Violya

Chapter 7 Jessima-3

At the end of the lesson, Martha turned to leave. “I’ll be back tomorrow to check on you and see how the babe’s doing on your milk.”

Jessima watched Martha go and turned to the servants milling about her room.

“Leave me,” she said.

They exchanged glances and bowed to Jessima as they left.

She stroked Eddie’s cheek as he guzzled contentedly. “You will grow strong off my milk. You will grow into the finest king that Fertilian has ever seen.”

A new cot had been placed by the window in Jessima’s room. While holding Eddie carefully in one arm, she lifted herself off the sofa, wincing as she put pressure on her injured leg and hobbled to the cot. She dragged it across the floor until it was next to her bed then placed Eddie gently down to sleep, tucking the covers around him.

Jessima limped back to the window and shut it. Then headed to the door and turned the key in the lock. She edged herself into bed, keeping her bandaged leg straight and moved the pillow and covers so that she could reach Eddie’s cot.

She fell asleep with her hand resting on the cot’s wooden frame and her fingers splayed between the slats.

A few hours later, after Jessima had successfully fed, bathed, dressed and changed Eddie’s nappy following Martha’s instructions, she held him to her and left the room. The nurses, handmaids and soldiers loitering outside snapped to attention.

She gestured to them not to follow and limped along the corridor and down the stairs to the first floor.

It was a clear, dry day and she quietly let herself out into the courtyard. She tarried by the door, in the cool shadows and welcomed the crisp draught on her hot cheeks. The air soothed Eddie too.

Opposite, a door slammed. Prince Ernest and Prince Charles stepped out, deep in conversation. Ernie was holding a wriggling Betsy. They did not see Jessima.

“For safety, we need to hide her and the child away until he’s sixteen and ready to take the throne,” Ernie said.

“Indeed. She’s insisting on feeding him herself. Whoever heard of a queen doing such a thing? As soon as he’s weaned, we take charge of the boy and grant her one short visit per week. He needs to be around men,” Prince Charles replied as he funnelled his fingers through his thick hair.

“Agreed,” Ernie said. “And the finest tutors will train him to be a king.”

Prince Charles snorted, “Where will he rule? Fertilian is likely lost to us now. Will he be the King of Lian? What a farce.”

“His father, dear Hugo, clung on to Fertilian rule for twenty-four years and once again the Clelands have been ousted by the damn Thornes,” Ernie said.

“Young Edward will ride forth and reclaim it in years to come,” Prince Charles said.

“With what army? There are no men left in Lian.”

“It’s doubtful he’ll be strong enough until he’s at least sixteen anyway, so we’ve got a while to strategize.”

“I fear the Thornes will be so entrenched in the country in sixteen years’ time that any endeavour by young Edward would be disastrous.”

Betsy barked and squirmed in Ernie’s arms. The prince put the dog down and she ran straight to where Jessima stood eavesdropping and barked at the queen’s feet.

Jessima slipped back inside unseen.

Once in her room, Jessima put Eddie in his cot. She paced, each step on her wounded leg shot a stabbing pain in circles around her thigh. A stinging reminder of her strength, of her determination. She’d saved Eddie.

A farce. Disastrous. One visit per week!

She would not do what the princes told her. No. She’d make her own decisions about the wellbeing of her son.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror. She was wearing a simple, loose dress, to ensure the bandages on her thigh stayed put and were easily accessible. Her long blond hair was tied in a simple braid, she wore no jewellery and her face was clean.

She pulled up her dress to expose her thigh. Some blood had seeped through the bandage and the bright red made Jessima’s stomach lurch. She tutted at herself.

I killed a man.

The memory of the fight came flooding back. Bursting through the blockade she had erected in her mind. She’d stabbed a man three times until he’d died. No one had told her what to do. She had successfully protected her son, when a fortress full of soldiers could not.

She would prepare Eddie for leadership, and she’d look after his throne until he turned sixteen. She wanted to give him a country he was proud to rule, one that he was proud to inherit from his mother. One that was safe and peaceful. She needed to teach him by example. She needed to rule, to lead, to take charge.

I will be fierce. For Eddie.

“Who sent the assassin?” Jessima said that afternoon. She had called an urgent meeting and dismissed Prince Charles’ reply, that insisted she rest.

Jessima had chosen the room designated as the throne room at Ernie’s fortress. She’d been shown it briefly when she’d arrived on a tour of the building but hadn’t been back.

Before the others had arrived, she had sat herself in the grand chair raised on a platform. This would have been Hugo’s chair. She held Eddie.

The two princes had arrived and frowned at her overt assertion of her royal position. She ignored them. Lord Chattergoon came next and simply stood to one side.

Prince Charles stepped forward. “Really, child, what is all this—”

“Take your seats,” Jessima had said, her voice sharp and impatient.

The two princes sat in comfortable chairs in front of her, forced to look up at her from the lower level.

“Who?” Jessima insisted when no one answered. Charles pursed his lips and Ernie’s brow knitted. Eddie grumbled in her arms at her raised voice.

“We’ve discussed all of this,” Prince Charles said with a dismissive flick of his hand.

“Well, you’ll have to discuss it all again then, won’t you,” Jessima said, her tone barbed.

Charles bristled in his seat and Ernie ogled him.

“Don’t make me repeat myself!” Jessima shouted.

Ernie replied in a rush. “We haven’t had an assassination attempt in this residence for generations. Our father was murdered on the streets. This… is a safe place.”

“Was a safe place,” Jessima retorted.

Ernie flinched.

“Are you responsible?” Jessima pointed at the eldest prince who baulked. “Is that why you won’t answer me? And you,” she pointed at Prince Charles, and his sour expression curdled all the more.

“Us? Your Grace, why would we want dear Edward dead?” Ernie replied.

“Because you, Ernest, were second in line to the throne and you, Charles, were third. Then Eddie was born, a male, and altered the order of succession.”

“No, no, Queen Jessima, you’re mistaken about the royal succession,” Ernie rambled at a faster pace than usual, “Charlie and I both abdicated formally decades ago. Charlie dedicated his life to the church and I, well, I am happy here in Lian as overseer. I had no desire to leave here and head to Fertilian, to be forced to marry someone I didn’t love…” Ernie glanced at the door where an older male steward waited, holding Betsy under his arm. The steward blushed at the attention.

It was Jessima’s turn to be surprised – and a little impressed – that Ernie relinquished his monarchical position for love.

She softened. “Who was next in line to the throne?”

“Well, the closest male heir was Prince John. Hugo’s eldest daughter Matilda’s eldest son,” Ernie said, his pace returning to usual.

“Was?” Jessima said.

“Yes, Johnny died a year or so ago in mysterious circumstances. An accident out on the salt flats in south Fertilian. He somehow became separated from his companions and was never seen again. It was a terrible mess.”

“In what way?”

“Well, Matilda believed it was Prince Toby, her own uncle, who had orchestrated it. He was the last to see the boy alive. She declared that Toby wanted to strengthen his claim to the throne. Because, you see, with Charlie and I out of the running, Edward lost at sea, you still childless, and no Johnny, Toby would then be Hugo’s male heir. Matilda’s claims were ridiculous, of course, and it caused a huge rift between Hugo and his daughter. Their relationship had always been strained, but this was ruinous.” Ernie shook his head sadly.

“Why was I not told of this?” Jessima asked.

“Why in all Fertilian would you be told?” Prince Charles scoffed.

“It was a terrible business, my dear, Hugo likely decided you were best off not knowing,” Ernie said.

“Toby would not send an assassin to murder my child,” Jessima said.

“Enough with all this nonsense,” Prince Charles threw his hands in the air. “It was the Thornes, of course.”

Jessima shot Charles her most withering look, before beckoning a steward. “I want scholars here this afternoon to tell me of the Thornes. I want to know everything about them, about their history, about why they suddenly joined forces. I want to know it all. I will know my enemy.”

“Child,” Charles said, “that really is not something you need to concern yourself with.”

“Thank you for your counsel thus far, Prince Charles. However, from herein, if I want your opinion, I shall ask for it. Eddie has no one to reign in his stead. You and Ernie renounced your positions of power, and Toby is in Fertilian. As there is no suitable male, we are breaking with tradition. I am the Queen Regent until Eddie comes of age. As with the rest of Lian, there are no males to do the job, so I am doing it.”

“You are clearly still in shock, you are not fit to—” Prince Charles said.

“Prince Charles, you are clearly going deaf, for you are not listening,” Jessima said, her ears burning hotter than a fire poker. “I am the Queen. You follow my rule, and unless the Thorne army conquers Lian, this city follows my rule. And I have ruled that you do not speak to me unless spoken to.”

Jessima signalled to the soldiers. The two nearest Prince Charles shifted their feet and put their hands on their sword hilts in warning. She had positioned the twenty King’s soldiers she had arrived with from Fertilian around the outside of the room. They followed the King’s orders, and now, hers. Although she had never commanded them to do anything until earlier that day.

Prince Charles glared at the soldiers. He stood, touched one hand to the gold pendant that hung around his chest, raised his nose and strutted out of the room.

“Ernie, who was this assassin?” Jessima said.

Ernie, still staring at the door his chastised brother had just exited, spun back to face the throne. “My Queen, he arrived many years ago from the mainland and had a menial job at the dock. He was registered blind, which is why he was not sent to Fertilian to fight. He fooled my assessors.”

“What do you make of all this, Lord Chattergoon?” Jessima asked.

The lord stepped forward. “I suspect he was a sleeper,” he replied, completely unconcerned by her sudden elevation in status to someone now questioning him, “planted in Lian by the Thornes to remain undercover until a specific event meant he could carry out his order. His order must have been to kill King Hugo’s male heir, whoever that might be, if he had the opportunity.” He paused. “I have a suggestion, my Queen.” He waited for her permission.

Jessima gestured for him to continue.

“That all able-bodied men still in Lian who were not sent to war for one reason or another be reassessed. This will help root out any more Thorne supporters,” Chattergoon said.

Jessima considered this for a moment. Eventually, she nodded. Eddie’s cry cut through the room. “That is all, gentlemen.”

Ernie retreated as quickly as he could, Lord Chattergoon, however, hung back.

Jessima stepped down from the platform. “Is there something else, Lord Chattergoon?”

“Yes, your stand against the assassin was highly commendable, Queen Jessima,” the tall lord said.

“I had to protect Eddie.”

Chattergoon didn’t reply, his face showed no emotion. But she had an overwhelming sense that he was encouraging her on silently.

“I remember watching the Peqkian warriors training on my return journey from Riaow. They instructed Prince Toby’s soldiers in hand-to-hand combat, among other things. Perhaps that came to me in the moment.”

“It might be prudent to recall more of that time, my Queen,” Chattergoon replied. “Should you need to protect yourself, or our King, again in the future.”

“I can’t possibly do what they do, Lord Chattergoon. Those women are warriors.”

“You already did, Queen Jessima, you fought off an assassin with your bare hands.”