Trouble with Kings (25 page)

“No.” I lifted a hand in protest. “Wait. You can’t attack Maxl. Don’t fight him, if he comes. Garian
wants
you to have a war—”

“I do not intend to attack your brother. Nor he me.”

“But you didn’t hear—”

“Your brother and I have been in communication since you left here for Dantherei. He knows the truth about my intentions. I promise you there will be no war between us. The rest can wait.”

Someone else picked me up, for there was no chance I was going to be able to walk, and in a short time I was in Berry’s governance once again. I will skip over the bandage changing, which was most assuredly disgusting, though the hot, herb-scented bath afterward was my reward.

But the warmth of the bath water, the warm listerblossom drink, seemed to melt that frost inside. “My Papa is dead,” I said finally and began to weep, and couldn’t stop until finally I fell into an exhausted slumber.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The next two days were spent veering between feverish sleep and dreams. On the last night I did finally fall into a deep sleep, from which I awoke feeling like a herd of horses had trampled my shoulder, but my head was clear and except for my shoulder, the rest of me was fine.

I was not alone long. Berry appeared, soft of voice and footfall, and when she saw me awake, she brought invalid food—all of it tasty and easy to eat, plus an infusion of strongly steeped listerblossom leaf. I felt immeasurably better after that, enough to endure another bandage changing.

Berry took the dishes away. When she returned, she said, “Do you feel ready for a visitor, your highness?”

“That means someone wants to talk to me. Yes? So it must be important. Let’s do it right away.”

Berry went out, and I thought, who could it be but Jason? All the worries and turmoil rushed back.

I looked down at myself in the nightdress, and blushed. I did not want to be found lounging in bed. The idea was, well, embarrassing.

One-handed I pulled on the yeath-fur robe, picked up the cup of steeped leaf that Berry had set aside, and walked out onto the balcony.

The cool autumnal air was fragrant with the scent of grass and fallen leaves. I sat next to the iron-wrought table and looked in bemusement at the ends of my hair brushing the stone of the balcony floor. The wheat-colored strands seemed unfamiliar. Except for that terrible first day in the woodcutter’s cabin, I had not worn my hair loose since I was fifteen.

A bit of steeped leaf remained in the cup. I drank it and set the cup aside when I heard a quiet step in the open doorway.

I looked up. Jason came out and stopped a short distance away. “Berry said you were willing to see me.”

“I owe you a report on what happened. Please sit down.”

He sat in the chair on the other side of the table. “How do you feel?”

“Fine.” Aware that I was speaking to a man to whom Eleandra had once been betrothed, I said quickly—suspecting that a lot of preparatory preamble would only make the news worse—and in as neutral a tone as I could contrive, “Eleandra took us to the river to see argan leaves. We thought she might be intending to meet you, and misconstrued. She planned to meet Garian all along.” Jason said nothing, and his expression was as unreadable as it had ever been. So I added, “We did our best to keep the bargain.”

Jason replied, “You may go home whenever you wish.”

I found it difficult to talk. “Tell Markham thanks. For saving my life, I mean. I don’t think I ever did.”

“I will.”

“My father—” I said to the cup on the table.

“He died almost two weeks ago. Your brother’s letter to you must have reached Char Tann after you left on your journey with Eleandra.”

I forced the next words out. “Garian said it was the news. About me. Someone told Papa I was dead—”

“Garian lied. Oh, he did send that message, and it was delivered. But I wrote your brother everything that happened the day you left, and sent my courier from the border when I went to find Jaim. Your father was falling ill when the courier reached him. Maxl maintains that your father did not even hear Garian’s envoy, who came days after mine. In any case your father knew the truth—that you were happily dancing at court in Dantherei—and he died peacefully in his sleep.” He added in a dry voice, holding out a folded paper, “I have your brother’s letter here in case you do not believe what I say.”

“I believe you.” I turned my face toward the mountains and surreptitiously wiped the tears away. Then, taking a deep breath, I faced him again and told him everything. Tamara’s kindness—Eleandra—the kinthus—Garian’s gloating statements—all of it.

He showed no reaction, except a faint smile when I repeated Jewel’s comment upon the news of Garian’s intending to abduct Eleandra:
For once it’s someone else’s turn!

“And so,” I finished, “I don’t remember much about the journey with Markham. I wasn’t thinking clearly about anything, except the need to stop the threatened war. And that’s that.”

“Do not concern yourself over my imagined grief at Eleandra’s machinations,” he said with a sardonic lift to his brows that reminded me of Jewel. “The truth is, for the past few years I’ve regarded that betrothal as a liability, partly because I came to realize she’d never had any interest in anything but the immediate gratification of dalliance, and long term, the pursuit of social prestige, at whatever the cost. The man who takes her to wife will suffer a lifetime of trouble.”

I stared at him. “Why didn’t you tell us that before we left?”

“Because I knew that Jewel would never consent to go otherwise. And I wanted the two of you out of harm’s way while I tried to find out what Garian’s next move was to be.”

I thought that through. “And you, what, expected us to talk Eleandra out of marrying you? You did. You
did!
”

He smiled again as he got to his feet. “I believed that the two of you would be fluent enough in my dispraise to inspire Eleandra to break off with me. And so would end a promise I never should have made.”

I gulped in a breath. “So you never intended to march on Dantherei.”

“Correct.”

“When I think of how much I worried while trying so scrupulously to be diplomatic—” I groaned. “Well, maybe it will be funny some day, but now it’s—”

Painful
. I couldn’t say it so I shut up, put my hands in my lap and kept my gaze on them. I was uncomfortably aware of him standing there, and though I did not look up, I could see him so clearly in my mind’s eye: the long black hair swept back from his high brow, steady blue eyes, the sinister thin mustache that he’d grown to convince hard-riding, quarrelsome dukes and barons that he was older than twenty.

The conversation was over, so why didn’t he go away?

He said, “You tried to kill Garian.”

That surprised me so much I looked up. Not that I could read anything in his unwavering gaze. “Yes. Of course it accomplished nothing—except to assure that the next time he sees me, he’s probably going to want to finish what he started.” I touched my shoulder and tried a joke, for the atmosphere had gone tense in a way I could not comprehend, had never experienced—not in Drath or the mountains or even in Dantherei. “I very much fear that Garian’s and my courtship days are over. But then he never did need money.”

Jason stood there before me, his hands behind his back. “Why did you not kill me when you had the chance?”

Good question. One that I had not thought to address myself. Anger had driven me into Garian’s tent—but I had also been angry with Jason. I’d stood over both of them with a knife. Jason had even goaded me to strike. And unlike Garian, he probably could not have defended himself.

So…why didn’t I? Because—because—

I did not know and needed time to figure it out. But not with him standing there staring at me so steadily.

Angry pride prompted me to retort, “Because I’m weak and cowardly. I thought we already established that.”

He would have none of my petty evasions. “You tried to assassinate Garian Herlester. Whatever else it was, that was not an act of weakness or of cowardice.”

“No, it was an act of passionate hatred, a thoughtless, stupid one. And yes, immoral as well, and so I did transgress against my own moral boundaries. I might have gotten a lot farther had I tried diplomacy—though I do confess I don’t see how. I can’t out-lie him any more than I can out-fight him.”

Jason made a slightly impatient gesture; the subject was not Garian Herlester.

The subject was me—and Jason—and a knife.

Why? What had changed? “Why do you ask?”

“Why do you want to know what I think?” he countered, smiling a little.

But I found nothing amusing, there was no laughter in me to share. I just shook my head, unable to think at all, until he turned away and left.

Berry appeared on the terrace. She picked up the cup. “The king requested me to remind you to name the time when you feel able to depart for Lygiera, your highness. Preparations will be made for a suitable escort.”

“As soon as possible. Right now.”
I want to go home.

She nodded, her round face somber. “Very well, your highness. I will convey the message.”

Before midday I knew there would be no departure that day—or even the next. By early afternoon the roar of a terrific rainstorm drummed against the windows, continuing steadily through the night, rendering the morning light dim and dreary.

Berry was apologetic, especially since I couldn’t play the harp—and I had lost the lute in Dantherei, along with the rest of my belongings. She said, “Would you like to visit the library?”

“The library?” I repeated, as if I did not know what one was.

“It’s directly below us. You’ve only to go down the stairs and you’ll find it.”

As she spoke she laid out a gown that had to have belonged to Jewel. This gown was her favorite rose, too loose and too short, which made no difference to me. The rose color made me think of Jewel, and guilt wrung me; I hoped Garian was too busy dallying with Eleandra to torment Jewel.

When I left the room, there was the usual guard, but by now I had come to realize that he was there not as jailor but on watch.

Sure enough, he asked, most courteously, if I needed directions—I said I didn’t—and I was on my way down old stone stairs, with a rail carved in stone that ended in stylized raptor faces.

The Szinzar library was mostly old books, in a gloomy room that had not been redone in at least two generations. I did find a small section of poetry and plays, none more recent than the century previous. One entire wall consisted of bound military reports dating back further than I cared to look, and on the far wall near a desk were some beautiful books, gilt lettering gleaming faintly in the dim light.

I made my way to them and discovered that most of them were personal records made by past monarchs of Ralanor Veleth. I pulled out a very old one, its pages gritty with dust along the top. The faded ink on the first page stated, in a slanting hand,
Being a history of the first two years of my reign. Viana Szinzar
.

Her name was familiar only as a name, some treaties and dates. This book in my hands had been written by the real woman. I leafed quickly through. The first several pages were a painstaking day-by-day account of a very young princess scrupulously listing all her accomplishments after the death of her father, the king. The regent, an uncle on her mother’s side, set her various tasks, and she executed them conscientiously.

…at midday I had a few bites of seedcake and half a glass of yellow-wine. The wind kicked up outside. I could hear it in the trees below my windows. Aunt came in and sat down…

I skipped ahead to her coronation, which included a listing of all these military exercises and vow exchanges with the dukes, who were apparently military warlords then, too. A long letter from her uncle, the regent, had been diligently copied into the journal. It outlined current affairs and what a good queen should be.

I almost put it back, but the next page I looked at was written in a fast hand, and it was quite different than the careful print previous. Now she was analyzing conversations and considering the consequences of each action, each decision.

This time she outlined all the problems facing the kingdom, from Narieth’s aggressive wish to expand—another thing that hadn’t much changed—to her worries about famine. These were her thoughts, not a well-meaning regent’s carefully considered advice.

I set the book on a table and flipped to the back page, where I read:

I am twenty-eight years old, and I know now what I suspected before, that I must rule alone and command the army alone. But I will never speak this vow aloud. The lords court me for power. I will return the favor and court them for balance.

I wanted to follow the career of this Viana Szinzar—but I had been standing a long time. My shoulder ached. So I replaced the book and made my way back to my room.

Berry came in bringing listerblossom brew at sunset. Once I’d drunk about half, she said, “Prince Jaim desired me to ask if you felt able to bear his company over dinner.”

“My, that was polite.” I felt an urge to laugh. “Not like the Jaim I remember. Tell him—very politely, of course—that he’s preferable to boredom.”

Berry chuckled and withdrew.

Jaim waited in that same south-facing parlor, the table set. He grinned at me and waved a bottle of wine. “Some of Garian’s best, taken right from one of his homes. Want some?”

“As long as there’s nothing in it.”

Instead of answering Jaim poured out a bit of wine, his gestures flourishing, and drank it off. He blinked. Then he rolled his eyes up, clutched at his throat, making terrible noises the while, and staggered back against the wall.

For a brief moment I believed he’d really been poisoned, then I saw the shadows of amusement at the corners of his mouth and the flush of perfectly good health in his face, and I laughed.

He opened his eyes and finished pouring out two glasses. “Good stuff, actually. In addition to being an exceptionally fine harvest, there is the distinctive savor of revenge.”

“Garian did say something about you two raiding his vaults.”