A Deliverer Comes

by Jill Williamson

  Mielle eyed the young girl and thought, “She’s married? She looks so young.”

  “She is unmarried,” Zeroah voiced. “Do you recall Lady Eudora telling us about how Sir Jarmyn Koll seduced Lady Madara and got her with child?”

  “Vaguely.”

  “That’s her. Poor thing. She’s as sweet as can be. Address them as Lord Idez, Countess, Sir Ransen, Master Enko, and Lady Madara. Give your condolences on the loss of their son, Sir Greth, who died in the Battle of Sarikar.”

  The family reached Mielle and genuflected, which made her even more nervous as she desperately tried to recall everything Zeroah had just said.

  “Lord Idez, welcome,” she told the gray-haired man. “Countess, Sir Ransen, Master Enko. And Lady Madara, how is your son?”

  Lady Madara curtsied. “He is well, thank you, Your Highness. I didn’t think it wise to bring him out in such weather.”

  “It’s very cold,” the countess said. “We have partitioned off a section of the sitting room, right around the fireplace, and little Rennik and his nurse spend most of the day trapped there, soaking up the warmth.”

  “Yes, well, we are holding up the line,” Lord Idez said, glancing behind him. “We look forward to speaking with the king. He will be here, won’t he?”

  “I believe so,” Mielle said, hoping Trevn would not let her down.

  More polite farewells followed, and the Vohan family moved on. Mielle barely had time for a deep breath before the next family stepped forward. Thankfully, she knew them. Hinckdan’s parents bowed and curtsied.

  “Your Grace, Duchess Zura, good midday,” Mielle said. “Are you missing your son already?”

  “Yes, of course,” Danek said, his smile as wide as ever, “but we are proud that he has gone to help Princess Saria. We won’t stall the reception line except to say well done. There is a very encouraging turnout in the foyer.”

  Relieved to hear that, Mielle thanked him. They moved away and the next party advanced. Two young women about Mielle’s age were escorted by a large, elderly woman with so many beads wrapped around her throat they resembled a scarf. She looked desperately familiar, though Mielle could not place her.

  “You know Lady Durvah from the court of King Echad,” Zeroah said aloud, which thankfully jogged Mielle’s memory. “And these are her daughters, ladies Tarla and Nolli.”

  “Thank you immensely for inviting us,” Lady Durvah said. “I see dirty looks flying my way already, but I don’t care. My husband made his choice, and I and my girls had no part in it.”

  “I’m very glad you came,” Mielle said, clueless what the woman was talking about.

  As they walked away, Mielle shot Zeroah a questioning look.

  “Lady Durvah was married to Avron Jervaid,” Zeroah voiced. “He was the Wisean Council member who ran off from Canden House with the pregnant Queen Ojeda.”

  Oh yes. King Echad’s fifth queen. “More are coming. Quick! Who are they?” She would never remember so many new faces.

  “Well, this is a surprise. The older woman is Duchess Gitla,” Zeroah voiced. “She is Master Fonu’s mother, Tace Edekk’s wife.”

  “The man accused of abducting Armanian children into his army,” Mielle said.

  “That’s right. With her are her daughters, Imara and Dendrelle, the latter of which is married to Sir Jarmyn Koll. As you can see, Lady Koll is with child. Her first.”

  Mielle took note of the young woman’s bulging stomach. “Isn’t Sir Jarmyn the one who . . . Lady Madara?”

  “Yes, Sir Jarmyn is the father of both children and the man Rosâr Trevn sent to the pole for his disobedience in the Battle of Armanguard. His parents are just behind him. The gray-haired man is Lord Blackpool, then his wife, Countess Sabin. The others are servants.”

  Mielle spotted the orphan boy Porvil standing with the servants, which knotted her thoughts so badly that she called one of the women by her first name only and addressed Lord Blackpool’s wife as Duchess Sabin.

  “My wife is a countess, Your Highness,” Lord Blackpool said.

  His correction flustered Mielle further. “Do forgive me.” Though from the glares this group was giving her, none of them had any intention of doing so.

  “Sorry to hear about the death of our king,” Lord Blackpool said to Zeroah. “And now we have one even younger.” He turned his dark eyes on Mielle. “How long will he last, I wonder?”

  “Not very long if he insists upon flogging innocent officers,” said young, pregnant Dendrelle.

  Truth.

  The word whispered in the back of Mielle’s mind. A burst of rage seized her. Not only did they dare to slight Trevn, but one of this group was using magic. She felt Trevn’s unease rise up, but she pushed it aside and answered these horrible people in kind.

  “I was sorry to hear of the death of Master Fonu, your son,” Mielle said to Duchess Gitla. “It’s hard enough to lose a loved one, but when that loved one committed multiple acts of treason and was responsible for the death of our sovereign, well”—she shook her head slightly—“it’s unfair how such a thing taints the whole family. I understand that from the scandals my warden and sister put themselves through. Please know that your family is in my prayers.”

  Now her guests looked as livid as she felt, but this time they wisely held their tongues, bowed or curtsied, and went on their way.

  “Oh, tuhsh.” Mielle stomped her foot. “That was awful, wasn’t it?”

  “I thought it was brilliant,” Zeroah whispered. “I could think of nothing to say.”

  Mielle glanced after the group and found Lady Koll glaring her way. Simply horrible. All of them. “Is Porvil their servant?”

  “I believe he is apprenticed to the Edekk family.” Zeroah elbowed Mielle, pulling her attention back to the line, where Oli Agoros, Duke of Canden, stood alone.

  “Your Grace, hello.” Mielle could not help but glance at his fake arm, though with his long-sleeved tunic and gloves, it looked no different from the other.

  “Rosârahs.” Oli bowed and continued on without another word.

  “How odd,” Mielle said, watching him go. “Did something happen between you two?”

  Zeroah’s silence pulled Mielle’s attention from the retreating duke to her friend, who was fidgeting with a strand of beads on her gown. “Ah, here is Rosârah Brelenah and the sârahs.”

  Mielle greeted them warmly, glad for someone she knew, but they too passed quickly by, and strangers continued to flood into the great hall. Zeroah helped with names, and Mielle continually apologized for Trevn’s absence.

  “Thank the gods!” Mielle said when all had been greeted. “I thought that would never end. What would I have done without you?”

  “Called them all sir and lady and been teased for it, but most would have understood. The majority are good-hearted people, though their interests tend to make them pushy.”

  So many were wearing black. “Was I wrong to dress in color?”

  “Not at all. The five-month mourning period does not apply to you as it does Trevn and me. And it is nearly at an end. Your color reminds everyone that a new season is coming.”

  Mielle liked that idea. “Is it going well, do you think? So many seemed disappointed not to see Trevn.”

  “They are testing this,” Zeroah said. “They want to experience it. Then they will judge, many of them harshly, but if they find the day entertaining and the report is favorable, those nobles who did not come will come next time. Shall I send Abree to fetch you something to eat?”

  “I’m not hungry. In fact, I’d like to step out. I just need a moment to breathe.”

  Mielle walked behind the curtain into the servants’ antechamber, Lady Pia and Bero at her heels. When the area was clear, she asked Bero for a handkerchief and entered the secret passage. Safely hidden in the dark, she let herself cry, dabbing her eyes with the handkerchief, and tried not to lose herself for fear all would see her puffy eyes and know how weak she was.

  Horrible people, any
way. They were impossible to please. How would Mielle ever succeed as a queen? She couldn’t even—

  “Mielle, what has happened?”

  The sound of Trevn’s voice in her mind was too much, and she lost what little control she’d been fighting to maintain. “Oh, Trevn! These people are awful! The way they say things, insults guised in compliments and advice. It’s terribly hard to bear. I never realized how hard your job is. I haven’t given you enough credit for the difficult decisions you have to make and the pressures you face each day. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I had asked Grayson to look for the Puru children, and I’m desperately sorry I didn’t tell him to stop once you’d told me what Conaw’s people wanted. It was very wrong of me. Please, Trevn, I beg you to forgive me. I miss you so desperately.”

  She sobbed then, alone in the dark passageway. That he didn’t answer right away filled her with dread. What would become of her now? Would he cast her out? Take another wife?

  “I forgive you, Mielle.”

  A little gasp. Had she heard him right? “You do?”

  “Of course. I’ve been hoping you would ask.”

  Laughter bubbled up from deep within Mielle’s heart. “Oh, Trevn. Thank you!” She sniffled and wiped the moisture from her cheeks with Bero’s handkerchief. “I’m so relieved.”

  “Where are you, Mouse?” he asked. “Who is hosting court?”

  Oh tuhsh. “I left Zeroah for a moment, but I will return at once.” She pushed open the door, returned Bero’s now-bedraggled handkerchief, and strode back toward the curtain that led to the great hall. She was the queen of Armania with a party to entertain.

  Mielle returned to her throne happy, but Zeroah fussed over her so much Mielle sent her to fetch a goblet of wine and some cheese. One sip and Mielle realized she’d been famished. She ate and drank and felt a great deal better—mostly because Trevn had forgiven her.

  Rosârah Brelenah came to the dais. “You are doing very well, Your Highness.”

  Mielle doubted that, but she was glad the worst of it was over. Everyone was mingling at present and seemed to be enjoying themselves.

  “The food turned out excellent,” Brelenah said. “I particularly like the—oh! Well, look there. Isn’t he a sight?” She nodded across the room, which had fallen suddenly quiet.

  Mielle glanced up. Everyone was focused on the entrance.

  A bugle played Trevn’s tune. “All rise for Rosâr Trevn Hadar, may he live forever,” the herald at the door announced.

  Sure enough, Trevn stood just inside the great hall with Cadoc and Nietz in tow.

  “Oh, Trevn!” Mielle leapt from her throne, grabbed two fistfuls of her skirt so as not to trip, and ran toward her husband. As she neared, she caught his raised brow.

  “Easy, Mouse,” he said to her mind. “A queen walks.”

  She slowed for two paces but ran the last few steps and threw her arms around his neck. “Tuhsh,” she said, putting her face but a breath from his. “This queen is exhausted.” She kissed him on the lips, then saw that she had left a red mark. The crowd chuckled and began to whisper, which sent heat rushing to Mielle’s cheeks.

  “Happy to see me, are you?” Trevn asked, grinning.

  “Desperately so. Have you a handkerchief? I’m afraid I have all but ruined Bero’s.”

  He withdrew one from his pocket, and Mielle wiped away the red smudge. This drew another round of chuckles from the crowd.

  “Thank you for coming.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “You were right about some of these people being vultures.”

  Trevn signaled with his eyes to someone behind her. “Let the fun begin.”

  The nobles crowded around Trevn, each waiting their turn for a chance to speak with him. He never made it more than the five or six steps he’d taken into the great hall. People paid him compliments and asked favors. Men brought up titles and asked when he might parcel out the land to the peerage. They were all of them eager to build new houses and plant fields in spring. Trevn gave each the same answer. He was looking into the matter.

  He answered so much better than Mielle had, especially when Gunrik Koll asked how close Rogedoth’s men were, as if he were eager for them to attack.

  “He is still hiding and trying to coerce the giants to fight his battles for him,” Trevn said.

  Lady Durvah approached next. “Your Highness, I must know, when will you bring back the theater? Surely you enjoyed that part of your father’s court. My daughter Nolli has an affinity for acting. Do you know she recites monologues for us nearly every night? She excels at . . .”

  As Lady Durvah went on, a familiar face in the crowd behind Trevn caught Mielle’s gaze. Porvil, edging closer to hear.

  “He’s got a knife!” a man yelled.

  Porvil ducked out of sight. Trevn knocked into Mielle. The guards swarmed, separating them. Women screamed. Through the soul-binding, Mielle felt confusion, shock, fear, and searing pain in her arm—no, her side.

  “Trevn!” She reached for him, but he was no longer there.

  “This way, Your Highness.” Lady Pia, tugging on her arm.

  Mielle pulled away, searching the crowd for her husband. “Where is Trevn?”

  “Everyone back!” a man yelled. Master Bonds. One of the King’s Guards.

  The crowd parted in a circle, creating a ring around Porvil, who lay on his stomach on the floor, a guard pinning him down with one knee. A hand’s breadth from his head lay a dagger with a bloody blade. No sign of Trevn.

  Mielle screamed.

  A gust of calm filled her chest. “I’m fine,” Trevn voiced. “Don’t worry.”

  His voice brought tears to her eyes. “Where did they take you?”

  “Behind the curtain. Cadoc said the blade slipped between my side and arm, cut my tunic.”

  “Come with me, Your Highness,” Pia said. “I’ll take you to him.”

  This time Mielle allowed the woman to lead her away. “The knife is bloodied, Trevn.”

  “I’m fine.”

  The crowd began to talk. The chaos of so much noise fed Mielle’s fear. Pia and Bero led her toward the dais, but Mielle rushed ahead, pushed past the curtain and into the antechamber. Two guards stepped in her way but quickly recognized her and let her pass. Trevn was on his feet, shirtless, surrounded by more of his guards. She shoved past them, found Cadoc kneeling at Trevn’s side, rolling a bandage around his torso. The only blood she saw was a narrow line on the back of his arm, just above his elbow.

  Trevn’s attention fixed on her. “A mere scratch,” he said, smiling.

  Mielle came to stand toe to toe before him. She took hold of his face and gently kissed his lips. “I thought I lost you when I’d only just gotten you back.”

  “You never once lost me. Now, go let everyone know I am well.”

  She released his face and took hold of his hand. “I’m not leaving your side.”

  “Mielle, you must. I’ll join you as soon as Ottee arrives with a fresh tunic.”

  Go back in there? “Trevn, it’s not safe.”

  “If I don’t return, think of the rumors that will spread. I am dead or horribly wounded. Or a coward. Please go back, Mouse. We must not lose all we gained here today.”

  She gazed into his eyes, saw the urgency there. Her efforts must not be wasted. “I’ll go right away.” She kissed him once more, then swept toward the curtain. “Pia? Bero? With me.”

  When she returned to the great hall, Porvil was gone. Mielle did her best to reassure the court that Trevn was well, and he soon joined her and did the job far better. The crowd asked about Porvil and speculated over his motives, but Trevn deftly shifted each query into a new topic. In a very short time, all seemed to have returned to normal, but for Mielle’s quaking heart.

  Porvil had tried to kill her husband.

  Gozan

  Life in Magosia had been dull for Gozan ever since Charlon had stopped taking ahvenrood. The mantics and shadir were restless without magic, and Charlon was always on edg
e, anxious and cranky, fighting with her maidens and men, and especially with Shanek and Lady Amala, who grew bolder with each passing day.

  The only interesting development had been the arrival of Emperor Ulrik. While his obnoxious pride, constant demands, and philandering disgusted Kateen and Roya, the rest of the Magosians were delighted by the unbridled festivity he brought to their monotony.

  Gozan passed by Sir Kalenek’s old tent, where the young emperor now lived, ignoring the music, the squeals of laughter, and the thick odor of wine on the air. Such baseness bored him, though he was surprised not to see more of his swarm here, taking pleasure from this display of unabashed decadence. He quested for his shadir. The nearest presence came from behind him, in the tent at the very bottom of the hill.

  He knew instantly where they were.

  Gozan drifted into Shanek’s tent. The prince sat cross-legged before his pitfire, whittling a block of wood, Miss Amala beside him. Sure enough, the majority of Gozan’s swarm were swooping around the root child or simply hovering at his feet. With the entire camp out of old ahvenrood, Shanek was the only human who could fully interact with shadir. Add to that fact that many had been his companions since birth and, well, it had created a unique situation.

  Gozan wearied of seeing his swarm behave with such desperation. He should banish the lot of them to the Lowerworld. That would teach them to prostrate themselves before a human.

  Today the boy ignored them—had found some method of blocking out their voices entirely. Something Sir Kalenek had taught him. It did not keep Shanek from seeing the shadir, which sometimes annoyed him to the point of losing his temper and ordering them to leave. And they obeyed, the stupid creatures. Gozan did not understand the hold the boy had over them.

  Today Shanek seemed to be tolerating their presence while Miss Amala chattered. Gozan shifted into his slight form and drifted closer, curious what the girl was going on about.