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"Better you just speak your own tongue, so as not to offend our ears," she said with a wince. "But you should begin learning our languages, starting withVirashindic. It is what we speak in Viranhildr, and the most common Esryian dialect."
"I would love to learn," Cera said demurely. "Shall we depart for dinner now?"
Her stomach was beginning to ache for want of food. She'd eaten nothing since breakfast, something she hoped was an oversight and not the norm.
"Momentarily," Maewyn said. She looked away for a few seconds, her pale hands smoothing nonexistent wrinkles in her own dress. "There is another thing we must discuss."
Cera waited, curious at the woman's sudden lack of poise.
Finally, she said, "Should the high lord request to join you in your bed tonight, you should decline."
"Oh?" Cera said. It was the most she could get out while suppressing her laughter.
Decline the high lord from joining her in her bed? Her bed, which was only hers because he'd given it to her? Her bed, which was located in his citadel, located in the lands that he ruled? Maewyn might as well have instructed her to decline a tiger from having Cera for dinner.
"Yes. If you were to lie with him tonight, it would be a wasted endeavor. Tomorrow, I will educate you on the art of conception, so that you will be properly prepared."
Cera was inclined to just agree with her—anything to get her out of her chamber and headed in the direction of food. But a touch of impishness prompted her to inquire further.
She said, "I was not aware that there was an art to it. My governess told me that I was to lie still in bed when a man came to me. Then, the pair of us would join hands and if we wished hard enough, a child would be bestowed upon my womb."
Cera was on the verge of tears when Maewyn nodded and said, "Yes, well that is mostly correct."
"Truly?" Cera asked, surreptitiously wiping at the corners of her eyes.
"It is a bit more involved than that," Maewyn said. "For now, just remember to decline his advances. The high lord has been long without a woman. His seed will potent, and it should not be exhausted on a womb that is not properly primed."
"Of course not," Cera agreed emphatically. "If the high lord comes to me tonight, I will tell him you said his seed would be wasted on me and he should go away."
The color in Maewyn's face deepened. "No!That is not at all what you should say. For a start, you will not mention me at all."
"Why is it that I have to deny him?" Cera asked coyly. "Shouldn't he have a sense for when my womb will be ready for hismost potent seed?"
Maewyn eyed her critically, and for a moment Cera thought she'd seen through her act. Then, Maewyn leaned in and softly said, "The high lord is exceptional in every regard, but he is male. Males have a weakness for certain aspects of the reproductive act and are prone to wanting to engage in it even when there is no purpose to it. As women, it is our responsibility to rein in their baser instincts. And you should know that in this one regard, the high lord can be particularly...frivolous."
"Frivolous?" Cera asked, lowering her own voice to match Maewyn's.
The elf visibly swallowed. "With his seed," she said. "With him, it is quantity over quality. Do you understand?"
"No, not at all. Please elaborate."
"He will want to share your bed frequently. You must not indulge or encourage him. Once he recognizes that you are serious about conceiving, he will fall in line with what is proper."
Maewyn cleared her throat. "That is all I will say on the matter tonight. Just remember that if he comes to you, you must decline. Inform him that you have not yet meditated on the state of your womb. He will understand."
Cera doubted she'd ever be able to say such a thing to Isael without crying from laughter. She wondered if such beliefs were actually part of the Esryian culture, or if they were unique to Maewyn.
In truth, her governess had never spoken to her at length on the subject of elven reproduction. On the day that the queen mother had scared Cera out of her wits with talks of pain and suffering in the bedchamber, Gresla had swept in to aid her in regaining her composure. Gresla had soothed her, assuring her that traditional elven conception and childbearing was more cerebral than what humans did. There would be pain, but nothing like the horrors that had been described to her.
She had never mentioned having to meditate on the state of her womb. If such efforts were truly required, she doubted there would be any elven children born into slavery.
As amusing as her conversation with Maewyn had been, the notion that Isael might come to her tonight did not inspire much mirth. While she knew what her duty was, she couldn't deny the anxiety that lingered from her childhood. She knew that the act could be pleasurable and also that it could be painful. She knew that once it was done, the pressure to conceive would be upon her, and her alone. Men were seldom blamed when a woman's belly failed to increase.
Maewyn continued to stall their departure, disappearing into the closet to find an oil. Cera took the opportunity to poke at the diadem. It was easily the finest thing she'd ever worn, and the diamond flowers had been carved with precision that could only have been elven craftsmanship. They looked so real that it was easy to imagine them in bloom.
And bloom, they did.
Cera was momentarily horrified at the sight of the glittering diamond diadem turning into a wreath of flowers. Then, she remembered that it was all in her mind. Before making an effort to blink the image away, she tried once more to poke at one of the flowers. It felt soft and springy. Intrigued, she gave it a gentle squeeze.
