Trouble with Kings (35 page)

There were faces at two or three other windows, one sour and spade-chinned: Elta. She turned away, no doubt to rush off and report to Gilian.

A shiver tightened the outsides of my arms and I resumed my walk, tucking the rose stem (from which patient fingers had removed the thorns) behind my ear.

I was soon in the big practice salle, where the smell of sweat and the echoing clash of weapons smote the senses. The new recruits were already at work at the far end, their faces crimson with effort as they were put through their drills. My brother was busy in one corner with the sword master as I crossed to get some practice gear.

I watched bouts until one of the minor trainers was free. When I was thoroughly drenched and my muscles felt like old lute-strings, I found Maxl standing at the side watching. “You are coming along nicely,” he said.

“Yes. Who knows, in five years I might actually be able to engage in a match with some youngster without embarrassing myself,” I retorted with mendacious cordiality.

Maxl snorted. “What standard are you holding yourself against? You are ahead of the new recruits, who will be sent out on their first tour in three months.”

“And hopefully they will not be required to do much more than rescue mired carthorses or chase after some half-drunk bandits for at least a year or so.”

Maxl shrugged in rueful agreement.

Lest he think I was poking fun at his favorite project, I added in haste, “But I think it is working well, do not you?”

“All the reports indicate that the plan is a success,” Maxl agreed, his smile genuine now. “New recruits sign up almost every week—in fact, the captain says they can now begin to pick and choose. If this keeps up, in ten years I’ll have a trained militia among the citizens, should the need arise. Yet no standing army eating up our revenues and getting restless for action.”

I nodded. Maxl had implemented his plan around the time I returned from Drath. This was the plan that previously had been thwarted by Spaquel at every opportunity. At first he’d been limited to the city guard only, but on Papa’s death he’d decided to go ahead and expand the plan to include the entire kingdom.

It was simple enough in outline. Any young unmarried person who committed to four years of guard duty came out with enough pay to start a business or a family or reach some other dream. Yearly drills were to be organized in all the main towns each season. Spring recruits would drill in spring, summer in summer, and so forth. All who came to yearly drills would earn extra pay. The revenue that in former days used to go to housing and feeding a big army now would go back into the economy more directly, in the hands of four-year veterans—and as Maxl said, if the need in future arose for mobilization, he’d have a ready-trained army.

So each season a new crop would be put through training here in the city and sent out the next season on a tour of duty. The groups would rotate round the kingdom, ending with city duty in Carnison; only the palace guards were hired for life.

The autumn season had seen the first batch. Now that winter was nigh, he’d installed the next group, and so far everything was running the way he wanted it.

Maxl rubbed his hands as he started back across the court toward the residence wing. A clatter of horse hooves rang through the open gate that led to the royal stables. Some of the men raced off—Yendrian, as usual, in the lead, but Ersin wasn’t far behind. Althan, a close third, was laughing some sort of challenge, and behind him a group of five or six jostled for position.

Maxl’s longing to be with them showed in his face, in his arrested posture as he watched them vanish, but then he turned away. I said nothing. It was easy enough to see his thoughts: no more morning races until the winter season ended. There was work waiting.

He said to me, “It’s cold. That rose must have been the very last one.”

“Probably,” I responded. “A shame to have it plucked.”

“Oh, it has to be seen, and it wouldn’t be, out in the garden.” Maxl fell silent as a footman opened the door.

Maxl walked me to my chambers. Debrec set down the tray she’d brought, bowed, and silently left.

I sighed.

“Something wrong?” Maxl lounged over to pour out some hot chocolate from the pot; Debrec always brought two cups in case Maxl joined me, as he occasionally did now that early morning practice was becoming my routine as well as his.

“Oh, I embarrassed her once with some personal questions, and she’s been wary ever since.”

“Who, Debrec?”

“Yes.”

“Want a new lady’s maid?”

“No. It’s my fault. If she wishes to leave, let it be her decision, not ours.”

Maxl cast himself into a chair. His hair was tousled, his shirt unlaced. By the time the midmorning bells rang, he would be immaculate, dressed like a king, busy with state affairs, but until then, he was my brother. These mornings alone were no little part of my reasons for continuing the training in self-defense.

As if his thoughts paralleled mine, he said, “You didn’t take a turn on the mats—only swordwork. Trouble with your shoulder?”

“No, that healed months ago. I twinged my other arm a bit on the mats last time, and mean to let the knot work itself out before I do it again.”

“Wise.” Maxl saluted me with his chocolate, then drank some. “Ah!”

I sipped my own chocolate and got up to find a crystal vase. I poured some water into it and set the rosebud in, placing it near the window.

“You like Ersin?” Maxl asked.

“Yes.” I turned around. “And so does everyone else. He and Jewel made the autumn season fun. In turn he likes everyone. Especially Yendrian.”

“You saw that, did you?” Maxl grimaced. “Here’s a coil. Ersin sent to find a treaty wife, and instead finds love. And Yendrian, too, my oldest friend. And the most loyal.”

I agreed. “If anyone deserves a prince it’s he.”

Maxl stared past my rose out the window. The sky, reasonably clear at dawn, was slowly going gray and bleak. “I think we’ll have First Snow by afternoon. I’d better get downstairs soon. The coast people are restless, and this will make them anxious to be gone.”

Except for Gilian
. She was definitely a part of Maxl’s biggest current political snarl, but she wasn’t interested in the harbor versus fishing-fleet problems. She was gambling for much higher stakes.

I was unsure how to broach the subject of Gilian. It was one thing to resolve to be more open—and quite another to break past the boundaries of my brother’s reserve. All autumn long he’d deftly deflected any discussion of her at all, and I had not wanted to intrude.

Maxl said, “Ersin has to make a treaty marriage. That’s his official reason for being here. And he appears to like you a lot.”

“I think he does.” I stared at my brother, wondering if he was about to break our unspoken embargo on personal subjects. “I’m not in love with him, though he’s fun to dance with, ride with. Talk about court nothings with.”

Maxl shrugged. “I wondered—-but you didn’t have to answer. I won’t pry, I know how much you hate personal talk. Right now, so do I. But I do want to say how much I appreciate how you and Jewel have taken up the social duties, leaving me more time for kingdom affairs. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

I smiled. “It comes naturally to Jewel. She’s so good at it. I just stand behind her and smile, and everyone has a good time.”

“Strange, that a Szinzar would be more adept at court than you or I,” Maxl observed. “When we’ve been bred to it.”

Szinzars
. My thoughts winged eastward. What was Jason doing now? Was he studying plans for his river-diversion project? How would he pay for it, since he’d sent Eleandra away and thus lost the prospect of her considerable wealth?

I had learned to accept how some little, unrelated thing would remind me of Ralanor Veleth, or its history, or its king.

It was foolish to be angry with myself for these reveries as I sat at endless court affairs. At least I embarrassed no one by speaking of my passion, and if my spirit remained stubbornly faced eastward, well, I could be patient. There was no answer, in spirit or flesh, and in time this… I refused to name it as
love
—say,
subject
. Yes, a dispassionate word. Eventually it would wither without the sun of a light-blue gaze, and maybe, maybe, some day I could hope that someone else’s smile would be preferable to loneliness.

Maxl gave me a pensive glance, and left.

I sat down to my harp and lute, practicing until the midmorning bells. Then it was time to get ready for the afternoon choral presentation sponsored by an old duchess. One of the few court occasions I looked forward to: no talk, just pleasant music.

I’d just left the private wing and was heading toward the stairs to the public rooms when voices echoed up to the landing. Feminine chatter some laughter—a familiar titter. “Oh, but I
never
listen to gossip. Birdy is one of my oldest friends. People might say she’s as fond of wine as her mother was, but I insist that’s just her unique manner. I’ve known Birdy since she was little, and thought I didn’t know—well, after all, she’s a friend.”

And Elta’s sweet, languishing voice, “Oh, Gilian. You’re too kind.”

I peered over the balcony to the marble-floored hallway below. Gilian and Elta led the way down the hall, followed by Corlis Medzar and a half-dozen ladies my age, some looking uncertain, and one hesitating before the archway leading to the north wing.

I remembered Lady Milian Torquel’s wine-tasting party. Milian, known since we were all coltish twelve-year-olds as Birdy (ostensibly for her high voice, but actually for her birdwits) was as handsome and empty-headed as her twin brother Malnaz. She’d never been any friend of mine, but followed after Elta, her cousin.

I began to walk away, relieved because I’d already turned down the invitation on behalf of the chorale, and because Gilian had not seen me.

Rapid images flitted through my head: Jewel sinking into my chair the night before, telling me about the masquerade after I’d sneaked away—the Torquel twins dancing—Ersin and Maxl making some kind of laughing bet on who would sit down first, trading off dancing with Birdy and Jewel—

But Birdy always danced all night, if she could. Everyone knew that. So…was there a problem, or not?

Gilian pattered ahead with her baby steps, her ribbons and curls dancing with the quick mouse-pouncing turns of her head right and left, as she led her crowd of party-dressed females toward the far door.

Gilian’s step faltered. She looked around, made a sad little face, and said, “I just cannot. Though I was bred to respect politeness, even at cost of my own comfort. But I fear I am too delicate—and I do apologize.”

“Is it the wine?” Elta asked in a penetrating voice.

“Naming no names—nothing whatsoever imputed—but just in general, moderation is so important to me, it gives me no peace, how high my standards are. I wish you all a pleasant afternoon, but believe I might just view the end of the horse race, and cheer for our dear visitor from Three Kingdoms…”

Gilian was definitely up to something nasty.

This was not a situation music could resolve, nor swords.
Gilian just used words to imply that Birdy’s a drunken sot. Use your own words to deny it
. I started down the stairs. “What a pleasure, meeting you here,” I called, and all those faces snapped upward, surprise and varying degrees of guilt on some, anger on Elta’s.

Gilian twinkled. “Oh, Flian,” she said in her sweetest tones. “What brings you away from your singers?”

I mimed surprise, probably looking as false as Gilian sounded. “The chorale is mostly for old people. Isn’t everyone in fashion going to Birdy’s party?”

Gilian’s mouth rounded in an “O”. She flushed.

“Who’s joining me?” I asked before she could speak, my heartbeat thundering.

And I did not look back. But I heard them. One or two, then three or four, and soon all of them but Gilian and Elta.

I chattered more emptily than Birdy ever had, all the way to the party—races, horses, dancing—whatever I could think of. But we arrived.

Birdy looked surprised to see me, then a brief flicker of frustration, quickly hidden. I said, “I apologize for not responding to your invitation—where are my wits?” Though we both knew I had.

But at least now she had an excuse for the wrong number of places. Her smile broadened in relief as she ushered us in.

I pretended nothing was amiss, and when Jewel arrived moments later, I figured out why Gilian had suddenly chosen harmless Birdy as her newest target. She’d gathered all the guests, intending them to skip the party at the last moment, leaving Jewel to arrive alone at Birdy’s empty rooms while gossip circulated about Birdy being a drunk…and Jewel condoning it. What better way to make them both a laughing stock?

In other words, Birdy wasn’t the target. Jewel was.

So I endured a very silly party that never became either fun or natural, despite extremely fine samples of the year’s gold wines. Voices got louder and sharper as they chattered about the usual empty court nothings.

Instead I veered between relief at having fumbled my way into circumventing a cruel trick, and dread at how Gilian would get back at me. She always had—had always won, too, ever since we were children and my father, right in front of everyone, had chastised me gently for slapping someone smaller than I while Gilian pretended to snuffle and smirked at me behind her hands. And I’d been too humiliated to tell my father she’d repeated something her father had said about how old kings should have the decency to drop dead.

Jewel dropped onto my couch after the play the night of Birdy’s party. She smoothed out her rich satin skirt in her favorite rose, observing, “Does Gilian always have something nastier to say, right at hand, if someone speaks up to her?”

“Always, in my experience. Did you tangle with her tonight? I did not see it.”

“No, not directly. I’m am ambassador.” Jewel grinned. “It’s all indirect. So every time she makes little comparisons to the fellows about how tiny she is and how huge, fat and lumbering I am, in case they aren’t quick enough to get the comparison, I remember I’d feel much worse if Maxl had to send a letter to Jason saying I’d set your court afire by pushing her into a fishpond, and I must go home.”