Chapter 47 | The Queen Who Ruled by Herself

Wails

“If we are to have only the two days a week,” said Teacher severely as Temmin hurried into the study, “I expect you to be on time.”

“I’m sure I’m sorry!” he answered, brushing crumbs from his waistcoat. “As it is, I barely got any breakfast at all!”

“Really?” said Teacher. “What exactly did you manage to choke down in your haste, you poor starving creature?”

Temmin thought as he ticked off on his fingers. “Well, let’s see. Only one slice of ham--I wanted three--four eggs, two cups of coffee, but the cream pot was empty by the time I got there, the last two sausages, four slices of toast--”

“Stop,” said Teacher. “You are sufficiently nourished until lunch, as far as I’m concerned. Next time you’re late, it’s a caning offense. Sit, while you still can.”

“Not a single tomato, either,” grumbled Temmin.

“Compose yourself, your highness. We have work to do.” Temmin sighed and reached for the book.

The story abruptly stopped, and Temmin tumbled out of the book to find the Teacher crumpled by the library table, gasping in pain. “Teacher!” he cried, putting one arm round the black figure, “what is it? Do you need a Sister? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine--I will be fine--no Sister--thank you,” rasped the Teacher, gripping Temmin’s arms and struggling up to a chair. “That was a mistake. I shouldn’t have tried--that was a mistake...”

“Let me get you some water,” said Temmin, heading for his bedchamber.

“No water,” said the Teacher in a firmer voice. “I will be fine momentarily. Just give me a moment.” A few deep breaths, and Teacher was once more perched on the library table edge, a little more pale even than
usual and a bit shaky.

“You’re sure I shouldn’t call someone? What just happened?” said Temmin.

Teacher considered for a long moment. “There are some things I can’t tell you, not until you’re king. I haven’t told this story in a very long time. I made a misstep. My missteps are costly.”

“I should say so!” Temmin looked thoughtful, then added, “Say, if Brinnid tells this part, will you fall over again? I think I should know, just in case.”

“Brinnid can’t tell this part. It won’t even appear in the book to him. No one can tell the restricted parts but me, and then only to the rightful king.”

“Do you want to go on?” said Temmin cautiously. “Perhaps you should rest.”

The Teacher’s face darkened. “There is no rest. No, we will go on. Stop worrying, Temmin,” Teacher added more kindly. “I am grateful that you care enough to be concerned, but you should never worry about me. Let us resume.”

Temmin came to with a start. He looked up at the Teacher, who was standing near the window, back turned. “How long did she keep you there?” he asked.

“Later,” said Teacher distantly. “I’ll tell you later.” Before Temmin could even stretch the stiffness out of his legs, Teacher was gone, moving so swiftly across the room to the door that Temmin almost wondered if a reflection was involved.

Meanwhile, Ellika was looking at her own reflection in a window. The day outside was sunny, but she had been kept cooped up inside a classroom of beginning devotees in the Lovers’ Temple. She was beginning to regret the whole affair. She could be outside, walking on the Promenade in her new dress of lilac silk, instead of stuck wearing a modest striped muslin with no one to admire her but a roomful of gawping townfolk. So far, her orientation had consisted of learning the various duties of the Temple, as if she didn’t already know. Most of it had gone one ear and out the other, and she’d daydreamed about the clouds floating by, paying little attention until she realized everyone was rising to stand.

Ellika stood with the rest, blinking as she tried to figure out what they were all doing. “Those of you who will be helping petitioners find their way to the changing area and their petitioning rooms,” said the Beloved who was leading the class--what was her name again? Glass? No, no, who names a child Glass? “--please meet with Penna Beloved over here. Those of you who will be helping in the gardens, please follow Dorrig Lover. And those of you who will be going across the way with me to help at the Healer’s House, please follow me. Your highness, if I may,” said the Beloved, taking Ellika’s arm.

“I’m sorry,” said Ellika, blushing, “but I’m really not entirely sure what’s going on. What are we doing at the Healer’s House again?”

The Beloved patted Ellika’s hand. “You are a bit dreamy, your highness. You must start learning to pay attention soon. You will be helping me at the Healer’s House. We spend many hours working with the Sisters’ petitioners.”

“Working with them how?”

“Listening to them,” said the Beloved as they walked together through the marble halls, followed by three other devotees in training. “Writing letters for them. Reading to them. Touching them in ways the Sisters themselves don’t wish to. We hold their hands, wash their tears away, rub their backs, kiss them. We make them feel loved.”

Ellika shrank a little. “I’m not sure I can do this.”

“Of course you can do this,” said the Beloved serenely.

“Good morning, your highness! Glaes Beloved, good morning!” called a voice from across the main hall; it was Issak. Glaes! thought Ellika. Glaes, not Glass!--then she remembered how angry she was supposed to be at Issak. She aimed her nose at him, and gave him the most cool and regal look she could muster down it.

He solemnly inclined his head with just the right amount of contrition. Ellika gave him her prettiest smile in acknowledgement, then put on her most woeful look and turned back to Glaes Beloved. “You don’t understand. Sick people upset me greatly.”

“Try being a sick person,” said Glaes.

“I’d rather not,” said Ellika. “Being sick makes my nose all red.”

“Have you been around sick people much, I wonder, your highness?” said Glaes as they stepped out into the perfect spring air and made their way down the steps toward the Healer’s House.

“As little as possible,” said Ellika proudly. Glaes nodded without saying anything further, and they walked across the Promenade as Ellika returned the bows and curtsies that rippled through the strollers with little nods and the occasional wave for a friend. She sighed and looked longingly at the fashionable throng, before they entered the Healer’s House.

“It’s past time you become acquainted with how very lucky you are, miss,” said Glaes gently.

Stretching out before them were ranks of benches with low backs. Slumped on them were the Sister’s petitioners--the sick and the injured. Gray-robed Sisters moved through the ranks with note-taking postulants trotting behind, assessing who needed to be seen first. When it was clear that someone needed to be seen immediately, a quick gesture would bring a postulant trundling a cart-like chair, the petitioner would be loaded into it, and the postulant would trundle him off to the petitioning rooms where the healing level Sisters would see to him.

The air smelled of menthol, of sickness, of misery, and the air was full of the sounds of wailing babies and moaning men. Ellika was beginning to regret her piety most heartily.