To some, it was unwelcome news of victory. Queen Sabina’s heart sank, and Nimea stamped her feet. Those two were the first to feel a premonition about the discovery of the mastermind.
The king ordered preparations for a victory celebration. For three days, banquets were to be held, wine and flour distributed to the people, the theater and arena opened free of charge, and several hundred prisoners released. The king said that Prince Polytimos had at last become a true adult, and, perfected as a soldier, had proved himself entirely worthy of becoming king. He was said to have spoken those words in the royal council, within hearing of the ministers. Worthy of becoming king? The son of a lowly dancing girl?
If he had truly said such a thing, even the queen could have had her heart burst. Ever since the victory report came, the king thought of nothing but Polytimos all day and all but neglected the affairs of state. Often he did not even hear when someone spoke to him. The most suitable person with whom to share his joy was, of course, Erektina. Several times a day, the sound of their laughter drifted from Erektina’s quarters, from the rose garden.
An order went out to invite every unmarried daughter of a good family to the victory banquet for the prince who had so long remained silent. It officially meant choosing a new consort.
Bringing Thea in as his consort when Gene was twelve was the very thing Queen Sabina considered her greatest achievement. Back then, Gene and Erektina were in no position to refuse, even if the queen chose the prince’s consort as she pleased. Gene, who had returned after wandering the streets, was a little black-haired child who knew neither manners nor law and could not even read. As the boy gradually changed, and one family after another began watching him with interest, Sabina suddenly remembered the wife of a fallen nobleman who had frequented her family’s home. The instant she recalled that woman’s slender, pale arms, her knee jerked sharply.
The foresight she had shown that day was now about to be undone. If a new consort came in, a baby would be born in a matter of time. After all she had done to prevent it until now. Unable to restrain herself, Sabina had someone else argue at court that taking more than one woman was the privilege of the sovereign alone, and that there was no precedent for a prince having two consorts. The answer was disappointingly simple.
“If it becomes a problem, can we not simply leave one?”
Since that too had no precedent, the possibility of actually deposing Thea was small, but with the king going so far as to say it, there was no one left who could oppose him further. Sabina realized she had pushed the king beyond the point of retreat. There was only one thing to be done.
Thea sat motionless in a chair before the rear garden. Someone had said that a little sunshine would improve her health, so she sat there like this for two hours a day, but it only made her head dizzy. At her feet, a few birds flew down and pecked at the scattered feed. They were indifferent creatures, eating busily without once lifting their heads. Thea closed her eyes.
The voices of court ladies whispering reached her on the breeze. They would think Thea was asleep. Whenever she fell asleep like this, the court ladies carried her to her quarters without waking her. Their conversation circled like ash caught in the wind.
“Then our lady will become a mere figurehead. Well, it isn’t as though we didn’t know it would come to this someday.”
“She did go too far, but even so, what’s right is right. How could she take so long? I was almost sorry for His Highness.”
“They say a flower blooming at the end is lovely, but now even that is too late. Still, she’ll bloom someday.”
“Flowers have their seasons too. What good is blooming after they have all fallen?”
“To be honest, watching our lady unable to bear even sunlight, I feel as though she’ll simply wither away.”
“Shh.”
Without even the strength to rise and scold them, Thea slowly sank into a daydream. Once, she had stood inside the north gate, waiting for Gene to return from riding. As the sound of hooves reached her, her tense heart began beating in uneven bursts. Her breathing grew difficult, and her face turned pale. At last, unable to endure it, Thea hid behind the pillar of a nearby hall. Gene, who rode in immediately afterward, stopped his horse for some reason and looked around. Thea wanted to step forward, but if he asked why she had come, what would she say? If he asked why she had hidden, she did not know that answer either, so she only pressed her thin lips tightly together. And she watched Gene’s profile. Like the edge of a blade. The horse he rode was like the wind. If she cupped his cheek, her hand would be cut. If she tried to hold him, only empty air would remain.
After a while, Gene left. Thea only looked down at her empty hands. She wanted to hold something. After that, she never again waited at the north gate. Another day, when they met by chance in a corridor, Gene took Thea’s hand. With a violent start, Thea pulled it away. Gene looked down at his empty hand for a moment, then simply went on.
Listening to Gene and Pallasos talk was enjoyable. She did not know how Pallasos could make Gene laugh so easily. Often Pallasos drew Thea into their conversation too, but before she knew it, only the two brothers were talking, and Thea was merely listening. Once Thea said something, and because the two listened so intently, her face even reddened. In truth, she was more comfortable talking to Pallasos than to Gene. Pallasos made Thea laugh often. But her heart never pounded, tightened, or left her short of breath as it did when Gene suddenly said a word to her. That was why Thea thought Gene was frightening. Would someday come when they too would share a bed like other couples, and have children? Would they quarrel, and say they loved each other?
Sometimes it felt strange to think how ten years in the palace had passed. Each day lit up briefly and went dark again, like a dying firefly. Yet looking back, something was glittering. If she had known what it was, perhaps, if she had, she might have tried to hold on to it.
When Thea was twelve, Gene once gave her a magnificent butterfly hairpin. Thea tried all night to use it, but her hair was so fine that it only slipped out. So the next day, she put her hair up with the plain mother-of-pearl comb she always used and went outside. Gene saw her from a distance and turned away without coming closer.
Bewildered, Thea’s eyes reddened. Pallasos happened to see her and said, “Our Lady Thea is crying,” then put her on his horse and rode once around the hills. Then Gene appeared too, and Pallasos begged his brother to race while carrying Thea. Gene transferred Thea to his own horse as though reluctant.
The brothers rode up the hills again. The sun was setting. White flowers were dyed red. Before long, a trail of tears ran down the cheek of Thea, who had fallen asleep. The court ladies saw it and pressed fingers to their lips, then quietly carried her back to her quarters.
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