The Book of the Blessed

The Kingsboro

The house had set up chambers for Ohean overlooking the main bailey, and he was there, writing at his desk while Anson sat in a chair across the room.

“Myrne wishes to remain hidden.”

“Because she is a woman of the Rootless Isle?”

“No, she has her reasons, and they are her own.”

“That’s as good as saying it’s none of my business,” Anson slapped his knee. “Very well then.”

Trumpets blared outside, and he rose quicker than Ohean, who shielded his eyes looking down into the bailey.

“Two entourages together. One belongs to Essail and the other, I believe, to the Abbey of Saint Clew.”

“My sisters. Will you go out to meet them with me?”

“I have met Morgellyn once,” Ohean said, “and do not wish to do so again. I may have a word with Wolf, or with Myrne.”

Anson nodded, and adjusting his sword belt and his cloak, all in black, he went out of the rooms and through the halls. He met Imogen first, and then the two of them continued into the main hall where Cedd was ahead of them and they were all coming out into the courtyard as stewards led the horses and servants away and Morgellyn, lowered from the wainhouse beside her husband, surrounded by three boys, came forward, holding out her hands while Hilda, flanked by two nuns who were, like her, in white robes hooded and cloaked by body wrapping ground length black veils.

“Brother,” the Queen of Essail turned both of her cheeks to Cedd to have him kiss them, and then she did the same for Imogen, who simply stared at her.

“Well,” Morgellyn murmured, and kissed her quickly, and then Anson. King Stephen was already making the rounds, and Hilda stood on her toes to kiss Cedd, and then embraced Imogen and, lastly, and for a long time, she held Anson.

“Look at us orphans,” she whispered, squeezing his hand.

“And now we are all together.” The Queen of Essail said.

It seemed to Anson, that his half sister could only do an impression of mourning, and her golden haired children, always seemed less than nephews and a neice. Linalla was tall for her age, but also a stranger.

“Is it true Father is dying?” Morgellyn asked, frankly.

Cedd said, “He is placing the crown on my head in the morning. That means you have come for a crowning and… you might as well stay for the inevitable.”

Solemnly, the Queen of Essail nodded.

“I was thinking of leading the funeral hymn,” Hilda said.

“I had thought the same thing,” Cedd said. “It would be an excellent thing for the future Abbess of Durham to do, and how long will it be before Gertrude is gone, anyway?”

Hilda frowned at her older brother, and then attempted to turn it into a smile.

“I will shave my head,” she continued. “It is only appropriate.”

“It’s all fine and good for a nun who spends her days veiled in black,” Morgellyn began, “but I can be just as sad with all of my hair.”

“Morga, I never expected anything less. Or more,” Hilda said. “And not from Gen, certainly.

“I would cut off my hair a thousand times!’ Imogen’s voice almost rang out.

“That,” Cedd told her sternly, “you will not.”

Ah, Hilda thought, of course not. He’s getting her ready for the marriage bed. To anyone who will have her.

“Find me the razor,” Anson said, simply. He turned to Hilda. “Let us do this together.”

There was a separation of years and time between Hilda and Anson. She was not sure what a brother was supposed to feel like. She knew Cedd was her brother, and that she despised him and regretted how much they looked alike, their mothers having been cousins. For Anson, though, she felt a profound respect toward a man she always wished she had known better. She took his hand and they went into the main keep while Cedd said, “I’m not shaving a thing.”

“Of course not, you two are peas in a pod,” Hilda murmured, looking from Morgellyn to Cedd and ignoring the King of Essail and her nephews and nieces, “by which I mean adders hatched from the same egg.”

That night, while the hall was being made ready for the next day, and the lights of the great palace were going out one after the other, Myrne and Imogen sat on either side of Ash, and to Anson they looked like the Triple God, Varayan between his mother and sister. Anson reflected on them and part of him was still thinking about the room on the other side of the town where he had left Pol and Austin, where he had made the Triple God just last night. How strange to be loved and loving those two men in such an immediate way and then, a little while later, to be next to Ash declaring love and now here, in this silence.

“Trust me,” Myrne said, taking Imogen’s hand. “Trust my witchcraft.”

The fire gleamed on them as they sat in the dark room, and Myrne took the pipe Ash handed her and inhaled. She took another puff and blew it over the bones and stones. Another puff and another blow, the movement of the hands, the words escaping her mouth.

So above and below, around and everywhere;

And to all as to myself.

I will abide pervading the all-encompassing

world with a mind imbued thrice ringed.

Abundant, exalted, immeasurable,

I go.

These words of magic whispered to the old Ayl gods whose temples most no longer attended, whose images were carved in the rocks and whose names remained only in the days of the week, Waydan, Wednesday, Thynor, Thursday, Fride, Friday. Their names escaped Hilda’s lips, and were murmured by Maude as she sat with her hair in her face, her white hands clasped upon the knees of her dark gown.

“She is gone,” Wolf whispered, looking on Myrne. “They are both gone.”

Ash put a finger to his lips.

In the semi darkness of the room Anson saw the two women looking as if they had fallen asleep, perfectly still, but Ash looked up, and when Anson followed his gaze, he too saw Imogen and Myrne beside their bodies. Just as surely, he knew Wolf could not see them, and that this, he knew, was further proof of the power he had long ignored within him. The young women acknowledged the two men, and then walked toward the door and before passing through it, disappeared.

They moved like comets through the palace, the wish of their witchcraft taking them to the desired place. Now they emerged in chambers they had never seen. The moon was shining through curtains, and Cedd was drinking wine beside Morgellyn, the Queen of Essail.

“Bitch,” Imogen murmured, but Myrne put a finger to her lips. Such rage would ruin the concentration of the magic. They were here only to observe.

“In any proper country I would have been king the moment he died, and there would not be this rushed coronation.” Cedd said.

“I believe, in fact, our father was king the moment his brother died,” Morgellyn said. “But you know what it is.”

“Ever since that Royan bitch from the Rootless Isle came all those years ago, Anson has always been up for the throne. The people love him.”

“The people do not matter.”

“There are many Royan in this land, and the Royan nations to the west favor him.”

Morgellyn, sipping from her golden cup nodded.

“This is true,” she said. “But we will have a coronation and everyone will go home knowing there is a king in Westrial and an Overlord of the South. Problem solved.”

“Problem not solved,” Cedd said. “Not as long as Anson lives. Not as long as I have no children.’

“Then, for the love of God, have a child. Get a wife and have a child and don’t tell me about that Anthony Pembroke you’re still mooning—”

“Enough!”

“You need a queen!”

“I said enough!” Cedd slammed his hand on the table.

“Fine,” Morgellyn shrugged, looking little affected. “More thrones for my sons to inherit. And as for Anson, you already know what you plan to do with him.”

“I was hoping you would say something different. Something better.”

“Were you?” Morgellyn asked him with a small smile. “Or were you hoping I would confirm you? Bless your treachery? Well, I do. I stand right beside it.”

“Kill Anson?”

“You’d better do it with stealth. And you’d better do it after his magician is gone.”

“You know better than to refer to Ash as that.”

“Do you fear him?”

“I cannot believe you do not.”

“I fear him enough to say do not take your vengeance until he is well gone. And when you do, do it in secret. Some poison or, perhaps, some impossible adventure. Something that puts as little blood on your hands as possible.”

“No, no,” Cedd said. “I’ve got it. I’ll kill him the very day of our father’s funeral.”

Even Morgellyn was surprised by this.

“Kill him when Father is not even cold in his grave,” Cedd said. “Make sure there is someone in the crowd who stabs him even as Father’s ashes are being placed in the tomb, someone under my pay who announces himself as so loyal he couldn’t let Anson even stand a chance of being king.”

“Who in the world would—?” Morgellyn began than sat up,.“

Oh…” she laughed in a low tone. “You’ve already got some poor bastard blackmailed.”

“Yes,” Cedd said, “And then I’m immediately sending that little bitch—”

“Which little bitch?”

“Imogen.”

“Of course,” Morgellyn said.

“She’ll be headed for Duke Ganly right after the wedding.”

“Duke Ganly is eighty years old!”

“I owe him. He’ll be glad of a king’s daughter. It’ll do her proud cunt good to get pounded by the old man and bear a couple of brats, and after that she’ll be the most powerful Duchess in the land. After all, how much longer can Ganly live…?”

With a great heave like one coming up from under water for air, Myrne shot out of her chair, blinking into consciousness, and Imogen came up, gasping after her. They were both blinking in the dim light of the room where Anson and Ash sat.

“We have to go,” Imogen insisted. “We have to go at once.”

Anson touched his sister’s shoulder.

Wolf looked shaken and Anson thought against touching her shoulder and then did it anyway.

But it was Ash who leaned forward and commanded, face sober:

“Tell me everything.”