Valdemar 06 - [Exile 02] - Exile’s Valor

by Mercedes Lackey

  Maybe it was just that Orthallen was keeping the options open in their minds, eliminating neither the possibility of Consort nor King. It’s been a long time since Valdemar had a Queen. Maybe it’s just slipped their mind that no husband of mine can rule unless he’s a Herald. It might be just as well not to remind those of the Council who had forgotten that fact.

  “It should be obvious to all of us by this time, that while the Queen is a young woman, she is not only capable, she is wise enough to know when she needs advice and guidance. She could lawfully have replaced all of us, and has not, because she trusts us as her father trusted us, and believes that we, who were her father’s advisers, are capable in ourselves.” He coughed, as a murmur went around the table. “We may be flailing about in the wake of our loss and casting for solutions to situations that are not actually problems.”

  Selenay exchanged looks with the other Heralds on the Council; Kyril, the Seneschal’s Herald, Elcarth, and Talamir. Although Orthallen had included the rest of the Councilors in this “admission,” it was a signal departure for him to admit to making a mistake.

  And they had been flailing about, as if she herself was a problem, before there had been any evidence of anything of the sort!

  Orthallen cleared his throat again, and continued, reluctantly. She held her breath. Was he? Was he going to admit it? “Furthermore, by seeming to cast about frantically for a suitable candidate, we may be giving an impression of weakness to those who do not wish us well. As if we do not trust our Queen and our own ability to carry on in the absence of her father. We could be giving the same impression as a herd of sheep, milling about anxiously without a shepherd, and I do not need to tell you that there are wolves about.”

  Another murmur, and Selenay stifled a smile, hearing Orthallen borrowing so heavily from her own argument. He did. He admitted I’m right. I may only get apologies from him in private, but at least he’s admitting that I’m right in public. It was a triumph, but she was not going to gloat over it.

  “I know that I was the one pressing most eagerly for such a wedding—or betrothal, at least—but I should like to urge that we drop the subject for now.” He shrugged, and no few of the other Councilors looked as embarrassed as he did.

  “If you recommend so, Orthallen,” Lord Gartheser said hesitantly. “You know more about foreign affairs than the rest of us do.”

  “I think it would be the wisest course.” And in that moment, Orthallen all but said, I was wrong. But he went on quickly, making an attempt to regain the face he had lost. “In all events, having the Queen so blatantly unattached can also work to our benefit. There are a number of young men of rank, of valuable connection—princes, even—in other lands, who are also unattached. No doubt, their rulers will soon see that there is a way to bring Valdemar into close alliance by the closest of ties. So let us table this search for now, and get on with the business of the realm.”

  Nods all around the table, a few reluctant—well, not surprising that the oldest Councilors were less than comfortable about a Queen, and a young one at that, and the oldest men were the ones least inclined to trust her to rule alone. Only time will cure that, she decided. Time—or perhaps a change of Councilors. It wouldn’t hurt for the Bardic and Healer representatives to retire, for instance. It would be better if there were more women on the Council. A woman who has made her own way in the world will be more inclined to see me as a leader and less as someone needing to be led. Perhaps she should also add an entirely new seat or two. Someone from one of the newer Guilds, perhaps? To have more people whose wealth was self-made rather than inherited could be of real benefit.

  Orthallen moved on to some dispute between the Guilds of the Mercers and the Weavers while Selenay’s thoughts were elsewhere. She quickly brought her own attention to bear on the situation; it would not be a good idea to undo all of Orthallen’s work by seeming to be lost in other thoughts. She did notice that several of the Councilors actually waited to hear her opinion before voicing theirs, which was a pleasant change. The rest of the meeting proceeded in the same atmosphere, and if she felt a momentary resentment that she’d had to get Orthallen’s “approval” before being granted the respect she was due, at least now she had that respect. And though it might be temporary, having gotten it once, it would be easier to regain it.

  But once the meeting was over, as she and she and her escort of Guards and ladies wound their way back to her quarters, she allowed her thoughts to tend in other directions. Orthallen’s comment about foreign princes—that struck a chord, and told her that that was what had been nagging at her all this time, since the Councilor had first voiced that idea over dinner.

  What foreign princes? Certainly there had been no hints of such a possibility before now. No envoys had presented themselves, no inquiries had been voiced via ambassadors.

  But perhaps they had all been waiting until her year of mourning was over. That would only be appropriate, really.

  Assuming there are such mythical creatures, she told herself, as she entered the door to her suite, and the Guards took up their stations outside.

  But they might not be mythical—

  Surely, though, if there were such young men wandering about unpartnered, she would be aware of them. Granted, her knowledge of highborn families outside of Valdemar was sketchy to say the least, but the only royal that she knew of was the King of Hardorn, and he had married an allegedly lissome young creature out of his own Court a little more than a year ago.

  But would Orthallen have mentioned the possibility twice if it didn’t exist?

  So just what foreign princes were there, out there? She dismissed her ladies, and selected a gown to be worn at dinner while her maids drew a hot bath.

  Did the Shin’a’in have princes? She couldn’t remember anything of the sort. :Caryo, is there such a thing as a Shin’a’in prince?:

  :I’ve never heard of one.: Caryo sounded surprised. :I think they don’t have things like Kings and Princes. I think they are an alliance of Clans.:

  That tallied with the little that Selenay recalled, but perhaps some of the Clans were big enough that their Chiefs would qualify as princes. There were a great many Shin’a’in after all. It was an—interesting possibility.

  She stepped into the bath that had been prepared for her, and chased the maids away while she soaked. As she relaxed in the hot lavender-scented water, she had a silly little vision of a strong, wild warrior, raven hair down to his waist, riding into Haven dressed in black furs and leathers, astride—bareback, of course—a horse as black as his hair. And wouldn’t that make a pretty picture, the two of them riding together, she all in Whites on Caryo, he on his midnight steed. . . .

  She gave herself a mental shake. Ridiculous, of course; what Shin’a’in nomad would ever leave the Plains, much less do so with the intention of marrying a foreign, civilized queen? Besides, even if he came here looking for her, he wouldn’t stay. The Shin’a’in never stayed away from the Plains for long, and she could scarcely leave Valdemar. What would the Shin’a’in get out of such a marriage, anyway? Valdemar was too far from the Plains for there to be any advantage in an alliance at all. No, no, no—too easy to burst that particular bubble of illusion.

  But who else did that leave? Rethwellan? Were there unmarried princes in Rethwellan? If there were, well, they at least shared a border with Valdemar, and it would be an advantage to them to have such an alliance, if only for trade advantages. Menmellith? Menmellith was a principality of Rethwellan, but she couldn’t really recall anything at all about their ruling family. Not Karse, of course—

  Could there be interest as far away as Jkatha or Ceejay, which were just names on a map to her? Surely not; Valdemar didn’t even trade directly that far away, so why would any stray princeling come wandering up here?

  But there might be places she had never heard of. To the North—well, Iftel was out of the question; no one ever came past their borders except a few favored traders who were remarkably close-mou
thed about the place.

  The bath was cooling; time to finish and get out, before someone came in here to scrub her. Stupid; she’d bathed herself for the last fourteen years and more, so what was it about being a Queen that rendered her incapable of bathing herself now?

  But the splashing as she emerged from the bath seemed to be some sort of signal that caused maids to swarm around her with towels and robes and scents and lotions. And for once, involved in her own thoughts, she let them fuss over her.

  Once she was properly clothed in a lounging robe, they messed about with her hair while she continued her ruminations. North, other than lftel, were the barbarians above the Forest of Sorrows. Surely not. Surely not. The idea of a greasy, violent, fur-clad brute was even more repulsive than some of the octogenarians the Council had suggested.

  Were there little secretive kingdoms out in the West, in the Pelagiris Forest or past it? It was possible. There were certainly people out there, and not just the half-mythical Hawkbrothers. There were entire villages that looked to the Hawkbrothers for protection, so maybe there were Kingdoms in the West. But still—what possible advantage could they have in an alliance with Valdemar? Nothing that she could imagine.

  Or were there men in other Kingdoms who were like the Great Dukes of Valdemar, who held enough power that they qualified as princes? There might well be; she hadn’t had time to study such things. In such a case, for a younger son, there would be a great deal of prestige and advantage in marrying a Queen, even if it left the young man as nothing more than a Consort without ruling powers. His children would rule, if they were Chosen, and that might be enough. Separate trade agreements could be made with the family, and that might be enough. There was a great deal of difference between royal marrying royal, and royal stooping to wed a rank below hers. In that case, the advantages to be gained were almost all on the side of the lower rank.

  :Surely there’s something in the archives of letters from ambassadors and trade envoys,: Caryo said helpfully. :Or Seneschal’s Herald Kyril will know where to look. I should think that someone would know if we might expect a spate of foreign suitors.:

  A foreign prince—or more than one—the idea gave her a kind of fluttery feeling of excitement inside. Oh, they might well all be as impossible or even repulsive as the candidates she’d been presented with so far, but—at least they would be someone different.

  And surely one would be older than an adolescent and younger than a graybeard. Maybe even handsome—though she wouldn’t necessarily care, as long as he wasn’t a monster. Someone she didn’t know, that she couldn’t predict, someone with entirely new ways and manners—Even if she didn’t want to marry him, it would be interesting to have him in her Court.

  It would be more than interesting—it would be fascinating! She licked her lips, and hardly noticed the maids tugging at her hair.

  I mustn’t get my hopes up, she told herself. There might not be any such thing. If they exist, they might all be old. Or feeble-minded. Or already married. She shuddered involuntarily, as she realized that she’d had a narrow escape without realizing it. If King Alessandar hadn’t gotten wedded to his sweet young thing—if he’d still been alone—

  Well, he would not have let the opportunity to propose slip past, no matter how many sweet young things were in his Court. And the Council would never have allowed her to reject his suit. Hardorn and Valdemar had been allies for so very long that there had even been cases of Heralds coming to the rescue of Hardornans in the past. Even Herald Vanyel had done so; that was how he earned his title of “Demonsbane.” There would have been no way to gracefully turn down such a proposal.

  Bright Havens, what a narrow escape!

  She suddenly needed to know, and know with certainty, if there really was a possibility for a foreign suitor.

  I have to know. And I truly have to know if there are any unwedded Alessandars just waiting for my year of mourning to be over—

  Well, there was one person to ask, and it wasn’t Herald Kyril, however knowledgeable Kyril might be. No, Orthallen would be the one to ask. After all, he was the one who had brought it all up in the first place. If there had been such a position in her Council as Foreign Minister, he surely would have been the one to fill it; his knowledge of the lands outside of Valdemar was as exacting as hers was vague.

  A foreign prince. . . . An easy thought to kick off daydreams, and it was a good thing that she was safely away in her own suite where no one would notice if her attention wandered.

  When the maids were finished with her, she chased them out, all but one, whom she sent off with a note to Orthallen. They would discuss this tonight, after her dinner with the Court, for certain.

  Alberich had a meeting of his own after dinner, and he had, with some regret, decided against inviting Myste to share it. No, there could only be one invitee to this “gathering,” and it had to be the Queen’s Own.

  Talamir was, for once, very much alert and in the here and now as he examined the documents that Myste had purloined. Alberich had been reluctant to let them out of the salle; he was even more reluctant to let them out of his sight. Fortunately for all concerned, Talamir had no trouble in getting about, though he was still—well—fragile.

  It was hard on a man to have been through all that Talamir had—dying and being dragged back to life again must have been unthinkably grim. At Talamir’s age, it had been more that, and Alberich was still surprised that he was reasonably sane afterward. In a way, he was doing far better than anyone had any right to expect.

  :Yes, he’s fragile, rather than frail,: Kantor agreed. :And a good half of that is mental, I’d say.:

  Except when something that required all of his attention was before him. Then he was the old Talamir again. It was the old Talamir that had appeared, unescorted, at the door of Alberich’s rooms. It was the old Talamir, alert and in possession of all of his wits and wiles, who heard him out, and examined the documents with great care. Alberich hoped—wildly, he knew, but stranger things had happened—that Talamir would recognize the cipher, even be able to read it a little. The odds were very much against it, but—well, ciphers and secret messages were not part of the training of a Karsite Cadet, and the denizens of the vile dens down near Exile’s Gate that he usually trafficked with were barely literate. Asking them to manage a cipher would be like asking a pig to dance on a tightrope.

  “Well,” the Queen’s Own said, putting the pages down carefully. “I don’t know enough about ciphers to make any sense of this. In fact, there’s something we should consider, and that’s the possibility that this might not even be in Valdemaran.”

  Curses. Oh, well.

  “Actually,” Alberich said with extreme reluctance, “it probably is not. If consider we do that it was intended for someone in another land, in that language it would be. Which could be anything.”

  “So we have two puzzles to crack; the cipher itself, and which language it’s in. Still—” Talamir rested his index finger along his upper lip, his eyes opaque with thought. “Still, we’re very much further on than we were before. If someone is going to this extreme to send messages in cipher, I think we can be pretty certain it isn’t just Guild secrets or messages to a mistress. I will need to take these to an expert, I think.”

  “I should, the originals prefer to keep here,” Alberich ventured, wondering how Talamir would take that. “Evidence, they may become.”

  “Oh, certainly!” Talamir waved his hand dismissively, as if the idea of taking the originals was out of the question. “I would rather you did, too. Myste can make copies for me to give to—” He hesitated a moment. “Well, forgive me, if I just tell you it is a fellow whose hobby is ciphers, one I’ve taken such problems to before this. Odd little chap, but solid and true, and you’d be surprised if you knew who he was. I won’t tell you his name, though, if you don’t mind.”

  “Safer for him, if you do not,” Alberich agreed. “Secrets are secrets between two, in danger between three, and often lost bet
ween more than three.”

  Talamir nodded, but with an air of assurance that he had been certain that Alberich would understand before he’d asked the question.

  “And, if you don’t mind my saying it, it would be safer for Myste if she can get away from those actors,” Talamir replied. “But I doubt either of us could persuade her.”

  “Of that, you may be sure,” Alberich sighed, having spent several marks fruitlessly attempting to persuade her to do just that. “If I leave now, they’ll be suspicious, and you’ll never get a chance to follow Norris and find out who he’s meeting!” she’d said, which, alas, was true enough. “And if he trusted me once, he’ll likely trust me again. Think of what else I could get! What if he really runs out of time some day, and asks me to do the ciphering!” “More of these, she hopes to obtain,” he added.

  “Well, the more samples, the better. If they change the cipher key, my man will spot that much right off.” Talamir pushed the papers across the table to Alberich. “Put those somewhere safe, and I’ll come and get the copy—”

  “Tomorrow, Myste says,” Alberich began. “Two copies—”

  Talamir smiled. “Good! Then instead of my coming alone, let’s have a little get-together with Jadus, and Crathach, too. With the originals hidden, you should be all right bringing the copies up to the Collegium—we can meet in Jadus’ rooms. No one would see anything amiss in that, and you can safely give me the copies then. Clandestinely, if you like. Or just come along to my rooms to ‘remind me’ of our gathering, and pass me the copies then.”

  “That is the best plan. And I should like to see the others. Jadus is—I have not seen much of him—” Alberich said, feeling guilty.

  “Because it isn’t easy, learning to get about on one leg, and once he got his strength back, he’s been working hard at it,” Talamir replied. “He hasn’t had much time to spare for any of us but Crathach, my friend, but I think he’s well on the road to feeling useful again. He won’t be doing any dancing, but there’ll be a vacancy for a Herald in the Courts of Justice in Haven, and he’ll do well there.”