Queen of the Unwanted Page 32

  “But that risk would be worth taking, for all our sakes, wouldn’t you say?” Kailee asked.

  Chanlix could not help but agree.

  * * *

  —

  Princess Alysoon understandably had a full social calendar on top of all her official duties, and Shelvon had debated whether to request an audience at the town hall or attempt to find a more informal setting during which to talk to the sovereign princess. Having never thought herself particularly skilled at the art of court maneuvering, Shelvon had settled on an official audience, and been granted one almost immediately.

  She curtsied deeply as soon as she was shown into Alysoon’s office, her heart hammering in her throat. “Your Royal Highness,” she said in greeting, hoping her nerves did not show in her face or voice, though she feared that might be the case.

  “Come in, Shelvon,” Alysoon said with a welcoming smile that Shelvon read as entirely sincere.

  For as long as she had lived in Women’s Well, Shelvon had studied her former sister-in-law’s face for any sign that she might have overstayed her welcome. Now, she also looked for hints that her father had made good on his threat and demanded Alysoon send her “home.”

  But Alysoon seemed pleased to see her, crossing the room and even offering a quick and obviously affectionate embrace. Shelvon had to resist the urge to cling, for she had known very little true affection over the course of her life.

  Alysoon’s smile faded when she pulled away. “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  Shelvon forced a smile and tried to shake off her sense of foreboding. If the sovereign princess were thinking of shipping her back to Nandel, surely some sign of that would show in her bearing or tone.

  “No, ma’am,” Shelvon said. “Everything’s fine.”

  “How many times have I asked you to call me Alys when we’re in private?” the sovereign princess scolded gently. “You are my sister in my heart, and that has nothing to do with your marriage to Delnamal.”

  Some of the tension left Shelvon’s shoulders. Sometimes, it was impossible to imagine that the princess could be as kindly disposed to Shelvon as it seemed. Even knowing that she had had no choice in marrying Delnamal, Shelvon herself felt guilty and tarnished by the association. How could Alys look past that with such ease?

  And yet, although Shelvon was sure Alys was more than capable of deception, she found herself believing her.

  “Thank you, ma’am—” Shelvon cleared her throat. “Thank you, Alys.”

  Alys smiled at her once more, then frowned slightly as she glanced around her office, which was very clearly laid out for formal discussions of business, not social interactions. The only places to sit were the chairs around the desk. Instead of retreating to the comfort of her usual chair behind the desk, Alys turned the two chairs in front of it to face each other, then sat in one and indicated Shelvon should take the other.

  “I gather you’re here for some official business,” Alys said, “because surely you know that you can call on me socially.” She gave a self-deprecating shrug. “Within the natural constraints of my schedule, of course.”

  “Yes, of course,” Shelvon said, though she was pretty sure she was blushing. Even when she’d been the Queen of Aaltah, Shelvon had never felt comfortable presuming to call on people socially. She was about as unsocial a creature as existed, her tongue always tied in knots. She was well aware that the people of Aaltah considered Nandelites to be little more than barbarians, and everything about her—from her blond hair to the guttural accent she had never managed to shake to her skin that was noticeably pale even when tanned by the sun—screamed her Nandel heritage.

  Shelvon shifted uncomfortably and tried for a rueful smile. “You may be aware that social engagements have never been my strong suit.”

  “I’m well aware that others have made you feel that way,” Alys replied staunchly. “But I like to think that you and I have gotten on just fine in the past.” She leaned forward and put her hand on top of Shelvon’s, giving it a squeeze. “You can call on me, Shelvon. Whenever you like.”

  Shelvon feared she might burst into tears, for it was true that Alys had never treated her like a barbarian, nor had she seemed annoyed by her former sister-in-law’s awkward and halting conversational skills. Shelvon would do anything necessary to cement her place here in Women’s Well, because the idea of being sent back to Nandel was unthinkable. Despite her fears, despite her discomfort with her confusing social status, despite her uncertainty over what her future would bring, Shelvon was happier adrift here in Women’s Well than she had ever been before in her life, and she would not give it up without a fight.

  “Thank you, Alys,” she said again. “But I do actually have official business to discuss, so scheduling an audience seemed appropriate.”

  Alys nodded and leaned back in her chair. “Very well, then. What official business shall we talk about?”

  Shelvon bit her lip, aware that the request she wished to make was wildly improper. So much so that she couldn’t force herself to blurt it out without preamble. “There have been quite a number of weddings here in Women’s Well since we declared our independence,” she ventured.

  Alys cocked her head, her gaze intensifying. Shelvon suspected the sovereign princess quickly saw where Shelvon intended to lead this conversation.

  “Indeed there have,” Alysoon said, but she made no other comment. She might have already guessed what Shelvon was going to ask, but she apparently did not intend to ease the way for her.

  “Even women who were once abigails have married,” Shelvon continued.

  The corner of Alysoon’s mouth twitched in a smile that was quickly suppressed. “To perfectly respectable gentlemen, no less. It seems that without an abbey to confine them and hide them from the eyes of the world, many of the women who were once considered Unwanted have found they are very much wanted after all.”

  “Some of those women have been married before.”

  This time, Alysoon couldn’t suppress the smile. “I know the concept of a woman remarrying after a divorce is terribly foreign to much of the world, but men have been doing it for a very long time. Frankly, it’s never made much sense to me that the same was not true for women.”

  And yet the idea had not even occurred to Shelvon until that first wedding. All her life, she’d been taught that if a man divorced a woman, she was fully to blame for the disgrace and that no one else would even consider marrying her. The Abbey had been a terrible specter, but it had also been the only place she could imagine a divorced woman living—until she had come to Women’s Well and seen another way.

  “So, do you think…?” For all her determination, Shelvon found she could not finish the question.

  “That you might remarry?” Alys finished for her.

  Shelvon didn’t dare meet the sovereign princess’s eyes as she nodded, her hands bunching in her skirts with anxiety. Her palms were sweating, and she hoped she wouldn’t leave embarrassing wet spots in the fabric.

  “I see no reason why not,” Alys said, her voice still soft, as if she were afraid Shelvon might bolt if she spoke too loudly. “If you wish to remarry, that is. I cannot imagine marriage to Delnamal would make you overly inclined toward the institution.”

  Shelvon grimaced, for Alys spoke no more than the truth. Her marriage to Delnamal had been miserable from the beginning, although she was keenly aware that other women were mistreated more than she had ever been. The idea of subjecting herself to a man’s attentions once more—especially in the marriage bed—was far from appealing. However, being sent back to Nandel was even less appealing, and a marriage might save her from that fate. After all, if she were to marry again, her father would no longer see her as his own property but as her husband’s. Assuming he would accept a second marriage as legitimate, but that was a whole other question.

  “If my choices are to
be an abigail or a wife, I would prefer to be a wife,” she said, but the sovereign princess frowned at her.

  “Who says you have to be either one?”

  Shelvon shrugged, reluctant to tell Alysoon the real reason for her sudden determination to remarry. “What other role is there for a woman in this life?” she asked. “I cannot simply go on as I have been.”

  “Whyever not?” Alysoon asked with what seemed like genuine puzzlement. “You have a right to a life of your own, one that you build for yourself. You need not shackle yourself to a husband you don’t want. You are no longer a child who must marry at her father’s say-so. You are more like a widow, who can choose to remarry or not as she pleases.” Alys curled her lip. “Would that you were a widow in reality.”

  As a widow herself, Alysoon had so far seen no need to remarry, and Shelvon had not heard the slightest hint that such a thing was even under consideration. But then the sovereign princess was a good deal older than Shelvon and would not face the same societal pressure to marry, even when her mourning for her daughter was done.

  Not that societal pressure had anything to do with Shelvon’s need to find a husband. Realizing that Alysoon would likely not be inclined to help arrange a marriage she was convinced Shelvon did not want or need, Shelvon had no choice but to tell the truth.

  Shivering inside at the memory of her father’s letter, she shored up what courage she could find and met the sovereign princess’s gaze. “My father has demanded I return to Nandel. He says that is my proper place now that I no longer have a husband, and by Nandel law he has every right to compel me.”

  To her surprise, Alys laughed. “You are not in Nandel, my dear. I don’t see why you should be subject to Nandel law.”

  “My father sees things differently. I am his property, and he wishes to have his property returned. He has no reason to think I would not immediately obey his command, but even so he hinted that if I do not come back voluntarily, he will make demands of you.”

  Alysoon looked unimpressed by the threat. “He can make whatever demands he wishes,” she said. “I would not give you up for all the precious gems and metals he can produce.”

  Shelvon had no doubt Alysoon meant what she said. But though Women’s Well was so far managing to keep its coffers full through the sale of the unique magic it could produce, the fact remained that their tiny principality had frighteningly little in the way of natural resources. The life-giving magic of the Well was slowly turning the land fruitful, but it did not give rise to sudden iron or gem deposits. And so far, Alysoon had no trade agreements that would bring in such necessities, for Nandel was the primary source of iron and gems for all of Seven Wells. The only other place in Seven Wells where iron and gems were produced was Khalpar, and Khalpar was unlikely to trade with Women’s Well when King Khalvin’s nephew was the King of Aaltah.

  “If I remarried,” Shelvon said, “then my father might not demand my return at all. He certainly doesn’t want me to come home because of his abiding affection for me. It’s an affront to his pride that his divorced daughter is out in public instead of hidden away in an abbey. I doubt he would approve my remarriage, but if I had a husband, he would feel less compelled to force me to return to Nandel.”

  Alysoon shook her head. “He can’t force you to return. I will not allow it, and he’s certainly not going to march on Women’s Well over the offense.”

  For all of Nandel’s warlike reputation, the sovereign princes of Nandel had never attempted wars of conquest, content to fiercely protect their mountainous territory from all would-be invaders.

  “Be that as it may, you can avoid any potential conflicts with Nandel by marrying me off.”

  Alysoon sat up straighter in her chair, and there was a sudden hint of indignation in her eyes. “I am not marrying you off! If you find a man whom you would like to marry and who is amenable, then by all means petition me for permission, as is customary for any citizen of such standing as yours. But you are a grown woman, and your life is your own. It is not for me to force you to marry whomever I choose, and it is not for your father to demand your return to Nandel.”

  “But—”

  “The answer is no,” Alysoon said firmly. “If your father wants to make an issue of it, he can take it up with me.”

  Shelvon wasn’t entirely certain if the fluttering sensation in her breast was from disappointment at having been turned down or relief. She could hardly claim to be eager for remarriage. But she also knew her father in ways that Princess Alysoon could not. Once he realized that his disgraced daughter was rebelling against his command, getting her back to Nandel would become a matter of some urgency for the sake of his manly pride. And Sovereign Prince Waldmir was not one to suffer insults to his pride without making the offender pay dearly.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Chanlix put her arms around Tynthanal and hugged him tight. He remained stiff for the duration of a few heartbeats, then sighed heavily and returned the embrace.

  “I hate this,” he said softly, and there was a wealth of anguish in his words. Chanlix had never fully appreciated how much he’d been pinning his hopes on the fertility potions failing—until she’d told him of Kailee’s offer and taken away his only excuse not to go through with the marriage.

  “I know you do,” she said soothingly, “but please try to look at the larger picture. We will secure an alliance that Rhozinolm cannot easily withdraw from, and we can love each other with Kailee’s blessing. She is happy to cede the physical and emotional bonds of matrimony to us as long as the marriage gives her the chance to remain in Women’s Well. We each get what we want from the arrangement.”

  Tynthanal stiffened again in her arms, and Chanlix cursed herself for not thinking her words through before she spoke them. He had made it very clear he was not getting what he wanted, and she was well aware that her acceptance of the arrangement hurt him. Sometimes, she sympathized with his pain. And sometimes, she felt exasperated that the legal trappings of marriage meant so much to him.

  She pulled back and looked into his eyes, willing him to let go of his stubborn need to make her into his definition of a respectable woman. For all that he had never scorned her for her past, his insistence on marriage made her wonder if he was as accepting as he seemed to be.

  Tynthanal reached up and stroked her cheek, the caress so tender it sent a shiver through her whole body. His touch never failed to move her.

  “Kailee might be willing to accept our relationship,” he said softly, “but don’t allow yourself to believe the marriage won’t change things for us. We will not be free to have each other whenever we want, and we will have to keep up appearances to avoid undue scandal.”

  It was all Chanlix could do not to roll her eyes. “The gentry of Women’s Well—what there is of it—has better things to do than wallow in salacious gossip. I grant you we will need to be more discreet than we have been—especially if one of those potions finally works and you get me with child—but I’m not suddenly going to wither away in shame at being your mistress, and Kailee does not need to be protected from some distressing truth.”

  “Are you sure you still want me to drink the potions?” he asked. “If it is no longer strictly necessary to make the marriage happen…”

  Chanlix hesitated before answering, gaining control of her impulse to snap at him, for she’d made it clear from the beginning that she wanted his child even if she could not marry him. “Yes, I want you to keep drinking the potions,” she said, hoping her exasperation didn’t show in her voice. “It will be easier for all if we don’t have to fake the results of the bloodline test, for one thing. And for another, I still want your child. We’ve been over this.”

  He nodded, his eyes troubled and sad. “Maybe we have. But I don’t think having a child out of wedlock will be as easy for you as you believe. Women’s Well may not be like the rest of the world, but we are not wholl
y removed, either. A woman with a child and no husband will not face an easy path.”

  Chanlix smiled and shook her head. “And when has my path ever been easy?” She chuckled. “Frankly, I don’t think I’d know what to do with easy if I ever faced it.” She reached out to squeeze his hand. “I will face whatever adversity there is to come, and I promise you it will not break me. So tonight, you will drink another potion and make love with me. And tomorrow, you will put in an official offer for Kailee’s hand.”

  He grunted an unconvincing agreement, and Chanlix worried that if one of the potions should finally work, she would have yet another argument on her hands. It had been clear to her from the beginning that he himself did not have any particular desire to have a child—whether because he’d gotten so used to the idea that he couldn’t or for other reasons, she didn’t know. He would drink the fertility potions and try his best to give her a child only because he knew she wanted it. For the first time, she wondered if it was fair of her to ask this of him, if her desire to have a child superseded his desire not to have one.

  It was an unsettling thought, and one she vowed to revisit if one of the potions worked.

  * * *

  —

  Ellin hadn’t fully appreciated how heavily she’d come to rely on Zarsha as a friend until he became the source of her troubles and she had no one to confide in. Once upon a time, she’d had a large circle of friends, girls of an age who laughed and gossiped with one another as they attended the myriad social events that consumed the highest-ranking nobility in Rhozinolm. They had whispered conversations in corners and secret gatherings in abandoned hallways, supporting one another and even crying on one another’s shoulders when life was at its most unkind.

  But one by one those young ladies of Ellin’s acquaintance had been married off, and though some of them still lived in the capital city of Zinolm Well, the natural process of drifting apart had already begun even before Ellin became queen. Which meant that now she had no one to help her make sense of everything Zarsha had told her, no one to help her find reason within the storm of emotion his confession had stirred in her.