They rose together and entered the huge, brass-mounted double doors of the Council chamber.
The other members of the Council had assembled at the table; they stood as one as the Queen entered the room, with Talia in her proper position as Queen's Own, one step behind her and slightly to her right.
The Council Chamber was not a large room, and had only the horseshoe Council table and the chairs surrounding it as furnishings, all of a dark wood that age and much handling had turned nearly black. Like the rest of the Palace, it was paneled only halfway in wood; the rest of the room, from about chin-height to the ceiling, being the gray stone of the original Palace-keep. A downscaled version of Selenay's throne was placed at the exact center of the Council table, behind it was the fireplace, and over the fireplace, the arms of the Monarch of Valdemar; a winged, white horse with broken chains about its throat. On the wall over the door, the wall that her throne faced, was an enormous map of Valdemar inscribed on heavy linen and kept constantly up-to-date; it was so large that any member of the Council could read the lettering from his or her seat. The work was exquisite, every road and tiny village carefully delineated. The chair to the immediate right of the Queen's was Talia's; to the immediate left was the Seneschal's. To the left of the Seneschal sat Kyril, to Talia's right, the Lord Marshal. The rest of the Councillors took whatever seat they chose, without regard for rank.
Talia had never actually used her seat until this moment; by tradition it had to remain vacant until she completed her training and was a full Herald. She had been seated with the rest of the Councillors and had done 48
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nothing except voice an occasional opinion when asked, and give her observations to Selenay when the meetings were over. While her new position brought her considerable power, it also carried considerable responsibility.
The Councillors remained standing, some with visible surprise on their faces; evidently word of her return had not spread as quickly through the Court as it had through the Collegium. Selenay took her place before her chair, as did Talia. The Queen inclined her head slightly to either side, then sat, with Talia sitting a fraction of a second later. The Councillors took their own seats when the Queen and Queen's Own were in their places.
"I should like to open this meeting with a discussion of the marriage envoy from Alessandar," Selenay said quietly, to the open surprise of several of her Councillors. Talia nodded to herself; by taking the initiative, Selenay started the entire proceedings with herself on the high ground.
One by one each of those seated at the table voiced their own opinions; as Selenay had told Talia, they were uniformly in favor of it, most desiring that the match be made immediately.
Talia began taking stock of the Councillors, watching them with an intensity she had never felt before. She wanted to evaluate them without using her Gift, only her eyes and ears.
First was Lord Gartheser, who spoke for the North— Orthallen's closest ally, without a doubt. Thin, nervous, and balding, he punctuated his sentences with sharp movements of his hands. Though he never actually looked directly at Orthallen, Talia could tell by the way he oriented himself that his attention was so bound on Orthallen that no one else made any impression on him at all.
"There can be no doubt," Gartheser said in a rather thin and reedy voice,
"that this betrothal would bring us an alliance so strong that no one would ever dare dream of attacking us again. With Alessandar's army ready to spring to our rescue, not even Karse would care to trifle with us. I venture 49
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to predict that even the Border raids would cease, and our Borders would be truly secure for the first time in generations."
Orthallen nodded, so slightly that Talia would not have noticed the motion if she had not been watching him. And she wasn't the only one who caught that faint sign of approval. Gartheser had been watching for it, too. Talia saw him nod and smile slightly in response.
Elcarth and Kyril were next; Elcarth perched on the edge of his chair and looking like nothing so much as a gray snow-wren, and Kyril as nearly motionless as an equally gray granite statue.
"I can see no strong objections," Elcarth said, his head slightly to one side,
"But the Heir must be allowed to finish her training and her internship before any such alliance is consummated."
"And Prince Ancar must be of a suitable temperament," Kyril added smoothly. "This Kingdom— forgive me, Highness— this Kingdom has had the bitter experience of having a consort who was not suitable. I, for one, have no wish to live through another such experience."
Lady Wyrist spoke next, who stood for the East; another of Orthallen's supporters. This plump, fair-haired woman had been a great beauty in her time, and still retained charm and magnetism.
"I am totally in favor— and I do not think this is the time to dally! Let the betrothal be as soon as possible— the wedding, even! Training can wait until after alliances are irrevocable." She glared at Elcarth and Kyril. "It's my Border the Karsites come rampaging over whenever they choose. My people have little enough, and the Karsites regularly reive away what little they have! But it is also my Border that would be open to new trade with our two Kingdoms firmly united, and I can see nothing to find fault with."
White-haired, snowy-bearded Father Aldon, the Lord Patriarch, spoke up wistfully. "As my Lady has said, this alliance promises peace, a peace such as we have not enjoyed for far too long. Karse would be forced to sue for a lasting peace, faced with unity all along two of its borders. Renewing our long friendship with Hardorn can only bring a truer peace than we 50
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have ever known. Though the Heir is young, many of our ladies have wedded younger still—"
"Indeed." Bard Hyron, so fair-haired that his flowing locks were nearly white, was speaker for the Bardic Circle. He echoed Father Aldon's sentiments. "It is a small sacrifice for the young woman to make, in the interests of how much we would gain."
Talia noted dubiously that his pale gray eyes practically glowed silver when Orthallen nodded approvingly.
The thin and angular Healer Myrim, spokeswoman for her Circle, was not so enthralled. To Talia's relief she actually seemed mildly annoyed by Hyron's hero worship; and something about Orthallen seemed to be setting her ever so slightly on edge. "You all forget something— though the child has been Chosen, she is not yet a Herald, and the law states clearly that the Monarch must be a Herald. There has never been a reason strong enough to overturn that law before, and I fail to see the need to set such a dangerous precedent now!"
"Exactly," Kyril murmured.
"The child is just that; a child. Not ready to rule by any stretch of the imagination, with much to learn before she is. Nevertheless, I am—cautiously— in favor of the betrothal. But only if the Heir remains at the Collegium until after her full training is complete."
Somewhat to Talia's surprise, Lord Marshal Randon shared Myrim's mild dislike of Orthallen. Talia wondered, as she listened to that scarred and craggy warrior measuring out his words with the care and deliberation of a merchant measuring out grain, what could have happened while she'd been gone to so change him. For when she'd last sat at the Council board, Randon had been one of Orthallen's foremost supporters. Now, however, though he favored the betrothal, he stroked his dark beard with something like concealed annoyance, as if it galled him, having to agree with Orthallen's party.
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Horselike Lady Kester, speaker for the West, was short and to the point.
"I'm for it," she said, and sat herself down. Plump and soft-spoken Lord Gildas for the South was equally brief.
"I can see nothing to cause any problems," said Lady Cathan of the Guilds quietly. She was a quiet, gray, dovelike woman, of an outer softness that masked a stubborn inner core. "And much that would benefit every member of the Kingdom."
"That, I think, is a good summation," Lord Palinor, the Seneschal, concluded. "You know my
feelings on the matter. Majesty?"
The Queen had held her peace, remaining calm and thoughtful, but totally noncommittal, until everyone had spoken except herself and her Herald.
Now she leaned forward slightly, and addressed them, a hint of command tingeing her voice.
"I have heard you all; you each favor the match, and all of your reasons are good ones. You even urge me to agree to the wedding and see it consummated within the next few months. Very well; I can agree with every one of your arguments, and I am more than willing to return Alessandar's envoy with word that we will be considering his offer with all due gravity. But one thing I cannot and will not do— I will never agree to anything that will interrupt Elspeth's training. That, above all other considerations, must be continued! Lady forbid it, but should I die, we cannot risk the throne of Valdemar in the keeping of an untrained Monarch! Therefore I will do no more than indicate to Alessandar that his suit is welcome— and inform him in no uncertain terms that serious negotiations cannot begin until the Heir has passed her internship."
"Majesty!" Gartheser jumped to his feet as several more Councillors started speaking at once; one or two growing angry. Talia stood then, and rapped the table, and the babble ceased. The argumentive ones stared at her as though they had forgotten her presence.
"My lords, my ladies— forgive me, but any arguments you may have are moot. My vote goes with the Queen's decision. I have so advised her."
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It was fairly evident from their dumbfounded expressions that they had forgotten that Talia now carried voting rights. If the situation had not been so serious, Talia would have derived a great deal of amusement from some of the dumbfounded expressions— Orthallen's in particular.
"If that is the advice of the Queen's Own, then my vote must follow,"
Kyril said quickly, although Talia could almost hear him wondering if she really knew what she was doing.
"And mine," Elcarth seconded, looking and sounding much more confident of Talia's judgment than Kyril.
There was silence then, a silence so deep one could almost hear the dust motes that danced in the light from the clerestory windows falling to the floor.
"It seems," said Lord Gartheser, the apparent leader of those dissenting,
"that we are outvoted."
Faint grumbling followed his words.
At the farthest end of the table, a white-haired lord rose; the faint grumbling ceased. This gentleman was the one Talia had been watching so closely, and the only one who had not spoken. Orthallen; Lord of Wyvern's Reach, and Kris' uncle. He was the most senior Councillor, for he had served Selenay's father. He had served Selenay as well, throughout her entire reign. Selenay often called him "Lord Uncle," and he had been something of a father-figure to Elspeth. He was highly regarded and respected.
But Talia had never been able to warm to him. Part of the reason was because of what he had attempted to do to Skif. While he did not have the authority to remove any Chosen from the Collegium, he had tried to have the boy sent away for two years' punishment duty with the Army. His ostensible reason was the number of infractions of the Collegium rules Skif had managed to acquire, culminating with catching him red-handed in the office of the Provost-Marshal late one night. Orthallen had claimed Skif was there to alter the Misdemeanor Book. Talia, who had asked him 53
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to go there, was the only one who knew he had broken into the office to investigate Hulda's records. He was going to try to see who, exactly, had sponsored her into the Kingdom, in an attempt to ferret out the identity of her co-conspirator.
Talia had saved her friend at the cost of a lie, saying that she had asked him to find out whether her Holderkin relatives were claiming the Privilege Tax allowed those who had produced a child Chosen.
Since that time she had been subtly, but constantly, at loggerheads with Orthallen; when she first began sitting on the Council it seemed as if he had constantly moved to negate what little authority she had. He had openly belittled so many of her observations (on the grounds of her youth and inexperience) that she had very seldom spoken up when he was present. He always seemed to her to be just a little too careful and controlled. When he smiled, when he frowned, the expression never seemed to go any deeper than the skin.
At first she had chided herself for her negative reaction to him, putting it down to her irrational fear of males; handsome males in particular, for even though past his prime, he was a strikingly handsome man— there was no doubt which side of Kris' family had blessed him with his own angelic face. And there was no sin in being a trifle cold, emotionally speaking, yet for some reason, she was always reminded of the wyvern that formed his crest when she saw him. Like the wyvern, he seemed to her to be thin-blooded, calculating, and quite ruthless— and hiding it all beneath an attractively bejeweled skin.
But there was more to her mistrust of him now— because she had more than one reason to suspect that he was the source of those rumors about her misusing her Gift, and she was certain that he had started them because he knew how such vile rumors would affect an Empath who was well-known to have a low sense of self-esteem. She was equally certain that he had deliberately planted doubts in Kris' mind— knowing that she would feel those doubts and respond.
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But this time she had cause to be grateful to him; when Orthallen spoke, the rest of the Councillors paid heed, and he spoke now in favor of the Queen's decision.
"My lords, my ladies— the Queen is entirely correct," he said, surprising Talia somewhat, for he had been one of those most in favor of marrying Elspeth off with no further ado. "We have only one Heir, and no other candidates in the direct line. We should not take such a risk. The Heir must be trained; I see the wisdom of that, now. I withdraw my earlier plea for an immediate betrothal. Alessandar is a wise monarch, and will surely be more than willing to make preliminary agreements on the strength of a betrothal promised for the future. In such ways, we shall have all the benefits of both plans."
Talia was not the only member of the Council surprised by Orthallen's apparent about-face. Hyron stared as if he could not believe what he had heard. The members of his faction and those opposed to him seemed equally taken aback.
The result of this speech was the somewhat reluctant— though unanimous— vote of the Council to deal with the envoy just as Selenay had outlined. The vote was, frankly, little more than a gesture, since together Selenay and Talia could overrule the entire Council. But though the unanimous backing of her stance gave Selenay a position of strong moral advantage, Talia wondered what private conversations would be taking place when the Council session concluded— and who would be involved.
The remaining items on the Council's agenda were routine and mundane; rescinding tax for several villages hard hit by spring floods, the deployment and provisioning of extra troops at Lake Evendim in the hope of making life difficult enough this year that the pirates and raiders would decide to turn to easier prey, the fining of a merchant-clan that had been involved in the slave-trade. The arguments about just how many troops should be moved to Lake Evendim and who would fund the deployment went on for hours. The Lord Marshal and Lady Kester (who ruled the district of the fisherfolk of the lake) were unyielding in their demands for the extra troops; Lord Gildas and Lady Cathan, whose rich grainlands and 55
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merchant-guilds would supply the taxes for the primary support of the effort, were frantic in their attempts to cut down the numbers.
Talia's sympathy lay with the fisherfolk, yet she could find it in her heart to feel for those who were being asked to delve into their pockets for the pay and provisioning of extra troops who would mostly remain idle. It seemed that there was no way to compromise, and that the arguments would continue with no conclusion. That would be no solution for the fisherfolk, either!
Finally, as the Lord Marshal thundered out figures concerning the numbers nee
ded to keep watch along the winding coastlines, a glimmering of an idea came to her.
"Forgive me," she spoke into one of the sullen silences "I know little of warfare, but I know something of the fisherfolk. Only the young, healthy, and whole go out on the boats in season; unless my memory is incorrect, the old, the very young, pregnant women, those minding the young children for the rest of the family, and the crippled remain in the temporary work-villages. Am I right?"
"Aye— and that's what makes these people so damned hard to defend!"
the Lord Marshal growled. "There isn't a one left behind with the ability to take arms!"
"Well, according to your figures, a good third of your troopers would be spending all their time on coastwatch. Since you're going to have to be feeding that many people anyway, why not provision the dependents instead, and have them doing the watching? Once they're freed from having to see to their day-to-day food supplies, they'll have the time for it, and what does a watcher need besides a pair of good eyes and the means to set an alert?"
"You mean use children as coastwatchers?" Gartheser exclaimed. "That—that's plainly daft!"
"Just you wait one moment, Gartheser," Myrim interjected. "I fail to see what's daft about it. It seems rare good sense to me."
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"But— how are they to defend themselves?"
"Against what? Who's going to see them? They'll be hidden, man, in blinds, the way coastwatchers are always hidden. And I see the girl's drift.
Puttin' them up would let us cut down the deployment by a third, just as Gildas and Cathan want," Lady Kester exclaimed, looking up like an old gray warhorse hearing the bugles. "Ye'd still have to provision the full number, though, ye old tightfists!"
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