The Quickening

by Fiona McIntosh

  Liryk was impressed. She was paying Celimus full homage. No monarch was ever required to meet their guests, royal or not, in person outside the palace, so this was a departure for Valentyna, a cunning and courageous move to ensure her visitor felt more important than any other. He was proud of her and knew her father would be too.

  She stood alone, tall and erect. Her bearing was regal, there was no doubt, and Liryk wished old Valor could see his superb daughter now as she held court, preparing to pull off one of the greatest coups in Briavel’s history. If she could find the courage to put what had gone before behind her and somehow make a good match with Celimus, their marriage meant instant peace and prosperity for Briavel. He had not even realised he was holding his breath as these thoughts raced through his mind.

  He glanced towards the battlements where the realm’s top archers trained their sights on the approaching column. Soldiers were positioned to show a very strong presence. The Briavellian Guard stationed around the palace outnumbered the Legion by ten to one and still his eyes darted around, taking in and juggling all possibilities should trouble arise. He had no doubt that this was a visit made in true peace — one of diplomacy which aimed to secure a brilliant and strategic marriage agreement — but he ensured every one of his men was ready and focused. There would be no surprises this time.

  Valentyna smoothed her skirts, wiping her hands of clamminess, as the King’s party approached. She lifted her head and smiled radiantly as Celimus, King of Morgravia, brought his magnificent horse to a halt not far from where she stood.

  He was utterly beautiful. She smiled inwardly. Stop admiring the horse and make him welcome! she admonished herself. Romen would laugh if he knew she was watching the stallion more than the King.

  Celimus alighted gracefully and handed the reins to his man. He held her gaze and although she was unnerved by the dark, intense stare, she forced herself to curtsy as he finally bowed very low, very elegantly before her. And still having said nothing, he took her hand and kissed the back of it softly.

  ‘Your majesty,’ he said, straightening, unashamedly impressed by the woman who stood before him. ‘The King of Morgravia, at your service.’

  She looked at his broad, white smile and unwavering gaze. She imagined she saw a hunter, sizing up his prey. ‘The honour, your majesty, is ours. Be most welcome to Briavel,’ she lied.

  A refreshing drink of crushed, chilled parillion fruit was served in the rose garden to Celimus and his immediate party, which included Jessom and the present General of the Legion, a bluff, middle-aged man who exchanged no pleasantries other than the bare words of greeting. Valentyna thought of Wyl Thirsk and how he might turn in his tomb to see his successor. The Legionnaires had already been shown to their barracks, their horses stabled, and three lesser dignitaries were presently being shown to their guest rooms.

  ‘Do you have spies, Valentyna, to know my favourite fruit?’

  She noticed they had moved swiftly to first names. Two monarchs, two equals. He would do well to bear that in mind, she thought.

  ‘Why, how curious, but it is always my first choice too,’ she lied smoothly, remembering Romen’s advice that she be charming. In truth she did not care for the parillion’s overly sweet flesh. Still she sipped its juice politely. ‘We harvest them daily in season from the palace orchards.’

  ‘I should enjoy strolling those orchards with you, my dear,’ he said and the condescension was not lost on her.

  ‘Of course, it would be a pleasure. And how was your journey, Celimus?’

  ‘Very successful, thank you. It was ever rare for me, even as Prince, to get out into the provincial areas to meet with Morgravians,’ he said. ‘They made me feel most proud to be their monarch.’

  You probably would not even bother with them normally, she thought and then checked herself. This would not do. She knew this man only through other people’s eyes and reports. Do him the courtesy of at least conversing honestly with him. Impress him, she told herself, and it will all be over by tomorrow evening.

  ‘I have no doubt that you are in need of a rest, my lord,’ she said, deliberately showing deference. ‘Perhaps you would care to visit your suite of rooms and see that all is how you like it?’

  He nodded, pleased with her sudden servility. Tomorrow he would participate bare chested in some events. He had already planned this so the Queen and her people could view his magnificent physique as well as his prowess as a swordsman, archer, rider, whatever they wished … he was pleased to showcase his talents.

  ‘I understand we have arranged for basins to be sent up — sorry,’ she corrected herself, ‘baths, as you call them. Please be in no hurry on my account. You must relax and take your time.’

  ‘It is very kind of you,’ he replied. ‘I gather there is to be a banquet tonight?’

  ‘Yes. It is in your honour, Celimus. We are privileged that you have come in person to Briavel and we would do homage to our special guest with this feast.’ Romen would be proud of me, she thought, batting her eyelids and turning on her smile.

  ‘Until this evening then, my lady,’ he said, standing so she could admire him close up as he towered over her. He took her hand and once again laid a soft kiss on it. ‘Thank you for your gentle welcome.’

  The other two men had milled around quietly in the background but now they joined their King, bowing to Valentyna, and she gave a small, polite nod to each as they took their leave.

  She sighed with relief. The first hurdle was crossed but much worse was to come. She gave her royal guest sufficient time to have ascended the grand staircase before she fled towards her own chambers, using the concealed back passages. Romen and Fynch were waiting for her.

  ‘You shouldn’t be seen here,’ she said, her heart beating faster at seeing his lovely face again. She loved this feeling of being in love. It made her feel powerful.

  He kissed her full on the lips and she withdrew, shocked, looking towards Fynch.

  ‘It’s all right, your majesty,’ the boy said.

  ‘I’m sorry, Fynch, you deserve to know about us,’ Valentyna said, embarrassed.

  Wyl squeezed her hand. ‘He already knows, my love. Anyway, he’s our cover. If I’m discovered by your staff, I will be seen with Fynch, which gives our tryst respectability.’ He tugged once again at her pounding heart with his lovely smile. ‘Stop worrying, now tell us how it went.’

  ‘Exactly to plan,’ she replied, turning to enter her chamber and inviting them in. ‘He is as you describe. Arrogant, conceited, condescending, heartbreakingly handsome.’

  ‘Not too handsome I hope?’

  ‘Anyone who calls me, “my dear”, and is not old enough to be my own father, is not so attractive on the inside,’ she said in answer. ‘Outwardly, though, very handsome but with a wolfish attitude and a smarmy manner I find repulsive. Does that cover it?’

  ‘More than adequately,’ Wyl replied, feigning brightness whilst really feeling dangerously reckless at the knowledge that Celimus was close enough that he could run him through. Better, he could hurl Romen’s daggers with deadly accuracy. He heard a familiar growl from the doorway and shook his head. Can the dog read thoughts? Well, if he could he did not approve of the idea of doing away with Celimus so obviously. He ignored Knave. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, holding her hand.

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m fine. I’ve got to get through tonight’s festivities, that’s what’s bringing me grief.’

  ‘You’ll be magnificent, your majesty,’ Fynch reassured.

  She ruffled his hair. ‘I wish you could both be there,’ she admitted.

  ‘We will be, in our own way, I promise,’ Wyl said. ‘Now we’ll disappear and let you start preparing.’

  ‘And I’ll do my best to look alluring, I promise.’

  Wyl turned back towards her. She loved the way his moustache twitched like that. ‘Valentyna, you don’t have to try. You already are very beautiful, especially in your riding clothes when your hair has torn itself free and y
our face is flushed. You are simply the most desirable, beautiful woman I will ever know or be lucky enough to love.’

  She could not help the tears which welled. ‘Do you love me?’

  ‘From the second I saw you,’ he said truthfully.

  ‘Romen —’ She had no time to say anything else as they came together in an urgent embrace. Fynch had already discreetly closed the door and no doubt stood patiently on the other side with Knave, keeping a close watch.

  ‘You must go,’ she said, suddenly pulling away and catching her breath.

  He nodded, said nothing, trusted himself to say no more at this moment, his heart was so full. He backed to the door and departed.

  Despite her sense of power, Valentyna had never felt more vulnerable. She had never had anything so precious to lose as the love of Romen Koreldy — she would marry him tomorrow, no tonight, if she could. But there was a banquet to get through and a dangerous, unpredictable suitor to discourage in the most gracious of manners.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  HERALDS IN FULL REGALIA blew brightly on their instruments to announce the arrival of their Queen. Valentyna held her breath behind the doors at the sound.

  ‘Your father would be so proud of you,’ Krell murmured, unable to keep a shaking admiration from his voice.

  It was what she needed to hear at this moment and she cast a shy smile of thanks towards him before she swept through the opening double doors and into her palace’s Great Hall. It was the first time she had hosted any formal occasion, and she knew it was important to not only impress the King of Morgravia but more so her own subjects who were looking now to the leadership of their new monarch. There was a collective intake of breath as her guests saw their Queen for the first time looking every inch the rightful sovereign. She was breathtaking in dark green and violet, echoing Briavel’s colours. Everyone immediately dropped into bows or curtsies and she surveyed the lowered heads looking for one alone — the only one which was not formally required but certainly expected to offer her homage.

  There he was, equally glorious in his own Morgravian livery of crimson, black and gold. He sketched a bow in her honour and she could not help but be quietly relieved that he had and there would be no hiccup at this point.

  As she descended the short flight of stairs, Valentyna’s exquisite gown rustled its silks and the gems sewn artfully down its length sparkled. She had designed it herself and her seamstresses had worked day and night since they learned of the King’s visit to have this particular gown ready for her. It was far more spectacular than she had imagined it might be and it was a unique feeling for Valentyna to wear a dress with pride. Wearing the colours of Briavel made her feel fiercely patriotic and she would be damned if some other monarch might think he would crush Briavel and make the realm his.

  The soft light cast from the oil cressets made Valentyna’s skin glow and her gown shimmered as she moved, the gems throwing off their own sparks of fire. Hanging from her neck she wore the Stone of Briavel which had been passed down through the ages. It was a square cut, dazzling emerald surrounded by deep amethysts and it now sat against the throat of Briavel’s most precious jewel of all.

  People parted and the Queen expertly glided, as she had been taught, suddenly grateful for all those simpering, irritating tutors who had nearly lost their minds over educating the stubborn Princess, more in love with her horses than her needlepoint or letters. She approached the King of Morgravia to pay him correct courtesies.

  Valentyna curtsied before him. ‘Your majesty.’

  ‘Your majesty,’ he replied in a husky voice. ‘How in Shar’s name has Briavel kept you secret for so long?’

  And she could not help but smile at his comment. ‘Please, my lord. Join me,’ she said, offering her arm.

  Celimus was, for the rarest of occasions, lost for words. He took her proffered arm and guided her towards the dais where the monarchs of Briavel and Morgravia would sit alongside each other for the first time in history. It was a breathtaking moment; its import lost on none of the guests. Music struck up as everyone was now invited to seat themselves, and the royals were permitted some privacy as staring, admiring eyes were averted momentarily with the arrival of trays of drinks and hot savoury pastries.

  ‘Valentyna, you are magnificent,’ Celimus admitted, finally finding some appropriate words.

  ‘Thank you, my lord. I must say you look most elegant tonight.’

  ‘Our royal colours clash,’ he said and grinned.

  She enjoyed his subtle jest. She had not expected him to have a sense of humour. ‘Strong colours for strong nations,’ the Queen suggested.

  ‘Which I hope you and I will find a way to mould around each other, stand proudly alongside each other?’

  It was a question she was not ready to answer. She shook her head slightly. ‘Emerald, violet, crimson and gold … a heady mix.’

  ‘A potent one, Valentyna. One we can both be proud of.’

  She was rescued by the arrival of the server of wines. ‘Ah, you will enjoy this, I hope, sire. It is a dry Bostrach from our southern vales.’

  Celimus sensibly allowed his previous statement to rest. No point in hurrying her. He sipped his wine and his eyes widened in appreciation at its crisp, citrus explosion in his mouth. ‘Excellent! I hope you will visit Morgravia soon and allow me to introduce you to some of our fine wines?’

  She nodded politely and looked towards the servant to fill her goblet as well. ‘To a happy visit in Briavel, sire,’ she said, raising her cup.

  ‘To you, Valentyna … for you alone can make me happy,’ he replied.

  She was taken aback by his declaration. He saw this and immediately diverted their conversation towards less confronting territory courtesy of Liryk who passed by to pay his respects.

  ‘Good evening, Commander Liryk.’

  The soldier bowed. ‘Good evening, your majesty. I hear you like to hunt, my lord?’ Liryk added.

  ‘I love to hunt. I see you have some fine woodland nearby,’ Celimus answered.

  ‘Well, sire, that woodland has been my playground for all of my life,’ Valentyna ventured. ‘My father hunted stag and wild pig very successfully in those woods.’

  ‘There may not be time for a hunt, sire,’ Liryk replied, ‘but perhaps the Queen will show you around her playground before you leave us?’

  Valentyna wanted to glare at the old soldier for the suggestion but she knew it was pointless. Everyone around her, including dear old Krell, was determined for this marriage to go ahead. All of them had set aside the fact that this man sitting beside her and smiling so artlessly in her direction was responsible for the murder of King Valor. She checked her rising emotion with the half of her which tended towards the pragmatic. Valentyna knew only too well why her counsellors were pushing so hard for the union to take place. Peace was what Briavel craved and freedom from the burden of war and loss of her fine young men. A chance for the realm to flourish. She was the sacrifice. Valentyna could achieve peace and prosperity for her people if only she would say yes to the man beside her.

  ‘Do you like to ride, Valentyna?’ the King asked, a little surprised.

  A small laugh escaped her. But it was Liryk who answered the King’s question.

  ‘Sire, if you did not know better, you’d think our Queen was born astride a horse.’ He stopped himself saying anything further along those lines, having caught the sharp look of pain from his monarch. He cleared his throat, embarrassed. ‘Well, anyway … do let me know if we can arrange anything for you, King Celimus. It would be a pleasure.’

  Celimus grinned. ‘I shall.’ They watched the red-faced soldier take his leave. ‘I’m sure he meant it kindly, your majesty,’ he whispered, leaning towards her.

  Valentyna was not upset. She hated polite talk anyway and far preferred the camaraderie of being up on the battlements with Liryk’s men, even though they were in awe of her. ‘I know. He’s known me since I was born. And it’s true, as soon as I was old enough to hold m
yself erect, I climbed upon a horse.’

  ‘Truly?’

  She nodded, a little smugly. ‘I can certainly ride the pants off you, your majesty.’ She had not meant to be quite so direct; it had slipped out and she dearly wished it had not. Her father had ever ticked her off for her familiar, confronting manner of addressing people. ‘At its least it’s flirtatious, Valentyna, and will get you into trouble,’ he had warned on more occasions than she cared to remember.

  Valentyna felt a thrill of alarm now as she waited for the King’s response. It came, loud and full of mirth. Celimus put down his goblet and threw back his head in full-throated laughter.

  ‘They seem to be getting on rather famously,’ Lady Plumptyn commented. Her son was an officer in the Briavellian Guard and she desperately hoped her majesty would forge a marriage alliance with Morgravia to save her son an early death.

  Her sneering, younger companion, Lady Joy, whose name did not reflect her countenance at this moment, did not have such vested interest. Her response sprang purely from the disappointment of being married to a wealthy but incredibly dull noble whose passions were fired at the sight of the first robin red breast rather than her own fulsome pair.

  ‘Hmmm,’ she answered. ‘She looks like she’s on heat — have you ever seen Valentyna look so feminine, quite so coquettish or dazzling, cheeks so flushed?’

  It seemed hardly fair to Lady Joy that one woman who rarely tried could look this good and have a throne to call her own, not to mention another in the making. Lady Joy was dazzled by the King of Morgravia and his shimmering personality which oozed a love of life, every ounce of him a man in every sense. It was so unjust that Valentyna should get it all.