Olor had solved his own problem. The Banished One would trouble him and his domain no more. But the king of the gods had given mortal men an altogether different problem. Maybe Olor had thought the Banished One would smash to pieces when he struck the surface of the material world. If he had, he’d been wrong. More likely, he simply hadn’t cared one way or the other. Ever since that fateful day, the Banished One had been mankind’s worry, not the gods’.
Lanius, at the moment, had more immediate worries than the Banished One. King Grus came up the aisle toward him. Grus bowed. “Welcome, Your Majesty,” he said. “You do my family great honor.”
Returning the bow, Lanius answered, “I am glad we join our families together.” He wasn’t sure he was glad of any such thing, but those words had to be spoken. His father couldn’t say them—King Mergus was dead. His mother couldn’t say them, either—Queen Certhia was exiled to the Maze. With no one else to speak the required words, Lanius had to say them himself.
Grus held out his hand. Lanius clasped it. That too needed doing. “Come with me, then, Your Majesty,” Grus said. “Your bride awaits.”
Sure enough, Sosia stood in front of Olor’s golden altar, between Arch-Hallow Bucco and Queen Estrilda. Lanius gathered himself, almost as though he were going into combat. Licking his lips, he said, “Thank you, my father-in-law to be. I go to her with all my heart.”
What a liar I am.
Sosia’s brother, Ortalis, sat in the very first row of seats. He was part of the bride’s family, yes, but had no role to play in the ceremony, as her father and mother did. He’s been shoved into the background, Lanius thought, just like me. That gave him a sudden burst of sympathy for Sosia’s brother.
Ortalis promptly made him regret it. As though by accident, he stuck his leg out into the aisle just as Lanius went by. If Lanius hadn’t seen it, he would have tripped and fallen on his face. As things were, he sidestepped. Ortalis sent him a horrible look. Grus sent Ortalis a horrible look. Nobody said a word. And so I join my new family, Lanius thought.
But he hadn’t joined it yet, not officially. There stood Arch-Hallow Bucco, robed in a shade of red different from Sosia’s, waiting to bind Lanius to Grus’ daughter and, through her, to Grus himself. And to Ortalis. Lanius wished that hadn’t crossed his mind.
Sosia smiled at Lanius as he approached. Bucco bowed as low as his old bones would let him. “Your Majesty,” he murmured.
Lanius dipped his head to the arch-hallow, thinking, You miserable hypocrite. You never thought I should be King of Avornis, and you’re tying me to Sosia to make sure I don’t get the chance to do anything on my own.
Bucco raised his hands in a gesture of benediction. The nobles and courtiers in the cedarwood seats fell silent … more or less. “A wedding is always a new hope,” Bucco said. His voice was twenty, maybe thirty, years younger than the rest of him, a subtle, supple instrument that remained his greatest tool—and his greatest weapon. He went on, “That being so, a wedding between king and princess is a new hope not just for the groom and bride but also for the Kingdom of Avornis.”
He was a man who thought of himself first, Avornis distinctly afterward, and King Lanius last of all, but that didn’t make him wrong. Up till then, Lanius hadn’t been nervous. Now the magnitude of what he was doing pressed down on his shoulders like a great weight.
“To the great and ancient dynasty of which King Lanius is the scion, we add now the vigor and courage that come from King Grus’ line,” Bucco intoned. Does that mean, I’ve got no vigor or courage of my own? Lanius wondered. Bucco probably thought, it did. Well, a pestilence on Bucco and what he thinks. But then the arch-hallow said, “Your Majesty, be so kind as to take Her Highness’ hand.”
Lanius had been king since he was a little boy. Sosia had been a princess for only a few weeks. She needed a moment to remember that “Her Highness” meant her. Then she held out her hand. Lanius took it. It was the first time he’d ever touched her. Her flesh was warm and smooth. He suspected fear made his own grip cold and clammy.
“Before the eyes of the gods, Your Majesty, do you take Princess Sosia for your wife, to have her bear your legitimate children?” Bucco said. “Do you pledge not to exceed great Olor’s example?”
The arch-hallow looked pointedly at him. He himself sprang from his father’s exceeding of Olor’s example and taking his mother as seventh wife rather than concubine. But all he could say was, “I do.” The marriage oath, as his work in the archives had proved, was as old as Avornis.
“Do you reject, now and forever, all blandishments of the Banished One? Do you swear to do all you can to return the Scepter of Mercy to the city of Avornis, its one true and proper home?”
“I do,” Lanius repeated. The last question was reserved for Kings of Avornis alone, and had been added to the oath after the Menteshe carried the Scepter into captivity. Lanius made the pledge, but wondered how much all he could do would be. The Scepter of Mercy, after all, had lain captive in Yozgat for four hundred years. Every one of his predecessors had sworn he’d do all he could to redeem it. Every one of them hadn’t done enough.
If I fail, too, I won’t be disgraced, he thought. Nor will Grus, if he also fails. Lanius didn’t like that second thought so well, but he couldn’t do anything about it.
Arch-Hallow Bucco turned to Sosia. “Before the eyes of the gods, Your Highness, do you take King Lanius for your husband, to bear his legitimate children? Do you pledge not to allow him to exceed great Olor’s example?”
“I do,” Sosia answered, so quietly that Lanius didn’t think anyone but he or Bucco could hear her. Maybe she was nervous, too.
“Do you reject, now and forever, all blandishments of the Banished One?” the arch-hallow asked. He didn’t say anything to her about recovering the Scepter of Mercy.
“I do,” Sosia repeated, a little louder this time.
Bucco bowed creakily, first to Lanius, then to Sosia. “I say to the two of you, then, that you are married. Treat each other kindly. Be patient with each other. If you do, you will be happy together. The gods grant it be so.”
“The gods grant it be so,” Lanius and Sosia said together. Greatly daring, he squeezed her hand a little. She jerked in surprise, ever so slightly, then smiled at him and squeezed back.
“It is accomplished.” Bucco nodded to Lanius. “You may kiss your bride.”
Till then, that had hardly occurred to Lanius. He leaned toward Sosia. The kiss he gave her was a sedate peck on the lips. Even that was plenty to set off cheers and shouts of bawdy advice from the assembled courtiers and nobles. Lanius’ ears got hot. Sosia turned pink.
“Now we feast! Now we drink!” Grus called in a great voice he might have used on the foredeck of a river galley. “And then …” He paused. More shouts rose. So did whistles and cheers. Sosia turned pink again.
Lanius leaned toward her once more and whispered, “It will be all right.” He was glad he’d had lessons from some of the serving maids. He wouldn’t have wanted to go into a marriage where neither he nor his bride had any notion of what they were supposed to do when they were alone together.
They went back to the palace for the feast. Meat and drink were magnificent. And why not? Lanius thought. Grus can spend whatever he likes. If Grus spent this way very often, of course, he’d bankrupt the kingdom. But, to be fair, he probably didn’t plan to marry off his only daughter again anytime soon. He’d better not plan to marry her off again soon, went through Lanius’ mind.
Somewhat elevated from fine red wine, Grus came over and put a hand on Lanius’ shoulder. “Take good care of her,” he said, as though it were a wedding of artisans rather than that of a king to another king’s daughter.
“I will,” Lanius said.
“Take good care of her,” his fellow sovereign and new father-in-law repeated, “and she’ll take good care of you.”
“I’m sure of it,” Lanius answered, sure of nothing of the sort. Wasn’t Sosia likely to be her father’s creatu
re first, last, and always? But then Lanius looked over at her. She smiled back and fluttered her fingers. She wants to like me, I think. I have to give her reason to like me, then. She’s always going to be Grus’ daughter, but she is my wife, too.
As the feast went on, more and more people started looking expectantly from Lanius to Sosia and back again. Lanius knew what that meant. He wondered whether Sosia did. He also wondered how much she knew of what went on between men and women. Whatever she didn’t know, he would have to teach her. What a strange burden to lay on a bridegroom’s shoulders, and what a heavy one.
Sosia went over and started talking with her mother. Lanius wondered what Queen Estrilda was saying. That could make a difference, too. Sosia didn’t look appalled or terrified, so maybe it wouldn’t be too bad. Lanius dared hope.
Then Grus came up to him. “Are you ready?” he asked. Lanius took a deep breath and nodded. “Good, good,” Grus said. “Best to have the whole business over and done with, eh?” Lanius nodded again. Grus clapped him on the back. “Besides, you’ll enjoy it.”
“Er—yes,” Lanius said.
Grus wasn’t looking for anything but agreement. By then, he’d taken on quite a lot of wine himself. But, sober or drunk, he got things done. Before long, Lanius and Sosia went through the corridors of the palace to the chamber where they’d pass their first wedded night. Everyone followed them—nobles, courtiers, bodyguards, palace servants. Everyone yelled advice, too. By the time Lanius closed the bedroom door and barred it after himself and his new bride, his ears were burning. He wondered what she thought.
She managed a smile, even though the lewd chorus went right on and pierced the door as though it weren’t there. “My mother told me it would hurt the first time, but that it would get better once things stopped being sore,” she said.
“From what I’ve heard, that’s right,” Lanius answered. “I don’t know for sure. The only virginity I’ve ever taken is my own, I’m afraid.”
“I’m glad you know something about it, anyhow,” she said. “We’d probably make a real mess of it if we both had to find out at the same time.”
“I was thinking the very same thing not long ago,” Lanius said. “If we think alike, maybe that’s a sign we’ll get along. I hope so, anyhow.”
“Me, too,” Sosia said. “We’re stuck with each other regardless of whether we do or not. We ought to try our best. My father and mother seem to manage pretty well.”
“Yes, I’ve seen that,” Lanius agreed. “I hope we can, too. You will have seen more about that side of things than I have, though, because my father died while I was still little.”
He wondered if she’d say anything about his coming from a seventh marriage. He’d heard too much about that, all through his life. It wasn’t his fault. But Sosia said not a word. Her silence made him like her better.
Whoever had set up the room had obligingly turned back the covers on the bed. Lanius nodded to it. “Shall we …?”
“We’d better, hadn’t we?” Sosia said. “We should get it over with.”
That sounded more businesslike than wanton, but if she was frightened she didn’t show it. Lanius took off his shirt and breeches—and that miserable codpiece—and stood there waiting in his drawers. He was suddenly shy about stripping himself naked before her.
She reached over her head. Her mouth twisted in annoyance. “This gown has clasps in the back, and I can’t undo them without seeing what I’m up to. Can you help me?”
“I hope so.” Lanius came over and stood behind her. He had no trouble undoing the clasps. Then he leaned forward to kiss her on the back of the neck. She flinched. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“It’s all right. You startled me, that’s all.” Sosia managed a shaky smile. “I’d better get used to things like that, hadn’t I?”
“Well, I hope so.” Lanius hoped he would still want to kiss her on the back of her neck after they’d been married for a while.
She pulled the gown off over her head. Under it, she wore a thin shift and her own drawers. Something like reckless defiance on her face, she took off everything. After that, Lanius could only do the same.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered.
Sosia looked embarrassed. “How do I know you’re not just saying that?”
“It would be easy for me to lie. Not for him, though.” Part of him was unmistakably enthusiastic. He hadn’t been around unclothed girls so often as to keep from rising to the occasion whenever he was. If Sosia in fact wasn’t quite beautiful, she came close enough to let him be gallant with no trouble at all.
“Him?” she echoed as she examined the evidence. “You talk as though there were two of you, not just one.”
It sometimes seemed that way to Lanius, too. He himself was fussier about who interested him than was his sometimes unruly part. He didn’t try to explain that to Sosia; he wasn’t sure he understood it himself. He only shrugged and nodded and answered, “Sometimes, that’s how it feels.”
“That must be … strange.” Sosia sounded as though she was giving him the benefit of the doubt.
He took a step toward her. She didn’t draw back. After a moment, she took a step toward him. More than a little cautiously, he took her in his arms. Again, she hesitated a moment before her arms went around him. She started to pull back when he pressed against her, but she didn’t. He kissed her. She responded clumsily. He was, no doubt, pretty clumsy himself, but that didn’t occur to him till years later.
He led her over to the bed. They lay down together. He kissed her again, and caressed her. When his mouth went to the tip of one breast, she let out a small surprised sound. “That’s … nice,” she said. He kept at it. A little later, his hand strayed to the joining of her legs. She made as though to twist away, but she didn’t. After a bit, she made that small surprised noise again. Then his kisses strayed down from her breasts.
“What are you doing?” Sosia said, and then, “Oh,” and then, “Oh!”
“Do you like that?” he asked a couple of minutes later. She didn’t answer, not with words, but he thought he knew anyhow. “This is the part that may hurt,” he warned as he poised himself between her legs and thrust home. His journey briefly stopped halfway. He pushed on. Sosia’s face twisted, and then he was sheathed to the hilt.
“It’s done,” she said.
“Not quite,” he answered. Before very long, though, it was. “All right?” he asked; he was always one to worry.
“All right,” she said, “except you’re heavy.”
“Sorry.” He took more of his weight on his elbows and knees. He hadn’t known what to expect about marriage. So far, it didn’t seem bad at all.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Grus found the Avornan crown annoyingly heavy; it made his neck ache. The royal robes were thick and hot. Beneath them, sweat trickled down his sides from under his arms and slid along the small of his back. On the deck of a river galley, he could have dressed as he pleased. Servants and courtiers gave him no such choice when he sat down on the Diamond Throne.
Before that heavy crown went on his head, he had fondly imagined the King of Avornis was the one man in the whole kingdom who could do what he wanted all the time. Now he found out how wrong he’d been. Ceremony and tradition hemmed in the king on all sides. He’d given up asking why. Because this is how we’ve always done it irked him more each time he heard it, but he had no good comeback for it. Precedent ruled. Grus hoped he could.
On a steamy summer’s day three weeks after Lanius’ wedding, he had his doubts about that. The crown seemed particularly heavy, the robes particularly oppressive. He wondered what would have happened had he insisted on sitting on the Diamond Throne bareheaded and wearing a light linen shirt and trousers. He didn’t try it. He feared it was likelier to cause an uprising against him than acts of out-and-out tyranny.
And he had enough worries without making more for himself. A herald called, “Behold Zangrulf, ambassador from King Dagipert of Thervingia!”<
br />
Accompanied by a small retinue, the Therving approached the throne. He gave Grus an impeccable bow. Then, in a low voice, he murmured, “Well, Your Majesty, you’ve got a fancier rank than when I saw you last.”
“So I have,” Grus answered. “I wondered if you’d remember me ferrying you across the Tuola.”
“Oh, yes,” Zangrulf said. “You were too good an officer to forget in a hurry. You proved that again the last time King Dagipert found it necessary to invade Avornis.”
“The last time?” Grus raised an eyebrow. “I tell you straight out, Your Excellency, I don’t care for the sound of that.”
Zangrulf shrugged. He drew himself up and raised his voice till it filled the whole throne room. “Hear the words of my master, the mighty King Dagipert of Thervingia.” He looked and sounded the very picture of arrogance. Unfortunately, considering what the Thervings had done to Avornis during their last invasion, he’d earned the right. He went on, “My master demands that you forthwith divorce from King Lanius your daughter, Sosia, since Lanius has long had a valid wedding contract with his daughter, Princess Romilda.”
“No,” Grus said. “Your master knows that contract is not valid. He extorted it from Arch-Hallow Bucco by force, but King Lanius’ own mother, Queen Certhia, repudiated it as soon as she heard of it.”
Zangrulf coughed. “Odd to hear you praise Queen Certhia, all things considered.”
That made Grus cough, too. He had, after all, exiled Lanius’ mother to the Maze. And, just as Dagipert had hoped to force Lanius to wed Romilda, he had forced Lanius to marry Sosia. What, then, was the difference between him and Dagipert?
Simple, Grus thought. For one thing, I’m an Avornan and Dagipert isn’t. For another, I got away with it.
Dagipert had aimed to bind Avornis to Thervingia, with himself as master of both. He wouldn’t get away with that, either, not as long as Grus had a word to say about it. “King Dagipert has no business meddling in Avornis’ internal affairs,” Grus declared.
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