Lynn Flewelling - The Oracle's Queen

“Perhaps it’s Aliya’s memory that keeps him from treating Nalia better,” Barieus suggested one night as they all sat together over wine in one of the cheerless guardrooms.

“Aliya was beautiful, and he chose her for love,” Alben reminded him. “This one? I’d keep her shut away, too, if she were mine.”

“That’s an unmanly sentiment, even from you,” Caliel growled. The stress of their situation had frayed the regard between them.

“Well, you don’t think he chose her on his own, for love or romance, now do you?” Alben shot back. “She’s a girl of the blood, one of the last left of a breeding age, as far as anyone knows. That’s what Niryn told me.”

“Getting pretty thick with him, aren’t you?” Lutha muttered into his wine.

“You speak of her like she’s a prize bitch in his kennel,” Caliel retorted.

Alben shrugged. “What do you think Kor’s doing up there with her at night, reading her poetry?”

“Shut your filthy mouth, you heartless bastard!” Lutha yelled. “That’s the Consort you’re speaking so lightly of. She’s a lady of the blood!”

“And you’re her champion?” Alben threw down his cup and jumped to his feet, hot for a fight.

Caliel quickly got between them. “Stop it, both of you! The penalty for brawling still stands, and I don’t want to be the one having to carry it out!”

Alben angrily yanked his arm free of Caliel’s grasp.

“Where is her family?” Urmanis wondered drunkenly over his cups. “For that matter, where did she come from and how do we know she is what they claim?”

That gave everyone pause. After a moment Alben slumped back down in his chair and snatched his squire’s wine cup. Draining it, he wiped his mouth and muttered, “I’m not going to be the one to ask Korin about it. You go ahead, if you care so much. Bilairy’s balls, Lutha, anyone would think she was your wife, the way you go on about her! I wouldn’t let Korin catch you making long eyes at her.”

“You bastard!” Lutha was on his feet again, reddening at the accusation. Caliel and Barieus both got hold of him this time. Alben laughed as they pulled him from the room before he could defend his honor.

Sitting by the balcony door in her shift, trying to catch a breath of morning breeze, Nalia looked down at the red stain in her lap and smiled. She didn’t mind the discomfort and mess of her moon flow; it meant a welcome respite from her husband’s cold attentions.

Korin still came to her almost every night, and she never refused him, though she still sometimes wept after he’d gone. He was never cruel or coarse, but neither was he passionate. Their congress was merely duty, a task to be carried out as quickly and efficiently as possible. She got no pleasure from it, and wondered if he did, beyond the physical release. Had he been cruel, she might have found the courage finally to make that leap from the balcony. As it was, she’d grown resigned.

She had known affection with Niryn, and passion, and she had mistakenly imagined herself his beloved.

Life was nothing like that with Korin. When he was sober he would take time before their coupling to drink with her and tell her something of his day. It was all speculation about weaponry and marches, and bored her terribly.

Sometimes he asked about her day, though, and she’d dared hint at the empty hours. He’d surprised her, letting her come downstairs to dine more often. He still refused to let her outside the fortress to ride or walk along the cliffs, claiming it wasn’t safe, but little comforts began to arrive.

She had stacks of books now, baskets of needlework and painting supplies, even a cage of cheerful yellow birds. Korin also sent gifts of perfumes and cosmetics, but these felt more like unspoken taunts. Her mirror had never lied to her and she’d long since made peace with her reflection. Did this man think that a little paint would change the way she looked? It hurt that it mattered enough for him to send such things, just as it still hurt that he would only come to her bed after the lamps had been put out. Niryn had never made her feel ugly.

Niryn. It still felt as if her heart would tear itself in two, whenever she thought of him. She could not escape him; he was there at table, and often walked with her, speaking lightly of inconsequential things, as if they were mere acquaintances. She realized now that he enjoyed this game between them, knowing that she could never speak the truth to Korin, even if she’d dared.

Oh, but how she longed to! She dreamed of it sometimes, screaming out the truth, so that Korin would mete out his wrath on her seducer. The Korin in her dreams was a warmer, kinder man than the waking reality. She often wished he were not so handsome and coolly attentive. She couldn’t quite bring herself to hate him as she did Niryn, but she could not love him, either.

She dressed and returned to her chair. “Tomara, tell my husband my moon blood has come again.”

The woman examined the stained linen and Nalia could see the woman counting silently on her fingers. “Aye, lady. Such a pity!”

“Why do you say that?”

“Why, you’ve not kindled, and him trying so hard!”

Nalia was shocked at the hint of reproof. “You make it sound as if I’m to blame. Haven’t I endured his efforts without complaint?”

“Of course you have, my lady. But he’s fathered children on other women before you.”

“Others?” Nalia said faintly. She’d never considered that.

Tomara patted her hand. “There are women whose wombs are stony, my lady, and can’t sprout their husband’s seed, no matter how many times he plants it. If you prove barren, then what shall our young king do for an heir?” She shook her head and set about tidying up the room.

A stony womb? Nalia pressed her fingers to her lips, not wanting to betray the sudden hope she felt. Niryn’s seed had never grown in her, either! If she were barren, then Korin would have no use for her. Perhaps he would put her aside for another and she would be free!

She composed herself quickly and took up her embroidery hoop. “You say my husband has had children with other women? Can none of them be his heir? What about his first wife?”

“A sad tale, that. She kindled twice, but lost the first too early and died trying to birth the second.”

“What about the child?”

“It died, as well, poor little mite. If he’s got bastards, I haven’t heard of them. Besides, only a trueborn heir will do, says Lord Niryn. That’s what makes you such a precious jewel, my lady. You have the blood and Lord Niryn claims your family breeds girls. If you give the king a daughter, then who can dispute her claim to the throne? Not that pretender in Ero!” She made an ill luck sign. “Necromancy or pure lies, that’s all that is! Mad as his mother, that one, so everyone says.”

“Prince Tobin, you mean?” asked Nalia. Korin seldom spoke of his cousin except to call him “usurper” and mad.

“Your poor husband loved him like a brother. But during the Battle of Ero Prince Tobin ran away and come back with a gang of renegades at his back, claiming to be a girl and the queen!”

Nalia stared at her, then burst out laughing. “Don’t tell me anyone believed that?”

“Why do you think we’re way up here, rather than in the capital?” Tomara asked. “Traitors and fools, they are, but there are enough of them to back the boy’s claim. It’ll be war, I warrant, if they try to go against King Korin. Such nonsense! It’s those Illiorans and a pack of mad priests and wizards that’s behind it.” Her faded eyes went hard and angry. “The old king had the right idea. Burn ’em and be done with it. Now look what we’ve come to? No, my lady, you must bear a daughter for your dear husband, and soon, for the good of the land.”