Myrren's Gift (59 page)

“More slippery than an eel let me assure you.”

Valentyna could not help but laugh. “A snake and now an eel. Tell me about him…describe his looks to me.”

Wyl did so candidly.

“What a waste.” she admitted. “And if he’s really as handsome as you describe then surely he can have the pick of brides…although perhaps not so readily a Queen,” she added wistfully, knowing all too well the politics driving the proposal.

“For sure, but he wants Briavel more than a bride, your majesty. The only marriage Celimus craves is that of Briavel to Morgravia. He would control all land south of the Razors…and no doubt, once the south is unified, it is his plan to control what lies north too.”

“So marriage really is the means to the end.” she said, confirming what she knew, but wishing it did not have to be so.

“I would put my life on it. Celimus cares for no one and nothing but his own greedy desires. I will never forget how he killed Donal so heartlessly and he would have killed Thirsk’s sister without remorse or a moment’s hesitation if Wyl had not capitulated in that second. Let’s not forget that he paid men to assassinate your father.”

“Oh, Romen. Don’t let’s talk of Celimus any more. I know my duty. Let me enjoy a few moments’

peace instead.”

They had arrived in the copse.

“Here it is.” she said, a wistful note in her voice. “Isn’t it perfect?” She sat down on a nearby log.

Wyl looked at the fairytale-like structure, which had been built around the hollowed trunk of one of the trees. It was artful the way it blended into the forest—a canopy of leaves disguising and yet decorating it.

A haven for a little girl, especially one who played alone and dreamed of being a Princess the equal of any Prince.

“It’s stunning,” he replied.

She was pleased he was impressed. Valentyna brought no one here. This was hers. Her private place, which she shared with no one… not even her father. She had surprised herself in offering Koreldy a chance to see it. She also inwardly smiled over the fact that she had taken extra care with her ablutions, deliberating uncharacteristically long over whether to roll her hair up or let it flow free. This fussing was a new experience for Valentyna. And her clothes, though simple, were more feminine than she had donned in a while. Valentyna had always ignored the curves of her own body. She rarely looked at herself in the glass and yet this evening she had lingered and even fussed a little. Still tall and lean as ever, she was nevertheless delighted earlier this evening to rediscover that her hips rounded nicely over her long legs.

Her maid had commented on how beautiful she looked in her dress. She appreciated how much more shapely her breasts became when she was more elegantly attired. It pleased her fiercely all of a sudden.

More than anything, she hoped it pleased Koreldy.

“Pardon me?” she said, realizing he had asked her something.

“I just wondered if I might sit?”

“Oh. please do. I’m sorry. I was far away just then.”

She loved his smile when it suddenly broke like that across his face.

“What were you thinking of?” he asked, making himself comfortable on the log next to her.

Now she dithered.
How can I possibly tell him
? “Oh, just remembering good times here when I was little.”

“I had an idyllic childhood too. So we have more in common.” An awkward silence followed. She felt that if they were lovers they would most likely kiss now but they were strangers. She pulled her gaze from his mouth and covered her agitation swiftly by turning the conversation to business.

“Have you found us a plan yet, Romen?” She felt her heart lurch when he looked at her with such intensity through those clear gray eyes and took both her hands into his.

“I believe I have, your majesty. It is risky but Fynch agrees, Celimus cannot pass up a challenge to his manhood—for want of a better word.”

“What have you in mind?”

“I must admit first that it was our young friend who suggested this. Have you realized how clever he is?” She laughed. It relieved her fluster and she was able to sit beside him without trembling. “He is so serious sometimes and yet he bedazzles me with his sharp mind.”

“He is bright, that’s for sure.” Wyl said, pulling her hands into his own lap; he felt her tense and wondered if he had been too presumptuous. “Fynch believes we should hold a tourney.”

“Whatever for?” she asked, hardly able to focus on her words, looking down at her hands in his for she dared not risk looking into his searching eyes.

“Because Celimus will love it. We hold it in his honor. We invite him to participate and we let him win at everything…cleverly, though. He must never know.”

“This would certainly put him in a good mood, but how does this help my cause, mercenary?” she inquired, intrigued, nervous about her hands resting in his lap.

“Ah, here’s the clever bit. We let him win at everything until he meets the Queen’s mysterious Champion.”

“Who is you, I presume?” she said, catching on quickly.

He nodded.

“And?”

“And I punish him mercilessly. This will put him in very bad spirits. Celimus is prone to bleak moods, your majesty.”

“How do you know all this? You are not Morgravian.”

“Fynch notices everything,” he replied. “He assures me that Celimus does not handle humiliation with any aplomb.”

“All right, so we have him embarrassed and furious—I can’t see that is any more of a help to my cause.”

“Well, when Celimus falls into his black humor he is good for nothing. He locks himself away and rants.

Fynch says he usually likes to hurt someone or something.

When he was young, apparently it was the castle dogs or cats, even younger children. As he became older, he began to take his fury out on women. “She made a face of disgust and Wyl continued.

“He will certainly not be of a mood to propose marriage if I humiliate him, so we must ensure the tourney takes place immediately before formal talks are held.”

“This is it—our only plan?”

“It’s the best we can come up with. I know it sounds risky — ”

“Risky? It is suicidal. Why won’t he, in his black mood, take umbrage and simply declare war?”

“Because he is not stupid, your majesty. He is petulant, erratic, often dangerous, but never stupid and he will not risk his wealth at war when he can secure the land he craves simply through diplomacy or a strategic union. Anyway, I’m assured by my small friend that Celimus has learned to recognize this particular frame of mind of his, and when it occurs he removes himself from public eye. He will not wish you to see that side of him, your majesty. It might make you think less of him.”

“If that’s possible,” she sneered.

“Fynch believes, as do I, that he will take his soldiers and depart Briavel swiftly on the pretext of being summoned home on urgent matters or similar.”

“And then he’ll simply propose marriage through his minions again?” she said sarcastically but her defiance had disappeared. Wyl could tell she was warming to the idea, in spite of its thin premise.

“That may well be but we will have bought ourselves more time to plan ahead. Right now we have a few days at best. Our aim is to deflect his proposal without you causing direct offense.”

“You’re sure of this, Romen?” she implored, chewing at her lip in consternation.

“No,” he said and laughed when she looked at him in shock. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. It was a brief kiss but bold beyond belief. He was thrilled to realize that the courage came not from Romen Koreldy but was all Wyl Thirsk. And Valentyna did not flinch. “But I will kill him for you if you ask me to. He will not get near enough to you to intimidate. This is a state visit of pure diplomacy.

Celimus will not risk it getting ugly. And neither will his advisors.”

“Will he sense a ruse?” she asked, doing her best to disguise the waver in her voice at the sensation of his kiss.

“No, your majesty, for you will be bright and friendly, ever amicable and welcoming to this suitor. You will compliment him constantly and you will give him the very strong impression that you are overwhelmed by his looks, stature, wealth, and pomp. His vanity is incalculable. Furthermore, he will not expect to lose, for he considers himself the finest swordsman in the land, now that Wyl Thirsk has been laid to rest.”

“But you know better, is that right?” she said, shaking her head in worry as well as amusement.

His eyes sparked with mischief. “I know much better, majesty.” She could no longer act responsibly. His closeness, his charm, and his confidence seduced her. When he spoke like this she felt safe…no longer alone. Romen would kill Celimus if she asked him to—not that she would but the notion was comforting. She dare not use the word “love” but this was the closest affection she had felt for any man bar her father.

Without thinking on it for a second longer she leaned close and kissed him.

Wyl could hardly believe it until he tasted her lips on his mouth. When she began to pull away from the fleeting, gentle kiss, his arm quickly encircled her, guiding her back so he could return her gesture and confirm that his own heart was incredibly vulnerable where she was concerned.

She had meant the kiss as a thank-you, knowing it was more than was required. But at Romen’s insistence it took on a more ardent nature, continuing until the crickets quietened their song and dusk had turned to dark.

Love had spoken to her this night.
The poisoned arrow has bitten
, she thought to herself, recalling his earlier words—and Valentyna knew there would never be another man for her but this one she held close to her now.

It was not just Fynch who noticed the change in Valentyna’s demeanor. Everyone from the maid who laid out her clothes to Commander Liryk saw that their Queen had a lightness to her step and a vague smile constantly threatening to break out. She appeared distracted, flighty—dare they think it—even happy. Perhaps her mourning for her father had finally passed and she had decided it was time to lock away the grief and open herself up to life again, rediscovering the breezy optimism she had been known for.

No one complained at this fresh manner in their Queen. It had a positive effect on everyone’s spirits and some even began to believe that it might be the imminent arrival of a suitor—a King, no less—that had brought about this change in their monarch. Marriage, peace, unified nations…the possibilities drove the Briavellians harder in their preparations for King Celimus.

It was Fynch alone who worked it out. Without realizing it, he absorbed every glance, every smile, every blink of Valentyna’s eyelashes…every minute movement when Romen was near. It took him only until noon the next day to understand what all of this information meant. Confirmation came from Wyl, who he realized was showing all the same symptoms in the presence of Valentyna.
So it is true. They are in
love. Am I shocked? No. Was it so unexpected? Perhaps not
, he decided.
Valentyna is not aware
of how striking she is
—it was one of the reasons he liked her so much—
and Wyl, now in the guise of
Romen, is a dashing, irresistible man
, he concluded.
If I cannot help but like him, why not
Valentyna
? He felt more secure than he had in many moons now that his two closest friends were involved with each other. The neatness of it appealed to his tidy mind and to the child he still was.

Fynch watched too as Romen won hearts very quickly all over the palace. He was always ready with a jest or a smile; he was not averse to helping with any chore that needed to be done to set up the tourney; he struck up friendships with everyone from his page to the cook. Most of all Fynch took comfort in the fact that Knave seemed to overwhelmingly approve of Wyl and Valentyna being together. Fynch could not articulate how he knew this, he simply sensed it. The dog appeared to be less watchful, more playful.

He did not stare at Valentyna the way he so often had.

Fynch was not fooled, of course. Knave knew things, saw things, communicated things…he was sure of that now. Did Knave cause the visions? This he did not know nor could he guess but he was pleased the headaches were gone for now. Wyl’s arrival had put a stop to them, he presumed.

Wyl had been in Werryl now for three days, absorbed both by Valentyna and the bustle of preparations for the King’s visit. All of the palace staff including the Briavellian Guard, strong in numbers, had worked tirelessly. The palace sparkled and plans for the tourney were well advanced; many hands had certainly made light work of the preparations. It was not on the grand scale of Morgravia’s annual royal tournament but it was festive and would attract a large and excited crowd, which was already pouring into the city’s many inns and taverns.

Wyl, at the Queen’s direct behest, had taken charge of all the behind-the-scenes arrangements while Krell handled all formal communications. The only people who heard the Koreldy name were Valentyna’s close staff and the hardworking team below stairs. For the majority of those working or visiting the palace, the tall, dark-haired man was merely a professional organizer hired especially by the Queen, rarely seen in public and never referred to by name.

The Morgravian escort had been on Briavellian soil for two days now. and it was anticipated the King would arrive in the late afternoon of the next day. “Just enough time for you to see him made comfortable in his suite and then wear him out with the banquet.” Wyl thought aloud as he lay back on the grass.

It was just the four of them. Fynch sat cross-legged, leaning against Knave, while Valentyna, back in her trousers again, sat near Koreldy. Near enough that the pulse between them was palpable, Fynch decided, knowing if he was not present they would be sitting much closer, touching even.

“You won’t be there, of course,” Valentyna said, looking worried.

“You can do this, your majesty. You know you can. It will be all protocol. We have ensured you are surrounded by many dignitaries. The singing, dancing, and special events planned for the evening will make it pass quickly. I promise you he will not have the opportunity to press his case.”