Dream of Me/Believe in Me

prettily. “You know him so well? And, of course, it is his
mind
that interests you. What do you do when you are alone, sit around and have long discussions?”
    Her ladies laughed openly, egging her on. Krysta felt anger rise within her and tried to contain it but could not entirely. “You concern yourself where you should not. How well I know Lord Hawk is none of your affair.”
    “Is it not?” Color flooded the lady's delicate cheeks but not a mottled color, rather a smooth, rosy hue that only made her look lovelier even as her mouth thinned angrily. “I know him far better than you do for I have known him far longer,” she paused, smiled coldly, and added, “although by no means so intimately, for unlike you, I am not a fool.”
    She took a step closer to Krysta, filling the air with her perfume of lavender and honeysuckle. A rather overpowering odor, Krysta thought, which put her in mind suddenly of the flowers scattered over the dead.
    “He's already had you so there is no longer any mystery to you. You are just like any other woman he has lain with except that you—an irresponsible creature foolish enough to shame him by tricking him into believing you were a servant
and
immoral enough to lie with him without the bonds of marriage—you are somehow supposed to help bring about peace with the Norse. How utterly idiotic. Hawk has never cared for anything except his lands. He dispenses with anything that does not serve his power and once he sees that you do not—” Esa shrugged andlooked at her with contemptuous pity. “I warrant you will be gone before the moon turns.”
    Sickness crept over Krysta, not of the body as she had experienced earlier but of the spirit. Beneath her superficial beauty, Esa was a despicable woman, driven only by the selfish lust for power and position. Yet none of that prevented her from being right, and even more right than she realized for the shadow of Krysta's birth was as yet unknown to her. Of that Krysta was certain, elsewise Esa would have thrown it up to her along with everything else. That was small consolation and did nothing to ease the hollow sense of helplessness that swept over her.
    Esa seemed to realize that she had done sufficient damage, for the moment. With yet another pitying smile, she stood aside and let Krysta pass. But just as she did so, the lady called out, “Run to the queen now, little servant girl. Let Eahlswith console you while she may. But remember, she has no power. I and my brother do and we will not hesitate to use it.”
    Krysta did not look back as she hastened from the passageway but Esa's parting words lingered in her mind. Was the lady truly so foolish as to promise war with Mercia if she did not get her way? And was there any real chance of that coming to pass? Thoughts of her own future slipped aside as Krysta contemplated the possibility that Esa's threats might be more than idle. But how to find out? She was still mulling this over as she entered the queen's solar. Eahlswith was there with her ladies. She smiled when she saw Krysta.
    “Come and sit down, my dear. How are you feeling?”
    Somewhat self-conscious after what she had revealed to the queen the day before, Krysta was glad of her matter-of-fact welcome. “Very well, thank you, my lady, and thank you also for your kind care. I am most grateful for it.”
    “Not at all, I was happy to help. Do you feel well enough to read to us again?”
    Krysta could not imagine circumstances in which she would not wish to read. She took up the book of Aesop's stories and began where she had left off. Yet did the problem of Esa and the Mercians linger in her mind. She was wondering if she might have a chance to speak of it when at midday Eahlswith laid down her sewing, dismissed her ladies, and suggested that Krysta join her in her garden.
    Surrounded by walls and accessible only through a doorway from the bottom of the stairs that led to the queen's solar, the garden was a sanctuary of quiet. In the center stood a small pool where birds drank. Nearby, an ancient oak spread its arms generously to shade a stone bench. Late-blooming asters and daisies still raised their heads in the carefully tended flowerbeds. So, too, did a few hearty herbs yet waiting to be plucked. Eahlswith bent to remove a stray weed and looked about her with wistful pleasure.
    “Alfred had this garden made after the birth of our first child. He wanted me to have a quiet place to which I could withdraw when the