Chapter Eleven
Queen Satia swept into her solar, irritated, nauseated, and concentrating on keeping a pleasant expression on her face.
The ladies of the Court cut off their chatter, rose from their seats, and curtseyed low as she passed. Her Bondmaidens entered behind her. Caris, Nora, and Mira took up strategic positions around the room while Avice moved to a small desk next to Satia’s seat of state.
Satia took some satisfaction that the ladies’ blue and white dresses had been replaced with garments in other colors. Given the range of styles, some of them fairly antique and faded, many had been pulled from storage.
None of the women wore mourning black, since Satia had made her displeasure clear on that point.
Except the Royal Housekeeper, Rosalind, with her black armband.
Yet another irritant.
Satia stepped to the dais and stood before her throne for a moment before taking her seat.
Once she did, the ladies rose from the floor and seated themselves, all taking up their sewing. Satia had encouraged them to start sewing baby things for the future heir, pleased to see the wives and daughters of the noble houses, ranging in age from graying to nubile, working on behalf of her unborn child.
At least Xydell was not among them, the old bat. Always ranting about her perfect dead husband, Jerrold. Her shrill voice gave Satia a headache.
They’d all best keep their voices low and their gossip to harmless matters, if they knew what was good for them.
Her stomach flipped, turning sour. “Tea,” she snapped, and Mira hurried to obey. Satia huffed out a breath and settled back, closing her eyes.
She could feel her nearby Bondmaidens, attentive, obedient, and watchful. But Iris…
Satia relaxed and focused.
Long ago, before his death, her Lord Father had explained that the bond felt like having a fish on a line, hook deep in its mouth. You couldn’t see it, but you could feel it, its movements, its strength or weakness. Once in a while, perhaps glimpse a silvery figure darting through dark waters.
She wouldn’t know. She’d never been fishing.
But she could feel Iris, feel her moving away from Edenrich, feel her strength. The hunt for the babe continued. She had to be satisfied with that.
As expected of a solar, the room was well lit and warmed by the sun coming in through the high windows. The tapestries around the walls had all been changed, airions replaced with landscapes and scenes of hunting. They were older and worn in places, but that would be dealt with in time. For now, Satia was content with drafty halls and old tapestries, and the airions banished from the walls. As she had commanded.
Ten days, she reminded herself. Ten successful days since they’d triumphed. So far, all was going well, but securing a throne wasn’t done so easily or so quickly. She’d accomplished much in that ten days, but there was much yet to do.
Regardless of her stomach.
When she’d told Xyrath of her condition, he’d been beside himself with joy. He’d proclaimed it to the Court and sent heralds through the city. She would have preferred a bit less of a stir, at least until the third month. Nonetheless it was a relief to be able to be sick publicly, now that the announcement had been made.
It was also quite useful for cutting off unwanted conversations.
However, it was also making her cranky. Emotional. She didn’t care for that at all.
“Your tea,” Mira murmured as she placed a tray on the small table at Satia’s side. “Some dry crackers, as well.”
Joy. Satia was tiring of ginger tea and dry crackers. She took a sip and reminded herself to control her temper.
“Steward Paulin requests an audience,” Avice murmured.
“Granted,” Satia said.
Nora bowed and headed for the door.
Satia drank a bit more, nibbled on a cracker, and let her gaze drift over the women in the room. All daughters and wives of supposedly true supporters. Some would leave Court for the winter soon, others would stay. She’d need to sort out their loyalties by then.
Tarwain’s daughter Halithe was seated close. A plump, plain, partridge, that girl, with hair black as night, thick ankles, and a snub nose. She was not very good with a needle. Mira had set her to hemming nappies. The child did not adorn Satia’s chambers, but it was useful to have her close. Tarwain had not become the problem she’d feared, never seeming to question the pregnancy.
But one never knew. Today’s ally is tomorrow’s enemy. A lesson she’d learned long ago.
“Steward Paulin,” Nora announced.
Satia set down her cup and smiled warmly. “Steward Paulin,”
He advanced into the room and bowed as low as she could wish. “Queen Satia. Lovely to see you surrounded by the delightful flowers of the Court.”
“Rise, Paulin. We have much to discuss.” Satia gave the man a warm smile. “Do you have the accountings I’ve asked for?”
“Majesty, yes.” Paulin was sweating as he held out the account books. Interesting. Satia wondered if he was skimming from the accounts.
Avice stepped forward and took the books from his hands.
“I am pleased to tell you that the treasury has plumped up nicely, thanks to the recent deposits,” Paulin added.
“The palace accounts have been brought current?” Satia asked. “The vendors are satisfied?”
“Well, you have directed that your accounts be paid,” Paulin stuttered a bit. “We haven’t brought the accounts current from when—”
“We will not pay the debts of the false pretenders.” Satia said firmly. “Let them understand that clearly. Clearly.” She repeated.
“As you command,” Paulin bowed again. “There is one, however, that is insisting the full balance be paid, unless you wish to break the contract.” He looked uncomfortable, looking everywhere but at Satia. “The Mage Guild?”
Satia reached for her cup. She didn’t hold Ritathan’s key, as it had not yet been found, but she didn’t want to lose control of such an asset. “How much would it take?” she asked.
The sum Paulin named was staggering. Satia took a sip to hide her dismay.
Paulin shrugged apologetically. “Chained mages are ruinously expensive, Majesty.”
Satia gave him a nod as her thoughts raced. The funds flowing in would be one-time surges from the seizures. Any steady income would have to come from taxes, which would not be popular.
And there was the matter of the cost of Xyrath’s “projects.”
She didn’t want to drain her funds, but she wanted to know the secrets the mage held, and the only way to get them was to maintain the contract. She gritted her teeth. “Pay it in full,” she said, as graciously as she could manage.
Paulin bowed.
“There is another matter, Steward.” Satia set down her cup. “Rosalind. I know she has served as the Royal Housekeeper long and well, and change is hard for all of us. But please speak to her about her attitude. It is upsetting that she continues to express her grief so publicly.”
“Majesty, I hadn’t noticed.” The Steward frowned. “She is quite skilled, Majesty.”
“She wears a small black armband,” Satia said. “Subtle yet defiant.”
“Majesty, I will speak with her.” Paulin shrugged. “But Rosalind has always been fairly strong-willed.”
“Perhaps just a gentle suggestion,” Satia smiled. “Maybe she will listen to you.” She ignored the doubt in his face and gave him a dismissing nod. “My thanks, Steward.”
Paulin bowed deeply and backed away, through the door that Nora held open. Turning to watch him go, Nora looked down the hall and sank to the floor, her head bowed.
“Xyrath, King of Xy,” a male voice boomed, and all the ladies rose and curtseyed low, their heads down.
Xyrath bounded in with a smile, followed by Lord Tarwain. Her love was armored in dark leathers, sword and dagger at his side, with brand new, red leather gloves tucked into his belt. He looked so handsome and dashing…and ready for battle they could not afford.
Satia clenched her jaw and made as if to rise to greet her husband,
“No, no, my love,” Xyrath protested. “I pray you, be seated. How fare you this day?”
Satia sank back down on her chair. “Well, my love,” she said. “Although I have had to instruct the Royal Cook to prepare only the plainest of foods for our future meals.” She pressed a hand to her stomach. “I fear I can’t tolerate strong smells or rich foods.”
“Oh,” Xyrath looked taken aback, then nodded. “Of course, of course, anything for the babe. Your every wish will be my command.”
Tarwain was glancing around the room. When he spotted his daughter, to Satia’s surprise, he frowned. Odd, that. She’d need to learn more about that tension.
“Ladies, I must speak with my Queen about things not fit for your gentle ears,” The King turned his charming smile on them all. “Leave us, if you would.”
The ladies returned his smile, although a few were not warm, Halithe included. Also interesting, and something Satia noted for the future. The King opened his arms wide and pretended to herd the chicks as the ladies picked up their various projects and scattered to the door, giggling.
Her Bondmaidens stayed. Both men took little notice, since that custom had been well-established years earlier.
The King returned to Satia’s side, scowling. “Tarwain has word of the old baronies. They defy me!” He started to pace, agitated.
Satia looked at Tarwain who stood rock still, a scroll in his hands. “Majesty,” he bowed his head. “I was attempting to review the situation with the King.”
Xyrath prowled back and forth, scowling.
“Most of the baronies are neutral,” Tarwain continued. “Athelbryght is under the control of one who bears the birthmark of the Chosen, of course. But the Black Hills are in open rebellion and—”
“ War! ” Xyrath boomed. “I will don the traditional red gloves of war. We must teach these upstarts to respect our sovereignty. If they do not respect our commands, they will respect our blades.”
Tarwain’s face was shuttered; this had obviously been a point of contention. Satia knew better than to argue reality with Xyrath. “Your Majesty is right, of course.”
“You agree?” Xyrath threw Tarwain a triumphant look. “We can march—”
Tarwain opened his mouth but Satia jumped in before he could say a word. “Beloved, were you to march, you would not be here for the birth,” she put her hand on her stomach. “I so desire your presence at the birth of your heir.”
“Oh, yes,” Xyrath knelt next to her, his agitation fading. He took her hand in his. “It will be such a celebration,” he said. “I’d even a mind to plan it. But the baronies—”
“War might force you to neglect your projects,” Satia put a worried tone into her voice.
“Oh,” Xyrath said. “True.”
“There is also the cost of a winter campaign,” Tarwain offered. “Instead, we could use these months to train and prepare the men. We could indulge in diplomacy as well, sending our demands even if we know they will be rejected. That would put us in the right in the eyes of the people. Show them that we did everything we could to avoid bloodshed.”
“Well, as long as we don’t avoid it completely.” Xyrath rose to his full height.
Tarwain coughed. “There is also the issue of security within the Palace. I have concerns about Roth, Captain of the Guard.”
Satia’s attention was caught. “You question his loyalty?”
“Not to the Crown,” Tarwain said. “But to the current holder of the Crown. Nothing overt, mind you.”
“Give him time,” Xyrath said. “Change is hard, and he must know in his heart that I am the rightful King. As does the rest of the family, I am sure, now that we have seen to their safety.”
“But others have not supported your cause,” Satia said. “I have a list of the merchants and guild leaders who spurned us. Avice?” The Bondmaiden rose and handed Satia the list—one the Queen had dictated from memory the night before.
Xyrath took the paper, frowning. “I remember how they scorned us. Even now—”
“Let Tarwain see to them,” Satia said. “You have a war to train for.”
“You are right,” Xyrath passed the sheet to Tarwain. “Make recommendations as to who should be accused of treason.”
“And compile an accounting of their lands and properties,” Satia murmured.
“I will see it done, Your Majesties.” Tarwain bowed.
“I am glad that the Blood is all safe,” Xyrath said. “In the ancient days, they’d have all been granted lands, held in the Blood and through oaths of fealty to the Crown. Pity the family has fallen so low, however distant.”
The stirring of an idea occurred to Satia. “My love, you are now the head of the House of Xy, so noble, yet so diminished,” Satia said slowly. “I am sure the Blood will rally to you and lend you every support, to aid you in securing your lands.”
Xyrath gave her a bright smile. “We must find a way to honor them all,” he said. “Let us discuss this further tonight, at the entertainment I have planned. Paulin found a new group of jugglers to perform.”
“Tonight, my King,” Satia raised her hand for his kiss, looking at him through her eyelashes.
“Tonight, My Queen,” Xyrath held her gaze as he swept her hand up and pressed his lips to it, letting his tongue touch her skin. “Until then. Tarwain, let us consider the preparations for battle in the spring!”
Xyrath swept out. Tarwain gave Satia a bow, then followed.
Nora shut the door firmly behind them. The Bondmaidens gathered close as Satia wiped her hand on her skirt.
“I fear the Steward supports the Royal Housekeeper,” Avice observed. “He didn’t seem pleased to be told to talk to her.”
“The Steward will support me if he knows what is best for him,” Satia snapped. She covered her mouth to burp, her throat burning with ginger, crackers, and bile. She made a face at the taste. “Mira, the ginger tea isn’t working. Find me something else.”
Mira nodded. “Let me mix in some lemon. Sometimes sour cancels sour.”
“Caris, Tarwain seems to be out-of-sorts with his daughter. See if you can find out why. Nora, I want to know more about both the Captain of the Guard and our Royal Housekeeper. Something I can use to pry them from their positions.”
“They are well-established,” Avice said. “It may be difficult.”
“Perhaps ‘pry’ is too harsh a word,” Satia took yet another cup of tea from Mira. “I will find a way to honor them.” She took a sip and the bile cleared from her throat. “Yes. She smiled as her stomach settled. “Whatever the cost.”
Ritathan felt her approach through his wards. He frowned before the door even opened.
“Halithe.” He kept his voice flat.
Halithe stepped within and closed the door of his outer chamber softly. Ignoring his frown, she took a seat in the student chair before his desk. She sat straight, folded her hands in her lap, and met his glare squarely. Every black hair in place and her dark eyes steady.
He admired that. Few students could be so composed.
“This is unwise,” he said firmly. “Dangerous, even, given the new regime.”
“She has us doing sewing.” Halithe’s voice was almost as deep as a man’s. “I loathe sewing.”
“Appropriate, for ladies of gentle birth,” Ritathan pointed out. “Safe, and so useful in your future wedded life.”
Halithe didn’t blush and didn’t look away. “I am here for my lesson,” she said firmly.
“I will give you no more lessons.” Ritathan said, just as firmly.
“Queen Kara required you to give me lessons,” Halithe said.
“Kara is dead,” Ritathan pointed out.
“She is,” Halithe gave a slight nod. “Yet her command has not been rescinded.”
Ritathan narrowed his eyes. The chit before him didn’t even blink. “Queen Satia will rescind it.”
“She is not the master of your chains,” Halithe intoned, “her dark eyes sparkling with glee. “She does not hold your key.”
“Delightful,” Ritathan dripped out the word. “How clever of you. Yet the contract for my services may terminate at any time. Or Queen Satia may get irritated enough to have me killed.”
“I will take that chance.”
Ritathan snorted. “Halithe, you do not understand what you ask. Queen Kara humored you in this, but now—’” He shook his head. “This path you would walk is fraught and even more dangerous for a woman. Turn away.”
“No,” Halithe said, her face unchanging, her determination clear.
“Halithe, you do not appreciate what you ask,” Ritathan said. “We are not slaves, but we are bound. We chain our powers to the one who holds our key. In order to wield, we must surrender. In order to be free in our craft, we bind ourselves with chains and oaths and geases and contracts. Turn away.”
“No,” Halithe said.
Ritathan sucked in a breath through his mouth and let it out through his nose. “Halithe,” he said again, for the third time. The last time. “You do not fully realize the sacrifice that will be asked of you. You will gain, but you will lose, in ways you can’t foretell, and those losses are forever.” Ritathan leaned forward, emphasizing every word. “Turn away.”
“No,” Halithe said. “The ritual is complete, Master. Three times you have asked, and three times I have answered.” Now she leaned forward, and he saw the hunger burning in her eyes. “I want to learn,” she continued, the same hunger in her voice. “I want to know.”
“So be it.” Ritathan sighed. “But this will all end in disaster, I just know it.”
“So be it,” Halithe echoed, but her lips quirked up in triumph.