Sorrows of Adoration

by Kimberly Chapman

  I took a deep breath to calm my anger, because I didn’t want him to misinterpret it as being directed towards him. “I would not suspect you, Kurit. I doubt I would suspect you of being disloyal with anyone, but certainly I would never suspect it with Sashken. By the Temple, Kurit, I’ve seen your loathing of her. Everyone has, except obviously Sashken and your mother.”

  “Oh, don’t even let me start on that issue, Aenna,” he said emphatically. “Sashken is conniving and manipulative, but she is not smart enough to come up with such a wretched plan on her own. I fully see Mother’s hand in this, and …” He bit his tongue and was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was low and threatening. “Mother had better not come near me for at least a day, if not a week. You must understand, the reason that I hurried in here this morning to tell you all this is because I was afraid of what would result from Sashken’s next ploy, which I could tell by her rehearsed words came straight from Mother’s coaching.”

  He sat beside me and took my hands between his, pressing them to his lips but not actually kissing them. He moved them to his forehead, closed his eyes—in anger or worry I could not tell—and said, “She told me that if I refused her, she would tell ‘the little field mouse’—Mother’s favourite term of insult for you—that I had gladly taken her. She threatened to convince you that I had always loved her and had pleasured her regularly, even since our engagement. I had to come and tell you of her threat before she could get to you. I had to make you understand that I would never do such a thing. Aenna, I swear—”

  I moved my hand out of his and placed a silencing finger on his lips to stop his apologetic babbling. When he looked up at me I said, “I believe you, Kurit. And I wouldn’t have believed her if she had arrived before you. You need not convince me of your loyalty and honour.”

  He sighed with great relief and hurriedly embraced me. I held him tight, wanting him to know that I had not the least bit of suspicion in my heart.

  “Thank you,” he said, his voice pained. “Thank you so much, Aenna. I didn’t want to imagine that you would suspect me, but I feared she would play on your insecurities and that you might be convinced.”

  I chuckled as he sat back on the couch. “I am amazed that she would think such a ploy would work. How could she possibly think that you would acquiesce to her? What a vile tramp!”

  He sat forward on the couch, resting his elbows on his knees and his forehead in his hands. He sighed heavily, shaking his head slowly. “I just …I just don’t need this ridiculous nonsense.” He rose from the couch in anger. He paced for a moment and then stopped, let out a growl, and kicked one of the chairs over, making a loud racket.

  Leiset came running in from the hall as he continued to kick the chair. She stared at him in fright. I rose from the couch, also startled by his anger.

  He stopped beating on the chair and stood staring at it, as if he had imagined administering the kicks to Sashken herself. He looked at Leiset, who stood pale by the door with one of the guards from the corridor at her side.

  “Sorry,” he muttered and picked up the chair. Then he noticed my startled expression and apologized again. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just …” He sighed loudly and rubbed his head with both hands.

  I went to him, and he embraced me, cradling me protectively against him. “Sorry,” he said again, kissing the top of my head.

  “I understand, Kurit—it’s fine. I understand how angry you are. I am too,” I said, hoping to ease his frustration and guilt. I looked over his shoulder to Leiset and the guard and said, “Everything is fine here. Please, just leave us alone for a moment.”

  We talked for some time, and eventually he calmed down. But a depressed frustration remained in him, even after we took breakfast together and walked in the garden.

  He remained sullen and upset until the night before the wedding, when finally his mood broke. He came to me before bed to apologize for his dark frame of mind as of late but assured me it had lifted as he realized we would finally be wed the next day.

  “I’m certain this madness with my mother will end tomorrow,” he said. “Once our love becomes official and she cannot stop it, I’m certain she’ll finally give up this absurd battle.”

  Chapter 9

  I WOKE VERY EARLY on my wedding day, too excited to turn over and go back to sleep. I quietly peeked out of my bedchamber into my receiving room, but Leiset was not there. I didn’t know if she was still sleeping herself or if she had gone off on an errand.

  I closed the bedroom door and fetched my dressing gown. Knotting the gown’s cord about my waist, I opened the glass doors to my small balcony and stepped out into the dewy summer air.

  It was very quiet; the only sounds were morning birds chirping in the garden. I leaned my elbows on the cold, dew-damp stone edge of the balcony and put my chin in my hands. I stood like that for some time, smiling like a fool and staring idly into the air.

  A guard on sentry duty walked along the wall on the opposite side of the garden. Noticing me there, he paused and bowed. I gave him a polite wave, glad to know that he was being observant even at this early hour. He bowed again and continued his march.

  “Ah, that’s who he was bowing to,” said a voice to the west, startling me. “You’re up early.” It was Kurit, leaning out of his own balcony door.

  “Oh, you startled me!” I said, catching my breath.

  “Sorry. I’ve been standing here by the open door for some time. I didn’t hear you come out, and I couldn’t see you from inside. Then I saw the guard bow, and I thought, He can’t possibly see me in the shadows! So I took a step out, and there you are.” His hair was tousled from sleep, and he smiled a tired smile at me.

  “You’re not supposed to see me today until you remove my veil,” I said. “It’s a bad omen, you know.”

  He shrugged. “The day’s hardly begun. I think the Gods will forgive an inadvertent meeting. It’s not like I’m over there with you.”

  I laughed. “Out of tradition or because Leiset and Gilrin are still entrusted with the keys to the door between our bedchambers?” All of the bedchambers along this portion of the south wing were linked by doors, so husbands and wives in adjoining rooms could visit each other discreetly in the night. It was standard practice for the maidservant or manservant of an unwed occupant of these rooms to keep the keys to the doors. Leiset would also be charged to keep safe the key from my room to the unoccupied one to the east.

  Kurit threw his hands in the air in jest. “Even today you accuse me of beastly behaviour!” He smiled and dropped his hands to put them on his hips. “Go then, go inside before we wake up everyone else. I shall see you in a few hours.”

  I smiled and took his advice, but just as I was about to close the door behind me I heard him call my name softly. I poked my head back outside to see him leaning over his balcony’s ledge towards my own.

  He saw me and said, “Everything is going to turn out perfectly today. Don’t fret about anything. Just enjoy the day. I love you.”

  I smiled and went back inside, preventing myself from attempting to say something sentimental in return that would no doubt sound trite, as though I were choking on flowers. As I closed the door I heard a soft tapping from the receiving room, and I said, “Come, I am awake.”

  Leiset entered with a garment bag in her careful arms. I straightened the blankets of my bed out sufficiently that she could set it down.

  “I was going to hang it out in the other room, but I heard voices in here,” she said questioningly.

  “Oh, I went to the balcony, and Kurit was on his.”

  “Aenna!” she exclaimed in dismay. “You’re not supposed to see him!”

  “It was an accident!” I said and quickly explained what had happened.

  Leiset, being both religious and superstitious, said a quick prayer for us. Then she unlaced the garment bag so I could see what miracle the tailor had wrought for my wedding day.

  I stood dumbfounded, staring at it. T
he gown was more beautiful than any I had ever imagined. It was a deep green—the traditional colour for weddings, of course, because of its fertile implications—and I knew instantly my hair would look wonderful against it. Because it was a summer wedding, it had no sleeves, but the dear tailor had widened the shoulder straps to cover my wretched scar. The gown had neither laces nor buttons—it would have to be pulled on carefully over my head and removed the same way.

  The waist would fit snugly, and the low neckline would likely reveal a hint of the tops of my breasts. Knowing I did not wear a corset, the tailor had tapered the bodice to a point in front and in back, letting the wide fabric of the skirt billow out naturally where my hips would be. I knew this would make me appear to have slender frame whilst still maintaining the curves that Kurit seemed to so appreciate.

  The skirt was the same deep green but a lighter material that was gathered in many, many layers. As I picked up the edge to examine the exquisite green and gold beadwork near the bottom, I saw that shadows played in between the gauzy layers, making the skirt shimmer in the way that trees seem to when looked on from a far height.

  “Isn’t it perfect?” Leiset sighed, putting her hands gently around my arm.

  I leaned the side of my head against hers, and we stood staring at it happily. “I could not dreamed of better,” I whispered, as though speaking too loudly might awaken me.

  After some time, Leiset finally said, “Well, enough of this. I’ll have water brought in for your bath, after which we must set your hair in the rods for the ringlets. And I have to send Melly to the Temple to pick up your veil, because they did not have it ready when I sent for it last night. The clip for it is there on your dressing table, but don’t worry about that now.” She started busying herself immediately.

  “Melly? Isn’t she a bit …”

  “Slow-headed? Yes. But she follows instructions very well, and I trust her more than most of the other undermaids to fetch it promptly. The others would dally about, glad to be away from their palace chores, which no doubt have been doubled in preparations. Now, I’ll go order the hot water brought up. You relax and keep your head on straight. It’s going to be a busy day.”

  Indeed it was, but Leiset was a marvel, caring for every detail before I could raise a hand in effort. She insisted that I be relaxed, lest any insecurities creep into my mind and threaten to ruin the day.

  Then, in the space of a moment, all of her efforts to keep me calm and happy were cast aside, for as I sat with rods in my hair in only my dressing gown, staring dreamily into the mirror, Queen Kasha entered my bed chamber with a look of cold cruelty on her face.

  “You’re so smug there, that hideously red mop of yours gathered ridiculously in rods, as if that would help you to hide how lowly you are,” she snarled. Leiset turned pale in stunned anger but knew her place well enough not to dare speak. I wish that I had been as wise.

  “Your Majesty, it is too late to send me away. I regret that you hate me so. Truly, I wish that you could find it in your heart to accept me enough for the sake of Kurit’s happiness,” I said calmly, confidently. “It saddens me that you insist upon this battle, when I hold no malice for you. I understand that you wish to protect your son. So do I. I love him. I am not a threat!”

  Her cold gaze remained on me for a moment and then moved to the gown on the bed. The hateful woman went to it, and before Leiset or I could stop her, she picked up a corner of one of the underskirts and tore it about a finger’s length. I stood in alarm, but she dropped the material back to the bed without causing further damage.

  Turning her frigid stare back to me she said in a hard voice, “You may wear this fine gown today. Everyone will see how perfectly lovely it is. But you will know there is a tear, and let that remind you of your true status: a peasant in torn rags! You are and always will be unworthy of my Kurit.” Then she stormed from the room as I stood stunned, unable to speak or move.

  “Contemptible, malevolent old bat!” muttered Leiset under her breath, and I was certainly not going to chastise her for the treasonous insult. I was furious and mortified that Kasha—ceasing in my mind at that moment to be worthy of my respect in calling her Queen—could be so vehemently cruel.

  Leiset went to the gown and ruffled the skirts over the tear. “Aenna, don’t worry—no one will see it,” she insisted. “Shall I run and have the tailor come to stitch it anyway?”

  I shook my head sadly. The point was made. Kasha was right. Whether it was sewn or not, visible or not, I would know that the dress had been ruined. I would be aware of that small tear, hidden under the rest of the skirts, and I would not be able to forget her words and enjoy my wedding day free of their influence.

  “Leave it,” I sighed. “Even if it is fixed, I’ll know that it was there. Her aim was on the mark with that.” I sat back at the dressing table and stared unhappily into the mirror.

  “No,” Leiset said. “You must not let her cruelty ruin your day. Oh, Aenna, don’t let her win.” She stood behind me and put her arms around my shoulders in comfort. I closed my eyes and clenched my jaw to prevent myself from weeping. I refused to be seen with a puffy, red face of tears. I was not going to give that awful woman the satisfaction.

  “What should I do?” Leiset asked in concern.

  I sighed and gathered my spirit back together as best I could. “We shall go on. There is no time to play these silly games. Help me into the dress, please, and then we’ll finish with my hair and be ready to go.” Leiset gave me a friendly squeeze and kissed my cheek, and we continued the preparations.

  Just as we were about to go down to the courtyard to the coach that waited to take me out to the meadows east of the city where the wedding and tournament were to take place, there came a knock at my outer door. Leiset and I looked at each other in alarm, both fearful that Kasha had returned to cause further mischief.

  Leiset tentatively opened the door to the corridor, and there stood King Tarken. I sighed with relief and smiled at him as he entered. He came to me smiling as well and took my hands gently in his own.

  “Look at you, my dear, just look at you,” he said with delight. “You are a vision of loveliness. Your beauty this day shall banish any last ounce of a steady mind left in my poor son’s head.”

  I laughed softly at his kind words. “Thank you, Your Majesty. It means a great deal to me that you would come to say such pleasant things.”

  “I thought you might need to hear kind words. Jarik came to me in great concern a short time ago, saying he saw my wife leaving your room in a hurry.”

  I looked away from him. I might have been angry at Kasha, but I did not wish to belittle the Queen before the King.

  “Ah. She did say something to upset you, didn’t she?” He shook his head sadly and sighed. “I pleaded with her to leave you alone, but her wrath knows no restraint. Tell me, good Aenna, was she cruel to you? She was once a kind woman, but over the years I have seen her grow spiteful and angry, though I know not why. Tell me what she said, that I might reassure you that she spoke a lie.”

  “It was not what she said, Majesty, half as much as what she did.” I sat on the couch and lifted the part of the skirt I knew to hold the tear and showed it to him. “It is a small tear. No one will see it. She did so intentionally, and said that she wanted me to remember by it that I am but an unworthy peasant in rags.”

  He knelt by me to examine the tear, shaking his head sadly again. “Why didn’t you have it fixed?”

  “It wouldn’t have mattered,” I replied.

  He nodded in understanding and let the material fall from his hand. He rose and bade me to rise as well, taking my hand and patting it comfortingly. “Aenna, don’t let it bother you. This otherwise perfect dress has a small flaw. We all try to be perfect ourselves, but each of us has a flaw as well. Nothing is ever perfect. That does not mean it cannot be wonderful or beautiful. Don’t think of that tear as a symbol of your past poverty. Think of it as a symbol of how you have been given a chance to app
roach perfection in your life. Do not let it sadden you—make it strengthen you.” He leaned forward and kissed my cheek tenderly. “I believe in you, Aenna of Alesha. You have more than amply proven yourself worthy in my eyes. Now come, do me the honour, please, of letting me escort you to your coach. My son awaits you.”

  I cast aside all thoughts of decorum and threw my arms around the dear man. He seemed taken aback for a moment and then embraced me in return. “There now, don’t you dare weep, either in sadness or joy. I don’t wish to be responsible for tears!”

  I laughed softly and kissed his cheek. Then I let him take my arm, and we went down to the waiting coach with Leiset, who carried my carefully folded veil and its clip in her arms.

  * * *

  The meadows outside the city reached far into the distance, seeming to bump right up against the mountains that could be seen on the north-eastern horizon. I was taken to the area where the wedding itself would occur shortly. All the guests and servants had been kept away for well over an hour to allow me to take my place.

  A spot had been chosen where a low hill formed a natural stage, and a great many wooden benches and chairs had been set up facing it. Leiset helped me unfold the veil, which was more or less an enormous black cloth. When a priestess signalled us that the time was appropriate, we placed the cloth over my head so it covered my entire form from the front and most from the back. The sides of the veil were clipped together at the back of my neck. I could see through the cloth to some extent, but no one would be able to see me at all. I would be just a dark, unfathomable figure. The purpose of this of course was not to hide me in shame, but to prevent Kurit from being able to see me when he performed the part of the ceremony in which he would ask for my acceptance.

  This and other parts of the ceremony were traditional remembrances of the marriage of Prince Kol of Kyran to Princess Raeneh of Mael. I had learned in my history lessons that Kyran was an ancient kingdom that now was the provinces of Estebek, Odlok, Kresh, Kydren, and a small portion of what is now Penklin. The Kingdom of Mael had been what was now the provinces of Felean, Alesha, and Taeten. The two nations had warred through the generations, until the time of Kol and Raeneh. Raeneh lost all her beloved brothers to the war, and being very wise, she decided to take it upon herself to end it. She wrote a secret letter to Prince Kol, whom she had never met, to ask him to convince his father, King Dirik, to end the bloodshed. She filled the letter with heartfelt stories of her good brothers and appealed to Kol’s decency to have the war ended before her own future sons suffered the same tragic fate.