Lynn Flewelling - The Oracle's Queen

As Nalia had hoped, news of her menses kept Korin away for the required days. She embroidered and played cards with Tomara and read her books, tales of knights perishing for the love of their ladies. Tomara brought her special teas, brewed from cane berry leaves, honey, and unicorn root, to make her womb more fertile.

The thought of the king’s other wife and whatever other children he might have fathered preyed on her mind, much to her surprise. She was not jealous, just bored to death and hungry for any sort of gossip.

“You could find out for me, Tomara. He is my husband, after all. Don’t I have a right to know? Perhaps it might help,” she wheedled, sensing she had Tomara’s attention. “I do so want to please him,” she lied. “There must be some among his men who know his—tastes?”

Fortunately, Tomara was a bit of a gossip herself, and easily won over to the task. When she brought in the supper tray that night, she was smiling very smugly.

Nalia clasped her hands eagerly. “You learned something, didn’t you?”

“Aye, perhaps,” the old woman teased as they sat down to eat beside the hearth.

Nalia kissed her, the way she used to charm her nurse into telling secrets. “Come on now, who did you speak to?”

“Your husband’s manservant. He told me that the king’s fathered no living children at all! Not so much as a bastard. Bellies have swelled, but not a child has lived.”

“Not one? How sad!” Nalia said, forgetting her own hopes for a moment. “No wonder Korin is so glum when he comes to me.”

“Aye, bad luck,” Tomara murmured, nibbling at a slice of bread with an arch look.

“There’s something else, isn’t there?”

“Well, I shouldn’t tell you—”

“Tomara, I—I command you!”

“Well, it’s only gossip, mind you. Soldiers are worse than old women when it comes to that, and superstitious.”

“Out with it!” Nalia cried, resisting the urge to pinch her.

“Well, just between the two of us, my lady, I’ve heard a few among the ranks whisper that Korin’s seed is cursed, on account of his father seizing the throne from his sister. But Princess Ariani was mad as a spring weasel, and she had no daughter. Stillborn, the girl babe was, or perhaps she killed the child. Who knows? It’s no wonder that son of hers turned out a bad sort.”

“Oh, you’ll drive me mad with your rambling! I don’t give a broken pin for Prince Tobin. Tell me about Korin!”

“It’s on account of the prophecy. Surely you know of that?”

“The Prophecy of Afra, you mean? The old king and my husband are cursed by that?”

“That’s what the Illiorans would have us believe,” Tomara sniffed. “All the droughts and crop blight and that plague? All because a ‘daughter of Thelátimos’ doesn’t sit on the throne. Didn’t stop the rains from coming back this spring, though, did it?”

Nalia pondered this. “But King Erius is dead. Maybe that broke the curse?”

“Which doesn’t say much for the Illiorans’ claim to a queen. And all the more reason for that other prince to give way, I say. Korin’s claim is the stronger, being the child of Agnalain’s firstborn.”

“But what about the curse on Korin’s children?” Nalia asked impatiently.

Tomara leaned close and whispered, “It’s said that he’s fathered nothing but monsters, dead before they could draw breath.”

Nalia shivered in spite of the day’s lingering heat. “His other wife, she died in childbirth?”

Tomara sensed her misstep at once. “Oh pet! She wasn’t of the royal line, was she? Not like you. The old king died and took the curse with him. The sun shines on the new king, and on you. You’re the last, you see! With nothing but two princes left, you are the daughter of Thelátimos, and your children have the true claim. You’ll be the mother of queens!”

Nalia nodded bravely, but fear turned the bread to ashes in her mouth.

Her bleeding passed on the sixth day, and the following night Korin resumed his cheerless visits, sometimes coming to her drunk and barely able to consummate the act.

Tomara brought her those herbal infusions again, too, but Nalia only pretended to drink them and poured them into the commode when the woman was out of the room.

Tamír stayed in Ero long enough to celebrate Ki’s name day. It had been a small celebration this year, just the Companions and a few close friends, with lots of wine and honey cake. Tamír joined in the drinking and jokes, but found herself watching Ki with different eyes as he teased the new squires about fidgeting with their braids. They were still children, really, but he was a man grown.

An age to be thinking of marriage .

Since the night of the victory feast, he’d gone back to his cot in the dressing room, as if nothing had happened between them. Perhaps nothing did , she thought sadly.

She had more wine than usual and woke the next morning with a heavy head. As the column set off for Atyion, she saw most of the others wincing and blinking in the hot sun.

Ki looked fresher than any of them. “Are you unwell?” he teased, and grinned at the dark look she gave him.

Tamír rode out with her Companions and wizards, dressed for show in a riding gown under her breastplate and sword belt.

Outside, the great column filled the road, banners and armor bright in the sunlight. Baggage carts and foot soldiers brought up the rear. It wasn’t only soldiers in the column today. Illardi, Iya, and Nikides had spent weeks tracking down the remaining scribes and functionaries who’d served at Erius’ court and testing their loyalty. Most gladly gave their allegiance to the new queen, some out of loyalty to who she was and what she represented, others in hopes of keeping their positions at court.

Nearly forty now rode with the baggage train: scribes, chamberlains, document keepers, footmen, and bailiffs. It was virtually a ready-made court.

The crowds that gathered along the road to see them off were smaller and more subdued than they had been a few days earlier, their mood almost sullen.

“Don’t leave us, Majesty!” they called out. “Don’t abandon Ero!”

Riding just behind Tamír with the other wizards, Arkoniel could tell the words stung. She was young and craved her people’s love.

Once they were well on their way Arkoniel rode back to check on his younger charges, who were making the long journey in a cart.

It was a large, comfortable cart with a canvas awning, and the bed was filled with soft straw for the children to lie in. Ethni had been disappointed at having to stay with the younger ones, and insisted on taking the reins. Wythnir sat on the driver’s bench beside her and waved as Arkoniel rode up to them. A crowd of foot soldiers had gathered around it, entranced at the little spells the children knew. They gave Arkoniel respectful nods and made way for him to ride beside the cart. The wizards had noticed more goodwill among the common soldiers since the battle.

The children rose and clung to the side of the cart at his approach.

“How are you faring so far?” he asked.

“I have to pee!” Danil declared.

“He’s been twice already since we left,” Rala said, rolling her eyes.

“You’ll have to work out that for yourselves,” Arkoniel replied. “And how are you?” he asked Wythnir.

The child just shrugged.

“Come now, what’s the matter?” Arkoniel chided, already guessing the answer.

“Nothing,” the child mumbled.

“Your long face says otherwise.”

Wythnir ducked his head and mumbled. “Thought you’d gone away again. Like before.”

“When I left you in the mountains, you mean?”

The boy nodded. “And when you went off to fight.”