The Exiled Queen

Chapter 12

The Palace Under the Hill is alive despite the hour. Pages and guards and fully armoured knights dash through the halls in a clatter of clanking weapons and stomping of heavy boots. Servants titter and gossip outside the doors of sleeping gentry, tea trays in hand to soften their master's upset of being woken.

Rannoch leads me down another hall. We pass Randalin hastily tying the sash of his robe, presumably on his way to the war room. He nearly knocks shoulders with Rannoch who unapologetically takes up most of the corridor in his armour. Randalin looks back at me as he passes, eyes wide with delayed realization before narrowing in disapproval.

For a moment I can't help but think this is all because of me. Orlagh had mentioned not wanting to incite war with Cardan. Which means Madoc must've been the one to convince her. He must have exhausted all of his options to be making bargains with her.

But all of that fades away when I am finally reunited with Auron and Virion. I receive odd looks but no one halts or questions Rannoch, he simply relays the High King's orders to the guard standing watch outside the nursery and receives a nod.

The nursery room is deep within the palace down a corridor with only two other doors at the end; presumably a room for a nursemaid and a servant. Or maybe a new mother who would want to take a room closer to her child. I imagine, if things would've been different I would've taken one of the rooms beside the nursery, to stay close as my children grow.

Inside, the room is large and domed. The walls and ceiling are covered in bright green moss, glowing by the light of tiny sprites whom flit happily from crevice to crevice. Beneath my feet there are floorboards in place of stone, and atop them lay several wispy-soft rugs woven from cotton buds: One beside the hearth, one at the foot of a rocking chair and another, this one large and oval, in front of the cots.

My heart flutters a beat at the sight, from where I stand by the door I can just barely peer in, catching sight of a blanketed bundle. I step forward, stomach twisting in knots, but pause when a nursemaid apprehensively stands from a plush chair beside the fire. One of the twins is in her arms. She clutches my son to her chest backing away from me, looking to the knight who brought me in with incredulity, not understanding why he'd bring someone here, why he'd risk putting the princes in danger.

Crossing the room, I stop beside the cot and look down at my sleeping child, my hand flies up to cover my mouth, my gasp, my sob. He is safe, he looks content and well cared for. I can finally breathe. I turn to the nursemaid, "It is all right," I tell her in a whisper, hands in front of me in supplication, "I am their mother."

"His majesty ordered Jude Duarte be escorted to the nursery and no harm come to her," Rannoch clarifies. The nursemaid regards me, eyes widened in surprise as understanding comes to her. In the cot, the rustle of fabric and sounds of fussing break the silence, I do not know which twin I am looking at. Vivi and I always kept the boys in separate colors so as not to accidentally mix them up: Yellows and grays for Auron. And whites and greens for Virion. As children, being a twin myself, Taryn and I used to muse at the idea that Mom or Dad may have mixed us up at one point during infancy; it's how we started the game of switching places. Perhaps I have really been Taryn all this time and she the real Jude?

He lets out a cry, now having kicked out of his swaddle. He's clothed in a long gown the color of wheat, it is trimmed in lace knitting. And on the upper left of the collar a letter V is embroidered in green thread, how clever. It is my son, my second born son, Virion. I gaze down at him with pride and adoration. His dark hair is just a bit longer and sticks up in fine and sparse wisps that curl just slightly. I watch as he fusses again, his plump fists coming up to his mouth.

I have spent many nights pouring over thoughts of who has been caring for the twins, I turn to the nursemaid, to appraise her. And looking more closely I see that she is human. Although I am not surprised. It is not easy to find a wetnurse amongst the folk. With children being so rare, there is not an overabundance of those both willing and able to serve in such a way. As well faerie infants are able to be nourished by other means, if the need be. Like the thin milky-sweet sap that bleeds from the tree of the Milkwood, or fresh morning dew and nectar suckled right from trumpet flowers. Or even...mother cats, as with Cardan.

With the boys being half-human, I can only assume the faerie remedy was not sufficient. The nursemaid is a short woman, plump, with a plentiful bosom, not young but not old. Her hair is braided into a crown on head, it is a dull brown much like mine, and she wears a palace servant's uniform. Cardan forbade glamoured human servants, which she does not appear to be, so I know she must either be here by choice or by debt. Either way seeing human servants still unnerves me; I still see the hollow eyes of those who were enslaved in Balekin's service, of the girl I tried to save but failed.

I reach into the cot and lift Virion to my chest. Breath him in. His scent is not quite the same. There are now undertones of Faerie: the moss of the nursery walls, the lavender washing soap the palace servants use to launder clothes and linens, woodsmoke, the musty scent of sprites. And he feels slightly heavier than I remember. He's noticeably grown the month we have been apart. Leaning down I press my lips to the soft, plump flesh of his cheek, his temple, the point of his ear.

Finally I look up, and to the nursemaid, she gestures to the rocking chair. And when I comply, she presses Auron into the crook of my left arm. He is asleep, bundled in warmth and satiated. I have both of my sons in my arms again. I let the tears fall freely, silently, running in rivulets down my cheeks. I blink them away as they well into my eyes blurring my vision.

How I have longed for this moment.

Virion kicks and lets out another cry; he is hungry and growing frustrated. The nursemaid steps forward hesitantly and confusion crosses her face when it is Auron I offer her to take. I smudge my newly freed hand over the wetness on my face. Then I unbutton my blouse and put Virion to my breast.

Another moment of unreality hits me. I think of the last night I was here. The night I killed Balekin. I think of how not long ago I was just a human girl, raised in Faerieland who dreamt of one day becoming a knight. Who then one day, became more than her dream. But never did she dream of this.

But what exactly is this?

Holding both of the twins again, Virion now content, I rock softly in the chair beside a fire that crackles in the hearth beside me. And think of new dreams. I think of Cardan's words before I left, I pardon Jude Duarte Greenbriar...

Greenbriar. He called me by his name. But am I ever to be recognized as the Queen of Faerie?