Chapter Sixteen #2
He allowed himself to relax, inhaling her faint lavender scent gratefully.
“I’m sorry, my darling. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.” She eased back, looking down at him tenderly. “You don’t need to worry.”
“But there’s so much more to sort out.”
At a fresh wail from Hedrok, Mother cringed. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my years as queen, there will always be unpleasant waters to navigate.”
Tregereth appeared carrying their ornately carved square box holding potions and salves and supplies, an assistant on their heels with more.
Plump and older, Tregereth had short dark hair, light brown skin, and dressed in plain robes not unlike the clerics’, though a rich scarlet and orange instead of pious gray.
Jem and his mother joined Tregereth at the threshold to the guest chamber. Inside, Hedrok writhed on the canopied bed, long tunic tangled at his hips as Cador and Creeda tried to soothe him. Tregereth paused before their shoulders slumped.
They glanced at Jem’s mother, leaning close. “All the sevels in Onan won’t save this one.” They nodded to their helper and marched into the chamber, saying, “Right, let’s get this pain under control. I’ll take care of you.”
“What’s happening?” Santo asked from behind. They held hands with Arthek, both wearing slippers and long silk robes knotted over their sleep shirts.
“Come, let’s leave this poor child in peace.” Mother shepherded them all down the corridor.
Jem had to admit he was relieved when they entered another wing and Hedrok’s faint cries faded away entirely, though he wished he could bring Cador with him.
In his mother’s favorite receiving room, airy and filled with plants and colorful chairs, Jem’s father and Pasco sat with Delen, Kensa, and the other Ergh hunters, who looked very much like barbarians who’d come straight from battle to perch on the plush chairs.
Which he supposed they had, dirty and blood-splattered.
Delen jumped to her feet, knocking the chair back behind her. It hit the rug with a thud, and the other hunters leapt up as well, fists clenched. Their swords and spears had apparently been confiscated, which was surely for the best, at least for the moment.
“How is he?” Delen demanded.
“He doesn’t seem well at all,” the queen answered. “Our finest healer is seeing to him now.”
Delen looked to Jem, and he nodded and said, “If anyone can help, it’s Tregereth.”
“Thank you.” Delen righted the toppled chair. Her tunic was stained with sweat and drying blood, and she shifted from boot to boot in the silence. “I’m told my tas isn’t here?”
“Please, let us all sit.” Jem’s mother motioned to the half circle of chairs. “And I’m sure you’re thirsty and hungry.” She nodded to a servant.
How strange it was to be in his mother’s sitting room past midnight, many oil lamps brightening the space, the windows dark beyond the glow. Even stranger to be there sharing a small couch with Santo and Arthek as they watched the Erghians eat and drink eagerly.
There was so much to say, and so many questions to ask, yet they all seemed mired in this strange game of politeness. Though Jem imagined most of his mother’s guests ate the plates of slender sandwiches with far less gusto.
Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Delen asked, “Shouldn’t our tas and Jory be back soon?”
“I expect so. My son Locryn has gone after them, and he’ll find them soon, I’m sure. Perhaps they became lost.”
Delen nodded. “Perhaps. Thank you for your help.”
In her boots, Jem would have a million questions, but this was politics, and Delen seemed to be playing the game. In fact, when Ysella arrived with platitudes from the gods, Delen greeted her with surprising warmth.
Perhaps only surprising in comparison to Cador, who could barely refrain from rolling his eyes at the mere mention of the gods.
How is he? It’s awful seeing Hedrok suffer. Is he—
Jem gave himself a mental shake. Why was he worrying about Cador? Cador would take care of himself.
Before Ysella could launch into a prayer, Jem asked Delen, “Any signs of fire?”
Tension rippled through her. “Yes. It seems to be worsening in Gwels, though several days ride from here.”
“Let us pray for the gods’ blessing upon us.” Ysella stood, so small that she wasn’t much taller when she did.
Jem wanted to protest that they still had too much to discuss, but his mother was nodding, deferring to Ysella in a way that made the back of his neck prickle. Beside him, Santo and Arthek dutifully bowed their heads. Pasco and their father followed suit.
Jem shared a glance with Delen, who gave him a wry little smile and minute shrug of her shoulders before she piously clasped her hands on her lap. The other Erghians awkwardly mimicked her.
Perhaps Cador was right and Delen would make a better chieftain. They needed to get along with the clerics and play their game. Jem fidgeted, remembering how bored he’d been at the peace summit on the hard stone chair.
He was glad at least for the plush couch under his tender backside, his face heating as he thought of the game he and Cador had played just, when? An hour before? It seemed like a dream.
The skin of his belly was tight with a smear of seed he’d missed when quickly cleaning himself.
He squeezed his arse, the throbbing ache delicious.
What a relief it had been to surrender. To be touched by those strong, familiar hands, speared with that cock.
He’d let himself be Prince Kitto, fucked by the marauding woodsman, but of course he knew it was more than that.
As Ysella droned about Glaw and the other gods, Jem followed an emerald circle on the rug with the toe of his boot. He’d clasped his hands obediently, and now he traced the tusks branded into his right palm with his other thumb.
Even if he could trust Cador with his body, his heart was far, far too fragile. How wonderful it had been to feel Cador’s touch once more, to not have to think , to come so hard his bollocks tingled now merely remembering.
Delen spoke, and he jerked up his head, realizing the prayer was over. Delen said, “We are grateful for Neuvella’s hospitality and kinship.” Her gaze met Jem’s. “Especially since we’ve grown so fond of Prince Jowan.”
His mother smiled. “How could you not?”
“I admit we underestimated him at first,” Delen said. She had no way of knowing whether Jem had told his mother of the kidnapping plot, but seemed to assume he’d kept his promise. Which he had, he supposed.
The queen looked at him, love evident in her warm gaze. “Most do. I’m confident he will unite Ergh and Neuvella, and all of Onan.”
Delen nodded. “I have every confidence he will.”
He bit back a scoff. Delen was playing the game. Ergh needed to be unified with Neuvella and in turn Gwels. Especially if King Perran wanted war, and if the sevels were at risk. If the fires worsened before the rains, how many sevels would be affected? How many did Perran have stockpiled? How…
The realization hit him like an icy gust of wind as he played back Tregereth’s words in his mind.
“All the sevels in Onan won’t save this one.”
They knew the connection between sevels and the wasting disease. But how? When?
Jem met his mother’s fond gaze, a chill shivering down his spine. If Tregereth knew, so did the queen.