Queens of Fennbirn

by Kendare Blake

  And when she slept, she dreamed. A bright dream, clear and real, from the sunlight on his hair to the crunch of dirt beneath his shoes. He was a boy, a young man, in common clothes and paint-smudged fingers. He had a broad smile, a little crooked, and the dimple in his right cheek was deeper than in his left. He was not handsome like William was handsome. But his eyes were warm. He did nothing more extraordinary in the dream than smile at her, and when he spoke, it was only her name.

  “Elsabet.”

  THE QUEEN’S COURT

  The next day, Elsabet tried to pay attention to what Gilbert was saying. It was some matter of coin, which normally she was quite involved in, much to the rest of the Black Council’s chagrin. She gathered that the previous queen was rather hands-off when it came to the day-to-day ruling, preferring instead to focus on the grander, broader strokes of war raids and quests. When Elsabet came into the crown, she thought that the Black Council would welcome her interest. But instead they seemed to resent it. Even the young members she appointed herself: Sonia Beaulin and Francesca Arron. Not Catherine Howe, though. Kind, level-headed Catherine Howe could probably not be resentful of anything.

  Today, though, the council could have its way. All through the morning session, Elsabet’s answers had been clipped and passionless. Her eyes flitted across papers presented to her without seeing them. She was distracted, and the reason was clear to everyone in the room.

  Her king-consort had been seated at a table with a dark-haired beauty for the last hour. Except he was not quite sitting. He was leaning so far across toward her that he was less at the table than he was mounting it.

  “Elsie.”

  Elsabet blinked. Gilbert called her that only in private. How many times had she ignored him, she wondered, to get him to resort to it before the court?

  “Yes, Gilbert.”

  “Are you with us?”

  “Of course.” She motioned with her hand. “Go on.” She ignored their doubtful expressions and refocused. It was not a complicated matter; she could catch up on what she had missed. Or she could if her ears were not filled with her king-consort’s laughter, a sound made all the louder by the fact that he was clearly trying to muffle it.

  Elsabet turned and stared at William. At her movement, the rest of the court froze. All but the king-consort and the girl whose dark curls were twirled around his fingers. The room went so silent that when Elsabet spoke, it rang through the air like a shout.

  “What is so funny?”

  William’s and the girl’s laughter cut off abruptly, and they broke apart. His hand slid back to his side of the table like a guilty snake. “Darling?” he asked, and Elsabet smiled broadly.

  “What is so funny? You have been quite merry there in your little corner. Will you not share the joke with us?”

  “Ah . . .” William’s mouth hung agape. “We were discussing the state of fashion. How . . . how many layers and ties and time it takes to get one properly dressed.”

  Properly dressed. Or quickly undressed.

  “Of course.” Elsabet forced a laugh. In the court, a few scared or sympathetic folk joined in. “A very funny subject indeed.”

  For a moment, it seemed that Elsabet would return to the matter of coin. She sat there for several long, slow breaths, her hands clenching and unclenching in her lap as she tried to master herself. But in the end, she could not. She stood and pushed away from the Black Council table, her long legs sweeping her quickly down the aisle.

  “Queen Elsabet! Elsie!” Gilbert sputtered, and shuffled papers, hastening to follow her.

  “That is all for today,” Elsabet announced as she left. “I thank you for your attendance.”

  As soon as she quit the room, Bess was at her side without needing to be summoned, as was Rosamund Antere, who swung her spear in a broad circle to pave the queen’s way.

  “Bess, my gloves, if you please. And a carriage.”

  “Ready the queen’s carriage!” Rosamund bellowed, and ten queensguard soldiers jumped to do her bidding.

  “No,” Elsabet called out. “I have changed my mind. Not the carriage. A horse. And horses for the commander and Bess.”

  “Elsabet.” Gilbert caught up to her and took her by the elbow. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, Gilbert. I am just going to take some air at the river market.”

  He frowned. The Black Council did not like the queen frequenting the markets like a commoner. But that is precisely why she did it: to be like her people, to be out among them. To mix with them and hear their troubles firsthand. And today, it would give her distance from William and his girl, so let the council grumble. She could never seem to please them anyway.

  Sonia Beaulin appeared at the door and lifted her chin. “The river market?” She sniffed and turned her gaze on Rosamund. “You shouldn’t take the queen there with such a small detail of soldiers.”

  “I know the layout well, Beaulin,” Rosamund replied. “A small detail is plenty of protection.”

  “Forgive me if I do not trust the judgment of an Antere.”

  Rosamund stepped forward. So did Sonia, though Rosamund towered over her by a head.

  “Enough, enough.” Gilbert pressed them apart. “You are like dogs, you two. Snarling and snapping and your hackles always up. We ought to have appointed a naturalist to the Black Council so they could bring you to heel.”

  “Thank you, Gilbert,” the queen said, and began to walk before anyone else could pose an objection. “I will not be gone overlong.”

  After the queen had left, her party following in her shadow, Sonia returned to the throne room and made her way to her friend, the poisoner Francesca Arron.

  “That is the first time she has spoken against his behavior in public,” she said. Then she snorted. “Look at him. How dejected his handsome face looks. He won’t be able to muster the nerve to climb into a strange bed tonight.”

  “Perhaps tomorrow,” Francesca replied. But she was not even looking at the king-consort. She was looking at the gathered people, watching them whisper. Registering the surprise on their faces at their usually composed queen’s small outburst. No doubt Francesca would be devising a way to use that gossip to her advantage. Arrons were always like that. “Have the girl banished from attending court for a season,” Francesca said. “And make sure you are seen doing it. The queen will appreciate that favor.”

  INDRID DOWN

  By the time Elsabet reached the river market, the jolting pace of her horse had almost shaken off the feelings of jealousy and shame. The nerve of William, to flaunt his pursuit right before her eyes. And what a fool she had been, to succumb to such an embarrassing outburst. The people would whisper now, Elsabet thought as she dismounted. But let them. They had already been whispering for months. Let them see that she would not simply accept his behavior. Let them talk about that.

  She took a deep breath as Bess dismounted and came to her side and Rosamund to the other. The river market was her favorite to frequent in the summer, as it was cooler, less crowded than the Bardon Harbor market, and smelled less of fish. Today it was bustling, the stalls full with merchants selling fresh and dried meats, newly dyed cloth, jewelry, and any manner of trinket the heart could desire. They smiled and doffed their hats to the queen, and she smiled back. They had not witnessed her shame. And she vowed that her behavior at the market would be so carefree that none of them would believe it when they heard the gossip later.

  They stopped at a naturalist stall and watched a man ripen strawberries by palming them with his hands. Elsabet purchased a basketful. “For pies,” he suggested as he took her coins.

  “A strong gift for a man, ripening those berries with a touch,” Rosamund commented as they walked. “He must be a Travers.” The Traverses were the strongest naturalist family on the island. Most of the fruits and vegetables that made it to the Volroy were grown and ripened by them in their city, Sealhead, on the southwest shores of the island, for theirs were the best.

  Bess
twisted her neck back to get a better look at the naturalist. She was always curious about the strongly gifted, as she had no gift herself. To their right, a woman called out to them with a cup of cool wine for the queen, and Rosamund nearly knocked it out of her hand. Bess paid the woman and thanked her, giving Rosamund a look.

  “You war-gifted,” she muttered. “To you everything is a threat. Everything is a challenge.”

  “Would you have me be less vigilant with the safety of our queen?”

  Bess placed her hand on Elsabet’s arm. “Who would think to harm the queen? But of course not. I would simply have you overreact less. Stop seeking a battle. We have had two queens of war out of the last three, and now there is no king anywhere who would move against us. If one did, he knows what he would find: strong-gifted warriors whose arrows never miss. And who embrace death.” She touched her fingers to the bottom of Rosamund’s jaw, and Rosamund swatted her away with a grin.

  “We do not embrace death. We only know we’re unlikely to meet it.”

  They wandered down the row where two men haggled over the price of pretty colored fabrics, and Elsabet ran her hand down the hanging cloth.

  “I also wish you sought less of a battle, Rosamund,” she said. “At least with members of my Black Council.” She looked at her commander sternly so her meaning would not be lost. Too often Rosamund and Sonia Beaulin nearly came to blows. At the palace, Gilbert had said they were like dogs. But they were more like wolves. Two packs of them: the Beaulins and the Anteres, and if anything were to truly start between them, it would end in blood. When Elsabet became queen, she thought to appease both families by appointing Sonia to the Black Council and Rosamund head of the queensguard, but now it seemed that she had made a mistake and each would have preferred the other position. But then who could say? Perhaps it was their fate to be always at odds, and there could never have been any peace between them.

  “I will try, Queen Elsabet.”

  “Good.” She linked her arms in each of her friends’. “We must all try to set examples for the people. And your reputation is fearsome enough. They still say that you dye your hair red with madder root just so it will look like blood.”

  “Ha!” Bess barked, and covered her mouth.

  “But we do not always have to set good examples.” Rosamund lowered her voice and nudged Elsabet with her shoulder. “Not with those we hold most dear. We can see that you’ve been troubled.”

  “And I thought I was so good at disguising it.” Elsabet sighed. Bess and Rosamund were her closest friends. She was closer to them even than she was to Gilbert, whom she viewed as a brother. Bess had been with her since they were both young girls and Bess’s mother had been in service to the Lermont family in Sunpool. Elsabet and Rosamund had been much thrown together over the course of the Ascension Year, and Elsabet had taken to the gruff soldier immediately. If she could not trust them, she could not trust anyone.

  “You know they say I am unwell,” she said quietly.

  “The people fear you are unwell,” Bess corrected, though to Elsabet there did not seem to be much of a difference. “That’s why they talk. They worry.”

  “I think they are right.”

  “Right?” Rosamund turned to the queen sharply and looked up and down her body. “What’s the matter? What is the ailment?”

  Elsabet smiled. “Nothing you can see from the outside.”

  “Is this about your rake of a king-consort? Give me leave to beat him. I won’t leave any marks.”

  “Rosamund!” Bess exclaimed, and the commander quieted. “Tell us, Elsabet.”

  “I think my gift is failing,” Elsabet said flatly. And there it was. Her secret fear, harbored for nearly a year. A year of gradually lessening visions, and increasing coughs and headaches. “I have not had a vision or felt any touch of the sight for a very long time.”

  Rosamund and Bess looked at each other gravely, their steps slowing in the midst of the bustling marketplace. Elsabet shook them gently by the elbows. She should not have told them there. They will stand out in their sadness.

  “How long?” Bess asked.

  “Months. Many, many months.” She did not mention the strange dream she had after speaking to the moon outside her chamber window. The dream of the boy with paint-smudged fingers. That was only a dream. Nothing at all. “And what is an oracle queen without a gift?”

  “She is the Queen Crowned,” Rosamund said. “And besides, how do you know your gift has weakened? It was strong when you needed it to Ascend. You must not have need of it now. The people should be glad that you have no visions. It means they are safe.”

  “But surely”—Elsabet blushed—“surely it would have warned me about William’s . . . wandering.”

  “Why would it?” Bess blurted. “The Goddess need not send a vision for something that is so glaringly obvious.” She gasped and clapped her hand over her mouth again. Elsabet’s mouth hung open, but then she laughed. Loudly and genuinely, her head thrown back to show her large teeth.

  “Thank you, Bess. That actually does make me feel better.”

  THE QUEEN’S CHAMBER

  When William slunk into Elsabet’s chamber, she had already determined to be angry. Cold. Perhaps even aloof. It had been three days since she had caught him flirting with that girl in front of her entire court. At first, it seemed that he stayed away out of fear or perhaps courtesy. But as days went by, it began to feel more like a punishment. As if she should be the one to seek him out to beg forgiveness.

  I am a queen, Elsabet thought. I have been a queen since I was born, and there is no begging in me.

  But that was a lie. The moment she heard his footsteps at her door, she knew she would drop to her knees and plead, if only he would stop. If he would come back. If he would love her.

  Bess let him into the room and squeezed Elsabet’s hand before dropping a curtsy and leaving them alone.

  “Well, my dearest?” William asked. “Is it time for our quarrel to end?”

  The resentment in his voice broke her heart. Surely he should try to appease her. Take her hand. Not stand there straight-backed and glaring.

  Elsabet breathed in slowly. “Do you want to be set aside?”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “Take it how you like. Do you want to be set aside? To be king-consort in name only? I am happy to furnish you a house in the country. A small estate where the hunting is good. I will make no excuses for you, but you may disappear from the capital.”

  He had not expected that. He looked positively bewildered. “Disappear from the capital? Into the countryside? And what will my cousin the king of Centra think of that?”

  “He will think nothing of it. We will still be married. The alliance between Centra and Fennbirn is fixed, for a generation.” She waited and watched him think, forcing her face to remain impassive.

  “And what will you do?” he asked. “When I am gone?”

  “I will do as I like. I am the queen.” She was the Queen Crowned, the embodiment of the Goddess on earth. Yet that was not enough to make him look upon her as he looked upon that pretty girl in the throne room.

  As she stood there silently, William started to fidget and his posture lost stiffness. “But . . . what about the triplets? The new queens?”

  “You will visit my bed during every Beltane.” Elsabet swallowed. “Your sacred chore.”

  He ran his hands roughly across his face, and at once the hardness there was gone, and he came forward and grasped her wrists. “Elsabet. Darling. Has it really come to this? Over such a small thing?”

  “You shame me before my court. It is no small thing.”

  “I know.” He kissed her face. “I know; you’re right. I was thoughtless. I was carried away.” He kissed her neck, her hands, her lips. He used what power he had to weaken her resolve until her arms were around him, and her gown around her waist, and he moved her to the bed.

  MIDSUMMER

  With Midsummer approaching, the capital was a bu
stling, jovial place as the crown and the citizenry prepared to celebrate the festival. Elsabet intended to open the grounds of the Volroy and hold the festival feast in the courtyard instead of in Indrid Down Square. It would be open to commoners and rich, gifted families alike. A show of unity and peace after decades of war games and raids. Of course the Black Council was against it.

  “The sanctity of the castle would be violated, and your own security would be impossible to assure.” Sonia Beaulin scrunched her face. She did not say outright that the queen was a fool, but her exasperated expression made her feelings plain.

  “Rosamund will see to my security.”

  “Rosamund Antere is weak-gifted at strategy. She manages the queensguard with no more competency than a child.”

  Beside Sonia in the Black Council chamber, elemental Catherine Howe tugged at her sleeve. “You know she can hear you. She’s right outside.”

  “Do you think I care!” Sonia slammed her fists onto the table, and the entire table shook.

  Elsabet winced. Sweet Catherine, so mild and calm for an elemental, with so little understanding of the other gifts. She meant no harm, but she often made everything worse.

  “Holding the festival in the Volroy grounds will also allow the people a closer look at the construction of the towers. I can announce that the West Tower is nearly complete. And recount the history of the build so they will remember that it was not I who ordered such an expensive castle. I have heard enough of their grumbling when I pass through the marketplaces. They think I’m bankrupting them.”

  “Preposterous,” said Gilbert, and smoothed his wispy yellow hair away from his forehead. “The flow of materials has been steady, near constant since before we were born.”

  “I know that, and you know that, but the people forget.”

  “The people are restless,” Sonia muttered. “They’ve been too long without war and raids. They are looking for things to grumble about.”