A Posse of Princesses (32 page)

“He works hard,” Rhis ventured. “I saw that
by the second day we were there.”

“I know he does,” the queen said with obvious
approval. “I also know he’s smart. This party of his was in the
nature of a test, though he didn’t know it. I didn’t want him
coming home and using his father’s boyish charm to tell me all the
things I wanted most to hear. So I told him he could arrange this
party to meet all the eligible young females—and of course he’d
invite all the local young fellows, because he needs to know them,
too. And then I watched from afar—yes, that means I had my people
spying on him—to see how he would handle being crown prince without
me being anywhere nearby.”

“Oh.” Rhis nodded. “So you didn’t mind his
pretending to be a scribe while Andos acted like a prince, but you
didn’t like him riding after us when Iardith and Jarvas
disappeared?”

“His plan of running off after you girls was
foolish, and very nearly painfully embarrassing for me. So, no. I
did not like his plan, but I
did
like his reasons. He told
me everything, you see. Not in person—he felt he had to move too
fast for that—but by letter, before he rode off after that silly
wench from Arpalon. And of course I had my most trusted steward
there, in the guise of the head footman, who corroborated
everything Lios told me. Lios took the blame for everything
squarely on himself. Even offered to resign the heirship, if I
deemed him unsuitable.”

The queen paused, frowned, and then pointed
the fan at Rhis again.

“What I found surprising was that every other
sentence, it seemed, was about you. What you’d done, what you said,
what you thought. Where he thought you’d gone, and why.”

She threw the fan onto her own little side
table, and sat back, her beringed fingers laced over her plump
middle. “So now I want to hear about that, but from your
perspective, and without your talking to any of the others first.
You can skim the magical stuff. I want to know who said what, when,
where, and how. And what you did. Go ahead. I cancelled my entire
day’s work, though I’ll be making it up far into the night.” The
queen leaned forward and poured herself a big glass of punch, then
sat back again, smoothing her skirts with one hand. The rings on
her fingers winked and gleamed. “Don’t stint on the details,” she
added, sipping.

And so for the second time Rhis told her
story, beginning with her arrival at Eskanda. She talked about the
party, the masquerade ball, the play, and finally, Iardith’s
mysterious disappearance. Then she described the girls’ decision,
the ride, and what happened in Damatras. What the king said. What
Lios said. The long ride back, and her threat with the stone.

At the end, the queen set her goblet down
with a snap so that it rang on the glass. “One last question. Some
of the other young ones think you should be rewarded for saving
their skins so well the other day—ah, ah.” She raised a hand.
“Never mind about the theft of that stone. Sometimes the heroism of
ballads and plays is happening to catch the right way to avert
disaster at just the right moment. Everybody likes a triumph, and
moreover, everyone loves a party. So you can be celebrated for your
heroism. Old Damatras can’t make a peep because he’s going to be
too busy making nice with the mages, as they replace his
protections for him before taking away that stone. So. If I were to
grant a wish of yours, what would you ask for?”

Rhis shrugged, vaguely uncomfortable. She
already had plenty of wealth, and as for mysterious magical
objects—phew, she’d had enough experience of
those
. She
finally said, “I think what I want most isn’t anything I can ask
for.”

“You’re talking about people, am I
correct?”

Rhis blushed, but said determinedly, “It
would be stupid to ask for Lios’s hand in marriage. He would hate
it that way. I would hate it that way, if someone went to Papa
without talking to me first. Besides, I don’t know if he wants to
get, well, married. I don’t know if
I
do—”

“Ah,” the queen said, snapping her fan.
“Smart girl. Most sixteen year olds rant about
forever or I’ll
die
until everyone around them is ready to begin hurling
dishes.”

“Well, maybe if I was sure. But things went
so fast, and then I haven’t had a chance to sit down with him and
talk. I think, if I had any reward, it would be the chance to just
sit with him so we could talk, like we did at Eskanda. And maybe
with everyone there we could have our play after all.” Rhis
finished somewhat wistfully.

“That is a reward that, reasonable as it
sounds, I am still deciding if I will give you,” the queen said,
not without sympathy.

Rhis looked up, startled. “Oh, Queen
Briath—is it my stealing?”

“Ta, ta, ta,” the queen cut in, snapping her
fan open again, and waving it to and fro. “Spare me the tragedy.
I’m afraid that if Lios sees you right now he’ll be wild enough to
rant all manner of foolish things. The fact that my son thinks
you’re beautiful, and what I’m seeing is a girl as plain as a
sparrow, makes this matter far too serious. If anyone can take
seriously the ‘love’ of a twenty year old boy—”

Rhis pressed her fingers over her mouth, and
the queen snapped her fan again.

“—or a sixteen year old girl. I know the two
of you can hardly wait to get together, and before you both know
it, you’ll be hugging and kissing in the garden.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Rhis asked.

“Nothing! Except that hugging and kissing
only tells you you’re attracted to one another, and you already
know that. What it
doesn’t
do is tell you if you can run a
kingdom together.”

“But—”

“The King of Arpalon and I each had plenty of
kissing and holding hands in the garden, and look what
we
married! And we were twenty years older than you are now.”

Rhis could not prevent tears from burning her
eyelids, blurring the queen’s image.

The queen said, “I know you think me
heartless. My son already told me I am. He’s got my temper, that
boy does! But at least he was honest. I like that. Though I won’t
change my mind.” She shook out her skirts. “Now. This is what is
going to happen. I will give you a chance to see him, but right
here, in my room, with me hearing every word. And then he is going
to leave for Eskanda, where he is going to buckle down to learning
how to rule.”

Rhis clasped her hands, hardly daring to
speak.

“As for you, after a nice big party in
celebration, a party that everyone is going to hear about, you are
going home to Nym. What you two
can
do is write letters,
each year on this anniversary. No more than that, or you’d be
flooding the roads with messengers, and he will do nothing but wait
around for your letters, and then write reams in answer, and what
use is that?”

“Once a year?” Rhis repeated faintly.

“Once a year. Beginning tomorrow. I’m not as
heartless as I seem! In between times you may study magic, or
statecraft, or whatever you like, or not study at all, but sit at a
window and count the days. But you’ll not see one another until
five years pass.”

“Five—”

“Years. Yes, it’s cruel, and yes, it seems
forever, but five years pass in a blink. I still think twenty-one
and twenty-five far too early for certain kinds of decisions, but
if you two are still of the same mind in five years, then we three
will sit down and talk. Lios is a smart boy, but he’s got a lot to
learn about kingship.”

Queen Briath stood up. “Are we
understood?”

Rhis’s throat tightened. She wanted to
protest,
We’ll see what my parents say—
except she remembered
her mother’s admonition before she left: that nothing could happen
until she was twenty.

It was a grownup conspiracy! They were
determined to treat her like a baby, but she was determined not to
cry like one.

So she curtseyed, and Queen Briath said
approvingly, “Good girl.” Then she lifted her voice. “Lios! I know
you’re lurking beyond the door. You can come in now.”

Rhis meant to be dignified and proper, like
Elda had trained her to be, but the moment Lios walked in, his
brown eyes anxiously scanning her face, she flew straight into his
arms.

They locked each other in a tight hug. All
she could think about was the joy that made her feel lighter than
the Singing Stone at its most powerful, as she listened to his
hearbeat thundering next to her ear.

“Tut-tut!” The queen cleared her throat.

Lios and Rhis sprang apart. Lios tugged at
his tunic, which was a fine thing made of heavy silk, embroidered
with chains of laurel leaves, and belted with a gemmed sash. What
drew her attention was how nice he looked in it. His brown hair was
tied back simply, just like when he pretended to be a scribe.

“You look so . . .” she began, hands swooping
like butterflies.

“Princely? Scribely?” Lios grinned ruefully.
“Silly?”

Rhis shook her head on each. “You look like
you,” she said, and then blushed because who else would he look
like?

But he seemed to understand because his grin
altered to a real smile. “And you look beautiful. But you always
did.”

Rhis clasped her hands. “I’m sorry about the
stone, and all that.”

Lios waved a hand. “Don’t let us waste our
time with ‘sorry,’ especially when I have more to apologize for.”
He laughed softly, then his smile faded. “The others are getting
ready for the party in your honor tonight. I wish I could be there,
but Mother wants me on the road to Eskanda.”

“The horses are waiting,” the queen said, as
she cracked a nut.

Rhis kept her back to the queen. If she
didn’t see her, she could pretend she wasn’t there. “I wish you
could stay. I wish . . . “ She became aware that she was wasting
what little time they had, bemoaning what wasn’t going to change.
“I want you to know that I will think of you every single day.”

“And I you.” Now he looked unhappy. “Oh,
Rhis. Here’s what I feel worst about. We just began to talk, with
me being me, because you were already you. Does that make sense?”
He made a comical face. “Don’t answer that. It doesn’t even make
sense in my own head.”

“But I loved our conversations.” She tried to
smile, though her throat hurt. “Even when I was maddest, I couldn’t
help thinking them over, trying to remember every word. And wishing
every one of our talks had been longer.”

“They will be,” he promised. “One day. Oh!
Yuzhyu wants you to know that she is glad you recovered, and she
invites you to visit Ndai some day. The others all said the same.
Except Iardith. I’m afraid what she said isn’t the sort of thing I
want to pass along.” There was a flash of the rueful grin. “Most of
it was aimed at me, not at you.”

“She’s probably saving my share for tonight.
Well, I did get in her way. I hope she finds her crown prince,”
Rhis said firmly.
Though I’m not sure that’s such a nice wish
for the prince.

Lios took both Rhis’s hands. She gripped his
fingers, so warm, rough with calluses from hard work. She squeezed
her eyes shut so she could memorize the feel of his hands on hers,
the sound of his breathing. Then she opened her eyes to memorize
his dear face, but she discovered her vision blurred with
tears.

A step, a shift, and soft lips kissed her
tears away. She flung one arm around his neck. Their noses bumped,
her other elbow knocked into his arm, but then their lips met—

“AHEM!” The queen coughed loudly.

Once again they sprang apart.

“Your entourage is waiting, my boy,” the
queen said gruffly. “Say your good-byes.”

Lios took Rhis’s hand and kissed it quickly,
then whispered, “Fare you well.”

“And you,” Rhis managed.

Lios bowed to his mother, turned, and in a
couple of quick steps was gone.

Rhis curtseyed to the queen in Elda’s most
approved style, though she couldn’t prevent her lips from
trembling. Dignity and poise! She made it to the door. She made it
outside the room. She made it to the hallway before the tears
came.

“Come, sweeting,” Sidal murmured. “Let’s go
home.”

A Week Later:

Dear Shera,

I’m on my way to Nym, so I thought I may as well
write, though I’m so unhappy I could—well, no, I won’t say it. I
can still hear Queen Briath making fun of sixteen-year-old girls.
What I
will
say is, I counted up all the
days in five years, and it does seem forever. A very long
forever.

Let me finish with Vesarja. The mages declared that
I am to go away for at least a season to Erev-Li-Erval, to learn
about magical theory. They think talent without knowledge is
inviting disaster. I guess I agree, seeing what happened. But at
least I won’t have to go until I turn eighteen, Sidal says.

After my interview with the mages, Queen Briath
threw a huge court party in my honor, celebrating the safe arrival
of all Prince Lios’s visitors. If I hadn’t been so gloomy about
Lios leaving I would have appreciated her speech more, but Sidal
said that it was a work of art. How else could someone make it
clear that we’d been in danger from the Damatrans, without
insulting the Damatran ambassador?

I think I’ll call Iardith The Pest from now on, the
way Taniva does, as she was quite awful to me when she thought no
one was listening—she asked where Lios was, and I told her, and
then she said, “He can’t have much interest in you to give you up
like that,” but when I said, “I hope some day you meet a prince who
will give up his entire life just to live in a cottage with you
somewhere,”
she
said, “I would never marry
anyone but an heir. Only a fool would pick life in a cottage.” Why
did I even listen to her?