Chapter Nine
Jocasta was relieved to learn that she had to do nothing for the wedding plans.
The Master of the Wardrobe would have her gown made in time.
The cooks and kitchen attendants would have a banquet ready.
Girion would be in charge of ensuring all the right people were invited, and on that score, he was assisted by a dozen advisors.
When Jocasta had asked what she needed to do, Girion had looked at Cole and Herrick, and Cole had gone to send a message to his mother. She would know.
“In the meantime, you take care of your parents. We’ll send transport for them, and you’ll put them in the guest rooms, of course, or if you want to scout ‘round the city and find their future dwelling, do that. This place will be crowded enough with visiting nobles—although with the short notice, we may be spared some of them. As it is our wedding, we will also be spared some of the ghastly hosting duties. I’ve put Lord Arendal in charge of that, and hopefully all of them will leave within three days after the wedding. ”
“What happens three days after the wedding?” Jocasta asked, scribbling frantically on parchment before handing it to Herrick. “Ensure this is delivered to my parents. Please send it ahead of the carriages by messenger hawk.”
“Of course, miss.”
“I’ll tell you on the way to our chambers. Nalar wants to poke at you with his threads and needles, and I have other matters to attend to.”
Jocasta nodded, wondering what private, royal information she would soon learn.
When she got to her rooms, Girion waited outside the door until she beckoned him in. “What is it?”
“It is customary for younger men than I to wed. Princes can take their brides on a month-long trip to the Spring Kingdoms, or perhaps on a sailing journey to the islands of the Summer Kingdoms, or even simply an excursion within our own borders. I have no one else to entrust the kingdom to. I cannot take you on a lavish trip to celebrate our marriage.”
“Why, that’s all right. I didn’t expect one!” Jocasta reassured. Besides, everyone knew that those trips were really an excuse to give in to long-simmering lusts without everyone in your town knowing what you were doing, and people counting how many days since you’d left your cottage.
“You didn’t, but it will look wrong if we don’t at least make some concession to tradition. People will assume—with my age—that I will want an heir right away.”
“That’s fine,” Jocasta blurted.
Girion’s mouth opened and closed several times before he asked, voice much higher than usual, “It is?”
“Not because of your age, but because the royal house has dwindled. I—I was thinking you’d probably want several heirs. It would be prudent. That is, look at my family. The Watermans are hardly the royal house, but my parents had three children, and only one is left. And if I were to die—”
“Don’t. Say. That.”
Jocasta paused. Girion’s eyes had narrowed, his fists had clenched, and muscles jumped in his cheek.
“I just mean,” she continued gently, “that tragedy befalls us all, from rich to poor. My parents lost two sons. You lost a mother and a stepmother, leaving your father with only one son. I... I would not mind if we had several. Besides, it must have been lonely growing up without siblings. My brothers and I constantly annoyed one another, but I loved them more than life itself.”
Girion nodded at last, blinking and seeming to snap himself back to the present, leaving whatever sad spot he had journeyed to in his mind. “That’s very generous of you, and forward-thinking. Thank you.”
His tone had become so formal. Jocasta blushed and fell into silence, wondering if the change in his manner was because he dreaded the thought of intimacy with her. Was it wrong that she was far from dreading it?
“We cannot go away, but for three days, we will be left free from any duties, save dire trouble. We will be in the palace, but undisturbed unless we send for a servant. Guards will be stationed at different positions, and our hall will be sealed off from guests or the servants unless sent for. And—and it is likely that everyone will expect you to come to my chambers for those days, and for a while after, until it appears as though we’ve been diligent at trying to expand the royal family.
Naturally, since no one will be interrupting us until summoned, you can spend as much time as you like in your chambers. ”
“I don’t want to give anyone reason to talk. Lady Renata seems to be keen to spread unkindness. Will she be at this wedding?”
“It is likely, sadly.” Girion paced the floor in front of her hearth. “If it had been a few weeks away, perhaps she could have gone home and found some excuse not to return. As it is, she is here with her father in the city, and so we are saddled with her.”
“Yes, he seems to spend a great deal of time here, doesn’t he? Why isn’t he in Wyndwood?”
“I suspect that he has created some bad blood with Prince Fannar at some point.” Girion’s brow furrowed. “Something Renata said is bothering me, but I can’t place it.”
“About Prince Fannar?”
“No, she was hinting that she’d be the better choice, because she has Fire magic.
I pointed out that Air and Earth magic are the closest cousins of it.
That our magic pulls the heat of the molten fire from the heart of the Earth itself.
That we harness the sun’s warmth out of the air.
The kind of heat you have to build and work for.
.. It lasts longer. It is better. It’s the way it is done in my kingdom, and I wish to keep it that way. ”
Jocasta nodded, suddenly spellbound by the sight of Girion, firelight casting a glow on him as he stood in front of her hearth, talking about the heat that you had to earn and draw up. That you had to build and make last.
Heat that she wanted to share with him.
In two more days, she’d be bound to him. Maybe in two years, they’d build something beyond an alliance.
A knock on the door made Jocasta swallow whatever tentative thing she’d been about to say.
“Enter!” Girion commanded.
Herrick and Cole were at the door. “Wedding business, sire,” Cole addressed Girion.
“That’s not your job, Cole.”
“Well, it is, sort of, at this moment. My parents are the closest thing you’ve got to relatives, aren't they?”
“Until two days from now, when he’ll acquire in-laws. Nice ones,” Jocasta said, folding her arms.
“It is on this matter that I come. My mother wishes to extend the invitation to your parents, Miss Jocasta, to stay with them in their house in Tundra Springs, the General's Citadel.” He held up his hand and whispered behind it, “It’s much nicer and less like a fortress than it sounds. The head of the Caledonian Command is always given a residence, one of the historic old mansions that surround the Polar Square neighborhood. It would only be a short carriage ride from there to the palace, and once you two are done with your... your post-wedding respite, they could stay with you in the palace.”
“The queen’s family must have a house in Tundra Springs, too. A residence they can come and stay in at will,” Girion spoke up.
Jocasta made a frantic wave of protest. “Nothing too fancy.”
“It will have to be at least a little fancy.” Girion held out his arms. “We can’t have the Queen’s parents living down some back alley where hoodlums will harass them! What kind of son-in-law will they imagine me to be if I allow such a thing?”
“City youths throwing eggs at windows is nothing compared to a lot of drunken sailors jostling and crashing through the shop. My parents can handle themselves. They won’t be here much. Why buy something expensive?”
“Why not just give them rooms in the palace?” Herrick interjected in his gruff voice.
“They won’t want to stay here, they’ll think they’re imposing,” Jocasta said quickly.
“There are over fifty rooms in the place!” Girion cried.
Cole’s laugh startled them out of their exchange. “Ahh, bickering like an old married couple. It does my heart good. Come, Herrick, let’s leave these two cooing doves alone.”
“I do not coo!” Girion thundered after them.
Jocasta rolled her eyes. “What happens after three days of respite? Aside from the fact that people can bother us again? Specifically, what will I do?”
“I imagine you’ll choose your ladies-in-waiting. They’ll travel with you and sit with you when you have your audiences.”
“Why in the world will people want to have an audience with me?” Jocasta joined him in pacing, walking in the opposite direction so that she was at the window when he was at the door. When they turned, they both looked at one another, and then down or to the side. Anywhere else.
“You will be queen.”
“But they’ll want to ask me things. Have me do something?”
“Usually.”
“Well, I won’t be able to do it!”
“Why not? You’re the Queen of Caledon.”
Jocasta stopped and shook her head suddenly. “I... I don’t know that I am truly able to be that in anything but name,” she admitted, and forced herself to meet his eyes. “I don’t want to let you down.”
Girion hurried over to her, his hands outstretched.
“You are simply worried about doing well. I would be troubled if you seemed overeager. You are not. You are being wise and cautious. Considering the pitfalls. If you were not a mage, I would have wanted you to be an advisor, or even a general. Well, with the proper training.”
“There is no training academy for queens, is there?” Jocasta asked with a wan smile.
“Only experience and guidance. Lady Somerlynn is a good advisor, and she and the General like you very much. Listen,” Girion put his massive hands on her shoulders, and then moved one finger under her chin.
“You want to help people. You will only help people if the cause is just and if we have the means. If we do not have the means, then you will find them. That is what you do, Jocasta. Jo.”
She closed her eyes for a moment and rested her cheek against his palm. “You truly are Girion the Great. Not just large. Wise. Kind. Patient.”