Echoes of Betrayal (35 page)

At last, clean and fed and dressed in robe and crown, Falk’s ruby on his collar, Kieri came down and stood on the palace steps in the thin winter sun. The green of his robe, the gold and red of Arian’s, blazed in that light, a promise of life and health. He and Arian made their vows in sight of all. Midwinter vows, that could not be unsaid or unmade short of death itself. And death, Kieri thought to himself, had already lost even that power. They were, from this moment, essentially man and wife, the wedding ceremony being only the final stage of the process.

A party of elves attended, including the Lady; they smiled and bowed, and Kieri tried not to think what might lie behind those smiles and bows. He would have to talk to his grandmother about what had happened to him, what he now knew about the King’s Grove, but not today. Aliam and Estil Halveric headed the line of friends, both healthy and clearly joyful. Estil said, “I told you, Kieri, right after the coronation.”

“I didn’t understand,” Kieri said. “My mind was on the horses, not the riders.”

“Clearly,” Estil said, with a grin to take the sting out of it. She took Arian’s hands in hers. “May you have the joy that I have had, both of you.”

Midwinter Feast had been laid in the courtyard, table end to table end piled with hot foods and cold, savory and sweet. Kieri and Arian sampled tastes, but outside the palace walls the rest of Chaya waited to see their future queen, and winter days were short. After hearing what others had said about his parents, he’d decided that they should ride matched horses, fire-colored to celebrate the sun’s return. So out they rode, on a pair of red chestnuts with green and gold braided into their manes and tails, and an escort of King’s Squires to clear the way and throw sweetmeats into the crowd for the children.

All along the way, people threw knots of ribbons or yarn, candied fruit, and little spiced cakes and offered blessings. Back at the palace, in the waning light of a winter afternoon, the celebration had moved indoors. Kieri ate more, but he was tired; his eyelids sagged. Arian
poked him in the side. “My lord, you need sleep, and these friends will lose no joy by your being in your bed.”

“Especially,” Aliam said, leaning close on the other side, “if you are not
alone
in your bed.”

“Aliam!” Estil thumped his shoulder. “It is their choice.”

“True, but the wise choice—all right, all right, I will give over.” But Aliam’s smirk said all the rest of it.

Kieri took his leave rather than fall asleep at the table, very glad that he had not indulged in the wines and ale when he found himself a little unsteady with weariness alone. Feasting would continue through this second night, and he hoped a short sleep would let him take part.

“I could wish it was our wedding night but that I’m so tired,” Kieri said when they were upstairs.

“In Lyonyan custom, it could be,” Arian said. “But you need sleep before anything else.” She turned back the great bed and slid the warming pan with its coals under the covers. “Is there reason to expect bad dreams? Would you like a posset?”

“No … no posset, at least. I think I met the source of all bad dreams last night, and yet survived. If more come, I will still survive.” Kieri struggled with the elaborate frogs of his formal dress. “Where’s Fedrin? I’m being clumsy with these, and I don’t want to rip something.”

“I told him I would care for you tonight,” Arian said. “We have had no chance to speak together this day, but for making our vows. If you prefer, I can send for him.”

“No … no. But I can’t get this one undone.” He pointed to the highest, at his neck.

“Let me.” As if her fingers held magic, the fastening opened, and the one below; then she stood behind to help him free of the long tunic and hung it up while he pulled off his shirt. Arian said nothing about his scars, those or the others, and before he had time to worry about that, he was in a warm bed, sinking into the pillows, and asleep in that instant.

When he woke, the fire still burned brightly, and Arian had fallen asleep in a chair beside the bed. He had not seen her asleep before. He wondered what she would do if he woke her with a kiss.

The fire popped loudly, and a shower of sparks shot up the chimney.
Arian woke at once and, when she saw him looking, grinned. “So—you are not sleeping the night through?”

“I just woke,” Kieri said.

“Are you hungry? They’re still feasting downstairs.”

“I could eat a whole roast sheep,” Kieri said. He stretched. “Though I confess I’m not eager to get dressed again.”

“No need.” Her grin widened. “I asked for something I could keep warm for you by the fire. Unless you want to go down to the others … there’s enough food for three or four.”

This time, the shared meal had a different flavor; it was as if he and Arian had shared such meals for years.

“I was frightened when I heard the Seneschal calling and you did not answer,” Arian said. “And when I looked past him and saw nothing …”

“I do not know what happened,” Kieri said. “It was not what I expected or what the Seneschal had told me about … I need to talk with him. I would rather not talk about it tonight.”

“Of course,” Arian said. “But my joy, sir—Kieri—when you appeared,
that
you need to know about.”

“I felt you,” Kieri said. “You are how I found my way back.” In spite of what he’d said, he began the tale in the middle, the moment he realized he was not on the ossuary’s warm stone floor but lost somewhere underground. “I was afraid—I have not been that afraid since I was a slave in Sekkady’s domain—but I was not going to despair, not with my kingdom, not with you, waiting for me. And I felt … I felt a pull, as if someone held the other end of a rope I touched.” He looked up at her. “I felt your presence in it.”

She nodded but said nothing as she spread butter and then jam on a roll and handed it to him. He took a bite, swallowed it, then another. Finally he went on.

“It seemed a very long time—of course, in the dark, it’s hard to tell—”

“Before dawn,” Arian said, “we Squires were together, shoulder to shoulder, and we all shuddered at once. The elves had brought snow-sprites for the first time in years; we had watched them dance, but then they vanished. We went to the salle, but the elf-light did not rise, and then we went to wait outside the ossuary. I wanted to be the first to bring you light.”

“It was life you brought me,” Kieri said. “At the last—” He told of the wall that he was sure had been the outer wall of the ossuary, of how he fell through at last, with a mouthful of soil nearly choking him.

“I wonder where you were,” Arian said. “The dirt on your clothes was real enough.”

“The King’s Grove,” Kieri said. “And the mound. Under it.” Arian stared at him, eyes wide. “Yes, I’m sure,” he went on. “It is something about the secrets elves keep. Under the mound is a sacred place for humans—old humans—and in that place is a skull they missed when they cleared it away.”

Arian frowned. “I thought the elves were here first,” she said. “They granted humans the use-right. Do you suppose they came later, after humans had lived here?”

Kieri tore a leg of the roast chicken. “I don’t know,” he said. “I think they are Elders, created before humans, but they do not live everywhere and perhaps never did. So they might move to a place where humans were—”

“And easily take over,” Arian said. She carved the rest of the chicken and slid several slices onto his plate and some onto her own.

Kieri finished that chicken leg and the rest of the chicken before him before speaking again, then wiped his fingers on a napkin. “We know the Lady has made errors. We know she moved the elfane taig under stone. She could have made errors before that. Or after.” He shook his head. “I do not want to quarrel with elves or start trouble with them. But we must know what really happened, and when, to make the best path forward for this kingdom. For humans, yes, but also for elves. I do not think they prosper as it is.”

“Not with the rockfolk so angry with them,” Arian said. “I always knew—everyone knew—that rockfolk and elvenkind were not close friends, but I thought they had respect for each other as Elders.”

“So did I,” Kieri said. “And I wonder about other elven kingdoms. Are they all connected by custom or by birth? Do they travel back and forth? An elf I met in Fin Panir spoke of an elven kingdom in the mountains of the far west … why so distant?”

“Why none in Aarenis except travelers?” Arian asked. “And Tsaia is larger than Lyonya: why no elven homeland there?”

“I am beginning to think I know nothing of the world despite my
fifty odd years and my travels,” Kieri said. He grinned at her. “But I do know one thing, Arian: I love you, and I am no longer hungry for food or sleep …”

She grinned back. “Are you not? Are you certain you should not return to bed until daylight comes?”

“Not to sleep,” Kieri said. He held out his hand to her.

“Not to sleep,” Arian agreed, taking his hand.

K
ieri woke slowly, at first aware only of unusual lassitude. He had not felt so at ease in a long time; the dim light of predawn outlined the gap in the curtains but showed nothing of the room. He stretched, a bone-cracking stretch … and brushed against something else in the bed. Something warm. Breathing. Memory returned in a rush, just as the something warm became obviously Arian—and he heard her yawn.

Well. All the doubts, all the misery of their separation, all his fear for her when he found the arrows—all that had vanished in the night. More than Midwinter vows now made them one.

“Morning joy,” she said, warm against him, shoulder to hip.

“And to you,” he said. “I suppose we should get up and dressed before the whole company of Squires comes in to witness.” He slid out of the covers. Cold. Still too dark in the room to see her. The temptation to slide back in was strong, but he heard just a little noise in the passage outside: others were up, would soon intrude, and he and Arian would have more nights. He pulled on his robe and went to the hearth.

He stirred the fire, lit the candles, opened the curtains to the soft silvery light of a snow-dawn, the flakes coming down lazily. When he looked back at the bed, Arian had propped herself up on the pillows, watching him. It was all he could do to turn away, open the panel to his closet, and bring her a robe.

“We shall have to open the queen’s chambers for you,” he said.

“As long as the king’s bed is open to me, I am content,” Arian said, wrapping the robe around her. “And we have weapons practice, do we not?”

“We do,” Kieri said.

More quickly than he wanted, they were both dressed. Outside the door, Kieri found Garris … Garris alone.

“That was tactful,” he said.

“Some of them were thinking things up,” Garris said. “I cleared them out. You’ll find them in the salle.”

Drill in the salle followed its usual routine; the armsmasters kept everyone too busy for comment on the king’s new situation, for which Kieri was grateful. Everyone was breathless by the time the glass had turned again, and Kieri went up to bathe and dress for a day he hoped would be equally routine. Breakfast included leftovers from the previous day’s feast.

“Did all this come from our kitchen?” he asked the steward when yet another tray came in. Sweet and savory stuffed pastries, candied fruits, little round spice cakes.

“No, sir king. Guests brought some already made to save our cooks the work.”

Kieri took a handful of honey-flavored pastries and toasted nuts along to his office. Garris met him there with the first of the day’s chores, the schedule for testing the new applicants for King’s Squires. Then he had meetings with his Council and a review of the damages of the war with a group of merchants, headed by Geraint Chalvers, who wondered if the scathefire path might become a useful road to the river port they wanted to build. He needed to write dispatches to Tsaia, Pargun, Prealíth, Kostandan, as well as to his own troops. He had no time to talk—really talk—to Arian or to the Halverics, to tell the Seneschal all that had happened in the ossuary, or to ask the elves what really lay under the mound in the King’s Grove. He jotted down some of the things he felt he must do—questions he must ask, issues he must solve—but other issues stood before him as live persons, demanding immediate attention.

The next day was the same—urgent matters, all made more urgent by the recent war, by the season, by the short time (so claimed those involved) in which to plan the state wedding. Kieri wanted to resettle those whose steadings had been destroyed by scathefire, but that required negotiation with the elves, new grants of land to replace the old, and so did the proposed river port.

And the elves had vanished again.