by Patty Jansen
'Does the king know any of this?' Figenia whispered.
Luso gave her a disdainful glance. 'Do you think he is in a state for this type of knowledge?'
Larissia shook her head. 'Don't tell him. Let him die a peaceful death.'
'Spoken like a Queen.' Luso bowed, took her hand and brought it to his mouth.
'Thank you, Luso.' She took her hand in the other to dispel the lingering touch of his lips. 'So . . . what do you propose?'
'I propose that we deal with this sooner rather than later. Come to my room after dinner tonight. We will start right away.'
'To . . . tonight?'
'Yes. The sooner you know the better.'
'All right, tonight. I'll be there.'
Luso bowed. 'Tonight, Lady Princess.'
Figenia and Larissia collected their books and walked across the garden together. The sky had coloured deep orange, against which the tower and walls stood out like black cut-outs. Neither of them spoke until they were in the castle and about to separate to each go to their rooms.
'I wish you wouldn't do this, Larissia. Magic is forbidden. If anyone finds out . . .'
'Don't worry. He said he wouldn't be teaching me, just letting me know what it is. I think it's a splendid idea.'
'Please Larissia, don't go. Not tonight. What will Deblen think?'
'Hmph. What he usually thinks. He spends all night in his office anyway. If I tell him I need to work for the good of the kingdom, he'll be happy. Besides, I'll be telling the truth.'
'Larissia . . . You should spend your evenings with Deblen.'
Larissia rolled her eyes. Figenia was starting to sound like her older sister. 'For goodness sake, I'm only going to a tutoring session. There is plenty of time for Deblen to do his duty by the kingdom later . . . if he's interested.'
* * *
Larissia twiddled with her fork and stabbed at her beans. Feeling stuffy in her tightly laced-up dress, her gaze kept wandering to the window. The sky had darkened to deep blue, and only a faint strip of orange remained of the day.
Knives and forks clinked on gold-rimmed porcelain. Dorabella recited one of the Great Poets, and Father and Deblen discussed some law case.
Did anyone have family that were as boring as hers? She couldn't believe that the frail old man at the head of the table had once ridden against a sorcerer king.
Larissia held up her glass and a servant rushed to fill it with wine.
'Larissia, you shouldn't be drinking so much.' Mother gave her a prim look, carefully manicured eyebrows raised.
'I'm not expecting, Mother.'
'Not yet and besides, you never know . . .' Her gaze ventured to Larissia's flat stomach, while she carelessly flicked her hair behind her ear, the usual gesture, with her little finger raised. That was such an annoying habit.
Larissia picked up her cup and drank, meeting her mother's eyes defiantly. I am not expecting. How could she? Deblen hadn't touched her for a long time. If he could get it up, he didn't know where to stick it, to speak in Luso's crude terms. She snorted in her glass. What would Mother know about that? It was not as if she had produced a great flock of children.
Larissia tried to imagine her mother's face, much younger, her hair dishevelled from rolling about the bed with Father.
The image didn't fit. Larissia had never seen her parents touch each other. Mother had married when she was fifteen, but had been thin and sickly in her youth, necessitating many trips to the baths for long periods at a time. Unlike other women, she never spoke of the time that Larissia was born, of the discomforts, the pain and the joy. She never spoke about what it meant to be a woman. A maid had told Larissia about monthly bleeding and how a woman did--or didn't--fall pregnant. A maid! Doing something a mother should do.
Across the table, Deblen still talked to Father, both dressed in Guorn blue. Deblen's short hair showed a balding patch on the top of his head. He had turned forty two moons ago. His meaty hands clutched spoon and fork. More food would be the last thing he needed. Heavens, he'd smother her underneath him if he ever got the urge. Did he ever notice Mother's little barbs?
He looked up. Clear blue eyes met hers.
Heat rose to Larissia's cheeks. 'Oh, before I forget, Deblen, I won't be at home tonight.'
'Oh?'
'I am doing some work on . . . statecraft with Lord Luso.'
'Oh. All right.' He turned back to his conversation.
A stab of anger went through her. Didn't he even have the grace to wonder if she would be the only pupil at Lord Luso's rooms? Guess not. What had she expected? A seed of anger or jealousy?
No, boring old Deblen trusted her fully.
* * *
Larissia had to admit she trembled on her legs when she came to Luso's tower room having climbed all the steps. She had never been up here, or at least not since he had been appointed.
She knocked on the door and after Luso's voice had replied Come in, turned the handle.
A fire flickered in the grate, throwing orange light over shelves of books, stacked to the ceiling, that surrounded the room. His desk, large and wooden, with a high-backed chair, overflowed with strange things--statues, amulets, other glittering things for which she couldn't even guess the purpose.
A book lay open on the table between two hearthside chairs, showing an emblem with two black birds. Larissia ran her hand over the paper. 'What is this?'
'Ravens. This is the emblem of the House Korghas.' Luso had changed into a shimmering blue robe, which made his eyes look even more intense.
Larissia swallowed, looking around wondering if Figenia was there. She wasn't. 'It looks . . . ominous.'
'It is ominous. Study it. You must learn to recognise it.' He spread his hands as if he spoke to an imaginary audience. 'What is the king doing if his own daughter, soon to be our Queen, doesn't even recognise the signs of evil? If she can't tell the potential evil from the seal of an enchanted letter, or the sign worn by an advisor who is a magic spy holding her in a spell?'
Larissia traced the shapes of the two ravens, beaks touching each other. Goosebumps crawled down her back. 'Really, can magic do that? Spy on me while I don't know it's happening?'
The only magic she had ever seen were the little charms that made flowers bloom, or that produced clouds of colourful butterflies. She had been angry when her father had forbidden even those.
'Ha! Can magic do that?' Luso rummaged in the mess on his desk. 'It would be better to ask what magic can't do, Lady Princess. Have a look at this, and then tell me what you think.'
Larissia took the folded parchment he held out to her. As she straightened it, an image flowed out of the paper.
Fire. Rearing horses. Clashing steel. Screams. Corpses mangled beyond recognition. Blood dripped from her hands.
Larissia screamed and dropped the paper. She stared at her hands; they were whole and clean.
A smile crossed Luso's face. 'Pick it up, Lady Princess, and read to me what it says.'
Trembling, Larissia retrieved the parchment from under the table. She unfolded it, bracing for the onslaught of horror, but there was none. The parchment was empty. She frowned at Luso. 'What?'
'Magic. An object turned magical has a memory. It will replay the spell its last owner placed on it. Now, if you'd recognised this piece of parchment as a magical object, you wouldn't have opened it. In this case, the parchment contained nothing but a report from a battle long past--rather distasteful I admit. By the same token, it might have contained something more sinister.'
'More . . . sinister?' Larissia's throat was dry.
'Like a mindbending or a poisoning or even a death spell.'
'The House Korghas used all this terrible magic?'
'This, and much more. These are merely baubles, little tricks to amuse. Real magic is terrible.' His eyes fixed hers. 'Real magic is when I speak a word that takes possession of your soul, that makes you a murdering madwoman. It is when a letter you carelessly open makes you lust for a man so much that y
ou lose your wits and you murder those who stand in your way.'
Larissia clamped her arms around herself. She would be totally defenceless against such power. 'But . . .' She grasped for strands of comfort. Her father had banned all magic and had all magicians killed. 'If the Korghas heir--if such a person exists--were to live amongst us, wouldn't we already have seen evidence of it?'
'Not necessarily, Lady Princess. By my guess, the child birthed by Prince Stanufo's girlfriend never received proper magical training.'
Larissia licked her lips. Clearly, this situation required some rational thought. Her mind strayed to Deblen, the master of rational thought. What would he say? One heir, a poorly trained magician. He would say it would be far easier to just weed this person out than to go into panic mode and expect magic around every corner. 'If . . . say if this heir lived, he or she would be at court somewhere?'
'That seems likely.'
'And they would behave oddly?'
'Not necessarily. As an old tutor of mine used to say: the men who are most likely to fondle young boys are the ones who in public speak out most vehemently against the practice.'
'That's disgusting.'
He bowed his head. 'It is, but it's the truth. In today's world where magic is forbidden, a person with magic will publicly deny its existence.'
Who in the palace spoke out most against magic? Her father, her mother, but they were obviously beyond suspicion. Her father had killed Lord Korghas, and her mother had been a meek girl living with her family. The heir had to be someone from her generation. Then her mind retraced the events of the day. The lesson in the garden, now so far away. She whispered, 'Dorabella.'
'You are saying, Lady Princess?'
Larissia spoke up. 'Dorabella. Do you know who her mother was?' It all fitted so perfectly. Prince Stanufo's girlfriend had given birth to a girl, fled, had been killed by soldiers and the adorable little girl had been adopted by the king's brother. Now Dorabella was at the court every day, pretending to be prim.
'Luso. I need to learn how to recognise magic.'
'I hoped you would come to that conclusion, Lady Princess. You are strong and smart and you will make a magnificent Queen. Come and stand here to see if you can spot any magical objects on my desk.'
Larissia stood where he indicated.
His desk was a mess of rolled-up parchments, discarded pens, ink bottles, boxes, rulers and protractors, opened envelopes, amulets, stones and strange instruments. She shook her head.
'Then get closer and touch each object.'
She did as he said.
An ink bottle felt perfectly normal, and so did an unused piece of parchment, but when she picked up a quill, a sting went through her hand. 'Ow!' She dropped it on the ground.
He gestured, the corner of his mouth curving with a smile. 'Go on.'
Larissia picked up a silver chain with a purple stone. A flood of images assailed her. Death screams, contorted faces, demonic figures.
'No!' She dropped the necklace, too, hiding her face in her hands. 'No, no. Luso. I can't see any of it. They could put magic in my food and I wouldn't know it.' Tears ran down her cheeks. 'You have to help me.'
His hand lay warm on her shoulder. 'Forgive me for upsetting you, Lady Princess, but I needed to make my point.'
'I think you've done that well enough.' Her voice sounded weak.
'Fortunately, I can teach you how to see magic.'
'You can?' Why hadn't her father told her this? Did he really think he had stamped out magic completely? 'Please, show me. I feel as if the future of the kingdom is in your hands.'
He guided her back to the couch. 'No, Lady Princess, it's in yours.'
She shook her head. 'I'm a failure in everything. I know nothing. I've been married two years and haven't even produced an heir.'
'Deblen is not really doing his duty by the kingdom, is he?' Luso carelessly picked up a bundle of fabric from his desk. He shook it out; it was a scarf thin as silk.
Larissia shook her head. 'He doesn't seem . . . interested.' She was ashamed at the pricking in her eyes.
'Tut, tut, such a pretty woman, leaving her unloved.' He draped the scarf around her neck. A feeling of warmth radiated from it, as if it lingered from his touch. She glanced at his hands, long-fingered, clean and strong. What would it be like--
'There. This scarf was woven by my mother. Do you feel the magic in it?'
'I . . . I think so. What does it do?'
'It's to stimulate unwilling--or unable--husbands. Use it.'
A nervous giggle escaped her throat. 'I think Deblen would need a bit more than this.'
'Is he that bad?'
Larissia couldn't answer the question.
He groaned. 'Maybe I could find something else.'
'Maybe . . .,' Larissia whispered. Her heart thudded in her chest. This was wrong; it was so wrong.
'Maybe what?'
She blurted out, 'Would you do a better job?'
'Oh yes, Lady Princess, much better.' His voice sounded calm, as if he was hearing Figenia's lessons. 'I would do it immediately. The House Guorn needs an heir. The old king may live for another moon, but not much longer. You are his only daughter. You need to have a child. Yet, you seem to have married a--forgive the expression--a dud.'
The light of the fire reflected in his blue eyes, intense, looking only at her, hungry. Blood rose to her cheeks. She licked her lips.
'If I asked you, Luso, would you do it?'
'Are you asking me?'
Then the question of whether she could do this became irrelevant. She wanted to do it and she had wanted it for a long time. She had enough of laying awake listening to Deblen's snores. She had enough of her mother's badly veiled jibes. Once she bloomed with child, it didn't matter whose child it was. Both men had dark hair and blue eyes. No one would ever find out.
'Yes.'
In one step he had crossed the distance between them. He undid the lace to her bodice. His hand slid under the fabric and stroked the skin. She shivered with longing. So long ignored and spurned, her body ached to be pleased.
His lips met hers, hot and passionate. Her hands clawed in his hair, ripped off his robe. Laughing, he picked her up and carried her to the bed. 'How can Deblen ignore such fruits?'
Her voice husky, she said, 'Eat me.'
'I will devour you, Lady Princess, and relish every bite.' He lowered himself onto her and pushed between her legs. She moaned, she laughed, she cried for more.
Then she sat atop him and rode him like a horse, but his hair was no longer flowing and glossy, but short and balding at the top. His meaty hands clutched her thighs and when he spilled his seed inside her, he bucked and lifted her right off the bed. It hurt.
Deblen clutched her tight. 'Whatever happened to you?' His chest still heaved with deep breaths.
Larissia gasped. 'I'm sorry, I . . .' Whatever had happened? She'd been making love to Luso and . . . Confused, she stroked Deblen's chest. Well--she had wished for this to happen. Maybe that was how the scarf worked.
When she climbed off him to wash, he had already gone limp. He gave her a watery smile. 'You can wake me up for this any time.'
Then he turned over and settled on the pillow. When she came back into the bedroom, he was fast asleep. Larissia lay awake all night.
* * *
For a few nights, Deblen asked her to satisfy him, but after the fifth day or so, he went back to his former unresponsive mood. Larissia didn't mind.
Not two moons later, she sat on the midwife's chair, the old woman's cold wintery hands poking around inside her. It hurt, and she needed to pee, but she clamped her jaws and held onto Deblen's hand.
The old woman nodded. 'I'd be midsummer when we have the first Guorn heir.'
Deblen jumped up. 'Yes! Yes, yes!'
Larissia ran from the midwife's room, through the snow-covered garden with its freshly-dug grave, to the tower. Pulling her cloak about herself, she knocked on the door. 'Luso. I need to talk to you'
It took a long time before the door clicked open, letting warmth from the hearth spill out. A fire blazed in the grate, gilding the furniture, the books they had been studying so much of late, the bed where . . . A wave of panic fell over her. 'Luso, I'm expecting.'
'Congratulations, Lady Queen. The kingdom will be very happy.'
Then she registered his drawn face, his bloodshot eyes and an odd smell in the room. Was she imagining this or had she disturbed him in a bout of vomiting?
'Are you all right?'
'Nothing I can't handle.'
Luso gestured for her to come in. This eyes retained none of that alluring look; like this, he was every bit the tutor. He had never mentioned that night again. Had it even happened? Was the child Deblen's after all?
Larissia sat down on one of the chairs before the fire.
Luso closed the door. 'This, Lady Queen, means that we must step up our vigilance. As soon as the news of your condition gets out, the Korghas heir knows that she has limited time to act.'
'How so?'
'Once the babe is born, she will have to commit two murders.'
Larissia clutched her squirming belly. 'What can I do? I've watched Dorabella, but she hasn't taken a step out of place.'
In fact, all Larissia's efforts to find out about Dorabella's mother, her uncle's first wife, had produced exactly what her uncle had always told her: the young woman had died a year after Dorabella was born. She was of commoner blood, from a rich merchant family, with not a skerrick of magic in sight.
Luso came to stand behind her, and for the first time since that fateful night, he touched her, laying a hand on her shoulder, the fingers on the exposed skin of her neck. 'If you forgive me for saying this, Lady Queen, and with your permission, I think this is the time to teach you a little counter-magic.'
* * *
Larissia laughed. She caught the hilt of the dagger in her hand and threw Luso a triumphant look. 'What did you think of that?'
He bowed his head, modest, as usual, but she didn't miss the happy glint in his eyes. 'You have progressed much better than I could have hoped, Lady Queen.'
Larissia sank down on the chair by the empty fireplace, which hadn't held any wood since the beginning of summer. Her feet ached. 'I never knew I had any magic in me.'
