Chapter IV: In The Mist
The mauve lilacs had filled the room with an alluring scent, one that Sharn could smell even from across the room. But of course, they were the same flowers Lenore would pick for her in late spring every year. Perhaps the unnaturally humid weather was why the fragrance felt stronger. Or perhaps she had become more sensitive than usual. Given her circumstances and the steadily growing bump of her belly, it did not surprise her. Healer Hamon had warned her of such changes, and this was perhaps one of the few that turned out for the better.
She frowned as once again the needle stung her finger instead of disappearing through the linen. Her mind had been wandering lately, unfocused, and even needlework and embroidery had not been able to distract her from the unsettling feeling that grew more and more inside her with each passing day, just like her baby inside her body. Am I being as emotional as Petra tells me? Frustrated, she would try to remember the recent events to figure out what was causing her distress. She knew herself too well to know this was no emotional wavering, but an actual premonition. She was fully aware of how her mind worked; it warned her of potential dangers and problems way before she could put the pieces of puzzles together to understand what was going on. It was utter foolishness to dismiss the feeling so easily, whatever her companions said. So she looked back on what had happened lately.
With Endon's seventh coronation anniversary coming, the palace was a picture of hecticness: Noble lords and ladies prepared themselves for the grand feast: cooks stirred and baked what could be made in advance: jugglers and acrobats exercised while musicians and players practiced their pieces: guards trained for their march and servants, group by group, ran in every direction, taking their mistress' commands. And of course, the ever-contemptible Prandinde and the other courtiers ran the affairs as always.
When she was younger, Sharn had only met the tall chief advisor on special occasions. In her young eyes, he was a respected and powerful man. But even from afar, he always terrified her. Not only because his facial features were reminiscent of wicked thieves in illustrated storybooks she used to read, but because - Sharn would realize later - there was no humane emotion behind those cold eyes. He did not enjoy his food as others did; he did not rest as much as others did; he did not show any personal interest in anything, even the weirdest possible hobbies Sharn could imagine. There simply was no sense of life in him. There was only work in his life, tending to piles of papers and parchments that needed to be replied to.
She had tried to imagine that perhaps some people were born this way, or by some sad history in their lives turned like that. But it was not till after she was crowned the queen that his true nature started revealing itself and by then, the name Prandine was an equivalent of despise for her—a despicable presence that followed her even in the private life of hers and Endon's.
"Sharn! Sharn!"
A sharp feminine voice brought her back to the present. It was Petra, sitting not far from her, with Reine and Taline by her side, all interrupting their needlework for the moment and staring at her.
"You are clearly not with us!", Petra asked with a tint of scold. Typical of hers. "Are you not feeling well?"
"I am sorry", Sharn smiled. "I am fine. What were you saying?"
"I said Genith is a suitable nursemaid, do you not think so? After all, you have to choose someone by your Naming ceremony."
"Oh, right!", replied Sharn absentmindedly. "She is a good choice indeed." When she saw Petra's closed face, no doubt due to her inattentiveness, she forced a bigger smile. "Min knows her since she was just a child. She, too, believes that Genith is a suitable choice."
Reine shifted on her seat, her angelic face soft to her friend of childhood. "At least you do not have to do so till a week or two later." She was back to the old ivory silk fabric in her hand, cross-stitching a traditional Toran anemone pattern they both used to practice when they were younger. "Besides, you will have more time to choose the names."
"Oh, my favorite part of the Naming", Taline exclaimed. "You know how names define a child's character and future. Imagine a princess named Caroline, with a voice sweet as honey, always singing. Or a prince Aaron, the all-powerful ruler."
"The meaning is not important. The sound of it is what defines!", Petra started with an all-knowing air. She had barely stitched a line. All through their embroidery session, she had been talking nonstop. "If it were for the meaning, then Reine would have been the queen instead of Sharn."
"Petra!", Taline gasped, nudging her. Sharn's stomach churned. She could not believe what she was hearing, Petra pouring salt on Reine's wounds that had just started to heal after years while putting Sharn's present status in the middle of their old friendship.
"What! Am I wrong? Reine knows it too." Then she continued as if nothing had happened. "The sound is important. Princess Caroline; is not a good choice, though Queen Caroline sounds fine. But the years she is called the princess are just as important as when she becomes the queen. Prince Aaron, King Aaron...they both sound charming." And she would rave about how sounds shape a child's future.
Sharn glanced at her friend, Reine: her expression plain, her beautiful face unmarked by any sadness or regret. She even laughed at Petra's gabbles. She turned to Sharn, feeling the weight of her stare and gave her a smile. "It is fine, do not mind her", she mouthed.
It was not fine! Taline knew it too, for she had stopped working, her glance turning from Sharn to Reine to Petra. It made Sharn feel nauseated at how the warm friendly space they had been sharing just now had suddenly gone ice-cold by a careless word Petra had said.
The air suddenly felt heavy. She could no longer bear their voices. She excused their company and went out of the leisure room, almost running. Taking shelter behind a decorative statue in the corridor, she took several deep breaths till the nausea started to fade away.
Petra, you fool!
She sometimes wondered whether Petra's sharp stings were intentional. They were friends since they were girls, they had kept it that way even after she married Endon, but Petra never missed the spot where it burned the most, even for those she called friends. And now Sharn was remembering moments since she spread the news of her expectancy where Petra had struck her with words and manners that seemed friendly at first glance, but when put together meant nothing but some sort of ill will for her.
Was she perhaps... envious? That Sharn was the queen, bearing the future heir to the kingdom? It was rather unlikely, despite all the evidence. Petra was the only one of them as young girls that did not fantasize marrying the young prince Endon, let alone dreaming to mother his child one day. It was hard to believe she would put their friendship at risk solely because Sharn's position as the queen was secured now that she had conceived. Yet her attitude had suddenly changed when the news was spread. She always had a sharp tongue, but her words used to be funny, making them double in laughter, bringing them closer in their girl gatherings. Now, alas, they had turned poisonous, viciously slashing at their bonds, with Sharn standing at the center of them.
But why? Have I done something wrong? Did I offend her at some point?
And poor Reine. For many years, she was the one that Queen Esther, Endon's mother, had chosen to be the royal bride, at least unofficially. She was supposed to be the queen now. But in a series of sudden events around the time of Queen Esther and King Alton's death, Reine's father, the most notable Lord of the court, was accused of treason by Prandine, just like Endon's childhood friend, Jarred. And like him, the Rules condemned Reines's father to death. He was accordingly beheaded. His family was deprived of all titles, according to the Rules, including Reine who could never become the queen anymore. Normally, title deprivation would also end in exile from the palace. However, with other courtiers' mediation, Sharn's family in particular, Reine, her mother and her younger brother were allowed to continue their lives in the palace. Despite being officially in the ranks of peasants, Sharn had maintained their relationship as if nothing had changed. After all, that was what they had promised when they were younger, whatever the future had held in store for her. Reine was practically her sister.
She trudged the marble corridor to the bed-chamber. A group of palace servants led by their head mistress approached her. They bowed and paused to let her pass. She would have answered their courtesy if it were not for her dizzy head. So all she did at the end was pass them by as if they were not there.
The richly decorated room was empty. She went for the windows, opened them and stepped outside in the balcony.
The sky was a clear pale blue. The sea was calm. The air was warm and still, forewarning of the first summer storms. But the city below was as lively and thriving as ever. The picture of Del from the palace was breathtaking every time she stared at it. There were tiny houses of umber bricks, made of red soils native to the southern parts of Deltora, all with the traditional concave gable roofs. There were trees, making thick coverings near the orchards, getting sparser as they got closer to the coast. And in the middle of the city, rose the tower clock of the main square. Its ringing was faint and damped from the distance. Nevertheless, Sharn would sometimes stand there only to hear it striking the hour.
Life looked brilliant in the city. At least Prandine's love of work shows itself somewhere. She could not deny the fact that despite his nose stuck in her life, he was a capable overseer and an excellent achiever, and for that he was worthy of admiration if she was honest with herself.
She sighed and turned, going back inside. She did not know what to think of Prandine, of Petra, of everything and everyone that were bothering her. Maybe I need to stop worrying. Everything is all right. She looked down at the protruded silk of her dress, covering her bump. Maybe this is what I should be focusing on right now. This! Our kid!
Within three months, their firstborn would step into this insane yet beautiful world. A little girl or boy, soft small hands, tiny feet. She had been spending time behind her loom, weaving a fabric of the finest Toran silk. It would make a fine garment for their little baby, it would be soft, protecting the little one with all her motherly love. And while she was entwining the wefts and warps, she thought of possible names to call their child. Emmeline, she would seldom think of. Emmeline would make a pretty nice princess, a gentle and brave queen; or Nova, the ninth king of Deltora. The Naming ceremony would be held around this time, according to the palace traditions, where she and Endon had to announce the chosen names for their little prince or princess. Endon, as the king, would also bestow a chosen nursemaid the title of the royal nursemaid of the heir.
Of course, this was not the only one of these rituals. In the past three months, there had been three ceremonies only in celebration of the awaited heir. A month later another would be held; a feast that would bring the expectant queen whatever food she craved, along with gifts from each royal household. There would even be a ceremony of delivery, with all the routines befitting the birth of a nobility, conducted by the Chapelin. Sharn always thought this was the cruelest tradition of the palace: the ritual would start when the labor pain arrived and all the while the mother had to endure that pain before the Chapelin blessed the mother, the child and the healers and midwives. The palace was the breeding home to such traditions, developed generation after generation to become what was now practiced. And sometimes Sharn would wonder if they were all playing themselves like clowns with all these overwhelming customaries.
She sat behind the grand dressing table and unfastened the pins in her hair. Tonight, she would be wearing the new dress the royal seamstress had tailored for her and the master of the closet was boasting of. For all she knew, heavy ornaments would come with the suit of the dress, not including her consort crown, which weighed almost as much as the baby inside her did. So, she let her hair loose for the time being and started brushing it. She still had that unsettling feeling inside her. But this, enjoying her short freedom till her maids started to prepare her for tonight's feast, gave her the comfort she needed.
She picked the necklace that her husband had given her and wore it around her neck. It was a delicate chain of gold with an intricately carved locket. Endon had gifted it to her on the night they had married, when they had met and spoken to each other for no more than a few hours. She smiled at the memory. They were nothing but strangers, both barely into their adulthoods. She remembered his handsome young face, trying to look as cool as a king would be when in fact, he was red, shy and adorably embarrassed to meet her eyes. It had made her laugh which had started the ice to melt between them, although it had taken quite a long time to befriend each other before they actually fell in love. She had later inserted a picture of him in the small slot, so she would always remember the man she loved. It would have been nice if Endon were here and they could have the little midday chat they always had; but on days like this, there was so much to do for the king that it left no time for their regular schedule.
Perhaps tomorrow. Tomorrow, we will have a nice little tea and we can discuss the name of our child.
The thought, brushed away a bit of her gloominess. Tomorrow, everything will go back to normal and this fictitious sense of foreboding will wear off. It is just your sharpened sense of motherhood that is misreckoning the events, Sharn; it is just your worn-out mind that is mixing up Prandine with Petra's accidental slip of tongue. Everything is as it should be, you just need some rest.
She looked longingly at the inviting bed. There was no time to rest now. She had to get ready. Just bear tonight's feast and then you can sleep the night and the day after it as much as you wish. Just bear it for a few hours!