Mortalis

'You tried…' she started to say, but she paused and looked up at Je'howith, and a wry smile came over her.

'Yes, dear Constance,' the abbot confirmed. 'Your alluring wiles have worked their magic. You carry King Danube's child.'

Constance clapped her hands together, then brought them up to cover her mouth, gasping with joy. 'It is true,' she dared to say.

'Why are you so surprised?' Je'howith asked sarcastically. 'Is this not what you wanted? Was this not your purpose ever since you saw your beloved Danube's eye wander the way ofJilseponie Wyndon? '

Constance's expression changed to sternness. 'And do you disapprove? ' she asked, an accusation as much as a question. 'For if you did, then why did you not warn King Danube of my intent? '

Je'howith merely chuckled.

'I fear Jilseponie, but you despise her,' Constance went on. 'I bear her no ill will, yet you would pay the headsman handsomely to take her pretty head from her shoulders.'

Je'howith bowed to her, an admission that her reasoning was sound. 'I fear her more than you ever could,' he explained. 'You fear that she will threaten your little place at Danube's side. I fear that she will topple the world of the Abellican Church.'

'And what better way to keep her out of the Church than to involve her in the affairs of the Crown? ' reasoned Constance, again in that accusatory tone. 'Perhaps Je'howith whispers ofJilseponie in King Danube's ear.'

The monk laughed. 'Because I would be better off by far if Jilseponie came to Ursal as queen of Honce-the- Bear? ' he asked incredulously. ' No, my dear Constance, never would I desire that. I am glad that the woman has gone north, far out of the way, and is not meddling in the affairs of either Church or Crown.'

'And what of Constance, then, and her condition?' she asked.

Again the old abbot chuckled, belittling the whole thing. 'This will not be Danube's first child. Nor, I doubt, will it be his last.' 'It?' Constance echoed. 'Boy or girl?' 'Most mothers do not wish to be told.'

Constance fixed the old man with a devastating glower. 'Boy,' Je'howith answered, and Constance clenched her fist with absolute glee. 'You assume much if you think this will greatly alter your standing,' Je'howith said. 'You know nothing of my relationship with King Danube,' Constance replied. 'You, not I, assume much.'

Je'howith draped his arm about the woman, fixing her with a disarming smile. 'Listen to us,' he bade her. 'We sound as if we are against each other in this matter, when, truthfully, we both share similar goals. The health of King Danube and his kingdom is to our mutual liking, is it not?'

'And how does my situation affect that health, in Abbot Je'howith's thinking? ' Constance asked bluntly.

The old man's smile seemed genuine. 'Why, Milady Pemblebury, it would not pain me to call you my queen.'

Constance returned the smile and nodded, then dressed and took her leave.

Abbot Je'howith, whose world had just been turned upside down in Palmaris, whose position in his beloved Church had been severely strained by his association with the man who lost the battle for the Church, watched her every step. Was she carrying the future King of Honce-the-Bear? Oreven more relevant to old Je'howith, who would not likely outlive young King Danube, would this situation elevate Constance to her coveted position as queen?

'So be it,' the old abbot said aloud, and he nodded, unconcerned. He had never truly been at odds with Constance-often he had considered her as Danube's most reasonable secular adviser. He didn't think it likely that Danube would take her as his wife anyway-if he meant to do that, he would have done so long ago.

But still, despite all of his logical arguments telling him that this situation was neither unexpected nor damaging, it nagged at Je'howith until he finally discerned his source of distress.

Again he nodded, his understanding of his own fears coming clearer. Might this situation push King Danube to other action? To the active pursuit ofJilseponie, perhaps, that he might sire a more acceptable heir?

Constance had gotten her wish, the culmination of her pursuit and treachery, but old and wise Je'howith wasn't sure that the woman fully understood the consequences.

A boy, a son for King Danube Brock Ursal! The news should not have surprised Constance, who had been working so long to just that end; and yet, from the moment Je'howith had told her about the child, all the world had seemed to slip out of focus.

She went immediately to her room, to her bed, and reclined there, deep in thought and steeped in joy. She would mother the future King of Honcethe-Bear! This child within her would rise through the ranks of nobility to the very highest level, would bring the name of Pemblebury the stature it had once known, many generations before.

Once, before the unification of the kingdom under King Danube's greatgreat-great-great-grandfather, the Pembleburys had been the lords of WesterHonce, an independent fiefdom. When King Bendragon Coelyn Ursal had unified the kingdom, subjugating Wester-Honce, the Pembleburys had remained an important family; but over the generations that stature, along with the population and importance of Wester-Honce itself, had gradually diminished, to the point where Constance's grandmother had chosen to become a courtesan in order to retain any ties at all to the Throne. Constance's mother, a bastard child of a duke, a distant relation to the family of Targon Bree Kalas, had followed suit, and had taught Constance in the family's new profession.

Constance's child would be the first male in the family for three generations and, given its pedigree, held the promise of restoring all that the Pembleburys once were, and more.

Along with the hopes Constance fostered that morning were more than a few doubts. She understood, even more clearly now that her efforts had worked, that she had forced upon King Danube a delicate and potentially devastating situation. She had played her hand, had taken a great risk, in the hopes that King would remain loyal to her.

Constance took a deep and steadying breath, considering again the potential consequences, the risk that she would be forced from the city, into the circles of lesser nobles, as had both women who had previously become pregnant with Danube's children. A moment of sheer terror gripped her, the sudden certainty that her actions to secure a greater role had thus doomed her to a minor position in a minor court.

It was a passing fear, though, for Constance reminded herself of how badly she had wanted a child. Her childbearing days were nearing their end, but Danube showed little movement toward formalizing their relationship, and so she had been given little choice.

Of course, she could have sought out a different sire, a less complicated union with a lesser noble-many of whom would have been thrilled to take her as wife. But Constance didn't want just any man's child, and had no intention of settling for another whom she did not love. No, she loved Danube, and had loved him since before his wedding to Queen Vivian two decades earlier. He was her friend and her lover, the only man who had ever seemed to genuinely understand her. And now he was the father of her child, and to Constance, nothing in all the world could have been more appropriate.

And so, as she settled in for a long morning's rest, her joy overcame her fears, and she became at ease with the reality of her situation, very pleased that her child, Danube's child, was growing within her.

'Kalas continues to hold the Abellican Church in check in Palmaris and all the northern reaches,' King Danube said happily to Je'howith when the old abbot came upon him, later that same day, reclining in his study, sipping fine brandy, and surrounded by the most extensive library in all the world, greater even than the collection of tomes hoarded at St.-Mere-Abelle.

Danube's smile was genuine; he was in fine spirits, and not because of the drink. He was happy to be home again, in the bright summer, and with his kingdom finally settling back into its previous state of calm. He was happy that he could again go riding in the fields around Castle Ursal, that he could enjoy the balls and parties with the many nobles and courtesans. It seemed that the pall of the demon dactyl was finally lifting from his kingdom, and that the upstart brothers of the Abellican Church, often his most bitter rivals, would soon again be huddled within their dark walls.

'I do miss Duke Kalas,' the King admitted, and he laughed again when Je'howith, who had never been a friend to the fiery and ultimately secular Duke, frowned deeply. 'Perhaps I will be able to invite him home soon enough.'

'Do not underestimate Abbot Braumin Herde and his intentions,' Je'howith warned.

'Word from Kalas says that Jilseponie has left for the northland,' the King replied. 'Without her, our friend Braumin will prove much less formidable. And as the darkness recedes, so too will the influence of the Church. The people of Palmaris remember well the oppression of Bishop De'Unnero, I assure you, and his reign of terror suited Duke Kalas well.'