“No one knows how I feel.”
Fastia sighed. “That’s just part of it, Anne. The first time you hear a new song, you think you’re the first to ever hear it, no matter how many lips it’s been on. You think I never trysted, Anne? You think I never felt passion or thought I was in love?”
“You don’t act like it.”
“I suppose I don’t. Anne, I do remember what you feel now. It was the most exciting time of my life.”
“And then you married.”
To Anne’s surprise, Fastia chopped her head in agreement. “Yes. Ossel is a strong lord, a good ally. He is a good man, all in all.”
“He is not good to you,” Anne said.
“That’s neither here nor there. Here is the point, Anne: Every passion I knew when I was your age, every pleasure, every desire—they are like thorns in me now, twisting. I regret ever—” She fluttered her hands helplessly. “I don’t know how to say this.”
“I do,” Anne said. “If you had never known how good loving could be, you would not hate it so much with your husband.”
Fastia’s lips tightened. “That’s crude, but that’s it in a walnut.”
“But if you had married for love—”
Fastia’s voice grew harsher. “Anne, we do not marry for love. Nor may we, like our men, seek love after marriage. That sword does not swing both ways. We can find other pleasures— in our children, in our books and needlework and duties. But we may not—” Her hands darted about like confused birds, and she finally settled them by crossing her arms over her chest.
“Anne, I so envy you, and so pity you at the same time. You are just like me, and when reality falls upon your dreams, you will become just as bitter. I know what you think of me, you see. I have known it for years, since you cut me out of your heart.”
“Me? I was a girl! You cut me out of yours, when you married that oaf.”
Fastia clasped her hands together. “Perhaps. I did not want to. But those first few years were the hardest, and after—” She shrugged. “After, it seemed best. You will marry, one day, and go off, and I will not see you anyway.”
Anne stared at Fastia for a long moment. “If this is all true, I mean …”
“Why did I follow you down here?”
“Yes. Why didn’t you leave well enough alone?”
“Weren’t you listening? I told you my reasons. But there are other reasons. This Roderick—he is a schemer from a family of schemers, Anne. If he were to get you with child, there would be no end of it.”
“That’s not true! Roderick is—no, he’s not like that. You don’t know him, and I don’t care about his family.”
“You don’t. I wish I didn’t have to, but Mother and Father do. Absolutely. Anne, I have nothing if not my duty, do you understand? I could not willingly stand back and let this happen. As much as this may hurt now, it would have hurt much, much more later. And it would have hurt the kingdom, something I know you don’t consider yet, but it is true.”
“Oh, figs!” Anne exploded. “What nonsense. And besides, he and I—we never—I mean, he couldn’t have got me with child, because we never—”
“You were going to, Anne. You may think you weren’t, but you were.”
“You can’t know that.”
“Anne, please. You know it’s true. Without my interference, you would not have left the tomb a virgin.”
Anne straightened her shoulders. “Will you tell Mother?”
“Erren already has. She’s waiting for us now.”
Anne felt a sudden tremor of fear. “What?”
“Mother sent us for you.”
“What will she do? What can she do? I’m already exiled. I won’t see him in Cal Azroth.”
“I can’t say, Anne. Believe it or not, I did speak for you. So did Lesbeth, for that matter.”
“Lesbeth? She told? She betrayed me?”
Fastia’s eyebrows went up. “Oh. So Lesbeth already knew? How interesting.” Anne thought there was hurt in her voice. “And predictable, I suppose. No, Mother asked her opinion in the matter, as she did mine.”
“Oh.”
Fastia brushed Anne’s hair from her face. “Come. Make yourself presentable. The longer we make Mother wait, the angrier she will be.”
Numbly, Anne nodded.
Up the hill, through the gates into the castle—from Eslen-of-Shadows to her mother’s chambers—Anne prepared her arguments. She nursed her outrage, reassured herself of the unfairness of it all.
When she entered her mother’s chambers, however, and found the queen sitting in an armchair as if on a throne, her mouth went dry.
“Sit,” Muriele said.
Anne did so.
“This is most disappointing,” her mother began. “I thought, of all my daughters, in your own way, you had the most sense. I was fooling myself, I suppose.”
“Mother, I—”
“Just keep your tongue, Anne. What can you say that would sway me?”
“He loves me! I love him!”
Her mother snorted. “Of course. Of course he does.”
“He does!”
“Listen to me, Anne,” her mother said softly, leaning forward. “I. Don’t. Care.” She measured each word for fullest effect.
Then she leaned back in her chair and continued. “Most people in this kingdom would kill to live your life, to enjoy the privilege you hold. You will never know hunger, or thirst, or lack for clothing and shelter. You will never suffer the slightest tiny boil without that the finest physician in the land spends his hours easing the pain and healing you. You are indulged, spoiled, and pampered. And you do not appreciate it in the least. And here, Anne, here is the price you pay for your privilege: it is responsibility.”
“The cost is my happiness, you mean.”
Muriele blinked slowly. “You see? You haven’t the slightest idea what I mean. But you will, Anne. You will.”
The certainty of that clutched at Anne’s heart. “What do you mean, Mother?”
“The lady Erren has written a letter for me. I have arranged for a coach, a driver, and an escort. You will leave in the morning.”
“For Cal Azroth, you mean? I thought we were going by barge.”
“We are. You are not going to Cal Azroth.”
“Where am I going?”
“You are going to study, as Erren did. You will learn the most useful arts a lady may know.”
“Erren?” Anne blurted. “You—you’re sending me to a coven?”
“Of a very special sort.”
“Mother, no!” Tendrils of panic seized her.
“What else can I do with you? You leave me at a loss.”
“Please. Don’t send me away.”
“It won’t be forever. Just until you’ve learned a few lessons, until you appreciate what you have, understand that you serve more in this world than your own desires. You need not take vows, though you may choose to do so, of course, in your fourth year.”
“Fourth year! By all the merciful saints, Mother!”
“Anne, don’t carry on. You’ve already embarrassed yourself aplenty for one night.”
“But this isn’t fair!” Anne felt the blood rushing to her cheeks.
“Life seldom is.”
“I hate you!”
Muriele sighed. “I hope that is not true.”
“It is. I hate you.”
“Very well,” her mother said. “Then that is the price I must pay. Go now, and pack. But don’t bother with any of your better gowns.”
10
Into the Tangle
“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,” Winna said, her voice hushed with awe. She stood on a stony ridge, profiled against the monstrous peak of Slé Eru, where glaciers threw the sun back at itself and eagles glided in lazy spirals. On either side the ridge—really a saddle between Slé Eru and the lesser but still dazzling peak of Slé Cray—dropped into breathtaking glens, deep and forested. They had just come up from Glen Ferth, where the headwaters of the Slaghish had their start in the ice melt of the two mountains. That was a very deep drop, a great green bowl whose other rim was hazed blue with distance, and the Slaghish was a tiny silver rill in its bosom. The other side of the ridge did not drop so far, but it was no less breathtaking, a highland valley of meadows and birch, and behind it another line of modest mountains, the footstool of the immense range whose pinnacles faded from sight, even in a clear blue sky.