Chapter 11 | The Queen Who Ruled by Herself

Visiting Hours

"Talk to Prince Temmin?!" said Fen. "Whatever for?"

"He's the closest I've gotten to the royal family. I turned around and he and the princess were there, so I tried. Fen, you don't understand, you never paid attention to this stuff. Bad things are happening all over the country. Did you know Lord Valmouth has brought slaves from Inchar onto his lands?"

"So? What of it?"

"It's displacing the tenant farmers. With slaves, he can plant more acres himself. People are being thrown off farms they've worked for generations. And that's just for starters. Jobs are drying up. The cities and towns in Valmouth are starting to fill up with desperate people--even Templestone has them, Mam and Dad've taken in our cousins while Uncle Jem tries to find a job in Valmouth Town. And the king doesn't seem to care. Apparently his son is just as heartless, the way his thugs set on me just for trying to talk to him."

"You don't know him," said Fen hotly. "Prince Temmin, he's a good man. A bit silly, true, but he's barely out of boyhood, and he hasn't seen much of the world outside his mother's house."

"Oh, a mama's boy," said Bern knowingly.

"No, no!" said Fen, his voice rising. He checked himself. "No," he said more softly. "you don't understand. If he knew, I'm sure he'd try to do something to help!"

Bern shook his head. "He can't really do anything until he's king. But if he's the good man you say he is, Fen, you must help him see what's going on. You have to open his eyes--you have to open your own eyes!" He squeezed his little brother's hand as best as he could with the tips of his fingers. "They're going to kill me some day, Fen. Because I won't stop until people see what's happening here. And when they do, you will have to keep on for me."

"I'm not a revolutionary, Bern. I don't believe in the same things you do."

"All I believe in is that the people who do the work deserve some of the benefit of their work. They're getting less and less every day, Fen. To want the good of the people, that's not revolutionary, that's right."

Fen sat back in his chair and sighed. "Mam always said sending you off to school was a bad idea. What's so different about this Inchari slave thing and indentured servants? People sell themselves all the time."

"They're not paying back a debt, and they're not selling themselves. This is permanent. The Inchari princelings are selling their subjects to Tremontine traders as chattel. Their families don't get the money, the princeling does. There is no bond to repay. They will never be free again."

"I don't understand," said Fen. "How is that cheaper than the tenant farmers? Lord Valmouth would have to feed them all, and he doesn't have to feed his tenants."

"Oh, yes he does," said Bern. "He 'feeds' them by letting them grow their own crops alongside his own. The land their farms sit on, the houses and kitchen gardens and pastures for the cattle--that could all be turned to production. Sure, the tenants pay him, but not as much as he could get were the houses torn down and the pastures turned under and the land worked by slaves made docile by hunger and terror. They don't even speak the language! And then of course there's the money to be made selling their children."

"What--selling the slaves' children? They brought women?"

"Men, women, children, sucking babes. It's only a few hundred so far, but Lord Valmouth is telling anyone who'll listen what an unqualified success it's been, even though it hasn't been a year yet."

Fen was silent. If it were true, this was a horrible thing, an impious thing. Going into servitude to repay a debt, or for a bond, that was one thing; it ended, and it was sanctioned by the Father's Temple. His own great-grandfather had kept a bondsmaid; when her service had ended, she'd married his son; the son had waited years for her, asked her the minute the papers were signed, and treated her like a queen the rest of their lives. They were his grandparents, and he remembered them telling the story over and over with great relish, especially the parts about how they'd snuck around behind the old man's back, and how the old man had known anyway but let them think he hadn't. But this. The prospect of a life led entirely in servitude, no choice, no end in sight but death--and the children--

He pressed his lips together hard. "Bern," he finally said, "if I can somehow tell the prince about this, I will. He may not be able to do anything directly, but he may be able to convince his father that this is wrong. It'll be a right tricky thing, to do it without getting fired. We're never alone, and Mister Jenks wouldn't like my saying something that wasn't directly related to what we were doing. I can't risk my job. I'm marrying Arta, or I want to marry her, and we're saving up as much money as we can for that. And then of course, there's your Hearth bill."

"Don't trouble yourself over that."

"Of course I'm going to trouble myself over that. You're not going to be able to work for weeks, possibly months. How will you eat? Won't you please go home to Templestone? At least until you're fully healed?"

Bern closed his eyes. "I'll think about it. I'm sorry, Fen, I can't stay awake much longer. I'm still pretty tired. They broke something inside me, the Sisters say--kicked my liver in two or something like. The slavery, it's just the worst of what's wrong with the empire, little brother. We are facing the wrath of Amma, and with the king's millennium coming up, I don't like the looks of things. Will I see you again soon?"

"Yes," said Fen, standing up and brushing his brother's mop of hair off his brow. "I'll come whenever I can, and so will Arta."

"You'd send that little sweetheart here? You know I always have found her--I'll say, smile--very charming." Bern winked.

"Yeh, you'd best not let yourself be overly charmed, or brother or no I'll put you right back in this bed," growled Fen good-naturedly. He kissed his brother's forehead. "You sleep now, Bern, and don't provoke the Sisters into beating you any further."

"I won't," chuckled Bern. "Goodbye, Fen, and thanks."

As Fen walked down the stairs of the Hearth, he looked across the Promenade to the Lovers' Temple and saw a familiar carriage bearing the royal arms of Tremont pull up in front. He stayed his step for a moment and watched as Ellika--his beautiful, nimble-footed, charming, flawless goddess--alighted and swept up the rosy steps, trailing her rosy dress as she went. A ridiculously handsome man in Temple garb greeted her at the top of the stairs and kissed her on each perfect cheek. Somewhere inside him, Fen felt a familiar yearning, but he knew it was as practical as a child yearning to play with the moon for his ball. He turned and headed out on the long walk back to the Keep.

Ellika twinkled up at Senik. "You don't have to kiss my cheek, you know."

"Oh, yes, I do, your highness--at least on the Temple steps." Senik tucked her arm in his and escorted her into the great hall and up the stairs to the living quarters of the senior staff. "Are you implying that I shouldn't kiss you at all? That would be terribly rude."

"No, I'm implying that perhaps the cheeks aren't the best place for a kiss, wouldn't you agree?"

"Depends on the cheeks," said Senik serenely.

Ellika blushed in spite of herself, and smiled broadly. "You go too far, Senik Postulant, beyond the bounds of mere flirtation and raillery into innuendo!"

"Was that what that was, innuendo?" he answered blandly. "I rather thought we were discussing anatomy." They reached a pair of doors set side by side in a quiet, deserted hallway, one with tracings and scrolls of white, the other its reverse in red. Senik suddenly pressed her against the wall; she squeaked in surprise. "But if it's a kiss you want, little Ellika," he whispered against her burning ear, "all you have to do is ask, you know." He released her with a wink and sauntered down the hall back toward the stairs.

"Tease!" Ellika called after him.

Senik didn't turn around but called behind him, "You know all about teasing, my darling!" with a wave of his hand.

Ellika giggled to herself and pressed her cool hands against her hot cheeks. She straightened her skirts and knocked on the white door. It swung open on silent hinges, and a slender young woman with long strawberry blond hair ushered her in with a low bow. "He will be a moment more, your highness," she murmured, taking the voluminous wrap that covered one of Ellika's lightest summer dresses. She directed the princess to one of the low, wide couches the Temple favored. "Please, sit. Would you care for tea?"

"Yes, Bessa, thank you." Ellika accepted a cup and arranged herself artfully against the pillows.

"If there will be nothing else?"

"No, I'm fine. Please attend to whatever else you have to do." Bessa bowed again and padded out through a pair of doors in the wall opposite the entrance, leaving Ellika to peruse the reception room.

It was a large room, kept warm as was the Temple habit. It was warm enough that even in the dead of winter, Ellika would wear her lightest dresses on a Temple visit, even if she had to bury herself in heavy wraps to make the trip, and the rose-colored cotton she wore would normally never have left the closet until after Summer's End. The windowless walls were swathed in an iridescent light green silk. Apart from the three couches and a table, its only ornament was a large mirror that took up most of one wall and several enormous urns of flowers. On the table sat the tea set and one lonely copy of The Lovers' Testament, which Ellika had nearly memorized long since. She sighed and sipped at the flower-scented tea. How long was it going to take him?

A long, loud, guttural moan from the next room interrupted her boredom. She sat up straight and turned toward the door. Was it a man's voice or a woman's? She couldn't tell.

A different voice, definitely a man's voice, murmured something--an instruction? A question? The words weren't clear, but the other person responded with an agonized "YES!" so loudly that Ellika jumped and clutched at her fichu.

"OH!" came the voice in a piercing, raw cry. "OHHH!! MORE!! UHHH!! MORE!! HUUHHH!! UHHH!! MORE!! GODS!! UHHH!!!"

Ellika flushed bright pink, her brown eyes wide, and stood up in alarm, one hand at her throat. The Temple habit of skin-warm rooms became instantly irritating; she hadn't thought to bring a fan and searched around for something to substitute, finally fanning herself ineffectually with the copy of the Testament.

The voice continued howling for more, the cries spiraling in volume until finally it let out a bloodcurdling shriek: "AIEEEOHHHHAAAHH!!! OHH! Ohh! Oh, Gods! Ohhh...ho...is it out? Oh, Gods...thank you..."

Ellika went from pink to scarlet, for while she fancied herself quite the sexual savant she was in fact almost as innocent as Temmin--more so in some ways. She gulped her tea and poured another cup, trying not to slosh it onto the table.

Shortly the doors to the other room opened. Out came Issak, drying his newly scrubbed right arm on a soft towel; Bessa followed behind. Handing her the towel, he said, "Keep Her Grace warm until she's come completely to her senses, Bessa, then help her to the Door of Discretion, please. Senik will make sure her carriage is ready." Bessa bowed and retreated into the room, closing the doors again.

"Good afternoon, your highness," he smiled as Ellika rose unsteadily from the couch and held out her hands in greeting. He kissed each little paw and sat down with her. "Are you well?" he said in concern, drawing his dark brows together. "You look a bit flushed."

"I'm fine--fine, Holy One. Thank you for being willing to see me today," she said, gathering her courage and her thoughts back together.

"Our doors are always open to you, Ellika, you know that."

"How open?"

Issak laughed slightly. "How open do you need them to be, your highness?"

Ellika pressed her lips together for a moment; just say it, she said to herself. She looked straight into his eyes and blurted, "I don't ever want to get married. I want to become a Postulant here. I want to become a Beloved."