Howl of the Wolf (Heirs to the Throne Book 1) (23 page)

“I’m witness to that pledge, Trenton,” Dr. Alexander added. 

Trenton rolled his eyes.  “Never could sneak anything past you, Doc.”

“You’ll keep trying.  Your little fabrication might seem less humorous if Jarrack got his hands on that laser.”

“Those lack-wit riders couldn’t deliver it from the grave!”  Trenton sneered.  “One move to examine my belt pouch and there wouldn’t be enough left to bury.”

Bryant felt suddenly queasy.  “That little thing is so powerful?”

Trenton wiggled his eyebrow, grinning.  “Nothing left but ashes.”

“Good thing the laser’s only a tool!”  Bryant imitated Trenton’s grin. Dr. Alexander laughed, surprising both men. 

“You two were meant for each other.  I hope Donovan can handle the two of you.” 

“Donovan’s clever enough to handle us and more if need be,” Trenton said.

“More!  Heaven help us!”  Alex groaned.

Bryant changed the subject.  “Have you picked the mountain you’ll carve into a home?” 

“Indeed.  It contains a natural network of splendid caves,” Trenton said, his tone wistful.  “I just need to convince Maggie to leave the castle.”

Alex said, “Carve out a cozy home and Maggie will go, even if I must write a special prescription to guarantee it.”

“A prescription might be needed to tear her away.”  Trenton cocked his head in a skeptical attitude.  “Maggie loves cooking for Krystal and Donovan.”

“Believe me, that little lady is miserable without you.  She torments us day and night with her cute little stories about your antics.  When Krystal finally bears a child, Maggie will be free to leave.  She stays now to support Krystal during her ordeal.”

“Aye, Krystal needs Maggie and Chella more than ever,” Trenton agreed.

Alex patted the medical bag.  “With the information in this bag, I’ve gathered the missing pieces to solve the puzzle.”

Bryant hoped the doctor could find a cure for Krystal’s affliction.  Rumors spread like wildfire about the queen’s infertility.  Donovan didn’t need more problems with Lords forming opposition groups to thwart the king’s new programs.  When asked to put Krystal aside, Donovan threatened abdication, but a king needed heirs.  He’d get little support in a fight to keep a barren woman as queen.

“Believe me,” Dr. Alexander said, interrupting Bryant’s thoughts.  “I’ve got a solution to the problem.”

Bryant’s jaw clenched, suddenly sure the doctor could read his every thought.

******

In the royal tower Krystal gazed out the window.  Shadows grew long as the red moon joined its bright sister in the sky.  She loved the mystical atmosphere created by the red glow of the farmer’s moon.  To Krystal it was the lover’s moon.  Legend held that during the half-year the red moon filled the sky, crops grew faster and women became fertile. 
By bathing myself nightly in the eerie light, could I become pregnant?  What harm came from trying?

She prayed Alexander’s trip to the spaceport provided answers.  Her latest miscarriage weighed heavily on her mind.  As an empath, Krystal felt the tiny fetus struggling for life within her body.  The loss hit her hard. 
Will I experience such bereavement again?

Donovan snored softly.  She gazed lovingly at his face, bathed in the red glow of the moon and a tear trickled down her cheek.  The council pressured him to take another woman as his wife.  How did queens throughout history manage to live under such a strain?  She yearned for a child.  Donovan did not blame her but the Lords and Ladies at court disapproved
.  How could I bear to leave him?

As Donovan shifted uncomfortably, Krystal realized her troubled thoughts disturbed him.  She forced herself to fill her thoughts with the peaceful scene outside.  Absent-mindedly fingering her amulet, she enjoyed the warmth of the stone’s power.  Chill from the marble floor crept up her bare feet and she shivered.  Alex would be livid if she caught a cold so soon after the miscarriage.  She reached for her robe, visualizing his stern face, and smiled.  Surely Alex would find a way to help her have a child!

Dr. Alexander was true to his word, Trenton thought.  Having finished his mountain retreat this year, the doctor convinced Maggie to leave Krystal during the early months of pregnancy.  Inside their home she added personal touches to Trenton’s work.  By adding color and texture, she transformed the cold, hard rock of the cave into a real home.  Since Maggie left to help Krystal with childbirth, the place echoed with emptiness.

Trenton used his time to travel the countryside, spreading Donovan’s ideas about self-government and listening to rumors about armies building along the border.  After three days on the trail, Trenton yearned for a hot bath.  By clever manipulation of rock channels, he surprised Maggie with running water and a real bathtub heated by a thermal spring.  The thought of soaking in a steaming tub of water sounded like heaven.

Sparks whinnied and pulled against the reins, scenting a whiff of home.  Trenton patted the horse’s neck and dismounted.  He knew it was important to follow a careful routine when approaching the tunnel entrance. 

Sparks knew the ritual.  She patiently waited as Trenton examined the ground and checked twigs set out to betray a breach of security. Satisfied, he opened the entrance, led Sparks into the cavern, and whisked a broom meticulously over their footprints.  Closing the door filled with fake branches, Trenton dumped a supply of fresh hay and sweet oats into a trough.  Sparks plunged her nose into the food, swishing her tail at an irritating gnat as she munched happily. 

After his long hard ride, the cave felt cool, damp, and empty.  He avoided thinking of Maggie.  He stoked the fire and eased his aching body into a chair that creaked under his weight.  The chair oozed sap.  He sighed, knowing he needed to cure the wood longer before carving Maggie’s chair. 

He wiped the sticky sap from his elbow and laughed.  “What kind of mountain man can’t even make a proper chair?”  His voice echoed through the empty cave.  “I need more time to work on this place before Maggie comes back.” 

Progress on the house went slow, working between missions, but he didn’t really object.  He enjoyed subtly spreading Donovan’s ideas and dodging ruffians hired by Lords to scare him off.  He used wits and skill to stay alive.  Still, he missed Maggie.  She laughed when he spun outlandish tales—slightly embellished to appeal to her humor—and lavishly praised his courage.  It felt lonely without her.

Easing into the full tub, he soaked layers of trail dust from his skin.  He rubbed the stubble on his chin, considered shaving, and rejected the idea.  Sporting a bushy face might be a good disguise.  Who would object?  Sparks didn’t care if he looked like a goat or smelled like one for that matter.

Sliding down until only his nose and eyes remained above water, he drifted lazily in thought. 
How long before Krystal has her baby?  Will Maggie be eager to leave with a new baby in the castle?  She’ll mope around looking moon-eyed for at least a month when she does come home.  Drat babies!  Plenty of peasant women wish they could avoid the pain of childbirth.  Why does Maggie miss having a child so much?  Damn the Institute for taking the choice away!
 

He remembered Maggie’s soulful eyes when Krystal became pregnant.  Her tears expressed happiness for Krystal mingled with sorrow for herself.  Maggie begged the doctor to help her get pregnant.  Alex shook his head sadly.   

Trenton gazed at the sparse cavern.  He could be happy with a chair, a tub, and a good bed, but Maggie needed more.  He said, “I’ve got to make it seem more like home.  Maybe I could get her a pet, a wolf cub, or a squirrel-cat.  I’ll give anything a try!” 

Nothing will replace a baby once she holds one in her arms.  It will be impossible to pry her away and there’s always another village to visit.  Maybe Maggie should stay to help with the baby.  She loves Krystal and I can visit her often.
 

“That’s it, I’ll tell her to stay at the castle.” As his voice echoed in the empty room, he felt a surge of loneliness.  His dream of a mountain home was not worth living alone.  “I’ll find a baby to adopt, an orphan needing a mother’s love and attention.  Then she’ll be content living here.”

He had plenty of time to search for a child and he knew it was the right course of action.  Trenton scrubbed his feet with a stiff brush, whistling a bawdy tune and smiled.  He remembered Maggie blushing and hitting him with a wooden spoon the last time he sang that tune.  Grinning, he bellowed the song aloud.  “There was a young woman from Livery Pass…”

******

Dr. Alexander inhaled the spring air with a tinge of regret as he shuttered the window and prepared to catch a short nap.  Krystal was finally resting peacefully with busy servant women gliding on silent feet to her bedside.  They would summon him quickly at the slightest change in her condition.

Although deeply fatigued, he lay wide-awake, willing himself to sleep.  His mind reviewed his years of work, his years of failure.  Secretly working in his laboratory, running experiments and improving techniques, he laboriously relearned methods doctors once employed to implant embryos into barren women. 

Old records retrieved from the spaceport provided valuable research material.  Pieces fell into place.  The knowledge became clear, and during the process, he learned other bits of medical history.  After finishing here, Alex wanted to delve into methods of curing deadly ailments.

Krystal couldn’t survive another miscarriage.  Worried about the latest development, he wished he knew more about normal pregnancies.  Midwives spouted old folk remedies without easing his mind.  On this backward planet he felt helpless.  

“She’s carried the child eight months.  If she can only hold out a little while longer…” The latest concoction helped her retain the fetus.  The old records described accounts of successful “Test Tube Babies” but offered very little information about preventing miscarriages.  Revisiting scientific data, the doctor drifted into a fitful sleep.

******

Krystal pretended to sleep.  Pressing her fingers against her protruding belly, she felt kicks. The baby turned.  She enjoyed watching bulges appear on the tight skin surface and crooned, “It will work this time.  Won’t those old crones eat their words when I proudly display you to the crowd.”

“I thought so!  You’re not asleep!”  Chella said, approaching so silently she startled Krystal.  “You must try to rest.”

“I am resting!  What else can I do, since I’m not allowed to leave this bed?  Tell me what’s happening in the council.  I missed hearing about the last meeting.”

Chella knew Krystal wouldn’t sleep until she heard everything.  “The council objects to the idea of a free market.  Those idiots don’t understand why production increased twenty percent last year.  They claim it’s from good management, but we know Donovan’s market incentives gave the peasants reason to work hard.  Greed blinds them to the benefits of a free economy.

“And Lord Hembly’s the worst!”  Krystal added.

“Right you are!”  Chella nodded, dipping a cloth into a bowl of cool water and carefully folding it with her slender fingers.  “Donovan should have slit Hembly’s throat during the tournament!  One slip of the blade might save us all years of trouble.” 

Krystal immediately thought of another enemy that Donovan could have killed.  Thinking of Jarrack, a twinge shot through her belly.

“Hembly wants all commodities turned over to the Lords, who promise to split wages equally among all workers.  Fat chance!  His scheme destroys the incentives that spur increased production!”

Krystal leaned back and allowed Chella to stroke her forehead with the damp cloth.  “Why should people work hard when less productive neighbors share rewards equally?  I hope Hembly can’t induce the Lords to vote in his favor.”

Chella carefully stroked damp hair back from Krystal’s forehead.  “Donovan struggles on every front to make changes for everyone’s benefit.  He refuses to issue a proclamation to end the bickering…”

“Did the Lords finally accept guild representatives?”  Krystal asked, her pleading eyes urging Chella to tell more.

Chella’s white teeth sparkled against ebony skin as she smiled.  “What a brilliant move on Donovan’s part!  The guild representatives arrived.  The council refused admittance, and they left peacefully.  Two hours later the council received a message—the transportation guild blocked all roads into Havenshire.  Half an hour later other messages said the Merchants’ Guild closed their doors to all customers and the Smiths’ Guild extinguished their forges.  The list grew hour by hour.  I’m surprised they held out for most of the day.  Finally realizing their vulnerability the Lords granted full representation to guild masters.”

Drifting off to sleep, Krystal mumbled, “Donovan argued about the guilds for so long.  Since the guilds are so important to the economy, giving them council representation is only fair.” 

Krystal imagined Donovan removing blocks that formed the monarchy one by one.  Smiling he held up a block labeled “Guild Representation” and placed it into his pocket.  Could Donovan retain the king’s power by “listening to the advice of the council?”  Did the Lords realize Donovan followed their “advice” with more regularity, slanting their opinions toward his own goal?

Donovan yearned for the day people demanded elected representatives.  Using men like Trenton, he planted revolutionary ideas in communities. Donovan hoped to instigate change while avoiding violence. 

On the other hand hereditary Lords resented change, feared free elections that undermined the aristocracy.  Rather than protecting their subjects, the Lords’ mercenaries harried the guilds, disrupted the marketplace, and demanded tribute.  When Donovan reprimanded guilty Lords, he gained enemies on the council.  Change was a slow, dangerous process.

“The guilds will make a difference,” Chella said.  “The members are open-minded, not like the hide-bound Lords.” 

“Thanks for telling me.  I don’t want to be a nuisance, but I felt anxious about Donovan’s progress.  He never wants to discuss the council.”

“He’s concerned about you, worried you don’t get enough sleep.  You really need to build your strength.  If I’m caught in here talking with you I’ll be flogged.”  Chella grabbed Krystal’s hand and squeezed.

Krystal laughed.  Recently Donovan raged over the public flogging issue, arguing to abolish the practice.  Disgusted, he issued a proclamation and the Lords nearly revolted.  The new system of public embarrassment for minor crimes and jail terms for severe infractions seemed more effective.    

Musing about the changes during the last three years, Krystal drifted into a gentle slumber.  She dreamed of her beloved gardens, meandering along colorful pathways, drinking deeply of delightful fragrances.  She heard the musical laughter of little girls, scampering among the flowers, and smiled in her sleep.

******

Donovan watched Krystal, so peaceful in slumber.  He felt guilty.  During the latest crisis, Krystal forbade Alexander to call him from an important council vote.  The bleeding stopped and the pregnancy continued. 

Why didn’t I sense her distress?  Even now, standing close to my beloved, I can hardly feel her mind.  Why did our mental bond weaken during this particular pregnancy?  Does the child drain her powers?
 

He hoped their child might inherit Krystal’s gentle nature.  Could mental powers pass between mother and child?  Perhaps this child would survive and end the constant stress placed on Krystal by the demands of producing an heir. 

Although the danger of miscarriage was past, Donovan worried.  Her belly looked too large and her energy drained.  Krystal said he worried too much, like any new father, but the fear of losing her stabbed his heart.  Quietly, he left the room.

Candlelight flickered making shadows dance on the kitchen walls as Maggie dozed, a half-knitted baby garment clutched in her hands.  Donovan tried to sneak past without waking her but his boots scraped the stone floor. 

She stretched and stuffed the knitting into a basket at her feet.  “You hungry?  That meeting drew on too long.  You look like a half-starved puppy.”

He felt guilty about disturbing Maggie, but somehow the mothering attitude of the small woman eased his tension.  He knew Maggie missed Trenton—they all missed Trenton’s hearty laugh, his constant teasing, and even his off-color jokes—but Maggie wouldn’t leave Krystal just now.  As the pregnancy neared its conclusion, Maggie’s cheerful chatter distracted Krystal from pain and soothed everyone’s fear.  Hearing her cluck at him, Donovan enjoyed the sense of normalcy and let Maggie feed him—her particular nourishment fed his soul and his body. 

******

As days grew warm, Dr. Alexander allowed Krystal to sit in the sun and enjoy the scent of the garden, hoping the sun’s rays might bring color to her pale cheeks.  The gardeners worked furiously, making the garden look especially beautiful for their patroness. 

As her belly grew larger, Krystal’s mental powers diminished.  She couldn’t hear the minds of her friends, couldn’t summon strength through the amulet.  She fingered it now in habit, like a worry stone.

The castle bustled with activity in preparation for the spring festival, tailors sewing bright garments and cooks creating savory delicacies.  Throngs of people arrived from all over the kingdom.  Spirits soared as rumors of an impending royal birth spurred minstrels to write lively tunes for the young king and his lovely queen.