Chapter Twenty
Caris’s bond mark burned raging hot as she ran to the Queen’s chambers, Mira close behind.
King Xyrath was exiting the room as they arrived, his expression forbidding. He raised a hand as they paused to curtsey. “Don’t. Just get in there.” He held the door open.
“Clumsy fool,” Satia snarled, sitting on her lounge, weeping. Broken crockery and spilled tea were everywhere and the Queen was gesturing at the mess and screeching at the staff. Her eyes were red and swollen, her puffy, tear-streaked face set in a mulish pout. The air held the foul odor of vomit and ginger tea.
Caris exchanged a swift glance with Mira. They’d left her with a pot of tea and a full mound of honey cakes. What had—
“In the future, you’d best obey me the first time I speak,” Satia spat at Rosalind, who stood silent before her, head bowed.
“Where have you been?” Satia focused on Caris and Mira, her voice tight and shrill. “You left me alone with these—” she choked back a sob, then spat, “these churls,” gesturing at the pair of chambermaids, one of whom held a chamber pot, who were doing their best to become invisible.
Caris caught the glint of anger in Rosalind’s eyes.
“My tea is cold,” Satia sobbed. “And this stupid girl spilled it on me and dropped the tray and spilled the honey and just look at me,” Satia grew angrier and redder as she waved her arms helplessly. “And my stomach…” she groaned.
Mira took the chamber pot, looking in as she swirled the contents. Caris knelt at Satia’s side, ignoring the mess. A quick glance showed no honey cakes left on the broken plates. She made soothing noises and offered the Queen a handkerchief. “Perhaps it would be best if you were to leave,” she said to Rosalind.
“Yes, go! Get out, all of you!” Satia waved them away with an imperious gesture.
Mira shoved the pot at Rosalind, whose curtsey was swift and abrupt. The Royal Housekeeper drew the chambermaids out with her, departing with a sharp click of the door.
“It’s in my hair,” Satia wailed, holding out sticky strands. She heaved a sob. “It’s all a mess,” she said. “Nothing is as I want it to be.”
Mira knelt at the Bonded’s feet as Caris raced off for a basin and towels and Satia’s favorite robe—a red one with tiny wyverns embroidered in gold thread on the sleeves. She snatched up a pair of comfortable slippers as well and returned, arms full, to hear Mira’s soothing tones.
“We were seeing to your commands,” Mira crooned. “Let’s get you out of this gown and cleaned up. The others will be here soon.”
Caris set the robe and slippers to warm by the hearth. She added a log, building up the fire.
Satia sniffed, letting Mira start to unlace her dress. “That stupid woman defied me and wouldn’t give up the gold plate to be melted down.”
Caris knelt and used the towels to mop up the spilled tea, gathering the broken dishes as she went. She didn’t need to look up to know that Satia’s face was puckered into a pout.
“I had to have the King order her to obey. Even then, she wouldn’t shut up about preservation and history and tapestries. Doesn’t she know that we have to pay that dratted Guildmaster an outrageous sum for that portal spell? Not to mention Xyrath and his stupid statue and his damned atira blades and plans for a coronation we can’t afford. Spare no expense, he says.” She paused for a ragged breath.
Mira whispered something comforting Caris didn’t quite catch, easing Satia’s dress off her breasts and down around her hips. The tea had soaked through to her breastband.
“We made promises to his uncles and cousins for titles and lands and there are debts that need to be paid, including to the Matriarch of the Lord of the Light.” Satia wiped at her cheeks with the palm of her hand. “And I have to pay the Mage Guildmaster because that damned chained mage will not do what I say.” Her anger grew.
“Ritathan wanders around in those chains, smirking, with Tarwain’s stupid, fat daughter following behind him like a puppy. Tarwain is nagging me about that, but I can’t risk angering the Mage Guild until after that stupid expensive portal is created. And they still haven’t found me a blood mage.” Satia cradled her belly. “Time is running out.”
Caris bowed herself away to dispose of the broken bits of crockery. Taking up the kettle always left warming by the fire, she poured water into the basin, then soaked a cloth and tested it against her own skin before returning to Satia’s side.
“There isn’t any money in the treasury and I’ve learned that the Crown jewels are all tin and glass,” Satia whined, clearly mortally offended. “That monster Kara melted down her jewelry and sold everything to feed the army. Who does that?”
Avice and Nora rushed in, breathless, making low curtseys, and clustered close, trying to help.
Satia glared at them and batted away their hands. “And I can’t find the blessing gown handed down in the Xyian line for generations. I just bet that old crone hid it just to spite me.” Her eyes narrowed. “I bet Rosalind knows where it is, the bitch.”
Mira urged Satia up, with Avice and Nora helping her to stand. Her dress fell to the floor in a puddle of silk as Nora eased the Bonded’s panties down to her ankles. Caris pulled all the cloth away as Satia lifted her feet.
Stripped bare, Satia stood in the center of their attention as they carefully washed her, regal and imperious and never once stopping her complaining. “Iris hunts, I can feel it, but she hasn’t returned, and I still don’t know if there is a stupid babe out there to threaten our throne.”
Caris bundled the clothing carefully away in another room. The heat of the bondmark was easing and the pressure of the Bonded’s displeasure left her chest. She risked a moment to gather up the silver mirror, brushes and combs, and returned.
“The invitation has been sent, the arrangements made,” Avice said softly as she cleaned Satia’s fingers delicately, one at a time. “Everything will go according to your desires.”
Satia snuffled. “I might add a few people to my list.”
Mira took up the brush and started to work on Satia’s long, black hair with gentle strokes. Caris gathered the warmed slippers and robe.
Nora handed Satia a kerchief. “That always makes you feel better,” she crooned. “And we dealt with the man that tried to poison you. He was an old retainer of Lady Jazan.”
Satia huffed as Caris knelt and offered the slippers. Mira took the robe and held it while Satia slipped her arms in. Satia sighed, seeming to relax into the warmth and softness. The red of the robe made her bronze skin shine in the firelight. “I want her found and executed.”
“As you command,” Avice said. “All shall be as you want, Bonded.”
“I want…” Satia’s face crumpled and they all froze as she heaved in a mighty breath.
“ I want this to be over ,” Satia wailed.
“This baby is making me fat, just look at my ankles. And my pretty rings don’t fit over my knuckles. Look at these stretch marks,” she sobbed, holding her belly. “I’m fat and ugly and nothing fits, and I hate this. And I have to endure months of this waddling. Months!”
She wept into her hands; her shoulders slumped, heaving with her sobs.
They clustered close, trying to offer comfort.
“The sacrifice you are making for the Kingdom,” Avice whispered, and they all nodded and agreed.
“This is why we need a midwife,” Mira said softly. “One with experience—”
Satia jerked her head up, her face distorted with rage.
Caris’s bondmark flared blood-red and agony erupted at her wrist, catching her between breaths. She fell to her knees, gasping, as did the others.
“How dare you,” Satia raged, lips twisted. “There will be no one else to witness my pain. Bad enough to suffer these indignities in your presence. I have said no, and yet you defy me. You defy me .”
Caris tried to focus, to form words, but the pain squeezed the very breath from her body. She sprawled at the Bonded’s feet, dimly conscious that the others had also collapsed. Satia had hurt them all before but never this bad, never all at once. Never like this.
She flung out one hand, instinctively reaching toward the Bonded, arm stretched in desperate supplication.
“ N o,” Satia spat, drawing her robe closer. The burn in Caris’s arm intensified, crawling up her forearm as frustration and fury poured out of the Bonded and into the bondmarks.
Distantly Caris heard Nora whimper. Avice writhed next to her, lips peeled back in a horrific grimace. Flat, unable to move, unable to breathe, Caris felt the heat of the poison weave up her arm toward her shoulder. She wasn’t sure what would happen if it reached her heart. Probably burn it out of her body, as the Bonded willed.
Caris struggled to draw one last breath, make one last plea. She implored the cold face above her. “Bonded,” she gasped, tears streaming down her face, “your plan.”
It was too much. Caris collapsed in agony, face down on the stone floor, Satia’s red slipper inches away.
“You’re right,” Satia said. “I am not myself.”
The sudden absence of pain was a shock. The room was cold and quiet except for the breath that rasped in all their lungs. The memory of pain lingered in her muscles and her lungs. The burning receded down her arm, her bondmark returning to its normal black.
Caris dared to raise her eyes to the Bonded.
Satia stood, tall and straight, her red-hot, fiery rage gone, clarity returning to her eyes. “Lashing out like this, letting my emotions control my reactions, accomplishes nothing.” She smoothed her hair with a graceful gesture, frowning as she looked off into the distance. “No one prepared me for this aspect of the matter.”
“Perhaps no one can,” Avice’s broken whisper came. “Perhaps it needs to be experienced to know.”
“Perhaps,” Satia said. “At the least, I need someone who knows what they are doing.”
She lifted her chin and cradled her stomach. “This is the key to my future. My survival. Suffer what I must.” She deigned to look down at them.
“Very well, Guildmaster Forterran mentioned someone. Mira, find that midwife. Bring her to me.” Satia gathered up her robe and stepped over the mess and her Bondmaidens’ prone bodies, speaking over her shoulder as she strode toward her bedchamber. “I am exhausted. Avice, come and sing me to sleep.”