Maeve's eyes widened in alarm. “You can't be serious?”
“You are my heir. I will not allow some hackneyed Crowthornian brat to come here and ruin everything I've spent my life working for.”
Pushing her chair back, Birkita stood and moved towards the window that overlooked the royal gardens.
Maeve's skin prickled as she watched her mother apprehensively. Whatever evil the woman had contrived, Maeve knew it did not bode well for her cousin.
Poor girl. She has no idea the dangers that await her here.
The storm of Birkita's displeasure raged around her, and it was all Maeve could do not to draw back in fear as her mother once again turned her fierce gaze upon her.
“A messenger arrived this morning. The girl will be here within a week's time. You will have a month to befriend her before the dedication ceremony. She will be alone, scared, and in a strange place. It shouldn't be difficult, even for you, to gain her trust.” The Queen's smile was vicious. “Where she goes you will go. You will teach her the ways of the court, and when Twelve are dedicated at the month's end, you will stand with her on Annul's altar, and they will see your face when they swear their allegiance to the goddess, throne, and country.”
Maeve gapped. “The council will never allow it——”
“The council will do as I say.” Her mother's shrill voice made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
Maeve had no doubt that her mother could persuade the council to do just about anything, but what she proposed went against the basic principles of their faith.
Waves of fear washed over her. To do what her mother suggested wasn't just morally wrong, it was blasphemy.
Maeve bit the inside of her cheek, and tasted blood. It was a small discomfort compared to what she would face if she dared speak against her mother's plans, but even so, she couldn't stop herself from shaking her head.
“Do you question me?”
Anger, repulsion, bitterness: she saw all these things in her mother's expression. Her mouth went dry and her body tensed. Braced for scorn Maeve whispered, “No mother.”
Birkita considered her coldly before she continued. “The girl has been reared under the same roof as the consort of Crowthorne. Most likely part of her father's scheme from the beginning to place the crown on a Crow's head. You will sway her attentions away from him and towards your cousin Edmund of Hellstrom.”
“Edmund?” Maeve grimaced. Edmund was a cruel choice. While he was as handsome as any nobleman in the kingdom, his reputation for immorality and malfeasance was well known throughout Elbia.
Birkita's eyes flashed in annoyance. “It is imperative that she choose him. His connection as your father's nephew will enhance your status once the throne is yours.”
Maeve balled her hands into fists to stop them from shaking. “Forgive me mother, but I don't understand.” Fearful that she understood her meaning all too well.
“With your persuasion she will choose Edmund as her husband. Once the little wretch bears him a daughter, she will be put away and you and Edmund will be wed. The child by legal rights will be queen, but you will act as regent until the child is of age. With your lineage and the former King Consort's nephew as your husband, no one will question your rights to the throne.”
Maeve gaped at her as she processed the depravity of her mother's plan. Icy cold dread rushed through her body. “You would kill your own niece?”
Birkita moved so fast that Maeve barely had time to prepare for the blow. She tried not to stumble, but her mother's strength doubled her own, and she fell hard. Her vision clouded and the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth.
Birkita grabbed her hair and twisted until Maeve could do nothing but stare up at her. “Wretched, ungrateful little brat,” Birkita spat, pinching Maeve's face hard with her free hand. “You dare question me? Do you think you're not as disposable as she is?”
Maeve wouldn't give her the satisfaction of crying out. Instead she gazed stoically at the woman whose only kind deed to her had been to give her life. Even in that kindness there were days, like today, when her life felt more like a punishment than a blessing.
When the physicians declared Maeve barren, she had been relieved. For the first time in her life she was hopeful. She would finally be released from the bondage of her mother's vile puppeteering.
Now she knew the truth.
She would never be free.
“Forgive me, Mother.”
The Queen's moods blew hot and cold, and as quickly as her temper had ignited, the woman's feverish expression softened. Maeve tried not to flinch as her mother's claw-like grip turned to a caress.
“Everything I do, I do for you, and the future of Elbia. You understand why it has to be this way?”
Grinding her teeth, Maeve wanted to curse at her. Fear held her tongue, and all she could do was nod sullenly in agreement.
“That's my girl.” Birkita released her and stood up abruptly. “Guards.” The door opened and footsteps approached. “The princess has had one of her spells. Call the physician to see to her, and make sure she doesn't leave her chambers without my consent.”
With her head still throbbing, Maeve groaned as strong male hands gently lifted her and carried her through the halls of the castle.
She breathed a sigh of relief the minute the door of her bedroom was sealed shut, and she was finally alone.
Like everything else in her life, she would suffer this in silence.
* * *
After weeks of travelling across the Crowthornian border, and through the provinces of Meall and Lydd, Cara ached terribly, her muscles spindly from the absence of use.
A few days into their journey, Cara begged the Minister to allow her to saddle a horse and ride alongside her escorts, but he berated her for the suggestion. He also refused to allow Reyn to ride in her carriage, insisting that he ride in his own coach or by horseback. The man was vexing with his pompous demeanor and copious rules.
Stiff, sore, and beyond bored, she despaired that they would never reach their destination.
When the Minister rode next to her carriage and announced that they had finally entered the borders of the Holy City, Cara breathed a sigh of relief, and for a moment she almost forgot her resentment.
The Minister tried to explain the simple logistics of how the Queen's palace, Temple of Annul, and city functioned. “Unlike the twelve surrounding provinces which are abundant in land and contain many villages and towns, the City of Annul is a singular entity in the heart of Elbia. Without land or resources, it relies solely on the provincial tariffs levied by the Queen to support itself.”
“So the Queen is subject to the provinces?” Cara stated, baffled by the absurdity of the system. “Without their taxes the Holy City would cease to exist!”
“By the grace of Annul, pray that never happens,” the Minister muttered, narrowing his eyes. “It is a thin thread that holds the twelve provinces together. The tariffs are a small price to pay for peace.”
“Says the man who eats from the table of those who starve,” Cara mumbled, crossing her arms over her chest.
The Minister shook his head and stared down his nose at her. “So says the child who has never experienced war.”
Cara shrugged and looked away.
The sun was setting as their caravan rode through the gates of the city. If she wasn't so exhausted, she would have been overwhelmed by the enormity of it, but all she could think of was a hot bath, soft bed and a jigger of the Crowthornian liquor she knew Reyn kept stowed in his haversack.
The door of her carriage opened, and a silver-haired footman held out a gloved hand for her.
Exhaling deeply, she pushed a dark strand of hair behind her ears and prayed that her legs wouldn't give out on her.
“Welcome, my lady,” he said, in the same polished accent of the Minister.
As her feet hit solid ground, Cara froze. She wasn't sure what she expected, but not once had she imagined she would be unceremoni
ously deposited on the steps of the servant's quarters.
The rest of her caravan was nowhere to be seen.
Cara let out a deep breath and waited for her heart to slow.
“Wynnafor will show you to your chambers, my lady,” the man said politely, nodding towards a middle-aged woman who waited expectantly at the doorway.
“Where is Lord Reyn of Crowthorne and the rest of my caravan?” Cara demanded, her tone icy.
“He will be received in the great hall, along with the other nobles that have recently arrived from the provinces.” Clearing his throat, he gave her an apologetic smile. “The Lord Minister thought it best that you be taken to your chambers, my lady. To give you time to relax and recover from your journey.”
“How thoughtful of him,” she muttered derisively.
“I will have your trunks brought to your quarters. Wynnafor will make sure all your needs are provided.”
Too exhausted to argue, Cara nodded sullenly at the man and turned to follow the severe looking woman through the servants' corridors.
Cara sighed audibly when she saw the large feather bed with plush pillows and silk sheets that predominated the room. Wanting nothing more than to sleep for a week straight, she had to stop herself from running and jumping straight beneath the richly embroidered sheets.
Wynnafor cleared her throat loudly, “Perhaps my lady would care for a bath before she retires for the evening?”
The woman looked so relieved when she nodded her assent that Cara almost laughed out loud. In her exhaustion and gratitude for an actual bed, she had forgotten about her own filth. “Thank you, Wynnafor. I would greatly appreciate your service in the matter.”
“I will have a tub filled immediately.”
An hour later, she was fed, bathed, and exhausted. Dressed in a clean white bed gown and smelling of the sweetest summer lilies, Cara gratefully laid her heavy head on the soft goose feather pillows. Wynnafor had proved to be full of resources, and to Cara's gratitude, had brought her a rich cream-based soup and an assortment of cheeses and breads. When the bath and food had been removed, Wynnafor left her final courtesy- a large, silver goblet filled with a spicy red wine that Cara had drained swiftly and without apology.
For the first time since she had met him, Cara was actually grateful for the Minister's ordinances.
Sinking deep into the soft cushions, Cara wrapped the sheets around her shoulders and closed her eyes. She had no idea what tomorrow would bring, but at least for this night she would enjoy the luxuries that the palace provided.
* * *
Cara awoke to Wynnafor's apologetic voice. “Her Majesty and the royal princess have requested an audience, my lady.”
Pulling the sheets over her head she moaned, “When?”
“Right now, my lady. They're waiting outside your chambers.”
She cursed under her breath and threw back the sheets. She cringed as Wynnafor pulled the heavy drapes away from the windows and allowed the early morning sun to light up the room.
Her trunks had been brought to her chambers the night before, but she hadn't have the opportunity to organize them. “Wynnafor, help me sort through these trunks to find a suitable dress.”
“Forgive me, miss, but the Queen isn't to be left waiting. She has requested to see you now.”
Cara sighed. Of course she wouldn't wait. She wanted to curse the maid for not waking her sooner.
“Send her in then,” she said, throwing her arms up in defeat. What better way to make a first impression then in her bedclothes.
Wynnafor nodded and opened the door.
Cara inhaled sharply as the two women entered. If she didn't know better, she would have sworn that it was her mother who stood before her now. Cara had been young when the plague took her, and the memory of her face was distorted, but as she looked fixedly at the Queen, Cara was overwhelmed by the similarities. They had the same coloring, the same delicate features, and the same jade green eyes. Traits that Cara hadn't inherited.
Forgotten memories of her mother came unbidden as she stared at her aunt and cousin. Even the princess shared many of her mother's features. Both women were tall and delicately built, with dark red hair and perfect unblemished skin, except for a fading bruise that marred her cousin's left cheek. Their features contrasted with her own dull brown hair, dark eyes, and tawny skin.
Her mother had never looked at her the way these women were now. The Queen glared at her with such open disdain that it made Cara want to crawl back under the covers and disappear.
“Welcome to our home, Caralynne,” the Queen stated stoically.
“Thank you, your majesty.”
The Queen raked her with a derisive look. “You favor your father in appearance.”
“I do.”
“Pity. Your mother was a beautiful woman.”
She heard Maeve gasp at her mother's comment. Cara smiled in reply and refused to let the woman's cruelty get under her skin. She certainly hadn't expected a warm welcome and was prepared for their scorn.
“We hope you will be happy here,” Maeve intoned, breaking the strained silence.
Sure she did, Cara thought.
“I have assigned Maeve to help you adjust here. Her chambers are next to yours, and she will gladly be at your service should you need anything. She will come to your chambers daily to tutor you on your duties and responsibilities.” Cara glanced at her cousin, who looked as excited about the idea as she was. “She will also travel with you on your tour of the provinces. The consecration ceremony will be held as customary on the summer solstice. You will remain in seclusion until then.”
Cara shifted uncomfortably. The summer solstice was a little over a month away. “I was hoping to visit briefly with Reyn of Crowthorne. He is a friend of mine and——”
“There will be no contact with any of the consorts until after the dedication.” The Queen's voice was cold and her lip curled in distaste. “I will leave you and Maeve to get acquainted.”
She turned to leave and then stopped at the door and smiled icily. “I believe the two of you will become close friends, just as your mother and I were.”
An awkward silence followed the Queen's departure.
Maeve fidgeted and looked uncomfortable. “Would you like me to help you sort through your trunks?”
“I can do it myself.” Her tone was sharper then she meant it to be, and she saw the girl flinch. “What did she mean about touring the provinces?”
Maeve tilted her head and studied her. “It's tradition that after the dedication ceremony the heir apparent and her newly appointed Twelve travel to each of the capital cities throughout the provinces.”
“But that would take forever,” Cara said, flabbergasted at the idea of spending more time confined in a carriage.
“It takes about two years.”
“Two years!”
Maeve smiled. “It's important that each province is represented fully, and each consort be given the opportunity to impress himself on the heir. They must feel that they have been carefully considered as the future king. Once the tour is over, you will return to the palace, and name your chosen consort. The nuptials will be read on the second summer solstice proceeding the dedication of the Twelve. After the ceremony, the Queen will abnegate the crown, and there will be a public inauguration at the temple of Annul where you and your chosen consort will be crowned. Did the Minister not go through all of this with you on your journey here?”
Cara shook her head. Most of what she knew about the palace affairs came from her father. “You could say that the Minister and I have a strained relationship. I believe he found me almost as insufferable as I did him,” she said sheepishly. Cara blanched as a thought crossed her mind. “Will your mother be joining us, on the tour?”
“No. She has her duties here to attend to.”
“Well thank the goddess for that blessing.”
Maeve burst out laughing.
“Sorry. I shouldn't speak of her like that.”
“To tell you the truth, I am more than happy to have the interlude myself. She can be particularly demanding at times.”
Cara smiled and assessed the young woman. She appeared to lack the maliciousness and pomposity that dominated her mother's presence, and she thought that in any other situation they would have become friends easily. As she looked more closely at the girl, she saw the evidence of her long drawn-out illness. She was painfully thin, her skin appeared almost transparent, and her eyes were clouded, lacking the vibrancy of her youth.
“I hope you don't take offense to my asking, but are you well enough to travel?”
“The Queen's physician says that I am.”
Cara saw the apprehension in Maeve's eyes. “Sorry, I shouldn't have asked.”
“No, I'm thankful for your concern.” She crossed the room and sat on the edge of the unkempt bed. “It's been so long that sometimes I feel like that the illness is so much a part of me that people see nothing else.”
“I felt similar when my mother died. For a long time it seemed like my identity was tied to her death. It's strange.”
Maeve nodded. “I was sixteen when they first thought something was wrong. Intense headaches made me extremely nauseous, and my vision started failing. At first they thought that I was faking being ill, because they couldn't find anything physically wrong with me, other than that I was not maturing the way a sixteen-year-old girl should.”
Cara walked over and sat on the edge of the bed beside her cousin.
“They tried herbal remedies, bleedings, and a mass of other treatments, but nothing would bring forth my monthly cycles. When I had my first convulsive fit, the physicians swore that I was cursed by the goddess.” Maeve shrugged, “Perhaps I am.”
Cara shook her head at that notion. “Is that how you got the bruise on your cheek?”
Maeve smiled sadly, gently touched the ugly green and yellow bruise, and didn't answer.
They sat in silence for a long time. Finally Cara turned and gently took her cousin's fragile hand in her own.
Cara's Twelve Page 2
