The Queen's Gambit (24 page)

His face was burning. “Forgive me,” he forced himself to say, bowing his head. “I'm but a knight, willing to serve, but ignorant indeed of the manners your ladyship requires. May I begin anew?”

“You will answer my questions, with no more evasion,” she ordered.

“I am half-Saelutian. My mother was unknown to me, but if I possess any special sense or ability, 'tis due to her.”

“There is much sorcery in Saelutia.”

“Aye, my lady. I have heard it to be so.”

Her mouth compressed to a thin line. “Are you a
sorcerel
?”

“No!”

“Did you work magic on me to influence my choice?”

“No.”

“What magic did you use to unhorse Sir Maldriard in the joust?”

“None! 'Twas skill at arms, my lady, no matter what that blackguard claims.”

She lifted the Circle she wore around her neck and held it out. “Swear this.”

He knelt and kissed the holy object. “I ply no trade of sorcery. I used none in the contest. I used none today. This do I swear.”

Lady Pheresa walked away from him, leaving him kneeling there on the floor. “My Circle did not burn you. It seems you speak the truth.”

He rose to his feet. “I do not lie, my lady.”

“But you do not speak freely either.”

His gaze dropped. She was astute, this beauty. This was not the conversation he'd dreamed they would have. “My lady, my blood is mixed. In Mandria that is often considered a crime. Of course I have secrets, but I intend you no wrong. I have pledged my total loyalty to your service. I would die for you.”

“So would any protector pledged to my service.”

“Nay, my lady. I—”

“You are different?” she broke in, her voice haughty and imperious. “Why?”

He stared at her, his ears roaring, unwilling to answer such a bald question. If he admitted the full truth of how much he loved her, she would have to dismiss him. “I care for your safety,” he said at last. “I do not serve from a mere sense of duty.”

“Emotions in a protector are forbidden,” she said.

“Aye, my lady. They'll never interfere.”

“Easily said, sir.”

“I swear it on my word and honor.”

Her cheeks grew pink. “I warn you, sir, that if you think with your loins and not your wits—”

“My lady!” he protested in acute embarrassment. “I—”

“Quiet! 'Tis not your place to interrupt. I hope that you will learn your duties quickly, for I will not permit further insubordination.”

He had not expected her to be so fierce and defensive. Realizing she was too frightened to trust him, he gentled his expression all he could. “My lady,” he said quietly. “If I am a little dazzled today by the—the honor of serving you, 'tis only natural. It will go no further. I pledge to you that I shall forever guard you with all the courage and loyalty I possess.”

She stared at him in silence, her brown eyes troubled and still uncertain. He saw how she yearned to trust him, but could not.

He would have to prove his loyalty to her, he told himself, and was determined quickly to win her trust. He would have to serve her patiently, demonstrating that he had no link to her enemies.

Plunging her hand into her pocket, she drew out a small leather purse, which she threw at him.

Catching it, he hefted it on his palm in puzzlement. It had weight, as though it held money, but there was no clink of coinage.

“Do you know what that is?” she asked.

Loosening the drawstring, he peered inside. “Salt.”

“Do you know what it's for?”

His gaze met hers with utmost seriousness. “To keep Nonkind at bay.”

She turned pale, and her lips parted a moment. “Know you how to sense their presence? Before they materialize to attack, can you feel them?”

“I do not know, my lady. I have never faced Nonkind before.”

Worry burned in her eyes. “Can you recognize a Gantese
agent? Many are in disguise, looking harmless, yet lurk here with evil intent.”

He frowned, thinking of the courtier who'd offered him the bribe earlier today. “Perhaps. I think I—”

“You cannot think! You must
know
!” Whirling away from him, she began to pace. “Lowland Mandria thinks itself safe from such dangers, but it is not. The evil will come against us any way it can.” She paused, frowning at things he could not see. “It does already.”

Talmor watched her, so beautiful in the sunshine spilling in through the windows. This lady, he thought in admiration, was no fool. But she was very, very frightened, and with good cause.

“Sometimes, my lady, I can sense trouble to come,” he said slowly. “My instincts are very keen. Perhaps I can learn to detect the presence of these Nonkind.”

“Do so. Learn by any means you can,” she commanded.

He bowed to her, beginning to hope. “And your ladyship will retain me, even if I am not wholly Mandrian?”

“What does that matter, as long as I have a man I can trust to guard my back?”

Her answer, with its lack of prejudice, stunned him. He realized that initially she would have distrusted even Sir Silvrie, had he been chosen.

He loved her all the more. In that moment, he became her slave.

“And will your ladyship forgive me for letting my hopes of serving fill my mind so strongly that I—”

She gestured impatiently. “Have done. Use your powers in my defense. But remember that if ever you turn them on me, I shall report you to the church, and to his majesty.”

The threat was clear enough. He bowed in acknowledgment, then she suddenly frowned and stared at him very hard.

“I have remembered . . . you're the man who saved me from the Sebein attacker.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Her face lit up momentarily before she schooled her features once more. “I thought I had seen you before. Then I
believed you were working some mischief on my mind. Why did you not say so at once?”

He remained silent, and she sighed.

“Of course you could not. It was your duty, and men—some men—do not boast of such things.”

“Yes, my lady.”

She nodded, but her previous hostility had dissipated. “Very well. We've talked long enough. Is there someone to instruct you in the duties of a protector?”

“I understand the duties. Am I to commence immediately?”

She hesitated, obviously unprepared as yet for his presence in her life. He could see her thinking. Was she shifting living arrangements among her attendants, he wondered. Ladies usually depended on their male relatives to keep them safe and did not go about with protectors at their back.

“You have fought long and hard these three days,” she said at last. “The morning will be soon enough. A steward will determine how you're to be housed.”

He thought the delay unwise, but he dared not argue with her. “I come with a squire and a servant, my lady.”

Her brows lifted in surprise. “Indeed? For a sentry-rank knight, you are well supplied in dependents.”

“I was not always a sentry.”

“No doubt. Even the natural son of a chevard has advantages in life, does he not?”

Talmor quelled a swift little thrust of bitterness and did not try to correct her. As he left, he felt her gaze following him out and guessed that she was still curious about him. Would she ask her questions directly, he wondered, or would she seek information from others? He hoped he had convinced her to trust him today. If not, then she remained vulnerable to whatever mischief her enemies might use to divide them.

The following week, with the excitement of both the tourney and fair fading, it was announced that the court would move to Aversuel, the king's summer palace among the cool, rolling
mountains of the eastern lake country. The hot weather had come early this year, and already Savroix grew unbearable. Pheresa was issuing packing instructions to Oola when a page with a saucy little face brought her a summons.

Pheresa put aside her list of things yet undone to hurry to the looking glass. “Oola, will this gown do?” she asked in frustration. The heat made her apartments swelter, and she felt too hot and tired to bother changing her attire. “What on earth can his majesty want at this time of day?”

“No doubt he seeks your ladyship's advice on the hiring of that new minstrel,” Oola said. “The one with the squint eye who sings like a divine being.” She smoothed a wrinkle from Pheresa's skirts. “ 'Tis a pretty gown. And not too crumpled.”

“What a mercy I did not change after this morning's madrigals,” Pheresa said, glad to see that no dirt smudged her face. She'd been rummaging in the back of an old chest in search of reading scrolls.

Now, she adjusted her necklace, tucked up a wayward strand of hair, and picked her way through the litter of half-packed chests and belongings strewn about in precarious piles. “Keep at this, Oola. I'll return shortly.”

Oola curtsied. “Yes, m'lady.”

As soon as Pheresa emerged from her bedchamber, Sir Talmor left the tall window where he'd been standing and fell into step behind her. Still uncertain that she was dressed well enough to visit the king, she fussed with her hair while Talmor preceded her out into the corridor. She saw him gaze both ways with his alert, keen eyes, then he moved aside smartly for her to take the lead again.

She hurried forward, thinking of all the myriad details still to be done before they departed in the morning. She'd never been to Aversuel, and the prospect of going there excited her.

As she rounded the corner of the passageway and stepped out into one of the public galleries, she stopped fidgeting with her hair and pulled her flustered expression into one of calm serenity. Having Sir Talmor at her back was a tremendous comfort. Already she did not know how she'd ever survived without him. He was incredibly organized and efficient,
always ready at her beck and call, anticipative of her needs, watchful, and alert. She felt safe with him nearby, knowing that very little missed his quick eyes. Despite his size, he was light on his feet, graceful and lithe in his movements, rather like a large predatory cat. His worth had already been demonstrated, for he had routed Sir Brillon completely, pouncing on the church knight yesterday morning when Pheresa was on her way to chapel. The two men had exchanged sharp words, but Sir Brillon stalked her no more. Getting rid of the Qanselmite had taken a great load from her shoulders.

She felt in merry spirits today, filled with anticipation about the journey to come. Smiling a little as she sailed through the rooms and long galleries, she found it no longer an ordeal to walk past the watchful faces. She no longer had to pretend to be courageous; Sir Talmor's presence gave her both confidence and a feeling of security. Serenely, she entered the king's section of the palace and approached the clerk hovering on duty in the main passageway.

“Ah, Lady Pheresa,” the man said before she could state her business. “His majesty bade me escort you straight to his privy chamber.”

She was surprised, but kept her expression neutral and pleasant. Several courtiers lounging nearby heard and sent her speculative looks. She ignored them. There was always speculation, always gossip. She'd learned to discount it all. The king had acquired the recent habit of sending for her on impulse. At first, she'd been excited and hopeful, but each time it seemed he wanted only to ask her advice on a trinket for his mistress or some other trivial matter. Now she treated these summonses as commonplace.

In the privy chamber, Verence was laughing as usual with Lervan.

She could never see them together without a pang of jealousy. It looked more and more as though Lervan was going to be Verence's choice. She wondered why his majesty bothered to hire jesters at all when he had Lervan beside him. Still, the king's melancholy had gone, and if Lervan's jokes were the reason, she supposed they should be grateful. Casting a
critical eye over yet another new, fashionable doublet, she wished Lervan did not wear such bold colors. But it seemed he wanted to be the center of attention wherever he went.

She was announced, and curtsied deeply.

“Ah, Lady Pheresa!” the king called to her, holding out his hand in good humor.

Smiling, she went to him. “How may I serve your majesty?”

“These damned boat raiders continue to nibble at the western coast,” he said with a fretful sigh. “I wonder if I should postpone the move to Aversuel while they venture so far south. Will they think the king fearful? Will they think the king flees from them?”

Astonished that he was actually asking her advice on a political matter, Pheresa kept her wits, and said, “Nay, sire. If they hear your majesty has been affected by them to such a degree, they will feel heartened enough to continue their raids. Leave Savroix well-manned, but let not your majesty defer his pleasure.”

Smiling, Verence clapped his hands. “Splendid reasoning. Hear that, Lindier? Your daughter has a head on her shoulders.”