The Swans' War 1 - The One Kingdom (19 page)

Baore and Tam took up the oars and sent the boat speeding down the river. The island fell quickly astern, the water to one side white and broken, while the other side was calm and shadowed. They rowed on in silence, Tam working hard to match Baore's stroke.

For an hour they kept this up, until Tam collapsed over his oars, gasping and heaving. He closed his eyes and saw the dark silhouette of a man clinging to the roots of a gray stone tree, fog weaving around him in ragged strands.

THE CASTLE HAD COME TO LIFE AS THOUGH A SPELL HAD BEEN suddenly and mysteriously lifted. Elise could feel it in the excitement of the servants—the whispering and quick looks. The Prince of Innes had come secretly to visit, bringing with him his son—the young man Menwyn hoped Elise would marry. Marry. Even the word had an unreal quality. As though it didn't quite have meaning—or its meaning was just beyond her grasp. Elise's maid laced her into a gown for the reception and dinner, and as the servant struggled to make her charge presentable, Elise's thoughts went back to her strange meeting with the minstrel that afternoon. With him travels his handsome son. I will tell you honestly, lady, that if you are not made of stone you will find him much to your liking. But I have come to warn you. A shiver ran through her and she colored a little. Of course, the memory of the minstrel's dark, unsettling gaze disturbed her enough. Those world-weary eyes had looked upon her and she had almost blushed, for immediately she felt that he knew what she was feeling—and what she was often feeling it was better men did not know.

His look had so plainly said, You are a young woman like many another and will hold no surprises for me.

She shook her head just a little. It was the look of a man who had known too many women, she thought. A rogue. Gwyden Dore, she had called him. A hero's name, not a scoundrel's, but she feared he was the latter. Then why should she listen to such a man?

. .. if you are not made of stone you will find him much to your liking. But I have come to warn you.

She was not made of stone. Elise was well aware of that. In truth, she wished she were made of sterner stuff.

For the first time since she had talked to the minstrel his final words registered. He had come to warn her—not set her afire with anticipation. To warn her.

Of course she had no intention of marrying the son of the Prince of Innes, no matter how much to her liking he might be. Menwyn wanted this alliance to further his own designs, and that was almost enough to harden her resistance: to thwart Menwyn. But there was more. She wanted no part of the Wills' madness or their arrogant ambitions.

She had never once heard a member of her family say that they wanted to rule to bring peace and order to the land or prosperity to the people. They wanted to rule out of some misguided belief that it was their right. That was the sad truth of her family, and she was sure the Renné were no different.

She dared a glance toward the mirror. Certainly no eligible young prince would be interested in her—in her name perhaps, but not in her. She tried to smile charmingly and failed completely, watching her face collapse into a frightened self-conscious look. Her face was too long, her eyes not large and doelike as men seemed to prefer them. Her brow was good, and her nose straight and regal enough, and her hair was ... well, it was almost flamboyant it was so splendid: thick and long and curly and corn-silk golden and—"Ouch!"

"Well, don't hunch your shoulders so. Pull them back," her maid said.” Stand up straight as you should. You are the daughter of a nobleman." No, Elise thought, I am the niece of a usurper. She came down the stairs and into the rotunda. Braidon Castle was not large but it was a lovely building, she thought. The "candle stair," as it was called, tonight boasted a taper in every sconce; and there were half a hundred of these—two for each stair. The sconces paralleled the curving railing and the candles gave light to the entire rotunda, so that the decorations in the white stone walls seemed almost aglow. If one flew down the stairs, which she had done as a child, one could put out most of the candles in one go. Two footmen stood by the entrance to the reception hall, and they bowed and opened the doors for her. Of course, she should not enter unescorted, but it would annoy her uncle so she did it. She stopped inside the door. All the usual faces were there as well as the party of the Prince of Innes, dressed in more somber colors—no doubt the fashion this season in the old kingdom. Musicians were playing quietly in the corner, which would be driving her father mad. He detested this treatment of music and its players. Music was meant to be listened to. Listened to in almost reverential silence and with all of one's attention. In fact, there was her father sitting in shadow near the players, listening attentively. Most minstrels would be more flattered by this than by an audience of ten thousand.” Your Highness." It was Menwyn's vicious wife, Bette: the other person Elise hated utterly. She crossed quickly to her niece and took her arm, as though hoping to hide the fact that Elise had entered alone. Bette was the most outwardly gracious woman in the castle, but well known to be quietly malicious and vindictive. Elise happened to know that the servants called her the "collie," after the herd dog that would only bite from behind.

The Lady Bette was not an unattractive woman—not that she was beautiful or even pretty—but she did much with what she had. Her long, thin face was made to look more full by careful arrangement of the hair, and her small eyes were made larger by skillful use of makeup. Her mouth, her weapon of choice, was surprisingly full and promising— deceptively so.

"Our guests are so looking forward to meeting you," Lady Bette said, her manner expansive and overly merry.

The crowd parted as they crossed the room, men bowing and ladies curtseying to the only child of the Wills family heir—the man who sat alone in the shadows, ignored.

Menwyn bowed as they approached, then reached out to put a hand on her back, pressing her gently but firmly forward.” Your Highness," he said, "Prince Neit of Innes."A large man, whose face and age were hidden behind a thick, black beard, bowed stiffly.” Your Highness," he said, kissing her offered hand.

She almost cringed at the touch of him, her immediate reaction was so strong.

/s it the man or his intent that fills me with such loathing? she wondered.

"Prince Michael," Menwyn said, introducing the son.

A young man seemed to appear out of the throng, and such a contrast between father and son she had seldom seen. The son, a youth about her own age, was all light and joy where the father was dark and dull. His boyish face seemed about to break into a grin of mischief, while gaiety and humor filled his eyes, already etched with lines from too much laughter. In form he was tall, thin waisted, and lithe— not yet having broadened to his full stature.

Immediately she liked him. Here was a fellow spirit, Elise thought. The nameless minstrel who had ridden out to warn her had not even begun to guess her response to this young man. Prince Michael had said something that she did not catch and was kissing her hand. She was not made of stone. Not one part of her. More than anything she wanted to sit down. To catch her suddenly absent breath and regain control of herself. There was a cousin to whom she was introduced, though he was indistinguishable from the crowd, and then several other notables who had accompanied the Prince. Elise did not register their names. It was clear that the young Prince, Michael, was the joy of his father's circle. He had wit and charm and a mischievous streak that delighted ladies and men alike. He was appropriately respectful and hilariously disrespectful by turn, knowing just when and where to aim his wit and when to be still. But above all he was the brunt of his own jests, for he mocked himself less gently than any other. It was more than a contrast of appearance between father and son, for whenever Prince Neit spoke he revealed his ponderous thinking, lack of originality, and utter absence of subtlety. He took himself completely seriously, listened poorly, and did not brook disagreement. Elise recognized him for an ass and detested him completely. He was also a thick-bodied man with no neck, and gave her the clear impression that he was actually an animal under a spell that allowed him to pass as human: not an ass but a bear dressed in the clothing of a nobleman. He lumbered through society and was thought merely dull, with only a few simple wants that he would go to any length to fulfill. Very soon they were called to dinner and she found herself seated between Prince Michael and some cousin of the "old Prince," as she had come to think of him. The cousin was clearly there to listen and report everything she said. Next to the young Prince, her father sat at the table's head, quiet and a bit sullen, for the sham of his situation he found humiliating—even after all the years he had endured it.

To Carral's right the old Prince took the place of honor, and beside him Lady Bette smiled and nodded ingratiatingly. Next to her sat Menwyn, of course, secure in his position, not needing to usurp the place at the table's head, too.

"I hope, Lord Carral, that we will have the honor of hearing you play," Prince Michael said to her father.

Elise noted that he was quite respectful as he said this, which won her approval.

Her father tilted his head to one side.” It is hardly an honor, Prince. Will you stay long?""A few days, I think. Not long enough. I—I have tried to play many of your pieces, for minstrels come to our doors claiming to have learned them from you. But I will tell you, they are too difficult for me.""What instrument do you favor?" Carral asked, coming out of his shell a little at this talk of music and the sincerity of the Prince's voice.

"The Faellute, sir, though after years of dedicated effort and the best intentions of a dozen teachers, I have now attained a level of mediocrity that, after so great an effort, can only be achieved by the truly talentless. It is a sad thing, for I dearly love music.""We are not all born to music," Carral said, smiling, "though many wish they were. No doubt you have another calling."The mischievous grin flashed, then disappeared.” I don't think so, sir, to be completely honest. I seem to have come into this world without any native talent for anything useful. Oh, I am told I have some charm and excel at the art of conversation, but any society that values that would be impoverished indeed. No, I'm afraid I have no talent, though I enjoy nothing more than to hear those of true talent practice their art.""Beware of him, Lord Carral," the old Prince growled, "he has a talent for flattery, if nothing else."Lady Bette laughed at this as though it were a clever jest, but there was no jesting in the old Prince's tone.” I shall gladly play for you, Prince," Lord Carral said, "and perhaps Elise will sing." She could not refuse her father, though the thought of singing before this handsome young prince unnerved her terribly. She felt like such a country girl in his presence, for he was so at ease and always found the right thing to say. He was her age but seemed years older.” You must spend your days here pining for the cities and great houses of the old kingdom," the cousin to Elise's left said.” Some others have been telling me they die of boredom here." "I have always thought that only bores die of boredom," Elise said, feeling her anger rise, which made her speak before she thought. Prince Michael laughed.” Well, that explains a number of previously mysterious deaths: Aunt Win, Lord Delddor." Some of the ladies covered their mouths and tittered an-noyingly. Michael leaned forward so he could see the person to Elise's left.” And have you been well recently?" he asked with great sincerity. His cousin colored but apparently felt there was no hope of gaining the upper hand here, and turned quietly to his food.” But you should consider spending some time in the old kingdom, my dear," Lady Bette said softly.” You would gain so much from the experience." Elise was suddenly very alarmed. She glanced quickly at her father, but as usual his face betrayed nothing.” I couldn't leave Father," Elise said quickly.” He depends on me so. Do you joust, Prince Michael?" she asked quickly. She had not the slightest interest in the tournament, but it seemed that she was the only person in the land between the mountains who was so afflicted. It was always a safe area of conversation.

"When forced to, Your Highness," he said smoothly, "but otherwise I do everything to avoid it. It doesn't hold any particular interest for me and it has the added disadvantage of offering the chance of becoming seriously injured.""The Prince is accomplished with both lance and sword, my lady," the old Prince said, "but his frivolous manner will not allow him to speak of it.""I see," Elise said.” It is fortunate for us all, don't you think, that so few have talent for art and so many have a talent for killing their fellow men?""War is an art, Lady Elise," the old Prince said, "and if not for sworn men-at-arms we should be at the mercy of brigands and warlords, always and forever."Elise was about to answer that these brigands and warlords were, in fact, men-at-arms when Menwyn slipped into the conversation and led it off down a different path. Elise thought the Prince of Innes glowered at her for a moment before turning his attention to her uncle.

Lady Bette and Menwyn carefully guided the conversation after that, and Elise would have been annoyed if not for the feigned interest of Prince Michael, who made gentle mockery of Bette and Menwyn without their even noticing. It was all Elise could do not to laugh out loud.

Dinner ended and they returned to the reception hall, where minstrels played. Some few of the guests listened, but most talked. Elise maneuvered herself, she feared rather shamelessly, into the group that included Prince Michael. Here she had the joy of his quick asides to her which included her in the joke while excluding all others. She was flattered beyond caring that they were calculated to have this very effect.

A servant came and fetched her to her father, and her heart suddenly began to beat against her ribs. She had foolishly agreed to sing.

"What will it be?" her father asked, deftly tuning his lute. ' 'The Winter's Spring'?""Do you remember the old tune of Gwyden Dore?'^ "We have not tried my hand at that in many a year," Carral said, "not since you were a girl." "But you remember it, don't you?" Her father seldom forgot a tune.” I can manage if you can." She took her place, standing by him, and closed her eyes as her father played the introductory phrases.”

Gwyden Dore was a man of lore, A knight of battle true." She faltered only over a line or two, and her father did not falter at all, for it was a simple tune and did not tax his talent. Around her melody he embroidered subtly, never drawing attention away from the song itself, as though he put a frame around a picture—a beautiful frame, certainly—but its purpose was only to enhance the central theme. He was too generous a soul, Elise knew. The song she sang bore the tragic ending, as she had preferred as a young girl, not the ending her mysterious minstrel had mentioned. But now that she was a little older perhaps a happy ending would not be so unacceptable, though less romantic for all that. She glanced at the young Prince and was bewildered to find him staring at her raptly. She almost stumbled over a line. The song ended to applause and calls for another, but Elise slipped away as quickly as she could, knowing full well that the minstrels had with them a girl with a voice like an angel and that everyone really wanted to hear her father play. Even the minstrels who would be invited to perform with Carral would watch raptly as he played—minstrels who heard music every night of their lives. Elise stepped into the shadow of a column for a moment, catching her breath and calming her heart. From her hiding place she surveyed the room, hoping that no one would notice how intently she searched and for whom. Just as she was about to resign herself to disappointment she found Prince Michael across the room. His back was to her and he was talking to another—a man, she was glad to see, and not one of her witless cousins. But there was something odd about this conversation, Elise thought, for the Prince seemed stiff, almost rigid, not his graceful self.