As Queen’s Own, Lancir had the privilege of accompanying her back to her chambers. He extended his arm, and she placed her fingers lightly on his wrist, as custom dictated.
“The private audiences now, I believe.” Elspeth tried to make her voice regretful, but Lancir had her measure. He arched an eyebrow as they walked toward her chambers.
“Only one, Your Majesty. For some reason, not many seek a private audience with you during this season.”
“True enough. And those that do, don’t linger.” Elspeth agreed. “Refreshing, how they get straight to the point.”
“I am sure,” he said dryly. “I’ll have one of the Herald trainees escort Lord Wolke to you.”
She gave him an impish look, and he quirked an eyebrow at her. A few paces before her door, he stopped, and bowed.
The guards opened the doors on her approach, and they also bowed as she moved past. She nodded to them both as she stepped into her antechamber, only to meet with a flock of bright songbirds. Or so it seemed to her. Her handmaidens, all daughters and wives of her councilors, were fluttering about, dressed in all the colors of the rainbow. She towered over most of them, like the thin old stick she was. Some days it made her feel as plain as a pin to wear her plain Royal Whites, with the black trim of mourning.
Her Companion stirred in the back of her mind and sent an image of a mink, the black tip of its tail twitching.
Elspeth sent back a pulse of laughter. She might not have mind-speech, but they’d communicated very well this way for all the many years since she’d been Chosen. She wondered if her dear one was warm enough.
The feeling of a warm blanket draped over her shoulders, and she knew that all was well. She turned her attention back to the room and the chorus of voices that resounded around her.
“You can’t, Your Majesty!”
“Don’t go out there, you’ll catch your death.”
“It’s snowing!” one of the youngest cried out, and the flock circled and wheeled around the room to press their faces to the windows, looking out over her private gardens.
Meredith, her maid of many years, stood nearby. “I’ve your boots warming by the fire,” she said quietly. “Do you need assistance?”
Elspeth gave her a grateful nod. “Yes, please.” It wasn’t easy to admit that she needed some help with dressing, but Meredith understood and made no fuss.
Elspeth sank onto one of the chairs closest to the hearth and drew her petticoats and skirt up. Meredith knelt down and gently eased off her slippers. “Don’t linger too long, Your Majesty,” she said softly. “There’s a formal court dinner tonight.”
“I’ll remember,” Elspeth said with a smile.
Meredith gave her a knowing look as she laced up the boots, but she said nothing more. She just helped Elspeth with her heavy winter white cloak, the hood lined with white fur. She retrieved the matching white furred muff for her hands.
Elspeth smiled at her. “Warm as toast.”
“Mind you stay that way,” Meredith whispered, with the ease of an old friend. “I’ll send out tea for you and your guest.”
Elspeth turned to the garden door, smiled blandly at her protesting women, and stepped outside. She closed the door firmly behind her and took a deep breath of cold air.
Silence, blessed silence. The cold air stung at her flushed cheeks, and she took another breath, watching the vapor rise.
Her private garden lay deep in a blanket of snow. The trees were frosted like cakes, and the ground sparkled as if diamond dust had been blown over the crust of white.
Her spirits lifted after a morning spent in an overheated council chamber. Oh, how she loved winter.
A path had been stamped out, and she followed its curve as it angled away from the door. Her skirts brushed along, swishing against the edges of the path. There, in what was normally a rose bower, sat two benches opposite each other, a brazier set between, filled with glowing coals. The rosebushes, cut back for the season, protruded from the snow like thin black fingers.
She settled on one with a sigh of pleasure and looked about at the trees. The sky was a pale blue, with just a few clouds that promised more snow later on. But for now, there was only the occasional fat fluffy flake falling to rest on the fur of her muff.
The snow made everything look different. Perfect, with the covering of white and the glint of ice. Cold and lovely. Her Herald-Mages had offered to set up a warm shelter or cast a warming spell on the benches, but she had refused. They didn’t seem to understand that the entire point was to be cold.
Well, that and keeping these private audiences short and sweet. No one lingered with petitions and political maneuvering in this kind of weather. Elspeth had been too long on the throne to actually chuckle, but she smiled inside.
Two pages approached, bundled up and carrying a tray and a small table. She offered them thanks as they set the table down and poured her a large mug of tea. She slipped her bare hands out of her muff and carefully took the hot mug in her hands, enjoying the warmth.
“Please let the Queen’s Own know that I am ready,” Elspeth smiled at the pages.
The two young lads bowed slowly, then ran off down the path to the door. Elspeth sipped her tea, enjoying the white perfection of the cold stillness.
She heard the door open, and one of the Herald trainees appeared, with Lord Wolke in tow. The trainee hadn’t bothered with a cloak, and he walked briskly toward her. She plastered on her court smile, setting her mug down on the bench next to her.
“Your Majesty.” The trainee looked so serious and so very young as he bowed. But all the trainees looked younger to her every day. “Lord Wolke.”
Lord Wolke bowed as well, his cloak wrapped tight around his body. Such a handsome young man, with charming manners, or so she’d been told.
Elspeth smiled as the trainee left them alone. “Sit, Lord Wolke. May I pour you some tea?”
“That would be most welcome, Your Majesty,” he sat on the stone bench gingerly, as if afraid he’d freeze off something valuable. “You honor me.”
“Not really, I’m afraid.” She handed him his mug and then refreshed her own. “This is an ‘honor’ my court avoids at all costs. I can’t seem to convince them of the loveliness of the garden after a snow. Even my Companion prefers a warm stable.” Elspeth cast her mind in that direction, to be met with a sleepy, comfortable response.
“Their loss is my gain, Your Majesty.” He flashed her a smile. Oh, yes, there was charm there indeed. No wonder half her ladies had lost their heads over him.
“Aren’t you nice,” she laughed lightly. “I’ve always loved to come out into a clear, cold day and enjoy the sun. I am so glad you could join me.”
Wolke shifted his weight on the bench and tried to adjust his knees so they wouldn’t come into contact with the brazier. “I’ve been at court for some time, Your Majesty.”
“Yes,” She picked up her mug and gave him that same smile. “Without a summons or invitation. Let us discuss that, my lord.”
Elspeth watched as young Wolke retreated down the path, moving as fast as dignity allowed.
The afternoon shadows had lengthened in the garden, and thin clouds had moved in. The snow had turned a pale bluish color, the tree branches blacker in contrast. The lights from the window cast a glow over the drifts in front of the windows. Night would fall soon enough. Still, she sat, deep in her furs and white leathers, and stared into the glowing coals of the brazier.
The pages approached again with more fuel and tea. She watched as they fed the coals and filled her mug.
“I do not wish to be disturbed. I will come in when I am ready.” Elspeth said, and they bowed, and ran off, back to the warmth of the palace.
They probably thought her mad or eccentric. Lancir understood, as did some of the older members of her council. They knew it wasn’t so much the cold or the snow that drew her out of the warm palace.