Kings of the North (55 page)

He had considered. Now he considered again, and fell asleep considering, to dream—not of marriage, as he half-expected—but of a woman no man could marry: Alyanya, Lady of Peace, crowned with flowers, holding a wreath of wheat and poppies in her hands. She held it out, and he felt the prickle of the wheat stems on his brow, the scent of poppies in his nostrils.

Kieri woke in the dark and thought about that. The Lady of Peace approved his attempt to make peace with Pargun … so he would expect. But wheat and poppies? By tradition, she carried those as signs of fertility.

He fell asleep again. This time he looked up—as if lying on the ground—and saw ranged around him shining figures that dimmed until he could recognize them. Only in a dream, he thought, would Alyanya—this time holding an armful of flowers—stand between a man in ruby-studded silver armor—Falk, that must be—and a broad-faced farmer in a blue shirt and gray trousers. Gird? Was he seeing Gird the way Paks did? And a black-haired, big-nosed young woman with a necklace of diamonds … Torre? And the other man in armor, his hand on the neck of a scaled creature … a dragon? Camwyn Dragonmaster?

Behind them all was light and music … music too beautiful to
comprehend … and the light grew, once more absorbing their colors until he woke with a ring of silver brilliance still shimmering in his vision against the dark room. No doubt they wanted something of him, but what? He lay awake until dawn—not that far away, he could tell by the quality of the darkness—trying to understand.

He rose as usual, dressed as usual for weapons practice, and thus the first woman he saw was Arian, King’s Squire, armed and—he had reason to know—capable. And attractive. A woman he could have loved, if only she were not so young. Half-elven, which would have pleased his grandmother. At the door of the salle, he met two more women with swords, King’s Squire Lieth and Erris, Sier of Davonin, who had decided to take up swordplay for reasons no one but the Sier completely understood. A gray-haired widow with children and a first grandchild, she showed no interest in Kieri as other than king, but applied herself to her new interest with more enthusiasm than anyone expected. She took her bruises and strains with a shrug and did whatever the armsmaster told her.

Kieri hung up his sword on the King’s Stand and glanced at Lieth. She had come with the others to Tsaia to find the king—to find him—and she had been captured with him. Even those few hours in the hands of enemies had been bad enough, but she had not flinched from that danger. They had that in common. Yet she, like Suriya and all the others who had also squired the former king, was human-bred, with only the barest hint of taig-sense. And he had never felt for her, as man for woman. The part-elven—Maelith, Esinya, Arian—

In that moment of musing, someone hooked a foot around his ankle and struck his back; he staggered, then fell. He was just able to roll to the side and up before Arian was on him, twisting away from his counter, and catching his arm in a way that forced him down again.

“Good work, Arian!” Carlion said. “Even a king should be watching his back, not daydreaming like a boy in love.”

“You might have said ‘begin,’ ” Kieri said, trying unsuccessfully to squirm out of Arian’s grip.

“I did, twice. The other pairs were engaged, and you just stood there.” Carlion walked over and looked down at them. “I’d yield, if I were you, Sir King. She has you well-pinned and could break bones if you didn’t.”

“Yield,” Kieri said; Arian released him at once and stood. “I was thinking,” he said to Carlion. “Affairs of state.”

“An enemy won’t care, except it makes you easier to take,” Carlion said. Kieri noticed that Arian had moved out of his peripheral vision, and whirled just in time to see her begin another attack; she shifted at once to a new one, and they slid past each other, each evading the other’s attempts. Again … again … and then Kieri managed to connect with one strike. Arian followed the line of the strike, rolling and coming up again.

“Too much time in the palace and too little time here, Sir King,” Carlion said. “You must hand off some of the paperwork to clerks and add a session on unarmed combat alone. It may be mere stiffness from all those days on horseback, but it could kill you.”

As he talked, Kieri and Arian went on sparring. When Kieri pinned her at last, Carlion nodded. “Enough of that now, but you, Sir King, would do well to add an afternoon session to your schedule until you regain your speed and the flexibility in your left arm.”

“I did not heal someone of a poisoned dagger wound but a few days ago,” Arian said. She glanced at Kieri, then back at Carlion. “If the king’s grace is somewhat stiff after that, it is no wonder to me.”

“Sa! And the gossip has not yet reached me?” Carlion scowled. “I will have a talk with my spies. And you, Sir King—you are supposed to tell me of any impediment to your training.”

“I do not think it was that,” Kieri said. “I think it is what you said, barring the lovesick part—I was thinking of other things, dreams I had last night that spoke of the realm, and I am well rebuked.”

“If you are to be wed before I die of old age, you had better be thinking about the lovesick part,” Carlion said. “Indeed, I do know that Pargunese princess is back here again—you called her back from Falk’s Hall—”

“To convince her father I hadn’t ravaged her, yes. She’s returning to Falk’s Hall. I’m not marrying her, or any princess. I will marry a woman of Lyonya—a woman, not a girl—a woman with a sword. If my Squires were not all too young …” He looked at Arian. The look he got back from her was challenging.

“You would consider marrying someone who pinned you more than once?” Carlion asked.

Kieri laughed. “My wife—my first wife—was a soldier, as you
know, and threw me more than once. And did so laughing, and laughed when I managed to outfence her. Aliam Halveric was the same with Estil, when they were younger, though she never fought in Aarenis. When I was a squire there, any time she was not big with child, she practiced, and I saw her throw Aliam into the dunghill once. None of us dared laugh, but they did.”

After practice, Arian and Garris walked back to the main palace with him. Abruptly Garris said, “Will you be riding today?”

“No,” Kieri said. “Carlion wants me for another session this afternoon, and that leaves no time for a ride.”

“Well, then, with your permission, I’ll take the mounts you rode on the trip out for exercise after lunch. I’ll just tell the Master of Horse.” Kieri nodded, and Garris strode off.

“If it is truly our ages,” Arian said.

Kieri turned his head; she did not meet his eyes. “Sorry?”

“You said we Squires were all too young for you to … consider. We are not all as young as you may think.
I
am not as young as you may think. Half-elven … look younger.” She looked up then. “I am not trying to ask anything of you. It is just that you should know.”

Kieri stared. He had been so sure they were all decades younger; he had struggled so hard against what he felt. “How old—?” His voice stuck in his throat.

“Fifty winters,” she said. She stopped, and he turned to face her. “My mother died two years ago; my father has gone back to the Ladysforest. He was glad to hear I had been chosen King’s Squire. He said, ‘So you’re finally growing up.’ Though he had not said so, I think he believed my time in the rangers was as much a girl’s whim as Elis’s horse farm.”

Kieri felt his heart pounding suddenly, felt the heat of his blood racing. Arian? Could it be? And if so … what did
she
want?

“You sent Garris away,” he said, hoping it was true.

“Yes. I said it might be a delicate conversation that no one should overhear.” Arian looked across the wide courtyard to the stables.

“You have ambushed me again,” Kieri said. “Hooked my ankle just as you did this morning—”

“I was hoping for your heart,” she said. “But if it feels like an ambush, Sir King, I release you at once.”

“I am all undone,” Kieri said. “I had thought—among the rangers, the Squires, there might be women who desired me—”

“Might!” she said. She laughed at him, now, dark eyes alight with it. “My lord king, you little know what you inspire, if you think they only
might
desire you.”

“And you?” He could scarcely breathe enough to say the words.

“From the day I first saw you,” she said. “I knew it was unseemly, and knew I should, to save you embarrassment, turn right ’round and ride away. But you chose me for a Squire, chose me for those skills I admire in myself. The more I knew of you, the more … the more I respected, admired you. You have no idea … but my lord, if my interest does not please you, do not fear I will press it on you. I can stay, as your Squire, and say no word more, or go, if that is your pleasure, without complaint. I am not a girl of twenty or thirty, unable to manage my behavior, or a spoiled princess. What say you?”

Kieri stared, unable to look away. She was nothing like Tammarion to look at—dark hair instead of light, dark eyes instead of Tammarion’s fire-blue, taller, a broader face—and yet—“I can scarcely say anything,” he said. His voice came out gruff; he cleared his throat. “I never thought—” His voice betrayed him again. Her face changed expression, closing again to the mask of a Squire on duty. He reached for her hand. “No—no, do not go. Stay. Please—I must tell you—and I cannot tell you at this moment—but stay.”

Her eyes lit up again; she had seen or heard something he did not know he had conveyed—but he meant it.

Garris, coming back from the stables, whistled a phrase of “Nutting in the Woods” and shook his head at them. “So that’s how it is,” he said. “And you have to stand out in the courtyard, like a—”

“Don’t say it,” Kieri said. He felt light as a bubble. “Do not say a word.”

“I don’t have to,” Garris said, “with every window on this side of the palace full of faces.”

Kieri glanced up; the faces disappeared in a rush; curtains fell. He looked at Arian; she was flushed but laughing, shaking her head.

“You are not embarrassed?” he asked her.

“Me? Oh, my lord—Sir King—I am too happy to be embarrassed by anything.”

He laughed too, until a strong nudge by the taig broke into his laughter. “That’s good because we must go somewhere. Now.”

Her eyes widened. “Now?”

“The King’s Grove. Or so the soles of my feet tell me—the taig is waiting.”

“Oh—
Oh!
I feel it!”

“And possibly my grandmother.”

Now she paled. “Now? The Lady?”

“I think so,” Kieri said. The taig and his grandmother’s command drew him. “Garris—we’re going to the King’s Grove—call another—” And he tugged gently at her hand. “Come, Arian, if this is what you want. If not, tell me now.”

“It is … I’m just … I have no breath.”

“Nor I.”

By the time they reached the gate, Garris and Berne were also with them. Garris puffed a little, but Arian matched Kieri’s stride effortlessly. At the entrance to the King’s Grove, Kieri bade the others wait.

“We should—”

“I have a Squire with me,” Kieri said. “And you know the Grove will not let harm come to me.”

The light grew as they went deeper in; Kieri felt the elvenhome kingdom surge out to meet him. He looked at Arian; she said nothing, but nodded, her eyes bright. In the center, the mound rose as always, moss green as ever despite the depth of winter, and there the Lady waited, her expression more stern than Kieri expected. Slightly behind her was another elf, one Kieri had never met, clad in ice-blue and silver.

Arian knelt as Kieri bowed.

“Well,” the Lady said, her head tilted slightly. “The taig brings tidings.”

“Good tidings,” Kieri said.

“We shall see,” the Lady said. “This is the wife you would choose?” Her voice was cool, as when she had spoken to the Pargunese king.

“Yes,” Kieri said.

“And when was this choice made, and how carefully did you consider it?”

Irritation prickled his neck. “I have thought of my future wife since I first learned I would have one,” he said. “As for Arian, I have known her since spring—”

“I did not ask when you met her, but when you made your choice, grandson.”

“I loved her before Midsummer, but thought her too young,” he said. “Only today I learned her age, and then I knew.” He took Arian’s hand and pulled her close. “I do not choose lightly, grandmother.”

The Lady’s lips tightened. “She is half-elven, but not the half-elf I would have chosen—”

“And it is not you she will marry,” Kieri said.

“For
you
, grandson. I would not have chosen her for you.”

“She is brave, honest, generous—and she loves me.”

“It is her heritage that I am concerned about.”

“My mother was an honorable woman,” Arian said. “You cannot say—”

“I do not speak against your mother,” the Lady said. “But your father—” She gestured, and the other elf came forward. “Your father disobeyed my command when he made liaison with your mother; it was the third human woman he had made liaison with, in the short space of two centuries, and that is unseemly. Besides those he merely charmed for a night or two.”

The elf raised an eyebrow at Kieri, spread his hands, and shrugged. “I am what I am, O Queen,” he said. “I cannot help my nature. Humans fascinate me, and human women—” He shrugged again.

“So I have gathered,” the Lady said. “And you have fathered too many children you did not stay to rear. You do not regard them as important—”

“I do,” he protested. “But they grow so fast—”

“It is your father’s character that concerns me,” the Lady said to Arian. “You are his daughter; he is untrustworthy. How, then, can I trust you? Did you not seek to be a King’s Squire because you wished liaison with my grandson?”

Arian was silent a long moment, then she spoke, her voice clear. “I first came to Chaya, seeking a place as King’s Squire, because I had served long as a forest ranger, and hearing of the new king—the true king—wanted to see for myself. I did not think then of the man, only
of the chance to make a change in my life at the time the kingdom was making a change. The taig sang to me, my Lady. I felt the spring rising in it, and in me. When I came there, like other rangers, other Knights of Falk, I helped where I could around the time of his coronation.”