Sasharia En Garde (63 page)

When I finally reached Jehan, I discovered that he’d fallen
deeply and profoundly asleep, his cheek resting on the arm he’d crooked over
the rock.

I set the plate nearby and returned to get some food for
myself. And then I went and sat with Damedran’s friends, who looked like a
bunch of scared pups. Husky ones, to be sure, but pups all the same. I asked
them easy questions—about homes, families, favorite activities. Things they
could answer without reference to so-called Great Events.

Why do bloody events get translated into Great Events in
histories? Probably because they force summary change. But here was the real
effect of sudden change—the wrenches in the lives of those who would never
leave behind records, the people who lived and breathed and hated and loved,
feared and fought, the everyday folk whom the balladeers inevitably overlooked.
They might go home and tell the story, and perhaps the sword Ban Kender gripped
would be handed down to a grandson, along with the story of this day. Maybe he
would even figure as a hero.

The next day Jehan rode in the wagon with his father’s body.
He didn’t ride with me partly because he needed time alone, but also because
Damedran stuck to me like glue.

From his occasional, uncharacteristically shy questions or
comments, I finally realized Damedran was crushing on me, but it was a dazed
crush, I think more gratitude than any real admiration for my great looks or
stunning abilities. Making me into a kind of heroine probably felt better than
the emotions of disgrace, defeat and attempted murder, no matter how justified
everyone told him his action had been.

So passed a few days.

Before we reached Vadnais, we paused at a crossroad, and my
father rode a little ways apart with Damedran and spoke to him alone. The boy
separated off with a small guard leading the wagon bearing Randart’s body that
would be taken to his family castle, where they could have a private funeral.
Dad was not having any sort of shame ceremony, too often held in the past.
Those caused nothing but bad feelings.

Jehan and I traveled together after that, for the few days
remaining, but he almost never spoke. From time to time he looked ahead at Dad.
It was pretty plain to me he was wondering what kind of disgrace lay ahead for
him, but he didn’t say anything.

Mom and Dad were nearly inseparable, and from the looks of
things, they didn’t stop yakking except to eat when we camped. A few times they
invited us to join them. Jehan refused politely; he seemed to regard himself if
not as a prisoner, in isolation. So I divided my time between them, feeling
like this could be over ANY time and no one would hear me complain. I mean, the
bad guys were gone, where was my happy ending?

Where was Jehan’s?

We
finally
reached
Vadnais in a kind of procession, Dad and Mom riding at the front, me behind
them, an honor guard with Jehan accompanying Canardan laid out in the wagon.
Along the trip some of the women had gone home (with their men) but everyone
else trailed after, including some lookie-loos who’d invited themselves along
now that the danger was over.

Dad had sent riders ahead. The entire city had gathered
along the main street leading to the great square between the castle and the
guild buildings. Whatever their private feelings, people united in throwing
down white blossoms. Canardan was quite covered with a fragrant snowdrift of
flowers when we reached the great square, where a quiet, orderly crowd had been
waiting since morning.

There, at a gesture from Dad, Jehan stepped up. He did not
give a speech. No one made a sound as he passed a torch three times over his
father’s still body. Magister Zhavic, with trembling hands, performed the
Disappearance Spell.

Then my father lifted his voice. “I, Mathias Zhavalieshin,
claim the throne of Khanerenth. My first order is to appoint Prince Jehan
Merindar as continuing commander of our guard, and he is also to take command
as High Admiral of the navy.”

Jehan’s face blanched nearly as white as his hair.

“If he accepts these tasks, I further order him to ride
immediately to Castle Cheslan to lead the army back to Ellir for winter
quarters. There, he will preside over a smooth change of command as he sees
fit.”

I was astonished, but the relief in Jehan’s face made it
plain to see that this was exactly the right thing to do. He bowed low to my
father, setting off a group bow that rustled (with a few creaking and crackling
of joints here and there) through the crowd.

After that they sent up a huge cheer.

Jehan said something to Dad. I couldn’t catch the words. He
turned a twisted smile to me that was so much a mix of unhappiness and desire
my throat ached. Then he strode away through the crowd, his white hair floating
on the cold autumn breeze, and vanished in the direction of the stable.

“I never got to talk to him,” I said, hardly aware of
speaking.

Mom squeezed my hand. “Let him get some space. Let people
see him trusted by your father.”

Space. Yes. I’d asked it of him when I left the yacht,
though it had hurt me terribly. I had to give him the same chance. So I bowed
my head and followed my mother toward the castle looming over us.

Mom stopped in her tracks. “Where is everyone going to
stay?” She stared up at those towers with (I suddenly realized) somewhat
wrinkled Zhavalieshin firebird banners hanging down.

Dad looked over at her, brows lifted mildly. “Oh. I didn’t
think of that.”

Mom gave a short nod. “I may as well go right back up to my
rooms, and you come with me, dear. In about five minutes you and I are going to
be in that bath. I can think of plenty of things to do.”

Though I felt closer to tears, I laughed. “Mom. There are
about thirty people earing in.”

“I’d invite them to join us, but the fashion for hot tubs
doesn’t seem to have reached this part of the world yet. I’ll fix that.” She
patted my hand and turned around. “Well! Since we have quite a crowd, why don’t
we get those with nothing to do started on cleaning up this castle?”

She began handing out jobs. Those who didn’t backpedal fast
enough got assigned to broom and scrub squads. The surprising thing is, most of
them actually went out and did the assigned jobs. A lot of them were castle
servants hoping not to be fired, it turned out. Having work to do was a good
thing, it helped establish a semblance or normality.

Mom then turned on me. “And you, my dear, are going to have
an appointment with the royal seamstress. You have to start dressing like a
princess.”

“Nooo,” I howled, hovering in that unsteady state between
laughter and a flood of tears. “Not a big dress!”

“If
I
can get used
to it,
you
can.”

o0o

Despite her determination to polish me up before Jehan
returned, when he did arrive, I wasn’t in any of my new gowns. (Which I have to
admit were stylish and easy to wear.) I was out in the court doing weapons
practice with the guards, wearing my workout clothes, when one of Steward
Eban’s nieces came to fetch me. “Prince Jehan is here!” she cried, grinning
with excitement.

I ran inside and straight to the side parlor that Dad and
Mom had taken over as our central HQ. Dad had insisted that the servants not
disturb Canardan’s rooms, and Mom couldn’t bear to go near them. They had
agreed to let Jehan decide what to do about his father’s things.

Jehan arrived just after I reached the parlor. He still wore
his brown tunic uniform, now dusty from the road. He bowed to Dad and Mom, and
turned to me. He no longer wore that look of pain that had so wrenched my heart
on the long, awful ride. I grinned at him.

He flashed a subdued version of his old smile before turning
to Dad. “Sire, would you like my report?”

Dad waved a hand. “Sit, Jehan. I sent for something to eat
and drink.”

Jehan dropped down next to me. Our shoulders touched; I held
out my hand. His face relaxed, and his fingers gripped mine.

“Did Orthan Randart assist you as I required?” Dad asked.

“He did.” Jehan’s tone was grim.

Servants came in, bringing hot food and drinks. The slanting
rays of late autumn touched the table where we all kept our own stacks of to-do
things, striking into gold the tea as it was poured into the fine blue
porcelain cups.

Kreki Eban had gone straight from the dungeon to the
steward’s chambers. Mom and I had been trying to figure out how to help Kreki
Eban reorganize the staff, for a lot of Canardan’s servants had quit. Some had
vanished when the news of Canardan’s death reached the city, along with a
sizable amount of silver, plate and other valuables, Chas in the lead—ahead of
a pack of guards who badly wanted to scrag him.

But Kreki had unearthed a lot of the old servants, who were
quite eager to have their old jobs back.

Mom sighed, rubbing her temples. “Zhavic searched Randart’s
office down in the garrison at Math’s request. He didn’t find any wards or
anything.”

Jehan dropped his biscuit onto his plate. “I searched his
office at Ellir, as you required, sire. I didn’t expect to find anything like
‘Future King Plans’ but Orthan, who really seemed to want to cooperate, kept
telling me his brother was fond of lists. Randart had had his own section of
the academy archive room. We opened those chests and found the files
scrupulously neat, arranged according to year, supplies, reports on personnel
and exercises, for the entire army. He even noted down interrogations and the
type of, um, coercion, let’s call it, that was most effective for that person.”

“Yuk!” Mom and I said together.

“I burned that one.” Jehan grimaced. “Research I’d as soon
no one ever uses. For the rest, we had to go through it all, but in the end it
was worthwhile. He kept two kinds of open lists, we finally figured out:
immediate goals and long-term goals.”

“Ah.” Mom leaned forward and pushed the biscuit back into
Jehan’s free hand, for his other still held mine tightly. He obediently took a
bite.

Mom smiled fondly at him. “Let me guess. Long-term goals
would get shifted to immediate and when accomplished, were filed as done.”

“Exactly. The outstanding ones were mostly various
contingency plans, but there was one single sheet, and from the looks of it
quite old, on which he’d written
hypotheticals
.
All of them expressed as ideas. But if you read them mentally prefacing each
with
If I were king
, they changed in
meaning. It looks, from that paper and some other hints, as if he’d first
considered the idea of assassinating my father within the past two or three
years, if he didn’t get rid of me. He was only waiting for Damedran to leave
the academy and gain some sort of military triumph before acting.”

“So his killing Canardan wasn’t impulse so much as a
long-term plan inadvertently carried out too soon,” Mom said.

Jehan said, “I really believe the intention had always been
there. Instinct took over.”

“And he hadn’t shared it with his family?”

Jehan shook his head. “Damedran made that clear enough back
at Ivory Mountain. And his father was equally appalled. Almost tearfully so. I
believe he was afraid he would be summarily condemned for a family conspiracy
that hadn’t actually existed. The invasion, yes. But Orthan and Damedran had
really thought that the king would then be convinced to set me aside as heir,
appoint Damedran in my place, and everyone would carry on happily ever after.
Except for me,” he finished wryly. “But even then, I’d no doubt run off chasing
artists and bards.”

“You did well.” Dad rose. “No. Sit there and eat. I have to
get back to the mages and see if I can get them sorted out.” He winked at me,
and left.

Mom leaped up, rustled over in her long blue skirts and
cupped her hands round his face. She leaned down and kissed his forehead. “So
glad you are back, dear boy.”

She whirled around, the fresh herbal scent from her skirts
wafting through the air, and she was gone.

“She seems happy,” Jehan said as the door closed quietly on
us.

“She’s happy with Dad.” I hesitated, then shook my
head—which set our hands to swinging.

Jehan gave me a brief grin. “Promise me. Don’t hide things.
Spit ’em out. I will, too.”

“Promise.” I turned his hand over and rubbed my thumb over
his rough, callused palm. His skin so warm. “Mom is happy when she’s with Dad,
but that’s not nearly often enough. She was happy, oh, the first day or so
here, but the talk about Norsunder and possible war worries her. A lot. She
likes being social, when everyone gets along.”

Jehan drank off his tea. “I sensed that, when we were here
in the summer.”

“Speaking of the past. I never saw your father with her, but
I’m wondering if she had a kind of weird love-hate thing going with him.”

“I saw them together. That’s pretty much it,” Jehan
responded.

I nodded. “Dad won’t say anything at all, but he looks
worried sometimes, when he watches her, and he doesn’t think anyone is looking.
Not about her feelings for Canary—Canardan, sorry.” I sighed. “But about these
future threats, and how that relates to the queen gig.”

“Gig,” Jehan breathed, smiling at last. That smile, so
pensive, so sweet, melted me right down to the socks I wasn’t wearing.

“Jehan. Speaking of no one around. Who knows how long that will
last. I have something to say.”

Jehan gave my hand a brief, tentative squeeze. I got to my
feet then pulled him up. We stood there in the golden shafts of sunlight, his
white hair gleaming, pinpricks of light in his blue eyes.

He looked into my face and grinned. “A prepared speech, eh?
If it’s self-condemnation, don’t do it. But if it’s something you will feel the
better having shed, well, let’s have it.”

“We call it clearing the air.” I leaned up and kissed him.
“And yes. I mean, I don’t think I’m Princess Perfect, and I want to apologize.
For not trusting you. See, I wanted to trust you, oh, way too much. So I didn’t
trust myself.”