Lovers and Beloveds
An Intimate History of the Greater Kingdom Book One
By MeiLin Miranda
Smashwords Edition
This work is copyright 2010 Lynn Siprelle writing as MeiLin Miranda, and is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License. To view a copy of this license, visit http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/ or send a letter to Creative Commons, 171 Second Street, Suite 300, San Francisco, California, 94105, USA.
Check out more of MeiLin Miranda's work at Smashwords.com:
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This book is available in print at http://www.meilinmiranda.com/.
* * * * *
To the forty-eight people who funded the production of this book, expecting nothing but the finished story...But mostly, to the man whose love I work every day to justify.
* * * * *
Appendix I: Tremontine Calendar and Measurements
* * * * *
CHAPTER ONE
Whithorse Estate, Whithorse Province
Ammaday, the 5th Day of Spring's Beginning, 990 KY
In the stable yards of Whithorse Estate, two lanterns burned. They shone up at their owners, who sat on a straw bale against a brick wall. The low light transformed the rangy, blue-eyed one's fair hair into a burnished bronze, and turned the shorter, stockier one's eyes near-black. Both wore battered old tweed caps, and coats just heavy enough for the early spring night. The shorter one held a flask of wuisc, full at the start of the evening, and as its level dropped, they listed into one another more and more.
"Say, d'you plan on drinking that whole thing yourself?" said the tall one.
The shorter one passed the flask over. "Be careful, Tem, you're not used to this stuff."
"And you are?" said Temmin. "If I'm going to the Keep, I have to learn to drink." He took a choking swallow, and pulled a face. "Where did you get this stuff? Besides, it's our last night to do this sort of thing. Any sort of thing." Temmin sighed and bumped his head against the bricks. "Why do I have to go, Alvy? Why can't I stay here in Whithorse? Breed horses for the family or something?"
"Don't gulp it, sip it," said Alvo. "The King needs just so many horses, and you're his only son."
"Sedra should be the Heir. She's smarter, and she's the oldest."
Alvo took the flask back, sipped, and snorted. "A woman will rule when Nerr gets the Heir. For that matter," he added, "this wuisc will be drinkable when Nerr gets the Heir. I told you I couldn't get the good stuff. Crokker would've given you some if you'd just asked."
"And let Mama find out? I don't think so." Temmin sat up straighter. "Here's a thought. You go to the Keep and be the Heir and I'll take your job."
"You could pass for a groom in that cap, but somehow I don't think His Majesty would mistake me for you."
"And why won't he let me take you with me?" said Temmin. "You're my best friend, and the best groom I know. What will I do without you? What will Jebby do without you?"
"They have grooms at the Keep who'll keep your horse in trim. You spoil him, y'know."
"Jebby deserves all the sugar lumps in the world, if I could get them away from Elly. She shouldn't eat 'em all, anyway. T'ain't fair to the horses, and gives her the headache. Sisters--between her and Sedra..."
They fell silent as the sky faded from deep indigo to black. "Turning eighteen is awful," Temmin resumed. "They make you do things you don't want to do, like study, and have tea with old baronesses that smell like heliotrope soap."
Alvo took his friend's hand. "I don't want you to go, either, but you gotta." He looked down on their joined hands, both short-nailed and tan from the sun, his own rougher and the nails much dirtier. "I need to tell you something." He pressed his lips together and licked them. "I love you."
Temmin gave his friend a bright, unsteady smile. "I love you too, Alvy." He resumed staring into a wobbly middle distance.
"No, I mean I love you--"
"Ssh!" Temmin blared. "I hear someone!" He rose to his feet, listening. Floating from the hedge alley came the sounds of a young woman's light laughter, ending in a soft groan.
Alvo took up a lantern, rising more surefooted. "You don't know who's there!"
"That's the point!" Temmin lurched on tiptoe toward the alley and barged through a gap in the hedge, Alvo on his heels.
Two young lovers appeared in the lamplight. A footman pressed a maid up against the hedge, his arousal poking from his unbuttoned fly; her breast shone white and rose against the dark green of her open bodice. The footman jumped back, fumbling with his trousers. "Who would you two be--my Gran's, judging by the livery," said Temmin, tipping on his heels as he stared. The footman hid his face in his coat, and ran down the alley toward Meadow House, the smaller of the two great houses now barely visible against the night sky. "Hey! Did you see who that was?" he said to Alvo, who shook his head.
Temmin turned toward the girl. She hid halfway in the hedge and tried to cover her breasts, but her fingers shook too much to do up the fastenings. "It's all right--no, let me see," said Temmin, staying her hand. "Alvy, hold the lantern. I haven't ever seen a woman undressed. You're very pretty. What's your name?"
"Temmin, leave her alone," coaxed Alvo. "Let's go back, we haven't finished the flask." He tugged at the Prince's sleeve, but obediently held up the lantern.
Temmin shook him off. "So you serve the Dowager Duchess at Meadow House?" he said to the girl. "What's your name?"
"Mattisanis Dunley, Your Highness, but everyone calls me Mattie," said the girl. "Please, sir, I need my job. Please don't tell Mr Crokker!"
"Why would I tell the butler one of the maids has pretty tits? Alvy, how come none of the maids at the Great House have pretty tits?"
"Tem, come on!" said Alvo.
"No, it's true! All the maids at the Great House are old women--at least 35 if they're a day--and they're as homely as ever a woman was." Temmin's hand still rested over hers, and his thoughtless thumb stroked the bare skin above her breast. "You really are very pretty. Mattie, is it? Was that your sweetheart? Not a very amiable fellow, if you ask me."
"Please, sir! Don't tell Mr Crokker!" she said. Tears dampened her heart-shaped face, and Temmin fuzzily followed one off the point of her chin, past her collarbone, and down between her breasts.
"Now, there, don't cry!" said Temmin, patting her cheek in drunken concern. "Pretty girls shouldn't cry. If he's really your sweetheart, he'll come back." He handed her a handkerchief. Mattie wiped her eyes, but when she moved to close her bodice, Temmin stopped her again. "I'm not done looking, and you obviously don't mind or you wouldn't have been out here with that footman. In fact, I should really like to touch them. May I touch them? You seemed to like it."
"Tem!" hissed Alvo. "You're drunk!"
"Pagg's own balls! Why would I be drunk just to want to touch a pretty girl's tits! Don't you want to?"
"No!"
"Just don't tell Mr Crokker, sir, please don't tell, I need my job, you can touch all you like, just please don't!" Mattie pleaded. She opened her bodice further.
"See?" said Temmin. "I told you she liked it! Now," he said to Mattie, "do stop crying, and stop asking me not to tell Crokker, I'm going to do no such thing!" He stumbled, steadying himself on her breasts. "Oh, that's so nice! I've always wanted to feel one. Alvy, you sure you don't want to have a go? She ha two of 'em, and she doesn't mind, do you?"
"No, I don't want to have a go, I want to get out of here and leave her alone!" said Alvo.
"Then go," said Temmin. "But leave the lantern." Alvo stomped away, leaving the lantern on the ground; it lit one side of Mattie's face and threw the rest into shadow.
Temmin pressed closer; she turned her face away, but he brushed it back toward the light. "Does your sweetheart kiss you? D'you like that? Never kissed a girl a-tall--don't tell anyone. May I have a kiss? Just one." She nodded, tucking her chin into her neck.
He kissed her, sloppy, inexpert and fumbling; she alternately squirmed and turned rigid, until Temmin broke it off. "Don't you like this?" he asked. "You said you did."
His eyes grew wide, his stomach lurched, and he stumbled back. "Alvy?" he called. "Dammit! Not now! Alvy!" Alvo ran back, just in time for Temmin to drop to his knees and vomit.
"I told you to sip it!" said Alvo. He turned to Mattie; she held her bodice closed with one hand, the other over her mouth. "He doesn't know much about girls except his sisters, and he's pretty drunk. I'm sorry about this whole thing. Nothing will happen to you, I swear. Just go and don't be stupid again--you were lucky it was us and not someone else!" Mattie nodded and ran down the dark hedge alley toward Meadow House.
Temmin heaved a few times more before he sat back on his heels, gasping. "Are you done?" said Alvo.
Temmin nodded. "I think so. Oh, gods." Alvo moved to help him up, but Temmin held up one hand and stood on his own. He swiveled a bleary gaze round the alley. "Where's the girl?"
"She's gone. I sent her home."
"What did you do that for? She might've let me kiss her some more!"
"Go wash your face and rinse your mouth out. You stink." Alvo stalked back to the straw bale and plunked himself down again. "Tem, that was not right," said Alvo.
Temmin stuck his head in the horse trough and came up dripping and spitting."She said yes, and she let that footman do a lot more to her than I did. Where's the flask gotten to?"
"No. No, no, and no."
Temmin sighed, sat down, and adjusted himself. "Pagg damn it, why'd you send that girl away?"
"You wouldn't know what to do anyway."
"I might've found out! And like you know anything about girls, either."
"I'm not interested in knowing anything. Tem, what if that had been Elly or Seddy?"
"That's disgusting!"
"I don't mean one of your sisters literally! She's probably someone's sister, and I know how I'd feel if someone tried that with my sister. What if someone tried that with one of yours?"
"Never happen," declared Temmin. "Can't see either of 'em hiding in the hedges with a footman."
"Oh, gods, I give up."
Temmin adjusted himself again. "Doesn't matter anyway. She's gone, and I'm left with this."
Alvo looked at the ground. "Tem," he began. "I've been trying to tell you something tonight. Wasn't brave enough before now, but I'm out of time--listen," he said, taking his friend's arm. "Chances are we won't ever see each other again."
"Don't be stupid, I'll come home at some point."
"I don't think they'll let you. Not till you've forgotten me and your whole life here. We've been best friends 'most all our lives--"
"We'll always be best friends, no one can stop that."
"They're gonna try! I think that's why I can't come with you--I'm just a groom, and you're the Heir, we can't be friends forever, they won't let us. And I think that's why you won't be coming home any time soon. Maybe never. I think this is our last night."
"Who's 'they?'" said Temmin.
Alvo shook his head. "If this is the last time, I have to tell you--I love you."
"Y'already said that, Alvy, I love you too."
"Would you listen!" Alvo crouched down on the ground before Temmin and put his hands on his friend's knees. Tears streamed down his broad face. "I love you! I don't love anyone else in this world like I love you! You're all I've ever thought about, since we were ten! I feel like I'm gonna die when you go, you understand? I love you!"
Temmin leaned forward in alarm. "What are you talking about?"
Alvo put one calloused hand up to Temmin's face. "I just love you." He came up off his heels, and kissed Temmin on the mouth. "I love you."
Temmin moved his friend's hand away from his cheek, but kept hold of it. "Alvo..."
"I know you don't feel the same way, I know you like girls more than boys, I know all that! Can't you pretend, just for now? Can't you let me have this little bit? Please. Tomorrow you'll be gone, and you'll get a new best friend, and you'll get married, and become King some day, and forget about me." Alvo's voice broke. "Please, Tem. Please."
Temmin stared down into his friend's pleading eyes, tears forming in his own. Alvo was his best friend; he'd never thought of anything else. When they were younger, they'd kissed a few times. It was fun, but he'd always thought of it as practice for girls. He loved Alvo, but this--he didn't have time to think, he was going away tomorrow morning, he was drunk, why now? Alvo sobbed, great, heartbreaking waves of tears.
Frustration and grief rose in Temmin's throat. "Why didn't you--why now? Dammit!" he said aloud. He pulled Alvo close, and tried to comfort him, pulling him back onto the straw bale. When Alvo kissed him again, Temmin didn't pull away.
They kissed until they gasped. Alvo fumbled with Temmin's clothes, finding the trouser buttons. "I know this isn't for me, but let me just touch you," Alvo whispered. He took Temmin's erection in his hand.
Temmin groaned and slumped back against the bricks. He'd touched himself, many, many times. Nothing like this, nothing so emotional, or so pleasurable; the sensation left him as dizzy as if he'd been knocked over the head. Alvo slipped down from the bale to kneel between Temmin's legs, stroking him. "Just let me--" He licked at it, then took it in his mouth.
No one had touched Temmin like this before. The heat, the wetness, the friction, the anticipation--all of it new, ecstatic, and terrifying. He held his breath as his orgasm built faster than he could control. He came without a sound, eyes wide and astonished, hands resting on Alvo's head. He gulped in air; his brain, already muzzy, refused to work at all, and he slumped against the wall in a stupor.
Alvo jumped to his feet. "I have to go now."
"Alvy, wait!" Temmin tried to get up, but his friend was faster.
"I just have to go! I have to go!" Alvo ran, leaving his lantern behind.
Temmin watched his friend disappear into the darkness. He leaned back against the bricks, the lamplight reflecting on his still-wet cheeks. He fastened himself up. Wiping his face on his coat sleeve, he picked up his lantern and wobbled up the alley toward the courtyard and the Great House beyond, leaving Alvo's lantern to burn itself out.
The next day hurt. "It's called a 'hangover,'" said Jenks as he bustled around the room packing Temmin's last things. "The first one's the hardest. Come on, Your Highness, ass out of bed. Serves you out for drinking in the first place."
"Go away, Jenks. I'm not going," said Temmin.
"Balls to that, and up you go, young sir. I've only got two hours to get you into a state fit to be seen by your mother, let alone smelled. Drink this," he ordered, thrusting a glass filled with a viscous, malodorous liquid in Temmin's direction.
Temmin took the glass. He gave the big man a dubious eye, the glass an even more dubious eye, and downed it. "My gods! That's foul!" he spat.
"Aids the head and the stomach. Take it from one who knows. Into the tub. No sympathy from this corner. You did it to yourself. What did you two drink last night?"
"Was supposed to be wuisc," mumbled Temmin through the washcloth over his mouth.
"Horse piss, more like," said the valet, his solid bulk filling the doorway. "Tell Alvo next time to come see me. If you two are set on drunkenness, I don't want blindness following on its heels."
Temmin dunked his head and blew water out his nose; if Alvo was right, there wouldn't be a next time. And what would he say if there were?
Temmin found his mother already waiting in the grand entrance hall. Queen Ansella had given Temmin his blue eyes and golden blond hair, and this morning the smooth blond plaits framing her face shone in the light from the wide, round window over the great doors. How pretty she was in blue! Only her children would recognize the unhappy cast to her eyes, an unhappiness Temmin shared. They had both been born at Whithorse. Temmin had lived there his entire life. He wanted to be cheerful for her sake, and though the hangover remedy helped, it didn't help enough, and he glumly shook hands and said goodbye to his grandmother the Dowager Duchess and the Great House staff. Every last servant cried, even the fierce Crokker; the butler shook his hand with such emotion Temmin blushed for him.
Temmin waved out the window until the Great House disappeared and they were well on the road to Reggiston. Once out of sight, he slumped into a groaning heap. "Pagg's own, my head."
"Don't swear, Temmy," said his mother. "And if you're going to get drunk, you should expect a headache."
Temmin sat up. "Who told you I got drunk last night?"
"You did, this very second." Ansella smiled. "I was guessing, sweetheart."
Temmin closed his eyes in queasiness and consternation, but opened them again. "Say, where's Sister Ibbit?"
"She's leaving from the Healer's House. I suspect she wanted to give us this last moment to ourselves."
"That's strangely thoughtful of her."
"Respect for clergy, please, Temmy." Ansella stared out the window at the rolling pastures, dotted with horses and sheep. "We won't get much time alone from now on. Your father will be getting the most of you. But promise me you'll spend a little time with me, and with your sisters. We won't have them much longer. In fact, it won't be long until you'll be my only baby left."
Temmin opened his eyes again. "Mama, I'm not sure about anything in my life right now but you. Things and people I thought I knew--everything's upside down."
"You'll be rightside up before you know it, my sweetheart. Listen a little while longer, and I'll leave you to your headache," she smiled. A pause, and she turned serious. "You will be around women a great deal in the City, many of them...notorious," she forced out. "I want you to be careful."
"Notorious women?" he said hopefully. This was not the first time his mother had gone on about notorious women, to the point that Temmin was extremely curious to meet one and find out what made them so notorious.
"You'll be tempted to make...make wrong decisions. I don't want you falling into some hussy's clutches, or worse, led into spending time at...oh, at houses of ill-repute!"
Temmin had no idea what a house of ill-repute was, and said so.
"This is your father's office, but he would never give you good advice!" murmured his mother in agitation. "It's a house where women sell themselves, a horrible, horrible place! Nothing more infamous!"
"I'm sorry, Mama, but d'you mean a whorehouse?"
His mother winced. "It pains me to hear the word."
"Pains me to say it to you, but you would ask! Never worry," he said. "I won't go to one." In fact, his mother had spent many years arming him against hussies and loose women, whatever they were; he had no clear idea what went on in a whorehouse, but he knew the men who went to them should be staying at home, or at worst going to the Lovers' Temple and renewing their faith, though he had no clear idea what happened in the Temple, either.
The rolling pastures and woods turned to new-plowed fields. At the outskirts of Reggiston, the Station stood in its proud new cast iron and gilded glory. Waving crowds stood in little knots around the station. On the tracks, the royal train awaited, a great black locomotive at its head, its details picked out in gold, the platform round it and its coal tender behind painted the deep red called Tremontine red: the color of garnet, of pomegranate, of a thick pool of blood. On each side of the handrail at the very front of the engine flew small Tremontine flags in that same red, three golden triangles grouped in the middle.
Temmin settled into the resplendent, wood-paneled car that belonged to his father, the salon car sandwiched between it and his mother's coach. Beyond that rolled the royal dining car, and at train's end trailed the kitchen. The remaining entourage traveled closer to the engine and its noise and smoke.
By the time the train left Reggiston behind, he felt a little better and asked for a small lunch. "Meaning one chicken, not two?" said Jenks on his way to the kitchens. But once the plate sat before him, Temmin picked at it. "Now you have me worried, young sir. You should be over the worst of it by now."
Temmin shook his head, and ran his fingers through his locks; Jenks winced in dismay at the ruination of the royal hair style. "No, I'm all right. A little headachy, but whatever you gave me did the trick." He furrowed the mashed potatoes with his fork. "Jenks, what if I can't do this?"
"Do what, Your Highness?"
"Be what they expect me to be. Be the Heir. Be King in my turn." He knocked the fork against the plate's rim. "I mean, I think I know what's going on, and then I don't. I don't want to go to the City."
"So you've said about two dozen times today, the day before, the day before that, and all of Winter's End. But you're on the train to Tremont City, and when you get there, that's where you're staying."
"I'm the Viscount of Prunedale, and I don't have to go there," said Temmin. "Though I do like prunes."
Jenks ignored this. "Besides, you haven't seen Miss Sedra in three years, and it's been a year and a half since Miss Ellika left."
"Oh, I'll be very glad to see them, and Papa, too. I haven't seen him since he came to fetch Ellika." Temmin stopped sculpting the potatoes. "It's funny. I've hardly seen him apart from a visit or two every year, but Mama always insists we call him Papa."
"Her Majesty wanted you to feel close to your father despite the intervening miles, I believe. She has certain ideas about raising healthy children. Are you through?"
"No, I'm just thinking." He took a few mouthfuls. "Jenks, do you know why Alvo wasn't allowed to come with me? I wanted him to be my groom."
Jenks stopped brushing Temmin's dinner coat. "Oh, young sir. You know the answer to that yourself."
Temmin remembered Alvo's words: We can't be friends forever, they won't let us. What were they now, he wondered? He decided not to think on it, and ate another chicken leg.
To Temmin's dismay, his mother's religious advisor joined the royal party at dinner. At Whithorse, Sister Ibbit lived at the Temple of Venna in Reggiston and never dined with them, but tonight Ansella seated the priestess to her left and Temmin to her right. Looking up from the soup, he caught Ibbit staring at him in contempt, and wondered if he'd have to endure her half-hearted religious instruction at the Keep. He'd managed to out-and-out skip most of it, with Ibbit's approval; her open hostility led him to avoid her as much from personal dislike as boredom, and she seemed to share his feeling.
After dinner, he and his mother were to play cards in the salon car, but before he could follow her there, Ibbit blocked his way. "A word with you," she said. "We will not be taking up our lessons in the City, Your Highness. I am sure you will have too many other demands on your time."
"Oh," said Temmin, trying to contain his glee. "I shall be very...sorry...to miss our times together."
She examined him down the length of her forbidding nose, and cocked her head. "Our understanding cannot be continued at the Keep. You will be watched too closely for that comfortable relationship to continue."
Temmin thought to himself there had never been anything comfortable about their relationship, but said nothing.
"I'm sure they'll give you a Brother to pretend to instruct you while giving you a good beating," she continued, "though I don't know what kind of religious instruction a priest of Farr could possibly impart. Furthermore, I have always felt religious instruction wasted upon men. I will be happy to end the connection." She turned and left the dining car, holding her gray robes clear of the platform gates.
That answered that question, thought Temmin.
Over the next two days, Temmin watched the scenery change from Whithorse's beloved rolling grasslands and forests to the foothills of the Altenne Mountains, rising high and snowy above the valley. Many small cities and towns dotted the landscape, often built up the sides of the lower foothills each with their Temples clustered at the top in the ancient style. The train passed through several, slowing down as it approached the stations but never stopping, though Temmin wished they would; he’d seen none of the country outside Whithorse, and the mountains looked like the borders of the world.
They came to a small town tucked in a little valley, its thick bands of orchards so covered in blossom they looked more like clouds than trees. It was Temmin's holding of Prunedale, and he chuckled as they passed; he'd had to go there after all.
Up and up, through the dusky foothills, into the pines as the track switched back through the Sella Gap and up above the treeline, the track cutting through the snow in thick, blue-white walls on each side. They crawled down the Altennes into the Feather River valley. The long, fat ribbon of trees and settlements along its banks got closer and closer until the train plunged into the valley, tracing the river itself. Their progress slowed as the train passed through countless villages and towns, but again did not stop.
All along the way, especially here by the river, people gathered along the tracks to watch the train pass, though Temmin wondered why they cared. Didn't this train come through at least once a week? The tracks followed the Feather west and south toward its confluence with the Shadow River, leaving the countryside around the City behind; it slowed near the city, and crowds packed beside the tracks. "Why is everyone so glad to see the train?" said Temmin.
"They're glad to see you, young sir," answered Jenks. "Now. Out of that dirty shirt--how you manage to drop sausages down your front at your age I'll never know." Jenks coaxed his charge into clean linen, a formal gray suit, Tremontine red brocade waistcoat, black cravat and his grandfather's amber studs and cufflinks. "I shall not have you reflect badly on Whithorse, Your Highness."
"You mean, you."
"And your mother would kill me if you weren't properly turned out," rumbled Jenks in his gravelly baritone, putting an end to any argument.
"Ugh. I feel like one of Elly's old dolls." Temmin moved to run a hand through his golden hair, but at a look from Jenks, he checked himself and put his hat on his head with a sigh lost in the hiss of the train's brakes; they had arrived at the River Street Grand Railway Station.
Red and gold banners fluttered from the empty railway station's high ceiling, and crowds thronged the streets all around for a glimpse over the shoulders of the Royal Guard. Around the platform itself, Brothers stood guard; the spring breeze rushed through the open station, picking up the long strands of the Tremontine red horsehair tassels atop their bright silver helmets. He wondered how the Brothers could stand the strands tickling their faces, but then, the priests of Farr were cut from stone, the saying went.
His father and sisters stood alone on the platform. The gray in King Harsin's dark hair and beard had increased, but otherwise he looked the same: a serious, handsome face with a slight, sardonic twist to it; powerful; tall. Temmin wondered if he were still shorter than the King, and tugged his waistcoat down.
His sisters looked like women now; Sedra was just turned twenty-one and Ellika was halfway between nineteen and twenty. In her elegantly tailored, sober gray coat, Sedra resembled the King, tall, dark and serious; her face bore a twist as well, but one less cynical and more humorous. Merry little Ellika dressed in rose, their mother's twin but for their father's dark eyes. Ellika rose up on her toes in excitement, until Sedra put a quelling hand on her shoulder.
Temmin and the Queen stepped onto the platform. A roar went up. It shook his bones; he had never heard so many voices cheering at once, nor seen so many people. Hundreds? Thousands? He thought he heard his name among the cheers. The King greeted his wife with a kiss on each cheek; he took his son's hand in a too-strong grip. His sisters each offered a cheek to be kissed, and Ellika whispered, "I've missed you! I'm so glad you're finally here!"
Ansella's daughters both forgot their dignity and threw themselves into their mother's arms. "There, my girls," she laughed. "I'm not going anywhere. We're in public! Behave!"
Greetings exchanged, the crowds acknowledged, the royal family left the station. As the royal carriage rolled away, Temmin saw his horse Jebby taken off the train and thought of Alvo. Why couldn't he have come? And why had he ruined everything?
"Temmy, are you listening?" said Ellika, whacking his knee with her fan. He started, and glanced out the window; they had crossed the Feather at Kingsbridge, and were approaching the great gates leading to the parklands around the base of the cliff that held Tremont Keep.
"We're having a ball for your birthday," said Sedra.
"A ball? Who wants a ball?"
"You do," said the King.
"Me? I hate balls, they're boring!" He'd been dragged to many a small dance, filled with pimply cousins and dowdy girls from the local gentry who couldn't do more than giggle, but then Ibbit arrived and the dances stopped--one of the few benefits of the Sister's presence.
"I did tell you about it, Temmy," murmured his mother.
"You will not be bored," said Harsin. "You will smile, you will dance, and you will celebrate your coming of age with your people. We will not discuss this." His father had not changed. "You will enjoy yourself more than you suspect, son," Harsin amended. "I know you're used to doing as you please, mucking about with the stable hands--" here he gave his wife a sharp look-- "but you're an adult now. I expect you to take up your studies in all seriousness. My own tutor will be taking you in hand. Your childhood is over, son."
The gates closed with a thunk. The carriage rolled down the long drive, toward the ancient fortress castle on the cliff.
Temmin woke the next morning from a dream of Alvy with breasts, to find his brown bedcurtains had turned red. He sat up, puzzled, before remembering he wasn't in bed at home. The curtains parted, and Jenks stuck his head in. "Ah, we're awake, are we?"
"I want to go home, Jenks," said Temmin as he rubbed sleep from one eye.
"We are home, young sir. Moping won't change it, and I for one am tired of your complaining."
"How you talk to me! If you were anyone but you, I should have you horsewhipped."
"If you were anyone but you, I'd've taken you over my knee by now." Jenks opened the window shades to reveal rosy clouds in the pre-dawn sky. "But you are you, and I am me. You wouldn't whip a horse anyway. Now--" He waggled a pair of riding boots. "I suggest you keep your old habits in this new home, and be at the stables before breakfast."
"Jebby! He must be scared stiff!" Temmin walked into the wardrobe, and stopped short. "Where are my riding clothes in this warehouse?"
"On the dressing stand, Your Highness."
Temmin surveyed the immaculate riding coat and breeches. "A cravat? A hat? Jenks, these are not riding clothes. These are formal riding clothes. Where's my cap?"
"I got rid of that rag before we left. It's high time you do as the Cavalry does, if you have any aspirations to it. Clothes make the officer."
"If clothes make the officer, why were you a corporal?" grumped Temmin.
A clean and exquisitely dressed Temmin stumped down to the stables, a small flask of sweet wine and a prayer written on birch bark in his pocket for his offering to Amma. Bath before riding, what nonsense. He'd just get dirty again. At least Jenks allowed his old boots, though shined to an unaccustomed polish. When Jenks could no longer see him, he stashed his smart topper in a secluded bush, fished the disreputable, ancient tweed cap he'd filched from Jenks back home from his pocket, and slapped it on his head.
The stables at the Keep made the Estate's yards look small, and he looked forward to a heady array of horses. Surely, with all this room, he'd be allowed to breed stock as he had at home. Once in the stableyard, though, he groaned; they'd seen him coming. Every groom, every stableman, even the boys still clutching their polish rags stood in ragged lines awaiting him, caps in hand. A grizzled old man in riding master's boots bowed. "Welcome, Yer Highness," he said in a thick Far Isles accent. The workers all put knuckles to foreheads.
Indoors, Temmin was used to a modicum of deference, but not in stables. He mucked out stalls, toted hay bales, polished tack, and curried Jebby himself; he'd always been one of the men, since he'd been a tiny boy darting among the horse's legs and bothering everyone. "If you'd like t'inspect the stables now, sir?" said the old man. "I yam the riding master, by name Cappel, sir." The hands looked to Temmin, faces nervous and expectant.
After an astonished pause to gather his wits, Temmin said, "I'm just here to ride my horse. I do want to see the stables, but not this morning." The men and boys deflated. "Unless--unless you've gone to some effort?"
"Aye, well, sir," murmured Cappel, "they been cleanin' fer the last week, sir."
"Ah," Temmin murmured in return. He spoke up louder. "Ehm...I'll take a turn round these fine-looking stables after all." The stablemen brightened. "But one thing." They leaned forward, waiting as if for a command. "I'm just here to take care of the horses, and you're just here to take care of the horses, so let's all take care of the horses, yes?" No one moved until Temmin thought to say, "Ehm, dismissed?" Satisfied, the men and boys touched their knuckles to their foreheads again, put their caps on their heads, and stumped off to their chores.
They stopped first at Amma's shrine in the main courtyard. Temmin poured the sweet wine he'd brought over the altar stone and made Her sign: he touched his head, heart and groin, and murmured "Merciful Amma, keep me from harm," then tucked the birch bark prayer under the stone. Proper obeisance to the Lady of Cattle made, he let Cappel hustle him through the huge complex, the men's eyes following them; Temmin made sure to exclaim at how clean it all was.
In the royal family's personal stable, Jebby filled the last stall. The chestnut gelding whickered. Temmin pulled a sugar cube from his pocket and held it up for the big horse, who lipped it into his mouth. Jebby turned his head sideways and stared, one-eyed, until Temmin took an apple from his other pocket and cut it in half. "Greedy guts," said Temmin as the horse munched.
He turned to see Cappel lugging an immaculate saddle from the tack room. "Ah, I'll take that!" said Temmin, reaching for it.
"I yam not s'old as all that," said Cappel. "And that's no work for such as you, sir."
Cappel's age had not occurred to the young Prince. "I'm used to doing for myself, though," said Temmin.
The riding master squinted at him. "That's as may be, but my men and I have our pride, sir. Let us do our jobs, and you do yours. Our jobs is carin for the horses, and yours is bein a prince, sir. But," he amended, observing Temmin's dumbfounded expression, "why don't you, just this once." He leaned against the stable wall, and watched as Temmin displayed his mastery of tack. "Eh, aye," he admitted, "you know your way around a horse. T'will be our pleasure to look after you, sir."
Look after him? Temmin looked after himself in stables, he huffed to himself as he rode Jebby out of the yard. He didn't order people around. If he did, they paid no attention. What was the point? Stablehands treating him like an outsider. He didn't like the Keep.
He and Jebby came to the great War Road leading into the King's Woods; six men could ride abreast down it, and had done so when Tremont's military campaigns departed from the Keep long ago. Jebby danced in place, until Temmin stuffed his cap back in his pocket, tapped his heels into the big horse's sides, and yelled "Gidyap, Jeb!" The chestnut took off down the Road, ecstatic to stretch his legs.
For Temmin, this was pure delight--the fresh morning, the sturdy horse moving beneath him, the wind whipping his hair back. This would not be taken from him. This belonged to him. Temmin leaned down over Jebby's neck and let him run.
When Temmin returned, he got no further than the Keep's mud room when Jenks pounced. He traded his mucky boots for carpet slippers, and once upstairs, his dusty riding clothes for more elegant attire. "Do you need a shave this morning, young sir? You rushed out before I could get a good look at you," called Jenks from the wardrobe.
Temmin examined his chin in the mirror; still not enough beard to grow out, though his plentiful sideburns and moustache left little to be desired. "No. Why can't I just change my boots?" he said, scrubbing his face with a wet flannel.
"This is court, Your Highness, you cannot go to breakfast smelling like a horse."
"I've washed my face and hands! Oh, really, Jenks, a tie? At breakfast?"
"Just a soft one. The dark blue suits you. And do try to keep egg yolk off it, Your Highness, silk is the Bloody One's Own to clean."
"Explain to me some time why clothes are such an obsession in the Cavalry," said Temmin, fastening the unwanted cravat with a simple horseshoe stickpin.
"That's too casual, young sir!" said Jenks as Temmin escaped.
"That's too bad, Jenks!" replied Temmin over his shoulder.
Downstairs, most of his family waited for him outside the morning room. "Where's Elly?" said Temmin.
"She stayed up half the night playing cards with friends in the Little Salon," Sedra sniffed. "She almost never wakes up in time for breakfast."
"Really?" said Ansella, taking her son's arm. "That will change."
Indirect sunlight from many high windows flooded the morning room. It was painted robin's egg blue, its longest wall lined with tall mirrors that brightened the room even more. The morning room was a Whithorse innovation, transplanted to the Keep at the insistence of the Queen, and Temmin immediately felt more at home. Strong coffee, cocoa, sausages and newsprint scented the informal room's air. Even the King's face softened as his family gathered round the table, together for the first time in nearly two years.
"I'm very happy to have you here, Temmin," Harsin said.
"I'm very happy to be here, Papa," he replied. Affton appeared at his elbow and poured him a cup, half coffee and half cocoa--Temmin's favorite. He liked a well-briefed butler.
"Tomorrow is your birthday--a man at last," said Harsin. "We shall meet tomorrow morning with Teacher. He was my tutor as well, you know."
He must be ancient, Temmin said to himself, and added aloud, "What's his name, sir?"
"Name? Just Teacher." Harsin tapped one finger on the cream damask table cloth. "Tomorrow night is your birthday ball. Everyone of any note in the empire will be attending--most of the major nobility, the high priests and Embodiments of all the Temples but Harla's, of course." Temmin shivered inwardly; who would want Death at one's birthday? "Inchari princelings, ambassadors from the Vakale'le Confederacy nations, and Sairland, too," his father continued. "I trust you are prepared for diplomatic occasions?"
"Do I have to go? I don't care to dance, and I'm not very good at it," said Temmin. He'd never been to an actual ball, only little parties to practice dancing with his sisters and a few friends.
"It's in your honor, of course you have to go," said Sedra.
"You will brush up your dancing with Ellika, then," said Harsin. "The servants are already preparing the ballroom, and the music master is planning out the program this afternoon. That should give you music for practice. I shall have my secretary send Ellika to you whenever she graces us with her presence. You'll acquit yourself just fine--you have your mother's light feet. I've seen you dance myself," he added.
"You have? When?" said Temmin.
"Newspapers, Your Highness?" murmured Affton at Temmin's elbow.
"Ehm, no." He eyed the salver stacked with the morning's news. "I don't read 'em."
"Very good, young sir." The butler moved on to Sedra. He deposited a large stack of papers at her right hand, a stack almost as high next to Harsin, and a single magazine next to Ansella.
"You really should read the papers, Temmy," said Sedra, rattling open the top one on the stack with an emphatic flourish. "Rulers must know what is being said."
"Why are you bothering, then," he snickered. To his surprise, her offended face appeared over the drooping paper; she'd always dismissed his needling with a "Pfft!" and a toss of her head before. "What's wrong, Seddy?"
She set her jaw, her sharp resemblance to their father strengthening. "Nothing. I've simply forgotten your style of humor."
Temmin looked down at his plate. She'd always been proud, but she never rose to his bait. Everything and everyone was different here, and he hated it.
Temmin spent the morning in etiquette drills with Jenks. "Tell me again how one would address the chief wife of the ambassador for the Vakale'le Confederacy."
"This is pointless--I already know!"
"Then tell me again."
By afternoon, he wanted nothing more than a nap on the green velvet couch in his study--the one near the fire. Perhaps a little lunch beforehand. A nicely roasted chicken, a glass of wine, some spring greens in vinaigrette. Soup would also be good. And bread with a bit of cheese and some pickle. And a pudding. Nothing too substantial.
Ellika found him two hours later, stretched out on the couch sound asleep with the napkin still tucked in his collar and crumbs in his moustache. "Wake up!" She dropped his carpet-slippered feet to the floor, and sat down next to him in a pale green froth of silk flounces.
Temmin opened one eye. "You look like a cabbage. A very large, very pretty cabbage. Go away." He put his feet in her lap and closed his eye again.
"I said, wake up, Sir No-Beard!" Ellika poked him in the ribs and bounced on the couch. "Wake up wake up wake up!"
"I am awake! And I'll have you know I counted ten whiskers this morning," grumbled Temmin.
"I'm less interested in the condition of your chin than I am in the condition of your feet." She dumped his feet from her lap and stood up. "On with your dancing shoes, young man, I intend to make sure you don't embarrass me or yourself at your birthday party."
"I don't see where my skill as a dancer has anything to do with you," he said as he removed his carpet slippers.
"I am widely held to be the best dancer in the City, Temmy, and it will not do to have my little brother stepping on feet and stumbling into people. Come on, up up up!"
Servants already filled the grand ballroom. Tables and chairs ringed the floor's edges; a small army of boys on ladders polished the gilt-framed mirrors covering the longest wall, their shape echoing the graceful arches of the red-curtained windows they faced. As soon as the Prince and Princess entered the room, the bustle came to a halt; the footmen and maids bowed deep and curtsied deeper, and the boys almost fell off their ladders in their attempts to show respect. Then, as one, the servants turned their faces to the walls.
"Oh, turn around!" said Temmin. "I despise that custom, and we don't stand for it at the Estate. Affton," he called to the butler, "please instruct the staff not to do that around me." The butler bowed, the smallest of frowns around his eyes. The servants turned to face the room again, timid and surprised.
Ellika stared. "Seddy and I have been asking them not to do it for ages and ages, but no one listens to us."
On the stage at the end of the long, gleaming floor stood two tall, thin men with identical black mops of hair, thick moustaches and emphatic eyebrows; the two were busily directing the arrangement of the orchestra's chairs, each contradicting the other. Ellika marched her brother to the stage and clapped her hands for attention. The two men turned in bemusement, and bowed.
"Master Sullo! Mister Sullo!" she called. "We require practice music. Indulge us, please."
The musicians blew out their moustaches like hairy little curtains; the music master took up his violin, and his brother flexed his long fingers above the piano. They struck up a tune, a simple dobla. Ellika gave a deep curtsey, and Temmin stumbled a bow. "Feet together, Temmy," Ellika murmured.
Temmin took his sister's hand and let her lead him through the dobla's repeating figures: step, point, switch hands and again, step step step step. A child's dance, the traditional opening of uncouth country barn romps or the most formal ball--cheerful, simple and innocent.
"It's like sitting a horse," said Ellika. "Balance and posture and keeping your joints loose! Now, see, this isn't so bad!"
Temmin took her hand in the turn. "It's just been such a long time--we haven't had a dance at the Estate since you left, you know."
"Whyever not?"
"Why d'you suppose? Sister Ibbit disapproves of dancing."
"Oh, pooh. She would. Now, pay attention to what you're doing!" Ellika's sweet, sly smile and quick feet made it more than a children's dance. She added a little snap to the turns, sending her blond curls flirting over first one shoulder, then the other. To Temmin's irritation, she mesmerized every onlooker, especially the junior footmen. He tightened his grasp on her hand, and took her back up the floor away from the servants.
"Temmy, you dance well!" she crowed when the music ended.
"I s'pose I do! At least the dobla. I don't know if I remember anything more complicated. And we don't have any other dancers to practice with. So we're done?" he added.
"Nonsense. We shall practice the quarta." She ran a critical eye over the servants, still standing in an astonished clump at the floor's edge. "Dannikson! Wallek! I know you two can dance--I've caught you at it, and Affton, you are forbidden to punish them," she called up at the butler, who gave a frosty bow.
A freckled young footman with the brightest red hair Temmin had ever seen and an even younger maid shuffled out from the gaggle. The maid's turned-up nose and wide hazel eyes reminded him of the girl in the hedges at Whithorse, but prettier. A dark, shiny corkscrew curl escaped from her starched white cap; he suppressed an impulse to brush it from her blushing cheek, and smiled at her instead.
"You take Dannikson, and I'll take Wallek, Temmy," said Ellika. She took the footman's hand in hers, gazing up at him through her lashes. It set Temmin's teeth on edge. Was she flirting with a footman? Wallek held his head up, flushing beneath his freckles, but didn't meet the prince's gaze until Temmin took the maid's hand; his eyes met Temmin's in a clear flash of possessiveness, and Dannikson ducked her head.
Ellika cleared her throat and Wallek returned his attention. "Shall we dance?" she said. The four placed themselves in the pattern for the quarta, and the music began.
The steps came back to Temmin faster than he'd expected. He steered Dannikson more than led her, but soon her light, pliant step sent them gliding through the forms: twirling, changing partners, dancing in a ring, beginning again. The girl laughed, nerves forgotten, her cap's red ribbons flying; more curly tendrils slipped out to flutter at her nape. Temmin pulled her closer by degrees. She smelled of hay and tea, and he wanted to bury his nose in her neck. Her quick pulse beat at her wrist beneath his fingers, her corset bones stiff beneath his hand at her back; he wondered how soft her breasts were, whether her nipples were the same sweet, rosy color as those of the girl in the hedge, and he grew impossibly, uncomfortably hard.
The dance ended. He came to himself and realized she'd sensed his interest, her downcast face mixing pleasure and fear. On a sudden impulse, he bowed over her hand, and released it with an intimate smile. Dannikson burst into a nervous titter, bobbed a curtsey, and ran to hide herself in the knot of maidservants. Temmin fastened his coat, and hoped it hid his arousal enough.
Ellika dismissed Wallek with a nod and a smile, and slipped her arm through her brother's as they left the ballroom. "I don't care for you flirting with footmen," said Temmin as soon as they were out of earshot.
"You were flirting. I was making my partner comfortable," said Ellika with a dismissive wave. "Dannikson and Wallek are sweethearts. Everyone knows. Don't let Mama see you flirting with the help, or you'll get the poor girl fired."
Temmin found his tea laid out on the small table in his study. "Oh thank Amma, I'm starving," he said as Jenks poured him a cup.
"When are you not starving, young sir? How did your dancing practice go?"
"Very well, actually!" said Temmin around a mouthful of ham sandwich. He swallowed. "I remember more of my dancing than I expected to, and I rather enjoyed it. And I danced with the prettiest maid."
"Stop dunking biscuits in your tea, you turn eighteen tomorrow. Miss Ellika is very lovely indeed, young sir," said Jenks as he walked back to the bedchamber.
"No, no, not Elly, though she's a very pretty maid, if you want to put it all poetically. Jenks, she was flirting with a footman!"
"Miss Ellika flirts with lampposts, Your Highness," the valet's voice floated from the other room.
"She needs to stop. She's a princess. No, I mean an actual maid, a very pretty little thing named Dannikson."
"Oh?"
"She reminds me very much of a girl I kissed at the Estate, the night before we left."
The valet's head appeared in the doorway. "You kissed a girl?"
"That's what I said, isn't it!" said Temmin, pleased with himself.
"You just surprised me, that's all," said Jenks, returning to his side. "I thought you were out drinking with Alvo that night. Who was this girl, young sir?"
"Don't know, really. Just a maid," said Temmin. "Never saw her before. I think she works at Meadow House. Quite pretty. I would have noticed if she'd been among the old biddies we have for maids."
"Meadow House," said Jenks, leaning against the couch. "What was her name?"
Temmin slurped his tea. "Mmpf--Matti-something. Said they called her Mattie."
"Mattisanis Dunley, perhaps?"
"D'you know her?"
"I know of her," said Jenks, face closed. "So, what happened, young sir? Did we become a man earlier than our birthday?"
"Oh, no such luck. Though she did let me kiss her. Let me touch her breasts, too, before I threw up. Gods, I was drunk as Farr. Jenks, did you know, breasts are incredibly beautiful."
"Yes, they are" said Jenks, his voice abstracted. "Temmin, promise me something." Temmin looked up; Jenks seldom called him by name. "Promise me you'll leave Miss Dannikson and the other maids alone. That's my hunting ground, not yours. D'you understand?"
"Bit young for you, old man, wouldn't you say?"
"Be careful. You're unused to court life and young women. You're not a boy. You're eighteen tomorrow. Even if you weren't young and handsome, you'd dazzle a princess let alone a downstairs maid--you're the Heir. You may find yourself entangled before you know it."
"I'm not going to get my heart broken by a maidservant," snorted Temmin.
"Yours isn't the heart I'm worried about," said Jenks. Temmin furrowed his brow, puzzled. Jenks sighed. "Your Highness, just be careful. Leave the maids to me. You're sure her name was Mattie?"
"Positive! You're not going to go look her up too, are you?" said Temmin in irritation.
"Oh, no, not at all." Jenks walked back to the wardrobe, hands clamped behind him. "I'm fairly sure I know who she is."
CHAPTER TWO
Neyaday, the 9th Day of Spring's Beginning
The first thing Temmin saw when he looked into the bathroom mirror on his birthday was a man. He was eighteen; that was that, he was an adult now. "And I still can't grow a proper beard," he said aloud, rubbing his chin.
"What, sir?" called Jenks.
"Nothing!"
The second thing he saw when he looked in the bathroom mirror was a face not his own.
Underneath his own reflection lay a faint tracing--a smooth face, a paler, thinner face with precise features, odd silver eyes, and iron-colored hair pulled back in an old-fashioned tail. He blinked, and it disappeared.
"Jenks? Insanity doesn't run in the family, does it?"
"Not to my knowledge, sir," said Jenks.
It happened again when he came back to the stable yard from his ride with Jebby. They went to the trough, and Temmin leaned down to splash himself. The water's smooth surface reflected his face: flushed, sweaty, happy, and a little dusty. But as he watched, the strange figure reappeared, its cold, intense eyes staring. For some reason, Temmin thought of the wardrobe in Nurse's room, back in the nursery at the Estate. How convinced he had been that the Black Man lived in there--why would he think of that?
The impatient Jebby stuck his nose in the trough and took a slurp; ripples broke the water's surface, and the reflections vanished. "Here, Your Highness," said a groom, taking Jebby's bridle, "I'll see to 'im, go off to your birthday breakfast. You look a bit pinched, if I may be so bold!"
"I am hungry, thank you," he murmured. "That explains a great deal."
Even Ellika, pink and yawning with sleep, attended the breakfast table that morning. He accepted everyone's congratulations, and sat with his back to the morning room's mirrors. Why were there so many mirrors in this place?
Sedra was polite but formal, and said nothing to him about newspapers even though he took The Daily Voice of Tremont from the pile atop Affton's salver. "You don't want that," said his father. "Read The Morning Capital first--a proper newspaper--then you can read that radical nonsense." Temmin nodded, put both papers beside his plate, and opened neither.
"I have meetings this morning, Temmin," said Harsin at meal's end, "but after lunch I shall expect you in my study to meet Teacher."
"I'm going back to bed," said Ellika, still yawning. "No amount of coffee can wake me up."
"Oh dear, I hoped we'd go through my jewel case, to see if there's anything you'd like to wear tonight," smiled her mother as she rose. "I suppose it can wait."
"Mama, wait!" said Ellika, following Ansella from the table. "I'm suddenly feeling much more awake!"
Sedra tucked her remaining newspapers under her arm, and rose herself. Now, Temmin decided, was the time to patch things up. "Seddy," he said, catching up with her at the door. "Do you still like to walk after breakfast?"
"I'm sorry?"
"It's just that it's been so long," he said, keeping pace as she strode through the halls. "You always used to take walks after breakfast, and sometimes you'd let me come with you. D'you still do that? Would it be all right if I walked with you? I've missed you," he said. "I feel as if we don't know one another any more, and I thought perhaps we could...catch up?"
"I still know you," she said, stopping at the foot of the stairs. "You're trying to get out of something."
"Only this rock pile. I'm going to be cooped up here the rest of the day, and it's a nice morning. Seddy," he wheedled, "let's go for a walk."
"You don't need me to go walking, Temmy," she said, climbing the stairs.
"No, but I want to walk with you."
She looked down where he stood on the bottom step; he put on his best little brother smile. She softened. "All right," she said. "Meet me on the terrace in twenty minutes."
Jenks insisted on yet another wardrobe change: "You can't go wandering around in the woods in your nice day suit!" The ensuing, futile argument and inexorable swap of the day suit for a tweed walking suit and sturdy boots meant it took the full twenty minutes for Temmin to run back downstairs. Sedra waited, dressed in a sensible blue walking dress cut short enough to show the tops of her black boots. On her head sat an equally sensible blue felt bonnet, lined in a flattering rose silk. Her only other concession to fashion was a voluminous fine wool Inchari shawl, beautiful but practical on a brisk spring morning.