“Yes, but nobody else died! Goff was sick, of course—many of us were—but she could have been looking at a massacre! Was she just counting on the fact that Bryan would eat more of that particular dish than anyone else would? That’s too chancy even to be credible.”
“She was counting on him refusing to drink the water,” I said in almost inaudible tones.
“She was—” Kent stopped abruptly and frowned at me. “Bryan hasn’t drunk the castle water for four or five years.”
I nodded. “So, that is where she mixed the antidote. It has no color or flavor. She could have poured gallons of ginyese into the water barrels and none of us would have known.”
“Yes. I see. Of course. Many people ate the poison, but only one did not also take the antidote. Very clever.” He shook his head. “Very chancy still. Very—” He shook his head again. “It takes a woman with an absolutely iron will to accomplish a task as desperate as that.”
“I could not do it,” I said.
“I am glad to hear it,” he said. “Nor could I.” We both sipped at our cider a moment, mulling things over. “But still,” he said. “How did she obtain the poison? How did she learn about the antidotes? That was the reason I stayed silent, you know.”
“What was?” I asked, totally bewildered.
He pointed at me across the table. “Who at that castle knew more about herbs and elixirs than you? If the word ‘poison’ was to be bandied about, you would have been the first one to be suspected. I was glad my father banished you so quickly. I wanted you safely away.”
I smiled faintly at that. “I’m afraid she learned of the poison from me, though I never guessed that she would use the knowledge in such a way,” I said. “One night I was describing for her all the contents of my satchel, and halen root was one of the herbs we discussed. It’s a poison, though it has many other uses. I’m sure I mentioned that it could be bought in any apothecary’s shop in Faelyn Market.”
He was frowning. “She spent some time in Faelyn Market—”
“I know. A few weeks before her wedding. She told me in a letter how she shopped for days on end. I just did not realize what she was picking up at the bazaars.”
“Does she know that you suspect her?” he asked.
“I haven’t said so,” I replied. “I doubt if I ever will.”
He nodded. “So, you see,” he said in a conversational tone of voice, “why I was not eager to marry your sister. I did not want to be poisoned on my wedding night. Or, indeed, at any time.”
I forced myself to smile. “And yet the king must marry.”
“And traditionally he has taken his bride from the house of Halsing.”
I just looked at him.
“You,” he added, “are the only marriageable daughter of the house of Halsing that I can think of.”
I continued to stare.
“So, I have come here today to ask you to be my wife.”
I watched him another long moment in silence. He did not seem particularly uncomfortable under my searching gaze. He did not fidget or look away; he did not even seem nervous. He gazed back at me, his own expression serious and considering, and waited for my answer.
“That’s not a good enough reason,” I said finally.
A slight smile softened his face. “What, tradition? No, I suppose you’re right. For you it is not.”
“It is not good enough for you, either,” I said. “I’m baseborn. That’s hardly a traditional match for the king.”
“Yes, and there will be a certain consternation when I ride back to the castle to announce our betrothal,” he said, as if I had actually accepted him. “My father will—”
“Your father!” I exclaimed, because, for a minute, I had forgotten Lord Matthew. “He has banned me from the court for life!”
Kent was grinning. “Yes, that’s why I waited till after my coronation to propose to you. Now that I am king, I can reinstate anyone I choose. I can order my father to welcome you, and he will have to do so.”
I smiled somewhat bitterly. “Your father would never welcome me at the court. And I have no desire to return there. Do you think I miss it? Do you think I long for its pomp and pageantry—its intrigues? I don’t. Never. Not a single day. I am happy here.”
He was studying me much as I had studied him earlier. “That is not the right reason to refuse me any more than tradition is the right reason for me to propose,” he said slowly. “I was the prince’s heir—I have lived my whole life under the shadow of politics. I have seen every friendship, every marriage, every alliance of any kind forged because of expediency. I had assumed that my own life would be bounded by such considerations. I could make my father happy by marrying Megan of Tregonia tomorrow—or Liza of Veledore, whom he also favors.
“But I am king,” he said, even more slowly. “And the well-being of my kingdom depends on my sound judgment and clear head. And those things depend on my state of happiness. And I have known for a long time that my state of happiness depends on you.”
He leaned forward across the table, suddenly urgent and intense. “I was a man long before I was king, and I fell in love with you,” he said. “If I was a farmer in Cotteswold, I would want you beside me to help me run the business and raise the children and get the livestock ready to ship to Faelyn Market. I would want you beside me because I love you and my life would be so much harder without you in it. Now that I am king, I want you beside me to help me outmaneuver my viceroys and sit in on judgments and debate declarations of war. I admit, the job is harder. But it is essentially the same job. To live with a man and share his life with him and love him and have him love you back. You do not decide first if you want to live in a village or a court. You decide if that is the man you want to live with, and then you say yes or no.”
“Yes,” I said, and then looked around to see who had spoken.
Kent sat back, grinning broadly. “Excellent! I will meet your grandmother this afternoon, and we can start back for Auburn tomorrow.”
“Wait,” I said.
“We can wait a few days,” he said agreeably. “I’m sure you have affairs to tie up here and people to say goodbye to—”
“No—I meant—wait. I have not thought about this long enough—”
He tilted his head to one side. “You mean, you are not sure you wish to marry me.”
“I mean, I have not thought of it before now! It did not occur to me as a possibility! You have been plotting for a year, but I was here in the village, getting accustomed to a quiet life—”
“Do you love me?” he asked.
I fell silent.
“For the rest of it is glitter and noise,” he said. “At the heart of it all is love. You make that choice, and you go forward from there.”
I thought of the complex, wicked, brilliant life at court, and wondered if it could really be that simple. I had been happy here for the past year—content, surrounded by friends, touched by few worries. But half of my heart had still been elsewhere. I had lived for the letters from Elisandra, from Angela, telling me stories of the world I had left behind. If Matthew had lifted his ban, I would gladly have returned as the visitor I had once been. Or would I? I had defied Matthew’s machinations before. I did not want to fall victim to them again.
I had no particular desire to be queen. It had not ever occurred to me that it was a role that would come my way. Whatever Kent said, it was not a part that could be separated from the one he offered me—I could not simply be his wife. He was not merely a peasant farmer, counting his bushels of grain and heads of cattle. His life was far more complicated.
But if he were that farmer? Would I marry him, then? Oh, yes, in a heartbeat. To see that kind, serious face every day of my life; to rely on his sweet temper, good heart, and deep sense of responsibility; to have him watch me, attentive and hopeful as he was now, and know I had the power to make his face light with happiness. That was a life I would accept any minute, any day. I could find someone else to love, and he cou
ld find someone else to be queen, but those would be second choices. Those would never be as good as the world could hold.
“I do love you,” I said at last.
“And will you marry me?”
“I will.”
YOU CANNOT IMAGINE the uproar that followed in the next few hours. Elisandra’s wedding had nothing on it for sheer excitement and incredulity. For the king had come to our village to sweep away one of the tavern maids and make her queen. There was simply nothing that could compare to that story. The feasting and congratulations went on all night. I swear every single soul who lived within the village came by at some point to touch my hand and bow to the king. Darbwin could not have been happier if it were solstice all over again. Even the fact that I had worked my last shift did not seem to perturb him, though he insisted on paying me my last set of wages late that evening, while his wife was next door fixing up the best room and the farmers were still buying the king another round.
“Never know when a little extra cash will come in handy,” Darbwin said, laying an additional stack of bills beside the first. “Even the queen needs to buy something now and then that she might not tell her husband about.”
I leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth. “Don’t tell your wife,” I said.
He kissed me back. “Don’t tell the king.”
The next morning, we rode out to visit my grandmother. We were followed by the twelve guardsmen who had accompanied Kent on his mission and who had been waiting outside the tavern while he made his proposal. I was delighted to find, among his escort, several of my old friends, including Cloate and Shorro. Cloate was reserved with me, now that I had attained such high status, but Shorro could not have been more pleased had he been the one elevated to the royal house. He rode beside me for the whole three miles and regaled me with stories of events that had transpired in the past year. I laughed till my sides hurt. Kent gave me a sidelong look, and at one opportune juncture leaned over to whisper, “I think I know how the aliora escaped past the guards that night.” I gave him an innocent look and continued bantering with Shorro.
When the royal entourage pulled up in front of my grandmother’s house, she and her apprentice were out front, fertilizing the garden. They stared, dumbstruck, as the fourteen of us came to a halt. Kent lifted me from the saddle. “King Kentley of Auburn and his bride-to-be!” Shorro bawled out, and the two women dropped hasty curtseys. Kent gave each of them his hand and offered a grave hello. Milette, at least, looked awed into silence. I waited somewhat nervously for my grandmother’s response, however, for she could not always be counted on to behave as one would like.
But she merely accepted Kent’s hand and came to her feet and gave him one of her curt nods. “And if you’re really taking her to wife, you got the best bargain from her mother’s house and her father’s,” was what she said.
“I think so,” Kent replied. Then he followed her into the cottage.
We stayed for an hour, politely drinking tea and talking, though the conversation was strained from the fact that so many of the people in the room had nothing in common with each other. It was a relief to finally stand up and prepare to leave. I was actually a little surprised when my grandmother came over to hug me goodbye.
“I knew you’d never stay to be a witch’s apprentice,” she said in my ear. “He seems good enough, but it’s hard to tell with men. You know you’ve always got a home here if you need it.”
Which was as generous a thing as she’d ever said to me. I hugged her tightly in return and said, “I’ll visit. Often.”
She stepped back. “I know you will,” she said briskly. “Now, do you need any provisions for the road?”
Five minutes later we were on our way.
Back to Castle Auburn, but it would not be the same place it had been when I left a year ago. Bryan was dead—Elisandra was gone—the aliora had disappeared—and I was to be married to the king. Not the same place at all.
Unconsciously I dropped my hand to the saddlebag behind me, where I had packed my satchel with all my herbs. I would need an elixir or two to get me through the next few months, I thought, mentally running through the store of dried plants I had brought with me.
“What are you thinking about?” Kent asked. “You look so purposeful.”
I smiled at him. “The brews I’ll need to mix up to give me the qualities I need at court.”
“What qualities?”
“Courage. Strength. Will.”
“Love,” he said, smiling.
I reached out my hand to him and he took it—no simple maneuver for lovers on horseback. “That I have without a potion,” I said.
He kissed my hand. “So much happiness with so little witchcraft,” he marveled. “Who would have thought it possible?”
I laughed, squeezed his fingers, and would have dropped his hand except that he would not release mine. We rode that way, handfast, for the rest of the trip. It was the shortest and most direct journey I had ever taken in my life.
Epilogue
My own royal wedding was even more lavish than my sister’s, though many of the same people attended and many of the same scenarios played themselves out. I sprinkled myself with nariander for serenity and moved among my guests—my subjects—with a majestic calm. So far, so good.
Gifts arrived from all over the kingdom, exotic and beautiful things—clothes, jewels, tapestries, sculpture, illustrated books, decorative boxes, rare pet animals—too many to count. I opened every box myself, had Daria keep a record of who sent what, and spent the next six months of my life writing gracious letters of acknowledgment.
One box came with my name written on the front but no return address and no card from the sender to be found.
Inside was a box within another box within another, each container progressively smaller and more ornate until the tiny final one appeared to be made of hollowed ivory encrusted with a mosaic of gems. The lid was tied in place with a length of silken cord, and the whole thing weighed practically nothing at all.
I opened it cautiously, and instantly the room was filled with the sweetest of scents. A small mesh bag was nestled inside the box and tied with a red ribbon, and from this bag rose the most delicious and tantalizing medley of spices. I sniffed several times, trying to identify them all. Some were ornamental, for fragrance only, but a few came freighted with a sorcerous significance. For that was surely pansy pat, for true love, and rareweed for fidelity, mingled with the nariander and stiffelbane I used so frequently myself. I took another sniff.
There was something else mingled with the more lighthearted herbs, something gorgeous and foreign and seductive. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. Images of the forest evergreens rose around me in their silent, emerald clamor. I smelled the earth and the trees and the winding, beguiling wild vines, heavy with their summer blossoms. I had a sudden urge to kick off my satin shoes, lift up my heavy embroidered skirts, and run gaily from the castle toward the river, toward the woods.
This was the perfume of Alora, packaged by a master hand, sent to reward me or charm me or mystify me. Who knew? I thought it might be Rowena’s way of saying, more elegantly, what my grandmother had said: If you find you are unhappy with the choice you have made, you will always have a home here. I inhaled again, greedy for that magical scent, that hallucinogenic wash of primeval exuberance. Then I set the lid firmly in place.
“And who shall we be thanking for this lovely gift, my lady?” Daria asked respectfully.
I tied my handkerchief around the little box and carried it to my dresser drawer. It would be safe enough in the very bottom, at the very back, where I would not accidentally come across it more than twice a year.
“Nobody,” I said. “No reply is expected. Come, let us see what we have received from Hennessey of Mellidon and his bride.”
The embroidered silk tablecloth was much more to my taste, and much less problematical. I sat down that very afternoon to thank the couple for their exquisite gift, and signed my
name with the flourish that I had begun to affect: Coriel, Queen of Auburn. It made me smile to write such a ridiculous thing.
But the scent of Alora still lingered in the room, caught in the whorls of my fingertips, perhaps, or sparkling invisibly through the air. I scrubbed my hands three times with the strongest lavender soap, but still the forest smells drifted around me.
“We will finish this tomorrow,” I told Daria, and left the room looking for Kent. I found him fifteen minutes later, reading over his own mail and making a list of people to whom he owed replies. He greeted me with an absent smile, but let me perch on the edge of his chair and run my fingers through his hair while he continued to frown over his correspondence. His rough curls scrubbed away the last clinging scent of Alora; the perfume evaporated into the room. I wrapped my arms around his neck and rested my cheek on the top of his head. I was content.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s Imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Sharon Shinn, Summers at Castle Auburn
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