“You can’t, Your Majesty!”
“Don’t go out there, you’ll catch your death.”
“It’s snowing!” one of the youngest cried out, and the flock circled and wheeled around the room to press their faces to the windows, looking out over her private gardens.
Meredith, her maid of many years, stood nearby. “I’ve your boots warming by the fire,” she said quietly. “Do you need assistance?”
Elspeth gave her a grateful nod. “Yes, please.” It wasn’t easy to admit that she needed some help with dressing, but Meredith understood and made no fuss.
Elspeth sank onto one of the chairs closest to the hearth and drew her petticoats and skirt up. Meredith knelt down and gently eased off her slippers. “Don’t linger too long, Your Majesty,” she said softly. “There’s a formal court dinner tonight.”
“I’ll remember,” Elspeth said with a smile.
Meredith gave her a knowing look as she laced up the boots, but she said nothing more. She just helped Elspeth with her heavy winter white cloak, the hood lined with white fur. She retrieved the matching white furred muff for her hands.
Elspeth smiled at her. “Warm as toast.”
“Mind you stay that way,” Meredith whispered, with the ease of an old friend. “I’ll send out tea for you and your guest.”
Elspeth turned to the garden door, smiled blandly at her protesting women, and stepped outside. She closed the door firmly behind her and took a deep breath of cold air.
Silence, blessed silence. The cold air stung at her flushed cheeks, and she took another breath, watching the vapor rise.
Her private garden lay deep in a blanket of snow. The trees were frosted like cakes, and the ground sparkled as if diamond dust had been blown over the crust of white.
Her spirits lifted after a morning spent in an overheated council chamber. Oh, how she loved winter.
A path had been stamped out, and she followed its curve as it angled away from the door. Her skirts brushed along, swishing against the edges of the path. There, in what was normally a rose bower, sat two benches opposite each other, a brazier set between, filled with glowing coals. The rosebushes, cut back for the season, protruded from the snow like thin black fingers.
She settled on one with a sigh of pleasure and looked about at the trees. The sky was a pale blue, with just a few clouds that promised more snow later on. But for now, there was only the occasional fat fluffy flake falling to rest on the fur of her muff.
The snow made everything look different. Perfect, with the covering of white and the glint of ice. Cold and lovely. Her Herald-Mages had offered to set up a warm shelter or cast a warming spell on the benches, but she had refused. They didn’t seem to understand that the entire point was to be cold.
Well, that and keeping these private audiences short and sweet. No one lingered with petitions and political maneuvering in this kind of weather. Elspeth had been too long on the throne to actually chuckle, but she smiled inside.
Two pages approached, bundled up and carrying a tray and a small table. She offered them thanks as they set the table down and poured her a large mug of tea. She slipped her bare hands out of her muff and carefully took the hot mug in her hands, enjoying the warmth.
“Please let the Queen’s Own know that I am ready,” Elspeth smiled at the pages.
The two young lads bowed slowly, then ran off down the path to the door. Elspeth sipped her tea, enjoying the white perfection of the cold stillness.
She heard the door open, and one of the Herald trainees appeared, with Lord Wolke in tow. The trainee hadn’t bothered with a cloak, and he walked briskly toward her. She plastered on her court smile, setting her mug down on the bench next to her.
“Your Majesty.” The trainee looked so serious and so very young as he bowed. But all the trainees looked younger to her every day. “Lord Wolke.”
Lord Wolke bowed as well, his cloak wrapped tight around his body. Such a handsome young man, with charming manners, or so she’d been told.
Elspeth smiled as the trainee left them alone. “Sit, Lord Wolke. May I pour you some tea?”
“That would be most welcome, Your Majesty,” he sat on the stone bench gingerly, as if afraid he’d freeze off something valuable. “You honor me.”
“Not really, I’m afraid.” She handed him his mug and then refreshed her own. “This is an ‘honor’ my court avoids at all costs. I can’t seem to convince them of the loveliness of the garden after a snow. Even my Companion prefers a warm stable.” Elspeth cast her mind in that direction, to be met with a sleepy, comfortable response.
“Their loss is my gain, Your Majesty.” He flashed her a smile. Oh, yes, there was charm there indeed. No wonder half her ladies had lost their heads over him.
“Aren’t you nice,” she laughed lightly. “I’ve always loved to come out into a clear, cold day and enjoy the sun. I am so glad you could join me.”
Wolke shifted his weight on the bench and tried to adjust his knees so they wouldn’t come into contact with the brazier. “I’ve been at court for some time, Your Majesty.”
“Yes,” She picked up her mug and gave him that same smile. “Without a summons or invitation. Let us discuss that, my lord.”
Elspeth watched as young Wolke retreated down the path, moving as fast as dignity allowed.
The afternoon shadows had lengthened in the garden, and thin clouds had moved in. The snow had turned a pale bluish color, the tree branches blacker in contrast. The lights from the window cast a glow over the drifts in front of the windows. Night would fall soon enough. Still, she sat, deep in her furs and white leathers, and stared into the glowing coals of the brazier.
The pages approached again with more fuel and tea. She watched as they fed the coals and filled her mug.
“I do not wish to be disturbed. I will come in when I am ready.” Elspeth said, and they bowed, and ran off, back to the warmth of the palace.
They probably thought her mad or eccentric. Lancir understood, as did some of the older members of her council. They knew it wasn’t so much the cold or the snow that drew her out of the warm palace.
Snow meant that armies were not moving to mass at the border to threaten Valdemar. The cold kept feuding lords at their hearths. Bandits did not attack settlements or raid the herds of cattle, since any fool could track the transgressors in the snow.
Ice cloaked the roads and paths in treacherous footing. Rivers froze, the ice uncertain. Various religious holidays and celebrations kept people busy with other tasks, rather than killing their neighbors. The lack of daylight concealed the world, keeping those with malice inside, their lights burning bright.
They might plan and plot, connive and ponder, but they stayed within.
Winter was peace made manifest.
She dreaded spring. Oh, not the warmth or the violets with their lovely scent. It was a joy to watch the garden come alive again. Small green leaves and delicate flowers emerged from the soil almost overnight. But the land wasn’t the only thing astir.
The fragile network of agreements that she’d built over her reign always trembled under the strain of spring. She could already see problems looming . . . she stared at the fire and wondered if she’d have the strength to deal with it all.
She heard the door open and the crunch of footsteps on the path. Her eyes weren’t what they used to be, but she recognized the stride of the man coming toward her, his scarlet uniform a stark contrast to the snow. As he grew closer, she could see his face, one that still stirred her heart after all these years.
He approached and then made a formal bow with a flourish of his hand. “Your Majesty,” he said, as he knelt in the snow, his tone a mocking one. “The Queen’s Own has asked that I inquire as to your welfare.”
“Bard Kyran,” Elspeth glanced toward the door. “I take it, then, that they can see us from the windows?”
“Why else would I be on my knee in the snow, beloved?” Kyran looked up, his eyes twinkling. “Some of the
younger handmaidens are pressed to the farthest window, watching to see if I can convince you to come in and get warm.”
Those eyes . . . she’d fallen for those eyes so many years ago, those eyes that seemed to glow for her and her alone. The years had not dulled their sparkle. “Sit with me for a moment,” she said, gesturing to the bench so that the watchers knew she had given her permission.
“You’ve a formal court dinner this night,” Kyran reminded her as he rose with grace and settled on the bench. “Ah. Still warm from young Wolke’s ass.” He held his hands over the brazier and rubbed them together. “He blew through the chamber without a word or a nod to anyone. Are we rid of him then?”
“Yes,” she tucked her hand back into her fur muff. “I sent him back to his lands. Young fool.”
“The ladies of the court will be crushed. He’d charmed almost all of them.”
“Idiot,” Elspeth growled. “To think he thought he could claim a position on my council. I should have boxed his ears.”
“Now, there would be something to sing about,” Kyran chuckled. “Gather now, my children, for you should truly hear, of the night that Elspeth Peacemaker, boxed young Wolke’s ears . . .” He raised his eyebrows. “There’s still time. I doubt he’s left the palace yet.”
She stared at him, a sudden sorrow welling up in her chest.
He frowned, concerned. “Elspeth?”
“Was it worth it, beloved?” She choked out, tears beyond her control filling her eyes. She clamped down on the pain to protect her sleeping Companion.
Understanding filled his face. “Oh, my love, what brought this on?”
“I don’t know,” Elspeth closed her eyes, letting the tears fall. “I woke this morning, and I felt so tired. So very tired. I do not think I can bear the spring, Kyran. I just wanted to lie there, in my warm bed, with my soft pillows, and sleep forever.”
“Elspeth,” Kyran whispered.
“No,” Elspeth blinked her eyes, not daring to lift a hand to wipe the tears away. “Since the day I took the throne, I’ve fought, argued, beguiled, and struggled to keep the peace.” She looked away from him, up to the snow-covered trees. “I turned from you, my love, to marry a man I didn’t love, for the sake of an alliance.”
“Elspeth,” Kyran grew somber. “So long ago . . .”
“Even after his death, I used my mourning as a political tool, fending off other offers of marriage, playing them off against each other.” Elspeth held herself still on the bench, not moving a hand or making a gesture that would give the watchers any information. “And then Darvi . . . my son. My beautiful boy. Dead.” Her voice caught in her throat, and for a moment, they sat in silence and shared pain. She looked down at her muff, where a few tears were clinging to the hairs of the fur, small diamonds against the white.
“Which brings to mind a bit of gossip from the city.” Kyran’s voice was rough. “Seems that one of the crafts-men of the city recently died. In his will, he took advantage of that new law of yours.”
“The one about the statuary?” Elspeth choked out, all too willing to change the subject.
“That’s the one. Seems he was fair well off, being of a thrifty bent. He’s endowed a statue of himself, to be built in the city, and provided for its upkeep.” Kyran cleared his throat. “Has the nobility in a bit of a snit.”
“How so?” Elspeth asked. “I placed no limits on—”
“Well, the dead gentleman has apparently snagged one of the busiest crossroads in the city. So very soon, there’s to be erected a statue with a water fountain, for any and all to drink from. And not just humans—there’s a lower font for animals.”
Elspeth knew Kyran well. She titled her head and waited for it.
“Well, it seems our craftsman is fairly short of frame and rather round. And bald. I understand he was well known for his cheerful countenance. So in among the heros of the realm and the proud members of the noble bloodlines, he will stand, smiling happily, holding the tools of his trade. Much to the horror of the noble lords and ladies.” He laughed, that easy laugh she loved so well.
“I should have named you Laureate,” she watched as a few flakes settled in his thinning hair.
“Me?” He widened his eyes in mock horror. “Wear a coronet, and attend all those interminable council meetings?” He shook his head. “And have the entire court and kingdom speculate on our relationship? Elspeth, it would not have worked. Besides, I have had all that I wanted,” He drew a deep breath. “Do you remember?” His voice was low, a gentle caress. “Your first formal court dance?”
Elspeth nodded. “I was so nervous. Father and Mother and the entire court watching me. You walked over, held out your hand and asked me to dance, a dashing young Bard-trainee. How could I resist?”
Kyran laughed. “I was so startled when you took my hand and let me draw you onto the dance floor. A Bard-trainee, and not an ounce of noble blood in my veins. I thought all the lords and ladies would have brain storms, they were so enraged.”
“It was a lovely dance,” Elspeth said.
“It was, and my last for quite some time. I was hustled out of there and informed in no uncertain terms that just Was Not Done.” Kyran’s laughter echoed off the stone walls. “And well and truly punished by the Bardic Council—fifty copies of ‘My Lady’s Eyes’. Do you know how many lines that song has? Add in the instrumental parts . . .” Kyran shook his head. “I thought the cramp in my hand would be with me until the end of my days.” He focused on her again. “Then I got your note.”
“I couldn’t believe they punished you,” Elspeth rolled her eyes. “For a dance!”
“ ‘Meet me in the Collegium Library’,” Kyran quoted. “You apologized—you! Standing there, in your grays, cursing the Bardic Council. I think I fell in love right then and there, with your dark hair and flashing eyes and the scent of violets . . .” Kyran tilted his head back, so very serious as he looked up into the trees. “Why is it that we remember the pain of our lives more than the joy?”
Her breath caught in her throat. “I don’t know, beloved.”
“Then know this, Elspeth, Queen of Valdemar and my love,” Kyran’s voice was low and strong. She hung on every word, as he intended, no doubt. “Valdemar has been at peace since your father’s time, and you are the reason. Everything you have done, everything you have suffered, has been worth every moment. Your people are safe and prosperous, your kingdom secure.”
Elspeth shrugged. “I worry that it will end on my death. I worry that my grandson will not be able to—”
“Randale will be fine,” Kyran said firmly. “You’d worry a wart off your hand.” He spread his hands over the coals. “Do you suppose your father worried that you’d ruin the kingdom?”
“I doubt that,” Elspeth snapped. “He knew that I’d always put Valdemar first above all else.”
“Would Randi do less?” Kyran asked.
Elspeth caught her breath, then scowled. “Do you have to be so . . . so . . .”
“Irritating? Aggravating?” Kyran smirked. “Rational? Accurate?”
Elspeth growled, trying to stay angry, but he just gave her that innocent carefree look. “It’s why you love me,” he assured her.
“I suppose . . .” Elspeth said.
“Well, that and my lute.” Kyran wagged his eyebrows.
Elspeth laughed out loud. “Your lute’s not quite as in tune as it once was, my love. Any more than my sagging breasts and wrinkled skin.”
“Alas, time’s passage takes its toll. Still, it’s ever yours to command. And finger. And fondle, if your majesty so desires. And as to your breasts—”
“Enough,” Elspeth snorted. “I cry mercy.”
“Then I cry enough melancholy, my love.” Kyran said. “All the years, all the pain and the joy—I would not change a thing for fear I’d change what lies between us.”
The tears started again, but not with sorrow. “I love you.”
“And I, you.” Kyran said. “And on the mornin
g when you do not wake, I’ll not be far behind.”
Elspeth’s heart leaped in her throat, but then common sense intervened. “You’re freezing.”
“I am. Come. You’ve a court dinner and even Queen Elspeth the Peacemaker had best not anger the cooks.” Kyran stood and offered his arm.
She stood, stepped close to him.
“You still smell like violets,” Kyran whispered. He held out his arm.
Elspeth placed her hand on his wrist, stroking his cold skin with her fingers tips. As they started down the path, Kyran flipped his hand, and for a brief, sweet moment their fingers intertwined, before returning to their proper places.
“Meredith is on duty in my inner chamber tonight,” she offered the bit of information with a sly look.
“Really?” Kyran arched an eyebrow at her. “Meredith likes me. If an old worn out Bard were to appear at your chamber door late at night, she’d open it and none the wiser.”
“True,” Elspeth said. “I’d even welcome an old, worn-out Bard to my chamber, away from prying eyes and whispering tongues.”
Figures moved in the glow behind the windows. As they grew closer, the door opened, letting warm air wash over them.
“I’ll let you strum my lute,” Kyran whispered as he bowed her into the room, eyes bright.
Joy rose in her heart as Elspeth laughed.
The Reluctant Herald
by Mickey Zucker Reichert
Mickey Zucker Reichert is a pediatrician, parent to multitudes (at least it seems like that many), bird wrangler, goat roper, dog trainer, cat herder, horse rider, and fish feeder who has learned (the hard way) not to let macaws remove contact lenses. Also she is the author of twenty-two novels (including the Renshai, Nightfall, Barakhai , and Bifrost series), one illustrated novella, and fifty plus short stories. Mickey’s age is a mathematically guarded secret: the square root of 8649 minus the hypotenuse of an isosceles right triangle with a side length of 33.941126.
Lubonne’s wooden sword cut through the ice-grained air of early spring, and his feet stamped evergreen needles deeper into the muck. Sharp, brown burrs clung to his britches and the hem of his tunic, prickling through the fabric as he moved. His bandy legs switched directions with sharp precision, their shortness belying their strength and speed. His relatively long arms supplied a reach that never failed to surprise opponents. The practice blade skipped around his homely features: his eyes small and pallid, his nose broad and overarching, his mouth thin lipped but wide. Mouse-brown hair, cut short, framed his features, unwanted curls fluffing it at the back.
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