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"That is another thing," Maewyn said, coming around to help Cera into her robes. "You should decline wine when it is offered. Drinking to excess is unbecoming of a consort."
"I am Isael's consort?" She asked, unsure if she'd been labeled as such before.
"LordIsael," Maewyn said tersely. "And not yet, but he intends to elevate you to the position."
"He told you that?"
"He did not have to." Maewyn pulled the drawstrings on Cera's robe so tight that she wheezed. "He told us all when he sat you at his side last night. He has not placed a woman at his side in centuries."
Straining for breath, Cera asked, "What is the difference between a concubine and a consort?"
"What is the difference between a chambermaid and the mistress of a castle?" Maewyn quipped.
"I am to be mistress of the citadel?" Cera asked, her attention more focused on covertly loosening the ties of her robe than her potential elevation of status.
“Stars, no," Maewyn said, following the assertion with a few coarse-sounding elven words that Cera didn't recognize. "It was only a metaphor. A consort is a position between concubine and lady—muchcloser to the former. As consort, you will command more respect and the high lord will grant you a modest estate. When the two of you inevitably part, you will have a favorable position in our society. Many men will seek to court you, and you can marry well."
Maewyn set to preening Cera's hair, not protesting as Cera fiddled with the strings of her robe.
"You should not let this go to your head," Maewyn continued. "You've done nothing to warrant the position of consort. You have the high lord's favor because you have the look of his people. There are many who will consider you to be Ishvalindic merely due to your appearance. If he left you as his concubine, it would lower the esteem of his house. Now, come."
Maewyn led her from her bedroom, past the guards at her doors, and down the wide hall. They passed a few elves along the way, and Cera found herself glancing up at each, looking to see if one might be Isael.
"Where are we going?" Cera asked as they descended the stairwell that led down toward the gardens.
"I'm taking you to seek the council of Sidryne. She's generously agreed to share her time with you while her lord is in the citadel. You will listen closely to everything she has to say, if you want any hope of bearing Lord Isael an heir."
"Who is she?"
"Presently, she is the consort of Lord Casean, but she has served as concubine to several lords, the high lord included."
The information did not quite roll over Cera as it should have. It was all well and fine to know that Maewyn had shared Isael's bed, but did she really have to go around meeting all the women that had intimate knowledge of Isael?
"What am I supposed to learn from her if she was unable to give the high lord an heir?"
"You will learn as much as any woman could learn," Maewyn said as they stepped out into the morning sunlight. "Sidryne bore her first child in her fiftieth year, and she gave Lord Casean a son only a decade ago. You'll find no greater authority on conception within the walls of the citadel."
Bearing two children made heran authorityon conception?
Trailing behind Maewyn, Cera set off on another trek through the gardens. They were still breathtaking in their beauty, but she found herself looking over her shoulder, wondering which of the spires Isael and the council might be convened in.
It was foolish to think of him so much, but she couldn't help it. Of the few people she'd interacted with since arriving in Viranhildr, Isael was by far the most engaging. More than that, he seemed genuinely interested in the things she had to say, something that was completely new to her.
And now, they also shared a secret.
Life magic.
She dismissed the thought as soon as it arose. If she really did have that sort of magic, it would be awfully easy to manifest in a garden.
Their walk was not long. After just a few minutes, they were scaling a stone walkway that led up to a domed, circular building. Although small, the building was lavishly decorated, with marble columns wrapped around its exterior and a ceiling made of stained-glass. Near to it was a pond, its surface covered in lily pads. The setting reminded Cera of a temple, the modest sort that sometimes served as shrines for pagan gods. They were common in Atera, where traders from all creeds came from every corner of the world to peddle their wares.
Typical of shrines, there was no door barring the entryway, just an open walkway that led into the central room. As they approached it, a woman in lavender robes emerged, a wide smile stretching across her face.
"Princess Cera," she said, throwing her hands up in greeting. "My heart bleeds to see you."
She spoke Ateran, but with an accent so thick that the words were almost beyond comprehension.
"I wish to meet you at dinner," she said, clasping Cera's hands in hers. "But the high lord would not share. You saw me?"
