THREE DROPS OF BLOOD

by Michelle L. Levigne

  "There's nothing better for making a man sit up and take notice than a beautiful maiden who knows how to handle a sword," the gray-haired warrior said with a chuckle. "Especially since she has your royal father's gift for eloquence... and a reputation for only possessing half his patience."

  Megassa blushed. She tried to scowl, but a moment later, she joined in the laughter from the remainder of their band. Meghianna was the last to laugh, and she wondered why it took her so long to see the humor in the situation. Maybe she had grown up too quickly, just as Nalla sometimes complained? Was she old before her time? She was more relieved than she liked to admit when Megassa returned to the subject of the young Valor trainees, just as they emerged from a gloomy stretch of forest and started across a wet green plain.

  "Some of them are rather handsome. It's just unfair that the most handsome ones are the worst dancers," her sister complained, pouting with such exaggeration, it was clear she was joking.

  "Dancing? Papa lets you dance with boys now?" Meghianna nearly choked on jealousy, just for a moment. "Will I be allowed to now?"

  A heartbeat later, she thought about the young Valor trainees' distaste for magic, and wondered if anyone at all would ask her. She was, to all intents and purposes, Queen of Snows. What foolish, magic-hating Noveni would want to be in the same room with her, much less touch her hands as they circled the room together?

  "I wouldn't, if I were you." Megassa's mouth pursed in distaste.

  "But you dance with them."

  "Danced. One evening. Then I overheard them talking--"

  "Eavesdropped," Lord Rondell interrupted. He barked laughter when Megassa stuck out her tongue at him.

  "They're only interested in me as the Warhawk's daughter, and they think I wear the knot of Valor trainee because of my royal blood, not because I know how to use my sword. And they've decided that since Papa still doesn't show any interest in any of the royal ladies who come to court, that it's time someone married his daughters and got the Warhawk to name one of them his heir."

  "Ah." Meghianna nearly choked on a thickness in her throat that was partially sympathy for her sister, partially laughter, and partially a sickening feeling that she fought to prevent from filling her stomach.

  She and Megassa had foiled the machinations of an even dozen noble ladies who had thought that mothering the Warhawk's daughters would earn them royal notice, and eventually marriage and a crown. The sisters' tactics were as numerous as the ladies and their various attitudes of sympathy, pity, friendship, cooing adoration and sternness. It didn't matter if they faced the woman down in public and blatantly told her they didn't want to be friends because they didn't want her to become their stepmother, or if they played dozens of nasty little tricks, to discourage her--the candidates kept coming.

  And now it seemed that the sisters had become fodder for the marriage market. Meghianna realized with dismay that even though she and Megassa were far too young for marriage itself, they were quite old enough for courtship and betrothals.

  Then another thought hit her and she burst out laughing.

  "What? Tell me, Meggi," her sister demanded, and reached across the gap between their horses to yank on the edge of her cloak.

  "They'll have to be extra sweet to me, even the ones who fear me as Queen of Snows, or hate me because I'm Rey'kil. And how can they be the Warhawk's heir unless they father his grandson?" Meghianna sputtered between more giggles. "They'll go mad, trying to convince me they're besotted, when they'll probably be terrified to look in my face. Forget about holding my hand in dancing or trying to steal kisses."

  "Oooh, I have a wonderful idea!" Megassa blurted. "We'll be twins all summer. The same dresses, the same hair styles, the same flowers. We'll walk the same and talk the same and we'll drive them even more mad."

  Meghianna sputtered a few more giggles, imagining the fun they would have, pretending to be each other. It wouldn't last long, because they had developed such different personalities and habits and ways of moving. Then another thought entered the image building in her mind, and her laughter faded.

  "What's wrong? What did you think of?" her sister demanded.

  Meghianna tugged her hood back, exposing her head to the drizzly spring rain and the sight of all.

  "Meggi, what did you do to your hair?" Megassa nearly wailed.

  "It's not what she did," Lord Rondell said, shaking his head as his gaze traveled over Meghianna's braids, wrapped like a crown around her head. "It's what magic has begun to do to her. You've come into your full power at last, haven't you?"

  Meghianna privately thought that only the darkest red strands had changed to blazing white, making her hair look like gold burning in a white-hot furnace. She liked the look, and how the change in her hair color made her skin look more rosy and healthy in contrast. Even if it did make her freckles seem darker.

  "That's the worst timing in the world," Megassa grumbled.

  "Everyone shows different signs of maturity," Gynefra said, eyes twinkling, mouth twisted from the effort not to laugh. "You have more bosom than your sister. That wouldn't have helped your trickery in the slightest."

  "That could have been cured with a few strategically placed kerchiefs," Megassa snapped. Her pique melted into an exasperated sigh and roll of the eyes, and then she laughed.

  * * * *

  Mrillis arrived at the Warhawk's fortress the day Meghianna was due to return. He had left in the last and fiercest of the winter storms, with a handful of the most loyal and strongest in imbrose of the Valors assigned to Efrin's personal guard, to follow rumors of untamed magic at work that seemed a little too detailed to be imaginary.

  The hunters had exhausted themselves, following warped Threads that sometimes seemed scorched by the effort of someone to control them or pair them with blood magic. Whoever attempted the magical abomination had the skill and strength to hide their activities, and somehow evaded the sensitivity of those charged with monitoring the Threads.

  Deyral and the scholars of Wynystrys were pleased with the fragments of information Mrillis sent to them, but he was unable to see the possibilities and clues that they did. Maybe he was too close to the hunt and couldn't stand back far enough to perceive patterns. Or maybe he was just too tired to think or see clearly.

  The thought of sharing the details of the hunt with Meghianna and seeing what her fresh, alert mind would make of the patterns cheered and energized him. Still, he was more intent on the hot bath waiting in his quarters than his surroundings as he crossed the inner courtyard from the stables.

  The young man who appeared from the shadows of the inset doorway had Emrillian's eyes and nose. That startled Mrillis, though he had sensed the movement before he saw the stranger, so he staggered backwards a step with his hand over his heart, as if struck.

  "Pardon me, grandfather," Pirkin said, with an easy smile that was so very clearly Pyris'. "Did we startle you?" He held out a hand, as if he thought Mrillis would fall.

  For half a second, Mrillis' heart leaped with the hope that Pyris had told his son the truth of his parentage before allowing him to come to the fortress. Then Mrillis knew that couldn't be. Not without a letter of warning. Not without giving him the opportunity to welcome his grandson as was proper. Pirkin had called him grandfather as a term of respect for an old man, nothing more. What sort of game was Pyris playing? It was obvious he expected Mrillis to keep silent and not make their relationship known to the boy, but that made no sense, either. How could Pirkin spend any time in the fortress, in the Warhawk's court, without someone making a chance remark?

  People had asked questions over the years, why Mrillis did not visit with his daughter's husband and son, why Pyris never came to Lygroes to attend the council of the lesser kings. Mrillis had told those who could keep their counsel that Pyris wanted as much distance between him and his grandson as possible, to protect the boy. Those who couldn't keep their counsel, he favored them with a quelling look and reminded them that his family's business was
no one's business. Usually that remedied the problem.

  That would not be possible any longer.

  Emmi, what would you say or do, if you saw your boy standing here, and I wasn't even permitted to hug him for you?

  "I was too enrapt in my own thoughts. Thank you for your kindness, lad." Mrillis caught the startled, haughty looks on a few faces among the knot of young men who had stepped from the doorway and now gathered around Pirkin.

  "This 'lad' is Prince Pirkin, son of King Pyris of Goarlotte," the fair-haired, gangly young man said in the flattened vowels of the southern part of Moerta. "It might be wise to show some proper respect."

  "And it might be wise if you showed some proper respect yourself, Lord Borys," Megassa called from halfway down the stairway that led from the top of the wall. She wore her uniform of the guard. The ney-hawk riding her shoulder glared at the knot of young noblemen, accurately reflecting its mistress' emotions, despite her calm expression. Megassa skimmed down the stone steps, her metal-toed boots striking sparks with every third step. Laughing, she flung her arms around Mrillis. "We weren't expecting you until tomorrow."

  "My companions and I made good time. How was your journey?" Mrillis was very aware of the stares of the young men. Testing, he cast out a thin Thread, and wasn't surprised when the touch of magic revealed flares of imbrose in all of them. So, these were this year's crop of young nobles with enough magic in their blood to be tapped for Valor training. That likely explained the silence from Pyris. He and his Rey'kil-fearing wife were upset enough that Pirkin was living up to his heritage, they likely hadn't been thinking clearly enough to prepare their son when they let him journey to Lygroes.

  "Princess? We seem to be working in the dark," the black-haired boy standing on Pirkin's left said. He hadn't shown any arrogance, and even winced a little when the other one had spoken to Mrillis. "Will you introduce us to your friend?"

  "This is Lord Mrillis, First Advisor to the Warhawk, the greatest enchanter ever born."

  "Child," Mrillis murmured, but she ignored the gentle warning.

  "How will you ever become Valors worthy of serving my father if you don't learn to look and think before you speak? Appearances can be very deceiving." Her gaze fastened on Pirkin, and Mrillis had a sudden flash of insight, warning of impending doom. "As for you, Prince Pirkin, I'm surprised--"

  "Enough, child," Mrillis said, grasping her shoulder. "These fine young men only saw an old man, dusty from the road. And we have not been properly introduced. Have pity on them and forgive their arrogance that assumes they are better than nearly everyone they see."

  "Arrogance?" the fair-haired one began. Pirkin elbowed him hard, earning a grunt and cutting off his words.

  "Yes, arrogance," Pirkin said. "You're only worried about my dignity because it reflects on you." He swept a short bow to Mrillis. "Forgive us, please, Lord Mrillis."

  "A good start to your lessons as Valors, I think. And Princess Megassa is right. Appearances can be very deceiving. If you always remember that there are at least two sides to every argument, to every story, and only half of any story is ever known, you will act with more wisdom than half the people around you." Mrillis nodded, dismissing them. "If you will excuse me, I am indeed dusty from the road, and eager to see my rooms. And your sister." He turned to Megassa and looped his arm through hers, to lead her away.

  Mrillis knew if he left her with the young Valor trainees, she would find some way to taunt them and drop hints until they were begging for the secret that sparkled in her eyes. Mrillis had an image of a very large boulder dropping into a very shallow, fish-filled pond. That would be the impact of Megassa announcing that Pirkin was Mrillis' grandson, and she considered him very rude for not greeting him with love and respect. He imagined Pirkin would be like the stranded fish, thrown out of his comfortable pond, left gasping and stunned.

  "What's wrong with all of them?" Megassa fumed as they strode through the double doors into the private living quarters section of the fortress.

  "Nothing unusual." He squeezed her forearm and released her. "Have some pity on them. This is likely the first time most of them have come to Lygroes, let alone the Warhawk's Court. They're accustomed to being of high importance, like the lead dog, each in his own small kennel. Now, they've been thrown into an enormous kennel, and they're not sure what place they are to take, much less who they must fight to earn that place."

  "Very noisy, messy dogs," she agreed with a giggle, her humor returning. Her ney-hawk let out a crooning rasp, what Megassa and Meghianna both swore was the equivalent of a chuckle. "Oh, I'm so glad you're back. We're going to have such fun this summer. Did you know Meggi's hair is turning white from all her magic?"

  "Is it? Hmm, a good sign, I think."

  "Why? It just means she'll have to take on all her tiresome duties as Queen of Snows that much sooner, and then we'll never have any fun ever again." She gasped for breath as they reached the top of the stairs.

  Mrillis tapped her on the nose. "Let that be a warning not to whine while you're running up the steps. You'll run out of breath."

  "I don't--" Her false pique cracked and she giggled again. "Yes, I was whining. Papa! Lord Mrillis is back." She darted away from Mrillis and hurried down the hall to the far end where Meghianna and Efrin stood in the doorway of Efrin's chambers, waiting for them.

  Mrillis had been warned by Megassa's complaint about her sister's hair, but it still jolted him a little to see the golden red blaze had vanished to white gold, like the hottest part of a flame. In a few years, he supposed even the gold would be gone, and her lovely, heavy mane would be pure white, shining like moonlight.

  It is time, he said, silently agreeing with Nalla and Deyral and the others who had overseen the last phases of Meghianna's training. Kind, wise, thoughtful, disciplined, Meghianna was ready to formally assume her full authority and responsibilities as Queen of Snows.

  As if she hasn't been serving Lygroes in that capacity for the last few years, he added, hearing Nalla speak the same words in his memory, ending with one of her piqued sniffs of temper.

  * * * *

  "I can't say I'm surprised," Efrin said, when Mrillis told him of his decision that evening after the four of them had enjoyed a laughter-filled, private meal together. "Nalla warned me, as soon as they noticed the white creeping in last fall."

  "Not that I enjoy thinking politically, but we must find the best way to turn her investiture as Queen of Snows to the best advantage to the throne."

  "You mean enforce to those rock-heads that there is still a necessary partnership between Rey'kil and Noveni, between Lygroes and Moerta, and that the Warhawk is a partner with the Queen of Snows, not her errand boy?" Efrin nodded, his mouth twisting in a wry expression that might have been a smile, if not for the spark of something harsh in his eyes.

  "I could almost imagine Ceera plotting with the Estall to make her heir your daughter, just to give the more argumentative nobles some reassurance. I would rather have Rey'kil nobles worried about the implications of the Queen of Snows owing allegiance to you through blood."

  "Rey'kil nobles are more reasonable?" He dropped into the heavy chair in his workroom. As he always did when Meghianna came to the fortress for the summer, Efrin had rearranged his workroom so that his worktable sat next to the window overlooking her garden.

  Mrillis wondered if the king had any idea how much his concern for his daughter showed to the world. At fifteen, strong in magic, trained by Gynefra herself in fighting tactics, and heavily dosed with common sense, Meghianna was more than capable of defending herself. Yet still Efrin worried about her as if she were a child of four, easily injured, easily picked up and carried off where she didn't want to go. Of his two daughters, Meghianna appeared more delicate and quiet and retiring, but as Mrillis had told the young Valor trainees that afternoon, appearances were deceiving. Meghianna was more likely to trip up any attacker with a flick of her fingers among the Threads, or stop arrows and knives and swords without co
nscious thought. The Threads were part of her, an extension of her body. How could he convince a doting father that his daughters had both grown up and would soon be able to live up to their promises of taking care of him someday?

  Find him a bride, an amused voice whispered in his imagination. It's high time our boy found the love of his life, the voice continued, sounding more like Ceera than it had in years.

  "No one with any authority who wants or enjoys it is reasonable," Mrillis returned, after only a momentary pause, while all those thoughts raced through his mind.

  "Ha!" Efrin's somber mood dropped away with a grin that emphasized the new wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. "By your words, I am the most reasonable man who has ever served the Estall."

  "I pray your son follows in your shadow," Mrillis said, the words slipping out of his mouth before he realized they were in his mind.

  "My son? What do you know that I don't?" Efrin chose to take his words lightly. He let out a loud sigh, only partly weariness, and slouched a little in his chair. "So, we have our little birds safely under our wings for the last summer. Once Meggi is officially recognized as Queen of Snows, she won't be allowed to come stay with me any longer, will she?"

  "As Queen of Snows, she can choose when and how often and how long she visits her father. And her co-worker under the Estall's blessing," Mrillis felt compelled to add.

  "And what is this about my son?" he said, nodding that he understood all the unspoken things behind Mrillis' words.

  "It is high time you seriously considered taking a wife."

  "I have been seriously considering it since the official mourning for Belissa ended."

  "Considering how to avoid marriage with a dozen scheming women, guided by their brothers and fathers, is not the same as considering marriage." Mrillis settled in the wide windowsill with his back to the moonlit garden. "I know Ceera and your parents would agree with me--find the woman who touches your heart, and forget about political expediency. The Estall blesses marriages that are true bondings of heart and soul and mind, as well as the flesh. The children that come from such marriages are a blessing to the World."