C. Murphy - The Queen_s Bastard

Rumbled amusement from Robert: “That was quickly done.”

“As it had to be,” the dark man replied. “With the imperator’s wars, that Irina has even a chance of childbearing is-”

“A blessing to us all,” Robert said, tone lofty and sanctimonious. The dark man let go a staccato laugh that cut through the stillness surrounding Belinda. Her heart lurched, one too-strong beat, though her body never dreamed of betraying her with a flinch. Robert turned his gaze away from his dark companion, meeting Belinda’s eyes through the shadow. She read no leap of recognition there, no sign that he had seen her, though her pulse fluttered alarm in her throat. Within a moment his gaze left hers again. He extended a hand, gesturing the dark man to precede him as he pushed open the door to his private rooms. Light and heat swept out, the fire inside testimony to the servants’ knowledge that Robert would entertain tonight, although Belinda herself had not known.

The dark man inclined his head, thanking Robert for the gesture. The door closed behind them, leaving the hall dark and cold. Belinda remained where she was a few seconds longer, arms folded around herself to ward off the chill. Then shadow released her and she caught up her skirts, scurrying downstairs to tend to her original task of asking that more wood be brought up for her fire. The door to her room opened late that night, cool air from the halls sweeping Robert and his companion in. The latter hung at the door, a scent of cloves washing on the air with his entrance. Belinda, buried beneath her duvet, came awake, her eyes still closed, her breathing still deep and easy. Familiar words raised goose bumps over her body, even beneath the warmth of blankets: “It cannot be found out, Robert. Not yet. It’s still too early.”

“I know, Dmitri.” Robert’s voice was a comforting murmur at the side of her bed. He put a hand against her forehead, brushing tangled curls away. Belinda followed her impulse, stirring, sighing a little, and turned her head. Robert’s voice warmed with a smile. “Sleep, child. Forget. The time has not yet come for you to know such things.” The words were intoxicating, heavy with compulsion: Belinda, trusting impulse a second time, kept her learned stillness about her, not resisting. A surge, like the sound of water suddenly bursting through a waterwheel, pushed into her mind, and, like water again, spread through her, trickling down her spine and into her fingers and toes. She could almost see it, behind closed eyelids, faintly golden and glimmering: a concept just beyond her understanding.

Sleep comes hard on the heels of that near-understanding, exhaustion waving through her so quickly she doesn’t hear the door close again. Doesn’t hear, most certainly, Robert’s sigh beyond that threshold, or Dmitri’s short sound of dismay. “She’s female. What did you expect? Power and ambition are built into the females.”

“I expected more time.” Robert exhales another sigh, then gestures down the hall. “Another cup of wine? She’s young. Too young to show such talent.”

“They mature quickly. Faster than we’re accustomed to.” Dmitri falls into step beside the Aulunian lord, neither raising his voice above a murmur. “And they die young. It may affect the development of their skills.”

“Still, she’s yet to see her tenth summer, and if I hadn’t looked straight at her…”

“You’d have known. The air was charged with her hiding. Or have you become too inured to it already? Does power only quiver your skin when it’s an unfamiliar taste?” A mocking smile curves Dmitri’s mouth as he bows before the door to Robert’s chambers, inviting the other man to enter before him. Robert’s expression sours, but he goes ahead.

“Perhaps I’d have known. Still, it’s sooner than we anticipated, and ambition in women is not well looked upon here. You know that as well as I.”

“Can you control her?”

Robert gives the black-haired man a flat look as he pours wine, then sits before the hearth’s glowing embers. “Neither of us would be here if we were incapable of controlling one child. Our queen chooses her standard-bearers more carefully than that. She’ll remember nothing, nor have any urge to try again. She’ll be the creature we need her to be, and never question me.”

Humour plays upon Dmitri’s lips a second time. “I meant no disrespect.” That’s a fob, intended to soothe waters without being believed. Robert accepts it for what it is, and half a beat later Dmitri says, “You’re certain. You’re certain of her loyalty? Why?”

Robert snorts. “Because they always are, Dmitri. Faithful to the queen. It’s as much part of them as it is of us.”

“But they don’t normally show such promise so young,” Dmitri murmurs. “Watch her, Robert. Be cautious.”

“Heed your own advice. Return to Khazan. Watch Irina.”

“Mm.” Dmitri lowers his head over his glass of wine. “In time. Let Feodor crow over her pregnancy first. Irina wants me gone until they’re well settled. There are things to be done in Essandia. Rodrigo needs a mistress. Even an illegitimate claimant for his throne is better than none. His sister’s son is too far out of our control. I want a stronger hand there.”

“And what of Seolfor?”

“Unchanged. Biding time. We have enough of it.”

Robert nods, swirling wine without slopping it. “Well enough, then. Keep me apprised of Essandia, and get back to Khazan when you can. If you’re successful with Rodrigo, I’ll call Seolfor to be the guiding hand there.”

Dmitri stands, draining his wine. “I will.” He sets the glass aside, ponderous action, then turns back to the broad-shouldered lord by the fire. “Is three enough, Robert?”

“It always has been.” Robert keeps his eyes on the fire. “And if it isn’t, you can be glad you’re not the queen’s favourite, and that you won’t be the one to answer for failure.” Belinda woke with a clear memory.

She knew in her belly that she wasn’t meant to, and that Robert’s peculiar actions had somehow failed in their purpose. She remembered shadow gathering around her; she remembered Dmitri, and the snippets of conversation she’d overheard.

What she could not remember was how she had hidden in the shadows. How the stillness escaped from her and surrounded her; how she had stood all but in plain sight and gone almost unseen. Over the next three years, she practised and tried to bring that stillness out again.

She failed.

Irina, imperatrix of Khazar, gave birth to a daughter, Ivanova, four months after Dmitri visited with Robert. The whole of Echon sent gifts and congratulations to its eastern neighbor; Lorraine sent Robert himself to bear Aulun’s presents. For the child, a baby rattle made of eggshell and gold; a rabbit-fur cloak, trimmed in royal ermine; and for Irina, the sister queen on the Khazarian throne, a gown of the latest Aulunian fashion, littered with jewels and nearly as elegant as Lorraine herself wore. Belinda asked, without real hope, to journey across the sea, north and east, with Robert, to see Khazar’s capital city of Khazan and help bear Aulun’s gifts to the new mother and child.

When Robert denied her with a fond, patronizing smile, she curtsied and slipped away again. He would be gone for three months, perhaps longer. It was time in which Belinda studied.

Unable to re-create what memory told her she could do, she learned to hide in plain sight more conventionally. She learned to dress conservatively; she learned to sew servants’ garments, so she might slip in and out among Robert’s guests without announcing herself. He returned, and noticed, his contemplation of her thoughtful and interested, but he said nothing. Belinda took silence as tacit permission, and continued. She learned to be unremarkable, if not wholly invisible, and slowly gained confidence in an ability to hide in shadows, if not disappear into them entirely.