The people of Firenze were heartened to see their queen was a good horsewoman.
But that was not the only reason it was cried by thousands of voices all along the route, “Long live King Mars and Silence, our new queen!”
And many of the people of Firenze meant these words.
For only a true Firenz queen would yawn at the pits, cuddled into her king, wearing the blood of the vanquished as if it was naught but a shift of raw silk, watching the death throes of traitors as if they were the vaguely interesting flights of bumblebees.
And only a true Firenz queen would race down a mountain on her steed with her silk flowing, her skin exposed and glowing, her hair streaming in the wind, her husband close to her side.
It was also watched by a certain few.
A few who did so silently.
And these few had altogether different ideas.
39
The Marital Bed
Queen Silence
Royal Palace Gardens, Catrame Palace, Fire City
FIRENZE
It would be hours into our reception before I was finally separated from Mars.
And I did not wish to be such, but I could not deny I was glad of it.
I needed a moment.
A sip of water.
Some quiet.
Solitude.
Time to process what I’d experienced that day.
Time to process what I’d seen.
Time to think.
I could do none of that as Mars guided me from person to person, group to group.
He did this with open pride, which was rather charming.
But there were things…
Such things about him that I had learned.
Things…
I straightened my spine as I moved through the guests, being sure to keep my chin up, catch eyes, smile or nod.
Elpis had warned me, and it stood to reason that this would be a highly-attended affair.
And she had not told a lie. It was not just the guests in the palace, the barons, clansmen, chieftains, tribes.
There were wealthy merchants (and their wives). High-ranking warriors (and their wives). Esteemed teachers and healers. Philosophers. Priests. Poets. Artists. Writers. Even (I was shocked to learn, not to mention meet) respected madams and traders in smoke, ashesh and koekah.
The front and back gardens and the entryway of the palace were opened up, decorated in red blooms, red ribbons and glowing lanterns with many tables laden with food and dozens of servants bearing heavy trays filled with drink.
It had long since grown loud and even rowdy. The din in the palace rivaling that which could be heard pitching ever and ever higher coming from the city.
The people of Firenze were celebrating.
And I saw, in the gardens of the palace, as the baths (and even some of the bigger fountains) got more and more crowded with naked bodies, and men and women (or men and men or women and women) disappeared behind shrub or tree or frond, that the tales of just how thoroughly the Firenz enjoyed a celebration were not exaggerated.
Aunt Mercy and King Wilmer had gone to their chamber ages ago.
As had my mother, and I assumed, my father.
As for me…
I had to stay.
But I needed escape.
At least for a moment.
Not due to all that was going on around me, I found that fascinating.
No.
I was tired. I was overwhelmed.
And I was queen.
Queen.
Although I could never know I would need to do so, I was seeing then I should long ago have paid more attention to Aunt Mercy.
This was because, that day, I felt the shift toward me by the barons and chieftains.
Apparently, if you wear a blood-soaked nightgown, witness your very soon-to-be husband and his men emotionlessly causing pain to screaming prisoners, watching those condemned die in more than one way, then be wed, all of this on top of what had happened the night before (all of it)…
Then wear a gown they approve of at your wedding…
And demonstrate you can ride a horse…
That was all the men needed.
The shift in attitude was almost entirely complete.
Add how they favored my taking in of smoke with Elpis (the best part of the evening so far, outside how proud and charming Mars was being, however, the smoke I’d taken in had sadly worn off). Or laughing at something bawdy Jasmine said. Or allowing my new husband to touch me, kiss me, clutch me, swing me around, all at whim.
And the men were won.
The women, however.
There were, I was realizing, two kinds.
The first, like my mother, who could be won by wedding gowns and accepting very public affection from my new husband as that was his wont, so it should be mine.
And the others, I suspected the ones like Aunt Mercy, who absolutely were not won by these things.
I would need to work much harder and much longer to turn them.
And I would need to do this, for even if the male approved Mars bending me over his arm and smiling wolfishly in my face before he claimed my mouth for all to see, that male’s wife might have his ear only five minutes later, and with whatever she said, that would be the end of that.
I did not know for I had not paid attention to how Aunt Mercy handled these things.
But I was wishing I had.
And from there on, I would.
In that moment, however, I knew the last thing I should do was escape.
I should stay until the bitter end, even if I was dead on my feet and often, if I didn’t keep close control of it, visions would enter my head, words would be remembered, and I’d feel my hands shaking or my lips quivering.
So I needed a moment to gather my wits and pull myself together.
A moment to find somewhere private, pull forth my shadow, and find some peace.
On this thought, I ran into something.
“My daughter.”
I turned to what I’d run into and saw my father standing there.
He had not gone up with Mother, then.
Surprising.
“My beautiful Silence,” he murmured, looking at me like a mourner at a funeral staring at the body on the pyre.
I did not have to ask when I became his “beautiful Silence,” something he’d never called me.
I was queen now. Queen to a very powerful, very wealthy, exceptionally violent and apparently pitiless king.
This made me powerful.
This made me wealthy.
And this made me beautiful to my father.
“Father,” I murmured in reply.
“You need to be abed,” he declared. “How much sleep have you had? But thirty minutes? And this only on the ride back from those appalling pits.”
“I am quite fine,” I lied.
He shook his head. “You cannot be. The air is rife with that dreadful smoke. I’m getting fuzzy-headed just breathing it in. And how on earth can these people not only breathe through it, but also that shocking incense? They can’t possibly think it smells good. It’s heavy and cloying. I’ve been sick to my stomach since I walked up that mountain path to that ‘altar.’ If one can call such an altar. The view was stunning, of course, but my daughter wasn’t wed in a bloody temple. Instead she was wed on a bloody mountain. Do their gods even sanctify such a thing?”
In all I did not have patience for in that moment, my father complaining about all things Firenz was quite suddenly on the top of the list.
“Father—”
“Allow me to find your mother.” He craned his neck to look beyond me, as if she had not escaped all things Firenz at least an hour before. “She’ll take you up to our rooms. Order you some tea. We brought some of your favorite. It will calm you and help you sleep.”
I knew we’d brought my favorite tea, because Tril had packed it.
My father had no idea what my favorite tea was.
And he seemed to be f
orgetting it was my wedding night and there was a very good likelihood that sleep was not on the agenda. Not for some time.
Or maybe he did not forget.
“And if she hasn’t already, she should talk to you about…your…your…well, your wedding night,” he went on.
Balls and bloody begorrah.
“Father,” I snapped.
His gaze turned hawkish on me. “Unless, last night…”
“Last night and tonight are not your concern,” I told him.
“He’s a large man.”
Oh bloody faith.
“Would you please—?” I tried.
“And it is—”
“Father, please—”
“Utterly reprehensible—”
“Can we please—?”
Suddenly he bent and put his face in mine.
“It’s villainy,” he hissed. “Callous villainy. Not a realm in Triton carries on thus. Even the bounden of Mar-el and females of Airen have more rights than those poor souls Mars put to death this morning. And forced my daughter to watch him do it.”
He did not force me.
It was my choice.
But he did do it.
Mars absolutely did just that.
“They came through my window with the intent to kill me, Father,” I reminded him.
“And yes. Of course. They should be executed. After tribunal, for the gods’ sakes.”
“They were caught in the act.”
He shot back to straight. “You cannot possibly—”
I didn’t wish to start this conversation.
And now I needed to finish it.
“I need a sip of water and a moment to myself.”
He rearranged his face instantly and muttered, “Of course. I’ll see to this. Would you like to use your mother and my chamber?”
“I can see to myself, but I thank you.”
“Please, Silence, allow me to see to you.”
He then changed his expression again. We were back at my funeral. Even if I stood before him living and breathing, for some reason my father was desirous of making me think I was dead to him in some way.
And he did not bide his time to share what way that was.
“You’re aware I won’t see you at all after the royal weddings are through. Your new husband forbids it.”
I stared up at my sire. “He…forbids it?”
He nodded curtly. “Yes. Of course. He told me I was never to see you again once he had you to himself in Firenze. You might see your mother, if he allows it. But me, not ever again. Surely he’s shared this with you.”
He had.
Of a sort.
I just didn’t know he’d shared the same with Father.
And I was under the impression I had some say in this.
“And your mother obviously will never come to see you without me,” Father continued. “And your king will not allow you back to Wodell.”
He wouldn’t?
He’d said nothing about that.
“I’ll talk to him about this,” I murmured.
“I wouldn’t,” he replied swiftly. “Please, do naught to anger him, my darling child. He is…today he has….” He shook his head. “Tread very cautiously, my Silence. I cannot say I’ve ever had a great deal of respect for Gallienus.”
It shocked me he said this. He’d never said much about Gallienus except such as, “All are too hard on him. We cannot know the strains of rule.”
Father carried on, “And you know my thoughts about your uncle.”
One could say I did that, or at least I knew he didn’t think much of our Dellish king.
“But this king,” he continued, shaking his head. “I would have you wed to Cassius or even True, I’d pay the same dowry a hundred times over to do it, to save you from the likes of this king.”
I tried not to appear sickened at the very idea of marrying True, who was not only my cousin, but like a brother to me.
But I could not say, after what I’d witnessed Mars do last night and this morning, not to mention the fact that he had no intention of staying true to me, at least not physically, that for once, my father was wrong.
“Really, Father, this is my matrimonial celebration. And I am now queen. I need to return to my king, but before, I need a moment to collect myself, for, as you say, it’s been a very long day and I’ve not had much rest.”
He nodded, fervently. “Of course, of course, my Silence. I will leave you to it.” He reached out as if to touch me but dropped his hand forlornly. “And I would hope, considering you’ll be lost to me at the end of it, that in our travels to Notting Thicket, and then Sky Bay, if I’m asked to join the royal company when you journey to Airen, you find moments to share with me.” His face brightened. “We’ll go riding together.”
We would?
“And perhaps, share our favorite books.”
Books?
“I’ve long wanted to do these things with you,” he explained. “But as you know, business, overseeing Bower Manor, the farmers, the shepherds, the foresters, I’m always too busy.”
This was true.
What was also true was that in those times, his daughter had not been queen.
I found it expedient in that moment to say, “We will find time, Father.”
He reached to my hand, took it, and laid his other upon it, smiling down at me.
“This gladdens my heart, daughter. You cannot know how much.”
I couldn’t know, ’twas true.
I might not believe, that was true too.
I forced myself to smile up at him.
He let me go with a return smile and melted into the revelers.
I sought a place of darkness and quiet, which was not easily found.
But once I found it, I drew my shadow over myself so I would have privacy.
Fortunately, those who passed close, or stopped close, only to stumble away, didn’t need me to have my shadow shrouding me. They were lost to inebriation (and smoke, and possibly even ashesh or koekah).
But I felt safe in my magical cloak.
And in it, I leaned against a broken column (that I decided was designed that way, for it was fetching, partially covered in vines) and wished I’d found a glass of cool water or juice to enjoy in my moment of calm.
I had much to think on.
Not only all I’d suffered since I awoke last night to villains climbing into my rooms.
But also the fact that Cassius seemed angry with Elena, and Elena seemed watchful and repentant to Cassius (which was quite a turnabout with those two, not that Cassius ever seemed repentant, but when it came to Elena, he was definitely watchful).
Not to mention poor, beautiful Farah had lost her lovely mother and had been abed all day, with True consistently going up to attend her.
Indeed, my cousin had practically bowled my new husband and I over, he’d raced down the mountain after our ceremony so fast. We’d barely walked over the threshold into the palace before True was charging up the steps to get back to his intended.
And then there was Aramus and Ha-Lah.
In fact, there was especially Aramus and Ha-Lah.
Something was very wrong there.
Dreadfully wrong.
But Ha-Lah was so closed off, regardless of the stunning gown she wore, you didn’t approach (and her gown, one could argue, was even more beautiful than mine—a froth of white tulle at her ankles from which rose a swirl of silver sequins that seem to crest like a wave over her breasts, the rest sheer (you could see her white panties!) with thin straps and drop shoulders into poofs that led to sleeves with more silver beads and sequins dancing like tributaries and small islands on her arms—it was exquisite!).
But her demeanor made it seem she was not wearing the most gorgeous gown (outside mine) of the day.
It seemed she was wearing spines and bristles.
And her eyes held pain.
I should talk to her.
I could not talk to her.
For the
last thing on my mind was the fact that I faced my marital bed.
And my marriage.
To a man who could…
A man who could…
A man who could slice another man in half, cuddle me as men sunk to their deaths, and what he and his men did in the necropolis.
And then, one day in the future, he would share me, and I would be forced to share him, and our marital bed would be a marital bed no more.
Not really.
“Silence.”
My head jerked up and I stared at my king striding toward me with purpose.
I had been standing there, I had no idea how long. It was probably only minutes, and it was dark and private, but there were many people about.
And I was shadowed.
So no one saw me.
No one who walked (or drunkenly ambled) past saw me.
But my husband was walking right to me.
Oh no.
My shadow had not been faulty the other eve in his bedchamber.
He could see through it!
How could this be?
Balls!
I dropped it before he arrived and as I was very quickly becoming accustomed, now that I was his, officially, legally, in the eyes of his gods (and probably mine, even if we had not been wed in a temple), he did not hesitate to lay his hands on me.
This he did by cupping my jaw in both of his big palms and dipping his face right into mine.
“Are you well?” he asked.
I stared through the moonlight and lamplight and lanternlight at his handsome visage.
I wondered how he got those scars since I had seen him wield a sword, and no one got remotely close enough with even a tip, before they perished.
“Silence,” he growled, the rumble filled with concern.
I opened my mouth, but he straightened. Catching me in the curve of an arm, he shifted his other hand back so it sifted through my hair as he drew me to his body.
“This is too much. You’ve had no rest. A frightening night. A trying day. A long evening. It’s time we’re to bed.”
Oh gods.
“I could…I probably should—” I began.
“No, my wee monkey,” he said, curling his fingers in my hair and using his knuckles to stroke my scalp. “Have you had time with Piccola today?”
The Plan Commences Page 6
