Chapter 33 | The Last Royal Mistress

Respect and Responsibility

Temmin ate his lunch in solitude, bolting it down without paying much attention to what he ate. He moved to the green velvet couch and stared up at the carvings on the ceiling beams thinking indistinctly about his mother until Jenks came back. “Moody, are we, sir?” said Jenks.

“I s’pose,” said Temmin. “Can I ask you a question, Jenks?”

“I’ll try to have an answer, sir.”

Temmin sat up, propping his arms on the back of the couch. “You were at Whithorse when Mama got married. Just how unhappy was Mama when she had to marry Papa?”

Jenks turned from the little luncheon table and frowned. “Why would you ask me that, sir? Now of all times?”

“I can’t help thinking about Mama, I suppose, and we’ve been--studying this sort of thing. Teacher said Grandfather gave her to Papa like a possession to be traded.”

“Did he,” snapped Jenks. “I’d suppose that crow would know.” He rattled the dishes a little harder than he had to as he stacked them on the cart. Jenks turned abruptly, arms folded. “Did he tell you whose idea it was for your parents to marry?”

“He never came out and said it, but he made it sound as if it were Grandfather’s idea.”

“It wasn’t,” said Jenks. “It was Teacher’s. He was the one who arranged the whole thing. He even got me--well, he arranged it all. I’d really rather not talk about it.”

“But how unhappy was she?”

“No one was happy about it but your grandmother and your father. And Teacher. I say again, Your Highness, I would really rather not talk about it. Excuse me.”

Temmin watched Jenks through the door, then flopped back down on the couch. Wonderful, Temmin, you’ve upset Jenks. But then, what could he have expected, asking a question like that--what was he thinking? He wondered how unhappy Jenks had been to see his love married off to another man. What puzzled him, though, was how little he’d ever suspected that something had once existed between Mama and Jenks. He’d seen his mother and Jenks together every day. Of course, they might just have been extraordinarily discreet. But why had Mama turned to Ibbit when Jenks had been right there, if something hadn’t happened to change things? Obviously Mama wasn’t only a lover of women--she was carrying a child! Why would Papa have allowed Jenks back into Whithorse if there’d been any possibility of them picking back up with one another? Maybe Papa didn’t know. But Papa knew everything! It was a mystery, one Temmin could never ask Jenks about directly. That would be uncouth, as Jenks himself would say.

And then there was Teacher. All this throwing around of women as property, when he treated Mama like a showhorse himself! Words must be had!

“Say, I want to have a word with you!” he announced as soon as Teacher re-entered the study. “What exactly was your role in this whole giving Mama to Papa business! Jenks has a different account of it than you do!”

“What is the good colonel’s account?” said Teacher, settling on the arm of the couch. “And I can’t imagine what possessed you to be so cruel as to ask him that question, Your Highness, especially with your mother so ill.”

Temmin blushed, but said, “Jenks says it was all your idea.”

“Not entirely,” said Teacher. “I certainly thought it was a good one, and I was the one would made the arrangements, yes.”

“It’s awfully strange that you would go on and on all the time about how wrong it is to treat women as possessions and take away their choice and all that, and yet go along with taking Mama away from Jenks and Whithorse like that!”

“Did I ever say how wrong it was?”

“What?” said Temmin, open-mouthed. “That’s all you’ve gone on about!”

“No, I’ve merely drawn your attention to the practice, and the lack of choice women have in this world. You’ve drawn this conclusion yourself.”

Temmin leaped off the cushions. “I have not! You’ve made it very clear it’s wrong!”

“Have I? The question, Temmin, is not whether I’ve said it, but what you believe. Do you believe it’s wrong?”

“How can anyone think taking someone else’s choice away is a good thing?” said Temmin.

“You’ve done it.”

Temmin cringed inwardly, thinking of Mattie, but pressed on. “I know better now! And you! You’ve done the same thing!”

Teacher leaned in with fierce eyes and lowered voice. “And how much choice have I had, young Prince?”

Temmin stepped backward toward the windows. “Well--how much choice does anyone have! How much choice do I have! I don’t want to be king that much--I don’t think I’ll be that good at it--but I have to be! There’s no one for me to abdicate to but Papa’s brothers, and I’m certainly not going to do that!”

“There’s your brother.”

“Who isn’t even born yet,” said Temmin, pacing. “And who knows what kind of man he’ll turn out to be. A fine thing if he’s a Hildin, or a Warin the Foolish!”

“Why would you care if he were, if the country and ruling means so little to you?”

Temmin stopped, nearly tangling himself in the fringe of the rug. “Of course I care about the country, I live here! All I’ve heard since I can remember was how smart Seddy is, and how thick I am! That’s why I shouldn’t be king!”

“So you’re trying to save the kingdom from yourself.”

Temmin threw his arms up. “You’re making me sound ridiculous!”

“Because you are ridiculous, Temmin.”

“Excuse me?” said Temmin, putting his hands on his hips.

“There is an alternative to useless despair,” continued Teacher. “To begin with, your head is currently as thick as the walls of the Keep, but not with stupidity. You’re not as bright as Princess Sedra, true, but very few people are. You’re an intelligent young man. Your problems are youth and self-absorption, which are nearly the same thing. It’s amazing how much smarter and more discerning one becomes when one grows up and begins addressing the world outside one’s navel.”

“Navel--!” Temmin’s face turned an uncharacteristic shade of purple.

“The only question for you right now is, will you grow up? You were born with a responsibility. We’re all born with responsibilities. Yours are greater than most. You will hold a good third of our world and its peoples in your hands when you become king. It doesn’t matter whether you think Sedra would do a better job, because she can’t do the job at all. But think on how she got that way. She wasn’t born with knowledge and discernment. She studies. You can either complain about your sorry lot in life--your sorry, sorry lot, filled with power, wealth, and comfort--or you can get ready for it.” And with that, Teacher rose from the arm of the couch and sat down again on the couch itself, slender legs crossed.

“I think you’d better leave, before I punch you in the face,” said Temmin.

Teacher laughed, an unfamiliar, maddening sound. “You’ll make the attempt, you mean.”

“I sometimes wonder why you show me so little respect!” said Temmin.

“I sometimes wonder when you’ll earn it.”

Temmin yanked his tutor upright, grabbing hold of the crisp white shirt beneath the black robes. He threw the promised punch at Teacher’s head, only to feel his fist crack against something hard not two inches from the hated face. He dropped his grip on Teacher’s clothing, hissing in pain. “Pagg’s balls! Ow! Harla take you, what did you do?”

Hands in pockets, Teacher said, “I hardened the air around my head. It takes skill--an ordinary magician can suffocate himself if he’s not careful. I’ve seen it. Tragic.”

“Why’d you do that!”

“I should think that’s evident. I really didn’t care to be punched in the face, as you put it.”

Temmin sat down hard, bruises forming on his hand. “I’m sorry!” he said. “I’m making everyone angry today, and I can’t stop, and I’m just...” Tears finally spilled from his eyes.

“You’re worried about your mother,” said Teacher, leaning forward. “Two things I want you to take from this incident. One is that you can’t afford to lose your temper like that. You may get angry. Everyone does. But you may not let yourself lose control like that.”

“Brother Imbert said something like that this morning. He said that fighting and an--an agitated mind, I think he put it--didn’t mix.”

“Nothing mixes with an agitated mind, Temmin.”

Temmin gave a long, snotty sniff, mumbling apologies; he fished out a handkerchief and wiped his nose. “What’s the second thing?”

“The second thing is this.” Teacher reached out a hand and pulled at the air; Temmin’s chair, with Temmin still in it, scooted smoothly across the room and bumped to a stop in front of the couch. Teacher gently helped Temmin to his feet. “You will have control of me. You’ve only seen a fraction of what the magic can do, and then primarily in the stories. You don’t understand what I’m capable of. But you will be. You will have power of many kinds--magical, military, and financial. Many of your ancestors didn’t use these powers, they squandered them. It wasn’t limited to Warin the Foolish, and I don’t think you want to follow down that path.”

Temmin turned away to the windows. “Did his son rule well?”

“Per? He ruled tolerably well, by some measures. He had a hard job rebuilding the country, and his first order of business was abolishing the position of Royal Mistress. There hasn’t been one since.”

“And Lisset? Is there any more to the story?” Temmin ran his fingers down the cover of the old red book.

“Her story is done.”

“Did she just live on the plantation the rest of her life?”

“Eventually Harritson died, and his son turned her out. She went back to Deneen, where her cousin Honor Ford helped her find a place at a Mother’s House. It was the best Miss Ford could do. Lisset died not long after in a plague. She was 35.”

Temmin felt an odd lump in his throat, and forced it down. “But what about Bear? Did she take him with her? Did she ever free him?”

Teacher smiled. “Bear’s story ended more happily. He was so trustworthy that over time he became the plantation’s majordomo. He fell in love with the daughter of his old friend the cook, and when Lisset left for Sairland, Harritson’s son told Bear he was welcome to stay if he wished. Lisset officially freed him, though he hadn’t been treated like a slave in years and everyone had all but forgotten. She insisted he stay on where he was happy. He took the name Bear Ototo, married his love, and lived out his days among the orange trees. He died somewhere around age 80, in his sleep, surrounded by his children and grandchildren, and their children. Bear and Lisset always missed one another, all their lives. He was the child she never had, and he loved her like a son.”

“Good,” said Temmin, blinking back different tears. “That’s good. He was a good man.”

That evening, just before dinner, there was a knock on Temmin’s door; it was Winmer. “His Majesty has asked me to tell you that the painting of Neya you asked about is yours, Your Highness. Just tell me where you’d like it hung, and I’ll have the footmen take care of it.”

“The painting of Neya?” said Temmin.

“Yes,” said Winmer. “Porfino’s ‘Neya Beholding Her Beauty in a Mirror,’ sir.”

The painting of Lisset and Bear, thought Temmin. “No,” he said aloud, “that’s all right. Tell Papa I appreciate his gesture very much--it’s very kind--but we’re done with our study of the period for now. Perhaps later.” Winmer bowed and left the room.

“That’s a rare and beautiful painting, Your Highness, one of the jewels of the Keep’s collection,” said Jenks as he helped Temmin into his dinner jacket. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like it hanging here?”

“I’m sure,” said Temmin. To himself he added, I just don’t have the heart for it now.