The Traders' War (Merchant Princes Omnibus 2) (40 page)

‘We understand you know why you are here?’

‘I –’ Helge tripped over her tongue. ‘I am to marry, yes?’

‘That is the idea.’ The king frowned slightly. Then he reached up and lifted one corner of her veil. ‘Ah. We understand now.’ He let it fall. ‘We apologize for our
curiosity. Was it serious?’

‘I –’
could break Henryk’s career
right now,
for good
, she realized.
But that way it wouldn’t be personal, would it?
‘I walk into
bedpost,’ she said slowly. She felt a sudden stab of rage.
Let him wonder when it’s going to come
. ‘Is nothing serious.’

‘Good.’ The frown lifted slightly. ‘We trust you will willingly uphold your party’s side of the bargain, then?’

Bargain? What bargain?
She looked at him blankly, then realized what he must be talking about. ‘I am the daughter of my mother.’

‘That is more than sufficient.’ He nodded. ‘A glass of wine for the countess,’ he casually dropped in the direction of a baron, who hustled away to find a waiter.
‘Prince Creon is a troubling responsibility,’ he said.

‘Responsibility?’ It was a new word to Helge.

‘
Responsibility
,’ he repeated in English. ‘Hmm. Your tongue comes along wonderfully. Soon few will think you a half-wit like my son.’

Aha
. ‘That is the veil, the, uh, cover, for the marriage?’

‘For now.’ The king nodded. Miriam forced herself to unkink her fingers before she burst a seam in her gloves. They were curled into claws.
They think I’m an idiot?
‘It is a useful fiction.’

‘But your son – ’

‘Can speak for himself.’ The king smiled sadly. ‘Can’t you, Creon?’

‘Muh-marriage?’ Creon lurched toward Helge curiously, stopped when he was facing her.

Helge sighed. He
wasn’t
ugly, that was the bad news. If you straightened his back, wiped away the string of drool, and unwound the genetic disorder that had left him wide-open to
brain damage delivered by an assassin’s dose of artificial sweetener in his food when he was a child, he’d be more than presentable: he’d be a catch, like his elder brother. The
thought of the older one nearly made her shudder: she caught herself in time.
Remember what they call them, the Idiot and the Pervert
, she warned herself. ‘Hello, Creon,’ she
said slowly.

‘Muh-marriage?’ he mumbled. ‘I’m hungry – ’

It was a miracle he was still walking. Or conscious. She pitied him. ‘Do you know what that means?’ she asked.

‘Muh, muh –’ He reached out a hand and she took it. He looked at her for a moment, puzzled as if by something far beyond his understanding, and squeezed. Helge yelped. Heads
turned.

‘We must apologize again,’ said the prince’s father, stepping in to detach his hand from her wrist. He did so gently, then raised an eyebrow. ‘You are sure this is the
prize you want?’ he asked quietly.

Helge licked her lips. ‘So my mother tells me.’
And the rest of my long-lost family. At gunpoint
.

‘Ah well, on your head be it, just so long as you are gentle with him. He needs protecting. It is not his fault.’

‘I –’
I’d like to find the assholes who did this to him and give them something in return
. ‘I know that.’ As unwilling arranged marriages went, Creon
looked unlikely to be a demanding husband.
I just hope Doctor ven Hjalmar knows what he’s doing
, she thought.
If he doesn’t, if they expect me to
sleep
with
Creon
. . . All of a sudden, test tubes and turkey basters held a remarkable allure. A glass of sparkling wine appeared in her hand and she drank it down in one mouthful, then held out her
glass for a refill. ‘I will look after him,’ she promised, and was surprised to find that it came easily.
It’s not his fault he’s damaged goods
, she thought, then
did a double take.
Is that what Henryk thinks
I
am?

The king nodded. ‘We must circulate,’ he said. ‘At dinner, you will be seated to our left.’ Then he disappeared, leaving her with Creon and his discreet minders, and the
Queen Mother. Which latter worthy grimaced at her horribly – or perhaps it was intended as an impish grin – and hobbled over.

‘It will go well,’ she insisted, gripping Helge’s wrist. ‘You are a modest young woman, I see. Good for you, Helge. You have good hips, too.’ She winked. ‘You
will enjoy the fruits, if not the planting.’

‘Uh. Thank you,’ Helge said carefully, and detached herself as soon as she could, which turned out to be when Angelin’s glass ran dry. She glanced around, wondering if she
could find somewhere to hide. Her disguise wasn’t exactly helping make her inconspicuous. Then she spotted a familiar face across the room. She slid along the wall toward his corner. His eyes
slid past her at first:
What’s wrong?
she wondered. Then she realized.
Oh, he doesn’t recognize me
. She pushed back the veil and nodded at him, and James Lee started.
‘Hi,’ she said, reverting to English.

‘Hi yourself.’ He eyed her up and down. ‘How – modest?’

‘I’m supposed to be saving myself for my husband.’ She pulled a face. ‘Not that he’d notice.’

‘Hah. I didn’t know you were married.’

‘I’m not. Yet. Are you?’

‘Oh, absolutely not. So where’s the lucky man?’ He looked mildly irritated.
So, have I got your interest?
Miriam wondered idly.

‘Over there.’ She tilted her head, then spotted the Queen Mother looking round. ‘’Scuse me.’ She dropped her veil.

‘You’re not –’He looked aghast. ‘You’re going to marry the Idiot?’

She sighed. ‘I wish people wouldn’t call him that.’

‘But you –’ He stopped. ‘You
are
. You’re going to do it.’

‘Yes,’ she said tightly. ‘I have a shortage of alternative offers, in case you’d forgotten. A woman of my age and status needs to be grateful for what she can get’
– and for her relatives refraining from poisoning her mother – ‘and all that.’

‘Ha. I’d marry you, if you asked,’ said Lee. There was a dangerous gleam in his eye.

‘If –’ She took a deep breath, constrained by the armor of her role. ‘I am
required
to produce royal offspring,’ she said bitterly.

Lee glanced away. ‘The traditional penalty for indiscretions with the wives of royalty is rather drastic,’ he murmured.

She snorted quietly. ‘I wasn’t offering.’
Ye t
. ‘I’m not in the market.’
But get back to me after I’ve been married to Creon for a year or
two. By then, even the goats will be looking attractive
. ‘Listen, did you remember what I asked for?’

‘Oh, this?’ A twist of his hand, and a gleam of silver: a small locket on a chain slid into his palm.

Helge’s breath caught. Freedom in a capsule. It was almost painful. If she took it she could desert all her responsibilities, her duty to Patricia, her impending marriage to the damaged
cadet branch of the monarchy – ‘What do you want for it?’ she asked quietly.

‘From you?’ Lee stared at her for a long second. ‘One kiss, my lady.’

The spell broke. She reached out and folded his fingers around the chain. ‘Not now,’ she said gently. ‘You’ve no idea what it costs me to say that. But –
’

He laid a finger on the back of her hand. ‘Take it now.’

‘Really?’

‘Just say you will let me petition for my fee later, that’s all I ask.’

She breathed out slowly. Her knees suddenly felt like jelly.
Wow, you’re a sweet-talker
. ‘You know you’re asking for something dangerous.’

‘For you, no risk is too great.’ He smiled, challenging her to deny it.

She took another deep breath. ‘Yes, then.’

He tilted his hand upside-down and she felt the locket and its chain pour into her gloved hand. She fumbled hastily with the buttons at her wrist, then slid the family treasure inside and
refastened the sleeve. ‘Have you any idea what this means to me?’ she asked.

‘It’s the key to a prison cell.’ He raised his wineglass. ‘I’ve been in that cell too. If I wanted to leave badly enough – ’

‘Oh. Oh. I see.’ The hell of it was, he was telling the truth: he could violate his status as a hostage anytime he felt like it – anytime he felt like restarting a war that his
own family could only lose. She felt a sudden stab of empathy for him.
That’s dangerous
, part of her realized. Another part of her remembered Roland, and felt betrayed. But Roland
was dead, and she was still alive, and seemingly destined for a loveless marriage: why shouldn’t she enjoy a discreet fling on the side?
But not now
, she rationalized. Not right
under the eyes of the royal dynasty, not with half the Clan waiting outside for a grand dinner at which a betrothal would be announced. Not until after the royal wedding, and the pregnancy –
her mind shied away from thinking of it as
her
pregnancy – and the birth of the heir. The heir to the throne who’d be a W* heterozygote and on whose behalf Henryk
wouldn’t, bless him, even
dream
of treason. After all, as the old epigram put it,
Treason doth never prosper: what’s the reason? Why if it prosper, none dare call it
treason
.

A bell rang, breaking through the quiet conversation. ‘That means dinner,’ said Lee, bowing slightly, then turning to slip away. ‘I’ll see you later.’

*

They filed out through the door, Helge on the king’s arm, before an audience of hundreds of faces. She felt her knees knock. For a moment she half-panicked: then she
realized nobody could see her face. ‘Put back your veil, my dear,’ the king murmured. ‘Your seat.’

Hypnotized, she sat down on something extremely hard and unforgiving, like a slab of solid wood.
A throne
. A brassy cacophony of trumpetlike horns blatted from the sidelines as other
notables stepped forward and sat down to either side of – then opposite – her. She moved her veil out of the way, then recoiled. A wizened old woman – a crone in spirit as well as
age – sat across the table from her. ‘
You
,’ she said.

‘Is that any way to address your grandmother?’ The old dowager looked down her nose at her. ‘I beg your pardon, your majesty, one needs must teach the young flower that those
who stand tallest are the first to be cut down to size.’

‘This is
your
doing,’ Helge accused.

‘Hardly. It’s traditional.’ Hildegarde snorted. ‘Eat your sweetbreads. It’s long past time you and I had a talk and cleared the air between us.’

‘We’d listen to her, if we were you,’ the king told Helge. Then he turned to speak to the elderly courtier on his right, effectively locking her out of his sphere of
conversation.

‘There’s nothing to talk about,’ Helge said sullenly. She toyed with her food, some sort of meat in a glazed sugar sauce.

‘Your demeanor does you credit, my dear, but it doesn’t deceive me. You’re still looking for a way out. Let me tell you, there isn’t one.’

‘Uh-huh.’ Helge took a mouthful of appetizer. It was disgustingly rich, implausible as an appetizer. Oily, too.

‘Every woman in our lineage goes through this sooner or later,’ said the dowager. She stabbed a piece of meat with her knife, held it to her mouth, and nibbled delicately at it with
her yellowing teeth. ‘You’re nothing special, child.’

Helge stared at her, speechless with rage.

‘Go on, hate me,’ Hildegarde said indulgently. ‘It goes with the territory.’ She’d switched to English, in deference to her granddaughter’s trouble with the
vernacular, but now Miriam was having trouble staying in character as Helge. ‘It’ll go easier for you if you hate me. Go on.’

‘I thought you didn’t believe in me.’ Miriam bit into the sweetbread.
Sheep’s pancreas
, a part of her remembered. ‘Last time we met you called me a
fraud.’

‘Allow me to concede that your mother vouched for you satisfactorily. And I will admit she is who she claims to be. Even after a third of a century of blessed peace and quiet she’s
hard to deny, the minx.’

‘She’s no – ’

‘Yes she
is
. Don’t you see that? She even fooled you.’

‘No she didn’t.’

‘Yes she did.’ The dowager put her fork down. ‘She’s always been the devious viper in my bosom. She brought you up to be loyal to her and her only. When she decided to
come in from the cold, she sent you on ahead to test the waters. Now she’s making a play for the royal succession. And she’s got you thinking she’s a poor, harmless victim and
you’re doing this to protect her, hasn’t she?’

Miriam stared at Hildegarde, aghast. ‘That’s not how it is,’ she said.

Her grandmother looked at her disdainfully. ‘As you grow older you’ll see things more clearly. You won’t feel yourself changing on the inside, but the outside – ah,
that’s different. You’ve got to learn to look beneath the skin, child. The war of mother against daughters continues, and you can’t simply opt out of it by imagining there to be
some special truce between your mother and yourself.’ Servants were circulating with silver goblets of pale wine. ‘Ah, it’s time.’

‘What?’

‘Don’t drink that yet,’ the dowager snapped. ‘It’s mead,’ she added, ‘not that I’d expect you to know what that is, considering how Patricia
neglected your upbringing.’

Miriam flushed.

There was another blast of trumpets. Everyone downed eating-knives and looked at the raised platform expectantly.

‘A toast,’ announced the king, raising his voice. ‘This evening, we have the honor to announce that our son Creon offers his hand to this lady, the Countess Helge voh Thorold
d’Hjorth, in alliance of marriage. Her guardian, the Dowager Duchess Hildegarde voh Hjorth d’Hjalmar, is present this evening. My lady, what say you?’

He’s not talking to me
, Miriam realized, as the dowager shuffled to her feet. ‘Your majesty, my lord. On behalf of my family I thank you from the bottom of my heart for this
offer, and I assure you that she would be delighted to accept.’

Miriam stared, rosy-cheeked with embarrassment and anger, at her ancient grandmother.

‘Thank you,’ the king said formally. ‘May the alliance of our lines be peaceful and fruitful.’ He raised his silver goblet. ‘To the happy couple!’