Sins of Basilia (Shrouded Thrones Book 4) Page 19

  Carmela eased up beside him and put an arm around his middle. “He sounds so unlike the boy I remember, yet I have had little contact with him in several years. Even at the weddings this past year, he scarcely spoke to me.”

  “I suppose he was too busy eyeing every other woman there. I remember plainly watching him at Eural and Estelle’s reception, licking his lips at every comely female. Truthfully, Angeline pointed him out to me and used him as an example to feel unashamed over my feelings of desire for her.” The most mournful-sounding sigh escaped him. “Forgive me, I should not speak of it.”

  “Perhaps Yakar avoided me because he knew even then, I was his sister.” She laid her head on Tesher’s shoulder, wishing things had not become further complicated.

  “With Issans, it matters not.”

  His words stung. “Please, keep from making such remarks. I am Issan, and it matters to me.”

  He pivoted on the bed and faced her. “You have Issan blood in your veins, but you were raised as a Thanwinian.”

  “With morals like my Thanwinian father displayed? Or those of my mother?” She flopped back onto the pillows. “I am so confused, I swear I might burst!”

  He stretched out and pressed himself against her. “We will make sense of it together.”

  The soft light in the room pulsed behind him and circled his head like a halo. Her angelic Tesher. Because of Angeline’s manipulation, Carmela held absolutely no blame toward him for Frederick’s death. In her eyes, Tesher was the epitome of perfection.

  She threaded her fingers into his hair, feeling suddenly sensual. “If we are to be enclosed together in this chamber indefinitely, I cannot keep from touching you and eventually, entwining with you.”

  He swallowed hard. “Then…what are we to do?” His voice bore a nervous squeak. “I refuse to sleep in a chair at the far side of the room, just to keep from doing what I know I should not.”

  Quite contrary to her earlier mood, she giggled. “The moon will be full in three days. I can abstain from following my desires for such a short period of time.” She glided her hand across his chest, and he closed his eyes to her touch. “Tesher, will you marry me then?”

  He released the manliest of whimpers and shivered against her hand. “Pasha and Yakar are saying their vows that day. She could very well be with child, and as much as it dismays me, I cannot stop their union.” He became utterly still as if contemplating all he had said.

  After several moments of silence, he shrugged. “I suppose we could marry as well.” Even in the dim light, she witnessed a transformation in his expression. His eyes significantly widened. “What am I saying? I should be overjoyed, yet I shrug it off like it is an everyday thing. Are we truly going to follow through with this?”

  “What other choice do we have? You already stated you will not resort to sleeping in a chair, and I happen to appreciate having you in my bed.”

  His chest heaved. “But…who will perform our rite? There are no priests in Issa.”

  “We will say our vows to one another.” She pointed at the window. “When the full moon sheds its light, we can stand there before God and swear our promises.”

  “How will they be valid without the blessings of a priest?”

  She pressed her hand to his heart. “We will sanctify them, and God will look down upon us and know our love is genuine.”

  He nervously licked his lips, and his brows wove. If only she could delve into his thoughts.

  “I am agreeable,” he finally said, “but how can we manage these three days?”

  Softly giggling, she stood, lifted the coverlet, and crawled beneath it. “This will separate us.” She smoothed it out atop her. “If you get cold lying above it, there are more blankets in the drawer beneath the wardrobe.”

  “That is manageable,” he said matter-of-factly, then stared down at her and moistened his lips. “Am I still allowed to kiss you?”

  “My lips have been yours since the day we went to the scribes in Oros.” She puckered, and he eagerly obliged her.

  Kiss after kiss, their playfulness changed into heated passion. Although the coverlet did indeed separate them, she could tell of his readiness for more.

  She pulled her head back and pushed against his chest with both hands. “We must stop. Until the night of our vows, simple kisses are best.” She rendered a quick peck on his cheek.

  “Very well.” He let out a lengthy sigh and lay on his back beside her. “Sleep will do us good. Perhaps if we are well-rested, we can dismiss the troubles of our world and focus solely on each other.”

  “Mmm…” She turned on her side and draped an arm over his chest. “I will try.”

  His fingers lovingly swirled along her arm. The tender action soothed her, and she shut her eyes. Hopefully, sleep would come. Tomorrow, she would face her new family. Whether or not her father had revealed her identity to them remained to be seen.

  Carmela startled, forgetting momentarily where she was. Bright sunlight beamed through the window of the bedchamber. She had slept, but her dreams had been nightmares, and she awoke feeling more restless than when she had laid down.

  When she looked at Tesher, all her anxiety melted away, and she nearly laughed. He lay curled in a ball with no covering, snoring.

  “So, this is what I have to anticipate for the rest of my days?” she whispered.

  He grumbled something indiscernible, then flopped over and snored louder.

  She propped herself up on one elbow and studied him briefly, adoring him even more. In his current state, he seemed less princely and more human. Vulnerable. More importantly, he appeared to be content.

  If Hadwin had still been alive, he would not have allowed her to marry someone so young. But Imran approved of him, and since she had removed herself from everyone remaining in her Thanwinian family, it was all that really mattered. That, and the fact her heart spoke loudly in Tesher’s regard.

  They had a lot of maturing yet to do—Tesher more so than she—but there was no one she would rather be with. Besides, if the world crumbled apart as she feared, and as her night visions had indicated, they would have little time to enjoy one another.

  As quietly as she could, she eased from the bed and covered him with a blanket, then silently donned a day dress and crept from the room. She made certain to reseal the door behind her.

  Her stomach rumbled, reminding her she had not eaten in a significant number of hours, so she bolstered her courage and descended the numerous steps to the main floor. Because of her many previous visits, and Wynne’s willingness to familiarize her with most every room, Carmela knew the castle well. The dining hall was at the far end, close to the kitchen. Because of the enormity of the royal family, they alone ate there. For any guests of the castle, all meals were served in the great hall, which boasted large tables from end to end. Now that she had been made aware of her parentage, the dining hall seemed the proper place to go.

  Or was it? Perhaps Imran had kept the secret to himself. He had indicated Mesha and Yakar knew the truth, and had thought Wynne suspected it. Even so…

  Inner courage took her to the dining hall.

  The moment she entered, several young faces gazed up at her, then a string of whispers ensued.

  “You may sit down,” the oldest-looking girl said. “We know who you are.” She gestured to an empty chair at the other end of the table. “That seat is unspoken for.”

  “I appreciate your welcome.” Heart pounding, Carmela took the place indicated.

  To her relief, names had been beautifully carved on the backs of the other chairs. It should have humored her, but perhaps even their own parents struggled to keep their names in order.

  The youngest of the children appeared to be around the age of three. A prince with hair not quite as dark as hers. Kiral had been imprinted high above his little head. He had adorable big brown eyes and kept blinking at her slowly.

  “Prince Kiral, I am Carmela.” She pointed at his partially eaten sweet roll. “Do you
like pastries?”

  He poked at it with the tip of his finger, then plunged it deep. “Mmm.”

  “Eat your food,” the same girl who had spoken previously, said to him. “It is not to be played with.”

  His mouth screwed together, he huffed a breath, then took a bite.

  Carmela glanced at the girl, trying to read the name behind her head. All she could see were a Gi on one side and eve on the other. She determined her to be Ginevieve, yet she had grown a lot in the past five years. The last time Carmela had seen her, the girl was only six.

  The room fell deadly quiet, so instead of asking for food to be passed, Carmela simply grabbed the closest items. A sweet roll like Kiral was eating, and a small bunch of grapes. Oddly, no servants were about, but to her good fortune, a goblet near her plate had been filled with water. She was horribly thirsty—likely from shedding so many tears—so she downed a great deal.

  While she nibbled on her food, she took in everyone at the table. Every child had some similarities, but all were unique. She had always had difficulty remembering whether they belonged to Mesha or Zela.

  All the chairs of the older children were empty and Carmela scanned the names: Yakar, Flint, Wynne, Emmi, Bettina, Cheven, Rumer, Nezer, and Varick. Those present were Ginevieve, Cordel, Gwenda, Miana, Caley, Derrick, Jobeth, Ruban, Polina, and of course, little Kiral.

  Twenty-five chairs circled the enormous table, and only six were unnamed. The king and his wives obviously needed no identification, and the remaining two would suit her and Tesher. Or perhaps, Pasha. Regardless, she doubted the entire family dined together at once.

  One thing was certain, if the king did not cease his activities, they would require a larger table.

  A heavy pit weighted her stomach. Her father, the king, may not live long enough to concern herself over it.

  “Are you unwell?” Princess Miana gingerly laid a hand on her arm.

  Carmela pushed out a smile. “I am fine. Why do you ask?”

  “Your face soured, and prior to that you drank a lot of water.” Miana looked nervously across the table to Ginevieve as if seeking permission to speak. Ginevieve shrugged, and Miana faced Carmela directly. “There is illness in our realm, and I feared you might have been exposed.”

  Aside from Mesha, Carmela had not heard of any sort of outbreak. “Illness? Of what nature?”

  “The kind only older people such as yourself contract,” Ginevieve said. “The very sort Queen Mesha is dying from.”

  Carmela’s appetite plummeted. “Do you know where your father is?”

  Ginevieve lifted her head high. “He is your father as well.”

  “True.” The word certainly traveled quickly, and none of them seemed surprised or bothered by it. “Do you know where our father might be?”

  “He has not yet risen, so he is probably with Udelle. He spends most nights in her bed, unless baby Ashira cries too much, then he goes to my mother, Zela.” Ginevieve sat taller. “Father does not care for crying babies.”

  “And what of Mesha? Does he not look after her?”

  “No, the healer stays with her. Father fears becoming ill.” The girl tossed her hair. “Besides, he has no use for Mesha any longer. We are all waiting for her to die.”

  Gwenda started to cry. “It is hateful for you to say. I do not want my mother to die!”

  With the new course of conversation, Carmela easily distinguished which children belonged to Mesha. Following Gwenda’s outburst, Caley, Jobeth, and Polina added their own tears.

  Ginevieve stood. “Like Father, I do not care for crying.” She shoved her chair into place, then fisted her hands on her hips. “You all know what is to come, and you must accept it. As Father says, freedom to follow our desires sometimes renders consequences.”

  Carmela understood exactly what she meant. It had been rumored that some people carried illness in their most private of parts, and with the openness of Issa, every encounter with someone new carried risk. She doubted the young children comprehended what Ginevieve had said. At least, she hoped they did not. Children should not be burdened with the knowledge of intimate adult conduct.

  With a roll of her eyes, Ginevieve left the room, and soon the crying ceased.

  Carmela got up slowly from her chair, approached Gwenda, and knelt beside her. “I will see to your mother. Perhaps there is some way I can help.”

  The girl sniffled and nodded, but said nothing.

  It would seem this carefree kingdom had been hiding a painful truth, and Carmela intended to uncover it.

  No guards stood outside Mesha’s chamber door, nor were any servants about. Just as they had been lacking in the dining hall.

  In Thanwine, she could not walk down a castle corridor without seeing at least one other person. Unless summoned, the servants would keep themselves quiet for the most part, but they were still seen. Not so here.

  She lightly rapped on the door.

  “Who is there?” a male voice came from within.

  “Princess Carmela. I wish to see Queen Mesha.”

  “She is not to be seen,” he gruffly replied.

  Muffled chatter followed his answer. Though the voice countering his sounded weak, it held earnestness.

  The chamber door opened, startling her, and she was faced with a gray-haired man. “I do not know why, but the queen wants to see you.” He pointed a finger at her. “Keep your distance, and do not touch her.”

  “Very well.”

  The old man looked behind him. “I will see to the others while you have audience with the princess.” He addressed the queen, yet he sounded rather cold.

  He waved Carmela in, then pushed past her and proceeded down the hallway.

  The instant she stepped inside the room, a foul odor sickened her. It was unlike anything she had ever smelled, and her initial instinct urged her to leave. Yet that would do little good in finding out the truth of Mesha’s condition, so she pressed forward.

  The queen’s chamber was similar in size to Carmela and Tesher’s, but it had not been maintained—as if a chambermaid had not tended it in months. Or perhaps, none were permitted.

  She stepped over dirty linens and discarded clothing, and inched toward the massive bed.

  “Forgive the unpleasantness.” Mesha’s gravelly weak voice pained Carmela further. She sounded like death itself. “No one wishes to be near me, and my chamber has fallen into disarray.”

  “Can your servants not be commanded to tend your needs?”

  “Aside from himself, Imran insists I see the healer alone. He will not be pleased knowing you have come, but I am grateful for your presence. There is much to be said.”

  Carmela strained to hear the queen. Having kept her distance, a lengthy conversation could prove to be challenging.

  “Bring a chair to my bedside, so we might speak with greater ease.” Mesha seemed to have read her mind. “I apologize for my appearance. I was once a beauty, yet all has been stripped from me.”

  Carmela did as she asked and set the chair close to the head of the bed. Being near enough to see the queen added to her distress. The dear woman had apologized for her appearance, but Carmela had not been prepared for the degree of her defect. She remembered Mesha’s elegance and grace, the perfection of her features, and the smoothness of her skin. Her face now bore oozing red sores—mostly around her mouth—and she had become so thin, her cheeks had sunk in.

  Not wanting to upset the ill woman, Carmela forced herself to remain expressionless, sat, and folded her hands casually on her lap, pretending nothing was amiss. “I am sorry for your infirmity. Are you in a lot of discomfort?”

  “Infirmity.” Mesha said the word as if disgusted by it. “If you ask Imran, he will tell you this is my punishment.”

  “Punishment? Why would he say something so hateful, when you are suffering?”

  Mesha closed her eyes and winced, then took a large breath. “Would it be too difficult for you to place another pillow beneath my head?”

&nb
sp; “Not in the least.” She stood, grabbed what she hoped to be a clean pillow, and carefully tucked it into place. Somehow, Mesha had managed to rise up enough, allowing her to do so.

  The queen almost smiled, then once again winced. It would seem the action brought on discomfort. Likely so, considering the condition of her mouth. “That helps.” She cut her eyes toward Carmela, who had returned to her seat. “You are quite lovely. It is easy to understand Imran’s infatuation with you, and I am pleased he revealed the truth of your parentage. How are you faring, having heard it?”

  “Truthfully?”

  “I ask no less.”

  Many things came to mind, but Carmela chose to keep her answer simple. “I am conflicted. Everything I believed about my parents seems to be incorrect.”

  “Issa itself can bring about confusion.” She sighed. “I remember you well from your many visits. Of course, I watched you—knowing the truth of who you were—and I found you to be a remarkable child. You were always gay and well-mannered, and I could see your pure heart. That alone must be causing you difficulties. Purity is not to be found here.” Her words held a vast amount of spite.

  “Forgive me for speaking openly, but…you sound disdainful. As if you do not approve of Issan ways.”

  “I adapted to living here out of necessity, yet look at me and see what my adaptation brought.” She slowly moved her hand to her throat and rubbed across it. “Will you tip the water goblet to my lips?”

  Carmela gladly complied, hating to see the woman suffer.

  Queen Mesha drank several swallows, then held up a hand. “That is enough.”

  Carmela set the cup aside. If she did not take this opportunity to ask what troubled her, she may never have another chance. “How did you become so ill?”

  The woman grunted. “From jealousy and poor choice.”

  “How so? Such things do not put one abed.”

  “I will explain to the best of my ability.” She breathed heavily. “When Imran married Udelle, he stopped coming to my bed altogether. I bore him eleven children, yet when she arrived, his eyes left me, as did his affections. Only recently have you discovered him to be your father, and I do not care to speak poorly of him, but I refuse to die without saying my peace.”