Through Wolf's Eyes (61 page)

"Your Majesty?"

"Give me one of the counselor rings. The men's ones."

Sir Dirkin reached into a leather pouch at his belt
and drew forth a gold ring. The band bore the royal eagle cast directly
into the metal. Set in the center was a cabochon-cut ruby. King
Tedric's personal emblem, an eight-pointed star, was incised into the
stone and inlaid with a thin bead of gold.

"Here you are, Derian Carter," said King Tedric,
fitting the ring onto Derian's right index finger. "You are now among
those who may request my ear at any hour of day or night. I know that
you will not abuse the privilege. Understand that this is a personal
privilege. When I pass on to my ancestors, you may keep the ring, but
the privilege will vanish unless the new monarch chooses to renew it.
In return for this honor, I inflict on you the added burden of making
yourself available to me when I feel desire of your counsel."

For the second time in a very short while, Derian discovered that he could not speak. King Tedric chuckled.

"A poor gift, you may think, giving you added duties under the guise of a reward."

Derian found his tongue. "No, Sire. Really. I am so honored. I don't . . ."

"Don't worry too much," King Tedric said and placed a
wrinkled hand on his shoulder. "Have the ring sized as soon as
possible. You wouldn't want it to slip off."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"And say nothing of our conference to anyone—even to
Earl Kestrel or Firekeeper. If asked, simply say that I was bored and wanted a bit of common conversation."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Now, Derian Carter, give me your arm and help me to
the dance floor. The orchestra is warming up. I believe I will claim
Lady Blysse for this dance. It will keep my contentious nieces and
nephews guessing. Unfortunately, it will also raise poor Norvin's hopes
unduly, but he is strong enough to survive the eventual disappointment."

As Derian helped King Tedric down the few steps and
signaled for Firekeeper to join them, he couldn't help thinking that
the old man was rather calculating, even a bit wicked. It was an
unsettling thought that maybe even a good king—or perhaps
especially
a good king—might need to be so.

E
LISE AWAKENED THE MORNING
after the ball aware that something momentous had occurred, but a
moment passed before she remembered what had happened. Then she
remembered: Derian and the counselor ring, King Tedric dancing the last
dance of the evening with Firekeeper. The terrible fury in her father's
eyes. How he'd refused to ride back to the encampment in the same
carriage as Earl Kestrel and "those upstarts" even though it meant
crushing into a carriage with Aunt Zorana, Nydia, and Purcel.

Purcel had finally gotten out, saying he would walk
back. He had never shown up back at the nobles' enclave. Later they
learned he had walked all the way back to his unit in his dress clothes
rather than deal with his mother and uncle's fury.

Elise thought that Purcel had been wise. The angry
counsel, practically of war, between her father and Aunt Zorana had
lasted long into the night. They'd even invited Lady Melina and Lord
Rolfston to join them. When Elise had dared speak up for Firekeeper,
saying they couldn't very well blame
her
for accepting the king's invitation to dance, her father had sworn at her and sent her to her tent.

Given how reserved Baron Archer usually was and how
affable he'd been toward her since her engagement to Jet, Elise was
truly hurt. Still, she'd kept her tears to herself until she had
reached the safety of her curtained-off bedchamber.
Then
she had let them flow. Her father's man might report her collapse to
Baron Archer, but at least no one could accuse her of acting like a
child in public.

Secretly, Elise had been rather glad to be sent away.
She didn't want to hear the familiar bickering again. Moreover, knowing
what she now did about Lady Melina, she had no desire to spend time in
her company. Elise's only fear—a fear that returned to her with full
wakefulness—was that her father would forbid her to see Firekeeper and
Derian.

With her morning pot of tea, Ninette brought Elise word that Baron Archer had requested her company as soon as she was dressed.

"Did he say 'request'?" Elise asked. "Or are you being polite?"

"He said 'request,' " Ninette assured her. "And he seems milder this morning. Perhaps he's sorry for shouting at you that way."

"Perhaps," Elise replied, but she didn't feel very
hopeful. Baron Archer had always been vaguely disappointed that his
heir was female—and a softhearted female as well. When Aurella
contracted an illness similar to that which had rendered Queen Elexa
sterile, he had resigned himself to not having sons, acting instead as
a second father to Purcel, who was as similar to his bookish father as
Elise was like Ivon.

Ivon Archer was waiting stern and formal in his military uniform when Elise stepped out of the pavilion.

"Good morning, Elise."

She dropped a curtsy. "Good morning, Father."

He frowned at her excessive formality, but he couldn't precisely chide her for being too polite. Instead he grunted:

"Come, walk with me. I wish to speak with you about last night."

Elise obeyed with deceptive tameness. Still, her
heart skipped a beat when she realized that her father was walking
toward that same cluster of stones where she had witnessed Melina
Shield ensorcelling Sapphire and Jet. What would she do if Melina was
there? Then she calmed herself. With almost all the resident nobles
living in canvas tents, those rocks were the obvious place for a
private conference.

Indeed, when they reached the rocks, the area
appeared to be empty. Elise, however, spared a moment to peek into the
hidden space from which she had unintentionally spied on Lady Melina,
garnering a strange look from her father in the process. The space
appeared to be empty and Baron Archer did not comment on her actions.
His mind was busy with other matters.

"Elise," he said, "you disappointed me last night
when you spoke up for that foundling of Norvin Norwood's. I know you
have befriended her—though I am at a loss to understand why—but that is
no reason to side with her against your own kin."

With effort, Elise kept her silence. Silence, her
mother had once told her, was the best weapon when your opponent had
all the strength. She wondered now if Lady Aurella had meant
specifically her husband.

Baron Archer continued, "Yet, you will have an opportunity to redeem yourself."

Here it comes,
Elise thought.
Stop seeing that girl and her low-bred companions and . . .

She was so busy with her own thoughts that she almost missed what her father was saying.

"Since Earl Kestrel's party trusts you, you will have
the opportunity to continue to call on them. I fear that my evident
anger last night makes such casual social contact on my part suspect."

He frowned, but that was as far as he was going to
come to admitting that his behavior had been rude and ungentle-manly
toward either daughter or peer.

"Therefore, I order you to continue your visits.
Attempt to learn everything you can about their plans. Find out if the
king has made any promises. Whether King Tedric intends to make Lady
Blysse his bride, the bride of one of Seagleam's brats, or ruler in her
own right will affect my own actions."

Momentarily his expression turned pleading.
"Remember, Elise. I am worried about this not only for myself, but for
you as well. I would like to see you made queen with Jet as
your consort. No foundling should be able to take what is ours by blood right."

Elise, however, refused to be mollified. Ironically,
though her father's commands were the opposite of what she had dreaded
moments before, she was coolly enraged.

"So, a few hours ago I was a traitor to you," she
said, her tones as measured as the steps of last night's waltzes.
"Today you wish me to spy on my friends. I see you still see me as a
traitor, but betrayal is fine as long as it is to your advantage."

Baron Archer gaped at her. "Elise, you misunderstand . . . I spoke in anger last night."

Elise ducked within a bubble of almost preternatural
calm, speaking with her gaze fastened on the towering stone walls of
the distant fortress.

"You did," she agreed, "but your very words to me a
few moments ago show how poorly you regard me. Very well. If you feel
that way, you have your choice. Permit me to redeem myself in my own
fashion or disown me as your heir."

Baron Archer began to speak, but she breezed on as if she hadn't heard him.

"Just remember before you lose your temper and make
such a drastic move that I am your sole child. Without me, that crown
you crave so deeply is lost to you. Remember, too, that King Tedric
came to regret similar rashness."

Despite the cruel thrust of her words, Elise
delivered them in a tone so detached that it was almost clinical. She
might be Hazel Healer diagnosing what herb poultice would best treat a
rash.

"Well, Father," she said when Ivon Archer did not reply, "what is your wish?"

When she turned her gaze to him at last, she found
that he was studying her, neither angry nor pleased, but with a care
that she never recalled seeing directed to her.

"I think," Ivon Archer said, "that disowning you
would be foolish. Remember before you grow too triumphant, that it
remains an option."

"I won't forget," Elise said, her inner calm wavering
slightly.
"But I also cannot forget the tone in which you called me a traitor and
then dismissed me like a small child. I am your heir, just a year short
of my majority. I think I am owed more consideration."

"Perhaps," her father said grudgingly. "For now, I lay no task on you. You retain your freedom and your title."

"I won't thank you," she said, "because both are
mine, not to be taken from me by anyone—not even you. As for Earl
Kestrel's entourage, I will continue to visit with them. If I learn
anything that I am not expressly requested to keep in confidence, I
will be happy to share it with you."

"Thank you," Ivon said, a spark of last night's anger lighting his eyes, "for your gracious condescension."

She thought she heard him mutter, "You little bitch," but his voice was low enough that she could pretend to have heard nothing.

"Well," Baron Archer said, brushing imaginary dirt
from his trouser leg, "I have duties to perform. May I escort you back
to camp on my way?"

"I would be honored," she said, offering him a
neutral smile and resting her hand on his arm. Nothing further was said
during the interminable length of that walk.

L
ATER THAT MORNING WHEN ELISE
met Firekeeper and Derian she gave an abbreviated account of the events
both following the ball and this morning. When she finished, Derian
commented:

"And the odd thing is, the king made no such promises
as everyone seems to imagine. He only wanted to hear my opinion—as a
commoner—on various issues."

"Including the succession," Elise said teasingly.

Derian looked with unwonted seriousness at the ruby ring on his finger. "I was asked not to say."

Elise nodded and changed the subject. "I'm amazed
that you had the courage to demand Lady Melina's necklace as your
reward. That was clever."

"It didn't work, though," Derian replied. "Still, I've been thinking about what the king
did
say. I don't know if he
meant
it as a hint, but his idea of our having an identical necklace made was
brilliant. It solves the problem of Lady Melina missing her own."

"I suppose Wain Cutter could do the work," Elise
agreed. "This should actually be easier. Still, even if we got it, how
would we work the trade?"

Firekeeper offered, "I could do it. Every night I go
among those tents. Blind Seer terrifies the dogs. None even bark any
longer. Get the necklace. I will trade it."

"You've been skulking among the tents?" Elise asked,
amused yet vaguely embarrassed. What might Firekeeper have seen or
heard—especially before Jet lost interest in her?

"I have," the wolf-woman said. "All through the camp
I go. Sometimes I learn things. Mostly, I just walk and put into my
memory scents and sounds."

Derian added, "I believe she can do it, Elise, but to
pull this off we need as exact a description of the necklace as we can
get. Wain Cutter said that he can work from a verbal description, thank
the Horse, but a sketch would be better. Did your young lady's training
include such skills?"

"It did," Elise said, "though my teacher never
praised me highly. Still, I can manage something. Also, Melina likes to
go into town and she's never without that necklace. Wain Cutter could
easily get a good look at her then."

"That's going to mean trusting him," Derian cautioned.

"He's not stupid," Elise retorted. "That necklace is
famous. He may well guess without our admitting precisely which
necklace we want copied."

Derian nodded. "Very well. You get the description. I'll sound out Wain when I go into town today to have my new ring sized."

He touched it almost reverently. Elise hid a grin.

"You're a bit overwhelmed, aren't you?" she asked.

"More than a bit." Derian looked at her squarely. "I
realize I'm not the first to be given one of these, not even the first
common born. King Tedric has always had counselors from among his
subjects. But you're born to such honors. You can't imagine what this
will mean to my family. My mother
is likely to
insist on my keeping the ring in the family's ancestral shrine when I'm
not wearing it. The king's trust is a great honor."

Elise suddenly realized that she had been being a bit of a snob, a trait she had come to despise in others.