Kings of the North

by Elizabeth Moon

  “Your guardians are concerned for your safety,” Kieri began, but Elis made an impatient gesture.

  “At home,” she murmured, “I rode … in trousers like those the Squires wear. But—but then—”

  “Come this way,” Kieri said, and led her farther along the path, where an artfully designed waterfall gave an excuse to face away from the palace windows and the falling water would cover their voices. “Now,” he said, when he was sure they would not be overheard or their faces seen. “Watch the water and listen to me. You are unhappy: the women attending you have seen that. They tell me you have the hands and walk of someone who is used to weapons, and that you and Ganlin are passing secret messages. No—do not turn around and do not jerk like a frightened horse at its lead.”

  She was instantly still, but tense. “I—I cannot talk about that.”

  “I think you are here against your will, and that you and Ganlin were planning something your families did not approve. You’re both related to that woman who came here for my coronation—Hanlin, her name was, a sister of the queen?”

  “A sister of the current queen and Ganlin’s aunt,” Elis said. “The king married again after my mother’s death.” She took a breath and hurried on. “If they find out I told—Sir King, you are right. I did not want to come. Or marry. They drugged me that night at dinner. I was to leave the next day for my own place—my very own—my father promised—and then—”

  “Breathe slower,” Kieri said. “So you were drugged and brought here … and did you then try to escape? Is that why you arrived in the middle of the night?”

  She nodded. “I thought I could outride my guardians—escape completely or arrive long before them, and beg you for mercy.”

  “For mercy?”

  “For—for meaning—” She gulped then and Kieri realized she was about to cry.

  “Pinch your nose,” he said.

  “Wh-hat?”

  “Pinch your nose. Hard. And think of something funny. You must not be seen crying. It leaves your eyes red, and they will ask questions.”

  Startled, she complied, and in a moment was calmer.

  “Soldier’s trick,” Kieri said, grinning. “For a sneeze, for a sob.” He sobered again. “Elis, I will not marry anyone who does not want to marry me. It was wrong of them—I suppose it must have been your father—to drug you and send you unwilling to me. But before I can find a way to help you, I must know more. Why you? Are you the only girl?”

  “No,” Elis said. She let go her nose for a moment and looked almost cross-eyed down it. “I have sisters who would have been willing, but I am the eldest. And I am, my stepmother and father both say, an embarrassment.”

  “Embarrassment?” How could this pretty child be an embarrassment?

  “I am … not ladylike enough. I like riding—in trousers—and working in the stable, and I made my brothers teach me swordplay. When I was younger I wanted to be a soldier, but I knew that could not be, so then I wanted to be a horse-breeder.” She said that fiercely.

  Kieri looked at her in astonishment. She had color in her cheeks now, and her pale eyes sparkled. She reminded him of all the eager young recruits he’d had, male and female alike.

  “Or I could be one of your Squires,” she said, looking up at his face. “I would work hard, I promise.”

  “And what would your father say, if you were a King’s Squire and not a queen?”

  She turned white again in an instant.

  “I’m sorry,” Kieri said quickly. “I did not mean to frighten you.”

  “It is not you.” She pinched her nose hard; the tears that were in her eyes did not brim over. “I can’t tell—”

  Years of experience with frightened young people came to Kieri’s aid. “Yes, you can tell me. Do it now.”

  “He wants me to kill you,” she blurted out.

  “Who? Your father?”

  She nodded. “They told me—on the boat—if—when—we married—she would give me a knife with poison to stab you—and then—if I killed you and got away, my father would give me the land he promised.”

  So his thought of possible assassination hadn’t been nonsense, after all.

  “I don’t want to kill you,” she said in a small voice.

  “I’m glad of that,” Kieri said. “What do you want?”

  “I want to kill—” She stopped herself, then went on. “No, but I do want—the life I always wanted. Oh, please, Sir King, let me stay here! I’ll do anything—cut my hair, work in the stables—” She went down on her knees; Kieri pulled her back up.

  “Don’t do that. Your guardians.”

  Tears welled up in her eyes, but she pinched her nose again. She was younger than the flowers in the garden, he thought. And yet—something in her held more than mere naive youthfulness, mere rebellion. She had been kidnapped and taken where she did not want to go, but she had refused to do evil. That he could respect.

  “Tell me of Ganlin,” he said. “How do you know her?”

  “We visit Kostandan every year or so,” she said. “My stepmother and Hanlin and I. We became friends—we both love riding and being outside and hate embroidery and tatting and women’s gossip. We swore eternal friendship—we made a blood-bond and traded locks of hair. She knew I was going to have my own farm—my father had said so—and she was going to run away and join me. We were never going to marry.”

  Kieri clamped his lips against a smile that would have insulted her. How likely was it, after all, that two princesses would really set up a horse farm and spend their days mucking stalls and cleaning hooves?

  “And if one of you fell in love and wanted to marry?”

  Elis looked at him. “With the men I knew in Pargun? Never. And Ganlin feels the same, I know.”

  Kieri had his doubts. Elis had never given anyone a flirtatious look, but even at that first banquet, Kieri had noticed Ganlin watching one after another of the young men in the room. One of Ganlin’s attendant Squires reported that Ganlin had asked repeatedly after Berne. Elis had better find another partner. With that thought, he had an idea.

  “Elis, it’s possible I can help you, but you will need to be discreet. It cannot be done in a day—”

  “You will let me be a Squire? You will send my guardians away?”

  “Do you know the Knights of Falk?” he asked.

  She frowned. “No …”

  “The Falkians train both men and women of noble birth to be knights; some then become soldiers—one of my captains was a Knight of Falk, and I trained there myself. My Squires are all Knights. You would have the best training in all kinds of weapons, in management of military units.”

  She was glowing again, thinking of it. “Is it possible? Please!”

  “If I spoke to your guardians, what would they say?”

  “They would refuse,” Elis said, “and then punish me for having let you know I wanted it.”

  “Then we must plot in secret. And that means, Elis, you must be like a soldier in enemy territory, pretending to be what you are not, and hiding the glee that even now covers your face. Think how miserable you are—think of being married not to me, but to an old drunk at home—never to ride again, never to be free. Sulk. Frown. I will need time to organize this.”

  “You must rescue Ganlin, too,” Elis said. “I know she’ll want to come—”

  “I will talk to Ganlin tomorrow,” Kieri said. “In the meantime, tell your guardians you tried to charm me, but I was cool. Can you do that?”

  “Yes!” she said with far too much enthusiasm. He gave her a quelling look, and she reverted to the sulky Elis he had seen before.

  They walked back across the garden, chatting only of flowers and inconsequentials. Her guardians waited at the garden door, glowering because the two King’s Squires would not let them out.

  “We had a pleasant walk,” Kieri said. “Princess, thank you for your time.” He bowed; she curtsied, eyes downcast.

  The next day, Kieri escorted Ganlin around the ros
e garden at the same hour. “Did Elis pass you word about our talk yesterday?” he asked. He already knew, from the Squires, that notes had gone back and forth.

  “She said not to be afraid of you,” Ganlin said. She gave him a glance under long lashes. “She said there was hope.”

  “I know what her hopes are,” Kieri said. “But not yours. You are friends of old, I understand.”

  Ganlin flushed. “We are. She is what I wish I were.”

  “You are very like,” Kieri said.

  “She is stronger and braver,” Ganlin said.

  “You were limping the night you arrived,” Kieri said. “Were you injured on the way?”

  “No, Sir King. I fell from a horse years ago—they said I might not walk again, but now it’s only when I’m tired that I limp. And I love to ride, like Elis.”

  “That sounds like bravery to me … to ride again after a bad fall.”

  “Outside is always better,” Ganlin said. “Well—except when it rains.”

  “You were going to go to her when she had her horse farm?”

  Ganlin hesitated, then nodded. “I would try, at least. She was going to be in the north of Pargun, next to the grasslands, but in the forest so there would be wood for the barns and house. But to get there from home—alone—I said I would, somehow, but—but I wasn’t ever sure.”

  “It would be a difficult journey,” Kieri agreed. “Tell me, Ganlin, if I told your guardians I did not want to marry you, what would happen to you?”

  She scowled. “They would take me home. No one there suits me, or wants me, really. I have a horse—a real horse, a big gray—and I can ride. But Elis said if she’s sent home they’ll lock her up, and without her I don’t know what I’d do. Where could I go?”

  “Would you want to stay here if you did become my queen?”

  “Here in the palace or here in Lyonya? I do not want to be mured inside walls forever, even with a garden as lovely as this.” She waved an arm at the roses. “I want to ride, to walk in the woods—”

  “To practice swordcraft?”

  “That, too. I liked it, learning—but it’s—I don’t think I could be a soldier, the way Elis wanted to be. It’s not just my hip and leg—it’s the thought of killing people.”

  Kieri nodded. “And yet, Ganlin … not all who train as knights become soldiers.”

  “No?”

  “No, not here in Lyonya. I told Elis, and I tell you, that if you wish to learn knightly skills and manners, as would suit men and women of high birth, I know where you can get such training: in Falk’s Hall.”

  “Men and women?”

  “Yes. I was sent there, as Lord Halveric’s squire; one of my captains was a Knight of Falk, who is now a duke in Tsaia. And the King’s Squires are Knights of Falk as well.”

  “Do—do women who become Knights ever … ever marry?”

  “As they choose,” Kieri said. “One of the peers of this realm, a widow with children and grandchildren, is a Knight of Falk.”

  “I would like that,” Ganlin said. Unlike Elis, her color did not come and go as readily; Kieri suspected that the pain of her injury had taught her a control Elis had yet to learn. “If you send Elis there, can you send me?” Then she frowned. “But how? Our guardians will not allow it, I’m sure.”

  “I’m thinking,” Kieri said. “And I will ask the Knight-Commander’s advice. In the meantime, you and Elis must both be discreet. Don’t pass too many notes.” Ganlin flushed and started to speak, but he held up a finger. “If your guardians suspect you have a great secret, it will become much harder. Be a little difficult; act as if you were serious rivals for me. I would rather not start a war with either of your fathers.” They walked awhile longer, to equal the time he had spent with Elis, and then he took her back to the garden door. Her guardians were not scowling but chatting pleasantly with the Squires.

  Later, alone with that day’s assigned Squires, Kieri laid out the plan he’d thought of. “If the Knight-Commander agrees, it is an honorable place for them that does not insult their rank. They will be happier—at best, at home, they would become troublemakers in their realms. This way, they have a chance to become what they want—whatever that is—”

  “Do you think they’ll stay together?” Aulin asked.

  “No,” Kieri said. “I think Ganlin saw Elis as a way to escape the role laid out for her, but she is not like her in anything but a desire for freedom. But at Falk’s Hall Elis will find others like herself, and so will Ganlin. And the mistress of the barracks is wise enough to recognize and deal with any problems.”

  “She did with me,” Suriya said with a grin. “How many of us, I wonder, think girls who want to ride and hunt and fight must be sisli? Did you have that problem in your Company, Sir King?”

  “A little,” Kieri said. “But again—we knew what to look for, and I’d seen how Falk’s Hall handled it. Also, in some parts of Tsaia and in eastern Fintha, there’s more general knowledge. They don’t think boys with harps are all gemsul or girls with swords are all sisli. And I’m not even sure Elis is sisli—she’s mostly angry and frustrated, I’d say.”

  “I’d say she is,” Arian said.

  “And I,” Suriya said. “May she know the joy I’ve known.”

  “I hope so,” Kieri said. “I wish joy to both of them, but getting them where they need to be, without any excess drama, will take thought and planning. They cannot travel without an escort, even with the Knight-Commander.”

  The Knight-Commander, when Kieri summoned him to discuss the possibility, pursed his lips and shook his head at first. “We’ve never had a Pargunese or Kostandanyan—that could be trouble.”

  “Or a first step to peace,” Kieri said. “There’s at least one Pargunese who doesn’t want to kill me.” He meant it as a joke, but the Knight-Commander didn’t laugh.

  “I must meet them,” the Knight-Commander said. “I have come on business—at luncheon, perhaps?”

  “We will have their guardians too,” Kieri said. “The Pargunese—tongues like razors, the both of them. I’ll seat you near the others.”

  He had no way to warn the princesses and could only hope they retained their composure. In the event, Countess Settik’s usual string of complaints covered the young women’s first reactions—that moment of glee, quickly suppressed, when Kieri introduced the Knight-Commander of Falk. After that, they both managed to look demure, leaving conversation to their elders. The Knight-Commander directed a few questions to each; Countess Settik answered for Elis, but Ganlin was able to say, sweetly enough, that she had heard of the Knights of Falk only since arriving at this court. No chance of the Knight-Commander having a private interview with either after the meal, because Ganlin’s uncle cornered him to ask questions about the Falkian doctrine.

  Later, alone in Kieri’s office, the Knight-Commander finally agreed. “I’ll take them both,” he said. “But they’ll have to meet the same standards as the others. I understand you think this may create a friendly bond between the realms—I’m not at all sure of that, but no young person deserves to be around that Countess Settik, or coerced into evil. Ganlin—you’re right, she’s a different case, but you’re sure she doesn’t want to marry?”

  “Me,” Kieri said. “She doesn’t want to marry me and be a queen, and she knows I don’t want to marry her. I think she may marry, if she finds the right lad, and Falk grant it’s someone her family will approve of.”

  “So she doesn’t want to do what she was sent for, and she thinks she has no future at home. She’s not the first we’ve taken in that way. But again—if she doesn’t measure up—”

  “I understand,” Kieri said. “But it’s a chance for them both.”

  “I’ll tell the barracks mistress. When will you send them?”

  “When I’ve contrived a way to convince their guardians to let them go. They’re princesses; it must be done legally and with the approval of their guardians.”

  “I’m glad you understand that. I was hal
f afraid you’d give them horses and let them gallop off on their own.”

  Kieri snorted. “I’ve matured, Knight-Commander. No wild exploits: they will arrive with you and an escort of King’s Squires, and their guardians will have only good tales to tell of their treatment on return.”

  “I’m glad you’re using King’s Squires. I wasn’t looking forward to having Countess Settik as my guest at the Hall. How long do you think all this will take? I do have duties back at the Hall, you know.”

  “Very soon, I hope,” Kieri said.

  A few days later, both princesses quarreled with Kieri in front of their guardians and then with their guardians: they were tired of the confinement—Kieri was too old—their guardians were cruel—it was too hot—the bathing facilities were barbaric—the food turned their stomachs. They yelled, they threw dishes at the Squires, they ripped their clothes. Their guardians yelled back; Elis’s slapped her face; Ganlin’s locked the door on her. Elis’s tantrum had been carefully timed to occur two glasses earlier than Ganlin’s, so that Kieri would not be interrupted as he talked to Elis’s guardians. He explained, coolly, that he did not think he and Elis were well-suited; although she was beautiful and accomplished, she did not like him.

  “You could master her,” Lord Settik said. “You are a strong man; she is only a woman.”

  “She is a child,” Kieri said. “Even if I turned her over my knee, she would still be a child. No.”

  “You are saying you cannot master a child?” Lord Settik said with a sneer that made Kieri want to remove his head and kick it down the hall.

  “Marriage is not only about mastery,” he said. “The girl does not want to marry—that is enough for me. But I have a solution that may work for all of us.”

  “What is that?” Settik said, sticking out his jaw.

  “You surely know her type,” Kieri said. “She loves the outdoors, riding, even swordplay.” Settik said nothing. “Such women,” Kieri said, “sometimes find later that they want to marry, and they make good wives. My first wife was such. Here in Lyonya we have the finest of all training schools for nobly born warriors, Falk’s Hall. You met the Knight-Commander.”