The Tears of the Rose (24 page)

When he let me go and turned away, I didn't mind. I would let him go, too.

It was how things had to be.

My internal voice said so, and I was learning to listen to her.

23

I
didn't see Ash again. When I awoke in the morning—because Marin finally shook me, telling me everyone was ready to leave and I could sleep the day away after we reached Windroven—he'd gone hunting to supplement the provisions we'd leave in the cabin for him. Or so Graves said.

Instead I pictured him hiking up the long trail and knocking on the door Andi had promised would be opened for him. The image made me happy, so I kept it in my mind and embroidered it as we rode through the stark Wild Lands. Finally I made myself finish it and tuck it away in my mental treasure chest, alongside the sweet memories of Hugh. My touchstones of happiness. My forget-me-nots. Short-lived and hard won.

And all the more precious for it.

The trip back seemed uneventful, even boring, compared to the way in. Graves—mainly due to Skunk's excellent scouting skills—deftly avoided the patrols from Ordnung. There were fewer than the men expected, in fact, as if Uorsin's forces were engaged elsewhere. Once we finished our long circuit around the castle itself and made our way to the high road, it became clear that tensions had only risen during our short time away.

Various squads and patrols passed us with alarming frequency, and we were all glad of the decision to disguise me further, as I surely would have been recognized and Uorsin would discover I'd not returned to Avonlidgh, as I'd been told to do. Marin found me a plain gown, apron, and kerchief to wear over my signature hair, tightly braided away and smudged with dirt. Introduced as the midwife's apprentice to the inquiring patrols, I kept my eyes cast down and earned no more than a few leers and usually a complete lack of interest.

I discovered an unexpected freedom then, in being someone and somewhere no one thought I would be. It seemed that even the sun can be ignored, lacking the proper setting and legendary status.

It helped, knowing I would burn in Ash's heart that way, tucked away in his memory box, also. I liked it, too, being this girl who wasn't worth much notice. The kind of girl who might have heard songs of me and who I would never have known existed. It felt like another step toward being someone I liked better.

As if our positions had indeed reversed, Marin had thawed toward me and resumed her motherly care. We spent more time together, the only two women in this group of military men who preferred one another's company. Enough so that I finally screwed up my courage to ask what had happened to her in Glorianna's temple.

She didn't answer at first, and I thought she wasn't going to. Staring between her stolid mare's ears, she fell into thought.

“It's over and done with. I know you didn't intend it. No need to dwell,” she finally said.

“But there
is
a need,” I insisted, keeping my tone apprentice humble. “I'm expected to assume a role in that . . . system. Taking a person and keeping her hostage a day and a night hardly seems something Glorianna would condone.”

Marin laughed, a short, impatient laugh that reminded me of Ash. “Think you that Glorianna and Her temple are one and the same?”

I always had thought so, but it seemed that had been one of my many naïve ideas.

“What the goddess intends and what mortals do with Her representation on our earth are two different things. Being part of Glorianna's temple is not about the goddess for all who claim to serve Her.”

I mulled that over. “What is it about, then?”

Her fingers twitched and I knew she missed her knitting. “The High King, praise his name, has invested Glorianna's temple with a great deal of power. There are those drawn to that. If you wish to make changes, look for those who most benefit from access to that power.”

She wouldn't say more and, really, she didn't need to. I'd been blind not to see it before, how Kir sought to control me and solidify his power in the temple. He'd removed Marin not to cleanse her soul but to eliminate her from influencing me. Taking me for the fool I'd assuredly been, he'd manipulated me, quite successfully.

At some point in my journey, my eyes had opened and I saw the world more clearly. Perhaps my crystal bubble had shattered.

Best of all, Marin had relented and was teaching me to knit. While the men played their games of chance at the inn tables in the evening, Marin taught me how to judge yarn and the simple stitches that looped together, row after row, each one adding to the next so they made something greater than themselves. Though my work looked pitifully askew, it meant more than I expected to be able to make a thing. To take bits of fleece and turn them into something useful.

Seeing us, other women would bring their knitting, too. Sometimes they traded yarn, telling tales of the flowers they'd gathered to dye it, or taught each other new stitches. Only a girl to them, perhaps a silly one, to be just learning what their daughters had been doing since they could grasp the needles, I disappeared into their conversations.

They knew far more than my ladies had, with their idle chatter about the court dalliances and prettiest gowns. Or perhaps that had been my influence and the ladies had kept to topics that pleased me. But around Ami, the midwife's apprentice, the common women spoke with insight and intelligence about the undercurrents in the Twelve Kingdoms. They, some of them who'd fought alongside their men in the Great War, worried for their sons and daughters.

It seemed that the High King—spoken of with more fear than reverence—had called in all of Mohraya's trained soldiers and, worse, had taken a tithe of all apprentices from every practice, from the strength-focused blacksmiths and glassblowers down to the softest arts.

Duranor had sent its due to Ordnung, but no more, not even when word of the additional tithe went out. Avonlidgh and Elcinea hadn't sent even that much, if the tales could be believed, and the remaining kingdoms were rumored to be cutting off trade and recruiting heavily from their own populations. Information, however, grew thin with the passing days. The High King had proclaimed that, to ensure peace of mind for all citizens, all court minstrels should stick to “happy” songs, and the traveling minstrels should find a sponsor, stay in one place, and do likewise.

Several seemed to have gone missing.

Rumors were, there would be more tithing to come. The worst stories spoke of press-gangs sweeping through outlying villages and taking all the able-bodied young people unfortunate enough to be out and about.

“Best watch out for yon missy, there.” One of the women angled her chin at me while she advised Marin. “She's weak and clearly no fighter, but that doesn't seem to matter to the recruiters. They want warm bodies, they do, and none cares so much how long they'll be able to keep themselves alive.”

The tales became more lively once we crossed into Avonlidgh. For the first time on the journey—one that took much longer without Ursula's charging-bull style of travel and without the right-of-way royalty commands—a minstrel played in the inn's common room. No one in our party commented on it, though Graves and his men knew about the High King's edict as well as I did. Never had it been more clear to me that their loyalty belonged utterly to King Erich.

“I don't care for the way times are changing,” an older woman clucked over her knitting, her foreboding an odd contrast to the silly nonsense reel the minstrel sang. He kept to that part of the new law, at least.

“We can't afford to give more to Uorsin's vendetta against the Tala,” another agreed. “All of my neighbors along the High Road? Burned out—and by Uorsin's troops, too. He cares naught for Avonlidgh.”

“Never has.” Another nodded along, needles clacking with her anger. “We pay our taxes and tithes, and what do we get? The hope of Avonlidgh, slaughtered in the midst of nowhere.”

Several paused and drew Glorianna's circles, murmuring a prayer for Hugh. The moment made my heart burn in my chest with all those tears I still hadn't shed. At this point, it seemed I never would. Hugh's people remembered him fondly, and I clung to that solace.

“There's the Princess, though—and the heir,” one mused.

The first one paused in her knitting to take a draught of wine. “
That
one. She's her father's creature—mark my words.”

“I hear she's still at Ordnung and will hand over Hugh's babe to the High King. Avonlidgh has lost all. She'd never have the spine to defy him.”

“Even if she did, she never loved Avonlidgh. Did you ever hear of her learning anything of us, visiting any other place but Windroven?”

“The poor thing was still on her honeymoon.”

“Ach, she's naught but a pretty face. If only Prince Hugh had kept his head and married the eldest as he ought to—none of this would have happened. Mark my words.”

“King Rayfe would never have shown up to demand his due?” a middle-aged pregnant woman scoffed. “I'm not so old as you and even I understand that was part of Salena's price for handing us over to Uorsin.”

“I can't speak to that, but I do know that Princess Ursula is the best of those two.
She
wouldn't have pranced about Windroven having picnics while her people suffered. At the least she would have been out fighting, shoulder to shoulder.”

“I hear Princess Amelia isn't at Ordnung, but returned to Castle Avonlidgh with Old Erich.”

“Old Erich,” cackled another woman. “He's a clever fox. Perhaps he'll keep yon pretty princess under lock and key until he extracts the babe.”

“After that, it hardly matters what happens to Hugh's fancy piece of ass. She's worth nothing to us.”

“Erich has a way of dealing with those who aren't useful. He's not so old he's lost his mean edge.”

“I almost feel sorry for the Princess,” the pregnant woman said. “Surely she has no idea the danger she's in.”

The old woman snorted and quaffed her wine. “I wouldn't waste your sympathy on her. She'd have none for you. She doesn't even know we exist.”

“Besides, she'll have enough troubles just birthing that child, if you take my meaning.”

They all nodded wisely, and questions burned in my throat. What did they understand that I didn't?

“Didn't you say you're a midwife?” The pregnant woman eyed Marin. “What say you about the Princess's babe?”

“What's to say?” Marin huffed, eyes on her knitting. “She's a woman as any other. Women grow and birth babes all the time, bless Glorianna.”

The old woman, who I'd decided I greatly disliked, even if she wouldn't have said any of this to my face, barked out a laugh, then wiped wine spittle from her chin. “Nooo, she ain't! She's no human woman. She's half-animal, half-demon like her sister. No matter which kingdom wrestles the babe from her womb, the child will be no one's heir. It's an abomination against Glorianna and we'll be lucky if it doesn't pop out of her cursed cunt with horns and covered in fur!”

As happens in crowds, it seems, her vile words reached a peak right as the minstrel finished his tune and the background conversation lulled.

“Barbara!” one of her cronies hissed. “You mind your mouth. There are strangers among us and impressionable young ears. Perhaps you should take your apprentice away, midwife?”

“She's heard worse,” Marin replied mildly, unconcerned as ever.

“Bah!” The garrulous woman poured more wine from the pitcher. “And if yon young missy is too missish”—and here she snorted wetly at her own joke—“to hear the truth, then she can retire to her lonely bed. What say you, missy? Are you a virgin yet, or have you enjoyed what a great, strong cock can do for you?”

My face heated and they all laughed, happy to have a diversion, and began teasing me about how long my young man could last and if my jaw grew sore or his did. I almost wished Marin would have taken the chance to spirit me out of there, but I also understood that this was one of her ongoing lessons—mixed, perhaps, with a bit of payback for what I'd put her through with Kir. I let my blushes speak for me and kept the lid on my box of memories tightly closed.

They were for me, and me alone. At least I understood the jokes now.

“You ladies seem to be having a fine evening,” a lovely tenor voice flowed over us. The minstrel stood there with his lap harp, smiling in a charming way. “Can I add to your frivolity with a bit of song?”

His gaze passed over us, then returned to me, lingering. Hastily I frowned at my knitting, resisting the urge to press the furrows away. Marin had pointed out that I looked less like the paintings of me when I scowled, so I tried to do that if anyone gazed too long. And fervently hoped the lines wouldn't truly linger as my nurse had so often warned.

“Yes, boy.” The old woman's eyes seemed glued to his trousers. “Sing to us of the Great War. ‘The Wolf Song.' ”

He grinned easily. “And lose my head to the High King's executioner? You'd have to tip me well indeed, my lady.”

She hmphed in irritation. “I know well the innkeeper is paying your wage. I have no intention of lining your greedy pockets, too.”

“Forgive my lack of enthusiasm, then,” he returned with such smooth courtesy that she only grunted.

“I'll have a tune.” Marin rummaged in her pocket for a coin. “Sing us one about the Princess, our future queen.”

Several others, including the pregnant one, agreed with enthusiasm. As if they thought to make up for their uncharitable conversation with renewed patriotism.

“That I can do,” he agreed. “The High King famously dotes upon his youngest, you know.” He sat, straddling a stool, and set the keys on his harp. “I saw her once, on a visit to the court at Ordnung.”