An Embarrassment of Riches by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro Page B

her face to avoid a rebuke for such irreligious sentiments; she remembered to turn the mirror arround.
    Kunigunde did not return her smile. “He says it must come.”
    “May God hear his prayers, and say ‘Yes’,” said Csenge, her smile widening to a grimace, for it seemed as likely to her that God would say “no”, and such an idea was truly blasphemous. The heat was working in her, like the flames of Hell.
    “And say we all ‘Amen.’ ” Kunigunde rubbed her forehead.
    Acquiescently Csenge crossed herself. “Amen, dear Royal.”
    “We often have a few hot days around the Solstice, don’t we; this is more of the same,” Kunigunde observed, as if acknowledging it made it more bearable. “It sets the fruit and heartens the fields.”
    It took an effort for Csenge not to make a sharp retort; it took all her training to remain courteous. The smile remained fixed on her lips, and she drew up a chair to the foot of the couch, saying as she did, “Gyongyi will bring the basin shortly, and my cousin will return from Klotild, and soon you will be more comfortable, dear Royal, and your babe less restless.”
    “I would rather he be active; it would mean a lusty child, which would please the King.” She pressed her lips together, recalling the remonstration she had received for delivering a girl as a first-born.
    “A boy born at harvest-time is said to garner plenty to himself,” said Csenge.
    Kunigunde sighed. “That’s all to the good, but—” She stopped. She had no right to complain; she had a duty to Hungary. God had put her in her high position to do His Will, and if that honor brought occasional discomfort, she needed to renew her faith so that she would not become prey for Satan and his thousand Devils who were said to find every weakness in women.
    Csenge patted Kunigunde’s foot, speaking to her gently to provide solace as well as relief. “Don’t fret, my Konige. Summer will end and your boy will be born, and Bohemia will rejoice with Hungary, in spite of the war.” She wiped her brow again. “God provides the heat in summer so that we will not starve in winter. To doubt His Wisdom and Mercy is the course of damnation.” She had heard this often from Episcopus Fauvinel, as had all the Konige’s Court.
    “Deo gratias,” Kunigunde murmured, crossing herself; she waited a moment for Csenge to do the same. “We must have faith, Csenge.”
    “Certainly we must,” said Csenge, masking her irritation with a prim humility.
    “Without faith, we are lost to God,” Kunigunde persisted.
    If only it were not so hot, thought Csenge. If only it would rain. She realized she had to say something. “And God tests our faith through hardships—yes, I know.” This was more skeptical than she intended. “Just as He sends this heat to fortify the land and try His people, to strengthen them.”
    “So we must endure this trial.” Kunigunde sighed again.
    “Episcopus Fauvinel will offer Mass for rain tomorrow,” Csenge said by way of providing encouragement.
    “And it will rain in France,” said the Konige, whose misgivings about the French bishop were well-known. She put her hand to her mouth, more for form’s sake than any real desire to unsay the words.
    Because it was expected of her, Csenge laughed. “So it may.”
    A tap on the door announced the return of Gyongyi, a basin in hand. “From the cistern in the kitchen cellar,” she said as she came into the solarium, ducking her head in recognition of the Konige. “I brought a drying cloth with me.”
    Before Kunigunde could speak, Csenge was on her feet, reaching for the basin and cloth. “You come in good time. Did you happen to see my wandering cousin?”
    “No,” said Gyongyi. “Where has she gone?”
    “To Klotild, to see if she has anything that might ease the Konige’s present distress. So much heat may prove harmful to the child, my cousin believes.” She pursed her mouth to show her opinion of the notion. “What herbs can do to