Lilianne drew another handful of grain from the sack. “To Kore, the ever-faithful wife of the God of Souls, we devote this offering. You are more than the goddess of spring and wheat; you remind us all that we must die daily to ourselves and take the hand of death when it is offered to us. Only then will we truly follow in your footsteps.” She turned so that her back faced us, and cast the second handful of grain over the fire.
Only one offering remained. To be precise, it was less of an offering and more of a casting of lots. On the Day of Collection, two mornings hence, a dedication would be made to the God of Souls, recognizing his power over all things living and dead. The chosen creature would grow sick and die, just as the remains of the wheat withered and died to nourish the earth in preparation for the next planting. It was similar to the Blooding, in that the item required wasn’t known until close to the ceremony. Hares or doves were typical. I’d nearly forgotten about the Day of Dedication; I knew the workings of Kore’s calendar much better than her husband’s.
For the third time, Lilianne gathered grain in her hand. This time she scattered it on the marble floor instead of the fire. She stepped back and studied it carefully, a frown creasing her face. For several seconds she said nothing, but simply looked at the grain. I wondered vaguely how she knew what to seek out, for I saw no significance in the splotches and specks.
When she straightened up at last, Lilianne looked Adam in the eye and uttered the words that changed my life forever: “The God of Souls calls one of Myrilla’s own. King Admetus is to die for the land.”
• • •
As a child, when I learned of my parents’ death, I felt a cold, sick sensation spread through my belly. It grew so intense that I vomited, right in the middle of the corridor. I remember thinking with absurd clarity that nothing would ever be the same, and that the gods had forgotten me. More than anything I wanted to travel back to the previous day, when everything was perfect and I was happy. In fact, I realized too late just how happy I had been, and that such joy would never again be within my reach. It is a misery unlike any other, to lose something before you fully learn how precious it is.
That is precisely how I felt, standing in the temple as Lilianne spoke those words. For a moment the temple was so quiet I could hear the birds calling to each other outside. I stared at the grain on the floor, then looked at Lilianne. Even though I knew it was foolishness, I opened my mouth to ask her if she was sure, if she had read it correctly. But the words cracked and broke in my throat. The marble shifted beneath my feet and Adam’s hand closed around my elbow, steadying me. He didn’t even look at me; he kept his eyes on Lilianne, his face drained of all color.
“I see,” he said, with great effort. “Very well.”
His assent, calm as it was, triggered an explosion of protest. From the corner of my eye I was saw one courtier after another pushing toward the front of the crowd, an angry jumble of arms and shouting lips. Turius’ voice, predictably, rose well above the rest.
“There must be a mistake,” he called out. “You’ve made an error, Priestess. You cannot possibly mean that King Admetus is the one who must die for the land.”
The others agreed readily to this, though Lilianne remained unmoved. “The gods make no such mistakes.”
“But the King isn’t even native to this country. He is its savior, its liberator, but not one of its sons. You said yourself the blood must belong to of one of Myrilla’s own.”
“When this man swore an oath to rule Myrilla as its king, he became one of its people. One of Kore’s people. The gods’ blood flows in his veins now, the same way a branch grafted onto a full tree received the tree’s sap.”
Turius’ voice rose in his rage. “Your inconsistencies trouble me greatly, Priestess. You speak of survival and life, yet you hold the death sentence of my king in your hand. If he were a tyrant, I would understand. Loose the gods’ vengeance upon him and let the punishment lay as it falls. Let vindication and justice rain from the mountains upon any king who does his kingdom evil. But what kind of god demands the shedding of an honest king’s blood? The gods of Itomius would do no such thing, I warrant.”
Lilianne nearly smiled. “Your ignorance of the gods reveals itself more clearly with every word you speak. Compare the pantheon all you like, you’ll change no minds. When the gods make a demand it must be answered. The die is cast; The God of Souls’ hand has moved.”
Turius swallowed. He gave Lilianne a hard look, then rested his hand lightly on his sword. “Very well. If the gods are so intent on their wishes they won’t mind if I make public one last observation.” His eyes flashed to me. “That crown suits you, Queen. Tell me, will you wear it so happily when you’re sitting on the empty throne of the king who gave it to you?”
I heard the metallic rush of a sword leaving its sheath and thought with horror that Turius was about to slay me, right there in the temple. But it was my husband who had called up his weapon. He pointed the sword directly at Turius, his hand steady as stone.
“The gods may tolerate your observations,” said Adam, “but I will not. You are my brother in arms, but the queen is my wife. Hers is the higher binding. Be warned: the next treasonous words you utter against her will surely be your last.”
Turius glared fiercely at Adam, and for a terrible moment I thought he might actually bait Adam into killing him, simply to be difficult. But just as I inwardly cursed him and his passion for fools he bowed low to me, so low I could see the back of his neck. I motioned for him to join the others; he obeyed, disgust stamped on his face. For a moment I was almost grateful for the distraction he had provided with his petty accusations. The anger of men is so much more easily borne than the anger of the gods.
As if she could read my thoughts, Lilianne turned her dark eyes to me. “We are the ones who must answer to the gods,” she said. “They only answer us if they choose. Now, go. There is much to prepare.”
Mutely, I obeyed, gripping Adam’s hand with wild strength as we led the courtly recession from the temple. The court’s horrified stares followed us, and my feet fell heavily against the stone floor, as though made of stone themselves. We crossed the threshold into the sunlight only to be greeted by silence. The cheers that had followed us since our return from Itomius had completely dried up. Instead, the people seemed to recoil when they saw us. They didn’t want to be contaminated by our ill favor with the gods.
Outside the temple Turius and Adam’s other favorites remained in their whispering cluster, outrage pouring from their mouths like thick smoke. I felt their eyes boring into me, and I knew without question that the only thing keeping them from spewing further threats against me was Adam’s promise to silence them permanently if they did so. I let Adam lead me down the hill, through the castle gates once more, and into my garden. The fragrance of sweet plums drifted toward me as soon as I unlocked the door and the flowerbeds erupted in a riot of late summer color. I closed the door behind me and stood back, watching Adam pace the length of the path. I hadn’t the faintest idea what to say to him. I wanted to offer him comfort and strength, but how could I do that when I had none myself?
“Adam,” I started, hesitating slightly, “tell me what you need. I’ll do anything I can; I simply don’t…I don’t know what to do.”
He gave a short, rueful laugh. “Neither do I, Alyce.”
I joined him on the path, wringing my hands together.
“Perhaps—perhaps Lilianne was wrong. Perhaps there’s another way she hasn’t revealed to us.”
“She was quite clear in the temple. It’s what the gods require, remember?”
“But she can’t force you—”
He rounded on me. “She doesn’t have to! Didn’t you hear what she said? My own body is going to do this to me. There’s no blade to fight off or fire to put out. I can’t run from it. There’s nothing to be done.”
He said it with such terrible finality that I drew my last arrow.
“What if,” I began slowly, “th
e herdsman could help you? Tell him what’s happened; he may have a solution we can’t see on our own.”
“I’m not telling the herdsman anything,” he said bitterly. “Not after he didn’t warn me about this. I see him every day, Alyce, and he said not a word. If he knew—and I’ve no doubt he did—he should have given me some indication. But he didn’t. I had no idea he was so cruel.”
I watched as he crossed to the bench where the lacquered case of his lyre was resting. He opened it and removed the lovely instrument, running his fingers along the carved wood. We had forgotten to return for it after our visit to the north tower; thankfully the weather had stayed dry. I was about to comment in that vein when Adam suddenly closed his fingers around the cords of the lyre and ripped them from the frame.
“Adam,” I gasped, horrified. “What are you doing?”
He didn’t answer me, just continued to tear the cords until they lay in shreds around his feet. Then he took the frame with the etching of laurel in his hands and bent it until the wood snapped. He broke it again and again, further destroying the lyre with each crack. Beautifully carved pieces fell onto the grass, silenced forever. When he finished all that remained were a few shards of pale wood; he looked at them as though he couldn’t believe what he had just done.
I stared at him; I couldn’t speak. He let the last pieces fall with the others, then fixed his eyes on me. He seemed so far away that I wondered for a moment if it he was out of his mind. I stepped backwards, frightened, as he strode toward me, but with a choked cry he dropped to the grass and embraced my knees. His cheek was wet with tears as he pressed it into my belly, and his shoulders shook from his sobs. Slowly, I sat on the path beside him and gathered him into my arms, struck into silence by the brutality of the gods.
Chapter 28
I didn’t dare leave Adam’s side for the rest of the evening. We stayed in the garden all afternoon, and then took a private dinner in our chamber. I fought sleep as long as I could; I knew that the dawn would only bring us one day closer to Adam’s death, and the thought of facing that was too much for me to bear.
When I woke, I felt as though I’d barely slept. Indeed, I hadn’t, for it was still dark. Outside the window the stars shone brightly, assuring me that the earliest hints of sunrise had not yet arrived. I sat up slowly and looked down at Adam, unspeakably comforted by his steady breathing. I touched his burnished hair, which curled slightly at his temples, and ran my fingertips along his smooth cheek. The thought of the God of Souls devouring his health and ultimately taking his life made me sick with fear. Trembling, I slid carefully from the bed and dressed in the simplest clothes I could find in the dark. I only knew of one remaining hope: Adam’s herdsman. And if Adam refused to visit him, I would go instead.
The corridor was quiet and still. The guards leapt to attention when I opened the door. I instructed them not to tell the king I had departed at such an early hour, but that I merely wanted a breath of fresh air on such a fine morning. They bowed deeply, hands ever on their swords.
I set off for the mountain unaccompanied. No maids or attendants followed behind me. I knew it was the pinnacle of foolishness for a queen to undertake such a journey without any protection, but I knew I must go alone. Not for the sake of pride or sacred dignity, or anything as noble as that. Part of my heart was curious about what I would find, what the mysterious herdsman would say, or if I would even find him. But I am ashamed to admit that a larger part of my heart was terrified it would all turn out a great disappointment and I’d be left to return to the castle empty-handed. If that were indeed the case, I’d rather do so without any witnesses to my folly.
The road to the mountain was long, and while it began easily enough it soon turned treacherous. Gone were the carefully tended fields; it seemed as though every briar and weed the workers ever cut or burned had found new life in the shadow of the mountain. Thorns pulled at my clothes and scratched my hands. At one point I saw what appeared to be a staircase carved into the sloping stone, but it was so overrun with thorn bushes that I decided I’d rather climb the rocks instead. The stones were wet with morning dew; more than once my hand slipped and I clung to the mountain with my very fingertips, searching for any crevice or crack to grip. Several times I cursed myself for not bringing a guide, or at least asking Adam how he made the journey every day. I stopped several times to catch my breath, wishing I had thought to eat something before I left. My tongue prickled with thirst and my limbs shook with fatigue. My hands were bruised and cut from the thorns. So much for my plan of a discreet visit. As soon as Adam saw my battered appearance he would surely demand explanation.
Finally, the ground leveled. The rocky slope came to an end and I saw spread before me a smooth field. In spite of the chilly morning air the grass was dry and fresh, sprinkled through with fragrant wildflowers and blooming heather. Resting goats and sheep dotted the plain, perfectly safe and at ease. One ewe lifted its head and gazed at me with doleful eyes, then looked away without interest.
I heard running water and immediately searched for the source. The animals were no doubt perplexed as they watched me scouring the field. The trickling grew louder and louder until I located the clearest, loveliest mountain stream I’d ever seen. I had to fight through yet another patch of thorns to reach it, but I paid no mind to the scrapes and scratches; I plunged my face into the cold water and drank until I thought my stomach would burst.
When I lifted my head, I felt strangely content. I sat for a moment on the bank, listening to the stream carving its way across the mossy rocks. The sun still had not risen, though the stars had faded away into the predawn. I wiped the sweet water from my lips and looked over my shoulder at the mountain peaks rising far overhead; their edges stood out black and sharply jagged against the ever-graying sky.
I pulled myself to my feet and carefully picked my way back through the briars. The sheep and goats didn’t bother to glance at me this time; a few shook themselves and stood, tearing up mouthfuls of grass, apparently deciding I meant no harm. I saw nothing of the mysterious herdsman, or any human being at all, for that matter. I was a bit annoyed, actually. Adam spoke so highly of him, and this so-called herdsman had the gall to abandon his creatures in the early hours, when wild animals were most likely to come hunting?
“Good morning.”
I jumped, startled by the sound of a human voice. I looked across the field and saw the shape of a man, sitting on a rock. He leapt down easily and walked toward me. In the darkness I couldn’t make out his face, though I felt his piercing eyes studying me. I did not have a chance to reply to his greeting before he spoke again: “Who are you?”
If I were a grand queen, properly trained and seasoned with experience, I would have taken immediate insult. I’d have delivered a cutting remark about his servile station and demanded he pay me the respect due my position. Then I would have wheeled around and left the mountain, eager to make my husband feel foolish for seeking the company of such a ruffian. But I was not a grand queen, and perhaps that is why I felt inexplicably small and guilty when the herdsman asked me my name. I had brought my selfish, savage thoughts to his peaceful mountain field. I was the intruder, not he.
“Who are you?” he asked again, more sternly.
I gathered myself and replied, “I’m Alyce. Queen Alcestis, sir.”
“Very good,” he said. Under his sternness I detected a hint of amusement. “And what brings you to my mountain?”
Again, a proper queen would have protested that no lowly herdsman could ever own any portion of her kingdom, much less an entire mountain. But he sounded so grand and fierce that I didn’t question him. It seemed perfectly right and natural for him to own this mountain. And all the others along with it, in fact. “I’m here on behalf of my husband, Adam,” I faltered. “Admetus. The king of Myrilla.”
“Yes, I know you both well.”
I blinked. “You know me? How?”
“Your husband speaks of you often.”
“He does?” A confused pleasure spread through my belly. I felt strangely honored. “What does he say? Tell me, please.”
The herdsman laughed. “You may hear it another time, Queen. For now, tell me of your business.”
The words poured from my mouth, tripping over my tongue and teeth in their efforts to be heard. My story was disjointed and poorly ordered; I had no notion if the herdsman could even understand what I was saying about Adam, and the harvest, and the God of Souls’ demand for my husband’s blood. Tears ran down my cheeks, blinding me and impeding my voice even further. My legs shook so terribly I sat down in the grass. Clumps of dirty wool and goat hair clung to my stained and torn clothes but I didn’t care. Beside my knees I spotted a tiny white flower, its soft petals gently closed and waiting for the sun to coax them apart. I glared at it, furious with its pure beauty; it seemed to mock me and my pain. I moved my hand to rip it from the earth and crush it in my fist, but the herdsman spoke.
“So what is it you ask of me, Queen?” He sounded neither moved nor disturbed by my husband’s plight.
I gazed up at him, though his face was still shadowed by the lightening sky. “My husband trusts you. He says you are the wisest of counselors, the truest of friends and the best of men. He says…” My disbelief made my voice falter. “He says you have the ear of the gods. That you are bonded to them, that you share their lifeblood as no man ever has. That you have seen the God of Souls’ face, and lived.”
Again, the herdsman’s voice betrayed nothing. “And do you believe what he says?”
“If he believes it, that is enough,” I said sharply, my fear turning me nasty. “I am not the one dying of a silent disease, sir. What I believe scarcely matters.”
“Then why are you here?”
Kore's Field Page 24