The Gypsy Queen (39 page)

   “She is such a strong girl,” Bastion said. “I know she will make a great queen, if she can weather these first days as well as I hope.” Obadiah lit up his carved stone pipe, smeared to a deep brown from years of use.

  “You love her,
” he said.

  “Yes. I believe if others take the time to get to know her, they will love her too.”

  “Many people already do, thanks to you. But of course, there are always those who will frown on gypsies, no matter if there are
good people
among them, or bad apples amongst themselves.”

  “We encountered a gypsy man today, at the parade. Someone who knew
Yana
. He was insulting to us both. We will not see him in the city again, but it would seem that there are gypsies that don’t approve of our engagement, as well as the citizens.”

  “You just do what you know to do, and stand fast,” Obadiah said, setting his giant hand on Bastion’s shoulder. “Those of us who support you will work just as hard for the harmony you spoke of. We want it too.”

  “Thank you, my friend,” Obadiah said. In the absence of his father, he was grateful for the old builder’s support. Especially since Otta seemed so distant. Now that the Coronation was past, he would try to sort things out with his uncle soon. Obadiah puffed on his big pipe a while, as they discussed the project in the west meadows, and matters of the city.

  “Let’s go in and win over the hearts of your loyal subjects!” Obadiah said, as he rapped his spent pipe against his knuckles.

  “I’m sure
Yana
is going to make that an easy task,” Bastion said, heading back in.

  Gayle worked the room with
Yana
confidently, introducing her to the various men and women in attendance.
Yana
was gracious, as she was always curious about people, and many of them responded with grace and kindness. Some of them asked her of her stories as a gypsy, and as a black rider, fighting alongside Bastion.
Yana
gave them as much as she could, without giving them much at all. Her favorite moments being when she set fire to the slave traders’ castle, and the way Bastion saved her from drowning in the Black Sea. 

  Many of them had seen her dance in the Great Hall, being friends of the palace. The men raved about it, and one of the women mentioned how wonderfully she had played the harp on her first night there.
Yana
’s intuition was giving her alarm, underneath all the pleasantries. She could tell that some of them genuinely liked her, but she could tell that many of them did not, offering fake smiles, and faint praise.
Yana
pretended not to notice, so as to not cause a problem... but it was a problem.

  She sipped her wine and had another glass, feeling the warm effects. She was careful with her words, so as not to offend or be unseemly. Still, she had to bite her tongue, as she could sense the disapproval of some, even wi
th Bastion
by her side. They seemed to disapprove of them both.
Yana
did not like such fakery, and would rather slash them verbally or fight them outright, then to allow it.
Yana
was many things, but a politician wasn’t one of them. The more sharp words came to the tip of her tongue, the more she knew to stay quiet and defer to Bastion. That wine wasn’t treating her too well.

  “I need some air,” she said, and Bastion happily led her out to the patio, just the two of them. Gayle brought them some water, a welcome relief from the wine, and they sat together, finally nearing the day’s end.

  “We’ll go soon,” Bastion said.

  “I don’t know how you can stand some of these people,”
Yana
said. “They are not friendly, even though they try to pretend.”

  “Most of them are good for the city, even if they don’t agree with the King,” Bastion said. “Having critics is unavoidable. Including,” Bastion added, “the man from the float today.”

  “Ugh,”
Yana
said. “I just don’t,”
Yana
cut off, interrupted. People were talking above them, from an upper balcony.

  “I just don’t know why he would choose some gypsy whore,” a woman said amongst discussion.

  “He passed over my daughter for a vagrant,” a man said.

  “They ought to hang every gypsy out there,” another voice said. “The west meadows are for
us
, not them.”

  “The King doesn’t know what he is doing,” another said. “I wish we still had his father in charge.”

  “He wasn’t any better! You remember the wench he chose for queen,” they said.

  “That’s probably where he gets it.”

Yana
’s heart broke for Bastion, and raged with fury at the words they overheard above them. She looked him in the eyes, as he looked at her.

  “I am sorry you heard that,” Bastion said. “Forget them.” He got up, and led her back through the house. He bid Obadiah a brief farewell, and left in the company of his security team, climbing into the small royal carriage for the short trip back to the palace.

  Bastion was fuming, disappointed that the night had ended that way.
Yana
was furious, but ranting was not on her mind, as she leaned in to Bastion, into the curve of his body as much as she could. He wrapped his arms around her.

  “Tell me about your mother, Bastion,”
Yana
said gently, as they rode.

______________________

The Gypsy Queen- CHAPTER 23- “undiscovered”

 
Yana
approached her caravan, amongst all the others in the meadows. She weaved and side-stepped through what had become a fairly crowded area. She had never seen so many gypsies congregate in one place.
Yana
had gotten word that Lyubov was sick, and wanted to go help personally. Two palace guards were assigned to accompany her outside the city. She assumed they were black riders, as well.

  Bastion had insisted that she have guards, and she had argued unsuccessfully. It troubled
Yana
that he was not more open to discussion of it. She did not want to have guards. She wanted to be free to visit her old friend in the meadows without discussion or permission... or guards. She understood his reasoning. She just didn’t like it.

  She was still grieved from the words they heard spoken the night before. She was annoyed that Bastion had not done anything about it. He did not defend her against them, yet he insisted on defense when she left the city walls. It would not befit a King to tangle in petty arguments, she thought, but still- it didn’t sit right, him saying nothing. It didn’t seem like much of a str
ategy
to her.

  Bastion had told
Yana
very little of his mother. It did not seem that he knew much of her himself. It was remarkable that he showed so much heart, for a man of his position. He tried to say that it was
Yana
herself that planted it, when she saved him that first night... but it seemed something more than that. 

  Yana greeted and welcomed all the gypsy folk who hailed her, having seen
Yana
accept the King’s proposal. A gypsy queen was big news, and everyone was eager to offer congratulations. It slowed her progress terribly as she made her way. After countless delays and well-wishes,
Yana
came upon her own wagon, and Lyubov. Luba, her young protégé, attended her, and greeted
Yana
warmly.

  “She has been sick for a few days,” Luba said. “She got through the Coronation, but got worse since we got back.”
Yana
stroked the old woman’s hair as she listened.

  “
Pakvora
,”
Yana
said to Lyubov. “Please get well.”

  “Da. Beautiful
Yana
. Gypsy queen.”
Yana
fought back tears at the sound of her voice.

  “I got everything she told me to get,” Luba said. “We are giving her the medicines she asks for, but they don’t help.”

  “Lyubov, come into the city. There is a doctor in the palace, maybe he can help,”
Yana
said.

  “Nyet. I don’t go there again. I die gypsy.” Those words stung, though Lyubov cannot have meant it that way.

  “You will still be a gypsy in the palace, just like me,”
Yana
said, frustrated. “You need help.”

  “Nyet,” Lyubov said again. “I stay here.” Even in Lyubov’s weak voice,
Yana
knew better than to argue. But losing Lyubov was something she could not face. She would have to keep trying. She leaned in and kissed Lyubov on her forehead. “Get well,
tekla
,” she said. She left her side to talk alone with Luba.

  “I will send the palace doctor out here to meet with you. You can show him what you have been doing, and tell him what seems to be wrong. Maybe he will have an idea. Get him to examine her, if Lyubov will let him.”

  “A city doctor?” Luba said. “You think Lyubov will have anything to do with a city doctor?”

  “You must do what you can, Luba,”
Yana
said. “Be persuasive. Find a way.”

  “You know she is the most stubborn gypsy in all these meadows,” Luba said. “I will do what I can.”

  “Have you looked into your crystal about this?”
Yana
asked.

  “I will look tonight but... I am afraid.”

  “You don’t have to, Luba,”
Yana
said. She knew very well that looking into the future can be terrifying more than comforting.

  “I will look,” Luba said.
Yana
hugged her tightly. “I will be out here as much as I can to help with her,” she said.

  “The others are helping too,” Luba said. “We have enough. It’s just... if she does not get better...”
Yana
hugged her again. Luba would need just as much support as the ailing woman.

  “We will do what we can do. She knows that we love her,”
Yana
said.

  “
Yana
... there are others sick here in the meadows. Just like Lyubov.”

  “Others? How many?”

  “A few. We don’t know why. I am trying the remedies that Lyubov taught me. Soon I will try my own ideas. I have Dimmie and Emilee out gathering some things.”

  “Your own ideas?”
Yana
asked. “Are you a healer?” Luba did not reply, but reached out gently and lifted
Yana
’s shirt, pointing at the wound she received in Kaffa. It was well healed.

  “I used my own mixture. I taught Lyubov.”

  “You taught Lyubov?”
Yana
said, amazed. Luba was gifted, she knew that.
Yana
trusted her.

  “Trust your heart,” she told Luba. “You will find the right answers.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Otta paced his office steadily. It was not a huge room, but it offered him a place to think, to meet, and to write whatever his job required, which was extensive. Parchment and scrolls were always on his desk, and a great many records were kept in the large chests against the wall. It was not far from the throne room, making it convenient for Otta to serve the King. The door rang out resounding knocks, and Otta answered it.

  “Thank you for seeing us,” the man said. Four men entered the room.

  “Welcome, citizens,” Otta said warmly. He knew his diplomacy might be wasted, but it was worth an effort.

  “Otta, we will be brief,” The first man said. “We are gravely concerned about all the gypsies in and around the city.” Otta nodded, listening.

  “We have been a big part of building this city, with trade and hard work,” the
second man said. Otta concurred
. He knew they were the most influential money-men outside the palace. They wanted to throw their weight around.

  “We have been getting robbed lately, and the gypsies are to blame,” the first one said.

  “The gypsies? Have any of them been caught?” Otta asked.

  “No one has seen anything yet, but we know it was them,” he answered.

  “How do you know?” Otta said.

  “Please do not insult us with childish discussion. You know the gypsies are thieves and liars,” the first man said.

  “Naturally,” Otta said, “But we cannot enforce our laws against a thief unless we catch him.”