I think, looking back, that I had never been happier than on that evening, when Etaa danced beside me. Gowned in the fragile colors of spring, her shining hair bound with pearls, she was the very goddess of the Earth. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement and her dark eyes radiant; after the last dance I took her in my arms and kissed her, and she did not pull away. Anything seemed possible to me then, even that someday she might come to love me ... as I had come to love her, this captive goddess, in a way that I had never loved any woman.
But, as I have always known in my saner moments, not all things are possible, even for kings. And not long afterward Etaa turned cold eyes on me as I entered her chamber, looking up over Alfilere’s dark curly head as he fed at her breast.
I hesitated. —Etaa, is something wrong?
Mabis got up heavily from her stool. She moved to sit facing away from us, still knitting, her ruddy face showing trouble and concern.
Etaa did not answer me for a moment, but rose and took Alfilere to his cradle near the fire, where she stood smiling and rocking him gently. She had refused a new nurse, preferring to feed and care for her own babe, another virtue which had pleased old Mabis. And indeed, my son’s mother was better than any nurse, for she could “feel” his needs; she grew uneasy if he was ever beyond her hearing. At last she came back to me, the smile fading again, and I repeated my question.
Her pink-scarred hands snapped up with accusation. —Meron, I know the truth now, about my people. That they’re making war on Tramaine, and being killed, because you’ve stolen me. I know that they demand my return—and beyond that, only to be left in peace by your witch-burners. But instead you send them soldiers, to kill and burn all the more. And you have kept it from me! And made me ... made me forget ... A strange emotion tormented her face, her hands twitched into stillness.
—Where did you learn this, Etaa?
She shook her head.
—Willem—
—You will not hurt him! Anger and fear knotted her fingers.
—I would not hurt a child for repeating gossip.
—But it’s true?
—Yes.
Her fingers searched the rough edge of the tapestry that swayed in the draft along the wall.
—Then let me go home to my people.
I looked away, feeling disappointment stab me like an assassin’s blade. —I... I cannot do that. You wouldn’t leave your child. And I will not give up my son. Are you so unhappy here? Can’t you tell your people you’re content to stay? I’ll make peace with them, pay whatever restitution . . . I—need you, Etaa. I need you here with me. I depend on you now, I—
She shut her eyes. —Meron. The man who leads my people, who demands me back, the man you call “the Smith”: He is my husband.
—Your husband is dead!
—No! Her foot stamped the floor.
—You saw him yourself, broken on the rocks! No man could survive that. He was a coward; he killed himself, he abandoned you to me, and I won’t let you go. I drew a breath, struggling for control. —Your people raid and slaughter mine, and take their heads. You damn our souls—by our beliefs dismembered spirits cannot be freed by cremation. If there’s war, then the Kedonny bring it on themselves!
Etaa drew herself up stiffly. —If you won’t release me, he will come and take me!
I frowned. —If he can rise from the dead, then perhaps he will. But I doubt if even you can expect that of the Mother.
She crossed her arms, her eyes burning.
I left the chamber.
She stayed in her rooms from then on, refusing to accompany me anywhere, the drawn look of grief she had first worn returning to her face. When I came to see my son she would sit by the fire and turn her back on me, wordless. Once I came and sat beside her on the cushioned bench, with Alfilere squirming bright-eyed on my knees, wrapped in a fur bunting. I clapped my hands and saw him laugh, and as I offered him ringed fingers to chew on, looked up to see Etaa smile. I took back my fingers and signed, —Who could ask for a handsomer son? But he doesn’t favor his father, I fear, little dark-eyes— I smiled hopefully, but she only looked away, brushing the silver bell at her ear, and tears showed suddenly on her cheeks.
Angry with Willem, at first I had forbidden him to visit her again; but I’d relented, knowing her solitude and sorrow. Not long after, I found him with her, his pale head in her lap, his thin shoulders shaken with sobs. She looked up as I came toward them, her eyes filled with shared pain; but Willem did not, and so she lifted his head from her lavender skirts. He rose unsteadily to make a bow, then sank exhausted onto the wine-red cushions beside her, wiping his face on his sleeve.
But I stood frozen in my place, because I had seen the thin tracks of drying blood that ran down his neck and jaw. Suddenly all his strange, frightened prescience fitted into place, and I realized the truth: my own page was a hearer, and somehow until now his family had managed to keep it a secret. Until now. My stomach twisted: His ears had been put out by the Church.
As though she had followed my thoughts, Etaa signed bitterly, —It was your. Archbishop Shappistre. He hounded Willem for being with me, until he learned that Willem felt the Mother’s touch—and see what he’s done! He persecutes all who have Her blessings, he almost killed my child—he almost killed you! Your own kinsman! How can you let him go free, if you are king; why don’t you challenge him?
I reached to the crooked scar along my back, caught in my own bitter outrage. The archbishop’s open attempt to destroy me had failed, and now he waged a subtler war, spreading rumors, subverting those I trusted, tormenting those I loved. I had the power to strike him down, even in the face of the Gods; but I could not. —Etaa, it’s not that simple. This isn’t some villager’s dispute, I can’t take him out on the mead and thrash him! The royal line is split in two, and with it the loyalties of the nation; I rule a land at peace because I have tried to keep them reconciled. The archbishop is my counterbalance, but he’d upset the scales if he could, with his dreams of a Church-ruled state. He would throw this country into civil war to achieve it; he cares nothing for consequences. If I charged him with treason I’d do the same. He will stop at nothing; but I stop a long way before that.
Etaa stroked Willem’s drooping head. —I don’t understand the needs of nations, Meron . . . and you don’t understand the needs of women and men. Suddenly she looked up at me, her face anguished. —He’ll destroy you, Meron! Don’t let him, don’t . . . Her hands dropped hopelessly into her lap; she rose and turned away, going to the baby’s cradle to comfort her gentle son.
Two days later, Willem was gone. The other pages said he had run away home. But one of Etaa’s earrings, the tiny silver bells that she always wore, was missing too. I asked her where it was, and too carelessly she signed that she had lost it. And so I knew that Willem had gone east to find the Smith.
Slowly, with all the pain of birth, winter gave way at last to spring, while the Kedonny raided on our borders. Etaa mourned in her chambers, and the New Year’s revels on the green were a bright, shallow mockery of the past.
And while I slept that night and dreamed of happier times, Etaa and my son disappeared.
Frantic with loss, I had the countryside searched and searched again, but there was no sign of them. There was no rumor, no clue; it was almost as if they had never been. I could get no rest, and my own lords said openly that I looked like a man possessed. The archbishop, smiling, said that perhaps the Earth had swallowed them up—and I almost came to believe him. But I learned my coachman had disappeared on the same night as Etaa, and some said they thought my carriage had gone in the night, and come back carrying no one. And so I wondered if the truth lay not in the Earth but in the sky…and the Gods had taken their revenge on me.