‘What are we going to do with it?’ Cora asked.
Phaedra thought a moment. ‘I think we’ll make pumpkin soup.’ She looked up at the caves where some of the camp dwellers were staring down at them. ‘And invite the whole village.’
Later that day, Phaedra crossed the stream with a bowl of soup in her hands and held it out to Tesadora, who sat with the girls cooking trout over an open fire. Tesadora studied it.
‘I don’t eat orange food.’
‘That’s silly,’ Phaedra said, wondering where she got the courage to call Tesadora silly. ‘You eat green food and red food.’
‘Orange is a ridiculous colour for food, I say.’
‘I’ll have a taste,’ the Mont girl named Constance said. Somehow Tesadora had inherited two Mont girls who had come down one day with Phaedra’s Mont husband and never returned home. ‘I’m sick and tired of fish.’
Phaedra held out the spoon and the girl slurped it, making a face. ‘Something is missing.’
Constance jumped up from where she sat and searched around their herb garden before coming back with a small leaf that she began to shred, stirring it into her soup. Constance tasted it again and nodded with approval, handing it to Japhra.
‘Strange,’ Japhra said. She didn’t speak much. Phaedra had heard someone say she had a gift when it came to cures, but that the Charynite soldiers had broken her inside.
Japhra held it out to Tesadora. ‘I’ve seen you eat carrots,’ she teased. ‘They’re orange.’
Tesadora took a spoonful of the soup and swallowed. ‘Tomorrow we’ll show you how a soup is made,’ was all she said.
The next night, even Rafuel’s mysterious men had left their cave and Tesadora’s herbs gave a fragrance to the soup that had the more reserved Charynites coming back for seconds.
‘You’re sure I’m not poisoning you?’ Tesadora called out to one of the camp dwellers who had refused to see her. ‘Because if I’m not poisoning your food perhaps you can come and see me about that open sore on your arm.’
The night after that they made a fish stock that caused much flatulence and even more laughter.
And so it was that Lady Beatriss’s boiling pot became the reason the cave dwellers came out in the open and began to speak to their neighbours. Phaedra drew up a roster and each night it was a different person’s turn to cook and sometimes she’d see them venture over the stream to speak to the Lumaterans about recipes. Later, Phaedra completed her letter and showed it to Cora.
‘Ask her if she has any need for her bread oven,’ Cora demanded.
But Phaedra did no such thing and it was only after she sent the letter through her Mont husband that she wondered what had possibly happened to Lady Beatriss’s village that would mean she no longer had use for the pot.
Lady Beatriss read Phaedra’s letter in the palace village three days later. She was there with Vestie collecting some fabric for a dress she promised to make her for Princess Jasmina’s second birthday. She could see outside the shop to where Vestie was speaking to some of the children, but the next moment Vestie was running off and Beatriss looked out to see her daughter fly into Trevanion’s arms. He was with two of his Guard.
Beatriss went outside and she took a moment before she approached and acknowledged them all politely.
‘We’ll speak later,’ Trevanion said to his men, dismissing them. Her eyes caught his and he looked away, his attention on Vestie. But Beatriss had seen the dark flash of desire she recognised from their years together.
‘Is the cart close by?’ he asked quietly, taking Vestie’s hand.
‘Just at the smithy,’ Beatriss said.
‘I’ll walk you there.’
Beatriss didn’t have the strength to argue.
‘A piggyback,’ Vestie pleaded, and he bent down so she could climb on.
As they walked alongside each other Beatriss felt the coarseness of his arm beside hers.
‘You don’t seem yourself,’ he said and she heard regret in his voice.
‘I’m not quite sure I know who myself is anymore,’ she said sadly. Who was Beatriss of the Flatlands without her village? Without her sorrow? Without Trevanion of the River?
When they reached the buggy, he lifted her up to the seat of the cart and she felt her lips against his throat, heard his ragged breath. She would have given anything to hold on a moment longer. When she was settled, he hugged Vestie to him and placed her beside Beatriss.
‘The Queen speaks of having Vestie come stay and help with Jasmina. She’s becoming a handful.’
‘It’s the age,’ she said quietly. ‘Tell the Queen we’ll speak of it soon.’
She rode away, all too aware of how long he stood waiting. Vestie waved until her arm was weary, but was quiet for most of the journey.
‘Is there something wrong?’ Beatriss asked, staring out at the village of Sayles where a plow team was at work preparing one of the fields for planting. Even the awful smell of cow dung in the air was progress. A richly fertilised field would produce a good crop and Beatriss could not help comparing the emptiness of her village to this one.
‘Mama?’
‘Yes, my love.’
‘What’s an abon … abobination?’
‘A what?’ Beatriss said, looking down at her daughter. Sometimes Beatriss thought she’d never see anything so magical as her child’s face. It made her think of the poor cursed Charynites. How strange it was to feel pity for a people who had been the enemy for so long.
‘Abobination.’
‘You mean abomination. Why?’
‘Kie, son of Makli of the Flatlands, called me one today. He said … he said I don’t have a father and that I’m an abob … abomination.’
The air seemed to whoosh out of Beatriss’s body and she steadied herself, fighting not to react.
‘It’s something bad, isn’t it?’
Beatriss forced a smile. ‘He was just being silly, my love.’
But Beatriss could not allow it to rest and that afternoon when Vestie was learning her letters with Tarah she rode her horse to the home of Makli, whose farm was in Fenton. Makli and his family were exiles and Beatriss had had little to do with them since the kingdom was reunited. She knocked firmly on their door and waited. When Makli’s wife Genova answered, the woman looked taken aback.
‘Lady Beatriss,’ she said, politely.
‘I was wanting to speak to both you and your husband,’ Beatriss said firmly, trying to keep the quiver from her voice. How many times had she heard Tesadora mock her in the days when they first became friends? ‘How can you fight the world with a quiver in your voice, Beatriss of the Flatlands?’
Makli came to the door and stood behind his wife. ‘Is there a problem, Lady Beatriss?’
‘Actually, there is. Your son spoke a word to my Vestie today. He called her an abomination and I presume that a wee boy would not know such a word without having heard it from an adult. A boy his age would not understand the absence of a father in my child’s life unless he heard it spoken in his home.’
‘I’m not sure I like what you’re accusing, Lady Beatriss,’ the woman said stiffly.
‘And I’m not sure I like hearing my daughter ask me what such a word means,’ Beatriss said, and there it was. The quiver. ‘And I would ask you to refrain from speaking my business in front of your boy or I will report it as slander.’
She walked away. Report it as slander? Was there such a thing? Would she go to Trevanion and Isaboe and say, Makli of the Flatland has slurred my name in front of his family and I want him banished from the kingdom?
‘I don’t like your threat, Lady Beatriss,’ Makli called out.
‘Leave it, Makli,’ his wife said. ‘Come inside.’
‘Don’t come here again threatening us. Someone like you,’ Makli said.
Beatriss stopped in her tracks and turned around, walking back up to their cottage door.
‘Someone like me?’ she asked.
Makli pointed a finger at her face and his wife pulled him back.