The Tears of the Rose by Jeffe Kennedy

my dark thoughts, nodding at me placidly when I started at her voice. “It will occupy your hands and give you a sense of peace.”
    She didn’t have to say that I sorely needed some kind of peace.
    â€œI should mention, though, that the reason you never learned before is because the fine ladies have long frowned on the art. Fit only for coarser hands and thicker yarns.”
    â€œBut you’ll teach me anyway—can I make something for the baby?”
    â€œWe’ll start you with something simple and you can work up to a more complicated piece.” The midwife chuckled to herself. “Though if Her Highness Queen Amelia takes up the art, she may yet start a new fashion.”
    â€œI’m not queen yet.”
    â€œGive it time, ducks. Give it time.”

    The next day, I made my way to Glorianna’s Temple. It stood right outside Castle Ordnung itself, but still well within the walls of the keep, so I could leave my ladies behind. Though most of them had taken advantage of our visit home to be with their families and other friends. I didn’t blame them—being in my circle these days sorely lacked the social whirl they’d always enjoyed. Of course, they, too, had abandoned me.
    For the moment, however, I didn’t mind. I needed to speak further with High Priest Kir about Glorianna’s mission to recover Annfwn, so I could be prepared to put it to the High King in a clear way, without an opportunity for Ursula to poke holes in me with her verbal sword.
    When I found the High Priest, his countenance brightened at my arrival and he strode away from a group of underpriests he’d been apparently lecturing. They all bowed deeply to me, scraping the pink tiles with their shaven brows, as if I were Glorianna Herself. They murmured a chant I hadn’t heard before, something lovely and musical.
    â€œYour Highness.” Kir beamed at me. “You are as lovely as the dawn. It is easy to see how Glorianna’s hand rests upon you.”
    You need to learn not to listen to every bit of flattery lobbed in your direction. I banished Ursula’s nasty voice from my mind.
    The White Monk lurked behind him, as he always seemed to do. He did not chant along with the others, it seemed.
    â€œWhat is that prayer?” I asked.
    â€œWhy, it’s yours, Your Highness.” Kir smoothed his immaculate robe. “I composed it myself, to honor you and your son, who shall sit upon the High Throne and lead us all into Annfwn. Under his leadership, we shall reclaim paradise and, along with it, your birthright.”
    â€œWhat if the babe is a girl? And why not reclaim it under my leadership?”
    Kir laughed. Then stopped himself as he realized I hadn’t spoken in jest. “The child will be a boy. All the portents confirm that truth. As Glorianna lays Her trust in Her priests, She has determined that your son will lead.”
    â€œBut Glorianna’s first child was a daughter and the goddess loved her.”
    â€œYour Highness, I assure you, there was no such daughter.”
    â€œBut I heard the tale of how she gave us knitting.”
    Kir looked aghast and, with extreme unctuous courtesy, silently urged me away from the still chanting priests. “Princess Amelia, I beg you to have a care which tales you listen to. There are many that purport to be of Glorianna but are not. They are heresies that can only lead to sorrow and misinformation.”
    The White Monk trailed behind us, silent as always. But I had the feeling that he listened to us intently. Kir seemed to make the mistake, as many did, of thinking the silent also don’t listen. In Andi’s case, that was often true. Not so for everyone.
    â€œYou must tell me where you heard such blasphemy,” Kir went on, an impassioned flush high on his cheeks, “and I shall see to it that the poor, misguided soul receives proper instruction.”
    â€œBlasphemy?” I echoed, aghast. Surely