The Queen's Gambit (25 page)

“Indeed she has, sire,” the duc replied with a smirk.

“Salba, do you not find the lady's answer sound?”

The chancellor bowed. “Yes, of course, majesty.”

“Meaclan?”

The minister of finance added his agreement to the rest, and shot Pheresa a look that made her blink in sudden anticipation.

Verence was beckoning to a page, who brought forth a small cushion and placed it on the floor. “Kneel on this, child.”

Realizing something momentous was happening, Pheresa's heart began to thud. She knelt on the cushion and struggled to stay calm.

Verence's unusual blue-and-green eyes gazed down at her so solemnly that she felt her face flame. Enrapt with hope and excitement, wishing she had taken the trouble to change into her very best gown before coming, she stared up at him.

“Pheresa,” he said, “you have proven yourself worthy in every way, passing all my tests. No matter what the circumstances, you keep a cool and logical head. Your patience I know to be long and steady. Your loyalty to the king and your sense of duty to Mandria go unquestioned.”

She bowed her head, clutching her hands together, trembling now.

Verence beckoned to Lervan, who sauntered over with a broad grin. He looked so pleased with himself, Pheresa thought. Indeed,
both
men wore smirks on their faces.

Her father was also smiling, and as her eyes met his, he gave her a little nod of approval. Suddenly suspicious, she felt her heart lurch, and everything seemed suddenly awry.
Fooled again,
she thought in dismay. Lervan would not be happy if he thought she was about to be named successor. Verence had not sent for her today to make her his heir. 'Twas a marriage he planned. She felt sure of it.

“What a pretty couple,” the king said, beaming at them both.

Still kneeling on the cushion and feeling at a distinct disadvantage with Lervan looming over her, Pheresa grew angry. Lervan was sending her sly little looks of admiration and pleasure, and while his expression might please her vanity, she could not master her larger disappointment.

“What say you, dear child?” the king asked. “Find you not this cousin to be handsome and pleasing company?”

Lowering her gaze lest Verence see her distress, she murmured something agreeable. Lervan moved even closer to her, his leg brushing her shoulder. Confused by his proximity, wishing the king had asked her privately first, she fought the urge to burst into tears and told herself not to be a fool. She could not go unmarried forever, and whatever the king arranged for her she dared not refuse.

Her mind began to turning rapidly. She did not love Lervan, but what did that matter? She was no longer a naive and foolish girl, dreaming of romance. People of her rank married for advantage and alliance, not love. She instantly saw that there would be advantages to a union with Lervan. His birth
and rank were acceptable. He had wit and a certain degree of charm. He made amusing company, and was it not better to wed a man with the gift of laughter than a sour temper or arrogance?

Struggling to be sensible, she told herself all this, and knew that he was not what she wanted.

But the man I want is forever denied to me,
she thought bleakly, and shut Faldain from her mind.

“ 'Tis decided,” the king said abruptly. “You, Pheresa, will be my heir and successor. From this day forth, you are Princess of the Realm.”

Her gaze snapped to him, and she forgot all about matters of love and marriage. She could not believe what she'd just heard and reeled from the unexpectedness of it. “M-majesty?” she stammered.

He laughed and flicked her cheek with his fingertip. “I am well pleased with you, niece. I find you worthy in all respects.”

Her throat was suddenly so full she could not find her voice. It had come at last. Just when she'd nearly given up, all she'd dreamed of and longed for was finally happening. It seemed like a dream, yet Verence was touching her shoulders in official blessing, and the courtiers present looked on in solemn witness.

There would be a royal investiture, she thought in a daze. A ceremony of tremendous pomp. She would be given a small crown, and the church would bless her publicly.

She was so breathless with awe and joy that she felt faint. Yet she realized the king was no longer speaking. Somehow, she must regain her wits and find her tongue.

“Majesty, I shall do my best to honor and fulfill all—”

He laughed again, cutting off her confused speech with a gesture of satisfaction. “Yes, yes, dear princess. You may say all that later. Rise now and give me your full attention, for there is a little condition that goes with this honor.”

Some of her soaring happiness checked, and she grew wary as she rose to her feet. “Indeed, sire?”

“What say you to Lervan as husband and consort?”
Verence asked. “I find it a good match, and 'twill solve the problem of these little factions that have sprung up in recent months.”

“Consort, sire?” she asked carefully, trying to keep her wits about her. “Not joint monarch?”

Lervan's gaze narrowed at her question. Something unreadable flashed across his face.

“Consort,” Verence replied, and smiled at Lervan.

The young lord smiled back at him with a bow.

Pheresa wondered if Verence had noticed the disappointment in Lervan's face, so swiftly concealed. It seemed not. Well, let him be disappointed, she thought with a new surge of confidence. Lervan was getting a generous prize indeed, more perhaps than he deserved, and he need not be greedy. The power and position so suddenly bestowed on her made her feel giddy. She studied Lervan through new eyes, aware that if they married, she would always outrank him. The supremacy in the marriage would be hers, not the reverse, and this pleased her. A year ago, when she'd hoped to win Gavril's notice, she'd prepared herself to live in submission to a man she did not love. Now, 'twould be Lervan's duty to please
her
, and in these circumstances she believed he could. His charm glowed at her, his eyes laughing as they stared into hers with open admiration. Liking the way he looked at her, she felt a new blush heat her face.

If she wanted the throne, she must take Lervan, she thought. The king had made that clear. Well, the decision was not difficult. When the day came that she was queen, Pheresa told herself, she alone would rule. And the most charming, affable, free-spirited man at court would be her husband.

It gave her a very good feeling indeed.

She smiled with a sudden radiance that made all the men in the room blink and look at her with new attention.

Lervan seemed particularly dazzled. “Beautiful,” he whispered.

Her smile grew even brighter, and she turned it on the king. “I am honored and delighted by your majesty's wishes. Naturally I agree.”

“Splendid.” A visibly delighted Verence took her hand and placed it in Lervan's. His touch was very warm, and she swallowed a little convulsively. He stirred her. She need not deny it.

“What say you, Lervan?” the king demanded.

Blinking as though roused from a dream, Lervan tore his gaze away from Pheresa's face. He bowed deeply, his finger sliding playfully along her palm. “Your majesty has rendered me the happiest, and most grateful, of subjects.”

Verence nodded. “Then it is settled. The announcement will be made tonight, and we'll banquet past dawn. Let the feasting and celebrations begin!”

The officials gathered around, in a babble of noise, to wish them joy.

Lindier kissed Pheresa's cheek. “The perfect settlement, a solution earnestly wished for. My deepest felicitations, daughter.”

“Will you tell Mama?”

He looked disconcerted, but before he could answer Verence shot them both a wicked little smile. “The king will inform his sister of the news in private. Her tantrum will be like a tempest, spouted with much fury, but quickly spent. Thod willing, she may even leave court for a while and give us all peace.”

Pheresa felt less confident that her mother would recover quickly from disappointment, but she was glad she would not have to face Dianthelle.

Lervan, busy accepting bows and good wishes, now leaned close to her ear. “Let us escape, my beauty, and run away to the gardens.”

She caught her breath at his audacity, marveling that he would flirt with her in front of both the king and her father. But they looked indulgent, and the king nodded his permission.

“Come,” Lervan said. “If we may be excused, sire?”

“Use my private garden, but tarry not too long,” the king told him.

They hastened for the door with more speed than Pheresa considered dignified.

She glanced back, and found Talmor, looking more serious than usual, following her. Lervan frowned at her protector. “We've no need of you, sir. She is safe with me this day.”

“Come to the gardens in a half hour, when we are finished with our stroll,” Pheresa told Talmor, conscious of the other men's little grins to each other. “You may escort me back at that time.”

Talmor bowed in the silent obedience proper for a protector, but the deep disapproval in his eyes gave her a momentary qualm. Was there something amiss with Lervan, something she should know?

Nay, there could not be, she told herself. Of course, Lervan was a silly man, given to too much laughter and song, but did she not deserve the reward of both? Was it not time, finally, to make merry and enjoy herself? She felt ready to seize life with both hands.

Lervan whispered an outrageous compliment that made her laugh aloud. Pushing the last of her doubts aside, she hurried off with him, and did not look back.

Sitting in bed, Pheresa nibbled at the delectable breakfast pastries without much appetite. This was supposed to be a joyous morning, filled with happiness, but it was not. She felt angry and disappointed, and could not persuade herself to stop caring.

Lervan had a new mistress.

It was not yet public knowledge, but soon the gossip would spread, yet again, and soon she would have to pretend to ignore it,
yet again.

Her hand clenched on her spoon in an urge to throw it across the room. Damn the man. If only they hated each other, everything would then be simple. They could go their separate ways, keep to their separate friends and activities, and expect nothing from each other but civil courtesy on state occasions when they had to appear as a couple.

But, alas, she did not hate her husband. In fact, she liked him too well, longed for him too much, missed his absences
too often. And he—sunny of temper, blessed with endless charm—brought a warmth and happiness to her life that she had never achieved on her own. She needed him, and craved his company, for he gave her something she'd been starved for all her life. But although her feelings ran deep, it seemed that Lervan's were shallow. He was equally delighted to be with her or with any other woman who caught his fancy.

Lady Carolie came bustling in, sparkling with happiness in a pretty blue gown that matched her eyes. “Good morning, your highness!” she sang out as she curtsied. “ 'Tis cool at last. No more of that wicked heat, Tomias be thanked. Will you—”

“Not now,” Pheresa said, shoving her breakfast tray aside. None of the food pleased her. She looked at Carolie, so happy in her own marriage, already the mother of a fine little boy. At her throat sparkled a beautiful yellow diamond, a gift from her doting husband.

Sour bitterness filled Pheresa's heart. Had Lervan showered her with gifts, now that she finally carried his heir? Nay, not he. At last night's banquet, given by a delighted King Verence to honor the royal baby to come, Lervan had smirked and preened and accepted congratulations as though he were the happiest man in the realm. He'd made a show of kissing Pheresa's hand, of choosing the daintiest morsels for her to eat. He'd told jokes, laughed loud and long, and sent her fatuous smiles. Fuming on the inside, smiling serenely on the outside, Pheresa resented his hypocrisy. In truth, after two years of marriage and frustration, she was breeding only because she'd been forced to consult an old crone in an out-of-the-way herbalist shop. Then she'd set about the humiliating course of seducing her own husband, winning him to her bed the night of the Harvest Ball. Oh, he was passionate that night, all she could wish for. His kisses were sweet, and his endearments tender. Lying in his arms in the dark, she'd dreamed of conquering his capricious heart and commanding his faithfulness at last.

But within days, he had strayed again, and despite his sweet compliments and passionate embraces, Lervan had not shared her bed these many weeks since.

Now he had a new mistress. The thought of it made Pheresa's stomach curdle.

“Why the frown, highness?” Lady Carolie asked. She gestured for Pheresa's tray to be removed, and her lovely violet-blue eyes took note of what was eaten and what was not. “Have you no appetite? 'Tis said the stomach misery is a sign of a hale and healthy child.”

“My misery has naught to do with the babe,” Pheresa said. She knew she sounded cross and petulant, emotions she seldom betrayed, but this morning she did not feel like pretending. She was tired of the insults Lervan dealt her. “There are other problems which beset me today.”

Sympathy crossed Carolie's face. She smoothed her hand across the rumpled silk coverlet. “I know, highness. I am so sorry.”

Dismay filled Pheresa. She stared at Carolie, hating her friend's pity as much as she felt grateful for her understanding. But if Carolie knew, the whole court knew.

“I hate him!” Pheresa burst out, her throat choked with tears.

“Oh, my sweet lady, do not distress yourself so. He is a man, and men exist to break women's hearts.”

“Your husband does not treat you so ill.”

A strange look crossed Carolie's face. “I am much blessed, your highness. But then, I married to please myself with no duty to fulfill.”

Pheresa's frown deepened. “Sometimes duty is poor comfort.”

“Of course, your highness. But this is only a flirtation. No one believes him to be serious. After all, he obviously adores your highness.”

“Does he?” Pheresa mused aloud. “I wonder.”

“Oh, but he does,” Carolie reassured her. “I have seen the way he looks at you. There is such tenderness in his eyes, such affection.” She sighed. “He is such a handsome man, is he not? So manly. He cannot help but draw the eye of every lady present in whatever company he joins. But his feelings for your highness are too obvious to be mistaken.”

Pheresa pleated the coverlet between her fingers, unable to meet Carolie's eyes lest she betray her hunger to hear more assurances. Although she wanted to believe whatever lies she was told, Pheresa could not blind herself to the truth forever.

He had never before dallied with any one woman this long.

A mere flirtation was not the same as taking a mistress. She did not know which was worse, her hatred of his infidelity, especially when she was finally expecting his child, or her humiliation in not being woman enough to keep him from straying.

“Do not weep,” Carolie said, as Pheresa bowed her head, her shoulders shaking. “Please, your highness. It is foolish to distress yourself. It means nothing. You know that.”

“I know nothing of the kind,” Pheresa said harshly. “The woman's name is Hedrina. What have you heard of her?”

“Almost nothing.” Carolie fetched a comb and began gently to run it through Pheresa's unbound hair. “ 'Tis said she's dark, not fair, and comely enough but not out of the ordinary.”

“Do not lie to me.”

“I repeat only what is said.”

Frowning, Pheresa compressed her lips. According to her spy's report, Hedrina was the niece of some obscure baron. Newly arrived, she was living in town, and not yet received at court. She was described as a stunning beauty, lush and curvaceous, with masses of black hair and eyes of darkest blue. The report said that Lervan had met her at a noble's house in Savroix-en-Charva immediately after the Harvest Ball, and that he had remained captivated by her since.

Anger flashed through Pheresa. She pulled the comb from Carolie's hand and threw it across the room. “My robes, quickly!” she ordered. “I will dress.”

Carolie ran to throw open the doors to Pheresa's sitting room. She summoned servants and issued orders while Pheresa climbed out of bed and began her morning toilette. By the time Pheresa had bathed and been dried by Oola, the ladies of the wardrobe and ladies of the bedchamber had
assembled themselves in line by order of importance behind Carolie, who served as first lady in waiting.

The ceremony had never seemed to take so long, Pheresa thought, fuming inwardly. Laughter rippled through the room, and she winced before forcing a smile so they would not guess anything was amiss.

But Carolie knew, and some of the others did as well. Pheresa caught their speculative glances. Some pitied her. Others enjoyed her disquiet. Pheresa longed to scream at them all.

Hurry! Hurry!
she wanted to say.
Finish your duties, and let me go.

But she could say no such thing. She'd always believed it an unseemly abuse of privilege to denigrate her courtiers or behave discourteously in their presence. But today, she felt she would burst if she did not speak to Lervan immediately. She would have it out with him, she decided. No hinting, no polite civility. She seldom exercised her higher rank to bring him to heel, but she knew now that she'd made a mistake in giving him too much freedom.

“Enough,” she said, twitching her skirts from Oola's hands. She glanced at her reflection in the looking glass, then turned to her attendants. “Thank you,” she said.

It was the formal dismissal she always used. They curtsied and filed out with rustles of silk and little clackings of their slippers.

Pheresa barely waited for the door to close behind them. “Summon a page,” she said to Lady Carolie. “I wish to speak to Duc Lervan immediately. Tell him to meet me in the—”

“Your highness has forgotten,” Carolie interrupted softly. “His grace is hunting today with the king.”

Remembrance of the appointment slowly quelled Pheresa's temper. She walked over to her windows and gazed out across the gardens, which were ablaze with late-summer flowers. Far away, sentries marched atop the walls, and a flock of sparrows flew suddenly past her window to land in the stone gutter and squabble. Her eyes filled with stinging tears. Without even
trying, Lervan could make a fool of her. Why did she let him, she asked herself bitterly.
Why?

To occupy her morning, she wrote a brief message to Lervan, requesting him to come to her as soon as he returned from hunting. Then she set about reading her correspondence and sorting out which letters were to be saved, which answered promptly, and which ignored. Taking up her pen once more, she wrote to her mother, informing Dianthelle of the happy event and asking her to stop spreading rumors that Pheresa was barren.

Following a midday meal, Pheresa set forth on the daily walk her physician had prescribed. She chose to stroll the eastern gardens, which had been redesigned to please her. The paths meandered between beds of blooming flowers, and bees droned in the warm, still air.

Her entourage of courtiers accompanied her, the women chattering, the men talking with equal idleness. There was a laziness to the day that soothed Pheresa's tension. Autumn was coming. The astrinas were nearly spent, and some had already gone to seed, much to the delight of tiny, yellow-and-black birds who clung precariously to the fragile stems and gorged themselves on seed heads. The sunlight shone golden and soft. She slowed her pace, relaxing in the peacefulness of this mellow afternoon, and thought of her baby. What would he be like, if he were born a man-child? Would he be strong of body and foolish of heart, like his father? Would he be nervous and far too serious, like his mother? What would his life be like in all the years to come? She smiled to herself, indulging in daydreams of a little boy with golden curls running to sit on the king's knee, teasing sweets from the palace cooks, racing his pony across the grounds with a dog bounding behind. Or would this child be a daughter, slender and solemn-eyed, her nose buried in scrolls of poetry and adventure?

There would be other children, Pheresa told herself with steely determination. She would see to that. What was important now was to remember how good her life was. She needed to consider her many blessings and dwell less on her
problems. Lervan could be corrected. She would make sure that this Hedrina creature was never received at court. It could all be dealt with, and life would go on pleasantly.

“Your highness! Make way, there. I must get through to the princess. Your highness!”

Everyone turned in surprise, and Pheresa saw a man, cloaked and spurred, running across the garden toward her. He trampled across the flower beds, first annoying, then alarming her.

Sir Talmor stepped slightly in front of Pheresa, vigilant as always, but by now she saw that the messenger wore the insignia of a king's equerry.

“Let him through,” she said.

The man was out of breath. Little rivulets of sweat ran down his face, and he looked white with shock. As he knelt and lifted his eyes to hers, she saw that he'd been crying. Something inside her grew still and frozen.

“Speak quickly,” she said. “What news do you bring?”

“Your highness,” he gasped out. “The king . . . the king is dead.”

She heard his words clearly, with no mistake, yet they made no sense to her. Around her, everyone stood silent in shock, and in the distance she heard a keeback's plaintive
kee
 . . .
kee
 . . .
kee
through the forest. It was so strange that she should be able to hear a small sound like that, so far away, while everything here close to her seemed muffled and silenced.

The messenger bowed his head. “Oh, Thod!” he cried in anguish. “What a black day this is.”