Sarnak inviting us to the palace. We will be advising you not to attend, of course. Not until we know it is perfectly safe. Finnikin is also against the visit from Osteria and he's right. It's too soon. When we allow visitors into Lumatere, we must look as if we are truly back on our feet.'
She sighed and stood, looking over the village where some of the guards were helping to thatch cottage roofs.
'When he returns, Isaboe, he will have made the most important decision, not only of his life but for this kingdom. You must have patience.'
'Ask me to also maintain my pride, because it slowly dwindles away each day that he does not come to see me.'
'You know how he feels about you, Isaboe.'
'I know nothing,' she said sadly. 'He gives me nothing and I cannot rule with nothing. But I know what my people want. For me to have a king. So a king I will give them, even if he's not my first choice.'
Trevanion waited for them on the road to the palace with several of the Guard and the horses. 'Will you mount the horse, my queen?' he asked as she approached, holding the reins out to her.
'I'd prefer to walk,' she said quietly. It was the road the impostor king and his men had used to take the women and girls of Lumatere to the palace. The road where they used to hang the children of men who chose to rebel.
'It would be easier for us if you rode, my queen,' Sir Topher suggested.
She stopped for a moment, shame on her face as she looked up at both men. 'If the truth be told ... I don't think I'm ready to return ... to my home.'
Trevanion was silent, remembering the first time he had reentered the palace. It was still full of memories of the horror he had witnessed that terrible night all those years ago.
'We have prepared the eastern wing for you, Isaboe,' Sir Topher said gently. 'It has not been touched for the last five decades.'
She nodded, relief in her expression. 'If I promise to return on the next day of rest, then we can invite the people to celebrate with me. It could be a celebration of our journey back to some kind of normality.' Her eyes held a plea.
'That is five days from now,' Sir Topher said reluctantly.
'The priestess of Lagrami has moved her novices back to their original cloister and is keen to have me visit. The cloister is not far from the palace, so it may be the perfect place to stay until then. I can visit the people of the palace village. They were once my neighbors, and they treated my sisters and brother and me as if we belonged to them.' She fought to hold back her tears.
Sir Topher caught Trevanion's eye and nodded. 'I will ride ahead to the cloister and have Lady Milla organize the festivities to celebrate your return to the palace.'
As they traveled on, Trevanion politely repeated his request for her to mount the horse.
'I hear you found Froi,' she said, politely ignoring it. 'Keep an eye on him, Captain Trevanion. Let him play peasant farmer, but remind him he belongs to the queen.'
'He doesn't think he's worthy.'
She stopped for a moment. 'Froi? Humble?'
A hint of a smile touched Trevanion's lips. 'For a moment or two.'
'When I choose to call him back, he will have no right to refuse.'
'Yet you haven't exercised the same right to call Finnikin back.'
She stopped again. 'You speak out of place, Captain, and too much conversation today has revolved around your absent son.'
He nodded. 'And for that I apologize.'
'For what part are you apologizing?' she asked.
'For what part would you like me to apologize?'
She held his gaze, and he remembered this steadfast look of hers from the time in the prison mines. He sighed, gazing beyond her to where the Flatlands were beginning to look rich and dark, the soil in perfectly aligned mounds.
'I belong to queen and country first,' he said after a while, 'but I am his father, Isaboe. You will have to pardon me on this occasion for speaking bluntly, but I will always want to tear out the heart of anyone who causes him pain, and whether you're the queen or Evanjalin, you have that power. You always have. For feeling that way, I apologize.'
'And you think I'd use such power?'
He didn't answer, and she continued to walk.
'When the time comes to tear out the heart of anyone who causes him pain, Captain Trevanion, know this,' she said fiercely. 'I will fight you to be first in line.'
After a moment, he smiled. 'Will you mount the horse, my queen?'
'No,' she replied, also with a smile.
They entered the village of Sennington, and the villagers ran toward the road to greet her.
'Is Lady Beatriss home, Tarah?' she asked one of the peasant women, whose cheeks flushed with pleasure at the queen using her name.
'Should be soon, my queen. She's down by the river with Vestie.'
The queen smiled her thanks and took the small gifts made for her by the children. 'Could you locate Lady Beatriss, Captain Trevanion?' she asked without looking up from the villagers. 'I would like to rest here before I present myself to the priestess.'
Trevanion knew exactly where to find Beatriss. He had watched her disappear behind the manor house and walk down to the river many times. Part of him wanted to keep his distance and call out rather than join her by that tree, but the yearning inside him was too strong and he found himself walking toward her. Yet he could not go all the way. He knew what lay before him. A grave. With more buried than their dead baby. Like most days, Beatriss was with the child, and he wondered at her ability to adore a reminder of the times her body had been savaged by the impostor and his men.
'The queen is waiting to see you, Lady Beatriss,' he said from his position on the slope.
She nodded, as if it was the most natural thing for him to be there, and then walked toward him. 'She is returning to the palace?' she asked.
'Yes.'
The child looked at him from where she stood by the grave, and he returned her stare, this strange miniature Beatriss. But then she went back to busying herself with her seeds.
'Your silence makes things difficult, Trevanion,' Beatriss said quietly. 'It would be wrong to pretend we have nothing to say, so I will be the one to speak. I cannot go back to being who I was, or desire what I once felt. The thought of a man touching me, any man ...' She swallowed, unable to finish, and he nodded, choking back something inside of him that ached to be let loose. He turned to walk away, feeling as if his insides were splintering.
Her voice stopped him. 'I woke with your name on my lips every morning. Like a prayer of hope. For now, that's all I can offer.'
He hesitated, remembering something Finnikin had said to him on their journey. That somehow, even in the worst of times, the tiniest fragments of good survive. It was the grip in which one held those fragments that counted.
'Then for now, my Lady Beatriss,' he said, 'what you have to offer is more than enough for me. I'll wait.'
She sighed and shook her head. 'How long will you wait, Trevanion? A man like you?'
'A man like me will wait for as long as it takes.'
They stood and watched the child sprinkle seeds around the grave, humming a sweet tune to herself. When she dropped the little cup that held the seeds, Trevanion walked over to where she stood by the headstone and read the words inscribed upon it:
He bent to pick up the cup, placing it into the child's hand. On the earth beside the grave was a stray seed. As he laid it on the rich mound of dirt, he felt tiny fingers press into his.
