The King of Anavrea (Book Two of the Theodoric Saga) by Rachel Rossano Page B

Ireic
caught her arm. Pulling her back onto the upholstered seat next to
him, he anchored her there with an arm through hers.
    Not trusting her voice, Lirth shook her head.
Tears and the desire to lose the contents of her stomach made
opening her mouth too risky. Traveling had never made her this sick
before, but the constant rise and fall of the foothills proved
harder on her body than any journey in her youth. The stuffy
confines of the carriage didn’t help. The thought of two more days
of travel turned her stomach.
    Ireic’s large, strong hands caught her face and
guided it gently to where he could examine it. Although the touch
was gentle, Lirth winced at the rough cloth of his gloves.
Realizing the problem, Ireic muttered an apology and released her
face to remove them. The urge to cry broke through her. Lirth, much
to her own dismay, found herself releasing a jerky sob. The dam
broke and she could not stop the storm. She only vaguely realized
Ireic held her and stroked her hair as she cried.
    After a long while, her tears dried. She lay
still against the warmth of her husband’s chest feeling wrung dry.
The heat of Ireic’s hand caressing her back brought more comfort
than she expected.
    “Better?”
    “A bit.”
    “I am sorry the journey is so rough on you.” He
sighed. “If there was a way I could deal with the council from a
distance, I would.” His hand ceased moving but did not withdraw.
Heavy and pleasant, it nestled between her shoulder blades, keeping
her close.
    Exhaustion, a remnant of her illness and the
strain of the past few days, pulled her toward sleep. She began
drifting off.
    “At least you will have Larissa.”
    “Hmm?” She grasped at her thoughts, fighting the
enfolding warmth of oblivion.
    “You will have help until I can finish with the
council.”
    “Right.” Larissa was name of the young girl Eve
chose for Lirth’s companion.
    “How long?” Lirth adjusted her cheek against the
warm wool of his tunic.
    “A month and a half.”
    The carriage hit a bump and Lirth jumped away
from Ireic. Awake and afraid, she tried to calm her wildly beating
heart.
    “Are you hurt?” Ireic caught her hand.
    “No, just startled.”
    He guided her back into his arms, but this time
there was no hope of sleep. The challenges she was to face in the
next weeks disrupted the peace of the moment.
    She could do this. After five years in captivity
without a friend, a month and a half should be easy. At
least , she told herself, it will be easier.
     
    ~~~~~~
     
    Days later, Lirth no longer believed it was
going to be easier. The actions of her attendants made their
opinion of her clear. Her matron-in-waiting’s cold hands yanked
roughly as they pulled at the laces that cinched the back of
Lirth’s dress closed. Under her breath, the woman muttered
something that Lirth couldn’t make out.
    “Where are the queen’s nightclothes?” the Head
Dresser yelled. Her shrill voice raked across Lirth’s calm,
shredding it.
    A second woman strode into the room in a
clicking crescendo of heel strikes, a muttered list of complaints
marking her movements. “I ordered them made three days ago. They
should be here by now. I want my nightgown back.”
    You can have it, Lirth mentally replied. It itches.
    The noble woman’s nightdress contained more lace
than any other material. Lirth spent her first night in Ana City
willing herself not to move or scratch her skin raw. After little
sleep in her big cold bed, Lirth found her nerves more sensitive
than usual.
    Besides, she missed Ireic. They only shared a
bed for one night, their wedding night, but she longed for the
warmth and companionship he brought with him.
    Wakening each morning to her matron-in-waiting’s
cold disapproval for sleeping late didn’t help either. Lirth spent
most of the each day being jerked about and stuck with pins. Once
she donned each costume, she perched precariously on a tiny stool
while seamstresses poked and hemmed. Suffering silently