Trouble with Kings (2 page)

I groaned. “And this king is going to be glad to see this black eye?” I fingered my sore cheekbone.

“Remember, you two are quite passionate about one another.” Garian passed out of the room and down a curving stone stairway. Past arched windows, old hangings, fine furnishings.

A sense of the ridiculous chased away the anxious worries that I couldn’t place. Outside two caved doors, Garian stopped. “We’re here.”

One of the doors opened.

I turned my eyes toward my beloved.

And stared, aghast.

Chapter Two

The two were about the same height, but Garian was built rangy and the other was as lean as a wolf. The similar height was all they shared.

Whereas Garian possessed all the smiling grace of a courtier, King Jason was as expressive as a stone. A stone in the dead of winter, to give an idea of how much warmth there was in his countenance. His hair was black as a moonless night, combed straight back from his brow and tied with a plain black ribbon. His eyes were a light blue under long black brows, a long mouth set in a face made square by sharp cheekbones and jaw line. His only affectation was a thin moustache following the curve of his upper lips, angling down on either side just far enough to emphasize those sharp bones. It made his age difficult to guess, and its effect was rather sinister.

He wore a long, black, heavy linen tunic-shirt with plain laces, trousers and boots—riding clothes. Something silver, a chain, glinted beneath the slack laces of his shirt. I wondered if I had given it to him.

He withstood my scrutiny for the space of three or four long breaths, then glanced Garian’s way, then spoke. “Good morning, Flian. I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

His voice was soft, with little expression, and the sentence seemed awkward—as if that much effusion did not come naturally.

I was in love with that?

I tried to hide my utter dismay.

Puffing slightly, Garian set me into a large carved chair.

I struggled for politeness, even if I couldn’t fake delight. “I am glad to meet you, Jason. I guess you’ll have to be pretty fond of me if you can stand the way I look now.”

Garian laughed, but Jason didn’t. He stood there, gazing down at me with that stone-cold expression I was soon to discover was habitual. Then he smiled. Very faintly. Not the big, edgy grin that Garian kept giving me. Jason shouldn’t have bothered. His smile was even more sinister than his stone face.

He stepped closer, reached down, and lightly flicked my good cheek with a finger. “You asked for it,” he said.

“You have always traveled much too fast,” Garian put in. “I fear one of the many instances of thoughtlessness that has given extra concern to those who know you best. But spoiled young ladies do like to have their way.”

“I apologize for the extra concern,” I said, thinking:
asked for what?

Jason said, “Meanwhile, in your turn you’ll have to get used to my face.” His tone was wry.

Garian spoke quickly. “We think you’ll be better off having the wedding here, so that you can go home with Jason and recover. That way you won’t be required to suffer the recriminations of your family while you’re still weak.”

“Here? Isn’t that too much of a hurry?”

Garian’s eyes narrowed.

“I mean, shouldn’t I be able to recognize the guests at my own wedding?”

Garian smiled. It was that impatient smile; the feeling it sent through me was not reassurance, but warning. “And here I thought you would be pleased with my efforts on your behalf. All the plans have been set in motion.”

I closed my eyes. It still hurt to think. “Well, if you’ve gone to that much trouble.”

“Maybe by the time the guests arrive and the gown can be made, you’ll have your memory again.” Garian spread his hands.

“I didn’t have a gown made?”

“Everything ruined.” Garian shook his head sadly. “Rain, too. Mud. Torn to shreds. Before you were found.”

“What sort of a gown do you wish?” Jason asked.

“I-I don’t know.”

“We’ll sort it all out later.” Garian waggled his fingers, rings glittering.

I started to rise, then spotted a fine, inlaid twelve-string lute lying on a side table. Two steps, three, took me to it. I reached, stroked the wood gently. My right hand moved over the frets, pressing, pressing, and my left strummed softly. Sound, rich, shimmering sound delighted me, and I closed my eyes, reaching—

My head hurt, my hand faltered, and a false note shocked me. I clutched the lute against me. Tears burned my eyes.

I turned around, and dizziness made the room gently revolve.

Jason disengaged the lute from my fingers and laid it aside. “Come. I will take you back. You had better resume your rest.”

“All right. Why can’t I remember?” I whispered.

Jason did not answer. He carried me back upstairs. I tried to feel whatever I was supposed to feel, but all I was aware of was headache. Jason didn’t speak as he set me on the bed, near which Netta waited, her face anxious.

She covered me, and I didn’t hear Jason go out.

When I woke, I was alone. The dizziness was gone; the blue curtains stayed still. The windows had been closed against rain. Near the bed someone had placed a side table on which rested a water pitcher, glass and an apple. Above hung a bell cord.

Netta brought me a tray, stayed to watch me eat. Then she lit some candles, and left.

I sat in bed with a glass of water in my hands, watching the candle light on it, not really thinking—until I realized I was seeing a face in the water.

Water splashed onto my quilt as I jerked the glass up. I held it close to my eyes and shook it, but all I saw was the golden gleam that liquid and light make together.

The headache crashed on me. Did I cry out? I dropped the glass and flopped back onto the pillows. Netta reappeared, and I heard her gasp. “My lady?”

“Saw a face. In the glass,” I muttered, my eyes closed.

“I-I’ll get another quilt.” Her voice shook.

I lay where I was, not even feeling cold or wet. When the door opened, Netta entered, with Garian behind her.

Garian came close, still dressed, the candle glow outlining him. “You experienced some sort of vision, I am to understand. Whose face?”

“I don’t know. I think—” I rubbed my eyes, trying to remember. “Jason’s?”

He took my shoulders. “Jason,” he repeated.

I plucked ineffectively at his fingers. “I don’t know. Ow. That hurts.”

“Your pardon.” He loosened his grasp. “I don’t want to find out that any evil mage hired by your father is trying to get at your mind.”

“Evil? Mage?” I shuddered. “Oh, I hope not.”

Garian straightened up. “Sleep.” To Netta, “Bring water when she needs it, then take it away again.”

He left, I lay back down, and slid into dreams—but not for long.

When I woke this time, it was from a cold breeze. One of the windows stood open. And outlined in front of it, a silhouette.

I opened my mouth to scream as the figure dashed across the room. Before I got out much more than a squeak, a hand clapped over my mouth.

“Don’t squawk, Flian. It’s only me.” It sounded like a young man.

“Who’s that?” I tried to say, but it came out sounding like “Grmph?”

The hand lifted, a tentative movement, and a male voice said, “I know I’m not much of a bargain in your eyes, but you have to realize by now that I’m preferable to them.”

“Well, who are you?”

I heard him draw in his breath. “You don’t recognize me? I’m Jaim.”

“Jaim who? I ought to add that I managed to misplace my memory—”

He stilled, profile outlined against the glass, then slid out the window and was gone.

My door slammed open. One of the liveried men entered, his sword drawn, and behind him Netta, a lamp swinging in her hand.

“My lady?” Netta gasped. “Did you cry out?”

“He went out the window.” I pointed.

The guard ran out, bent over the balcony rail, and peered in all directions. Then he ran back in and through the door, boots and weapons clattering, a contrast to Jaim’s silent step.

Garian and Jason appeared, fully dressed, each carrying a weapon. Netta hadn’t been idle; the room was lit by then, and I had my nightcap off and shawl on.

“Seems to be a night for excitement,” Garian commented, grinning. “Someone was here?”

I shrugged. “Seems odd to me too. He said his name was Jaim.”

“Damnation.” Garian sent a look at Jason, who did not react.

Several more armed men appeared at the door, and Garian gave out commands for a search.

When they were gone, Jason said, “It has to be Jaim. No one else could get past your guard. I trained him myself.” That last with a sort of wry smile.

Garian opened his mouth, then glanced my way. They both did.

Garian forced a hearty smile. “Go back to sleep. The, ah, thief will be apprehended. Not to worry.”

“What did he want in here?” I asked. “Jewels?”

Jason turned away, but not before I saw that he was on the verge of laughter.

“What did Jaim say to you?” Garian asked.

“Nothing that made any sense.”

Jason’s stone face was back. “He’s an enemy of mine. No one for you to concern yourself with. Good night.”

They left, and soon after I heard footsteps outside the door—a posted guard. Poor soul, I thought as Netta fussed about me. What a boring job.

She offered to stay with me. I apologized for waking her and assured her that whatever guarding I needed could best be done by the fellow outside the door, and I lay back down.

This time I made it all the way to morning without incident.

After breakfast, Netta brought me a pale green silken underdress and fine, dark green cotton-wool gown that laced over it. In the corner was a cleaning frame; I did not feel like insisting on a bath, so I stepped through, and the magic sparked over me, leaving me fresh and clean.

As I dressed and she combed out my hair, we chattered about little things: birdsong, the season. She told me about her daughter, who was a hairdresser.

Once I was dressed I walked to the window, which opened onto a balcony. I stepped out into summery air, which was filled with the delicious scent of flowers and trees after a rain. My headache had receded to a distant throb, only nasty if I moved or turned quickly.

Below the balcony lay a garden, which sloped away down a steep hill to a stone wall with sentries walking along it. Adjacent to me were the corners and towers of a fairly large castle. The rest of the mountain the castle was built on was hidden in forest and morning shadows. Above the castle, snowy peaks etched jagged tooth-shapes against the blue sky.

Remembering my unknown visitor, I tried to figure his route: up a smooth, white-boled tree to the adjacent balcony, over the vine-covered wall to mine. Not an easy journey at night, in the rain.

He must have had some fairly urgent purpose. And what was that about preferences?

I remembered the mirror, then discovered that it had been taken out. I really must look terrible!

I opened the door, found myself face to face with a huge man of determined mien.

“Can you show me to the dining room?” I asked.

“Prince’s orders are, you can’t negotiate the stairs.”

“Oh, I can walk, I feel perfectly fine—except for this great bruise on my head. And I do really want to leave this room.”

“I can carry you, my lady,” the man offered, his gaze lowered.

“Well, I have no objection if you don’t.”

And so the man picked me up and carried me down two flights of curving stone stairs, directly to a dining room. This room was long and narrow, made of stone, with a high ceiling. Halfway up the walls banners hung, new and old, a variety of colors and designs, none of which looked familiar to me. The table was long, with a short high table set perpendicular at the fireplace end. The room was cold, the fireplace bare. Despite the wall of tall diamond-paned windows that looked over a terrace, it was not a very inviting chamber; I couldn’t say why, since there was nothing ugly about it. But I misliked the atmosphere.

The guard set me gently on my feet, and I heard Garian’s voice. “Good morning, Flian. How do you feel? Essaying the rest of the house?”

“I’m bored,” I admitted. “As for how I feel, I am fine—except for a pang here, if I move too quickly, but a slow walk takes care of that.” I touched the side of my head. “I wish you’d return the mirror. I can’t imagine that the sight of a black eye and a few bruises and scrapes will kill me—but it might jar my memory back.”

“That’s exactly why we won’t.” He took my elbow and escorted me out again. “I consulted a healer. He said you might try so hard it will make your head feel worse, and your recovery will be twice as long.” He smiled. “I feel obliged to tell you that you’re somewhat, ah, stubborn, often preferring immediate gratification over sense.”

I grimaced, resenting his words. I had to remind myself that he was my favorite cousin, and so we must have been honest with one another.

“We usually eat in here.” He led me along another stone-floored corridor. “Less drafty than that blasted room, which I only use for formal occasions.”

We entered the library I’d seen the day before. I looked around—but the lute was gone.

Jason sat in one of the chairs, dressed much as he’d been the day before. He greeted me, I greeted him, and the conversation foundered there until servants came in bearing covered trays.

Garian dismissed the servants. He prepared my plate first and served me himself, saying easily, “I’d propose a topic for conversation, but I suspect you won’t have much to contribute about the latest fashions or plays.”

I gave a laugh at the joke, then sighed. “I apologize for being so boring. I bore myself, lying up in that room and not knowing what I ought to be doing.”

“Resting.” Jason’s voice was flat.

“He’s right.” Garian made an elaborate gesture to Jason to help himself.

Jason looked over at the three trays of fresh food, some of it steaming invitingly, but all he took was a roll. He stood on the other side of the fireplace, tossing the bread up and down on his palm as he watched me eat. Garian shrugged, loaded a plate and sat in the chair opposite mine.