Chapter 30 | The Last Royal Mistress

Two Prophecies, Fulfilled

Ensconced in a bed full of pillows, Ansella pushed the breakfast tray away untouched. “I just can’t, Donnie. Please take it away, the smell is giving me a terrible headache.”

“You must let me call the Sisters!” said Lady Donnis. “This has been going on too long. You’re too weak and you’re too nauseous.”

“It’s just the baby, cos. It will pass in a spoke.”

“I’m not sure you have a spoke!” said Donnis. “If you can’t eat a little something by tonight, I’m calling the Sisters whether you want me to or not!”

“I beg you not to! I don’t want Him to know about the baby just yet!”

“Why, in Amma’s name?”

Ansella set her pale face. “I will not give him the satisfaction. One night! It was only one night!”

“Oh, Annie, you can’t stay in here the entire six spokes!” Donnis broke off at the sound of a racket from the sitting room.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness, but the Queen really can’t be disturbed!” came the voice of Ansella’s primary ladies maid. “Sir, please!”

I specifically said no visitors, Donnis thought irritably. She rose from the bedside, tray in hand.

“Very sorry, Hanston,” came Temmin’s voice, “but I’ve been put off too many time. Mama! Fair warning, I’m coming
in!” The rangy young man dashed through the door, Miss Hanston close behind him.

“I did try, ma’am!” she said woefully.

“It’s all right, Hanston,” said Ansella, smiling. “He’s welcome, as long as he can be quiet and not rattle the teeth in my head.” Miss Hanston gave the Prince a disapproving look that said she very much doubted it, and retired to the sitting room.

“Hullo, Cousin Donnis, is that breakfast?” sniffed Temmin.

“Haven’t you eaten, sweetheart?” said his mother.

“It’s been at least an hour. I’m still growing, Mama--hang on,” he said, examining the untouched plate, “this is your breakfast. Donnis, is she eating?” he demanded.

“No, she is not,” said Donnis. “I can’t make her!” She took the tray out to Miss Hanston, Temmin eyeing it wistfully.
When she returned, Donnis found him holding his mother’s hand at her bedside. “You do not look at all well, Mama.”

“It’s just a touch of something. I’ll be right as rain in a day or two.”

“You haven’t been downstairs in nearly two weeks, that’s not a ‘touch of something,’” said Temmin severely. He looked up at Lady Donnis. “Has she been this ill the entire time?”

“She’s gotten worse the last day or two,” said the lady-in-waiting. Over Ansella’s protests, Donnis told him of the headaches, the weakness, the vomiting, the lack of appetite. “But she won’t let me call the Sisters! I’ve given her until this evening, and then I’m calling them whether she likes it or not,” she finished.

“I’m not giving her five minutes,” said Temmin grimly. “We’re calling them now, and there’s an end to it. Papa will be furious when he finds out you’re ill and haven’t gotten help, Mama!”

“Your father doesn’t care a whit,” said Ansella, a little color coming into her wan cheeks. “If he did, he would have enquired.”

“He thinks you’re having a sulk. Everyone does!”

“And don’t I deserve one!” she said, her old temper breaking through her lethargy.

“About Lady Callant--” Temmin began.

“Don’t bring her up, Temmy,” warned Lady Donnis.

“Lady Callant can have him!” shouted Ansella, rising off the pillows and then sinking back, shaking, and paler than before.

“Mama!” said Temmin. “Right. Donnis, I’m sorry to order you about--”

But Lady Donnis was already on her way to the sitting room. “Hanston, off you go. Find the nearest footman and have him fetch the Sisters. Be quick about it!”

“Finally!” said Miss Hanston as she picked up her skirts and dashed out of the room.

Lady Donnis ran back into the bedchamber to the sound of breaking glass. Ansella was panting, doubled over in Temmin’s arms; pieces of a drinking glass lay in a puddle of water on the floor. “I tried to give her some water--I’m sorry, I dropped the glass--I had to catch her--” Ansella cried out and clutched at Temmin’s shoulders. “Cousin Donnie, what’s wrong!” Temmin said.

Donnis rushed to the right of the bed to hold Ansella on the other side. “She might be miscarrying,” she said. “There, Annie, let go of Temmy, I have you!” she soothed as she felt another spasm shake the Queen.

“Don’t tell him! Don’t tell him!” Ansella wept as Donnis rocked her.

“Tell who what, Mama?” said Temmin. He stood up and barely missed treading on the broken shards of glass. “Miscarriage? What?”

“Go get Mistress Mannell, Temmy, right now!” said Donnis.

Temmin ran out the door, nearly tripping on the rug.

“I don’t want to lose the baby, I don’t want to lose her, Donnie!”

“I know, sweetheart,” said Donnis. Clammy, cold sweat stuck Ansella’s golden hair to her cheeks and forehead. This is worse than it should be--it’s only been six weeks! If she’s going to lose the baby, it shouldn’t be like this, thought Donnis. “Let’s make you more comfortable. There, now, cos, it’s all right.” Donnis lay Ansella against the pillows, and peeled off the already-damp bedclothes; there was blood on the bottom sheet. She quickly wet a flannel with lavender water and laid it across the Queen’s forehead.

Ansella turned on her side and drew her knees up to her chest. “It hurts! Donnie, I feel wet--am I bleeding?” She put her hands between her legs, and brought out blood.

Donnis looked up briefly to see Mistress Mannell bustle in, arms full of toweling stacked in a large basin. Behind her, Donnis saw Temmin, stock still in the doorway, white-faced and staring at his mother. “Hanston!” she called. “Get His Highness out of here before he faints!” Miss Hanston tugged hard at Temmin’s sleeve, but he didn’t budge. Men! Always in the way, gaping like fish! thought Donnis in exasperation. “Temmy, go find your father!” she said. This had the desired effect; he fled the room, and Donnis turned back to her charge.

She climbed onto the bed and took her cousin into her lap, using the damp flannel to clean Ansella’s hands. “Annie, Mannell’s here, now there’s my girl!” she murmured. “The Sisters will come soon, now there’s my girl!” She chanted calming nonsense as best she could while Mistress Mannell and Miss Hanston moved deftly around the bedchamber, stripping off the crumpled covers at the end of the bed, covering the bed in toweling, stoking the banked fire and putting a large copper kettle on to boil. Ansella was limp against her, breath shallow. No, this is not an early miscarriage, she thought, this is something else, something worse. When the Sisters arrived, Eldest Sister Imvalda at their head, the only hope Donnis had was that they would save her cousin’s life.

Temmin had a time tracking down his father. He wasn’t in his rooms, he wasn’t in his office. All he found in the council room were a few of the Ministers, alarmed and irritated at his headlong intrusion. Temmin even went to the Old Residence and begged the footmen on guard to tell him if Harsin was with Twenna. “I know he would have sworn you to secrecy,” he said, “but honestly, this is a real emergency!”

“Your Highness, I swear on my mam that His Majesty hasn’t been near here, not once, not just today but the entire time we’ve watched over the Lady,” one of them said, the other nodding vigorously.

Temmin finally thought to ask Affton. “Riding, I believe, Your Highness,” said the butler, standing in the servants’ hall. “May I say I took the liberty of sending out a groom to find His Majesty as soon as the call for the Sisters went out.”

Temmin slumped against the kitchen archway and let out a shuddering sigh. His eyes burned, and he wiped at his brow with his coatsleeve. “Thank you, Affton, I should have known you’d think to find him. I’m such a dolt, sometimes!”

Affton gave him an agreeing but sympathetic smile and said, “May I also suggest, sir, that since there’s nothing you can do for the moment, you have a cup of tea? I can send a tray up to your room with Jenks, if you’d like.”

“D’you mind if I have one here, Affton? If I go upstairs I’ll have a hard time staying away...and Cousin Donnie made it clear...” he trailed off. Affton took him by the elbow and glided him through the kitchens to the servants’ table, where Temmin sat in his shirtsleeves drinking tea and eating plain buttered toast. The passing servants were startled to find the Prince at their table, but he didn’t see a one of them.

One of them’s come true, thought Temmin. Neya had shown him his mother, her hands covered in blood; from the doorway, he had seen it exactly as in the vision. The image had receded in his mind--who wants to think on such a thing? Dread radiated through him, pricking from his scalp down his back to his fingers and toes. Jenks leading a cavalry charge. Papa on a battlefield. Sedra shielding a child from who knows what. Elly, of all people, facing down a squad of Tremontine soldiers. And Teacher--with the Traveler Queen, flames all around them. He had hoped perhaps they’d been metaphors of some kind, but now? Everyone he cared about would be in danger at some point. Could he stop it all from happening? Is that what Neya meant when she said he’d be called either Liberator or Magnificent? Which was the right path, and could he even choose it? Or was it all pre-ordained?

She was pregnant. Why didn’t she tell anyone?

He was brushing crumbs from his waistcoat and feeling slightly better when Jenks found him. The valet kept his reproof to “In the kitchens, sir, really,” dusted off Temmin’s coat, and helped him into it.

As they headed upstairs, Temmin said, “You’ve heard, I suppose?”

Jenks put a finger to his lips until they were in Temmin’s rooms. “Yes, everyone’s heard, Your Highness. Miss Hanston’s been saying for some time that she didn’t think Her Majesty was well.” Jenks took Temmin’s coat off again and walked briskly into the wardrobe with it. “Tsk. This needs freshening already and it’s not even luncheon.”

“Everyone knew she was sick?” said Temmin, trailing behind.

“It was just a rumor, and knowing your mother, she wouldn’t have wanted to worry you, sir,” said Jenks, keeping his back to Temmin as he brushed off the coat.

“‘Worry me?’ What in Harla’s Name d’you think I am now!”

Jenks fiddled with the coat as long as he could. “Excuse me, sir,” he said. His voice sounded oddly squeezed, heavy. “Excuse me, sir, but you are not the only one worried about your mother in this house.”

Temmin brought his lower lip over his top teeth, abashed. “I’m sorry, Jenks. I know you must be worried, too.” I wonder, thought Temmin, if he got this upset each time Mama got pregnant. “How many of the staff know Mama’s miscarrying?” he said cautiously.

Jenks dropped the brush and turned. “She’s--what? No one, sir!” he said. “She was carrying a child? Oh, Ansella.” Jenks ran a hand over his mouth to hide a tremble. “I--I am surprised,” he finally said. “When did you know?”

“Lady Donnis told me when Mama started--when she got sick,” Temmin said.

Jenks bent down for the clothes brush; when he stood up, his eyes shone. “Your mother was never happier than when she had you all. You children are everything to her. She was happy when you were on the way, she was happier still when you were born, she was happiest watching you grow. Her happiness is partly why I serve you, sir, when I could be back at my command--her happiness, and the memory of your uncle. Nothing could be worse for her than this. Nothing but harm to you and your sisters.” He paused, working to subdue his emotion. “Beg pardon, Your Highness.”

“Oh, Jenks!” said Temmin, taking his hand. “You don’t need my pardon for anything!” Temmin squeezed his valet’s hand briefly, then walked back into the sitting room to leave him alone.

In time, Miss Hanston knocked on his door. “The Eldest Sister is in Her Majesty’s receiving room, Mr Jenks, if you could please tell His Highness.”

“Hanston,” Temmin called, “is my father back yet?”

“No, sir,” she answered, “He. Is. Not.” Temmin shrugged on a fresh coat--Jenks had given up on the first one--and followed her down the hall.

He found his sisters already in the Queen’s receiving room, Sedra sitting straight and listening intently, Ellika huddled miserably against her. “We think she is out of danger now,” Eldest Sister Imvalda was saying. There were darker patches on her dark green robes; Temmin looked away, unsure if they were just water or something worse. “We should have been called much, much sooner,” she said to Miss Hanston, who returned an outraged glare but kept her tongue silent.

Ellika raised her head from Sedra’s arm, retaining her grip on it. “Did you know, Tem? Did you know she was having a baby?”

Temmin shook his head. “I swear I didn’t. I don’t think anyone but Cousin Donnis and Miss Hanston knew.”

All eyes swiveled to the hapless Miss Hanston, who said, “Beg pardon, Your Highnesses, Eldest Sister, but if my lady says ‘don’t tell anyone,’ I don’t tell anyone! Nor would you if you were me!”

“It’s all right, Hanston,” said Sedra. “Go downstairs and have a cup of tea. Please continue that policy for now and tell no one.” Once she was gone, Sedra put her face in her hands; when she raised it, her cheeks were damp, and she fetched a kerchief from her pocket. “How far along was she, Eldest Sister?”

“No more than a moon and a half--not quite a spoke, as the Eddinites would say, miss.” Imvalda smoothed a fold in her habit. “Sarra and I have known since she visited us not quite two weeks ago, but of course we could say nothing ourselves. And you shouldn’t refer to the baby in past tense,” she added. “The Queen may keep her yet. It’s still too soon to say. She must be still and in bed for at least a spoke, though.”

Ellika burst into fresh tears and exchanged her soaked handkerchief for a fresh one. “'May keep her'--it’s a girl? How d’you know?”

“Teacher would have known if it was a boy, and he didn’t say a word to me,” said Temmin. “And I think he would have.”

“There is more,” said Imvalda. She held up a large amber bottle. “This came to the Keep not long after she visited us, allegedly sent from the Sisters’ Temple. It was, but not from me, or from Sarra Embodiment.”

“What is it?” said Sedra, sitting straighter.

“It was said to be a morning sickness draught, stronger than the one I sent Her Majesty home with myself. It is not. It’s an abortifacient--a slow-acting poison meant to cause your mother a miscarriage, and possibly worse.”

“Who would do such a thing!” said Temmin.

“Ibbit,” said Sedra, her dark eyes hard.

The Eldest Sister nodded. “We think so. Ibbit managed to escape the Hearth last week with help from other Sisters sympathetic to Annika of Leutefloss. We don’t know where she is, but we know now why she fled. We never suspected she would have gone this far against her vows. She has been cast out of the Sisterhood, and her collaborators with her. As for tonight,” she said, “I’m leaving my best midwife and I’ll send my poisons expert to stand watch here once I return to the Hearth. Your mother has been given the first dose of the antidote we think is needed, but we have more study to do, and she is far from safe. She’s more comfortable now, but she will have no visitors other than her companion and Miss Hanston to wait on her. In no case are you to accept any medicine for her, or for anyone in this family, from any hand but mine in future. I am surprised anyone at the Keep would be so foolish!”

Imvalda called for the Sisters not staying behind, and took her leave.

“Foolish!” Ellika burst out. “We didn’t know!”

“The foolish one has been Mama,” said Sedra.

“How can you say that!” said Ellika.

“Don’t squabble, please,” said Temmin. “My head aches, and the screeching will wake the dead let alone Mama! I’m going to find Papa myself, since no one else has managed to.”

Temmin stepped out into the hall, just in time to see Winmer disappear into the King’s apartments next door. “I am not going into a sickroom in all my dirt!” Harsin’s voice echoed from inside. The door closed.

Inside, Harsin was stripping as he strode into his bedchamber, his valet following behind with an increasing armful of riding clothes and his secretary bringing up the rear. Once out of his boots and into a fresh set of linens and trousers, Harsin washed his face and slipped into a simple waistcoat. “Cancel any appointments for the next three days, Winmer. Make my excuses but do not under any circumstances give any detail of the Queen’s...indisposition.” Winmer nodded, scribbling neatly in his little book, and Harsin stepped through the door leading to the Queen’s bedchamber.

He found a shade on the bed that resembled his wife, a shade that barely breathed, whose eyes were closed, and whose hand lay clutched in Lady Donnis’s own. Hovering in one corner was the newly-returned Miss Hanston, eyeing the Sister midwife nearby jealously; at the sight of the King, she bobbed a quick curtsey and slipped into the sitting room, dragging the protesting midwife with her.

Donnis stood up. “I’ll give you a moment, Your Majesty.”

“And when have you ever called me ‘Your Majesty’?” He took her hand in his; it was damp with Ansella’s sweat. “Stop a moment, Donnis. How is she? What’s happened?”

Donnis breathed in, long and slow, then let it out. “Ansella may be miscarrying, Harsin. She wouldn’t let me tell you about the baby.” Harsin’s heart soared--a baby, a little girl--and just quickly deserted him. “It’s worse,” continued Donnis. Miscarriage, disguised poison, still in danger, Ibbit--he would find her and kill her personally, thought Harsin matter-of-factly. “I’ll leave you,” said Donnis, “but not for long. She must be still and rest, Harsin. Don’t agitate her, I beg you,” she said as she closed the door behind her.

Harsin sat down and studied his sleeping wife. Stubborn woman, you have been nothing but trouble. He brushed the last tendril of hair slicked to her cheek away, and she fluttered awake.

“Harsin.” He leaned down closer to hear, stroking her jaw gently with his thumb. “Harsin,” his name came again in a tiny, dry chuckle. “I win.”

His laugh, when it came, was a short, soft bark. I came through the door first. “You won,” he said, overcome with tears. “You won, sweetheart.”