Chapter 33

“Your parents commissioned a what?” North asked, as he paced the room.

“A concerto,” Paquin said, repeating herself. “They hired a composer to write a piece of music for our wedding feast. Mom already knew you liked the music of the Salon, and she thought a concerto would be a memorable wedding gift.”

North looked distressed. “I know nothing of this term, concerto. I’ve heard this music, true, but I cannot pretend to understand why I’m drawn to it. I can say a piece sounds pretty, which is embarrassingly shallow and ignorant.”

“Well, my uncultured barbarian warrior who continues to ravish me with overwhelming passion, allow your poor, fragile maidservant teach you the mysteries of the strings, the reeds, and those funny looking tubes.”

“Poor, not even close, and fragile, hardly, yet the fount of the earth mother’s passion, I am at your mercy. Concerto? I’m afraid of drowning in the lake that I thought was only a pond.” North was still uneasy. “I should pound some more lordlings into the ground; that always make me feel better.”

“Her Majesty is confident that the lessons you have meted out have sunk firmly into the lordling cohort,” Paquin said. “No more poundings, my dear. You will have to go play with your comrades in arms and get your own poundings from Alomar. Speaking of which, have you spoken to our Queen concerning your wedding gift?”

“She has had to excuse herself every morning this past week,” North said. “Except for a few, broad directives, none of her Royal Guard are able to meet with her for more specific supervision.”

“Morning sickness,” Paquin said. “My mother said that the stronger the sickness, the better the health of the pregnancy. Old wives’ tale or folk medicine: take your pick.”

“I hope we learn the truth ourselves,” North said. “Seven, eight, or nine children?”

She gave him a dirty look. “Two or three, and the shop is closed. I’m not cattle to be bred.”

North looked her up and down, “More like mink or fox, elegant and soft to the touch. Maybe I should examine the woman a little more closely.”

“Hands off, beast. My cousin says I should cut you off until the wedding night,” Paquin said. “I’m willing to entertain the notion.”

“You need new advisors,” North said, only to fall into a funk. “From this moment forward, the pressures upon us will only become more powerful. I fear we are being boxed in from all sides and there are fewer and fewer avenues that allow us the freedom of movement we need. We need help.”

“We need help, I agree,” Paquin said. “However, we need simply to ask, and our friends and close associates will help. Mother would like to speak to the two of us privately, with no one else present. She has hinted that she also reads the near future with the same concerns we have.”

“How can she help?”

“You really don’t know how diplomats work, do you?” She was giving him a slight smile, but her arms were crossed as if she was evaluating him. North felt the ground shifting under his feet and he could not fathom why. “Mother runs one of the best spy networks on this world with communications spreading onto the Celestial Way. While not always having personnel going there, there is more communication back and forth than you realize, including our little love nook.”

“Why?” was all North could manage to croak as the revelation rocked him.

“Her words: the Court of the Crimson King is not entirely self-sufficient, first of all. Second, the Anchor doesn’t sit separate from the rest of the Celestial Way. There is a give-and-take, a constant flow of information and news. How else did her Majesty contact the gods?”