by YatesNZ, Jen
Gynevra dropped her head back to stare at the ornate ceiling and released a deep sigh. She should be feeling well blessed. Her prince was a virile lover, her young and passionate body well mated, and she was a Queen and Mother of Kings in the making. Could there be more to happiness than that? Should there be?
‘Ta’a,’ she murmured dreamily. ‘I guess I have.’ But she’d not tell Meryan the DragonBlood lover who filled her mind had ebony hair and eyes to match her signature stone.
That first quarter passed all too quickly. Mostly Gotham was training, determined to regain the agility that would allow him to fight, or out about the business of the city or army. Gynevra filled her time planning a Palace Healing Temple with Queen Althaea, helping Meryan in the House of Children or attending the endless receptions in the Queen's Court where, to her consternation, she made little headway in her efforts to make friends among the ladies of Trephysia.
Not an evening went by without some official function or celebration in the Reception Hall, which they must attend. Such affairs were showcases for the artistic talent of the province and sometimes further afield, but mostly it was a place for the Paggi to see and be seen.
As the quarter progressed and she failed to quicken with child, the brilliant, confident facade of the Golden Stallion began to splinter. He complained of the time spent padding the egos of the Paggi ‘Who's Who’ of the City, which kept them from working on the problem of her barrenness. When her menses began just before she was due to enter the Temple an ugly fear entered Gynevra's mind and would not be banished. Had Gotham lost his potency as a result of his terrible wounding by Taur?
She couldn't speak of it to anyone, least of all to Gotham himself. Such an event was too horrific to substantiate with words. His pride in his ranking as a top DragonBlood sire was undisguised. She couldn't begin to imagine the effect sterility would have on his disposition, didn't dare contemplate the future should her fears be realized. Infertile, his chances of becoming King of Trephysia were nil.
His surly but determined efforts to prevent her leaving for the Temple when that day came upon them, filled her with deep foreboding. Eyes smoky dark with anger and mouth twisted and sneering, he'd used every ruse to undermine her resolve to honor her vow, even to using the word `love'. Something was seriously amiss with a Paggi male who allowed that word to form on his lips, however insincere she knew it to be.
However deeply she longed to be as other women, to honor her contract to her sacred partner and only to him, nothing could make her dishonor her vow to the Goddess. Wallowing in her pain was pointless and listening to Gotham wallowing in his only prolonged the agony. Somehow she must endure separation for the next quarter, and so must he.
But such was the busyness of her days in Temple Ceabryn, when her head touched the clagren she slept, instantly and deeply. She'd made friends more easily than she had in the Palace. Gotham's half-sister, Anya, who never mentioned her brother without a grimace of tension, had become almost as close as Mery; Lord Dogon, her personal mentor, whose understanding of her needs included physical training and stick fighting, which kept her fit but exhausted to the point of having no energy to spare for frustrated longings.
Difleer, her housekeeper, who reminded her so much of ‘naughty Lauriana’ at Qrazil that an instant bond was struck between them. Old enough to be her mother yet still beautiful in a blousy, brassy way, Difleer had lost no time informing her new young mistress of her delight in offering her own brand of ‘healing’ to the handsome piacani who would undoubtedly flock to the Princess's morning healing clinics.
‘Where will you—um—offer this healing?’ Gynevra had asked, her eyes dancing with amusement, and her mind boggling with the thought of Difleer cavorting with some court piaca across the beautiful hand embroidered clagrenon of the vast bed the Temple had provided for its royal scholar.
A serenely wanton smile lit Difleer's eyes as she directed her mistress's attention to the king's high gerlain that provided storage for the Princess's clothes.
‘Many folks live in places no bigger'n that, Lady. Reckon I could make it real comfortable—and it'd sure be private!’
Feeling a giggle rising in her throat, Gynevra hastily suppressed it into a grinning attempt to enforce her dignity.
‘It certainly will—but please don't forget where your first responsibility lies.’
‘I'll give ye no reason to complain, Lady,’ Difleer had promised—and she hadn't.
On an afternoon towards the end of the first month as she walked with Dogon in the Blue Gardens talking of her progress in the use of Electra's powerful crystal healing rods, Difleer apologetically intruded.
‘Lady Gynevra, the Lady Darlen requests your presence in the Healing Temple. The Lord Kah has taken a fit while visiting with her and she says he appears to be suffering from crystal apoplexy and is having trouble breathing.’
Gynevra looked quickly to Dogon, and with a frown of reluctance he nodded her release. As they hurried back through the gardens, she questioned Difleer about Lord Kah.
Rolling her eyes, Difleer laughed.
‘Once he was high and mighty Minister of Crystals and he still likes to call himself that but the ladies at the House of Delilahs say he has to hold his kondemon to relieve himself! The Lady Darlen takes pity on him though and calls him ‘Minister’. I suppose he still knows what he once did about crystal technology and they say his knowledge was formidable. But—’
Difleer rolled her eyes around again and Gynevra was still laughing when she was directed into a side room of the Healing Temple where both Darlen and Anya hovered over an elderly man reclining on the couch.
‘Ah, there you are my dear. Thank goodness Dogon didn't detain you. He's notorious for not allowing interruption during his teachings. I must remember to reward Difleer for her temerity in approaching you. Gynevra, this is the Lord Kah, Minister of Crystals, and he appears to be suffering an apoplexy, which is common among folk who work much with high crystal energies. I'm thinking you'll have the very latest understanding of this condition?’
‘Yes, Lady. For apoplexy patients one must channel deep magnetic earthing energy. You may leave him with me.’
Gynevra waited just inside the door until Darlen and Anya left, her skin tingling with awareness. Kah, Minister of Crystals was important to her in some way. His hair and beard were white and fine like cobweb, the pale, crystalline eyes oddly young-looking in contrast and from their depths shone an unearthly light of deep knowing.
No one had secrets from the Minister of Crystals. And by the time she'd drawn the next breath Gynevra knew also the Lord Kah was a fake. A naughty twinkle lurked in his eyes and there was an exaggeration to the twitch of his hands and the rasp of his breath only an experienced healer would notice.
‘You should give all deep mimes a miss, Lord Kah. You're a dreadful actor,’ she said.
‘Deep mimes really bore me, Lady. How do you do?’
‘How, indeed, Lord Kah. Do you have need of my healing skills or did you have some other reason for interrupting my session with Lord Dogon?’
He chuckled.
‘I stood on the toes of the rustic young whiz-kid from Temple Zedalin? Tut-tut!’
‘What do you mean, young?’ Gynevra queried. ‘His hair is almost, well nearly, as white as yours.’
‘As well our lofty Lord Dogon didn't hear you say that. It happens to all who work with the high crystal energies in the power houses. Have you not noticed how fit he is? He is scarce as old as your beautiful Prince, my Lady.’
Kah cocked a white eyebrow in evident enjoyment as he watched astonishment and consternation chase across Gynevra's face
‘Thank you for informing me. I hope I haven't embarrassed him by saying something foolish. Now, what was it you really wanted of me?’
‘Your skills with the crystal power rods of the ancients,’ he answered promptly staring directly at her as if he could see right into her soul. But rather than the sense of violation such an action fr
om a stranger would normally have engendered, Gynevra felt oddly animated, as if he'd gifted her some deep mercurial energy of sound, like music in her head.
‘I have very little skill with the rods as yet, Lord Kah,’ she said. ‘There's no one alive who's able to use them and I am having to learn by trial and error with Lord Dogon’s guidance. There's very little margin for error with the rods and I'm afraid my progress is, of necessity, cautious. Do you have a life-threatening disease that you seek help for?’
Again that shimmering look.
‘It's as much the vibration you carry that enables you to use them, as any actual skills that I'm interested in, my dear.’
A frisson of cold air brushed the back of her neck.
‘To do what?’ she asked.
‘To help me program the biggest crystal ever built.’
Gynevra walked slowly across the room and sat on the straight-backed chair at the desk. Briefly she remembered perching on the corner of the watch desk in Qrazil while Priestess Delida talked of the exploits of Usuf, King Ahron’s brother. Rumored to be so intelligent he verged on the unbalanced, he was also rumored to be involved in just such a project.
Looking directly back at the man on the couch she said, ‘I'm a healer. That's what I do. That's all I do.’
After a moment of deep consideration, he said, ‘Then please give me deep healing for crystal apoplexy for I do indeed suffer from it.’
For the next half hour the old man lay silent beneath Gynevra's hands and when the healing was completed he slowly sat up on the healing couch and asked, ‘What would it take to get you to work with me at Meranil?’
‘Nothing, Lord Kah. Absolutely nothing.’
Kah held her gaze for a long moment before stepping to the floor and crossing to the door with a sprightly step that spoke of a miraculous healing, or little need of it in the first place.
‘I'm sorry about that Princess. I won't promise not to try to change your mind however.’
Gynevra solemnly inclined her head as he let himself out the door. She'd scarcely had time to complete the self-cleansing ritual necessary after each healing when there was a knock and a novice entered with a request for her to attend the Lady Darlen once again.
Gynevra passed through the curtain of golden bells expecting to see Lord Kah with the Archinus. But Lady Darlen was alone, and she greeted Gynevra warmly, offered her a cup of herb tea and some delicate little sweet biscuits that were quite delicious. Gynevra smiled later, thinking back to how cleverly Darlen had hooked her, first with the dainty morsels and then by asking if she was comfortable in her rooms. She'd been effusive in her praise of both and could scarcely demur, even in the slightest, when Darlen had requested she perform as Adonai at the Sacred Joining of the Gods for the Harvest Festival in one month's time.
The crafty Archinus ushered her out with a beatific smile a little later and Gynevra imagined her rubbing her hands in glee at the revenue accruing to Ceabryn through having a Princess, with light skin and golden hair, stand as Adonai. Every Paggi lord with a qim in the stadrag would offer a high uson to be allowed to fight for the privilege of standing as Rafid—and siring her first child since it was obvious she wasn't swelling with Gotham's seed yet.
A child who would become King of Trephysia after Gotham, or before him if her growing fears for his fertility were substantiated.
Although it wasn't important the Goddess conceive at the Harvest Festival Ritual she couldn't imagine Gotham willingly moving aside to allow any man the chance to sire his first child—and if Taur came back in time to join the list?
She shivered. Her body leapt to instant wanting. Nothing it seemed could change that. But her heart cringed. She had a definite feeling Taur would be safer at war until this Sacred Joining of the Gods was over.
The efficacy of the Princess's healing powers had spread rapidly through the city and the waiting area was full every morning. The Archinus had insisted the only way to keep the numbers manageable was to charge high uson but notwithstanding what Gynevra privately thought an exorbitant price, the Paggi of the city continued to flock to her clinic. Many came, she was certain, for no better reason than to have close contact with the fair Princess who would one day be their Queen.
And then there were piacani like General Yadu who swaggered into her clinic next morning for the second time since she'd arrived at the Temple. On the first occasion he'd claimed to be feeling unwell and running a fever. His skin had certainly been clammy and his eyes over bright but the only problem she'd been able to ascertain was a constant and impressive erection, which she’d decided could certainly account for any discomfort he might be feeling. She'd passed him on to Difleer suggesting one of her herb tisanes and a little ‘rest’ might be beneficial.
Now he was back. A Son of the Dragon sired by Isidor himself, he was several years younger than her father but still more than old enough to be her father. His scarred and weathered face wore a scowl of haughty command as he made it quite clear he wanted something other than healing and he wanted it from Gynevra, not Difleer. Gynevra immediately tapped an agreed signal on the tiny brass gong on her desk and within seconds two of the Temple giants appeared. At a nod from Gynevra and totally ignoring the General's lurid curses, they forcefully escorted him from the room.
As she lay back in her bed that night, she wondered how Gotham fared in her absence. Did he know of the General's visit to her clinic? What was he doing right now? Heat, sudden and raw, infused her body and she clutched her knees up to her chest and ground her teeth. It was impossible not to imagine him slaking his thirst for her on some other willing body. There were precious few who weren't willing. Thumping her clagren, she wondered if Dogon fancied a round or two with the fighting sticks. Little more than a month gone.
Cloaba! Cloaba! Cloaba!
Next morning Gynevra was halfway through a healing on Lord Rogid, an elderly man who was having concerns about his failing libido. For men who held high government positions, it was important to maintain, and display, virility. If they looked like losing their sexual potency they were deemed to have lost mental potency also and were laughed out of office. There was no redress. Padopan or get out!
Gynevra was wondering whether Difleer's brand of healing might not be more beneficial when she caught a glimpse of a golden head peeping through the curtains of her healing room.
Gotham? Here? How could that be? For a breath or two there was a trembling in her hands and a fluttering in her breast as she wondered if he was ill, or whether he'd already heard she'd agreed to be Adonai for Harvest Festival and come to cause a scene. No matter. The distraction and the heat that had kept her tossing and turning through the night threatened to close down her healing channel. Could she tell Difleer to get rid of the other patients who waited? Could she tell her to go somewhere and not hurry back?
He looked round the door again and made an impatient grimace at her. She strove to ignore him. Her first responsibility was to the patient. Why was he here? Training asserted itself and she closed her mind to all but Lord Rogid. But as soon as the healing was complete, Gynevra hurriedly ushered him out. Then with heart thumping wildly she entered the common room and leapt into Gotham's arms.
‘What are you doing here? Are you ill? You don't look ill. You look—Oh Cronos, kiss me. No kurn me. I've missed you. I need you!’
Difleer, who'd been lurking as close as she'd dared to the gorgeous prince, sighed and dropped back towards the bedroom for, as she told Gynevra later, it looked as if neither of them even noticed her and were going to scrog right there on the common room floor.
‘You've missed me, Princess?’ he asked with a note of disbelief.
Later she'd remember that tone in his voice but now she was only aware of his presence and her healthy young body took over the thinking. Dragging his head down so she could reach his mouth, she set about showing him how much she'd missed him, showing him it wasn't words she needed.
With a deep growl, Gotham swung her up into his ar
ms and backed into the bedroom. Beyond the door Difleer watched agog. If she hadn't moved fast she'd have been discovered. With an agility born of frequent practice, she concealed herself beneath the gowns and robes in the king's high gerlain.
Dropping Gynevra back on the bed Gotham ripped the gown from her body and tossed it to the floor with his own clothes, then dived into her waiting arms.
‘What was it you wanted me to do, woman?’ he demanded.
‘Kurn me. Oh Go', please don't tease me. I really need you. Just do it!’
The suspicious scowl darkening the handsome face lifted and with a shout of pure triumph he complied with her wishes. The familiar rhythm was with them immediately, hard and vigorous, exactly as she'd come to crave. In no time at all she was crying out her release and his deep shout of fulfilment soon followed.
Gynevra clung to him, tasting his body scent with every rasping breath she took. How was she going to last out the rest of this term of imprisonment? Perhaps he'd come again.
‘How did you get past the guards?’ she asked when she'd caught enough breath to speak.
‘I limped and told them I had need of healing for the jungle fever tektyti on my feet.’
‘Have you got them?’
‘Of course not!’ he said and rolled onto his back looking very pleased with himself. ‘But they weren't about to make their Prince take off his boots to prove it.’
‘So why did you come? Did you miss me too?’
To her annoyance Gynevra found she couldn't keep her voice entirely even, as she asked.
‘To see if you swell with my son yet.’
Unease gripped her midriff.
‘I don't think so.’
Looming over her, he squeezed her breasts and Gynevra yelped a little.
‘Don't. That hurts.’
‘They're not swelling,’ he growled. ‘When will you conceive? More to the point, who will be the sire?’
