Read Online An Embarrassment of Riches by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro - Free Book Online Page A

after such a sacrifice, would He send daughters to Christians? Daughters, like Eve, were the allies of the Devil. She murmured a protest, and was jarred from her unhappy reverie by Csenge breaking off her massage and beginning an upbraiding of her cousin. The Konige opened her eyes.
    Imbolya was back, holding out a cup. “Dear Royal,” she said, a bit out of breath. “This is from Klotild; she says it will make you more comfortable and release the waters pent up in your body, but do no harm to your babe.”
    “Pader Stanislas said it is phlegmatic humors that try me,” Kunigunde told her two waiting-women.
    “This will help those humors as well,” said Imbolya. “Phlegm attracts water, according to Klotild.” She gave the cup to the Konige.
    Kunigunde sniffed at the dark-green liquid suspiciously. “What’s in it; did she say?”
    “She told me it had juniper berries, parsley, celery seed, milk thistle, willow bark, and feverfew. I will drink some if you like.” She ducked her head. “They were ground with a mortar-and-pestle and mixed with spring water. It will encourage the elimination of moisture and lessen the tendency to accumulate heat in the flesh.”
    With a slight shrug, Kunigunde made herself drink. “I don’t like the taste.”
    “Klotild said you would not,” Imbolya told her. “She also said that if this provided relief she’ll make more for you tonight.”
    Setting the cup down, Kunigunde said to Csenge. “The ointment is quite pleasant. The prickle it gives is … agreeable. You may rub my other foot.”
    “What pleases you, dear Royal, pleases me to do.” It was the required response, and she made no effort to attempt to sound sincere. Csenge brushed the wisps of hair that had fallen around her hair, using the back of her wrist so that she would get none of the ointment on her face. “If you will recline again?”
    “I thank you.” With a sigh, Kunigunde lay back once more and let Csenge rub her foot. She tried to keep her mind on happy things, so that her child would have a good-natured temperament, but her thoughts kept turning to Pader Stanislas’ exhortations, and little as she wanted it, she could not keep from recalling the horrendous visions the priest had conjured.
    “Be easy, my Konige,” Csenge whispered as she finished her task and rubbed her hands on the drying sheet.
    Imbolya, who had been sitting on the bench away from the windows, rose and came toward the couch. “Should we let her sleep?” she asked her cousin in a hushed voice.
    “For a while,” said Csenge, feeling Imbolya’s quiet inquiry go through her head like iron spikes. “Is Gyongyi still in the corridor?”
    “I suppose so. Would you like me to go and look?” Imbolya asked.
    “If you would be so good,” said Csenge, trying not to make her request abrupt; Imbolya was too young to think brusque responses anything but chastisement; by the way Imbolya’s lips thinned, Csenge realized she had been too short with her. “Thank you, cousin,” she added, to soften her request.
    “Of course,” said Imbolya, and went to the door, her head held a bit too high.
    “Do you dislike her?” Kunigunde muttered, her eyes still closed.
    “She’s very young,” said Csenge.
    “True enough, but do you dislike her?” The question was slightly louder but much more pointed.
    Startled, Csenge stared down at the Konige. “I … It’s hard to say … I don’t dislike her … exactly. She can read, you know.” She disliked Rozsa of Borsod for her prettiness and the high favor her husband enjoyed in the King’s Court; she disliked Teca of Veszbrem for her endless praise of her dead husband. Imbolya annoyed her, and that was entirely different.
    “Then what is it, exactly? Is it family rivalry, perhaps? Have you been agonistic in any way? Do you dislike having her at my Court? Or is it simply that she is so young? What bothers you about her?” Kunigunde inquired; caught off guard, Csenge could think of