Chapter 16
ARLET
When I return to my room a few hours later, the elven women leave me at the door. I take a deep breath, but the inside is well lit and the guards are still alive.
I take a deep breath and head inside. I’m greeted by a meal—indigo-silver fish and more of those braised roots—and Thorne.
I regard him warily, but he stands at the foot of my bed, assessing me carefully with his bright eyes. I blink and see him slit the throat of my intruder.
But there’s no danger now.
What does he want? Is it time to meet with a physician? I let the weight of a sleepless night and arduous day rest on my shoulders. Perhaps if I look pitiful enough, he’ll just leave.
“You look…clean,” he murmurs.
“You, as well,” I say curtly. I don’t call him a traitor this time.
I don’t like him, but, for better or worse, we are in this together.
I roll my eyes and ignore him as I head to the plush seat covered with patterns of leafy vines in a deep violet cut into a thick velvet fabric and sit down. Kicking off my shoes, and not caring where they land, I let my feet nestle into the plush carpet. Dioses mios, it feels good.
Luckily, the chair is already angled away from where he stands and toward the gardens, now illuminated by the twilight. The small, one-person table slides easily over my lap, and I pour myself a cup of tea while I begin cutting and rationing the bits of food.
My stomach growls, and still there is silence between us. I don’t care. Let him wait. I have no more questions, no more thoughts. I feel as though my inner life force has been pulled out by excessive hair-combing and skin-scrubbing.
Just as I am about to bring the first small, measured bite to my lips, I feel Thorne at my back. He reaches over my shoulder and places a carved box next to my plate. I set down the fork, despite my hunger, and pick up the object.
“What’s this? Another curse?” I ask, still not looking at him. It might be childish, but I don’t have it in me to play diplomat right now.
“Herbs for your womb,” he says simply. “I am not about to let your little secret ruin either of our plans.”
Relief runs through me. He’s kept his word.
That makes me look at him. “And how were you able to get this without anyone in the elven court knowing? This place is like a spider’s nest, full of gossips constantly sharing and trading information.” To be honest, I’m almost impressed with how quickly word gets around between these people.
Thorne studies me for a long moment. “My official title here is the King’s Royal Warden of the Consort.
The king holds me in regard because I handle your expenses, personnel, and scheduling.
Politically, I have no say. People only speak to me now because of my connection to you, and the access that might grant them to the king. ”
I want to interject that he had no sway over my decisions, but that simply isn’t true. My petulance only increases because I am tired—I know that. While I cannot trust him, Thorne is not totally against me.
“There are a few neutral contacts I have from my time working with Mrath, and I am able to trade in favors and future promises. Of course, your name is never used. I think most of the physicians and herbalists who gather these ingredients don’t even know who they are for, and if they do, they think it is merely to enhance the compatibility between our species.
Fear not, I’m also very talented at issuing threats. ”
I finally turn to look up at him. Inspect him.
“Is my room really such a safe place to confess things like this?” I ask.
To me, it seems as though there are ears everywhere.
Agreed, Cursed One murmurs after hours of silence.
“I am very good at glamour. I can smell lies, remember? It is only safe to confess such things when I am present, my dear,” he answers, utterly serious.
I turn my attention back to the box, pulling open the clasp. A strong medicinal smell hits me flat on. It stings the back of my nose and throat and I cough, nearly dropping the herbs.
“Careful,” Thorne chides, wrapping his fingers around mine and steadying my hand. When he notices how cold my flesh is, he purses his lips. I wonder if he sees the paleness that does not recede.
If he notices my stomach growl a second time, he doesn’t say anything.
“You will need to take a dosage of this every evening. Starting tomorrow, they will begin checking your health with the royal physician. They want to make sure you are well for your wedding night. If possible, they will try to move your quickening so that it falls as close to your wedding night as possible. It would be in everyone’s best interests if you were pregnant within the month. ”
I stare at the herbs. In the breeding pens, there was a tea they used to give women that would supposedly help ripen a woman’s womb and prepare it to receive seed, but it did not work for me. It looked, and smelled, like weed-water.
This is something fancy and unknown from the elves. Maybe…
I bite my lip. If Estela were here, she might recognize the herbs. She’d worked with the healers before becoming queen.
My mind floods with information—with questions. Something strange churns in my gut as I look at the dried flowers and leaves. Could it have always been as simple as this? A little medicine?
Back in Enduvida, Ulla had told me that my first loss had left me badly scarred. Even months with my Fuegorra hadn’t fixed that.
But maybe…things were different now?
Like a small spark catching flame in the middle of a frozen, wintry forest, hope reveals itself.
It’s a feeling that’s been foreign to me regarding children.
It is one thing to seek out a solution like matehood, something grand yet distant, compared to holding something in your hand that could actively change your situation.
I’d never tried a treatment. The emotion hits me in the throat, sending me images of holding a small child in my arms and giving of myself to feed them.
I imagine being pregnant again, taking a second I haven’t taken in a long time to consider what it would feel like to hold all the fear of loss against the undeniable hope of life.
Motherhood wakes up a deep, ancestral part of the brain that suddenly thinks in generations, not years. There is a part of me that is realizes I won’t be here forever and another part of me that questions, “Will something of me continue?”
My mind, my soul, my capacity have changed so much. This time, would I feel the truth with a child in my womb? That I, a fragile mortal, overcame the odds and created life? That I wasn’t just close to divinity, I would be divinity in that act.
Remember who it is you would be having a child with, my mind-companion interjects.
She’s right. Anger floods through me. This wouldn’t be with some respectful troll. Not with a cautious, yet resourceful human dedicated to me. It wouldn’t be with…
Him.
It would be with a cold, cruel king who already had three women killed before you, Cursed One finishes.
“Do not spy on me,” I grit out, even though she is right. I don’t need her ruining this moment, the first time I’ve felt hopeful since arriving.
“My dear, I will be watching you closely every day for the rest of your life. It’s high time that you give up the notion I am spying on you,” Thorne says, bitter almost.
He doesn’t know about Cursed One, and I do not wish him to.
Not at all, so I cover my careless comment.
“Sorry,” I grumble. “I misspoke.”
Holding up the box again, I look at him. “How am I meant to take this?”
He frowns. I don’t understand him. I don’t understand his motives, but still, I don’t doubt the validity of the gesture.
“One spoonful, well mixed, with your tea. Finish what they’ve prepared for you now, then prepare a new cup with that. You must eat the contents as well—no tea leaf readings in this room.”
If that was an attempt at a joke, I ignore it. Instead, I finish my tea, finding it at a pleasing temperature after letting it sit. Then I pour another glass with a measured spoonful and wait for it to steep while I return to my plate.
While I drink, my mind continues to churn with questions. One comes forward more often than any of the others.
“Thorne,” I say suddenly.
“Yes, my dear?” he says, looking up from picking his fingernails.
“Who was the wife before me?”
His face goes carefully blank. “I don’t know,” he says sharply.
“But you know everything. They say she wasn’t human. When you were with Mrath, I know you—” I protest, but Thorne takes the box, effectively cutting me off.
“She was a half-blood,” he spits. “More elf than human, everyone said. As if that made a difference. She was still a Peredhel, and he killed her within six months, then waited four decades before setting his sights on you.”
He sounds furious and bitter. I don’t understand why, and don’t have a chance to ask questions anymore because he brushes out of the room, only pausing at the door to say over his shoulder, “I will see you again tomorrow.”
I still don’t trust him, Cursed One says.
I am not sure if I do.