JILSEPONIE SETTLED INto life at Danube's court quickly, if a bit uncomfortably. The palace itself was spectacular, with richly detailed tapestries lining every wall and great statues gracing many rooms. Every door was surrounded with bas reliefs, every wall with murals depicting the greatest events of Honce-the-Bear's long history. Also, to Jilseponie's delight, the palace held many secret doors and corridors, used for escape in times of crisis or for spying - which she suspected might be a common thing in this place of countless intrigues.
She didn't get as much time as she would have liked to explore, though, for Danube insisted that she sit beside him each morning while he attended to the duties of State, a process of hearing disputes among Ursal citizens and continual - and always exaggerated - reports from the outlying counties, each trying to outdo the other in the eyes of the King.
This was a time of peace and prosperity, though, and so the majority of her duties occurred at eventide almost daily, when all the nobles gathered for feasting and dancing. For Jilseponie, these supposed celebrations proved the most tedious of all, a peacock show of primp and paint, where ladies tittered and batted their eyelashes at every nobleman, married or not, who crossed their paths. More than a few of those lecherous noblemen veered from their original course to follow the flirtatious women, often to more private areas, and often repeatedly and with different women, throughout the course of the night.
Jilseponie watched all of the pretentious and lewd games with distaste. More than judging the noblemen, though, she pitied them. For she had known love, true love, with Elbryan, and the thought of either of them straying from their pledge of fidelity seemed preposterous to her.
But Jilseponie worked hard to take it all in stride. This was not her world - certainly not! - and she could not pretend to understand the society of Ursal after only a few weeks in the castle. She had come here for good reason, personally and for her desire to do good for the general population, and so she watched the goings-on with a sense of detached amusement.
When she could.
At one such dinner, with Danube surrounded by a bevy of tittering ladies, Jilseponie moved to the side of the room, to the fountain of sweet juice. She dipped her cup and began to sip, watching the party from afar.
"So, you waited for the greater prize?" came a resonant, somewhat gruff voice beside her. She turned to see Duke Targon Bree Kalas, dressed in his regal Allheart finery, his great plumed helmet tucked tightly under one arm. "Clever woman."
Jilseponie shot him a skeptical glance and tried very hard to keep the disappointment off her face. Kalas had left Ursal on the day of her arrival - on official business, it was said. Jilseponie had hoped that he would stay away for a long, long time. He had made a play for her back in Palmaris years ago, when Elbryan was barely cold in the ground, and she had refused his advances. He had never forgiven her. In truth, Jilseponie knew that even if she and Kalas didn't share that uncomfortable memory, they would hardly have been friends. She thought the man a puffer; even his walk was a swagger. Perhaps Duke Kalas had reason to feel pride - his list of accomplishments in governing and in battle was extensive - but Jilseponie never had any time for such self-importance, whatever actual achievements might lay behind it. To her, it seemed as if Kalas and so many of the other nobles spent an inordinate amount of time and energy trying to elevate themselves above everyone else. A perfectly human attitude, Jilseponie had to admit, for hadn't every person alive done so at one time or another? But still, the level of such behavior at Danube's court amazed her.
"Had I known that you desired the King, I would have acted differently, m'lady," the Duke remarked, dipping a curt, insincere bow. His tone, too, showed the truth of his emotions: it revealed a deep-seated resentment toward Jilseponie and possibly toward Danube, too.
It wasn't hard for Jilseponie to see right through this man, for she understood his pride was the source of his every action. He might have acted differently back in Palmaris had he known that King Danube desired Jilseponie, but, Jilseponie believed, he would have merely been more insistent in his advances toward her. For Duke Kalas, bedding a woman was a measure of ego even more than a measure of lust - and certainly no indication of love! He would come to her now, in this public place, feigning friendship, for he certainly did not want to fall out of favor with his friend, Danube. But, in truth, the man remained outraged at her, even after all these years, simply because she had refused his advances -and that, during a time of her grief.
She didn't quite know how to respond to his last statement. If she gave any indication that things might have been different between them had she not desired Danube - which was preposterous, especially since at the time of Kalas' proposals, Jilseponie had had no interest in Danube or anyone else! - she would likely be inviting even more covert advances from the Duke. And if she denied the possibility of anything at all ever developing between them, Danube or not, then she would only anger Kalas all the more.
So she said nothing and didn't change the expression on her face. Kalas rambled on, then, speaking of some obscure business of State, some duties he had performed while traveling through his province of Wester-Honce. He spoke in general terms, and casually, matter-of-factly, but his persistent efforts to portray himself in the most favorable of lights were not lost on Jilseponie. When it came to self-promotion, the man simply could not help himself. Jilseponie listened politely, but her eyes, wandering around the room to watch the movements of so many others, betrayed her true lack of interest to Duke Kalas.
"Enjoy the evening, m'lady," he said rather stiffly, gave a curt bow, and walked away.
Jilseponie watched him go, relieved that she was done with him but also wise enough to know that she would have to do better in the future. She didn't care much for the man, obviously, but her future husband counted him among his best friends. Jilseponie spent a long while reminding herself of that truth and convincing herself that she had to be a generous spirit here. She had not traveled all the way up the Masur Delaval to drive wedges between Danube and his friends.
That was not her place.
So she wanted to believe, with all her heart, but as her gaze meandered around the great ballroom, it inevitably settled upon another of her future husband's closest advisers and dearest friends. Constance Pemblebury, prettily dressed in a gown that showed off all her best features, sipped her drink and chuckled and charmed a group of men and women.
Constance Pemblebury. The woman who had seemed destined, in the eyes of many at Danube's court, to become queen, the woman who had bedded Danube many times over the years and who had borne him two children - children Danube had placed in the royal line of succession. And now Jilseponie had come to Ursal, shutting the door on Constance's greatest ambitions - and perhaps on her heart, as well. Constance had been pleasant enough these last days, always smiling at Jilseponie, but there was something far more sinister beneath that façade, Jilseponie sensed. And indeed, even as she watched Constance now, the woman glanced her way, and, for just a moment, a look of distaste, even hatred, flashed across her painted face.
Jilseponie caught that expression but didn't think about it, for another idea came over her then; and the only thing surprising to her about it was that it was truly the first time she had considered Constance in this manner. Always before, Jilseponie had wondered and feared how Constance might view her, and had tried to figure out how she might smooth their relationship, for the sake of poor Danube, who could not help but be caught in the middle. But now, suddenly and unexpectedly, Jilseponie did not view Constance as one who had to be mollified, but rather as one who had spent many nights in the embrace, in the bed, of King Danube. More than a few dark thoughts crept into Jilseponie's mind at that moment. She wondered if she could have Danube send the woman away, to live in another province, another city, somewhere far to the east, perhaps. She thought, just briefly, of coercing her future husband into disavowing his relationship with Constance's - with his own - children, removing them from the royal line.
As she took a moment to consider her own thoughts, Jilseponie was surprised to find that the unavoidably conjured image of Constance and Danube in a passionate embrace bothered her more than a little. A dark part within her wanted to rush across the room and slap the woman!
Jilseponie turned away and even laughed aloud a bit at her own foolishness. She thought back to her days of running across the land with Elbryan, locked in a life-and-death struggle against the minions of Bestesbulzibar. She thought of Brother Francis, once her avowed enemy but later a man who had repented and found his heart and his God, as he lay dying on the field outside St.-Mere-Abelle. And finally she focused her thoughts on the upraised arm of Avelyn Desbris, on the blood in the palm, the covenant of Avelyn that had saved the world from the brutal and merciless rosy plague. In light of those realities - the passion, the repentance, the miracle - could she be of so little spirit as to allow her petty jealousy to bring darkness into her heart and mind?
Jilseponie looked back at Constance, a sincere smile now showing. But when Constance looked her way and noted the grin, her own expression darkened even more.
Jilseponie sighed and silently scolded herself. Constance thought she was mocking her!
How crazy and unwinnable this game of courtly politics seemed to Jilseponie at that moment. She would have to constantly battle to find her real emotions and her honest spirit, and yet, revealing that sincerity, even briefly, could lead to issues more complicated by far.
She lifted her drink to her lips but paused, realizing that this, too, might be dangerous, for there was a bit of a kick in the juice. It would be dangerous for Jilseponie to become in any way incapacitated by drink in this public place, surrounded by so many people who were far closer to the realm of enemy than to friend. Duke Bretherford's warnings to her on the trip along the great river echoed in her mind.
Jilseponie sighed again. Not for the first time - and, she knew, not for the last - she questioned her wisdom in coming to this place.
"How do you suffer this?" Roger asked Jilseponie that midsummer morning. Around them, all the palace grounds seemed gay and full of life, with birds chattering and the mighty knights of the Allheart Brigade practicing the precision steps of their To-gai ponies, for they, led by Duke Kalas, would serve as honor guard at the great celebration.
The irony of Duke Kalas leading the celebration of Danube and Jilseponie's wedding was not lost on Jilseponie.
"Aye, ye look like ye're suffering greatly," Dainsey added with a sarcastic laugh.
Roger gave his wife a sidelong glance. "Can all the fineries make up for the unpleasantries?" he asked her.
"They'd be going a long way to me own thinking," Dainsey replied with a snort, and she lifted a piece of cake and stuffed it into her mouth.
Roger was about to protest again, but Jilseponie's chuckle stopped him short. Indeed, Jilseponie could understand Dainsey's sentiments. The woman had grown up dirt-poor in the bowels of Palmaris, had gone to work at a very young age and for very long hours, practically begging for tips from patrons at the establishments in which she waited tables, including Fellowship Way, just so that she could put enough food in her to keep her belly from grumbling. To her, the palace grounds in Ursal must have seemed a piece of heaven. Indeed, Jilseponie could hardly imagine a more beautiful paradise than the gardens and fields, with the intricate mazes, the birds, the dozens of fountains, and the rows and rows of brightly colored flowers, each bed humming with a multitude of bees.
But Jilseponie could also understand and wholeheartedly agree with Roger's complaints. The beauty was shallow, she knew, masking debauchery and hypocrisy beyond anything she had ever before witnessed.
"I am thrilled to be here," Roger said, almost apologetically, to Jilseponie. "Never would I miss so important a day. But I cannot suffer their demeaning glances! By God!" he cried at one woman, lifting her chin as she walked by to the side. "And pray tell me how many minions of the demon dactyl you slew during the war! And how many lives did you save?"
The woman appeared shocked and she quickly scurried away.
"She was but a child when the forces of Bestesbulzibar threatened our homes in the north," Abbot Braumin remarked, coming over to join the trio.
"But she thinks little or nothing of me," Roger argued. "The contempt was obvious upon her face! They scorn us because we are not of noble blood, but - "
"Calm, Roger," Jilseponie pleaded.
"Can you deny it?" the volatile man asked, his thin, angular features bunching together in anger.
"I do not," Jilseponie admitted. "But I care little, and neither should you."
Roger just snorted and shook his head. "Will they show such disdain for you when you are queen?" he muttered under his breath.
Jilseponie only chuckled again. But in truth it was hard for her to deny Roger's words, and harder for her to ignore the attitude shown her than she had made it seem to be. She was thrilled, of course, that her friends - these three and Brothers Viscenti; Castinagis, who was now the parson of the Chapel of Avelyn; and Talumus, along with Captain Al'u'met -had journeyed on the Saudi Jacintha all the way to Ursal to attend the wedding. But the darker side of the visit was that it poignantly reminded Jilseponie of how badly she missed these friends and others, like Belster O'Comely, who had not been able to make the journey. There was an emptiness here at Danube's court that she could not easily ignore, and she doubted that things would get much better as the days, weeks, even years, passed. For Jilseponie believed that everyone here shared her loneliness; only they, the nobility, had never known a different existence, had never known true friendship and likely didn't understand the concept. So they had little idea of what they were missing. Danube himself was treating her well, and happy was she during those hours when he could free himself from his duties to be with her.
"They will treat you better when they learn that you are the Baron of Pal-maris," Jilseponie remarked, for Roger kept on grumbling.
"Aye, and all the ladies'll be shoulderin' up to him," Dainsey remarked sourly, and she slugged Roger on the shoulder.
Roger started to protest, then merely laughed helplessly. "I do not doubt either of the claims," he admitted. "And that makes this place all the more unpleasant in my eyes."
"It is not so bad," said Jilseponie.
Abbot Braumin stared at her curiously, and she knew that he had caught onto the truth of her feelings.
"Indeed," he said, grabbing Roger's arm as the man was about to say something more. "And all of the trials are far outweighed by the good that Jilseponie might bring to all the world when she wears the crown of queen. Perhaps some of the noble born show disdain. Perhaps they are not the most welcoming of people. But they are no worse company, I would suppose, than were the goblins and powries of Bestesbulzibar's army, and Jilseponie moved among them to better the world."
"And better would be the world if she took the same actions against Danube's courtiers that she took against the goblins and powries!" Roger exclaimed, his tone showing that he was joking here, and he brought a much-needed laugh to them all.
There was an undercurrent to that mirth, though, in Jilseponie's thoughts and, more important, in her heart. She missed her life in the northland, in Palmaris, and even more so, in Dundalis.
But she knew her duty, and, yes, she could and did love King Danube.
"To the morrow's great occasion," said Abbot Braumin, lifting a glass in toast.
"And pray that Roger's next visit to Ursal will be more to his liking," Jilseponie added, tapping her glass against Braumin's.
They all toasted, then sipped their fine wine. Dainsey kept on eating the delicacies, while Roger and Braumin and Jilseponie spoke of good times past and of their dreams for a better future.
Jilseponie could speak of the future with great hope and anticipation, but in truth, she wasn't looking any further ahead than the morrow's dawn, when she would walk down the aisle of St. Honce to be wed to King Danube Brock Ursal, when she would become the queen of Honce-the-Bear.
Those thoughts followed her to bed that night, affording her little sleep. Still, despite her exhaustion, in the morning when the attending ladies came with their paints and perfumes and her beautiful white gown, there was no more lovely woman in all the world.
She entered St. Honce and saw King Danube waiting for her before the great altar where stood Master Fio Bou-raiy and Abbot Braumin, who together, to the dismay of Abbot Ohwan, had been chosen to perform the ceremony.
And such a ceremony it was! A spectacle that would enter the tales of bards for centuries to come, the joining of the greatest hero in the world to the King of Honce-the-Bear, the marriage of Church and State, the marriage of secular and spiritual. All those in attendance and all the tens of thousands of Ursal crowding the streets nearby and all the folk of the land took great hope and great cheer that their world had somehow dramatically improved.
Almost all the folk of the land.
Duke Kalas and some of the other noblemen did well to hide their disdain, even disgust, as their beloved King Danube entered into a union with the peasant girl of the northland. What a contrast Jilseponie was from his former wife, Queen Vivian, whose bloodlines were as pure as anyone's in the kingdom!
And Constance Pemblebury surely viewed the wedding with something far less than hope, with something bordering on dread. How long would it take Jilseponie, she wondered, to wrest all possibilities of power from Merwick and Torrence? That was her greatest fear. Or at least, Constance -protecting a heart that could not bear to imagine Danube in a love embrace with another woman - told herself that her greatest worry was for the inheritance of her children.
The ceremony went smoothly, with Master Bou-raiy offering the blessings of the Church, the most important part of the joining as far as the Abellican Order was concerned, then turning the procedure over to Abbot Braumin for swift conclusion. Braumin rolled through the promises and the vows, the Hopes of Joining litany and the Touching of Flesh and Souls prayers, then paused and looked at the congregation, asking, "Be there any souls here and now who feel that they, in good heart and conscience, must deny the continuance of this joining? Speak now or never!"
How Constance Pemblebury wanted to shout out at the moment! But to her surprise, and delight, she found that someone else did it for her.
"I demand a pause!" came a stern, powerful voice from the back. All heads turned, and Jilseponie clasped Danube's hand ever more tightly, fearing that he would draw his sword and behead the speaker.
But Danube relaxed a moment later, and so did Jilseponie, when they recognized the intruder. He looked much like Danube, only younger and thinner, and the smile he wore upon his face as he strode confidently down the aisle was genuine.
"My brother!" King Danube cried.
"All hail Prince Midalis!" the sergeant of the Allheart guard cried out.
"I deny the ceremony!" Midalis yelled above the confused and confusing multitude of whispers. He hesitated and smiled all the wider. "Until I am properly standing at the side of my brother, the King."
And so the joy in St. Honce was even greater that day, for the people to see the brothers Ursal, the King and the Prince, on one of the rare occasions when they stood together. Danube and Midalis were not close, and had never been, with many years between them in age, for in truth, Midalis was much closer to Jilseponie's age of thirty-five.
The Prince came forward and greeted his brother with a warm handshake, then started to bow to Jilseponie, but she caught him in mid-bow and wrapped him in a hug instead. They had met many years before, in the grove outside Dundalis where lay the bodies of Elbryan and his uncle Mather, and then again at the Barbacan when Midalis had led the folk of Vanguard and a contingent of Alpinadoran barbarians to the arm of Avelyn. Jilseponie had not seen him in those years since, but the bond of trust between them seemed no less.
Gasps from the back brought attention away from the altar, and Jilseponie guessed the source before she even looked that way.
Indeed, there stood Andacanavar, the great ranger of Alpinador, nearly seven feet tall and with more than seventy hard winters behind him. He didn't stand quite as straight as he had those years before, Jilseponie noted, but was indeed still impressive. She didn't doubt for a moment that he could break apart any two men in St. Honce. More surprising to her, Bruinhelde, chieftain of Tol Hengor, a major Alpinadoran community just across the border from Vanguard, stood beside Andacanavar. Flanking him was another old friend, Master Dellman of St. Belfour.
Truly Jilseponie, and particularly Abbot Braumin, were thrilled to see Dellman, who had been with them all those years ago when they had battled Father Abbot Markwart for control of the heart of the Abellican Church. But what impressed Jilseponie even more was the presence of the Alpinadorans. For she understood it to be a testimonial to her, the wife of Elbryan, the hero of the north. Bruinhelde was no unimportant leader among the savage people of Alpinador, and for him to travel all these hundreds of miles to attend the marriage of the King of Honce-the-Bear, a land for which Alpinador traditionally held little trust or love, was nothing short of amazing.
"May I stand at your side, brother?" Prince Midalis asked, even as King Danube was about to ask him if he would do just that.
King Danube pulled his brother in for another hug, then moved him into position directly at his side, displacing Duke Kalas one position - and Jilseponie noticed the Duke did not seem too pleased by that!
And so finished the ceremony, with an even greater resonance of joy filling Abbot Braumin's voice.
King Danube ended the proceedings, moving to the podium next to the altar and calling out in a voice strong and regal and full of excitement and enthusiasm. "Bear witness ye all!" he cried. "For on this midsummer day of God's Year 840, does Jilseponie Wyndon take the surname of Ursal. Hail to the Queen!"
A thunderous applause ensued, and at that moment, the weight of the occasion hit Jilseponie, nearly overwhelming her.
Danube looked to Midalis as he continued. "Scribe in stone," he said formally, meaning that this was a Kingly Decree, a point of absolute and unbreakable law, "that the code of bloodlines will be adhered to, despite my undeniable love for this great woman. Thus, in the event of my death, Jilseponie will not become ruling Queen of Honce-the-Bear."
It was not a shocking statement to any who had been about the court of late, including Jilseponie, for all of these procedural details had been meticulously gone over.
"Prince Midalis, my younger brother, remains second in succession, with Jilseponie to assume the title of Lady Ursal. In the event that my brother's death precedes my own, or that he dies childless after assuming the throne, the line of succession remains intact, with my accepted son Merwick as Prince Midalis' immediate successor, his brother, Torrence, in line behind him."
Jilseponie stared at Constance while the King made these formal proclamations, which, too, were no surprise to either of them. The woman, staring back at the new queen, wore a smug expression indeed!
"But hear ye all and scribe in stone!" Danube said, most powerfully of all. "That should Jilseponie bear a child, then that child, male or female, will enter the line of succession immediately behind me, above even Prince Midalis of Vanguard." He looked to Midalis as he spoke this, and so did Jilseponie, and the reasonable and decent man nodded and smiled his acceptance. Jilseponie quickly glanced back at Constance and was hardly surprised to see that the woman's smug expression had soured considerably.
Soon after, the great party on the fields behind Castle Ursal began, with feasting and drinking, a display of the joust by Duke Kalas and the Allhearts - which Duke Kalas won - and parades of entertainers. It went on and on, and was planned for several straight days of revelry.
Of course, soon after night fell, King Danube found Jilseponie and bade her to go off with him to their private quarters to consummate the union.
She was not comfortable as she made her way across the ground, leaving Braumin and Roger and Dellman and the others to their discussions. She had not made love to any man since the death of Elbryan, and only once before her joining with her former husband had she ever come close to intimacy with a man. And that unhappy occasion, the night of her first, quickly annulled, wedding to Connor Bildeborough of Palmaris, had not gone well at all.
But Jilseponie was an older and wiser person now, one who had perspective on the world and on the relative importance of events. She found that she was not so nervous when she and Danube ascended the huge curving stairway to their private quarters in the palace, when he moved even closer to her and kissed her gently on the cheek.
This night was not going to be a sacrifice, Jilseponie knew, and she mumbled a little prayer to Elbryan and took comfort that his spirit, if it was watching the events of this day, would not disapprove.
"How can I know for certain?" Abbot Ohwan asked helplessly against Constance's insistence, his pronounced lisp only adding to the sense of dread and urgency in his voice.
"Abbot Je'howith learned of my pregnancies long before even I knew," the woman sharply replied. "He used his soul stone to inspect my womb. Can you not do the same to discern if Jilseponie is barren?"
The man was shaking his head before she even finished. "Abbot Je'howith was very old and very skilled with the gemstones," he explained. For, indeed, Je'howith, who had been abbot of St. Honce for many, many years until his death at the beginning of the rosy plague, was considered by many in the Order at St. Honce to have been the greatest leader and user of the sacred stones ever to come out of that abbey.
"You fear her," Constance accused.
Abbot Ohwan didn't deny the truth of that. "Her powers with the gemstones are legendary, m'lady Pemblebury," he said. "If I went to her in such an intrusive manner, then she would likely overwhelm me and chase my spirit back to my body. And what repercussions she might then exact - "
Constance's snort stopped him short.
"Can you not go to her feigning friendship, then?" the woman asked. "Offer your help in examining her, that you two might learn if she can bear Danube's children?"
"I could do nothing that Jilseponie could not do for herself," Abbot Ohwan protested. "My offer, I fear, would beget little more than scorn."
"But you do not know!" Constance yelled at him.
The man stood very quiet, tucking his hands into the sleeves of his voluminous brown robe and lowering his gaze.
"You said that she was barren," Constance remarked, grasping at any hope.
"So the rumors say," Ohwan responded.
Constance snorted again and waved the man away. He was more than happy to oblige, leaving her alone in her room with many dark and confusing thoughts. The rumors did say that Jilseponie had been gravely injured in her battle with Markwart on the field outside Palmaris, had lost her baby and her ability to conceive.
But was Constance to wager the future of her own children on a rumor?
She moved across the room to a small cabinet and pulled open the door. Dozens of jars lined the shelves, spices and perfumes. Constance fumbled among them, knocking many to the floor, finally finding the ones containing certain herbs she had used so many times in the distant past. She held the two jars up before her eyes, rubbing the dust from them. Parsentac and holer grubbs, the herbs courtesans took to prevent conception. Could she, perhaps, find some way to slip these into Queen Jilseponie's food?
The woman frowned. Discerning the appropriate dosage of the herbs could be a trying and painful process, for too much could cause the most excruciating cramps, could even cause death.
That possibility did not seem so unpleasant to Constance Pemblebury at that moment, and her mind began to whirl, scheming and plotting, thinking of favors she could call in to get these herbs into the appropriate places. Yes, it would take some doing, but it could be done.
Strangely, though, Constance felt little relief as she came to believe that she could indeed help ensure Jilseponie's barrenness.
Other more devastating emotions tugged at her mind and at her heart. She thought again of the wedding, of the look on Danube's face at the moment he became joined with that woman. She thought again of the look on Danube's face when he had retrieved Jilseponie from the garden celebration, taking her off to his - to their! - bedroom.
And even now, as she sat here miserably, he was with her, in her arms. Images of passion flashed through Constance's mind, of Danube and Jilseponie entwined in lovemaking.
She tried futilely to focus on Merwick and Torrence, on the threat to their inheritance, but no matter how many times Constance tried to tell herself that their fate was the most important matter here, she could not dismiss her imagination, could not rid herself of those horrible scenes.
She heard the cracking of the glass jar before she felt the stinging, burning sensation in her right hand.
Constance looked down at that gash in her palm, all the more painful because some of the herbs were inside it. She hardly moved to grasp it, though, or to stop the bleeding, thinking the pain a very minor thing at that time compared to the deeper wound King Danube had given her this day.