Page 6 of Among the Burning Flowers
That night, Marosa knelt in the Privy Sanctuary again, her gaze fixed on a relief carving of Glorian Hartbane, tenth Queen of Inys. Her name had been inscribed beneath her, for every Berethnet queen in history had looked exactly the same as the last.
Marosa was never sure if she would care for it. While she looked a great deal like her mother, she was also herself; surely any stronger resemblance would be painful. But each Berethnet only bore one daughter, who grew into her mirror image – a line of identical women, stretching back over a thousand years. A sign of their divinity.
It had been six centuries since Isalarico the Benevolent, a former King of Yscalin, had seen that sign with his own eyes when Glorian was shipwrecked on his shores. Overcome by her beauty, he had forsaken the old mountain gods to marry her, forming the Chainmail of Virtudom. Because of love, from that day forth, Yscalin had been pledged to the Saint.
Marosa looked down at her posy ring, thinking of Aubrecht. The man who would be her companion for all eternity, even unto Halgalant.
They had only spent twelve days together, always chaperoned by the Privy Council or her ladies. The first time, Aubrecht had come to court her. It had surprised her that her father was considering the match. Mentendon was the strange bird of Virtudom, and its trade with Seiiki – an island that revered sea wyrms – was a constant bone of contention. She had always expected to marry an Inysh lord or a Hróthi chieftain.
Aubrecht had been the soul of courtesy. She recalled his dark eyes and thick copper hair, his smile at the first sight of her. Unsure of how to act, she had found herself turning stiff and reticent. Fortunately, Aubrecht was a Ment, and evenquiet Ments were insatiably curious. At supper, he was full of questions about her life, her interests, her ambitions for Yscalin. And when she answered, Aubrecht had listened as if there was no one else in the room.
He was not only thoughtful and well read, but a gifted storyteller. Ments were known for their oil paintings; Aubrecht painted with his words. They took her all the way across Mentendon, so she might imagine herself as its High Princess. In the world he described, they watched ships from the windswept docks of Ostendeur, walked the cobbled streets of Brygstad, rode across the Bridal Forest. She could hear the rushing waters of the Hundert and feel the heavy furs she would need when the winter set in.
By the end of the week, his every look had made her smile. And when he had ridden away from Cárscaro, she felt as if she had lost an old friend.
Aubrecht had returned six months later, once their betrothal was legally binding. She had been afraid that their mutual warmth might have faded, but Aubrecht had seemed delighted to see her again, and Marosa had returned the sentiment. They had toasted the alliance with the finest wines of the Groneyso Valley. There had been a feast, and then a dance.
After, they had sat on a terrace, looking over Cárscaro, and he had taken her gently by the hand, placing the ring on to her finger.This is a token of troth. A promise that I will cherish you always.
Marosa was no fool. She knew that two meetings were not enough for an abiding love to bloom, even if she bore his absence like a broken rib. She knew that men could hide their true selves; that Aubrecht might wear a mask, like her father, whose smiles were only a sheath for a blade.
But she wanted to trust Aubrecht. Even if he had been old and unkind, she would have needed him.
Once they were married, she would have duties as his consort in Mentendon. Her father would have to let her go. As soon as she got with child, she would tell him that the fumes of Cárscaro were too dangerous. Then she would tell him the lava was too great a risk to her newborn.
She would not be caged in this palace again.
Even as she imagined escape, the feeling of suffocation returned. The sanctuary had no windows. To distract herself, she slid off the posy ring and read the words engraved along the inner band.
TIME•A FRIEND•UNTO THE END
To Aubrecht, patience was the seventh virtue. Even if they had to wait, their friendship would only grow firmer with time, forming a strong foundation for their marriage.
A strong foundation for her plan.
Her dream, kept out of sight like wine, to ripen with each passing year.
She returned the posy ring to her finger. Glancing over her shoulder, she eased up a loose floor-tile. Hidden underneath it was a mirror on a silver chain, along with a miniature of her mother.
Queen Sahar wore a confident smile. The court painter had been one of her ladies, and had captured her well. Her black hair, drawn back to show a pair of gold Ersyri earrings, and her striking brown eyes, framed by thick lashes. Marosa traced the frame, her chest aching.
Why did you have to leave me?
Now she carefully lifted the necklace, not wanting to smear the glass. The oval pendant was exquisite, a mirror bordered with filigree silver. Her mother had worn it under her partlet. A symbol of the Faith of Dwyn, which even most Southerners no longer followed.
A symbol forbidden in Virtudom.
See yourself in others. Treat them as you would treat yourself, her mother had said,and hope that they offer you the same grace. That is the way of Dwyn.
It still hurt to see the necklace and the miniature. Marosa polished the silver to keep it from tarnishing, then used the mirror to look into her own eyes, an amber so bright they were almost orange. The eyes of Oderica the Smith – a prisoner in ancient Cárscaro, and later, the first Queen of Yscalin. She, too, had been trapped in the dark for nine years.
Marosa returned the mirror to its nook and covered it.
Her plan might take her nine years or longer. Perhaps it would cost the rest of her life.
She meant to make Yscalin as safe as Lasia, where those who rejected the dominant faith did not face execution; where people like her mother did not have to convert; where she could embrace her Southern uncle and not have it be seen as a betrayal of the Saint; where people gave each other the grace they gave themselves.
Her marriage to Aubrecht was the first step, granting her the key to her cage. She hoped that he would be her ally, once she worked up the courage to tell him. Unlike the other countries in Virtudom, Mentendon did not kill unbelievers; it even allowed scholars to question the Six Virtues. The House of Lievelyn had affirmed its loyalty to the Saint,but the Ments had initially been converted by force. Surely he would understand the need for tolerance.
