out a large, folded bundle of cornflower blue silk. “My great-grandmother visited Myrilla when she was about your age. That was back when your kingdom was known as much for its banquets and feasts as for its golden wheat fields. She was from the Capelin Isles, just a little lord’s daughter touring the great big world. Many courts did not welcome her kindly, including the Itomian court, I am sorry to say. But the Myrillan king and queen treated her as family. On the last night of her stay, Queen Bremeline presented her with this.”

  She unfolded the blue wrapping to reveal a gown sewn in the Myrillan style. A gown unlike any I had ever seen. The white silk flowed like water to the floor, cut to drape perfectly over the wearer’s body. I looked closer and saw thin ropes of white satin sewn into the skirt and bodice, like hundreds of vines, sprinkled through with embroidered white roses.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said, afraid to touch such a delicate garment. It reminded me of my aunt’s finest court dresses, antique gowns with exquisite embellishment reserved only for the most important of occasions. As a young child I had naively yearned for the day I could wear such lovely clothes, but then my uncle sold the collection in an attempt to keep the kingdom afloat. I never thought I would see a true Myrillan gown again.

  The queen smiled. “Try it on.”

  I knew I should protest, but found I could not. I so desperately wanted to wear it, if only for a few moments there in the queen’s chambers, that I nodded and let the maids undress me. I smiled as the cool silk poured over me, committing each fiber to memory so I would never forget the way it felt. The gown fit perfectly, draping and clinging in all the right places. A diamond clasp in the shape of a twisted vine fastened the fine fabric over my left shoulder, leaving my right shoulder naked and pearly white in the low lamplight. But there was nothing immodest about it; even Princess Aveline and her ladies couldn’t have accused me of indecency, though any thought of their criticisms grew increasingly dim the longer I stood there. I looked down and saw my bare arms nearly glowing from the gown’s radiance. Even my hands, still blistered and raw from the hunt, appeared fresh and renewed in their proximity to such beauty.

  “Lovely,” said the queen. She nodded to one of her maids, who brought over a small lacquered box. “And now, the finishing touch.”

  She opened the box and carefully removed a crown of laurel, wrought from white gold. Each leaf was hammered paper-thin and marked with veins, no two alike. “I wore this at my coronation,” she said. “It’s always been a personal favorite. I’d like you to have it. My gift to my new daughter-in-law.”

  This time I had no trouble protesting. “I-I thank you, Madame,” I stammered, “but I cannot. It’s wonderful, only it’s much too fine for me.”

  “A crown too fine for a queen?” she said, amused. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. Besides, it will go beautifully with that gown and shine like moonlight in your dark hair.”

  “The gown, too?” I demanded. “You can’t mean—”

  “Not only do I mean for you to take it, but I insist,” she said firmly. “You are Myrilla’s queen, it is only right for you to dress as one. Sometimes greatness is best communicated through a gown.”

  “But I’m not a great queen!” I burst out. “I’m not. Forgive me, Madame, but it’s the truth. Adam will tell you; I’ve made more mistakes over the past ten months than anyone has a right to, much less a queen. I feel as though I’m constantly fumbling through the dark.”

  The queen clasped my hands. “My dear, that’s how we’ve all felt at one time or another. We’re supposed to be strong and just and wise, but also possess grace and beauty. Our husbands carry swords and bows while oftentimes we can only arm ourselves with smiles and well-chosen words.” She touched my cheek with frail fingers. “Of course you have made mistakes. All of us have. It’s the great queens who admit their faults, not the ones who hide from them.”

  “I’m not sure Princess Aveline would agree,” I muttered.

  With a sad little laugh, the queen closed the lacquered box and handed it back to the maid. “You mustn’t be too hard on Aveline. She comes from
a cruel court. Her sufferings are different than yours; nevertheless, she has suffered. That doesn’t excuse her unkindness, but it may help you realize that in a different time or place, she might have grown into a more tender person.” She folded the blue silk wrapping and stood beside me in front of the mirror. “Now tell me, Alcestis. What do you see in the glass?”

  I gazed at my reflection. “I see a frightened girl.”

  “And I see a queen. More often than not, the two are the same.” She met my eyes in the mirror. “Now, thank me and you may meet the others in the courtyard.”

  I bent down and kissed her cheek. “Thank you, Madame.” I glanced at myself in the glass again. The clothes did make me feel very beautiful, and I found myself wondering how Adam would react when he saw me dressed so finely. “When shall I wear this?”

  As if she had read my thoughts, the queen winked at me. “When you are ready to steal my son’s heart.”

  • • •

  Our departure from Itomius was as solemn as our arrival was joyous. The people lined the avenue, still dressed in mourning and trying valiantly to summon enthusiasm. I felt awful waving goodbye; they had lost one of their beloved princes in the boar hunt, and now the second one was abandoning them to his conquered kingdom.

  The only good to come out Syrano’s death was that I no longer feared the mountain pass. The fact that it halved the distance on our homeward journey made it that much more appealing. We led our horses at a slow pace through the roughly hewn pass, with the mountains rising on either side of us. In some places it was so narrow we had to walk single file, edging past great rocks jutting out of the walls. I didn’t mind; I was desperate to be home, desperate to escape the blanket of tragedy that seemed to be draped over the whole visit. I wanted to wake up in my own bed and work in the garden and visit the temple. Even the constant worry over the crops and harvest would be a welcome change to the unbearable tension dogging me since the boar hunt.

  When we reached the end of the pass, we stepped out of the shadow of the mountains and into the blazing sun. It shone so brightly that the horses shied in alarm; I had to tighten my grip on the reins even though I wanted more than anything to drop them so I could shield my eyes. I turned from the sun to Adam, but he didn’t appear at all affected by the change in light. His eyes were glazed and his thoughts clearly far away, probably still in Itomius. I wanted so badly to comfort him, to distract or engage him, or whatever he required. The silence between us seemed to live and breathe throughout the journey. He hadn’t spoken a word to me since we’d left his homeland, and I hadn’t the faintest idea what to say to him.

  So when he shaded his eyes against the sun and said, “Someone’s coming,” it gave me a start. I looked over at him and saw him gazing straight into the sun, down the slope and into the sprawling brush below. I could just make out the dark shape of a man, hunched over as he made his way slowly through the neglected fields.

  “He appears to be carrying something, Lord King,” said one of the guards. “I’ll find out his purpose.”

  The guard spurred his horse forward, but Adam held up his hand.

  “No. I’ll go.”

  “Is that wise, sir?” began the guard uneasily. “We don’t—”

  Before the guard could finish his protest, Adam had descended half the slope alone. I could feel everyone in the party watching him in alarm as he rode toward the man, then turn their faces to me, waiting for my instruction. Instruction which never came, for I couldn’t look away from Adam. It was as though we’d traveled back to the previous autumn, when he was nothing but a stranger to me. The foreign prince I’d been forced to marry. I watched him dismount and speak to the stranger, who I realized was hunched over from carrying a large sack on his back. The stranger placed the sack on the ground and opened it before Adam. I couldn’t see what it contained, but when Adam looked inside, he sank to his knees.

  Suddenly frightened, I ignored the guards shouting for me to wait behind and drove my heels into my horse. I flew down the slope and dismounted at a trot, stumbling through tangles of briars and overrun honeysuckle to reach my husband, who was cradling his head in his hands. Thorns tore at my skirt and when I stood before the stranger I was drowning in rage and fear. I had just watched a princess bury her prince; I would not suffer the same fate.

  “Who are you?” I nearly screamed. “What have you done?”

  The stranger, a bearded man dressed in farming clothes, bowed deeply. “My name is Owan, Lady Queen,” he said, his voice trembling as he turned his hat over and over in his hands. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to cause any distress. I’m the head steward of the royal fields. Lord Turius told me I should inform the king as soon as his party returned.”

  My heart hammered in my throat as I pictured each possible disaster. “What’s happened?” I demanded. “Tell me what you told the king. Immediately.”

  Before the steward could speak, I felt Adam stir beside me. He pushed the flaps of the sack aside, revealing its contents. At first I didn’t recognize it, then Adam dipped his hand into the sack and scooped out a handful of what appeared to be large, coarse sand. He let it cascade between his fingers into the sack once more. As it fell a warm, familiar smell filled the air and I realized it wasn’t sand at all. It was grain.

  My mouth opened, empty of words, as I stared at the sack. I had prayed so hard for this, pleaded with the gods again and again, begging for the fields to produce. Blood was poured onto the fields for this, all to appease the gods and try to curry their favor. And here lay the proof that they had heard my cries. Unable to stand a moment longer, I dropped to my knees beside Adam. Above me, the steward relaxed his grip on his hat.

  “It’s the harvest, Lady Queen.”

  I nodded, my eyes watering from either the unforgiving light or the relief coursing through my body. I looked over at Adam and saw his face streaked with tears. They glowed like precious metal in the setting sun, and I realized for the first time how desperately he’d hoped for the wheat to grow too. Very gently, I put my hand to his cheek. He met my eyes, and with a sound between a laugh and a sob he pulled me into his arms and wept golden tears into my hair.

  Chapter 25

  The first days of Myrilla’s harvest were the happiest I had ever known. Owan, the man of whom I had assumed the worst, turned out to be the forerunner of countless glad tidings. Once Adam and I had remounted and resumed our journey home, we spotted new joys around every corner. Not only had the wheat turned in our absence, but the other crops were thriving as well. Acres of corn stood tall, all green and gold. The apples were starting to ripen, ready for picking in a few weeks, and the fragrance of roses was so heady it nearly knocked me off balance as we approached the castle gates where Turius and the rest of the court were waiting to greet us. Crowds lining the road threw sprigs of rosemary at our feet and children rushed forward to crown us with plaited rings of wheat.

  We were scarcely through the doors when Adam began talking of plans for my coronation, which he set to take place at the end of the week as the high point of the festival. He wanted to speak to everyone involved, from the cooks charged with preparing the feast to Lilianne, who would act as priestess of Kore during the ceremony. When I offered to help he shooed me away, assuring me he wanted to organize the event on his own. It was his gift to me, he said. My sole task was to enjoy the harvest.

  And there was so much to enjoy! I rode out every day, admiring the gardens and groves and vineyards. The changes astounded me; fields that had once been barren and empty of hope now spilled over with crops. Yellow and orange squash, as long as my forearm, their meaty flesh nearly bursting out of their skins; large green melons with faint blue stripes, sweet and sour all at the same time; berries of every color, so juicy they stained my lips red and purple. Farmers presented baskets of food to us in the throne room, blushing with pleasure as we praised their work. Whenever I had a rare moment of freedom I’d slip into my garden to catch up on my tasks. Though, more often than not, I’d
stretch out on my back and watch the sunlight playing in the rustling leaves of the trees overhead.

  The most beautiful fields, of course, were the wheat fields. I wish you could know the pleasure and deep gratitude I felt, standing on the edge of Kore’s field, watching the wind caress the wheat into golden waves. It seemed impossible that this was the very spot where I had performed the Blooding in the dead of winter. Cold and silent, it had held nothing but dirt and seed and fading prayers. Now it was bright, pulsing, and filled with life. I touched the head of a stalk of wheat, bent over backwards as though damaged by wind. The image carved into the temple wall flashed in my mind, the one depicting the God of Souls’ hand reaching down into the wheat field. The wheat, I understood at last, wasn’t bent because it was cowering. It had nothing to do with fear. It was simply ready for the harvest.

  • • •

  The day before the coronation I spoke with Lilianne after my temple prayers to review the finer points of the ceremony. It seemed simple enough, but our conversation kept me longer than I anticipated, and I had to rush back to the castle to meet Adam for our daily reception of supplicants.

  Cheerful and excited, I ran into the throne room and leapt onto the dais. I had expected to find Adam waiting on his throne, or else making his way through the corridors. Instead, standing near the side door, I spotted the last person I ever expected to see. My uncle.

  “Queen Alcestis, I was hoping you’d arrive soon,” he said, fixing his cruel smile in place. If you have ever left someone in your past, hoping to erase the pain they caused, and then stumbled across them at a later time, you will know exactly how powerless I felt in that moment. A chill seeped through my fingers and toes and the muscles in my legs seized up, refusing to take another step. I had not laid eyes on this man since my wedding day nearly a year ago; even when the fire threatened the kingdom he and my aunt had refused to leave their house of exile in search of safety. Now here he was, approaching the dais and standing before me like a nightmare come to life.