The Immortal Renshai, page 14
Either oblivious to or discounting the turmoil, Imorelda sent, *Pet me!*
Matrinka resumed stroking the cat absently.
“Oh, kittens!” Marisole said.
For a moment, Matrinka thought she had received a cryptic answer before she followed Marisole’s gaze to her pillow.
“They’re so tiny.” The younger woman added wistfully. “I miss having kittens all over the palace.”
Matrinka did not admit that she did, too. It would upset Imorelda, and she also knew they were probably the only two humans who did. The servants had tolerated the cats because they loved their queen, but placing the animals outside had made their lives far easier. It was difficult not to adore kittens, sweet curious playful kittens, but all of them grew into cats. And a castle overrun by any sort of animal was inconvenient, difficult to maintain, and even dangerous. She recognized Marisole’s tactic for what it was: delay. “Is there any chance you’re . . .” She found herself scarcely able to speak the word. “. . . pregnant?”
Marisole opened her mouth, then closed it. She sighed, lifted the gittern, and played. This time she sang, her voice higher and not yet as sure as Darris’, but all the same beautiful and with a talent beyond that of older and far more practiced minstrels. It had first appeared to Matrinka that the gift had come upon Marisole abruptly, her ability wholly and completely magical.
Later, Matrinka discovered Darris had been training Marisole from a very young age. He had kept it secret so as not to upset his lover by reminding her that her firstborn would inherit the bardic curse, and their deception about who had fathered Matrinka’s three children would become transparent to anyone who gave it suspicious, deliberate thought. Whether or not the curse also granted the bard supernatural talent was a mystery no bard in recent history dared to test, fearing the curse would force their offspring to inflict atonal, unaccompanied song onto royals and commoners alike.
These thoughts disappeared as Marisole’s song enraptured her mother. It dragged Matrinka to another time, anchored her to her youth in Béarn Castle when her love for Darris, and his for her, had been devastatingly raw. The bittersweet remembrance of that first, fiery attraction brought stars to her eyes and a bemused smile to her lips. Her hands drifted from Imorelda and across her chest to grasp her own shoulders. She felt warm and safe in Darris’ arms and also terrified because she knew their love was forbidden, barred by law from ever reaching fruition.
As the last notes faded, Matrinka came back to herself. She found Imorelda bumping her elbow with her furry head and Marisole staring at her hopefully.
It had been decades since Darris had needed confirmation. Over time, he had learned when he could speak and when he needed to sing, had become so talented he never questioned what messages his music had conveyed. Marisole’s uncertainty brought Matrinka back even more fully into her own adolescent past, when she and Darris had been young and hesitant and foolish, giddy with the joy of what they had discovered and sure no one else had ever experienced what they felt for one another.
Matrinka lowered her arms. One hand went back to petting Imorelda, the other she placed on Marisole’s thigh, only then realizing the girl had joined her on the bed, her legs folded and her gittern cautiously cradled. Though the possibility her daughter had defied her burned like fire through Matrinka’s veins, she knew she needed to reassure Marisole to allow her to continue before the answer would become clearer. “I know how you and Barrindar feel about each other. It must be difficult for you to believe, but Darris and I felt the same way when we were your age.”
“You must have,” Marisole said. “Or you would not have gone to so much trouble to skirt the laws.”
Béarn’s codes were strict and inviolate regarding marriage and heirs to the throne. Matrinka sighed. Now was not the time for reminiscence. “We got very lucky, but you must understand your situation is different. The law forbade Darris and me from marrying, so it simply could never happen. A wayward kiss would earn us frowns and warnings, but it was not a crime. Barrindar is your brother.”
“Not really,” Marisole shorthanded the situation. They had discussed it before. Since Griff was not Marisole’s blood father, they were, at closest, distant cousins.
Matrinka saw no reason to hash out familiar ground. “As far as the populace and ministers of Béarn are concerned, you are siblings. If you remember, when this came up before with Darris, I was the one who spoke on your behalf. But that was with the promise you would not engage in any activity that could result in—” Once again, she found herself nearly incapable of speaking the word, so she used another. “—discovery.” She added forcefully, needing to know and no longer patient, “What did you do?”
Marisole’s gaze dropped to her callused fingers. Supporting the gittern, she slipped into song. Again, the music struck directly to Matrinka’s heart, discordant and dangerous, evoking a fear near to panic. As words joined the notes, images filled her mind, flashes of war and blood and corpses. The earth trembled and terrible slashes, more brilliant and cutting than lightning, upset her vision. Her nose filled with the odors of sea wrack, infection, and storm and her ears with a roaring so intense it shook the walls around her. Amid this certainty of sudden and agonizing death, two figures clung to one another, their love enduring. For the moment, they were safe; but the morning, they felt certain, would bring the demises of everyone and everything they knew, including their own. How could it hurt to consummate their love?
The song ended, and Matrinka found Marisole’s gaze upon her, willing her to understand. Imorelda had curled into Matrinka’s lap, eyes closed, apparently sleeping and no longer demanding attention. Matrinka had to admit, “There were times, Marisole, when I also worried the Kjempemagiska would kill us all. But I forced myself to believe in your father.” The deception no longer worked for Marisole, so she clarifed. “In Griff and his strategy and the other warriors to keep us safe.”
Marisole looked stricken, and Matrinka found herself adding, “But the odds were tipped against us from the start.” It was vast understatement. “And I can understand why anyone could lose hope.”
Marisole strummed again, and Matrinka went silent, dragged into another whirlwind of sound and emotion. This time, Marisole sang of the grip of the promise she had made to her mother. Even at death’s door, the vow would not be broken. The lovers would do nothing that placed their secret at risk.
Relief flooded Matrinka. The concern for pregnancy disappeared. If the act had never happened, then they had nothing to fear. Other things caused courses to come late, especially in the young. Strong emotions, weight loss, sometimes no explanation at all. She also had to consider the possibility of an illness, and that raised an anxiety all its own, but most medical causes for the delay or cessation of menses were treatable.
Marisole’s song continued, and Matrinka found herself paying more attention to the words than the music. One couplet stuck, and she found herself repeating it even as Marisole continued singing: “Two virgins cannot a baby make; So they safely indulged in the give-and-take.”
The tune took an abrupt turn, from sublime to raging. The female lover worried for betrayal, that the male had lied about his virginal status and it explained the delay of her courses.
Matrinka placed both hands on Marisole’s arms, pressing firmly until the music stopped in the middle of a stanza. Marisole had not sung out anything resembling sex, or its accompanying sensations, though whether because copulation had not occurred or from modesty, Matrinka did not know. And she had to. “By ‘give-and-take,’ are you referring to . . . intercourse?”
Marisole met her mother’s gaze. And nodded.
It felt as if an icy hand suddenly gripped Matrinka’s heart. “Two virgins cannot a baby make,” she repeated.
Marisole’s nod became more vigorous.
The cold fingers clenched tighter, inducing nausea. Matrinka swallowed the bile crawling into her throat. “Marisole, two virgins cannot make a baby. But once those virgins engage in intercourse, they are no longer virgins.”
Marisole’s head stopped bobbing and tipped sideways. Her nostrils flared.
“We’ve talked about this, Marisole. Babies come from intercourse, not every time, but anytime. Even the first time.”
Marisole’s voice emerged as a squeak. “But two virgins . . . if it’s the first time . . . for both . . .”
Matrinka shook her head sadly.
“So Barrindar didn’t lie to me. This is not his fault.”
“Not exclusively,” Matrinka pointed out.
Marisole sounded so plaintive, if Matrinka shut her eyes, she could imagine she spoke to a four-year-old. Things had been so much simpler then. “Oh, Mama. I’ve been so mean to him.” Her dark eyes grew round as coins. “What are we going to do?”
Matrinka swallowed her urge to shout, to lecture. Now was not the time. “First, we need to find out for certain if you’re . . .” As a healer, it bothered Matrinka she kept finding the word so difficult to speak, especially since “intercourse” had tumbled so smoothly from her mouth. “. . . with child.”
“How?” Marisole asked glumly, hands clenched over her gittern.
This time, Matrinka had an immediate answer.
* * *
Matrinka and Marisole found Tem’aree’ay sitting cross-legged on the floor of her room, her head cradled in her hands, golden curls cascading over her dainty arms. Though she had bade them to enter, Matrinka felt like an intruder. Clearly, the elf was dealing with issues every bit as significant as her own. Before she could think to do otherwise, she ran to her fellow wife, crouched beside her, and drew her into an embrace. “Tem’aree’ay, are you all right?”
Tem’aree’ay looked up, wiped away a tear, and even managed a smile. “I will be. I just have a difficult decision to make, and it’s haunting me.”
“Would you like to talk about it?”
Tem’aree’ay pursed her heart-shaped lips in consideration. For several moments, she remained still before finally saying, “I . . . think I might like to share with you, if you don’t mind.”
This surprised Matrinka. The elf did not usually talk about her concerns with any human. She never appeared particularly troubled about anything, although Matrinka knew Ivana caused her mother more than a bit of angst.
“But later.” Tem’aree’ay looked toward Marisole and brightened. “After your visit. Please join us, Marisole.”
Marisole looked askance at her mother before crouching to the side of and level with the other two. She and Tem’aree’ay had had little interaction in the past. Though seemingly ageless, Tem’aree’ay spent most of her time with Ivana and her status as Griff’s wife meant she moved most easily through Griff, Matrinka, and Xoraida’s generation. During Ivana’s childhood, though, Tem’aree’ay had spent a significant amount of time silently watching Marisole. Matrinka had always believed that came of comparing her to Ivana as they grew. Less than a year apart in age, the two girls could not have grown more similarly nor developed more differently.
“Thank you so much for sharing your time,” Marisole said sincerely and with appropriate royal politeness.
Tem’aree’ay’s smile broadened. This expression looked so much more natural on her face. “My thanks to you for the same.”
Matrinka got right down to business. “I’m ashamed to say this isn’t really a social call. We were wondering if you would check something for us.”
Tem’aree’ay’s smile never wavered. “It would be my pleasure.”
Matrinka glanced at Marisole and back. “Before you agree, I need to tell you that part of the favor is a promise not to share what we discuss, or the outcome, with anyone else. Including Griff.”
Several moments passed in silence, which Matrinka appreciated. It would not be fair to burden Tem’aree’ay without allowing her the chance to consider her options and whether or not she felt comfortable participating. “Ah,” the elf finally said. “You want me to check for a baby.”
Marisole whimpered, which stole any chance for playing it cool and close.
A happy light flashed through Tem’aree’ay’s eyes, chasing away the last of her previous discomfort. “Don’t worry, my dear. I’m certain Griff would welcome a grandchild. He loves children.”
“I’m certain he would,” Matrinka said. “And if you find one exists, I promise I’ll talk to him about it. But, for now, it’s best if only we know it’s even a possibility. Please.”
Tem’aree’ay reached for Marisole, planting her long-fingered hands on the rich fabric of the dress covering her abdomen. “I won’t tell anyone either way. If there is no baby, no one needs to know we checked. If there is one, it’s your news and up to you how it gets announced.” She stopped speaking and closed her eyes.
Marisole remained quiet but glanced at Matrinka, who motioned her to stay still and silent. She had requested Tem’aree’ay’s help in the past to assist with medical issues. The elf had a magical ability to see inside humans to look for internal injuries as well as pregnancies. The amount of time it took varied.
After several moments, Tem’aree’ay sat back on her haunches. “It’s tiny, and I’ve never been able to determine gender, but it seems normal.”
Marisole moaned louder, dropping to the floor. Matrinka’s heart sank. She closed her eyes, fighting the influx of information that threatened to overwhelm her. There was too much to think about, so she asked the only question Tem’aree’ay could answer. “Can you . . . terminate the pregnancy?”
Now, Tem’aree’ay made a wordless noise. Matrinka opened her lids to find the elf’s sapphirine eyes filled with pain and shock. They had done it once before. A woman had come in badly injured from a fall. While searching for deep injuries, the elf had found a baby growing in the womb unbeknownst to the frantic husband and, presumably, to the woman as well. Matrinka and Tem’aree’ay had worked together to mend several dangerous wounds, including three horrific pelvic fractures. Passing a baby so soon would not have allowed for them to heal, risking her life as well as the infant’s, which was already tenuous. If she survived the birthing, she would never have another child. However, if they eliminated the baby, the woman had an excellent chance to live a normal life span and have as many more children as she wished.
The choice seemed obvious to Matrinka, but Tem’aree’ay had struggled with the idea of ending a life. It was something elves never needed to do; they only conceived after the death of an elder to natural causes and they never experienced birth defects. Eventually, Matrinka had convinced her, and Tem’aree’ay had reluctantly done the deed. The woman survived and recovered. She and her husband returned to their home never knowing about the potential child.
It took Tem’aree’ay so long to answer that Matrinka became certain she never would. Finally, the elf said in a rusty voice, “Certain herbs can do the job, right?”
Matrinka sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “They’re all poisons, dangerous to the mother. And they don’t work more often than they do.” She acknowledged Tem’aree’ay’s discomfort. “I know it’s an awful lot to ask.” She added quickly, “Too much. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.” She started to rise, but Tem’aree’ay waved her back down.
“I’ll do it for you and you alone because I know your heart. If you want this done, it needs doing, and your reasons must be sound.”
Matrinka sank to the floor boards, suddenly desperately weary. “It’s not wholly my choice. Marisole and I will talk about this, and there are others, men, who have a right to their say, too. I’ll let you know what we decide.”
“Do not take long,” Tem’aree’ay cautioned. “If you do, even I cannot help you.” Her head dropped to her chest, as if she had become suddenly too weak to hold it upright. The gesture was so utterly unelflike it awakened every sympathetic and healing instinct Matrinka possessed.
Matrinka took Marisole’s hand, and they rose together. “Sweetie, you need to explain this to . . .” Not wishing to burden Tem’aree’ay with more information and practicing the need for secrecy, she hedged, “. . . the father and apologize for treating him with anger when he did not deserve it. I don’t believe he tried to deceive you.”
Marisole nodded. She rarely spoke anymore, since too many situations had forced her into arias.
Matrinka believed Marisole understood the need to restrict the information, but she chose to make the point unerringly clear. Adolescents were not known for making wise decisions, and Marisole had already made one outrageous mistake. “Explain it to him and only to him. At this point in time, no one else can know about . . . your slip.” She stressed, “No one.” Soon enough, they would need to bring Darris and Griff into the circle, but Matrinka planned to be present when that happened. Darris, in particular, would not react well.
Marisole turned her mother a black look that suggested she found the advice unnecessary, but she did not speak. Realizing the cantankerousness that often afflicted budding women, especially when it came to their mothers, Matrinka felt a sudden appreciation for the bardic curse. The princess headed for the door, left the room, and closed the door behind her.
Only then, Matrinka turned her attention fully on Tem’aree’ay. “Thank you so much for your assistance.”
Tem’aree’ay managed a smile. It fit on her face as naturally as the creases on a human palm. Matrinka rarely saw her without one, although usually it seemed more simple and honest, less forced. “You know I’m glad to assist you, Matrinka. You’ve always been so good to me.”
Matrinka tried to treat everyone well, but she had to admit she had gone out of her way to make Tem’aree’ay comfortable through the years. The marriage between Griff and herself had been one of convenience, and she appreciated he had been the one to suggest Darris warm her bed instead of him. Tem’aree’ay was his true love, and Matrinka so appreciated Griff’s gesture she had always had a soft spot for his second wife. She had helped the elf find her place in the strange and unsettling world of humans and the hubbub of Béarn Castle. “Please let me return the favor. Tell me what’s troubling you.”
