you the significance of the fact that you have nursed no other living child? Nor shared your milk with any other? I must stress that your honesty in this matter is non;-;negotiable. If you are lying, we will find out, before the prince tastes one drop of your milk, and you will be punished.”
Maryn stared at her clasped hands. “I understand, ma’am. I’m telling the truth.”
“Good.” Coewyn set the paper down briskly. She opened a drawer in her desk and drew out a small round mirror. She passed it across the desk to Maryn. “Let’s see what you have to offer.”
Maryn took the mirror and blinked at it stupidly. It filled her palm. The glass was smooth and clear, reflecting her face sharply. She was startled to see how young she looked. She didn’t feel young.
“Go ahead.” Coewyn scowled at her.
“I’m sorry. I don’t understand what I’m supposed to do.”
Coewyn gave a gusty sigh. “Your milk, girl. I need to test your milk. Squirt a bit onto that mirror.”
“Oh.” Maryn groped at the tie of her shift. At least after all her practice of the past few days it was a simple matter to spray a generous splash onto the smooth surface of the mirror. She pulled her shift up and passed the mirror back to Coewyn, watching the Stewardess in surreptitious fascination while she retied her drawstring.
Coewyn tilted the mirror, studying the droplets of milk as they rolled across the surface. “Nice white color, clear, no spottiness or cloudiness.” She ran the tip of one finger through the middle of the puddle, intently observing the clear streak left behind. “A tad thin, but it will do.”
Her actions reminded Maryn of a herdsman evaluating whether he should purchase a dairy goat. The thought made her feel small and insignificant, but she shrugged aside the discomfort. That’s what the Royal Stewardess was doing, wasn’t it?
Coewyn set the mirror down on her desk. She took a cloth from the desk drawer, meticulously wiped the trace of milk from her finger, and murmured a brief phrase Maryn recognized from the blood;-;cleansing ceremony. The towel sparked faintly and Maryn felt a tiny buzz of power. Coewyn leaned back, set her elbows on the arms of her chair, and steepled her fingers. “Now, tell me about yourself, Maryn.” Maryn thought her tone sounded positive, even pleased.
Maryn obediently began a recitation of the basic facts of her life. Coewyn interrupted often with questions. She probed deeply into the most intimate aspects of Maryn’s experience, until Maryn found herself describing her physical symptoms upon her first flow of blood, and the fleeting attractions she had felt for various neighbor boys before her marriage. She blushed and stammered, but forced herself to answer as truthfully as she could manage.
“And your husband? Tell me how you met.” Coewyn looked at her expectantly.
Maryn’s voice faltered. She had barely spoken of Edrich since the fire. But if she was to have any hope of being chosen, she would have to answer, no matter how painful she found it. She forced the words past reluctant lips. “I was sixteen. Every day I would bring our family’s tithe of eggs to Lord Negian’s manor. One day Edrich was there, negotiating to buy fleeces from Lord Negian’s flocks. He saw me, and stopped the steward in the middle of their haggling to ask who I was…” The words flowed more easily as she went deeper into the dear memory. She found herself cherishing every tiny detail she could recall about Edrich, from the way his thick blond hair had fallen over his forehead, to the way he had clenched his hands behind his back so tight the fingers whitened when he finally worked up the nerve to approach her father. Coewyn listened with a little half-smile as Maryn rambled on about their courtship and wedding, almost forgetting that her words were being judged.
Coewyn leaned forward a bit. “So you came a virgin to your husband’s bed?”
The intrusive question shocked Maryn out
Maryn stared at her clasped hands. “I understand, ma’am. I’m telling the truth.”
“Good.” Coewyn set the paper down briskly. She opened a drawer in her desk and drew out a small round mirror. She passed it across the desk to Maryn. “Let’s see what you have to offer.”
Maryn took the mirror and blinked at it stupidly. It filled her palm. The glass was smooth and clear, reflecting her face sharply. She was startled to see how young she looked. She didn’t feel young.
“Go ahead.” Coewyn scowled at her.
“I’m sorry. I don’t understand what I’m supposed to do.”
Coewyn gave a gusty sigh. “Your milk, girl. I need to test your milk. Squirt a bit onto that mirror.”
“Oh.” Maryn groped at the tie of her shift. At least after all her practice of the past few days it was a simple matter to spray a generous splash onto the smooth surface of the mirror. She pulled her shift up and passed the mirror back to Coewyn, watching the Stewardess in surreptitious fascination while she retied her drawstring.
Coewyn tilted the mirror, studying the droplets of milk as they rolled across the surface. “Nice white color, clear, no spottiness or cloudiness.” She ran the tip of one finger through the middle of the puddle, intently observing the clear streak left behind. “A tad thin, but it will do.”
Her actions reminded Maryn of a herdsman evaluating whether he should purchase a dairy goat. The thought made her feel small and insignificant, but she shrugged aside the discomfort. That’s what the Royal Stewardess was doing, wasn’t it?
Coewyn set the mirror down on her desk. She took a cloth from the desk drawer, meticulously wiped the trace of milk from her finger, and murmured a brief phrase Maryn recognized from the blood;-;cleansing ceremony. The towel sparked faintly and Maryn felt a tiny buzz of power. Coewyn leaned back, set her elbows on the arms of her chair, and steepled her fingers. “Now, tell me about yourself, Maryn.” Maryn thought her tone sounded positive, even pleased.
Maryn obediently began a recitation of the basic facts of her life. Coewyn interrupted often with questions. She probed deeply into the most intimate aspects of Maryn’s experience, until Maryn found herself describing her physical symptoms upon her first flow of blood, and the fleeting attractions she had felt for various neighbor boys before her marriage. She blushed and stammered, but forced herself to answer as truthfully as she could manage.
“And your husband? Tell me how you met.” Coewyn looked at her expectantly.
Maryn’s voice faltered. She had barely spoken of Edrich since the fire. But if she was to have any hope of being chosen, she would have to answer, no matter how painful she found it. She forced the words past reluctant lips. “I was sixteen. Every day I would bring our family’s tithe of eggs to Lord Negian’s manor. One day Edrich was there, negotiating to buy fleeces from Lord Negian’s flocks. He saw me, and stopped the steward in the middle of their haggling to ask who I was…” The words flowed more easily as she went deeper into the dear memory. She found herself cherishing every tiny detail she could recall about Edrich, from the way his thick blond hair had fallen over his forehead, to the way he had clenched his hands behind his back so tight the fingers whitened when he finally worked up the nerve to approach her father. Coewyn listened with a little half-smile as Maryn rambled on about their courtship and wedding, almost forgetting that her words were being judged.
Coewyn leaned forward a bit. “So you came a virgin to your husband’s bed?”
The intrusive question shocked Maryn out
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