Kings of the North (56 page)

“As close to the palace as you could get,” the Lady said.

“Yes,” Arian said. “Because we all sought a chance to serve. I helped in the stables, and the Master of Horse assigned me to exercise those horses elves favor, the color of air and water.”

“And had your chance then to make your plans—” the Lady said.

“I had none beyond applying for King’s Squire,” Arian said. “Like many others. The royal stables were full; the whole city was packed with visitors, as my Lady knows. All of us worked daylong and had no time for gawking. We knew the Master of Horse would keep account of our work, even had we been inclined to stray, and we were not.”

Arian paused; the Lady said nothing this time, and she went on again. “I first saw the king on the day of his coronation. It was then as if the taig sang through me, but I thought it was the day, not the man, though the man was—” She glanced aside at Kieri. “—the king was magnificent, as my Lady knows.” Another pause. “Then the Master of Horse asked among us for those unafraid of horses of air and water—to show the mounts he had picked for the king’s pleasure. I went in the riding school at his command and there was the king with Lord Halveric and his lady and the Master of Horse. My Lady, my heart leapt in my chest; I saw him close and heard his voice and how he talked with his friends.”

“And marked him as prey,” the Lady said, “as your father did your mother.”

Arian drew breath, but Kieri spoke first. “Grandmother, for more than a half-year Arian has served as King’s Squire without once hinting she had any intentions, until I myself revealed an inclination.”

“A half-year! That is a handful of breaths—”

“To you, who are immortal. To me, to my realm, it is more than long enough. You know they want me to marry and give them an heir. You said you wanted the same, back in the spring.”

“I do, but—”

“Did you not have Orlith tell me I should marry part elven?”

“Yes, but—”

“And Arian is half-elven.”

“Of the wrong heritage,” the Lady said. “She will be faithless, like her father—”

“Why not faithful, like my mother, who never considered marrying anyone after my father left?” Arian asked. Anger edged her voice. “I was reared in her house; do you think I learned nothing there?”

“Not courtesy, that is certain,” the Lady said.

Kieri stepped between them. “It is not your decision,” he said to the Lady. “As for courtesy, I could trust Arian, like all my Squires, to remain courteous with Pargunese; if she is angry now, it is because you insult her.”

“I do not—”

“You call us here, before you and her father, to berate her, accuse her of stalking me like prey, and tell her she is unworthy—and you think
she
is discourteous?”

“Grandson—!”

“I am ashamed of you,” Kieri said. All his suspicions rose like ghosts around him, all his frustrations with her treatment of him. “I trusted that you would at least give us a fair hearing, and instead—”

The air shimmered; the ground trembled as the taig reacted to the anger of King and Lady. Arian and her father cried “No!” at the same moment; both knelt, hands on the ground.

“The taig cries,” Arian said to Kieri. “I will not—I cannot—” Tears ran down her face. “I will not destroy the kingdom because of you—if it means that, then I will go away—”

Kieri heard her father speaking, but not what he said; he stared at Arian, then looked at his grandmother’s angry face. The taig trembled around him; he reached to soothe it, as he had been taught. It shivered from the touch of his mind, then gradually relaxed; a glamour spread from the Lady, a spell of stillness and calm he could both see and feel.

“You see, grandson,” she said, this time in a quieter voice. “You see what it would mean.”

“Only because you are opposed,” Kieri said, struggling for the same calm. “If you were not—”

“I will go,” Arian said suddenly. “I will go far away and you will find someone else.”

“No!”

“My lord—Sir King—I cannot be the reason this kingdom fails.
You
are what we need; you must be here, and king, and that means you and the Lady must sustain the taig.”

The Lady nodded. “She is right, grandson. If we quarrel, the taig will fray.”

“I did not start the quarrel,” Kieri said. “You—”

“But I will end it,” Arian said. “I told you truly, Sir King. If our marriage cannot be—if it would harm the kingdom—I will go and make a life for myself somewhere else.”

“No,” Kieri said again. “You must not—”

“We must,” Arian said. “For duty. For the kingdom’s sake.”

“That cannot be right,” Kieri said. He looked at the Lady. “Last night I had a—a vision.”

She frowned a little. “Vision?”

“We had just come back from the north—it was a difficult trip—”

“The king of Pargun was stabbed by a traitor, and my lord king healed him,” Arian said. Her voice too had steadied; Kieri felt hope.

“You
healed
?” the Lady said.

“Apparently,” Kieri said. “But to last night—”

“But that—but Orlith has told me you are not yet trained—” The Lady sounded more worried than amazed.

“I had to try something,” Kieri said, “or all my efforts would have failed and ensured a Pargunese attack.”

“It was a poisoned dagger,” Arian put in. “Nothing else but the king’s magic would have saved him.”

“How did you know—?” the Lady asked.

“I was stabbed much the same way,” Kieri said, “and the paladin Paksenarrion saved me. I tried to do what she did. But that was days ago. Last night—I was thinking of Tammarion—thinking of the women I’d met so far this year—most of them too young, I thought, judging them by looks.” He glanced aside at Arian. “And then she came to me. Came as she has never come before.”

“Who? Arian?” the Lady asked.

“Tammarion,” Arian breathed.

“Yes,” Kieri said. “Tammarion. It was … it was not like I had ever imagined, the times I used to wish for it. Gentle. Calm. She bade me
withhold nothing from my future wife. And she said whom else could I love but a woman with a sword.”

“A soldier?” the Lady asked; she grimaced.

“A companion,” Kieri said. “An equal, as Tamar was. A woman who could accept all my past—who would not be frightened or repelled by the scars on my body or in my mind, the violence in which I lived so long, the need a king has to defend, if need be with his own body, his realm. A woman of courage. And then I went to bed, and while asleep dreamed, a true dream. Alyanya came to me, and Torre of the Necklace, Falk, and Gird, and Camwyn … I woke refreshed and awed and then slept again. So when I went down to practice in the salle, I was still somewhat bemused.”

“And there was Arian ready to snare you,” the Lady said. “I blame you not, grandson, after a dream like that, but—”

“She did not
snare
me. Well, she did ambush me, in the salle, but that was at Carlion’s command because I was not attentive. She dropped me like a stone. He also asked if I was thinking about a wife—everyone does, except perhaps you—and I said then I would wed a woman of Lyonya, a woman with a sword, and that if my Squires were not too young—and it was after that I learned they were not.”

“And you chose the first at hand.”

Kieri shook his head. “No, Grandmother. I told you. I had loved her before; I was pulled that way by the same force that pulled me to Tammarion.”

“And yet,” the Lady said, “the impediment remains. Her father had charms to entangle many women; I’ve no doubt she has charms to entangle men, whether she knows it or not. Tell me—” she said suddenly to Arian. “Have you had lovers?”

Kieri opened his mouth to protest, but Arian answered calmly. “Many years ago, I twice shared a bed with a young man. We were both, I believe, about twenty-four and had just won our rubies. He was killed by a daskdraudigs the next year.”

“And would you have married him? Been faithful to him?”

“I do not know,” Arian said. Her expression was thoughtful but remote. “That was half my lifetime ago, and he never asked. I doubt he would have; he had told me before that his family wanted him to marry in the old human lines, not half-elven. We celebrated our
knighthood as many did—the king knows—” She looked at Kieri, who nodded.

“And that is all?” the Lady asked, with a glance at Arian’s father.

“Enough,”
Kieri said. “I do not see that these questions concern you, if I do not choose to ask them.”

The Lady raised her brows. “She knows you had a wife; surely you should know if she had … liaisons.”

“That is between her and me. And if she did, what matter?”

“If you truly cannot see what the matter is, then you do need my guidance and my questions,” the Lady said.

“What I see is that you are using her to punish her father,” Kieri said. “You are willing to risk the future of the realm to satisfy an old quarrel.”

“You are wrong,” the Lady said. “But you are not in a mood for reason. Will you at least delay until your blood cools?” Kieri felt another nudge from her glamour but resisted it.

“I have said I will leave,” Arian said. “I meant it.” She pulled her hand from Kieri’s. “Sir King, you know the realm must come first. I will not be the cause of a quarrel that harms it. I cannot be. And it will be harder later.” She looked at the Lady. “My Lady, you are wrong: I did not trap your grandson, and I am not like my father. It is indeed true love I bear for him. If you come to realize that, before he finds another, I am sure your taig-sense will find me.”

Kieri reached for her, but she evaded him. “Arian, please—”

“No. War may be brewing with Pargun—we know that. The taig is in peril from without; it must not be in peril from within as well. Fix your mind on your kingdom, Kieri …” Her voice trembled on his name, the first time she had said it to him. “We have both been alone a long time; we are not children who must have their pleasures now or howl for them.” With that she turned on her heel and ran down the hill’s slope, vanishing into the path that led back to the palace.

“She is more a queen than you,” Kieri said to the Lady. He could scarce keep his voice steady for the pain that pierced him like a blade, the anger below it that threatened to break loose again. “She thought first of the realm.” He turned and ran down the hill, anger lending him speed. Where the other Squires waited, he ran past them without a word. He heard their voices, their footsteps, but ignored them.

W
hen he reached the palace, Arian was nowhere to be found. Winded, Kieri checked the stables, in case she had taken a mount, and found her Squire’s tabard hung neatly on the door of an empty stall. No other trace remained of her; she had taken her own mount and the travel pack all the Squires kept ready.

“We should follow her?” asked Kaelith.

“No,” Kieri said. He could scarcely speak to anyone for the storm of emotions he felt. “It was her choice to leave; it will be her choice to return when she is ready.” He could feel the taig’s distress and struggled to calm himself. He didn’t want to be calm; he wanted to smack his grandmother sideways, force her to accept his choice.

Orlith appeared in the forecourt. “Sir King, the taig—”

“Is not nearly as upset as I am,” Kieri said. “I’m going to the rose garden.”

“Do you want me to—”

“I want you to talk sense to the Lady,” Kieri said. The year’s frustrations edged his voice. “If you can.”

Orlith’s expression stiffened for a moment. “Oh,” he said finally. “You have quarreled with her … about Arian?”

“Yes,” Kieri said between clenched teeth.

“Where is Arian?”

“She left,” Kieri said, “for the sake of the taig, she said.”

“Oh,” Orlith said again. “Oh … dear.”

“If you can tell that … that
person
anything,” Kieri said, “tell her—” But he could not say it, not to Orlith.

“May the First Singer grant you harmony,” Orlith said.

“May the gods grant my grandmother sense,” Kieri said, and stalked off. He knew his anger swirled around him like a cape; he knew it roiled the taig; for the moment he did not care. The taig
should
be upset; the taig should carry to his grandmother how he felt about her interference. All the year long she had failed him, refusing to help when he asked her, and now interfering when he needed only her acquiescence.

Doubt tickled his mind as he came into the rose garden, its bareness filled with the silvery chill light of winter. Not even a faint scent from the fallen petals this long after their bloom, nothing to soothe him but a quiet sadness. Was it really love he felt? Could he have come to love so soon?

He recognized the quality of light as enchantment and burst out, “Do not try that with me! I will not have it, I tell you!” The taig recoiled; the very rose stems seemed to twitch away from him. Kieri tried to reach out to the taig without encountering his grandmother’s glamour; it was like reaching through water to take a pebble from the stream, but he felt the taig open to him a little. To the taig alone, he murmured. “I began to love her earlier, but tried not to, for her sake, for what I thought I knew. We are root and branch, fern and sapling, the moss and the bark … we have grown together all the seasons since I first saw her, that day in the riding hall, and for me that is time enough.”