The Lantern-Lit City

by Vista McDowall

  Gwen looked guiltily away from him. Does he know? But Mavian's expression held no suspicion, only concern. She said, "I don't know how long Marin will take. I can send for you once Druam is awake."

  "I would greatly appreciate that. In the meantime, I will see what duties I can take from him while he recovers." Mavian gave her a slight bow, then disappeared behind a servant's door. When she was sure he was gone, Gwen laid one hand on Druam's forehead and the other on his bare breast. She had promised the gods she wouldn't use magic again, but surely they would understand Druam's need.

  Before Wullum had discovered them and put a stop to it, Ebarren had taught Gwen a spell of health and longevity. He had recited it in a crisp, dry voice, but Gwen found she cast the working better when she sang it. As the words tripped over her tongue, she felt a tendril of sparks forming at her breast. Magic fluttered beneath her skin, dancing down her arm until it reached her fingers. There, it shuddered and cavorted. "Lilintim, orohro, lilintim, edralen," Gwen sang, pouring all her heart into the magic. It pushed out from her fingertips, a collection of blue energy that hesitated, then sprang into Druam's cheek. His skin glowed faintly, then gradually returned to normal. His breath slowed, became measured and easy, as his hand cooled in hers.

  "I'm sorry," Gwen murmured to the gods. "I promised not to use my magic, but I couldn't let Druam suffer. I swear, on all things above and below Earda, that this will be my last working."

  Tired and sticky from the heat, Gwen climbed onto the bed beside Druam, careful that the only part of her that touched him were her fingers. I wonder where the curate is, she thought drowsily before dozing.

  A soft knock came at the door, and Shepherd Marin poked his head in. "My apologies, my lady. I have finished the draught."

  "How long has it been?" Gwen asked. She sat up in the sheets and rearranged the damp cloth on Druam's body.

  "Barely a candle, my lady. Has he stirred at all?"

  "No."

  "Well. Perhaps this will aid his recovery. I'm going to bring him forward; fix the pillows behind him so we may give the draught with no fear of choking."

  Gwen stacked the multitudes of pillows against the headboard. The curate eased Druam onto them and propped him in a sitting position. Druam's head lolled, his mouth dropping open.

  Marin said, "I'm going to hold his head back. Pour the draught straight down his throat until I tell you to stop." The curate took Druam's chin and pushed down on his forehead to tip his head back. He nodded to Gwen. She took the goblet and tipped it, allowing the sweet-smelling liquid to flow slowly into Druam's mouth. The concoction looked like mud and smelled of copper and herbs. When the cup emptied nearly all the way, the curate said, "That's enough for now. Let him rest, though stay if it pleases you. I've prepared extra measures of the draught if he sends for me."

  "What do I do if he doesn't wake?"

  "Wait a candle. If he still gives no response, call me at once. Though by that time, I'm afraid the gods will have taken him into their hands. Pray, my lady. I will pray too."

  Too awake now to sleep, Gwen did pray. She asked forgiveness once more for her use of magic – how many innocent lives had the Trials now taken? – and begged for Druam's health. She would never touch her magic again, if only she could be a courtly wife to her healthy husband. I will work to gain favor with the people here, and I will forget all Ebarren has taught me. Just bring Druam back to me.

  "Gwen?"

  The sheets caught around Gwen's legs. She cracked her eyes open and looked around blearily, caught in the half-state between sleep and wakefulness. Outside, night had coated the land in its cool blue tones, and the lanterns twinkled in their thousands. For a moment, Gwen forgot why she had slept in her husband's chambers. Then she started and turned over, hands seeking him in the darkness.

  "Gwen?" Druam asked again, voice raspy. Gwen sought his blue eyes and held his face between her palms, thanking all the gods. She didn't dare speak for fear her words would be overcome with sobs.

  "You're here," Druam said. She only nodded, holding him like he might vanish if she let go. His weak hand cupped hers. "I'm so thirsty, Gwen."

  Gwen slowly let go of his face, though she kept hold of his hand, as she reached for a cup on the side table. She held it to his lips and helped him drink. After he had his fill, he asked, "I suppose I missed the archery contest?"

  Gwen laughed, tired and magic-worn and so, so relieved. She buried her cheek in his shoulder, weeping and laughing in turn as he held her.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Seanna

  THE RIVER VALLEY council met in an immense circular chamber called Lord's Hall. Pillars lined the outer edge, tall as trees and carved with patterns of seaweed and ocean creatures, and painted in blues, greens, purples, and deep reds, making the watery scenes come to life. On warm days, the wooden walls between the pillars came down and opened the room to the elements around it. A smooth, long stairway ascended from the palace into Lord's Hall, spewing forth in the center of the majestic room. As Seanna climbed upward, she stared at the ceiling: a series of arches curved in and around each other, tiled with mermaids and sea dragons cavorting about magnificent underwater cities.

  Finally tearing her eyes away, she looked around the wide hall, feeling the breeze on her cheeks. Directly in front of her was a gigantic table carved from a single block of red-veined marble. Henrik, already seated there, stood and offered his hand to help her take her chair beside him. Voices murmured, rising and falling in the natural way of conversation. The smell of salt and rain filled her nostrils, a reminder of that morning's light showers.

  "Ostentatious," Seanna muttered, watching a crowd of rustics gawk.

  Seated along the high table with her and Henrik were various other lords, their entourages standing discreetly nearby. She recognized the Earl Stonetree – Edsel Hawk – as well as the Skallish ambassador, Lord Daghorn. The largest chair, Earl Seastone's place, remained empty.

  "Has the earl recovered?" Seanna asked Henrik.

  "He is in better health and high humors, according to his steward. Here he comes now."

  All gathered stood, except Seanna and Henrik, as Earl Seastone made his slow way up the stairs with Lady Seastone on his arm. Though still pale, some color had returned to his cheeks. Remarkable recovery, for having collapsed just a few days before.

  Once he reached the marble table, Seanna stood and kissed his cheek. "I'm glad to see your humors have returned to balance."

  "Thank you," he said. "Without my dear wife, I rather think I would have taken longer to regain health." He continued to his place, then turned to address his subjects. "Dear people of Riverfen and the River Valley, let it be assured that I am fully mended and shall once again walk the streets to see and hear you."

  The nobles clapped softly while the rustics gave a resounding cheer.

  "We are honored to have our esteemed king and queen join us for open council. Please, bring forth your grievances as you would if I were sole arbiter of this court. We beseech the gods to look down on this meeting with favorable minds."

  From there, the council continued as it does everywhere: first the greater nobles, then the lesser, then finally the rustics stepped forward to ask for money, or resolution to a conflict, or for permission to execute a wrongdoer, on and on and on and on like that for over a candle. Druam did his best to move along the procedures, but occasionally one of the appealers would blather on regardless of the queen's obvious boredom.

  At one point, Henrik argued with Druam, the two men nearly shouting at each other. Seanna rolled her eyes. She thought savagely as she stroked her belly, I'd rather you die than turn into a pig like your father. A moment passed, and she realized the threat she had made against the only child she had carried this far. I'm sorry, my love. No matter what, I shall never leave you.

  Finally, no more petitioners came and the council disbanded. Those at the high table left first, the king and Druam leading with Seanna and Gwen trailing after them. Once the ai
ry hall had been left behind, the king nodded curtly to Druam and stalked away, his shoulders tight and jaw set. Druam, too, took his leave.

  "Shall we walk together?" Seanna suggested, taking Gwen's arm.

  "If it pleases you," Gwen answered, smiling up at her. Seanna, though not a tall woman by any means, still stood a half-head taller than the girl. Their handmaids and Sir Eric followed a respectable distance behind them as they strolled amiably to the gardens.

  "How fares your husband? We have all been praying for his quick recovery." Seanna noted the girl's nervous lick of her lips, and wondered at it.

  "His recovery has been fast, thank the gods. I try not to leave his side; when we are alone, he allows his fatigue to show."

  "Men must be ever strong, mustn't they? Especially in front of their wives. I believe Henrik's heart is wood rather than meat. He has no sensitivity."

  "Your Grace!" Gwen exclaimed. "To talk of the king in such a–"

  Seanna laughed over her, patting her hand. "Trust me, Lady Seastone, no one cares what I say of the king." Gwen's arm was warm in hers. Though young, and certainly naïve, she had a sort of...charm about her that attracted Seanna. I've never slept with a Demar. Though she seems content with her husband, the latent desire might be there.

  "You wear Dotsch fashions well," Seanna said, rubbing the cloth between two fingers. "Have your people any interest in it?"

  "Not much, no. If anything, the Skals and their customs influence our own. I thank you for the compliment, Your Grace."

  "Please, my dear girl, to you I am Seanna. And to me, you are Gwen. Friends cannot have such formalities, can they?"

  "Thank you, Y– Seanna. May I ask, what does it feel like when you're with child?"

  Seanna thought for a moment. "Like your stomach is tightening, and everything else is tightening, while the child itself grows and grows. I'm nearly always hungry, and far more irritable than I ever was before. Why? Do you think you might be...?"

  "No!" Gwen's eyes widened. They were a dark shade of purple, and so very pretty. "I don't think...it takes months, doesn't it?"

  "My dear," Seanna laughed. "You can fall pregnant your first time with a man! As long as his seed ends up inside you...he has done that, hasn't he?"

  "I...I don't think this a proper topic for conversation."

  "My dear, if your cheeks could blush, they would be crimson. In Demarren, is it custom for a lady of breeding to preserve herself before marriage?"

  "Yes. Although we are allowed many suitors afterwards."

  "Really? That I do find surprising. Is married life as wonderful as you thought it would be?"

  Gwen was quiet for a second, then said, "Not as wonderful, perhaps, but certainly not terrible. It is as I should have expected: sometimes I am happy, yet sometimes I feel terribly alone. Do not mistake me, though, Seanna. Druam is very kind to me, and I am fortunate."

  "Fortunate indeed."

  "But, I suppose..." Gwen trailed off.

  Seanna asked, "Suppose what, sweetling?"

  "That I wish I had known more about men before marriage. Been in childish love, perhaps shared a kiss, but just..."

  "More."

  "Exactly."

  "Well, my dear," Seanna said as they turned to walk in the gardens, "who's to say that you can't do the same now? You are married, not imprisoned. It may not be looked upon as common here, but plenty of young women have affairs. Not just with handsome lords, either." She glanced at Gwen's lovely face. The girl looked aghast.

  "Even if we lived in Demarren, I simply cannot imagine betraying–"

  "Betraying? Oh no, not as dire as that. Straying, perhaps, but it's never a betrayal. Especially not when your husband is usually shaft deep in some maid or other while you stroll the gardens with your ladies."

  "Druam would never–"

  "All men do, my dear. But we women stick together; 'tis natural, Gwen." With one finger, Seanna stroked the girl's cheek, delighting in its softness. But Gwen drew away, ever so slightly. Hoping that the girl was simply naïve, Seanna said, "Seek pleasure where it is offered. Don't deceive yourself; Druam is a man, just as any other man, and his needs couldn't be filled by one woman alone."

  For a moment, the girl was silent, and Seanna nearly reached a hand to touch her waist, tempted to trace along that finely-shaped back. Her fingers just brushed the cloth when Gwen said, "I do sincerely believe that Druam has not strayed from me, and I would honor him by doing the same." She smiled with innocent lips.

  "Then I wish all the happiness for you both," Seanna replied sweetly. Inwardly she seethed. Ever since Larka had left her, Seanna had felt the loneliness of a cold bed. Why don't noblewomen ever see how much better a lady is as a companion?

  "Thank you, Seanna. You are a finer friend than ever I could have hoped for." Gwen's tone was annoyingly sincere. "Ah, Eigbrett is waiting. If you will excuse me?"

  Gwen tripped away to take the steward's arm. Both turned, bowed, and left, Gwen's maids rushing to follow. With a flick of her hand, Seanna dismissed her handmaids and gestured for Sir Eric to step forward. He took his place beside her as she strode sedately from the gardens back into the palace. Her nethers were warm and tingling, but Gwen had scorned her. Seanna longed to find someone – anyone – to pleasure her. Part of her even wished she had brought Larka along. Though Larka wants nothing to do with me now. A thought intruded, and at first she rejected it. But as she walked, and the desire for intimacy grew, she gave into it. If I can't find a lover, perhaps my husband will do.

  "Where are Henrik's chambers?" Seanna asked Sir Eric.

  Minutes later, she knocked at the doors to her husband's suite. A silent guard stood to either side. A second passed. Oh well, he must be away. It was futile, a stupid idea. But one of the doors cracked open and the steward's tousled head appeared.

  "Ye-oh, Your Grace. Shall I call your ladies for you?"

  "No, Jacobi. I need to speak with my husband. Alone, if you please."

  "Of course. I shall announce your presence; if you would step into the drawing room?"

  Leaving Sir Eric outside, Seanna followed the steward into a sumptuous chamber, then seated herself on a couch as the little man disappeared behind a paneled door. Though she had at least five or six rooms in her suite, the king had been given what amounted to a small manor: a drawing room, bedroom, dressing chamber, washroom, study, library, antechamber, meeting chamber, and so on. Half the rooms would likely remain unused, but were there should the king require them.

  Eventually, Henrik appeared, a robe wrapped around his burly frame. His bare feet shuffled across the thick carpet, and the imprint of his crown was shown in his hair. He poured a cup of wine, then leaned back and ran his fingers through his hair. He surveyed her for a moment.

  "What do you want?" he asked. "Are you displeased with your rooms?"

  "I want to start again," Seanna said. "I carry your child, and I realize now that my lack of obedience will poison him in my womb."

  "Liar." He always could tell. Damn him.

  "Fine. I want someone inside me, and I thought to seek my husband before another man." Or woman. I would have preferred Gwen's sweet little malkin, but...I suppose one must make do. "Or would you prefer your queen to bed some servant or a petty lord?"

  "Hm." He said idly, "That would be treason, you know."

  Which is why you'll never find out. Seanna continued, "Henrik, don't you hate what we've become? The silences, the arguments, the pettiness? I once loved you as any vassal loves their king, and I thought I would love you as a woman loves a man. Does all the blame lay with me? Please, Henrik. Can we at least be civil toward each other?"

  Her tone, Seanna thought, had the perfect mixture of pleading, wistfulness, and tenderness. A good show all around. She waited while Henrik swirled his cup. After a few seconds, he said, "I find myself needlessly angered whenever I see you. I had hoped, when we first married, that you would be more like Fleta. Demure, soft-spoken."

  Vecking Fleta. Must he
always compare me to her?

  He said, "That was unfair of me, and I treated you poorly because of it. For that I am sorry."

  That truly surprised her. An apology, from Henrik?

  He continued, "Perhaps I have been too harsh on you. I cannot say that I love you as I did Fleta, and I am certain the feeling is mutual. But we are tied together, for better or worse, for the rest of our lives. I want to raise my son without the shadow of his parents' animosity darkening his brow."

  "That's...thank you."

  Silence deepened between them, though not nearly as uncomfortable as the silences of the past. Henrik tipped his cup back and drank deeply, his apple bobbing on his throat. Seanna bit her lip and stared at nothing, rubbing her belly. The gesture had become a sort of comfort for her, one she had often sneered at before.

  "Come to bed," Henrik said. A command, albeit a soft one.

  They disrobed separately, each carefully folding their garments. Seanna purposefully kept her gaze to his face and arms. The quilt was warm beneath her, and she tried her best to smile up at him. He gave her a tight-lipped grimace in return. They both hesitated, then he reached down to cup her cheek and give her a dry kiss. She returned it dispassionately. The parts of her which had so quickly excited at the thought of touching Gwen now remained dry. Henrik, too, was lackluster. His fingers found her cunny, but no wetness, and he sighed. Still, he pushed his finger inside her, trailed kisses down her neck and along her collarbone, and she nibbled at his ear in a faint attempt at reciprocation. Minutes dragged on before he pulled back and looked at his woefully limp john. With a frown, he tugged at it, and rhythmically stroked his fingers inside her. If I wasn't so apathetic to him, this might feel good. Gods, if only this could be anyone else...I'd take the steward over him. Something new, at the least. I wonder if it's this difficult for other women? Damn Gwen, if she hadn't been so painfully naïve, I might be showing her the wonders of her own body, I could kiss her where Druam has never kissed her, I could–