Page 7 of Of Blood & Bone: The Young Queen

Lord Gosford steps forward and gives permission for his seed to be tested. A fresh bowl is brought forward and, just as before, his seed is added to the bowl that contains the drops of pennyweed. Again, there is a hushed silence as we all await the result. Gosford takes this opportunity to glance up at me and smile as if his success is a foregone conclusion. I have no idea why, as it’s obvious to everybody that he is the lord with the least chance of succeeding. Judging from his smile it would seem this fact is obvious to everybody except Lord Gosford.

“Lord Oswald Gosford,” Myreena announces, demanding he return his attention to her, “Your seed is not viable at this time and you may not present yourself as a prospective suitor to Queen Elinor. Please step back and stay in your place for the remainder of the ceremony.”

Gosford looks utterly shocked and doesn't move. He opens his mouth as if to speak but no words come out. Myreena gives him a moment and then asks him to step back again. He looks at her as if he can't comprehend what she is saying.

“Lord Gosford,” she repeats, “please return to the head of your entourage and remain in place for the rest of the ceremony.”

Again, he doesn't move and looks up to me as if I should do something. I can't possibly imagine what that might be and wonder if the deluded fool somehow thinks I am in love with him, and I should overthrow the results of the Harvesting to make him my king? His oversized sense of self-importance is certainly big enough to give him such ideas. His refusal to move and the beseeching look he continues to give me are starting to make him a cause for embarrassment when two of his young squires come forward and whisper something in his ear. He flings me a look of disgust and then walks back to stand at the head of his retinue.

A long, slow sigh of relief leaves my body and the realisation starts to dawn on me that as much as I love my people, I'm not sure if I can commit to making someone my king just because he is an Ardvallan Highborne lord and has a viable seed. However, I have no idea how I can deny tradition, expectation, process and most of all, the Grand Council. Then again, if things keep going the way they're going here today, I might have another issue to worry about, that I may have no suitors at all. This prospect would create a whole other set of problems and the distinct air of tension that has crept into the Great Hall can’t be denied. Still, as Myreena calls Lord Bottomleigh forward, I can't help but squeeze the moonstone tight in my hand and pray he does not succeed.

The lazy lump doesn't even step forward, but instead has his bearers bring him forward on his chair while he slurps on a peach. The nonchalance of his body language sends a clear message – as far as he is concerned, the viability of his seed is a foregone conclusion.

Myreena requests his permission to proceed and he grants it. She mixes his seed with the pennyweed in the earthenware bowl and we all wait. It seems like an eternity to me but finally Myreena makes her pronouncement. “Lord Archibald Bottomleigh, your seed is not viable at this time and you may not present yourself as a prospective suitor to Queen Elinor. Please step back and stay in your place for the remainder of the ceremony.”

There is a shocked gasp from the crowd and Bottomleigh’s mouth falls open as he drops the peach to the floor. “Whaaaat?” he chokes out. “What did you just say to me?”

Myreena gives him a withering look. “Your seed is not viable at this time, my Lord, and you must take a step back or be carried back or whatever, but we must proceed to the next lord in line.”

His bearers make a move to lift his chair but he raises his hand and stops them. He has turned a strange shade of purple and looks like he's about to explode with rage. “How dare you!” he exclaims. "Who do you think you are to speak to me in such a manner? And are you blind? Can you not see I have brought proof with me that my seed is viable?”

Myreena quickly glances my way and I inherently understand the meaning of the look she gives me. I surreptitiously flick my wrist as I look in the direction of the Captain of the Guard. He understands immediately and starts to move some men forward.

“Lord Archibald,” Myreena announces, her voice like a whip, “I am the Master Healer of the Sky Temple of Ardvalla and one of the queen’s chief advisors. Therefore, I may speak to you in any manner I wish, especially in relation to your participation in the Harvesting. We are here today to determine those lords who are suitable as potential suitors to the queen. It has beendetermined that you are not. The other lords are waiting and we do not have time for your childish objections.

“You have brought a pregnant serving girl to the ceremony today and if you wish to infer she became pregnant by your seed, then I can tell you, she did not. Your sample has turned a deep black, which means it has been some time since your seed was viable, if it ever was. Judging from the size of her belly I'd say the girl is six months gone, and I would estimate you have not possessed the capability to father children in at least a year. Be advised, should you not move back immediately, without objection, then you shall be taken from the Great Hall by the Queen's guard and placed in confinement.”

Bottomleigh opens his mouth as if to speak but Myreena fixes him with a stern glare and he thinks better of it. Instead, he raises one of his hands, instructing his bearers to bring him back to his entourage. As soon as they place him down he grabs the pregnant serving girl viciously by her hair and slaps her hard across the face.

Another shocked gasp ripples around the Great Hall and I can feel the tension rise by another notch or two.

I rise from my throne and all eyes swing my way.

“Lord Bottomleigh,” I declare, the fury in my voice echoing throughout the room, “how dare you strike a maiden in my presence. I understand the Harvesting is a difficult process to go through and you are disappointed in the results. However, that is no excuse to lose your composure and to act in a violent manner toward another in your retinue. You shall compose yourself, my Lord, and the maiden you struck shall accompany two of my guards to my private chambers to be cared for by my maidens. Furthermore, she will remain at the castle for the duration of her pregnancy and be cared for by my own personal healers. There are few enough children being born in Ardvallathese days and we must cherish each pregnancy like a gift from the gods and suitably care for the expectant mothers.”

I wave my hand and sit back down. Two of my guardsmen take the girl away and Bottomleigh stews in his own rage in his chair. By rights I should demand an apology from him but I can't be bothered. I’m anxious to move on with the ceremony and have the whole damn thing over and done with. I nod to Myreena and she calls Lord Gildenbrooke to step forward.

He does so in that cold, aloof manner of his, and when he too discovers his seed is not viable the only hint he gives as to his disappointment is a tightening of his jaw. He steps back to the head of his retinue, but as he does so he gives me a look of pure ice and shakes his head. I can't help but feel there is some sort of unspoken threat in those two small actions and a distinct chill slithers down my spine.

“Lord Montrose, please step forward,” Myreena commands.

Lord Montrose steps forward and before Myreena gets a chance to speak he declares, "I am Lord Charles Montrose, and I am here without duress from any third party or person and yes, I give my permission for my seed to be tested. Now can we just get on with it."

The maidens who harvested him step forward and Myreena places a few drops of Pennyweed into the earthenware bowl, then empties the vial of Lord Montrose's seed into it. We all wait, as before, and then Myreena makes her pronouncement. “Lord Montrose your seed is not viable at this time and you may not present yourself as a prospective suitor to Queen Elinor. Please step back and stay in your place for the remainder of the ceremony.”

Montrose doesn't move and instead turns to face me, an unpleasant smirk upon his face. “Tell me, Queen,” he demands, “do you really expect prospective suitors to keep turning upfor this farce of a ceremony? Do you really think the lords of this realm are going to continue presenting themselves for this humiliation?”

Another audible gasp of shock ripples throughout the Great Hall and the air thickens with even more tension. The fact Lord Montrose has addressed me without permission is shocking enough. However, the fact he has made a point of addressing me simply by the word queen and not by my full title, Queen Elinor, means this was an intended provocation and my guards already have their hands on their swords. One flick of my wrist and they would remove him to the dungeons to remain there for one month, such is the punishment for this level of insolence.

He awaits my response and I let him wait. The longer he stands there under my imperious stare, in the silence of the Great Hall, the more the challenging expression on his face withers into one of nervousness.

Finally, remaining seated, my voice cold and laced with anger, I answer him. “Lord Montrose, may I remind you, nobody asked you to come here today. As you confirmed to me, the assembled lords and ladies and gentlefolk of Ardvalla, you came here of your own free will.

“You speak of humiliation, however, you weren't too concerned about humiliation as my maidens harvested you this morn. I believe you were an eager participant in the process. Humiliation was the last thing on your mind when you presented yourself for the Harvesting ceremony, and I would hazard a guess that jubilation was more on your mind when you thought you had a chance at being one of my prospective suitors.

“Now that you have not been successful you dare question the process and you dare address me incorrectly and unbidden. I would strongly advise you to keep your mouth shut for the rest of the ceremony and not to address me again, unless you arebidden to, for the remainder of your stay at my castle. Now, fall in line with the rest of your retinue.”

He steps back in line at the head of his retinue and I try to calm the rapid beating of my heart. For all his insolence, he has a point. The Harvesting was all very well and good back in my grandmother's time and even my mother’s, but it is looking increasingly like a dangerous process to continue with for my reign.

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