So many last breaths, warm little bodies going cold in her arms. She had thought her heart could break no more. Had sworn she had no tears left. Until the next child died. All of them. All of them gone.
She gripped the arm of the throne, carved wood inlaid with metal that never warmed to a palm. A reminder of the steel rulers must keep in their decisions, their hearts.
“Thera,” Johnathon reached out for her, his hand pausing before resting on top of hers.
“I am your queen,” she said, sharply. Too sharply. “As such, all matters of import to this kingdom’s well-being will be brought to my attention.” She pulled her hand out from beneath his, unable to endure the warmth of his touch any longer. “That, Advisor, is your job. It can be another’s if you are unable to keep your personal feelings separate from your duties.”
Johnathon stepped back and folded his hands in front of his tunic. His expression was blank, his lips a severe line.
“I swore duty to the throne,” he said, and it hurt all the more for how softly he spoke. “That duty I will uphold regardless of who sits as ruler upon it.”
Thera nodded. She wanted to untake her words, to draw the pain out of what she had said. But of all the matters before her, one man’s hurt feelings were surely the least important. “The tunnels are open then?”
“Yes, Queen Thera Gui.” Flat. Nothing more than duty required.
“Johnathon,” she began, but could not bring herself to apologize. If she admitted she was wrong, hurt, confused — if she admitted the pain was too much for her to bear and continue breathing — then she would have to admit it all, face it all. Every senseless, painful, death.
No. She promised her mother she would endure. She promised her husband she would endure. And she had never broken a promise in her life.
“Take me to the tunnels,” she said.
Johnathon nodded. “You may want your cloak, Your Majesty.” At her look of annoyance he sighed. They were both too old to hold grudges for long, a happenstance Thera was grateful for.
“It is cold beneath the mountain, Thera,” Johnathon said, “and damp. You may also want to bring a guard or two in case the old gates have rusted into place.”
“Agreed,” she said. “I’ll leave it to your discretion whom to bring. I will meet you at the well house in the apple orchard within the hour.”
Johnathon bowed, and waited as she walked behind her throne to the door that led to her private hallway. She paused at the doorway.
“Johnathon,” she said.
“Yes, Majesty?”
“Thank you.”
He nodded. She opened the door and entered the hallway lit with the rare blown-glass globes Vannel had spent a small fortune on to line this hallway, their room, and their children’s rooms. The wicks burned brightly over globes of refined oil, the globes themselves doubling the flame’s radiance.
Beautiful, rare, Thera remembered when she had looked at them with wonder and delight. Now they lined the dark paths of her duty, and her confinement.
Two turns and a gradual curve brought her to her room. She closed the door behind her. She did not allow serving women to help her dress or bathe, though occasionally someone brought tea, or changed the goose down quilts of her bed. If she was strong enough to rule a kingdom alone, she was strong enough to tie the lacings on her own boots.
Thera walked behind her dressing screen set close enough to the fire that she gained a bit of its heat as she disrobed. Out of her official black and gray gown and layers of under skirting, Thera wrapped her arms around her rib cage, holding still, holding herself. For a woman who had born nine children, she was thin, the bones of her ribs and hips barely hidden beneath her flesh. Her stomach still carried the lines of pregnancy — ghostly finger-width scars across her empty belly. She never looked at her body in a mirror any more. It was not a queen’s body that a land most needed. It was her spirit
She gripped the arm of the throne, carved wood inlaid with metal that never warmed to a palm. A reminder of the steel rulers must keep in their decisions, their hearts.
“Thera,” Johnathon reached out for her, his hand pausing before resting on top of hers.
“I am your queen,” she said, sharply. Too sharply. “As such, all matters of import to this kingdom’s well-being will be brought to my attention.” She pulled her hand out from beneath his, unable to endure the warmth of his touch any longer. “That, Advisor, is your job. It can be another’s if you are unable to keep your personal feelings separate from your duties.”
Johnathon stepped back and folded his hands in front of his tunic. His expression was blank, his lips a severe line.
“I swore duty to the throne,” he said, and it hurt all the more for how softly he spoke. “That duty I will uphold regardless of who sits as ruler upon it.”
Thera nodded. She wanted to untake her words, to draw the pain out of what she had said. But of all the matters before her, one man’s hurt feelings were surely the least important. “The tunnels are open then?”
“Yes, Queen Thera Gui.” Flat. Nothing more than duty required.
“Johnathon,” she began, but could not bring herself to apologize. If she admitted she was wrong, hurt, confused — if she admitted the pain was too much for her to bear and continue breathing — then she would have to admit it all, face it all. Every senseless, painful, death.
No. She promised her mother she would endure. She promised her husband she would endure. And she had never broken a promise in her life.
“Take me to the tunnels,” she said.
Johnathon nodded. “You may want your cloak, Your Majesty.” At her look of annoyance he sighed. They were both too old to hold grudges for long, a happenstance Thera was grateful for.
“It is cold beneath the mountain, Thera,” Johnathon said, “and damp. You may also want to bring a guard or two in case the old gates have rusted into place.”
“Agreed,” she said. “I’ll leave it to your discretion whom to bring. I will meet you at the well house in the apple orchard within the hour.”
Johnathon bowed, and waited as she walked behind her throne to the door that led to her private hallway. She paused at the doorway.
“Johnathon,” she said.
“Yes, Majesty?”
“Thank you.”
He nodded. She opened the door and entered the hallway lit with the rare blown-glass globes Vannel had spent a small fortune on to line this hallway, their room, and their children’s rooms. The wicks burned brightly over globes of refined oil, the globes themselves doubling the flame’s radiance.
Beautiful, rare, Thera remembered when she had looked at them with wonder and delight. Now they lined the dark paths of her duty, and her confinement.
Two turns and a gradual curve brought her to her room. She closed the door behind her. She did not allow serving women to help her dress or bathe, though occasionally someone brought tea, or changed the goose down quilts of her bed. If she was strong enough to rule a kingdom alone, she was strong enough to tie the lacings on her own boots.
Thera walked behind her dressing screen set close enough to the fire that she gained a bit of its heat as she disrobed. Out of her official black and gray gown and layers of under skirting, Thera wrapped her arms around her rib cage, holding still, holding herself. For a woman who had born nine children, she was thin, the bones of her ribs and hips barely hidden beneath her flesh. Her stomach still carried the lines of pregnancy — ghostly finger-width scars across her empty belly. She never looked at her body in a mirror any more. It was not a queen’s body that a land most needed. It was her spirit
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