by Jenna Glass
“This has never happened to me before,” he said, and it was all she could do not to laugh at the predictability of men.
“You have, perhaps, had too much to drink,” she suggested. “That can sometimes affect a man’s…abilities.”
He opened his eyes, and the misery in them was almost enough to make her regret her choice of victims. There were many more distasteful men she could have tested her spell on, but she had deemed pathetic Yurvan the least likely to tell tales even if he eventually came to realize what she had done.
“I am so sorry,” he said. Apparently he believed her disappointed.
“I can give you a potency potion,” she offered. “Free of charge. Consider it a farewell gift.”
Hope lit his eyes, and she managed a smile for him as she pulled a vial of sleeping potion from the bedside table and poured him a fresh cup of wine. She’d used a formulation that tended to make memories fuzzy and indistinct—meant to be taken after a traumatic event. With any luck, he would wake in the morning thinking he must have performed adequately after taking the “potency potion,” and that his memory was hazy thanks to the excess of drink. By the time he discovered the full effects of the Kai spell, she and her sisters would be long gone and out of his reach.
* * *
—
It was well past the hour when Chanlix would usually have retired for the night, and she knew she would regret the lack of sleep come morning, but the anxiety that filled her was too great to contain. The thought of lying still in bed held no appeal, so instead of sleeping, she was sitting before the fire in her sparse bedroom, staring into the flames instead of reading the book that lay in her lap. The tentative knock on her door interrupted her brooding thoughts, and for that she was glad—although a knock on her door at this time of night was rarely a good thing.
“Enter,” she beckoned, and was surprised to see Rusha step into her room. She frowned at the abigail. “I thought you were with a client.”
The Abbey had seen little enough business of any kind since the night of the earthquake, but the specter of their removal meant that, on this final night, a great many of the abigails who worked the pavilion were occupied.
Rusha bit her lip and smiled tentatively, and Chanlix groaned.
“Tell me you didn’t test that spell when I expressly forbade you to do it!” she said, her heart kicking in her chest as her mind filled with all kinds of disastrous possibilities. Being banished to the outer reaches of the kingdom seemed a terrible punishment, but there were so many worse things that could happen if harm were to come to a client who visited the Abbey.
Rusha’s shoulders hunched, but though her body language screamed remorse and apology, there was a flash of fire in her eyes that said she was not truly sorry. “I swear to you that Yurvan will never tell anyone what happened here tonight. He came to me so drunk he’s unlikely to remember much of anything in the morning.”
Chanlix looked at the younger woman and wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake her. “That is not the only issue,” she growled, rising to her feet and glaring as fiercely as she was able. By all rights, the act of defiance deserved a blistering punishment. Mother Brynna would have ordered a thorough thrashing at the very least, and though it seemed harsh, everyone would have known it was for the good of them all. “You risked the lives of every woman in this abbey.”
Rusha raised her chin. “You haven’t even asked me if it worked.”
“I don’t care if it worked,” Chanlix said, though that was a lie. She cared very much—and could already tell by Rusha’s attitude that the test had been successful. “The point is that I forbade you to do it, and you did it anyway. I am your abbess, and I won’t tolerate defiance.”
It was all Chanlix could do to maintain a semblance of dignity, for she felt ridiculous making such statements. Some part of her still hadn’t quite accepted that she was the abbess, and her reluctance to mete out a fitting punishment was proof of how unsuited she was for the position.
“I understand, Mother Chanlix,” Rusha said, her voice calm and her eyes lowered demurely. “I knew what I was doing, and I am willing to accept the consequences.” She glanced up at Chanlix through her lashes before lowering her gaze once more.
There was no doubt the abigail was expecting leniency, despite what she said. She was counting on Chanlix’s youth and inexperience to make her soft and unwilling to punish someone who had only a short time ago been a sister. If she was going to be a proper abbess and earn the respect of her abigails—especially those who were more senior and might have expected to be named abbess themselves—Chanlix would have to get over her qualms.
But in only a few short hours, they would all be setting off on foot to their new home by the Wasteland, and it wouldn’t do to have one of their young, able-bodied abigails hobbled by a beating when her older sisters might need her help. Chanlix could give her a healing potion after the punishment, but that would blunt the force of it.
Chanlix admitted to herself that her reasoning sounded suspiciously like an excuse. But she couldn’t find it in herself to inflict an appropriate punishment on this of all nights. No matter how bad a precedent her leniency might set.
“We will table the issue for now,” Chanlix said. “But don’t believe this gives you license to disobey me. I will review your behavior once more when we reach the new Abbey, and you will be punished appropriately.”
“Yes, Mother,” Rusha said. “I understand. And I swear I will give you no further cause for complaint between now and then.”
Chanlix very much doubted that would be the case.
Part Two
WOMEN’S WELL
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Ellin invited Semsulin to take a seat, trying not to make too much of the way her lord chancellor was looking at her. He’d cast more than one surprised—and speculative—glance in her direction during this morning’s council meeting, and he was far from the only one. After a great deal of thought, she’d decided to appoint Lord Tamzin to the lord chamberlain seat, but she’d thought equally hard about how she wanted to present her decision. At the funeral, it had become abundantly clear that everyone expected her to meekly accept whatever decisions the council made, and she was determined to disabuse them of that notion as quickly as possible. And so instead of asking their advice on the appointment, she’d merely announced her choice. It had been almost amusing to see the discomfort her announcement had caused, but having chosen the candidate she already knew they wanted, she had neatly sidestepped any likelihood of debate.
Semsulin sat, watching her so closely she felt like squirming under his gaze. She had the uncomfortable feeling that he sensed the undercurrent of uncertainty that ran beneath what she hoped was a calm and cool exterior.
“I would like you to set up a meeting for me with each of my councilors,” she said. “I wish to gain a better understanding of each of their roles and duties.”
Semsulin looked pointedly at the stack of books on her desk—books she knew she would invariably end up taking back to the royal apartments at night to read, for she never seemed to find any time during the day. “Have you already finished all the texts I provided you?” he asked with a hint of amusement.
She gave him a frosty look. “While I’m sure every member of my council performs his duty to the letter of the law, I suspect there are variations in how each office is run, and it would behoove your sovereign queen to understand the day-to-day operations of her government.”
Semsulin raised his eyebrows. “It is not necessary for you to understand every detail. The whole point of having advisers is so that you don’t have to learn everything.”
“And that’s why royal boys are given no education on such petty details?”
Semsulin frowned, for of course boys of the royal family—no matter how far down the line of succession they might be—began learning the intricacies
of running a kingdom almost as soon as they learned to read. “Naturally, a boy who might be king would be thoroughly educated, but—”
“Then why should I not be, when I currently sit on the throne?”
His frown deepened, his expression now almost laughably sour. “If you were planning to reign for the rest of your life, then I would agree that it was worth the effort to learn the minutiae. However, for a reign that will last no more than a year or two, it seems to me that there are better uses of your time.”
She smiled sweetly at him, though she was sure the frost was clearly visible in her eyes. “I believe that as queen, I decide what is the best use of my own time. You may have expected me to sit quietly in the council meetings and sign whatever you and the council decide I should sign, but for however long I sit on the throne, I intend to rule. I will not simply act as the council’s mouthpiece. Is that understood?”
She expected Semsulin to puff up with self-importance and tell her—in carefully couched terms—that a woman was incapable of grasping all the complexities of government, that he had urged her to sit on the throne as nothing more than a placeholder for the next king. Instead, he fixed her with another one of those piercing, too-knowing looks of his. His face looked as sour as ever, but there was a strange combination of speculation and maybe even respect in his eyes.
“I understand,” he said slowly, “but I hope you’ll forgive my need to make sure you understand, as well. You are right, and your council expected you to serve as nothing more than a figurehead. If they believe you are trying to pick up the reins and rule as a true sovereign, you will meet with a certain degree of…resistance.”
She arched a single eyebrow. “Really? I never would have expected that when my own chancellor has already tried to put me in my place.”
To her surprise, he smiled. “I did not intend to put you in your place, Your Majesty. I merely…misunderstood your intentions.” The smile disappeared as if it had never existed. “You are a twenty-one-year-old girl with no experience in government, and with the exception of Lord Tamzin, every man on your council will be at least twice your age and have served under King Linolm almost as long as you’ve been alive. They are for the most part good men, but they can make your life difficult if they perceive you as a threat to their own authority. Your road as a figurehead would be considerably easier and less bumpy.”
“And will you be one of the men making that road bumpy?”
“Not as long as you rule well and wisely.”
“Which I am much more likely to do if I gain a full understanding of the duties of each member of the council. So set up those meetings for me.”
Semsulin rose and bowed. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”
* * *
—
Alys found herself unaccountably nervous as she waited in the anteroom for an invitation to enter the queen’s parlor. As a young girl, she had—understandably, she thought—hated her stepmother, and she’d made no attempt to conceal her feelings. While Xanvin had absorbed her contempt with stoicism and calm, she had—equally understandably—never warmed to her stepdaughter. They had spoken only rarely since Alys’s marriage, long ago, and yet now Alys had to trust her own daughter’s future to a woman who would always remember her as that spiteful, angry little girl who’d blamed her for her mother’s disgrace.
As if that weren’t bad enough, Princess Shelvon would also be taking part in the search for a husband for Jinnell, and it was possible she bore Alys a great deal of ill will since her miscarriage. Not that Alys had any reason to think Shelvon blamed her for her mother’s spell the way Delnamal did, but she imagined if their roles had been reversed, she herself would have harbored at least some resentment.
The parlor door opened, and a servant stepped out. “Her Majesty will see you now.”
Alys smoothed her skirts and plucked at a stray fold of lace on her sleeve. It was all she could do not to reach out and pat her hair like a debutante about to make a grand entrance at her first ball. Mouth dry with nerves, Alys stepped into the parlor, dropping into a respectful curtsy.
Though the queen was no great beauty, she was certainly a handsome woman, with a regal bearing and an aura of boundless calm. The roundness of her face had always given her a look of almost childlike innocence, although the gravity of her nature served to balance out that youthfulness with an air of wisdom.
Beside the queen, Princess Shelvon looked decidedly drab, her blond hair and pale skin making her seem colorless and almost sickly, though Alys knew full well her coloring was common for the folk of Nandel. Shelvon also had no eye for fashion, her dress decidedly matronly in cut and color, especially in comparison to the queen’s stunning blue brocade ensemble.
Alys rose from her curtsy and had to fight a compulsion to smooth her skirts once more. The queen gave her a nod of greeting, but made no move to embrace her as a stepmother might.
“I hope you will forgive me, Alysoon,” the queen said, “but I have another appointment I must keep.” She turned slightly toward Shelvon and gave her daughter-in-law a surprisingly warm smile. “Shelvon and I have discussed the matter in advance, and I am certain I am leaving you in most capable hands.”
Alys guarded her expression for all she was worth. She doubted the queen meant any great insult by this abandonment, but there was no question that it was at least a mild snub.
And how eager would you be to discuss marriage arrangements with your husband’s daughter from a previous marriage? Alys asked herself. Perhaps she, too, would be looking for an excuse to step away had she been in the queen’s position.
“Of that I have no doubt, Your Majesty,” Alys said with as warm a smile as she could muster, although if truth be told, she had plenty of doubts. She knew very little about her sister-in-law, save that the woman was mousy and quiet and hailed from a backwoods principality in which women had little or no say in their own lives. It seemed to Alys that she lacked the qualifications to help arrange a court marriage, but perhaps she was being uncharitable.
The queen approached and took Alys’s hands, belatedly bestowing a featherlight kiss on each cheek. “Then I shall wish you happy hunting and leave you to your work.”
Alys dropped another curtsy as the queen swept out of the room, leaving her alone with her sister-in-law. Alys could not help but think that Shelvon would have absorbed some of her husband’s unpleasant assessment of Alys’s character, but she hoped that opinion would not also apply to Jinnell. For all that Alys had engaged in very little contact with her half-brother’s wife, she did not think the woman cold or cruel. But then, what little contact she’d made had been before the abbess cast the spell that cost Shelvon her baby.
“Please come in and sit down,” Shelvon said, waving toward a cluster of seats by the fireplace. Her smile was surprisingly warm and sweet.
They each sat on one end of a comfortable sofa. A long, awkward silence ensued, during which each woman waited for the other to begin. Alys was used to being more assertive than the average woman, but she shied away from being her usual assertive self with a woman who was so quiet and submissive by nature. Assertiveness might be taken for abrasiveness, and though she didn’t need Shelvon to become her bosom companion, she didn’t want to be disliked, for fear that would harm Jinnell’s marriage prospects.
Shelvon clasped her hands nervously in her lap and let out a heavy sigh. “Perhaps we had best start by clearing the air,” she said. “I know my husband has had words with you about…what happened.”
Alys tilted her head to one side, surprised by the other woman’s attempt at directness—while also wondering just what was covered under the title of “what happened.”
“You know that he holds me responsible for my mother’s actions,” Alys said. “Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”
Shelvon nodded and looked relieved. “Yes.” She met Alys’s eyes, but only for a m
oment. “I know what it is like to be tainted by the actions of one’s mother.”
Alys winced in sympathy, for she knew Shelvon’s background. Her mother had been Sovereign Prince Waldmir’s third wife, and had attempted to poison him. The attempt had been foiled, and Shelvon’s mother had been executed as a traitor. Considering Waldmir’s reputation and his treatment of his wives, it was something of a surprise that he had not repudiated his daughter, but just because he had not repudiated her did not mean theirs was a good relationship.
“So are you saying you do not share Delnamal’s opinion of me?” Alys prompted, feeling a surprising surge of kinship with the younger woman. Some might think Shelvon the luckiest woman in the world to be the wife of the Crown Prince of Aaltah, but Alys doubted Shelvon would agree.
“I prefer to form my own opinions,” Shelvon said, then wrinkled her nose. “I always have, though in Nandel such is considered an unpardonable offense for a woman.” She managed a small, self-deprecating smile. “Only a year here in Aaltah, and I am beginning to adopt its decadent, unnatural ways.”
Alys laughed, pleased to find Shelvon was not as pallid as she’d first thought. “I am glad to hear it. I do not envy the life of a woman in Nandel.”
This time, when Shelvon met her eyes, she didn’t look away. “And that is at the heart of your desire to find a husband for your daughter as soon as possible.”
The laughter fled, to be replaced by a chill the fire had no ability to chase away. “You know what Delnamal has threatened,” Alys whispered.
“No, but I can guess.” Shelvon sighed and lowered her eyes. “He is not a hard man to read.”
No, he was not, which made the king’s refusal to read him all the more frustrating. “I mean no offense against your father,” Alys said, “but he is not the husband I want for my daughter.”