Queen of the Unwanted Read online

  He patted her hand. “It isn’t my place to disagree. But truly it is for your sake that I would subject your abigail to the inquisitor. We both know that things will not go well for you if the king chooses not to confirm you as abbess.” He squeezed her hand in both of his, the grip almost tight enough to hurt.

  “But it is up to you, dearest,” he said, releasing her hand and sitting back. “If you’d rather save Sister Melred the torment, then I will say nothing to the king about her vision.”

  Mairah swallowed hard. She was fairly sure Jalzarnin had just neatly sidestepped her question, for she still saw no sign that he felt any remorse or reluctance to order the torture of a young woman who had done nothing to deserve it. And he was also neatly shoving all the burden of responsibility onto her shoulders rather than his own.

  If Sister Melred was to be tortured, it would be because of Mairah’s decision, and for all Jalzarnin’s seeming compassion toward her, he did not make any attempt to ease her conscience.

  “With the king’s temper as it is,” Jalzarnin said, “I’m not sure your tenure as abbess will last the full six months if you do not show progress. You are too famous, my dear, and there are those in the city who find your elevation…unseemly. The king’s ability to ignore their grumbling lessens the longer you fail to show progress.”

  “All right, already!” she snapped, folding her arms in a defensive gesture. “I understand what’s at stake.”

  “So you would like me to bring this vision to the king’s attention?”

  Hating the feeling that she was being manipulated, Mairah grunted something vaguely like agreement. Her conscience would trouble her for a time, but she was certain she would get over it. And when she was abbess for good, she would find a way to make it up to poor Sister Melred.

  * * *

  —

  Alys looked around in awe as Gracelin led her through the small grove of saplings that had sprung up in little more than two months’ time. The sturdy, healthy-looking little trees were already waist-high, their dark green leaves plump with moisture. Beside her, Gracelin beamed like a proud mama.

  “They’re already larger than the seedlings that were confiscated at the border,” she said. “I would have thought these yearlings if I hadn’t planted the seeds with my own two hands.”

  Alys reached out and stroked one of the plants. There were only twenty of them—but that was twenty more Aalwood trees than could be found anywhere outside of Aaltah. This once-dead land had proven to be extraordinarily fertile since the Well appeared out of nowhere, and even without the help of growth potions, trees and plants seemed to grow faster than they did elsewhere.

  “How long before these trees are old enough to produce seeds and be harvested?” she asked, trying to contain her excitement. If Women’s Well could supply its own Aalwood—and thereby have access to Aal—they could become much more self-sufficient. She smiled to think how Delnamal would react when he discovered that Aaltah was no longer the only place where those precious trees could grow.

  Gracelin shrugged, then put her hands on her hips and looked around. “If we were in Aaltah and had none of the special growth potions, it’d be about fifteen to twenty years before they’d be mature enough to start seeding.”

  That dampened Alys’s happy glow. “So long?”

  Gracelin grinned. Her face glowed with health and happiness, a far cry from the gaunt and worried visage she’d worn when Alys had first met her. “Aalwood trees are pretty fast-growing, actually. An oak tree doesn’t start producing acorns until it’s around forty. But I’ve seen some young oaks near the Well, and I can guarantee you that if they keep growing at the rate they have been, they’ll be mature in far less than forty years. Add growth potions to the magic of the Well, and…” She made a sweeping gesture with her arm. “I wouldn’t be entirely shocked if they started seeding by next fall. I think the Mother is trying to make up for lost time and bring this land fully to life as quickly as possible.”

  If Gracelin was right, Women’s Well might be producing fliers to trade within a year, considering how little Aalwood was needed to make one. They could never compete with Aaltah in volume, but they could conceivably drive down the price of Aaltah’s most vital trade goods. She might not be able to strike at Delnamal directly—yet—but small victories like this one could be the key to ultimately dethroning him.

  Alys considered the woman who only a month prior had been a helpless widowed commoner with only the most dire prospects for herself and her son, and she knew the shocking decision she had made—the decision even her open-minded council had initially balked at—was the right one.

  “Your service to the Principality of Women’s Well has been of incalculable value already,” Alys said.

  Gracelin curtsied deeply. “Thank you, Your Royal Highness.”

  “I had promised you a land grant if your seeds took root, but I now find a land grant is insufficient thanks.”

  Gracelin’s eyes widened, and there was no missing the sudden trepidation that shot through her. The poor woman was used to being mistreated by those whom she served, and she clearly worried that the land grant would be denied and replaced by something that was of no practical use to her—as had happened when she’d received her husband’s final wages in the form of seeds and seedlings.

  “I will arrange a formal investiture ceremony, but I have already written up the papers to name you Baroness Gracelin in your own right, with a commensurate land grant.”

  Gracelin gaped at her in much the same way her council had gaped at her when she’d first stated her intention. It was certainly not unheard of for a commoner who had rendered extraordinary service to the Crown to be granted a title and thereby enter into the ranks of the minor gentry, but as far as Alys and the rest of her council knew, this was the first such honor to be bestowed upon a woman.

  “You shall be Lady Gracelin henceforth, and your son will be baron after you. Or if you so wish, you may change your name and your son’s to the noble style.”

  “Change my name?” Gracelin whispered breathlessly.

  “It is customary for a commoner to change his name—and the names of his wife and children—when invested with a title. Though I must admit, I rather like your current name,” Alys added with a smile. “It seems to embody both your old life and your new one. Perhaps you can choose a similar styling for your son. Add an elemental suffix so that you may keep calling him Forest and yet signify his new status with his formal name.”

  The look on Gracelin’s face said she was not fully comprehending Alys’s words, that she was still too shocked by the unexpected pronouncement to think clearly.

  “You needn’t make any decisions now,” Alys said gently. “The investiture ceremony will not take place for at least a month, and that will be the time to declare your new names if you choose.”

  Gracelin shook her head. “I…I don’t know what to say.”

  “You needn’t say anything, Lady Gracelin. I mean for Women’s Well to be a land of opportunity, especially for women. I see no reason to treat a woman’s service to the Crown as something less significant than a man’s. And as I mean to pass the throne of Women’s Well to my son, I see no reason why other women should not be allowed to pass their own lands and titles to their children just as men would.”

  Her royal council had all agreed that her reasoning was sound, but the decision made many of them uncomfortable even so. “I’ve heard some grumbling on the streets,” Jailom had warned her. “Men saying that they are being supplanted by women here. They worry that there is no place for them in Women’s Well, that they are an afterthought. Granting a woman a title in her own right will only play into that fear. I believe it’s the right thing to do, but you must do it with your eyes open.”

  Alys was well aware there was some risk involved with this precedent. But she was also aware that people came to Women’s
Well because it was different, and that the men who most hated and feared women would have no interest in settling here in the first place.

  Gracelin swallowed hard. “I imagine there are those who will be…unhappy with the situation. Who will think I am getting above myself if I claim to be a baroness.”

  “I’m sure there will be,” Alys agreed. “Jealousy and resentment and resistance to change are all part of human nature, I’m afraid. But whatever resistance there may be, people come to Women’s Well because they want their lives to change. With you, I will demonstrate to all that ours is a new land with new rules.”

  And, she hoped, those who were currently too frightened to pass through Delnamal’s roadblocks would find the incentive they needed to make the leap of faith. Her motives for bestowing this title on Gracelin went beyond simply rewarding a new and useful citizen for her service.

  The roadblocks showed that Delnamal was unhappy with the defection of even his poorest and most downtrodden people, and anything that made Delnamal unhappy brightened Alys’s day. So she would do everything in her power to lure more of them away. Every little nibble would weaken Delnamal’s position, deplete his labor force and the pool of able-bodied men and boys who could be conscripted into his army should his plans for war come to fruition. From what she could tell—which was unfortunately little, for Women’s Well had no spy network to speak of—Delnamal was already a less-than-popular king, and she imagined his landowners would begin to grumble if their laborers suddenly had more appealing options than accepting whatever pittance they were offered.

  Dethroning Delnamal with dozens of small diplomatic and economic cuts was perhaps not the most exciting and stirring of fantasies. Alys still dreamed of a more spectacular triumph, one that led to his death at her hands or by her order. But until such a time as she could make her fantasies come true, she would settle for the petty torments that might someday chisel his throne out from under him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Jalzarnin was not in the least surprised by the king’s fierce scowl, and he wondered once again if he was being a fool for allowing Mairah to persuade him to make this ridiculous proposal. Oh, there were sound doctrinal reasons why it made sense to heed the unfortunate seer’s vision. Jalzarnin was under no illusion that Mairah had made her arguments from a position of faith, but once the royal inquisitor had thoroughly examined Sister Melred and declared that the vision was genuine, Jalzarnin had been convinced that sending Mairah and Sister Norah to Women’s Well was the right thing to do. Just as he’d known that the king would not like the suggestion, no matter how much sense it might make.

  “You realize you are asking me to treat with that daughter of a whore who has the audacity to declare herself a sovereign princess, do you not?” the king growled, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest as if to ward off the very thought.

  Jalzarnin bowed his head respectfully. “I do, Your Majesty. And I assure you I am just as appalled as you are by the very idea of it.” Although he was truthfully more appalled at how much risk he put himself in by bringing the king a proposal that was not to his liking.

  In the beginning, his attempt to install Mairahsol as abbess and establish his own personal spy network had seemed worth the risk. And when he had succeeded in convincing the king to appoint her—even temporarily—he’d believed the danger had passed. He might suffer some stain on his reputation—and a reduction in the king’s trust—if Mairah failed to justify her right to the office, but he could use any information she’d gathered for him to make sure any would-be rivals were thoroughly discredited before they could so much as make eyes at his seat on the royal council.

  Everything had changed when Mairahsol had revealed that some of the abigails under her command were Mother of All worshippers. By associating himself so strongly with the Abbey, Jalzarnin had inadvertently put himself in a terrible position. If the king were ever to discover that a group of heretics had been worshipping their false goddess right under his nose…Well, the consequences were unthinkable. He and Mairah both might even be questioned by the royal inquisitor, so tainted would they be by the association.

  But if there was one thing Jalzarnin knew about Mairahsol Rah-Creesha, it was that she would do anything to avenge any perceived wrongs. If the king stripped her of the office of abbess, if he made her feel as if she had no hope of being confirmed, there was no telling what she might do. At this moment, when she saw in Jalzarnin a wholehearted ally and coconspirator, she had clearly not put any thought into what might happen if the news of Norah’s little following came out, but if she found herself cornered, it would occur to her how damaging that information could be to Jalzarnin himself.

  “Common sense tells us these women have made up this ridiculous story because they have been seduced by the idea of a principality where they would not be secluded in an abbey,” the king opined. “They want the Crown to finance their escape, and they will disappear the moment they set foot outside of Khalpar.”

  Jalzarnin refrained from pointing out that the seer had not claimed to see herself in Women’s Well. Even if she had falsified the vision, it would not have been for the sake of engineering an escape. He met the king’s eyes with an expression he hoped was both earnest and entirely innocent. “That is why I suggested the abigail be so thoroughly questioned before giving her vision any credence. Please believe that I would never advocate sending these abigails to Women’s Well if I did not believe it would serve the will of the Creator.”

  The king’s scowl only deepened. “I cannot comprehend how the Creator would want this! That woman who calls herself sovereign princess will not simply allow two of our Unwanted Women into her territory without demanding significant inducement. Not after we so forcefully rejected her overtures. Do you seriously mean to tell me the Creator wishes us not only to negotiate with her but to bribe her into allowing our abbess access to that abomination of a Well?”

  Jalzarnin lifted his hands in a helpless gesture. “It is not for we mortals to comprehend the will of the gods. Ours is merely to obey. And surely if granting our abbess access to the Well will allow her to reverse the Curse, it is worth the temporary discomfort we might feel at pretending acceptance of a principality that will soon be destroyed in the aftermath.”

  The king thought for a long time, every nuance of his facial expression and body language showing how much he wanted to reject Jalzarnin’s proposal out of hand. Jalzarnin realized he was holding his breath and forced himself to relax.

  The king was too devout to disobey the Creator’s wishes, even when obedience involved a certain amount of personal discomfort.

  “How sure are you that the visions these seers claim to have are truly granted by the Mother?” the king asked, fixing Jalzarnin with one of his sharpest, most appraising looks. “The Devotional never actually says that’s the case.”

  Jalzarnin almost answered with a careless affirmative, but he paused before the words left his mouth. The Devotional made scant reference to the visions of seers, and it was only through inference and interpretation that the visions were believed to be sent by the Mother. The king could likely recite the entire tome by heart, having read the thing more times than any priest Jalzarnin had ever known.

  “The priesthood concerns itself little with women’s magic,” he answered carefully, “of which these visions are but one example. I can cite several scholarly works that address the question, and the consensus has always been that the visions are the Mother’s doing.”

  The king nodded. Knowing him, he’d likely read all the scholarly works ever written about the Devotional—at least all the ones that did not contain any heretical theories. “So you are willing to stake your reputation on that being the case? Because if I send the abbess to Women’s Well, and she does not reverse the Curse, you can rest assured that you will no longer hold the office of lord high priest.”

  Jalzarnin
swallowed hard. How had he allowed himself to get in this deep? He did believe that the scholars were correct in their interpretation of the Devotional, and therefore he had to believe that sending Mairah and Norah to Women’s Well was the Creator’s will. It was his duty not only as the lord high priest but as a man of faith to do the Creator’s will at all times. But to risk the ignominy of being dismissed from the royal council, of being demoted back to just an ordinary priest? Did he have the faith to do that?

  The king watched him closely as he wrestled with the warring dictates of his ambition and his faith. Finally, he sighed.

  “I will stake my reputation on it,” he said, trying to ignore the trepidation the words spawned.

  In the end, it was not his faith that led him to make this declaration. It was the sure and certain knowledge that if he refused, he would eventually have to either suffer Mairah’s revenge or kill her to protect himself. Neither possibility was tolerable.

  “Very well, then,” the king said, still looking decidedly unconvinced. “Be sure to inform our abbess that she will not be sent unchaperoned, and that she will not be given any opportunity to slip away. If she fails to reverse the Curse, she will return to Khalpar to face a treason charge. If knowing that, she still wants to go to Women’s Well, then we will find some way to get her there.”

  * * *

  —

  “Why are you not dead?” Ellin asked Zarsha in a flat, dead voice. Of all the things she’d imagined Zarsha might be hiding, having fathered a child on his uncle’s wife was not one of them. “Prince Waldmir obviously knows the child is not his, and he doesn’t seem like the sentimental sort who would spare you from a treason charge.” Or his wife, for that matter. Waldmir had already executed one of his wives, so he obviously did not scruple to do so.