***
Returning to the frost-bitten Alhazar, I heard a voice chirp. I recognized the pink cheeks of the boy from Aquia who had delivered the news of the Assembly.
“Emira.” He sketched a low bow. “I have two letters for you: one from an Oelphie of Clemen and another from Emir Gwydion.”
So he had styled himself as ‘Emir’ Gwydion? Bloody insufferable bastard.
My frozen fingers latched onto the thick folded parchments and anger dissipated. Knees weak, I staggered against a pillar. I thought I had lost him. I had hoped he would forget me. Certainly, I had thrust him out of my mind. Yet here he was, once more pushing his nose into my life like an insistent dog. I did not want to open the letter. When had anything from Gwydion ever brought me anything but grief?
“What is it?” asked Kershid, striding out of nowhere. I vaguely recognized the very blonde, very pretty young woman on his arm.
Startled, I straightened and the folded sheafs nearly slipped from my numb hands. “N-nothing,” I stuttered. “A letter from my husband. Good day.” I fled up the stairs to my room and flung myself onto the fire-warm cobalt bedspread. I lay spread-eagle until, finally, my panting subsided. I peeled the seal open with a fingernail.
Selene,
I suppose it is only polite to begin this letter by asking after your health. How is it? Mine is quite well, thank you. I write to inform you that Quenela and Hadil aligned last week and penetrated further into Aquia. With the Avarainian mercenaries I hired, I was able to repulse them to the edge of Aquia’s borders, although they remain a threat. I will be making a second attempt against them, likely as you receive this letter.
Do not fear for your family and servants: I have sequestered them. You, though, have not written a single missive describing how your quest fares and I only discovered that you had reached Nyneveh safely through alternate sources. As for our goals, do not consider yourself above using your feminine wiles to gain the throne. We both must do our part.
Your Husband,
Gwydion
My heart throbbed in my ears. What I would not give to thump their heads against a spiked wall. Gwydion, Quenela, and Hadil. The paper trembled in my angry hands. I reached for paper and ink to pen my response. My numb, quivering hands had trouble forming the letters.
Gwydion,
I am well. As for the Throne, negotiations are beginning and we are drudging through formalities and foundations. I recently spoke to a representative of the Thirds Council and I believe she liked me. Keep me apprised of how it goes against Quenela and Hadil’s forces. I hope you are keeping yourself faithful.
Your Wife,
Selene
I snorted at the final sentence as I wrote it. Gwydion was about as faithful as temperamental summer. No doubt he had taken up with his pari paramour before the Mehal gate had closed behind me. The image filled me with righteous irritation. He signed his letters Husband and I signed mine Wife, yet our marriage was not an abiding bond, but simply something I could not worm out of. I wished I could divorce him, set myself free, but I was too much in his power—and it seemed I always would be.
With an exasperated sigh, I waved the letter dry, deftly folding and sealing it. I wrote another, much warmer missive to Oelphie, with whom I had been corresponding since I had arrived in Aquia; occasionally, I even received notes from Corec. Oelphie’s life was much the same, although Madam had taken new airs after learning that her governess Roselyn Dula had in fact been the Emira-Regent of Aquia in hiding.
“Your Grace, do you require my services?”
I looked around in surprise. A petite, neat-looking woman dressed in maid’s clothing was waiting my reply. Her dark hair was swept up tidily beneath a crisp white mobcap.
“Pardon?”
“My aid to prepare for the meal this evening, Emira?” she repeated.
I crinkled my eyebrows. I had not brought my maid from Aquia, knowing there was too much work to be done there and thinking to hire a new one in Nyneveh. Unfortunately, I had not had the time to interview any candidates. “What is your name?”
She dipped her knee. Her grey gown skimmed the floor. “Reyal, your Grace.”
“Who has sent you?” I wagered on Quenela.
“Lord Kershid, if it pleases your Grace.”
I pursed my mouth. Although I did not doubt that she was a spy, I did require a maid. And if she is competent, I could buy her loyalty.
Reyal proved efficient, buttoning my silver gown and skillfully styling my hair around a diamond and emerald diadem—one of my mother’s. I asked her to summon Gwydion’s messenger and after depositing my letter into his small hands, I dismissed the pair.
I stepped quietly down the hall. Passing Quenela’s room, I heard the murmur of conversation within. Holding my breath, I pressed my ear closer to the door and prayed that no one would see me. I could hear only snatches.
“...Mercenaries have yielded to that boy...rubbish...hire more...” That was Quenela’s voice.
There was a low rumble, a man speaking, but the door blurred his words to indistinguishability, but I thought I recognized Hadil’s cadence.
Her laugh pierced through wood and raised the hair on my arms. It was so clear that she might have been standing an inch from me. “...Clemenite merchants...wealthy...can hire as many mercenaries...too sweet...opportunity...let pass by being miserly...Aquia...green girl...boy...playing dress up...Queen...ill.”
I pushed nearer. If the door were to open, I would tumble in, heels over head.
The man spoke again, but I could pick up only phrases of Quenela’s response. “Yes...Kaladus does not like her...believe he can be persuaded...”
I started. So Quenela was trying to court Kaladus, and unless I missed the mark entirely, she was trying to court him to join her—against me. Well then, I would have to reach him first. Footsteps beat louder, closer on the other side of the door. Heart pounding like a thousand drums, I raised my skirts and fled down the stairs to dinner.
To my surprise, I was greeted at the hall’s entrance by Kershid.
“How are you feeling, Emira?” he inquired.
“Quite well,” I replied, trying to catch my breath. I fanned my red face.
He lowered his voice, his tawny eyes bright with sympathy. “This afternoon, you seemed so pale. I sent Reyal to you to help you. Did you like her?”
It took me a moment to remember what he was talking about, but when I did I was taken aback. It was one thing for the maid to say that she had been sent to me from Lord Kershid, but quite another for him to mention it to me. Had I misinterpreted his gesture? Was she not a spy but a....gift, a token of esteem? “Very much so, Lord Kershid.”
“I heard that you met with Calenda of the Thirds Council this morning,” he said casually, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his dark blue breeches.
Ah. “Yes. She and I have some mutual friends,” I explained, parroting what I had told Ferdas.
Something new kindled in his eyes—respect? I suppressed a pleased flush and took my seat beside him at the shining lacquered table.
I watched the door and sure enough, a few minutes later, Quenela and Hadil entered together. Instead of taking the seat marked for her beside me, Quenela approached Kaladus. She bent her head and whispered something. His eyes lit with interest and flickered towards me.
Bells clanged in my head. I may have just let an important opportunity slip. Seasons damn it all, intrigue moves too fast here. As if hearing my thoughts, Quenela smirked at me. Even I was forced to admit, at the game of court intrigue, Quenela was a more than adept player, one who outclassed me by far.
Still, I reminded myself, trying not sink too rapidly under dejection, you have Calenda’s the Third Council’s support. Another voice reminded me, But they do not have a vote. Kaladus does...But did he? Was he not suspended until I chose to forgave him? I smiled. I still had a move or two left in me, it seemed.
Quenela curtsied slightly to Kaladus and without
glancing my way, took her seat beside me.
“Quenela, Cousin, I received the most interesting news today.”
Her lips curved coldly. With studied disinterest, she turned her head away so that I could only see her shining brown hair and the stiff back of her cobalt gown.
But Emir Hadil on her other side was not so fastidious. “What word?”
“Your armies in Aquia were recently defeated by my husband Gwydion Aperine.”
Quenela deliberately turned her neck and meticulously lay down her fork. “I would not grow content with the news of one victory. This is only the beginning.”
“Tell, me, if you do win, who will rule Aquia? You or Hadil?” I asked sweetly.
Hadil darted a quick, frustrated look in Quenela’s direction.
“That’s none of your concern, child,” Quenela said evenly. “When that comes about, you and your family will be nothing more than comatose peasants.”
I regarded her with ill-concealed disdain, but tried to bear Gwydion’s counsel about tact in mind. “Better a peasant than power-mad.”
“Listen girl,” she hissed, an angry flush rising under her copper skin. “I see through your weak attempts at manipulation and let me assure you, your time as Emira is running short and as long as there is breath in my body, you shall not be Queen.”
I raised my wine glass. “Likewise.”
I turned from Quenela to Kershid and Ferdas. Kershid, however, was occupied with staring at a vaguely familiar woman down the table. Ferdas and I exchanged curious looks. Ah! It was the woman who had spoken to me at dinner, who had so adroitly discovered my malady. Kershid’s eyes devoured her. Other than a small, friendly smile she sent his way, she seemed impervious to his attention, engrossed as she was in conversation with another man.
I nudged Kershid. “Who is she?”
Kershid did not reply, but Ferdas supplied the answer. “She is Lady Avera, daughter and heir of the Emir Luix of Aawset.”
Kershid’s mouth twisted. “Lord Ferdas has also failed to mention that she is my wife.”
Sudden awkwardness filled the space between us. Hoping to break it, I managed, “And to whom is she speaking?”
“Viscount Illyich. Her latest lover,” he added bitterly. “Whose company she much prefers to mine.”
Despite feeling the contrary and startled at being so suddenly taken into his confidence, I said, “I am sure that is untrue.”
He snorted. I did not blame him. She was never improper, but her every gesture towards the viscount was imbued with intimacy.
Sympathy for Kershid welled up in me. The mere thought of Gwydion’s lover had bothered me and I did not even love him as Kershid professed to love Avera. I leaned close to him, flirtatiously whispering in his ear, “Follow my lead, hmm?”
He stared at me in surprise. I pulled him up by the arm, laughing loudly, flicking a glance over at Avera who had turned to see what the fuss was about. “Oh Lord Kershid, you do flatter me!” I said loudly.
“Come on, smile,” I urged, and he grinned hesitantly. Avera’s kind eyes crinkled. The others watched as if we had gone rather mad. Giggling and leaving a bewildered Ferdas behind us, we disappeared from the bright hall to a dim passageway.
“You are out of your mind,” Kershid laughed.
“If she is your wife, then how is it that your love is not returned?” I asked, surprising myself with my boldness.
Kershid pulled me further from the hall, up a flight of stairs, past shimmering crystal and golden marble and into a large apartment’s overwhelmingly scarlet sitting area.
“This is a tale which requires a seat away from prying ears. And an open mind.” He settled himself into the leather ouch and produced a cut-crystal jar from which he extracted a pinch of a glittering dried green qunab. It filled the room with a sweet, earthy scent. Adeptly, he crumbled it and gently packed it into an elaborately carved ebony pipe. He lit it and took a deep draught. “If I may ask, how do you like your husband, Emira Selene?” He passed the pipe to me.
I had enjoyed the experience of smoking qunab a few times before in Clemen, but I was by no means an expert. I breathed in deeply. A hacking cough originated in my throat.
“Easy, easy,” Kershid murmured, handing me a beaten gold chalice.
Sipping the carmine wine, I pondered my response: truth or fib. Striving for middle ground, I replied, “He is a clever, brave and handsome man.” All of which was true of course. I had found that I was an unconvincing liar when all was said and done. A mark against my bid for Queen.
“Yes, but how do you like him?” he insisted as I took another breath of smoke. He pulled his chair closer.
“We are mental equals.” Another deliberately unclear response. I started to feel dizzy and passed the pipe to Kershid.
Realizing that I would not be transparent, Kershid began to unravel his tale. “My marriage to Avera was arranged by our mothers. They had been friends as young women. Her mother wed Luix of Aawset and Avera was their only child, making her heiress to an emirdom. Had she wanted, she, instead of your friend Ferdas, could have represented Aawset in her father’s place. My mother immediately latched onto that; that and the fact that Avera was renown for her beauty. Mother assumed that made me amenable to marrying her. Both Avera and I—I do not know why I am telling you all of this.”
Transfixed by the cat-like ocher of his eyes, I made no response.
He laughed. “Beginning my marriage with Avera, I was young and foolish and spoke boldly of things I had no real understanding of. I told her that I would freely marry her and be kind and caring, but she should not expect love—but we would be free to seek it elsewhere. Initially, she was shocked but eventually conceded. As the days of our marriage marched on, I, like any other who has met her, fell deeply in love. But what could I do? I had set certain conditions when we began our marriage and I could not impugn my honor by changing them.” He paused, embarrassed.
I was mesmerized by the violet stones glinting in his ears, feeling that I could watch them for hours, that eternity, that a universe that stretched on and on was to be found somewhere in their depths. A light flush dusted his cheeks, like stars at sunset.
I smiled, prompting him to continue.
He rolled the chalice between his hands. “She had taken my words to heart and began engaging in affairs here and there. Yet, our marriage soldiers on, for in her own way, she cares for me. And of course, there is her emirdom.”
To me, the answer seemed simple. “You should tell her what you feel. Let her make her own decision, but let her know your feelings.”
And then I promptly forgot what we had been talking about.
I marveled at how time seemed to slow, but my life was still continuing at a normal pace. Just as my thoughts threatened to spiral into a mire of fool’s philosophy, Liem ambled into the room, a wide grin plastered on his handsome face. An answering smile tugged on my lips. Seeing me and Kershid, Liem halted and mumbled something. Kershid shook his head with a laugh and invited Liem to join me on the couch. He handed Liem a freshly loaded pipe.
I slid over. My skirts created a hair-raising screech against the couch. I recalled our original topic of conversation. “I think you are very lucky to have at least been in love with her, to have experienced it.”
Liem turned sharply to Kershid. “Are you speaking of Avera? You should not, but you will persist in being a masochist.”
“Possibly,” Kershid said noncommittally after a puff.
He passed it to me. Ash fell on my belly. It had yet to gain the full roundness of pregnancy, but had begun to hint at the wideness it would soon reach. I wondered what it was like to be a child in a womb, if she or he could hear us, what it was like to swim in the dark womb, like a ship lost at sea. “What of you, Liem? What woman has your heart?” I said with fastidious slowness.
At that, they burst into uncontrollable laughter like a pair of ten-year olds with a secret, yet their giggling was contagious and I could not help but
join them although I was lost as to why.
“That’s a tale for another night” Liem chuckled.
Heavy and warm, I let my eyelids flutter shut, listening to Liem’s and Kershid’s philosophical discussions, occasionally raising incongruous points and mindlessly eating the platter of sweetmeats Liem had procured. Surveying them through half-closed eyes, I happily decided that I had found in them two friends. How funny. Who would have thought it?
Chapter Sixteen