The Twelve Kingdoms (5 page)

“My hair is already short.” But I obediently sat, bemused by her take on things. Danu taught that no trick should be neglected in battle. If primping would help me hold my own, so be it. “There are those braid supplements my ladies use, to make it look like my hair is put up instead of just short.”

“No offense, Your Highness, but it's obvious what the intent is. It fools nobody. Everyone knows your hair is short. By wearing the hairpieces, you look as if you're apologizing for it. You're extraordinary as you are. Your strength lies in being exactly that.”

Fringes of my hair fell on the white robe as she worked, looking like spatterings of old blood, deep red like the gown.

“You've apparently given this a great deal of thought.”

“Ami—Princess Amelia, I mean—and I discussed it. She learned a great deal on her journeys about disguise and appearance as a method of displaying and holding power.”

“Ami—and you might as well call her that when we're alone, since I know you do anyway—has made a science of being beautiful. If I stick with my strengths, that's not one.”

“Where is your circlet?”

I swallowed a groan. “Don't make me wear that thing.”

“Formal feast,” she reminded me. “You'll wear the Heir's Circlet. Think of it as another kind of battle helm.”

“Jewelry chest should be in the bottom of the wardrobe, if no one's moved it. You've been in my rooms longer than I have.”

She went rummaging for it while I pulled on the gown and servants came in to light the lamps. The sunset chant went up from Glorianna's Temple, bidding the day good-bye. By rights we should hear the song for Moranu's moon, but none at Ordnung observed her worship, at least not openly. It had been interesting, those weeks at Windroven, to hear the rites for all three goddesses. Ami was intent on restoring the balance of the Three, though I didn't quite understand why. But if she thought I'd missed the changes she'd been making in Glorianna's church, then she didn't know me well enough.

More likely she counted on my not caring. Which, in all truth, I didn't. Glorianna, with her pretty pink roses and promises of life everlasting, had never held much significance for me. The High King had declared Glorianna's worship supreme in the Twelve Kingdoms, and as long as Ami's actions upheld his law, I had no problem with her machinations.

For myself, I privately looked to Danu, goddess of high noon and the bright blade. All the warriors did, no matter the time we spent bending a public knee to Glorianna.

With the great exception of Uorsin, who'd declared Glorianna's church preeminent, but rarely gave her worship more than lip service. He had his reasons, no doubt. Still, it had pierced my heart in an odd way at Windroven, the sound of the “Song of Danu” at high noon. Something I hadn't heard since the day Kaedrin left.

“Good goddesses,” Dafne exclaimed. “You keep the crown jewels in the bottom of your wardrobe?”

She had the little chest open on a side table and she drew out a glittering strand of rubies.

“Salena's,” I explained. “They came to me upon her death. I was ten and more interested in swords, so they meant little to me. Recall that we weren't to mention her name, or her very existence, for quite some time. I didn't know what to do with them and that seemed like a safe place. It's not as if anyone would steal them.”

She held up a pair of teardrop ruby earrings. “If only because everyone has forgotten they exist.” She handed them to me and also the coil of the necklace.

“I'm not wearing them.”

“Yes, you are. Along with this matching bracelet and”—she made a frustrated noise as she untangled the gold circlet from a nest of silver chains—“your circlet, once I've had it polished. I'll be right back.”

Amused to find myself obeying, I donned the glittering stones. In an odd way, the Lady Mailloux reminded me of Kaedrin. Perhaps just because my old teacher had come to mind this afternoon. But, for all her scholarly ways, Dafne had a style of direct confidence that Kaedrin shared.

It wasn't exactly true, what I'd said about stuffing the jewels away. There had been days in those lonely years after Salena died, before Andi grew up enough to leave the nursery, when I'd locked myself in these very bedchambers and pulled all the treasure out. I knew how every piece fastened, how to make the earrings pinch my ears the right amount so they wouldn't fall off.

Once, I'd put everything on at the same time and preened in front of the mirror. Until I observed how silly I looked, a too-thin girl, drowning in the cold glitter of a dead woman's unwilling gift.

“This is better.” Dafne carried the flat gold circlet on a black cloth, then paused, eyes going bright. “Oh, Ursula, you look positively queenly. Sit and let me put this on. Then you can see.”

She worked the circlet into my hair, fluffing and smoothing it. “There! I think you'll be pleased.”

Because she wanted me to, I went to the mirror in the outer chamber. A lingering shadow of that memory made me half expect what I'd seen that long-ago day. Instead, the woman in the mirror took me by surprise. The way Dafne had shaped my hair, it lay close against my skull, coming to fine points in front of my ears, making my cheekbones look higher and sharper than usual. The gown and rubies matched my hair, surprisingly, within a few shades. The Heir's Circlet, which I'd received in a ceremony when I was twelve—the proudest and most awful day of my life—was a simple gold band that crossed my forehead; I'd worn it rarely over the years, but it looked fitting tonight. Bolstering.

“See, Your Highness?” Dafne sounded well pleased with herself. “Queenly.”

I could only hope my father would be as pleased.

D
afne hastened away to tend to her own preparations, cutting short the questions that I had planned to ask her. Clearly the librarian acted on some agenda of her own. I did not believe for a moment that anyone had assigned her to be my lady's maid. No, she'd made herself my ally in this, which I supposed she'd declared on the journey here.

I would not turn down whatever help Danu sent.

Making my way to the feast hall, I took note of the surprised looks and recovered manners of those I passed along the way. I held myself to a stately pace—queenly—made easier by the odd sensation of the heavy skirts swirling around my legs. There was a knack to it, of staying inside the circular swing, so I wouldn't tangle in them or step on the hem.

The absence of my sword tickled at the back of my mind, nagging me with the sensation that I'd forgotten something. More than one court wit snickered that I slept with it, that I was naked without it, and other such bawdy insinuations that arise when a woman has no apparent lovers. In truth I felt exposed without a weapon. I'd learned early that I would never have my father's brute strength, but by Danu, I also knew a blade evened my odds considerably.

I never went completely unarmed, and I had good reasons for it. So I'd compromised by digging out a dagger with a ruby-jeweled hilt, elaborate enough to be considered more decorative than defensive. In the banquet hall, Uorsin sat already at the High Table—nothing unusual there, as he often arrived early, which allowed the courtiers the opportunity to circle by, share a toast, and discuss in conversation matters not suitable for either informal or formal court. However—gratingly unusual—the Dasnarian captain also sat at the table.

I made certain to give no sign that I'd taken note of it, as many sets of eyes scrutinized me to see if I would. The seating arrangement of the High Table echoed that of the throne room, with the King's chair—the largest and heaviest—at the center. My chair had always been to his right, Salena's long-abandoned chair to his left, with Andi's after that and Amelia's next to hers. When Ami married Hugh, a chair was added to her left. Now, though my seat remained empty for me, another chair had been added to the right of mine.

Uorsin's penchant for preserving empty seats for the missing members of the royal family had long caused logistical issues. The arrangement put Andi and Ami far out of speaking distance, even if the King didn't attend. My mother's empty chair felt like the bleeding hole of a wound that never healed over, and I secretly hated the sight of it. That distaste naturally extended itself to the spaces left by my sisters' more recent absences.

I thanked Danu for Uorsin's odd habit this time. If the captain had been sitting in any of our chairs, I might have had to kill him on the spot.

Instead, I managed to serenely make my way to my seat and did not even put a hand to my dagger when the Dasnarian captain stood and held the chair for me to sit. Uorsin, deep in conversation with Laurenne, the ambassador from Aerron, who stood on the other side of the table, her ancient face set in lines of disappointment, took no note. No one had assisted me in such a way that I could recall, though Hugh had unfailingly treated Amelia to the courtesy. I wondered if the Dasnarian would have done so had I not been wearing the gown.

No sense tipping him off that he'd surprised me—several times now—so I thanked him, with a queenly nod that should have pleased Dafne, and sat.

“We have not been properly introduced, Your Highness,” the Dasnarian said, in that deep baritone. If a boulder could speak, it would sound thus. “I am Harlan, captain of the Vervaldr, at your service.”

“Vervaldr?”

“It translates roughly as ‘seawolves' in your Common Tongue.”

“Not a very believable creature.”

He lifted a shoulder. “But a vivid image, Your Highness.”

I accepted the goblet of wine from a server, using the moment it offered to order my mind on how to speak to this man. Uorsin clearly held him in high regard, so I could not be openly rude. Nothing, however, required me to be especially friendly. Particularly after the incident at the gates.

“Your man challenged my right to enter Ordnung.”

“Ah.” His tone conveyed regret I doubted he felt. “My deepest apologies, Your Highness. We are still newcomers to your realm and you had not been in residence since we arrived. This afternoon you appeared somewhat unlike your formal portrait.”

He said it with such blandness for the understatement, I nearly snorted. The paintings of my sisters and me had been done some years ago, and the artist had taken pains to exaggerate what little loveliness I possessed.

“I shall have him apologize formally, Your Highness, and will personally ensure you are not insulted again.”

“Addressing me as ‘Your Highness' can become cumbersome. You may call me Princess Ursula.”

“The former has two fewer syllables than the latter.” His face did not move from its stern lines, but I received the distinct impression of amusement from him—along with the recognition that he had surprised me indeed. He had to know that no one expected a man who looked like the side of a cliff to be articulate or clever.

“As you wish—either is appropriate,” I replied, deliberately casting a bored-seeming eye over the assembly as I lent half an ear to Uorsin's conversation. Laurenne chewed on an old bone, ever unhappy with the crop tithes. Privately I didn't blame Aerron for their concerns. The southern drought continued, expanding the desert by leagues each year, eating into the fertile farmland. They weren't the only ones struggling to produce, however, and we needed every grain they owed and then some. From the tenor of her complaints, however, it sounded as if Uorsin had recently increased the tithe, which seemed most ill-advised.

“No dispensation for a less formal accolade in conversation, then, Your Highness? What do your men call you?”

I turned and met his eye, allowed a slight smile. “Captain.”

He laughed, as resonant and booming as his voice. “Touché, Captain.”

“Are we fencing, then?”

“I witnessed your practice today, as you know, Your Highness. It would be interesting indeed to match blades with you.”

“And yet we are allies, it seems, so such a scenario is unlikely to occur.”

“You do not spar?”

“Rarely. Only to teach.”
Only with my Hawks.
“Are you asking for lessons, Captain Harlan of the Vervaldr?”

He grinned, and it belatedly occurred to me that the remark, which I'd intended as mildly insulting, had possibly sounded salacious.

“I enjoyed the display this afternoon and would be delighted for you to show me more.” He leaned in as he spoke, dropping his voice to a soft rumble. I refused to look away, much as I wished to. Amelia would have had a charming quip to sweetly set him back on his heels. Andi wouldn't have gotten into the conversation in the first place. I settled for a steely glare. “Though you are equally beautiful this evening, Your Highness,” he continued when I did not answer. “The gown and jewels become you. You exceed your portrait in every way and make an impressive Heir to the High Throne.”

“Drumming up business for the future?” I inquired, using the excuse of taking up my wine goblet to tear my gaze away.

From the corner of my eye, I saw him refill his goblet and drink from it. He let the silence stretch a beat too long for courtesy. “Do you object to my profession, Your Highness?”

“On principle? Yes, I do. Loyalty should be earned, not purchased.”

“Purchased loyalty is the only kind you can depend on.”

“Until a better offer comes along.”

“Isn't it the same, Your Highness, with your version of loyalty?”

“My
version
, Captain?”

“Yes. Loyalty simply means adherence to the law. In a contractual arrangement, the law is far more precise than in one governed by emotion.”

“But emotion can't be bought.”

“Aha—but it can be swayed. You imagine that more money would buy my loyalty, which it would not, by the way, as that's a serious ethical breech within my profession. With emotion, the next great orator, the more sympathetic cause, the wrenching tale of the martyr—all of these can redirect loyalty in a flash. And with no ethical prohibitions against it—after all, how can you deny a shining truth?—then the emotional contract is forfeit.”

“And nothing trumps your contractual agreements?”

Something flickered in his gaze. “I wouldn't say ‘nothing.' ”

“Then what could—”

“Do not let that one draw you into a debate, Daughter.” Uorsin set a heavy hand on my shoulder and Ambassador Laurenne strode away, anger in the line of her back. I'd missed the rest of their conversation, distracted by the Dasnarian. Though I would no doubt hear it from her directly. Multiple times. “He is as nimble with an argument as he is with a blade.”

“Surely he is no match for you, my father and King.”

He snorted but looked pleased. Then his gaze sharpened, hardened with hot fury, flicking from the earrings to the necklace to the bracelet. “Where did you get those?”

The accusation thudded into my gut and set my heart to racing. Forcing myself not to cringe away, I hardened my aching spine. “I've had them all along. It seemed appropriate to wear them tonight.”

His face flushed scarlet, the metal of the wine goblet bending in the clutch of his fist. “They are witch's jewels.”

I scrambled for a reply. But a shout and a blast of music grabbed his attention. With a series of calls like animals and birds, a group of young men tumbled across the floor. They wore costumes made of silk scarves, some reminiscent of feathers, others scales—all vivid colors not of any nature I knew. Their somersaulting leaps resolved them into a line and they bowed to us, to Uorsin and me evenly, executing the maneuver with an unusual flourish.

The youngest spun into a whirl and ended up directly before me. Beneath the table and before I'd known it, I'd drawn my dagger, the adrenaline shock ratcheting up the high alert triggered by angering my father. The lad, with hair so fair it gleamed nearly white, smiled angelically and presented me with a flower, one of Glorianna's pink roses.

I managed to take it, after sheathing the blade without anyone noticing.

No one except for the Dasnarian captain.

He said nothing, but he refilled my wine goblet, sliding it toward me. “A traditional gesture,” he said, as the young man impressively reversed the spin that had brought him to me. “Our acrobats study the art to improve flexibility and speed—not for assassination.”

Beside me, Uorsin had sat back to observe the show, clapping his hands as if nothing had transpired between us. I knew the confrontation was only postponed, and possibly would be worse for it.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I should have known he'd hate the sight of Salena's jewels. I had known it. That was why I'd kept them hidden away all these years. How had I lost sight of such basic common sense? I stared ahead blindly, trying to summon Danu's centering mantra, struggling not to show how my breath wanted to shudder in and out of my strained lungs, how cold sweat dripped down my spine.

The goblet nudged against my hand, which was curled around the posy, crushing the stem.

“Drink, Your Highness. 'Tis but a fragile blossom that's done you no harm. It was intended as a pleasure to you.”

I stared at the Dasnarian, feeling somewhat wild, desperate to leave the table and my father's presence, knowing I could not. Wishing that Amelia would appear to distract and appease him. Or that Andi would be on the other side of him, rolling her eyes. Captain Harlan returned my gaze steadily, calming somehow, something of sympathy in it. His eyes were not blue like those of the others, but a very light gray.

Very nearly I told him to save his pity. But that would be admitting there was a reason to feel sorry for me. Instead I took the goblet and drank, fortifying myself for later.

The feast lasted several hours, with course after course arriving once the acrobats finished. Madeline had outdone herself. I tasted none of it, using up every ounce of self-control to keep from crumbling. No matter how many years intervened, no matter how accustomed to command under dire circumstances I became, in the face of my father's displeasure I somehow always reverted to my five-year-old self, as brittle as the fragile toy teacups.

“Attend me, Daughter.” Uorsin delivered the command at last, heaving himself up from the table. Captain Harlan came to his feet with remarkable agility, holding my chair as I arose. I ignored the gesture, especially when Uorsin made a sound of disgust. His son would not have elicited such chivalry.