Through Wolf's Eyes (26 page)

"My father said," Elise added, eager to draw Jet out,
"that Princess Marras was so distracted from the deaths first of her
baby, Alben, then of her husband, Lorimer Stanbrook, that Tedric was
his father's right hand for the two years before King Chalmer's death."

"Indeed," Jet said, "just as my sister Sapphire is
taken up with the minutiae of learning how to run our family estates.
Therefore, I have become my father's confidant in the larger matters of
kingdom politics."

That old song again,
Elise thought, amused. She murmured understandingly and Jet continued:

"My concern is that whomever King Tedric selects,
there will be hurt feelings all around. Rivals passed over may not so
quickly forget their own claims and be reluctant to bend knee to one
they see as an equal."

The forceful manner in which he tossed a bit of roll to one of the ducks suggested that he might be one of these.

"So you favor Lady Blysse Norwood?" Elise asked, keeping her mien quite serious though she was laughing inside. "If she
is
the king's granddaughter, her claim supersedes all others. No rival
would be passed over for one with an equal claim, for no other claim
could be equal."

Jet looked shocked for one quick moment before he regained control of his features.

"If Lady Blysse is Prince Barden's daughter," he
began, a slight stress on the "if," "then, of course, I favor her.
However, there is doubt that she is indeed Barden's daughter."

"Yes?" Elise prompted.

"Certainly! My mother recalls that there were other
children included in Barden's expedition. Lady Blysse could be one of
these."

Elise nodded. She was certain that some thought other
than those raised by Blysse Norwood's addition to the game was burning
behind Jet's eyes and she was nearly as eager for him to tell as he was
to speak.

"There is a way," Jet said slowly, "to make King Tedric's choice easier for him."

"Oh?" For a fleeting moment, Elise wondered if Jet was hinting that Blysse should be assassinated.

"Yes. Give King Tedric a choice that permits him to
unite two of the rival parties for the throne—all three, even, if those
involved are properly cultivated."

Elise shook her head. "I don't understand."

"If you and I married, Elise," Jet said, leaning
forward and capturing her hand between his own, "then by selecting one
of us, King Tedric would really be selecting both of our houses."

Only her mother's careful training kept Elise's mouth
from dropping open in shock at this cool proposal. At that moment, a
child she hadn't even known still lived within her—a child who had
daydreamed of fervent entreaties, of romantic ballads sung outside her
window by moonlight, of elegant tokens—died forever.

She gasped something inarticulate which Jet, fortunately, interpreted as encouragement rather than dismay.

"I couldn't believe no one had thought of this
solution before," he said, squeezing her fingers tightly. "You are the
sole scion of your house. I am the senior male in mine. Surely King
Tedric would see the wisdom in selecting us over any of our siblings.
He might even forgo the intermediary step of first choosing one of our
parents as his heir and name one of us directly."

You, so you believe,
Elise thought indignantly,
or you wouldn't be so excited by the prospect.

"We two are the only ones who could play this game,"
Jet continued, "and that is to our great advantage. There are no males
in your household who could marry one of my sisters. Purcel Trueheart
is eight years younger than my sister Sapphire—too great a gap for even
Zorana to consider, especially when Purcel is four years shy of his
majority."

"But I also am too young to marry!" Elise protested,
selecting the first argument that Jet's words suggested. "Marriages are
not contracted until the partners are nineteen."

"Consummated," Jet corrected with a unguarded glance
that
suggested that he had fantasized about the prospect with some of the
ardor that had been absent from his proposal. "Some marriages have been
contracted long before that date, nor have all the formalities waited
until the participants reached their majority. In any case, you're
nearly eighteen."

Elise colored. The most usual reason for marriage
before the participants were legal adults was an accidental pregnancy.
No matter what the obvious political advantages, if she and Jet wed,
there would still be whispers, whispers that would not necessarily be
stilled when the bride did not deliver a "premature" infant.

"I would not care to make myself the subject of scandal," she said firmly, "no matter how great the prize to be won."

"I understand, lovely cousin," Jet said, pressing her
fingers to his lips. "Your scruples do you credit. Still, there is no
reason not to arrange a betrothal, is there? King Tedric might even
encourage us to marry before your majority. If we wed at the king's
command, no one could cast aspersions on your maidenly honor."

Elise frowned. Jet's proposal was enticing. He was
handsome, strong, well connected. Though they were cousins, the
relationship was not too close. Indeed, just a few years before, she
had daydreamed about marriage to him. That had been before she had
realized sadly that Lord Rolfston and Lady Melina would not permit
their son to remain unmarried until she was eligible.

Certainly, King Tedric could not fail to see the
advantages of a match between them. Grand Duke Gadman and Grand Duchess
Rosene would both be satisfied, for each would see a descendant ascend
to the throne. Only Aunt Zorana would be unhappy, and even she might be
consoled at the thought of her niece as queen—especially if Jet was
merely consort.

"Would you support me as queen?" Elise asked,
pursuing this idea. "King Tedric might not choose to pass over our
fathers. Or he might name me his heir. My odds of being named heir—even
without any alliance such as you suggest—have usually been considered
better than yours. Would you be content if I were queen and you were my
consort?"

Jet paused as if to consider, but she was certain he had mulled over his answer in advance.

"Yes," he said at last. "I would support you. Whether
you or I were monarch, the other still would be elevated to great
honor. Moreover, our child would follow us onto the throne. That is an
honor not lightly forgone."

Elise nodded. Until this moment, she had not
considered further than her own ascension in the unlikelihood that her
father succeeded King Tedric. Now she realized that more was at stake
here than the prestige and power of a single lifetime.

As a royal ancestor, great honors would be paid to
her even after her death. On the Festival of the Eagle, her image would
be paraded with those of Queen Zorana, King Chalmer, and King Tedric.
If she was consort, those honors still would be paid to her, just as
they were to Clive Elkwood (who had died even before his wife had
solidified her kingdom) and to Queen Rose.

Ancestors were always patrons to their descendants,
but the people believed that ancestral monarchs were patrons to all
their former subjects down through time. As such, they received
sacrifices from every family altar, sacrifices that were said to give
them considerable power in the afterworld.

Aware that Jet was watching her, the glittering light in his eyes brighter than ever, Elise managed to speak:

"That is an interesting point, Jet. I believe that you
would
support my monarchy if I were named before you."

"And would you support my kingship?" he asked,
certain of the reply. "As a scion of House Goshawk, my father outranks
yours. My mother is a Shield of House Gyrfalcon, and so outranks your
Wellward mother. King Tedric may consider this when naming his heir."

"Those arguments," Elise admitted, "have been raised
before—although more usually in your sister's favor. Yes, if we were
wed and King Tedric named you his heir, I would support you."

"And if we were merely engaged?" he pushed.

"Engagements," she stated firmly, "have been broken once
political goals have been attained—as your sister Sapphire has demonstrated so ably."

Jet scowled. "I am not Sapphire!"

"No," Elise replied easily, "but my parents will not overlook her history, even if I trust you."

As I am not yet certain that I do,
she added silently.

"I concede your point," he said gallantly, lightly kissing her hand.

Gently, she drew her hand back, her fingers still tingling from the caress.

"I am a minor yet," she reminded him. "And cannot
contract a marriage for myself. If you are serious about this, you must
approach my parents."

Jet nodded. "I know. Honestly, Elise, I have not even spoken with my own parents on this matter. I wished first to know
your
heart. When I speak with them, may I say that you would consider my proposal?"

Elise liked Jet better for wanting her consent first,
then wondered if he was just being cautious. She phrased her answer
carefully.

"Yes, you may tell them that
I
would consider it. I cannot answer for my parents."

Nor
, she thought, as they made their farewells and Jet took his leave,
have I said that I would accept—only consider.

Still, she would be lying to herself if she did not
admit that an acute thrill had entered her heart at the prospect of
marrying Jet. At this moment, perhaps, his eyes were on the crown, but
she liked the thought that in time she could turn them to herself alone.

Being queen would be preferable, but a consort could
wield as much influence, especially if she held the heart of the
monarch in her hand and bore his heirs within her womb. Humming to
herself, Elise left the summerhouse and hurried toward the house,
suddenly impatient for her parents' return.

O
NCE THE NECESSARY LUGGAGE
,
including Firekeeper's falcon, was transported to the castle, Derian
was given the rest of the day off. He suspected this was so Earl
Kestrel could have a chance to work on Firekeeper by himself. Where
once that would have troubled Derian, now he accepted it. If Firekeeper
could only manage when he was there to defend her, then she was ill
equipped to survive in this new world she had entered.

He wondered how much of her own practical view had
influenced his thoughts on the matter, and then shrugged. Being free of
the castle and of courtly constraints felt good. He had refused the
earl's polite offer of a mount—horses were more trouble than they were
worth within the city walls—and hurried down the cobbled streets on
foot.

His parents' livery stables were conveniently
situated outside the city walls, but their home was near Market Square.
Today the market was in full swing and he grinned at himself for
forgetting that, even as he enjoyed threading through the throng. A few
moon-spans before he would have gone out of his way to avoid the
crowds, but after his sojourn among the nobility he was glad to be back
among the common people.

He immersed himself in the hubbub: the cries of the
vendors praising their wares, the scolding of a mother when her child
strayed, the pinging of the tinkers' hammers, the heated bartering on
all sides. It moved him like music and he danced to it, his steps
graceful and his heart light.

At one stall he bought a roll smeared with strawberry
jam, at another sweets for his brother and sister, at another a basket
of blackberries for his mother. He grinned when a farmer, known to him
for years, raised his eyebrows as he noticed the Kestrel crest stamped
on the reverse of the token offered in payment.

Derian himself had been fairly awed the first time
he'd been given one of those—up until then his pocket money had been
the more common guild tokens. Now he took the Kestrel tokens for
granted. After all, he was now a retainer of House Kestrel and entitled
to use their credit.

Whistling, his basket of berries on his arm, Derian strode
down
the street toward the large brick house with the cut-slate roof that
had been in the Carter family for generations and which, in time, would
pass to him. The front door, used only for formal occasions, was closed
even on this hot afternoon, but the side door which led into the office
was open. He paused in the street, heard his mother's voice rising and
falling in the polite but firm tones she used for business, and passed
around to the kitchen door.

His eight-year-old brother, Brock, light brown hair
bleached from the summer sun, was teasing their sister Damita, who was
sitting on the back steps, shelling sweet peas.

"Damita has a sweet-a," the boy sang, dancing from
foot to foot, "wants to meet 'im, at the square, but here she sits,
shellin' peas. Now do you think that's fair?"

Damita, at thirteen, was as red-haired as Derian, but
whereas his own hair was darkening to a subdued auburn, her curls were
coppery bright. When Derian had departed with Earl Kestrel, she had
been a flat-chested, rambunctious imp, but in these three moon-spans
she seemed to have suddenly changed. She looked more a young woman with
her hair twisted on top of her head and the definite beginnings of a
woman's bosom filling out her summer dress.