BENCHED (44 page)

"We need to find you something else to wear."

He snorts. "If you insist."

"You can't meet the queen in jeans."

"I just met her in a mascot costume."

I laugh. "I meant it. I'm sorry I doubted you. You never slept with that vile creature. I know it."

"I'm glad to hear you say that. I never would. There's only you, Ana. Only you."

"Lie with me."

Jason sprawls on the bed, and I curl up with him and wait to find out if I'm still a princess or not.

A
nastasia

T
here is
a knock at our door.

I knew this would come. I've spent the last hour pacing the room, waiting. I've changed out of my wedding gown into a simple, plain blue wool dress.

Jason took great interest in watching me change, of course. He's stripped off the knight costume, and I sent for something to be found for him to wear. Some of my father's old things fit him, if a bit uncomfortably. The white shirt is too tight around his muscular chest.

I open the door and find a servant waiting outside.

"Her Grace the queen requests your presence. Both of you."

I look at Jason and sigh before I remember I have to translate for him.

"What does she want?"

"We'll see." I shrug. "Come."

I offer my hand. He takes it, wrapping his warm palm and fingers around mine. I feel a little taller, a little stronger, walking with him. The walls aren't so close, the air isn't so cold, the weight of stone over my head not so heavy.

Mother's announcement still has me stunned, swimming in my own head. I lead Jason through the castle to her chambers, in the tall tower that overlooks the rest of the fortress. We pass her guards and turn up a wide spiral stair, and find a pair of heavy oaken doors standing open.

When I see my mother, I feel like a pile of pickled fish that's been left out too long in the sun. She looks like a drowned rat. She's stripped out of her elaborate gown and sits on the edge of her bed in a shift, hugging herself. Her weeping has made her makeup run, black streaks like claw marks on her cheeks.

A tremble tightens in my throat. Sitting next to her, massive arm cradling her shoulders, is Thorlief.

I can see the stains on his shirt where she wept against him. When we arrive, Jason falls back, shifting nervously. He squeezes my hand.

"I need to speak with my daughter alone."

Thorlief stands and his hand lingers on her shoulder a moment. It's like the shock of cold water. I've never seen another human being lay a hand on my mother. No one has ever touched her in my presence. Someone must have, since I'm here to prove it, but even in my dim memories of my father, I can remember no touch, no hint of intimacy between them.

Jason and Thorlief leave. The door closes behind me with a resounding boom, and I spoil my cold, calm demeanor by flinching at the sound. Mother doesn't even notice. I shuffle my feet, not sure what to do.

"Sit next to me."

I smooth my skirts and sit beside her, folding my hands on my lap. How close do I sit? This is all so foreign to me. My only early memories of my mother are of her sitting on a throne. She never brushed my hair or kissed my cuts or did anything motherly with me at all. I can barely recall ever having the touch of her hand on mine.

"You can relax yourself. I'm not going to bite you."

I try to relax, I truly do, but my back stays rigid and my shoulders set. I don't know where to look, what I should do or say. It's like I'm meeting a stranger for the first time. A weeping stranger, in her bedroom.

This room is full of vague memories too. I spent little time here. As an infant I would have been kept in the nursery while Mother resumed her work leading the country. I visited her a handful of times as a child, usually for a scolding.

I never tried on her clothes or stole her makeup or whatever it is daughters and mothers do. I never sat on this bed and cried over a boy or a bad grade. It has about as much meaning to me as a hotel room.

Her voice is so soft I almost miss it.

"I'm sorry."

I sit there for a moment and stare into the empty hearth, thinking that over.

"That's all you have to say to me? You're sorry."

"I don't know what else to say."

"You've made your apology. I should go."

"Wait. Please."

I shift only slightly before I sit back down. Mother continues to stare at the floor.

"For the first few months, I missed him so much. It made me hate him for feeling that way. The hate helped me. It hardened me. I wasn't soft anymore. It didn't hurt as much."

"What was his name?"

"Brandon. He would have been your father if things were different."

"How did you meet?"

She snorts. "I was a student. Like you. I… I needed a tutor. I was faring poorly with English and I needed help with my literature courses."

Something changes in her voice. It becomes soft, light, like a summer breeze. "He was intimidated by me at first, and with good reason. Thorlief was always there staring over my shoulder, just like he was with you. He seemed afraid I would bite."

"You have quite a bite."

"I did, though not the kind you mean."

I shudder a little. "Mother, please."

"I'll spare you the details. I wish I could say he swept me off my feet, but I was the one making the advances. He just fascinated me so much. He knew so many things, had been to so many places, had seen so much. I was the princess, but he made me feel like a country bumpkin. All the things he told me about. It was magical. His voice would just carry me away."

"I know how that feels."

"I can see that you do. I told you, I initiated everything. Including our first night. It was special. I made sure of it. Was yours special?"

I wring my hands, trying to squeeze the discomfort out of my head.

"Yes. It was very sweet. He was…."

"Don't tell me. There are some things I don't need to know. He was good to you, yes? That is what matters."

"Yes. He was."

"Brandon was good to me. He was sweet and kind, and we lasted all night and into the next morning. I felt like a cat lying on a windowsill the next day. I spent all day in bed, and he brought me sweets and made me all three meals." She laughs, and it has the bitter edge of a slice of orange with too much rind. "He was a terrible cook."

"They made you leave him. Thorlief told me."

She sighs, hard, and scrubs the runny makeup from her cheek with the back of her hand, then stares at her wrist.

"No."

The word sends a cold trickle down my back, and I feel it spread through my body.

"I never understood," she says, her voice like steel scraping over sandpaper. "He was with another woman the entire time. His real girlfriend. She was from New Jersey. She was plain. Ordinary. The princess was only good for a lay. I was a trophy to him. He bragged to his friends that he'd plowed the princess."

I grasp her hand before I even realize what I'm doing. "That's horrible."

To my utter surprise, she doesn't pull her hand away. Not only that, but she squeezes mine.

"Only three people knew. You grandfather, myself, and the guard who discovered this. Not Thorlief."

"Did you ever know he had feelings for you?"

"I… suspected," she sighs. "I told myself it was an idle fantasy. He was always so kind to me, even after. To my father, I was soiled, damaged goods. I went to my arranged marriage having known a man. In the biblical sense. That's not done."

I swallow, hard. "You were afraid this would happen to me."

"When I saw that newspaper, I wanted to send someone to kill the boy. The prime minister talked me out of it. Apparently killing an American would start a war. If they killed more of their adulterers, they might not have so many divorces."

"That was very dark, Mother."

She glances at me and shrugs. "Life is hard. You can be harder, or you can let it break you."

"That's not true. Sometimes you have to be soft. Like water."

She blinks. "What?"

"You pour water into a cup, it takes the shape of a cup. You pour water into a bowl, it takes the shape of a bowl. Water can flow, or it can crash. Be like water."

She looks at me in utter confusion. "I see."

"I don't think you do."

"I only wanted to protect you," she confesses, taking my hands in hers. "Don't you see that? I wanted you to never know the pain I felt."

I yank them away. "You never wanted me to feel anything at all. I'm done being an ice princess, Mother. I like the warmth."

"Do you hate me?"

"Yes. In a way. I also love you. I could only hate the way you treat me because I love you. You're still my mother. I ache for a kind word from you, a smile, a kiss on the cheek, a hug. All my life I saw other girls with their mothers. When I started college I saw the Americans with their parents, the way they hugged and cried when they said good-bye, and I always wondered, 'Why them and not me?' I would see other girls with their boyfriends and wonder, 'Why them and not me? Why do I have to be so alone?' I was so bitter."

"I do love you. You are the child of my body. Nothing matters to me more than…."

"Than our country. That's what you told me."

She looks down. "I'm sorry for that too. I only wanted you to be prepared."

"For what?"

She rubs her hands together and brushes at her eyes, swiping away more tears. "One of my youngest memories of my father is when he told me that one day he would die, and I would have to take his place."

I stay silent.

"I was nine, and I was terrified. I would be queen… if he died. You don't remember him, but he was kind to me. That was the worst. We were close, and this hung over my head my entire life. I was born to wait for him to die. I couldn't stand it. I never wanted…."

"You did the same thing to me."

"I know," she whimpers. "I thought if that was all there was between us, if we were not so close, it would ease the burden on you, it would…." She shakes her head. "When you were born and they placed you in my arms, all I could think about was the day I'd have to tell you that when I die, you become queen."

"So you took yourself away from me first."

Her breath catches, and she hitches in a sob. "I'm so sorry, Ana. Please."

"Why should I believe that?"

"When I saw him kiss you, I knew. I remembered how I felt before it was all ruined, how magical it was for me. I've never felt anything like that since. I realized what I'd taken away from you, what I'd tried to keep from you."

"We love each other. He never betrayed me. We're true to each other, and we always will be."

"I hope so. I wouldn't wish this"—she touches her chest—"on anyone, least of all my daughter. So many years wasted." Her voice softens yet again. "If only he'd told me."

"Who? Oh."

"He was my first crush. It was silly. I was sixteen and he protected me and he was a man, big and strong, not a boy. Of course. I wonder how he felt, knowing I was sneaking out with Brandon. As he watched me grow into a woman. How he must think of me now, after all I've done to you."

"I think he loves you. He kissed you like he did."

My mother blushes.

Now, there is a sight.

Her expression slackens. "I've ruined my life, and yours."

For a moment, I hesitate. Then I gently reach out and rest my hand on her back. The warmth of her skin surprises me, somehow. I expected her to be cold, like touching a marble statue, but she is warm.

I take in the sight of her. Hunched forward, she is not the austere, beautiful queen, the way I always saw her. She's skinny; if she lost any weight, I could see her ribs. She has crow’s feet around her eyes, and her lips twitch from perpetually frowning. Her hands seem too small, and stripped of her royal regalia she just looks sad, pitiable.

Gingerly, I wrap my arms around her. She sits still for a moment, tension hard in her muscles until she relaxes against me.

It feels strange. I should be the one finding comfort in my mother's arms. I rest my cheek against the top of her head.

"I don't hate you."

When she hears me, it's like the strings are cut. She goes limp, then throws her arms around my waist and begins to weep. It was all there, all this time, I realize. She took all her feelings and desires and impulses and stuffed them away somewhere deep down, squeezing and squeezing and squeezing until they turned into a hard stone ball somewhere deep within her, and now it's cracking open and all pouring out. She whimpers half-coherent apologies into my shoulder as she weeps, stroking my back with a tenderness I never imagined she had.

"I'm so sorry."

"I know."

"I can't fix what I've done overnight, can I?"

"No. You're my mother and I love you, but I…." I pause. What do I say? "I don't really
like
you."

She whimpers softly for a while.

"Could that change?"

I think about that for a time, then hug her a little tighter.

"Yes. Maybe."

"The truth is, I want to abdicate. Now. I want you to take over. I don't want to be queen anymore. That isn't fair to you, though, is it?"

"I need to finish my education." I sigh.

She sits up and looks at me warmly.

"You will be a better queen than I was." She wrings her hands. "Do you think you'll marry him?"

"Am I allowed? He has no noble blood."

"I could issue a decree. Change the rules."

"Could you?"

"I'm the queen. I can do whatever I want."

I eye her.

She cracks a thin, hesitant smile. "Right?"

I shrug.

"Will you wait while I dress? I'd like to meet your boy."

"His name is Jason."

"Yes. Ah. Jason. I'd like to meet him."

"I'll wait."

She gets up and stands to her full height. I doubt my mother will ever stoop. Her back is straight as an arrow. When she walks I can visualize her balancing a book on the top of her head.

I wait while she steps into her changing room and emerges clean, her face cleansed of the runny makeup. She never wore much and now she looks the same as ever, but there is something different in her eyes. She looks broken, in a way, but relieved, like she's been carrying something for years and years and finally just up and dropped it.

Mother gives me a questioning look, holding a dress in her hands. Without a word I stand up and step behind her, help her pull it on, then lace it up the back for her. She wears her hair loose to her waist, and it unnerves me to see it. She looks so much like me that I could be gazing into a mirror. I've never seen her wear her hair down; she always wore it in a bun or a braid.