“This is the tale of Yolandhe and King Akarion,” Estora read to Zachary, “and how the king claimed Yolandhe’s love for himself.” Many versions of the tale carried a heavy moral message about how Akarion tamed Yolandhe’s wicked ways. It would be interesting to see if this interpretation fell into the same trap.
It did not, but focused on Yolandhe’s seduction of the king and the nearly constant lovemaking that ensued for years after.
“Don’t they ever stop to sleep or eat?” Estora asked, growing warmer with each word to the point she had to fan herself with the book. “Who wrote this?” When she checked, the author was listed as “Anonymous.”
She thanked the gods no one heard or saw her reading it, that even the Weapons granted her privacy by posting themselves outside when she was with Zachary. He remained quiet and unconscious. Roused as she was by the story of Yolandhe and Akarion, she ached for him to awaken, to draw her into his arms, to make love to her.
Had Zachary not lain injured the night of their wedding, they’d have already joined in the rite of consummation, an event of ancient origins attended by witnesses to ensure the new royal couple commenced the task of creating heirs. Her marriage was already legally bound, but there were those who adhered to the old ways and would not recognize it until the rite took place, and those couples that refused lost title and were shunned. Sometimes tradition held more sway than law.
She hoped, given the circumstances, the need for the rite would be overlooked and that she and Zachary could join naturally without an audience watching on, but with her cousin Richmont constantly mentioning the rite, it seemed unlikely. He just wanted to ensure, she knew, that her place as queen was unquestionably secured among all influential parties, including the traditionalists, which of course guaranteed his own place in the royal court.
She shuddered at the thought of having to perform the act before people known and unknown to her. She resumed her reading, pushing the rite of consummation to the back of her mind, enjoying the escape as much as hoping her voice reached Zachary through his illness and reassured him he was not alone.
Later in Zachary’s dressing room, which was rapidly becoming Estora’s place of business, Cummings helped her to go through the volumes of well wishes and condolences that continued to flow into the castle. He told her they would hold off on a coronation dinner until several lord-governors could be in attendance. It would be, of course, a sticky situation. The lord-governors could very well challenge the manner of her marriage and hasty coronation, but she hoped Colin’s handling of the whole situation forestalled such conflict. It had certainly made the confinement of Captain Mapstone all the more imperative.
The messages Colin sent out with the Green Riders told of Zachary’s desire to move up the wedding out of his regard for his betrothed, and because an “accident while riding” made him reconsider the gravity of a smooth transition should any serious harm come to him. The rumors rife in the city and beyond had already muddled the details of the incident so much that the lord-governors would have an impossible time rooting out the truth. Meanwhile, Colin and his aides had begun to circulate additional rumors with a modified version of what had happened on Sacor City’s streets that afternoon. The king’s high-strung stallion had spooked. The king fell and was injured. He was under the care of the castle’s finest menders and in good enough form to marry.
Word was that there would be official celebrations when the king was up and about and the lord-governors in attendance, but there were already accounts of the city’s populace celebrating in the streets, and the joy would only spread as word moved across the country.
The lord-governors still might challenge the marriage and coronation, but the mood of the realm would be against them like the surge of an incoming storm tide.
A knock came upon the door and Estora nodded for Cummings to answer it. There were murmurings with whoever sought entrance, but she did not glance up from her papers until Cummings stepped aside and three persons approached: Colin, General Harborough, and Lieutenant Connly of the Green Riders. They bowed to her.
“What is it?” she asked, praying it was not a crisis so early in her queenhood, as if the attack on her betrothed and death of her father were not enough.
“A crisis, I fear,” Colin replied, supplying the answer she least wanted to hear. “In fact two.”
Estora closed her eyes and the papers shook in her hand. No. She must not appear weak. She took a deep breath and steadied herself.
“Tell me,” she said.
“News of both came from Green Riders,” Colin said. “Lieutenant?”
The Rider nodded, and Estora wondered if he felt as lost without his captain as she felt without the king.
“Your Highness,” he said. “The news comes from both the south and the north.” He told her first of word he’d received from the wall, an unbelievable story of an Eletian Sleeper—with an explanation of what Sleepers were—trapped in one of the towers, and how it was possible that more Sleepers turned by the darkness of Blackveil could pass through the towers into Sacoridia.
“Rider D’Yer and Captain Wallace have requested more troops at the wall to guard the towers,” Connly finished.
General Harborough opened his mouth to speak, but Colin gestured for him to wait. “Let Lieutenant Connly tell the tale of the north first,” he said.
The general folded his meaty arms and waited with ill-concealed impatience.
“I’ve received reports,” Connly said, “from Riders who’ve been trying to track Birch and his Second Empire renegades on the northern boundary. There’ve been incidents.” His eyes were cast downward. “The Riders have come across small settlements that have been destroyed, the people murdered to the last babe and elder. They’ve found evidence that the people suffered extreme torture, no mercy, before being executed.”