Sword (14 page)

Suddenly none of it mattered. Not the barons, not the prophecy, not the eyes on them, weighing and speculating. Not the years that separated them, or the dreadful tension of this moment. Only the growing pressure in her belly mattered, only the sparks of gold rising faster in Kyali's eyes, saying that she was just as glad, just as frightened.

Her hands were probably holding the arms of her chair too tightly, but she couldn't find room in herself to care for that. She could barely keep her seat. She felt an impossibly strong urge to descend the short steps of the dais, to take Kyali's hands. She wanted to learn what would happen when she did that.

Devin stumbled, recovering with a clumsy half-caught step that broke the spell. He had a hand pressed to his stomach.

What is this? What's happening to us?

"Welcome," her father said. "Devin and Kyali Corwynall. Do you stand for your House?"

"Yes, my Lord King," Kyali and Devin replied in unison.

"And do you stand before this court ready to accept the path chosen for you?"

The pulling sensation grew stronger. Taireasa clutched at the chair arms.

"No, my Lord King," Kyali said, and the room filled with cries of shock.

In the rising din Taireasa saw clearly the path her childhood friend had chosen for herself, for them all… but most of all for her, heir to a kingdom split in two. There was a lump in her throat. Devin was wide-eyed. Kyali stood with her feet planted like tree roots, braced for storm.

King Farrell gestured for her to continue. Kyali bowed deeply. She had to wait another few moments before she could be heard above the noise. "Lord King," she said, then had to clear her throat and say it louder. "I wish to remove myself from candidacy for the throne."

"Explain," the king demanded. But before Kyali could do more than open her mouth, Devin stepped forward to match his sister.

"My Lord King," he said, "I too wish to remove myself from consideration."

The roar this time was enough to make the high windows rattle in their frames.

"Silence," her father bellowed. It was so rare to hear his voice raised that there was an immediate hush. "We will hear this! Heirs Corwynall," he continued, dropping back to a normal tone. "I trust you can explain yourselves. Do you mean to leave my daughter unopposed? Niall, did you arrange this madness?"

"No, my Lord King," the general said. "I did not. But I do agree. My daughter is now a swordmistress of the Clans. And my son is a Bard, which profession precludes any other title. They are not suited to the throne. The Lady Taireasa, we have every confidence… is."

"We agree," King Farrell said.

The Lord General blinked once. The queen stared at her husband. Baron Cyrnic stood silent and furious, and Barons Brisham and Walderan were clustered together, whispering. The five Eastern barons ranged the room, murmuring to one another and to their lords. Taireasa met Kyali's eyes, then Devin's. The queasy pulling in her middle grew.

"Hear me!" her father said. "In order to preserve your right of choice, we shall postpone the vote until a fortnight from now. You may discuss possible candidates with House Corwynall, who will put two names forth for consideration. Obviously they must be of the blood." King Farrell sat, this time with a faint smile.

It was clear, now, what her father and the Lord General suspected the Western barons had intended for this day: a candidate of their own. It would never pass a vote, but it would gain them days of maneuvering room, and trade privileges as a sop when that candidate was voted down.

Or,
a small, calculating part of Taireasa thought,
a candidate of their own who, when he is cast aside, will be put forth as a husband for the princess.

She buried a shudder.

"And how are we to know the truth of House Corwynall's declarations?" Cyrnic shouted. "I would prefer to see some proof of their claim."

"Poorly said," the king observed, and waved a hand when Cyrnic tried to object. "But a valid question. Niall, how will you answer?"

"I believe my children can speak for themselves, my Lord King."

Devin, smiling grimly, slipped a hand into a pocket and produced his bone flute.

As he brought it to his lips, the guards, who had all drilled and served at the Corwynall estates, set their feet. Many of the lords retreated in alarm. Taireasa braced. But instead of the crack of glass, the sweet, mournful tune Devin played caused the sunlight streaming in from the colored-glass panes high above to shift in some indescribable way, and then to move in great, wheeling patterns on the floor. Taireasa stared. Kyali had turned to watch her brother. Devin let the melody fade into echoes and then, when no one spoke for several moments afterward, put the flute away and gave a foolishly extravagant bow.

"
Transformative teas
," the Lord General snorted, just loud enough to hear from the dais.

The queen stood and gave the briefest of curtseys. "Young Devin Corwynall," she said quietly. "Young Bard. Well done."

"Yes," the king added, clearing his throat. "You've left us in no doubt. Unless anyone would like to argue it now?" He too stood and bowed, forcing everyone in the room to do the same, and then pushed on, so quickly Taireasa was left blinking. "We confer upon you the title of Bard, with all the rights and privileges thereof, including freedom of all the kingdom and the support of the royal treasury. No man shall harm or hinder you, no lord shall order you, and you shall be welcomed in every hall. We expect all here to abide by this."

Baron Walderan stepped forward, his face an unhealthy purple. "And what of the sister, Majesty? What proof
there
? Shall we have a duel?"

"Are you offering, my lord?" Taireasa asked, and felt herself flush. Every face in the room turned her way. Her own father cast her a startled look.

"A fair question," her father said then, as though it had all been planned.

Walderan stood frozen. Kyali, Taireasa saw, had lost all her carefully maintained indifference: her chin was up, her eyes flashing as she stared down the man whose nephew she had killed two years ago.

"No, my lord," Walderan growled at last.

"Then you would like to suggest an opponent? Remote kin, perhaps?"

"I… had no suggestions, Majesty." Most of the court seemed confused by this exchange, but Taireasa could see comprehension on a few faces. It had not been the misguided plot of a single House, then. How far did it go? And what else would they be willing to do?

"Oh?" King Farrell said, his eyes hard. "Tharst? Sevassis? Canellys? You seem displeased. Have you thoughts on this matter?"

Silence.

"Don your sword, Kyali," King Farrell said then, ice in his voice. Kyali unwrapped the bundle and slid a tangle of dark leather straps over her shoulders, around her waist. She sheathed a set of large daggers at her hips and a long, shining sword over her shoulder. Then she knelt before the dais. Taireasa held her breath. The hush in the hall was profound.

When King Farrell drew the sword from over her shoulder, Maldyn came forward, holding a parchment in unsteady hands, and murmured the words for her to repeat.

"I, Kyali of House Corwynall, do swear my allegiance to the sovereign of the Kingdom of Lardan. I shall defend your life as my own and abide by your judgments in all things. To this I pledge my blade, my hand, and my heart."

For a moment the pressure in her middle was agonizing. Taireasa pressed a hand there, unable to help herself—and then, just as suddenly, it was gone. She met Devin's uneasy gaze.

Her father spoke the reply. Then he raised the blade, passing his hand over it in blessing. He pulled her to her feet. Kyali sheathed her sword, that faint frown still on her face, and went to stand with her family. The three of them looked very alone in the crowded hall.

A Bard and a Fraonir swordmistress.

Nobody said it. She was quite sure she wasn't the only one thinking it. Even Ky, with her impatience for all things fanciful, would have a difficult time calling the old rhyme nothing but a thing for children to skip to now. But the king made no mention of prophecy.

"The vote in a fortnight," King Farrell said then, before any in the hall had a chance to speak. Even the Eastern lords seemed affronted, and Taireasa could hardly blame them, but in the shock of the decisions and changes that had happened, nobody said a word. Her father stood.

"Good day, lords, ladies."

Good day, indeed.

* * *

The dining room was pleasantly cool this time of day. Taireasa leaned against the wall to look down at the bustle of the square, where merchants called their wares and market wives haggled over turnips and tapestries alike. The scent of pasty pies and roasting meat drifted up through the windowpanes. Her father came to stand near her, setting a hand on her shoulder as he pried the crown from his head.

"It gives me a headache," he said wryly, holding it up to the light so the single ruby embedded in the gold band glimmered. It was a favorite complaint of his. "You'll probably cushion it better with all that hair."

"It will probably fall off my head," Taireasa countered, trying for humor. But the look in his eyes gave the remark more weight than she had intended and a shiver twisted through her. Her father pulled her within the circle of his arm.

"Don’t worry, Taireasa. We’ve weathered these storms before: every ruler must endure a few. We settled this one before it reached any height at all. They just lost the battle, and the cleverest among them know it."

Taireasa doubted it. For the first time she could remember, she believed her parents were truly wrong. She still struggled with the lingering sense that they had missed some vital moment in the hall… yet she could not for the life of her think of what it had been.

Perhaps it was just her mood.

The changes between her and Kyali and Devin had left her aching. She saw now what she had suspected long ago: the roles they were each raised to would set them at a distance from one another. They must. Her father must have seen it on her face, for he pressed a gentle kiss to her brow, as he hadn't done since she was much younger.

"I don't—" she began, before Kyali appeared in the doorway and all the thoughts flew out of her head. Her father left her, moving forward to offer greetings and lead Devin and the Lord General to the table. In a moment, she and Kyali were standing opposite one another, staring.

Taireasa opened her mouth, but found her throat was closed too tight for speech.

Up close, Kyali was even less familiar. The planes of her face were more sharply defined, the line of her shoulders straighter and stronger. She was taller. Her eyes held a new wariness that darted toward every sound.

Kyali looked her over, seeming as curious and as disturbed as she at the changes they saw in one another. Mustering all her courage, Taireasa reached a hand out. Relief flooded through her when her hand was caught in a grip like a vise. At the contact, that faint connection she had perceived in the hall flared, becoming something bewildering and intense, as though Kyali had stepped into her head. She felt an uneasiness as strong as her own, and an aching gulf of loneliness and resolve.

They both snatched their hands back, wide-eyed.

Then they were hugging the breath from one another, and she had her face pressed to Kyali's shoulder, and her spirits rose in spite of the feeling of dread she couldn't rid herself of. She had her best friend back, and anything was possible now.

"Gods, I've missed you so much!" she gasped, fighting tears and laughter. "Couldn’t you have taken me with you? It’s been so
boring
here."

Kyali gave a little overwrought-sounding laugh. Her reply, when it came, was so muffled it was nearly inarticulate. "I wish I had. You'd have liked it."

"Did you miss me?"

"Do you really need to ask?"

Hardly a declaration of devotion, but that was Kyali. And she
didn't
need to ask: that brief, muddled glimpse into her friend's heart told her all she could ever have wanted to know. They pulled away, and Kyali allowed herself to be tugged toward the table.

"Come eat," Taireasa demanded, unwilling to let go. She couldn't stop herself from brushing at a wisp of blood-red hair, a gesture that made Kyali jerk away like she was dodging a blade. Taireasa ignored the flinch and ran the stray strand through her fingers, relief and joy making her thoughts fly out of her mouth far too fast.

"Your hair's darker! And so long. It must take forever to braid it. I want to hear everything! Those clothes look so strange. But they suit you." Another thought occurred to her and she seized Kyali’s shoulder. "You can do magic now, can't you? I mean truly?"

Kyali blinked several times. Everyone was looking at them.

"I’m sorry, I'm just… here, sit." Taireasa sat herself, feeling a blush heat her face. Her mother’s mouth was twitching. Kyali silently settled into her chair and reached for a glass of wine. She seemed to realize all eyes were on her and hid her face behind the cup.

The general leaned back in his chair. "She’ll come around, your Highness," he promised, little flecks of gold flickering in his eyes, which were so much like Kyali's. "Some things need getting used to after a time in the hills."

"Walls," Kyali muttered into the wine. "Chairs. Conversation."

"Wit," Devin added, earning a glare from his sister. "Grace.
Baths
."

"Manners," their father chided dryly.

"Ah, no, how can you lose what you never had?"

The Lord General fought a smile and aimed a resigned glance skyward. Kyali cast her brother a look of wide-eyed innocence. "Did I ever practice manners? I don’t recall."

"You were a bit less inclined to perch on the furniture and hunch like a bird of ill omen, I think. But don't stop on our account. It suits you."

Devin coiled up in his chair with clawed hands, made a horrible face and uttered a strangled caw—half a year in Orin hadn't changed him at all—and Kyali finally laughed and lobbed a lump of cheese at him.