“My husband’s being an ass,” Angharad answered. “I thought perhaps I might seize the opportunity for your private companionship before your chambers are entirely off-limits.”
I blinked, taking one look to Florence for guidance. The sorceress shrugged.
“Well, I suppose you’d better come in and get drunk with me,” I said at last, pouring two glasses. “While we still can.”
Florence excused herself. She shut the door, and Angharad made a cautious approach, sitting across from me.
“Why ‘while we still can’? Are you going somewhere?” She paused, a flash of dread in her eyes. “AmIgoing somewhere?”
I considered dragging out the torment just for fun. “I’ll be married soon, and all that implies. I expect I shall be with child soon thereafter.”
“Oh, it’s not always so swift,” Angharad chuckled, knowing nothing. She palmed the stem of her wine glass. “It took me years to have my first. I’ve got two of the little wonders running about.”
Curious. I had never heard of them until now, and in my time within Castle Altaigne, not once had I seen a child younger than twelve. “Have you? Where are they?”
“Why, with the nurse, I expect.” Angharad took a sip. “Much of the rearing is left to lesser nobility and hired nursemaids. If you are ever in my private estate, which I really ought to invite you to, then you shall see the unavoidable signs of their presence. The place is always a mess.”
“Hold on—you say it’s left to others? What exactly does that mean?” I asked.
Angharad tilted her head, as if a child had asked her why the sky was blue. “It is beneath our position to raise our own children. At times, it can be nasty business: changing their clouts, for instance, or taking a babe to breast, making all that mess, prolonging the period of wait before the next child can be born. Then there are matters of their lessons, their manners. If we spent our time raising the pups, we’d have no time for court affairs.” Court affairs such as what? Games of badminton? Gossip?
“And now you’ve a sour look about you,” Angharad sighed. “We still see the kids. I see mine at lunch most days, or for holidays. Sometimes the castle hosts an event that they are welcome to attend, once they’re old enough to be tolerable.”
“Are children so vile?” I asked. I recalled the ones I’d seen, running about in the lower districts of Caermont. They were soiled from poverty, but didn’t seem terrible.
“Oh, they’re adorable little cherubs, but sit in a room with one for more than a moment and you’ll feel your nerves starting to go. They talk and talk—” I parted my lips, but Angharadwent on. “—and talk of such nonsense, scarcely pausing for the slightest consideration of a reply, and when it’s not incessant chatter it’s crying or outright screaming… And it’s not enough for them to ruin our minds, but our bodies, growing the little devils; without a wet nurse, children would render every one of us haggard.”
I waited until I was certain Angharad had finished her rant. “So I shall grow a child of my own, and then my child will be given to someone else?”
Angharad nodded. “Prince Nicolas himself was largely raised by wet nurses and other family until he was of tutoring age.”
“Viscount Quinn was raised by his parents until his mother became too ill,” I countered.
“A Hadrian value, and one going out of fashion,” Angharad quipped, swirling the last of her drink until she took the last sip. “I suspect he was among the last of his generation to be brought up in such a way. Coddling our children does little for them.”
I saw flames. I’d need more wine if I was to tolerate another moment of Angharad today, so I finished off my glass and poured us both another, and I took to the second glass with urgency.
“That’s the spirit,” Angharad applauded. “To motherhood!” I raised my glass, but I couldn’t bring myself to echo the toast. I’d just agreed to a blessing that would ensure I was to bear a child, one I would apparently be expected to hand over to strangers. I drank deeply, wondering if the queen’s sorrow came not only from her losses, but from the only child she’d successfully borne being taken away so that she barely came to know him.
Chapter 30
Yellow trumpets flaredout to greet the changing season, the organized garden beds carefully cleaned in anticipation of the few visitors who would be staying in Altaigne throughout the wedding. These were trusted guests or people of lesser import. People like my parents.
They were taken for bathing shortly after their arrival, not given the chance to meet with me before they were thoroughly scrubbed of whatever common filth the castle’s servants seemed to fear like a plague. My parents were more finicky than I ever was, but I knew their protests would fall on deaf ears. The thought almost amused me.
Their letters had been sporadic since my arrival, arriving in batches when they found themselves with the free time. It was like they suddenly remembered my existence when I got those letters all at once, but I knew better than to fault them for it. They had a lot of catching up to do in the world, and with one another.
I waited in the garden, watching the bees perform their handiwork. Quinn stretched from a distance, his legs tense from bending to admire the first of the blue and purple irises to bloom.
“Finally, some decent weather,” he groaned, turning toward me with a grin that didn’t match his eyes. “I feel like a bear that has just awoken from a nightmarishly long hibernation.”
I scratched my chin, signing,“You’re starting to resemble one.”
Quinn touched his beard. “It kept me warm! But I suppose Ishouldshave.”
In truth, it wasn’t half-bad. I’d seen Father grow a beard once, but it was wild, bald in patches. Quinn’s facial hair was neatly-trimmed and maintained at a relatively short length,covering his chin, jawline, and upper lip. It grew with a natural scruff that complimented him, if giving him a more rugged edge. It was…dashing.
But I couldn’t think that. We’d done this dance since the night I’d given him the ring, overcorrecting with aggressive friendliness. The casual nature of our conversation felt like a lie.
