Free The Tears of the Rose by Jeffe Kennedy Page B

winter. We looked to the High King for the protection he promised, and what did we receive? Nothing. Only war with demons who seek to destroy us. You promised us bounty greater than Annfwn’s, and what do we see? The borders to paradise locked against us and our people starving at the gates. You made a vassal kingdom of noble Avonlidgh. You’ve made a cripple of her. Which kingdom is next, I wonder?”
    More of the other kings had ranged themselves behind Erich, rebellion in their faces. This was what Andi had seen. People fighting over her. Death and destruction. All those burned-out farms we’d seen. There would be more of that. Uorsin’s peace would fail. The White Monk caught my eye, pulling the cowl back a bit, so the bright light of the marble hall illuminated the twisting shadows of scars on his face. His eerie gaze seemed to carry a message.
    Peace is an expensive commodity.
    â€œWhat do you mean, the borders of Annfwn are closed to us? What superstitious nonsense is this?” This from the Aerron ambassador.
    Old Erich fixed her with a sharp eye. “Not superstition, Lady Laurenne. Her Majesty and the High King’s heir, Princess Ursula herself, confirmed the truth of this.”
    I nearly groaned aloud and even caught Ursula rolling her eyes up in a grimace, a rare break in her composure. She was spared a reply—to any of the shouted questions—by the sheer cacophony of the response. Even Derodotur seemed at a loss to control the situation.
    I stood, and everyone gaped at me, their demands for information falling into a confused jumble of murmurs. I was tired and suddenly starving. Having no idea what I should say next, I quickly descended the steps, so as not to be taller than Uorsin for longer than necessary, compounding my already unforgiveable breach of etiquette. To make up for it—though, judging by the astonished insult contorting Uorsin’s face, nothing could—I sank into a deep and respectful curtsy. “Forgive me, Father. I know you’ll think me weak, and indeed my frail woman’s body begs for rest at this moment, lest I endanger my child, but I must honor my vow to my late husband.”
    Once I could have worked up pretty tears to sway him, but no. I’d never wept out of true sorrow in my life, and now that I had reason, I couldn’t. Instead I gazed up at my King and father with wide eyes. The color of pansies, he’d always said.
    â€œI took a vow and I mean to keep it. Please don’t be angry, but I fell in love with Hugh because I knew he was the only man”—my voice broke suddenly—“the only one who came close to your honor and integrity in my estimation. Hugh would have wanted his son born at Windroven, like his fathers before him. I cannot fail his memory.”
    Uorsin visibly softened and gestured at me to rise. Erich assisted me himself, blue gaze assessing me. I wasn’t sure if I’d helped or hindered whatever game he played—or which I should try to do. If only Glorianna would speak to me! I felt truly ill and pressed a hand to my lips. Might as well make it clear to all. “I fear for my child. For this babe who will be the hope of lasting peace in the Twelve Kingdoms, if I can’t be at Windroven, near the poor, entombed body of Prince Hugh, who was the best of us all. Glorianna keep him.”
    High Priest Kir echoed my prayer, stepping forward to sketch Glorianna’s circle in the air. “Let us all pray,” he intoned, “for the passing of Prince Hugh and his reception into Glorianna’s loving arms.”
    Even Uorsin bowed his head then, murmuring along with the prayer. He seemed genuinely grieved, and I wondered what to believe. Still, he emerged from the moment with a different look about him. No less angry, but more his usual kingly self. Perhaps my invocation of Glorianna had enabled Her to reach out to him, to soothe his destructive rage. He nodded at me, as