Trouble with Kings (3 page)

For a time there was no sound but that of cutlery on porcelain and the snapping of the fire. I’d happily worked my way through braised chicken, rice-and-cabbage and a tart before Jason appeared to remember his bread, which he ate.

Garian finished first, got up and went somewhere behind me. As I set my plate onto a side table, I felt warmth spread through me again, and the headache dissipated. I felt great. Maybe I could take a walk. Fresh air, I was certain, would thoroughly restore me.

Then Garian appeared at my side with a small gilt-edged goblet. “Here. A sip of spiced wine.”

“In the morning?” I made a face. Though I didn’t remember who I was or what my life had been like, this suggestion did not seem even remotely part of my habits.

“Healer said it would be good for you. Get rid of the headache. Help you to sleep better.”

“All right.”

He pressed the cup into my hands, and I raised it to my lips. Over its rim I saw Jason’s pale blue eyes watching, their expression impossible to interpret.

The wine, despite the cinnamon and other fine spices, had a bitter edge. I shuddered, then drank it all off in a quick gulp.

“There.” I shivered again.

Garian put his hands on his hips. “A comment on the quality of our Drath wine?”

“Pardon.” I got to my feet and curtseyed. “I really wasn’t ready for wine in the morning.”

“Never mind. I was teasing.” He held out his arm. “Shall I walk you back upstairs?”

I rose. My head felt odd—light, almost. “I think—I fear I’d better.”

It was a long journey, but Garian talked the entire time. Inconsequential chat, mostly, at least I found it increasingly difficult to focus on his words, which were about horses, and a ride, and the menu for dinner on the wedding day, and he really believed the dressmaker would have something for my inspection that evening.

When we reached my room, I made for the nearest chair, which was set by the open balcony window. Garian bent, kissed my fingers with light, easy grace and departed.

I don’t think I was aware of him going. I meant to look out at the whispering trees, but sank into sleep.

Chapter Three

Netta woke me. My neck ached, and my mouth was horribly dry.

“Oh, my lady, are you well?”

“I—” I swallowed, determined to say I was well, and what’s more, to
be
well. I had no idea what sort of person I’d been before, but right now I was very tired of being an invalid. “Yes. I am.”

Netta smiled. “The gown is here. His highness sent me to seek your approval. He said any adjustments can be made by morning.”

“That’s all-night work.” I rose, no longer bothering to wonder how I knew that. “If you see the seamstresses, please convey my appreciation.”

Netta bowed. “I shall.” She gave me a troubled glance.

My head swam nastily, then righted. “May I have water, please?”

Netta went out again. Once I’d drunk a full glass of water I felt measurably better. Soon I stood in the middle of the floor while she laced up a very fine gown of cream lace and green ribbons over a green silk underdress. Netta frowned, twitching the folds and clucking to herself about the laces, while I admired the pearls sewn along the edges of the long sleeves and the hem.

At last she stood back. “What shall I say, my lady?”

“That I approve. But I wish they’d permit me a mirror. Heyo, the black eye must be a fetching green by now—matching the gown.”

My attempt at humor only made her cluck louder as she helped me out of the wedding dress. When it was laid aside, she brought the nightgown. So it was to be another long evening alone, then? I pulled it on, and moments later a quiet maid brought in a tray on which there was, besides the handsome gilt porcelain dishes, another glass of wine. Netta sat down with me as I ate, and when I was finished, she looked at me with faint worry. “His highness insists that you drink the wine, my lady. I’m to stay and see it done.”

I made a face. “Either I don’t care for this grape, or else the healer gave him some sort of draught to put in. Latter, most likely.” I sipped the bitter drink. “Eugh!”

But I finished it, then climbed into bed, wondering what I ought to do, as Netta took away the tray. I considered asking Netta to bring me something to read, but dozed off listening to the sound of the trees rustling outside the balcony.

I woke with the usual dry mouth and lassitude. The windows were dark. Rain was on the way, but someone had lit a fire.

With an inward jolt, I remembered that this was to be my wedding day.

To the library I was taken, where I found Garian waiting. He greeted me with a broad smile, his hazel eyes very green against the splendid emerald velvet tunic he wore, all embroidered over in gold.

“The guests are beginning to arrive.” He made a grand gesture toward the windows. “Jason’s doing the honors as bridegroom. Since you have ventured forth, let’s have this last meal together, you and I, if you’ve no objection, Cousin?”

“None,” I said.

He sauntered to the bell-cord and pulled it. On his hand a great square emerald glittered in the light of the fire. “Are you delighted with the prospect of your wedding?”

“To speak truly, I don’t feel anything at all. I know that’s scarcely fair to Jason. I do wish we could wait.”

“Alas.” Garian made an airy gesture and smiled. “There is the little matter of politics. Great matter.”

“Politics?” I repeated. “Oh. Well, he’s a king, that I remember. King of—”

“Ralanor Veleth.” Garian’s eyes were narrowed in mirth. “You don’t remember?”

“Ralanor Veleth.” I shook my head slightly. “Means nothing.”

“It will all come back soon. I promise that much.”

A tap at the door.

“Enter.”

And in came a steward carrying a meal on trays.

The food was excellent and did much to revive me. But as before, Garian gave me spiced wine, and stood before me until I had drunk it all. Afterward he summoned another servant. “Send Alem down.”

The guard appeared as I began feeling that weird floaty sensation and he offered his arm.

“See you this evening, Flian,” Garian said, now grinning. “I fear I have to resume my duties as host.”

He watched the guard escort me out. The man matched his pace to mine. We proceeded slowly up the stairs. On the first landing, I was vaguely aware of footfalls, and a dark shadow appeared on the edge of my vision.

I looked up to see Jason standing on the lowest step of the next stairway.

“Flian.”

The voice was quiet enough to take a moment to register. I thought I had imagined it, paused, and nearly lost my balance. Waves blurred my vision, as though I were swimming underwater, sinking down farther by the moment. I staggered.

“I came,” he said, “for a last interview. Are you ready to go forward with the plans?”

My mind sank deeper into the shadowy depths of my underwater hideaway. “As you wish…” Like a silver eel, a stray thought appeared, one I’d worked at all the day before, and I grasped it, endeavoring to express it before it vanished again. “I don’t—I wish we needn’t be in haste. But our troth. It means you once had my trust. I must trust you again. Must I not? Isn’t that part of the vows?”

I tipped my head back to look into his face. There was no reaction to be seen at all.

“I don’t make sense, do I?” I swayed. A fierce yawn took me.

Jason stepped aside and gestured to the guard.

He picked me up and bore me the rest of the way upstairs.

I think I was asleep before we reached my room.

When I woke, I felt worse than I had that first day in the cottage when I came to with my memory gone. Night had fallen, but two branches of candles had been lit, as well as the fire.

Netta had fresh listerblossom leaf, which she gave me in such a furtive way that I was confused. It wasn’t until after I’d drunk it all down and she poured water into the cup that I wondered if she’d sneaked it to me, and why. Perhaps she did not have the faith in Prince Garian’s healer that he had.

I certainly felt better as I stepped through the cleaning frame and into the linen underdress. Netta lifted the heavy overgown, I put head and hands through, and she let the ribbon-edged hem fall to my feet.

The lovely fabric foamed around my feet as I sat. She wove flowers and green gems into my hair. My throat felt dry and nasty, my body heavy. This was my wedding day, but I had no emotion whatever.

Presently a tap at the door caused Netta to scurry in fright to open it. Garian entered, the candlelight shimmering over the gold brocade and embroidery on his long tunic. Gems sparkled with starbright color in his hair, at his ear, and on his hands. Round his brow he wore a golden circlet.

“Are you ready, Flian?”

“Yes. You look quite fine. Netta, first may I have a drink of water?”

Garian waited while Netta brought me water in a crystal wine goblet. I raised it, looking into its depths. The swirling reflections of the fire coalesced into two eyes, and I almost dropped the goblet.

“Seeing again?”

Garian was right next to me; I could feel his breath stirring my hair, and his fingers gripped my wrist.

“A face. Jason’s, I guess.” I shrugged.

Garian let me go and I drank the water, which eased the dryness of my throat. Garian took the goblet from my fingers and set it with a crystalline
ching
on the table.

“Let us depart.” He took my arm and led me from the room.

“I wish I could see myself once.” I frowned down at my hair swinging against my skirts.

From the gloom on the stairway came a quiet voice. “Why not let her?”

“It’s too late to do any harm.” Garian chuckled.

An arched door stood open off the first landing. Garian led me inside, Jason’s quiet tread behind us. The room was lit by several branches of candles. Jason was dressed for the first time in something besides riding clothes. Over a tabard-woven, loose-sleeved linen shirt, he wore a long, dark green velvet tunic belted with blackweave, undecorated by any trim or finery, his black hair as always tied back. Except for the wedding green, he looked less a bridegroom than did Garian.

Then Garian gestured, and I faced the mirror.

Vertigo—memory—made me dizzy. I peered into the wan face of an ordinary young lady with rather bland coloring—skin and hair more or less the shade of honey, and eyes too pale to be considered blue. The gown was beautifully made, but I scarcely gave it a glance, for I was more interested in myself. The bruises were visible, dark smudges that made my features difficult to descry, but I did not faint or quail away. I felt no reaction at all besides a faint curiosity, even when I gazed straight into my eyes. They were the eyes of a stranger.

A tall shadow moved to my side. Jason stood next to me; the top of my head came to his shoulder. His smile at my reflection was brief. “Come along,” he said.

“The guests are waiting,” Garian added.

I glanced up into Jason’s face. “For a moment I almost had it.”

“I know. I saw.” He slid his hand under my arm.

I whispered, feeling acutely self-conscious, “I wish it had come. I am sorry I cannot pretend a happiness I ought to feel.”

“No matter.” The answer was quiet, and without any emotion.

Garian stepped up on my other side and took my other arm.

Together the three of us walked downstairs to the dining hall. The panes in the windows were old-fashioned diamonds, which glistened with fire-reflections from the candle-sconces along the walls. Above the candles, the banners glowed with muted color. Around the perimeter of the room about thirty well-dressed strangers waited, their jewels winking and gleaming.

Most of the people smiled. One tall, black-bearded man laughed, then turned away quickly and coughed.

Jason led me to the high table.

“…all right?” A matronly lady was before me, giving me a questioning look.

The man who had laughed said in a hearty voice, “As right as she’ll ever be.”

Garian responded in a similar hearty voice. “We explained about the carriage accident, Lady Ordomar. Flian is otherwise quite well, are you not?”

“Of course.” I willed it to be so.

The three of us took our places behind the chairs at the high table, and Garian lifted a goblet high. He spoke our names, the guests echoed, and they all drank to Jason and me. We would share wine after the ceremony—

How did I know that?

I closed my eyes, dizzy.

Crash! Glass shards from the windows flew everywhere, glittering as bright as the guests’ gems as they recoiled, screamed, shouted, cursed.

Silent black-clad figures leaped in, one of them on horseback, glass crunching and tinkling under the animal’s hooves. They spread round the perimeter of the room, their faces obscured, some holding bows, others swords; the two men-at-arms converged on the mounted figure, whose sword arced and hummed. In five strokes he wounded both men. They dropped to the floor, groaning.

Garian was hemmed by two of the intruders, so he could not reach the bell-pull. The horse skidded on the glassy slate flooring, and pranced toward the high table.

A hand tightened on my arm. I felt curiously distant, as if this all happened on a stage, and I watched from far away.

Jason gripped a long dagger in one hand. But before he could raise it, a sword slashed down from behind and stopped at his neck. “I wouldn’t if I was you,” growled a man in Garian’s livery. “And I might add I’m glad I ain’t.”

At that moment the dancing black horse reached the high table. It tossed its head, eyes wide. The black-clad figures collected weapons from the guests.

“Stand, Flian,” commanded the horseman.

Garian’s face was white with rage, but a gauntleted hand held a sword at his neck as well, held by a sturdy man dressed in Garian’s own livery. Garian’s eyes flicked back and forth, back and forth, sweat beading his brow.

Jason stood very still, his attention entirely on the rider of that horse.

The animal stepped closer. Round dark eyes reflected the candles behind me as I got to my feet. An arm slid round my waist and I was lifted into the air.

A grunt, and I sat astride the horse’s withers. A hard arm held me against a slim body whose heart beat a steady tattoo. I smelled horse and human sweat, a sharp scent over the wine and perfumes of Garian’s hall.