Daughter of Regals (4 page)

In such
matters, she was ably aided by Mage Scour. He served her, it was said, because
she put her nearly limitless wealth at his disposal, enabling him to pursue his
experiments and researches wherever he willed. And it was also said that he
came here this night prepared by what he had learned to alter the entire order
of the realm.

Ryzel
had scoffed at that rumour, but in a way which conveyed uncertainty. The
casting of images of what was Real was a known art, varying only according to
the skill, dedication and inborn capacity of the Mage. But Magic itself
remained a mystery, transcending that which was known, mortal, or tangible. And
the rumours surrounding Scour claimed that he had gone beyond images of the
Real into Magic itself.

I felt
myself more a lost girl than a lady of state as I drew near to Queen Damia and
her retinue.

Her
smile was as brilliant as one of the chandeliers— so brilliant that it made me
feel the fault of manners was mine rather than hers when she declined to accept
my hand. But the gracious sound of her voice—as haunting as a flute—covered the
social awkwardness of her refusal. “Lady,” she said sweetly, “I have seen the
portraits of your line which hang in the gallery of the manor. Surely no paint
which is not itself Real can hope to portray the virility of the Regals. But
the painting of your grandmother well becomes her—or so I have heard from
those who knew the mother of the Phoenix-Regal. You are very like her. Your
dress is so simple and charming, it displays you to perfection.”

As she
spoke, I found myself watching the movement of her décolletage as if I were a
man. It was an effective sight; I was so taken by it that a moment passed
before I grasped that I had been insulted in several ways at once.

“You
flatter me, my lady,” I replied, schooling myself to calmness so that I would
not redden before the guests of the manor. “I have seen my grandmother’s
portrait often. She was altogether handsomer than I am.” Then the success of my
efforts gave me enough reassurance to return her compliment. “In any case, all
beauty vanishes when Queen Damia appears.”

A small
quirk twitched the corner of her soft mouth; but whether it indicated pleasure
or vexation, I could not tell. Yet my response sufficed to make her change her
ground. “Lady,” she said smoothly, “it ill becomes me to discuss the business
of the Three Kingdoms upon such a festive occasion—but the need of my subjects
compels me to speak. The next Regal simply must re-examine the pricing
structure of Lodan woods against the ores and gems of Nabal and the foods of
Canna. In particular, our mahogany is scarce, and growing scarcer. We must have
a higher return for it, before we sink into poverty.”

To
follow her cost me an effort of will—and of haste. With the same words, she
prepared for any outcome to my test. If my Ascension to the Seat succeeded, she
would turn to me sweetly and say, “May we now discuss the price of Lodan mahogany,
my lady?” And at the same time she contrived to suggest to all who heard us
that the next Regal would be none other than Queen Damia herself.

I could
not match her in such conversation. To escape her—and also to show her that I
was not swayed—I attempted a laugh. To my ears, it sounded somewhat brittle.
But perhaps it did not entirely fail.

“Surely
you jest, my lady of Lodan. Your people will never know want while you have
jewels to sell for their succour.”

From
the gathering, I heard a muffled exclamation, a low titter, whisperings of
surprise or approbation. With that for victory, I turned away.

But I
felt little victory. As I turned, I saw clearly Mage Scour’s sharp face. He was
grinning as if he had the taste of my downfall in his mouth.

To his
credit, Ryzel allowed the monarch of Lodan no opportunity for riposte. He made
an obscure, small gesture which the servants of the manor knew how to read;
and at once a clear chime rang across the hush of the ballroom.

“My
lords and ladies,” he said casually, as though he were unaware of the
conflicting currents around him, “friends and comrades, the feast is prepared.
Will you accept the hospitality of the Phoenix-Regal’s daughter at table?”

With an
unruffled demeanour, he offered me his arm to lead me to the banquet hall. I
gripped it harder than I intended while I continued to smile somewhat fixedly
at the people who parted before us. Entering the passage which connected the
ballroom and the banquet hall, he whispered softly to me, “Thus far, it is well
enough. I will wager that even that proud Queen has been somewhat unsettled in
her mind. Do not falter now.”

Perhaps
I could not trust him. But he was still my friend; and while his friendship
lasted, I clung to it. In reply, I breathed, “Ryzel, do not leave me to dine
alone with these predators.”

“It is
the custom,” he said without turning his head. “I will regale the Mages while
their masters feast. Do not fail of appetite. You must show no fear.” A moment
later, he added, “Perchance I will glean some hint of what has wedded Cashon to
King Thone’s side.”

With
that I had to be content.

At the
doors of the hall, he dropped his arm. I walked without him ahead of the guests
into the feasting-place of the Regals.

It was
resplendent with light and warmth and music and savoury aromas. In the great
hearths fires blazed, not because they were needed, but because they were
lovely and comforting. Long ranks of candelabra made the damask tablecloths
and the rich plate gleam. Playing quietly in one corner, musicians embellished
a sprightly air. The scent of the incensed candles gave each breath a tang. But
this night such things provided me neither pleasure nor solace. As it was
custom that Mage Ryzel would not attend me here, so also was it custom that I
must take my feast uncompanioned—at a table set only for me and placed in full
view of all the guests. The long tables had been arranged in a rough
semicircle; but my seat rested on a low platform within the arms of the
formation, solitary and exposed, so that all in the hall might study me as we
ate.

A
barbarous custom I thought sourly. Yet I understood it. Always better—so my
father had often told me— to rule by confidence of personality than by display
of strength. And how better to show my enemies that I did not fear them, than
by taking a calm meal alone in front of them?

Gripping
what courage I had, I moved to my place and stood there while the three kings
and their followers,
the chief families and minor nobility of the
realm all my principal friends and foes found their proper seals. For a moment
as I watched them, I fervidly wished myself a Gorgon as my great-grandfather
had been, capable of turning to stone those who sought my ill. But then I shook
the thought away; it did not become one who aspired to Ascension. The
Gorgon-Regal had been a grim and fatal monarch—and yet there was no record that
he had ever used his Magic to harm any of his subjects.

When
all the guests were in their places, I made the short, formal speech expected
of me, inviting the company to feast and happiness in the manor of the Regals.
I was steadier now, and my voice betrayed no tremor. According to custom, I
stood until the people around me had seated themselves. Then the steward
clapped his hands for the servants, and I lowered myself gratefully to my
chair.

At
once, the feast appeared. Again according to custom, the steaming trays and
chafing dishes, platters of meats and flagons of mulled wine and tureens of
rich soup were brought first to me. And with them came a servant to act as my
tester. He would taste for me; and I would taste for the guests; and so both
caution and courtesy were satisfied.

But
there I was somewhat surprised. The man who came to serve me was not my
accustomed tester, an old retainer of the manor whom I had known and loved from
girlhood. Rather he was a tall and excellently made fellow perhaps ten years
older than I. I knew him little; but I had noticed him about the manor since
the death of my father—indeed, I could not have failed to notice him, for his
handsomeness was extreme, and it plucked at my heart in a way no man had ever
done. His name was Wallin. Now, in the light of the candles and the aura of the
music, he appeared more than handsome: he seemed to glow with perfection.

Looking
at him, I thought that girls dreamed of such men. Women would be well advised
to distrust them.

The
blessing of my isolated seat and the music was that I could speak without being
overheard. Softly, I said, “This is not your accustomed duty, Wallin.”

“Your
pardon, my lady.” His composure was a match for his appearance. “Do not be
displeased. Your taster was taken ill this evening—a slight indisposition, but
enough to keep him from his feet.” He smiled self-deprecatingly. “I begged for
his place until the steward granted it to me so that I would desist,”

“You
have curious desires, Wallin,” I said, studying him narrowly. In all truth, I
distrusted him less than my attraction to him. “Why are you avid for such
perilous duty? The task of taster is not altogether ceremonial here. There is a
tradition of poison in the Three Kingdoms.”

Speaking
as quietly as I did, he replied, “My lady, your guests await their feast.”

A
glance showed me that he was right. Many of the men and women at their tables
were watching me curiously. Others appeared restive. But I made a dismissive
gesture. “Let them wait.” It would serve to heighten their uncertainty. “You
interest me.”

“Then I
must answer you frankly, my lady.” His manner suggested diffidence, yet he was
entirely unruffled. “It is said of the Regals that they take their mates from
the common people rather than from the high families— or from the adherents of
the three rulers. This is unquestionably wise, for it avoids any implication
of favouritism or preference which might unsettle the realm” He glanced around
us, assuring himself that there was no one within earshot. Then he concluded, “My
lady, when you come to the choice of a mate, I wish to be considered. I serve
you to gain your notice.”

He
astonished me. I was not the sort of woman whom handsome men found desirable—or
any men at all, handsome or otherwise, in my experience. Somewhat bitterly, I
responded, “Are you hungry for power, Wallin?”

“My
lady”—his composure was extraordinary—”I am hungry for your person.”

For an
instant, I nearly laughed. But if I had laughed, I might also have wept.
Without my will, he inspired a yearning in me to be loved rather than feared or
hated; and the pain that I was not loved welled against my self-command.
Mustering all the severity I possessed, I said, “You are bold. Perhaps you are
too bold. Or your grasp of the risk you run is unclear. I have not yet proven
myself Regal. If I fail, any man who dares ally himself with me will share my
doom. In permitting such hazard to your life, I would demonstrate myself
unworthy of the rule I seek.” Then I relented a degree. Some weaknesses require
utterance, or else they will seek admission in other ways. “You may be assured
that you have gained my notice.”

“With
that I am content,” he replied. But his eyes said candidly that he would not be
content long.

He
nonplussed me to such an extent that I felt gratitude when he went about his
duties, enabling me to occupy myself with the first of my food—and to avoid
meeting his gaze again. His attitude defied reason. Therefore I could not trust
it—or him. And therefore the strength of my wish to defy reason appalled me.

Thus it
was fortunate that I had no appetite for any of the food placed before me. It
required a great concentration of will to sample each dish as if I were pleased
by it; and that discipline schooled me to master myself in other ways. As the
servants fanned away from me to the long tables, bearing rich fare and rare
delicacies to the guests of the manor—not
my
guests, though Wallin had
termed them so—I became better able to play my part with proper grace. Let
those who studied me for signs of apprehension see what they willed.

Yet
whenever I felt Queen Damia’s gaze come toward me, I did not meet it. I was
prepared to outface all the rest of the gathering if need be; alone or
together. But I was not a match for Lodan’s queen.

So the
banquet passed. No toasts were proposed to me—a breach of good etiquette, but
one easily forgiven, considering the vulnerability of those here who wished me
well—and I offered none in return. Hostility and tension were covered by the
gracious music, the plenty of the feast, the flow of superficial conversation
and jests. And then the musicians set aside their instruments to make way for
the minstrels.

The
minstrels were perhaps the only people in the hall with nothing at hazard
except their reputations. War provided them with material for songs; peace
gave them opportunity to sing. As did this night, whatever the outcome of my
Ascension. So they had come to the manor from around the Three Kingdoms, that
they might establish or augment their fame, their standing in the guild. In consequence,
their singing was exceptional.

Custom
declared that the minstrel of the manor must perform first; and she regaled the
guests with an eloquent and plainly spurious account of how the Basilisk-Regal had
wooed and won the daughter of one of Canna’s farmers, in defiance of the man’s
deathly opposition to all things Magic. Then came the turn of the minstrels of
the three rulers. However, only two men stood forward— Count Thornden had no
minstrel with him, either because he had none at all, or because he had not
troubled to bring his singer here. King Thone’s representative took precedence
by virtue of his ranking in the minstrel’s guild, and he delivered himself of
an elaborate, courtly ballad, highly sophisticated in its manner but rather
crude in its intent, which was to flatter the monarch of Canna. I felt no
offence, however. I was willing to listen to him as long as possible. Even
crude minstrelsy beguiled me as though it had power to hold back the future.