"That blessing didn't help Cafral or my parents, did it?" he mused.
Efrin's face settled into somber lines, making him look twenty years older, for a count of ten heartbeats. Mrillis waited, giving him time to work through these momentary bursts of melancholy. With all the burdens on his shoulders, Efrin needed to indulge in such moments of self-pity, if only for balance in his mind and soul. Forcing a man to constantly think of others, to put the good of the kingdom, the security of the entire World ahead of his own needs and emotions, would harm everyone. Mrillis sometimes thought that his presence, granting the High King the freedom to speak and feel and complain and be selfish, was the greatest good he could do for the Warhawk throne.
"Did you know that the fathers of three of our young Valors have approached me already about marriage?" Efrin snorted and leaned his head back against the cushioned top of his chair. "Two are interested in Megassa as a daughter-by-law. The third thinks Meghianna would be a good match for his son--or rather, that his son would be a good match for her. I didn't ask if he had his eye on control of the Stronghold, or he hoped Meggi's firstborn would be a boy whom I would name my heir."
"I think it is best to ward off all comers until our girls express interest in sweethearts," Mrillis said slowly.
"Then send them both to Wynystrys and lock them up until they're at least thirty!"
The two men laughed softly. Mrillis remembered feeling that way about Emrillian, when she had realized that boys had their uses besides running errands for her.
"Pirkin is among our young Valors, did you know?" Efrin said, when silence had settled softly through the room.
Chapter Seven
"I met him, briefly, as I came in from the stables," Mrillis said, with only the faintest hesitation.
"I think it is my duty to tell him of the injustice his father visited on you and on him." Efrin rubbed his bearded chin. "Better to warn him before someone reveals only the nasty details of the story in the worst possible way."
"If I had some idea of the right way to reveal the truth to him... I don't know whether to thank you, or beg you to say nothing. He will learn the truth eventually."
"Do you know, I might like the idea of your grandson married to one of my daughters." Efrin's face brightened when Mrillis sat up straight, startled by the idea, but he didn't laugh.
Mrillis thought later he might not have easily forgiven the king for that, if he had.
* * * *
Meghianna sensed the somberness in the air before she walked into the Warhawk's council chamber, her third morning back at the fortress. The Valor trainees were there, standing along the wall opposite the windows, blinking against the bright light that spilled through the wide-open shutters. Her attention caught on Pirkin, and his eyes widened when their gazes met.
Megassa stood at attention, on duty for the council session, with her back against the second door leading out of the room. As if someone so slender could keep the door closed against a concerted assault. Meghianna might have laughed at the image of her sister digging her boots into the stone paving and pressing her shoulders against the door. She might have laughed any other time. Today, with the air heavy and darkened with the somber, speculative, even curious and frowning expressions all focused on her, she could hardly breathe.
"Majesty. The Stronghold sends its greetings and prayers for the Estall's blessing." Meghianna dropped into a low curtsy when she stopped three steps away from her father's chair at the far end of the table.
The Warhawk sitting on the back of the chair let out a harsh rasp and hunched it shoulders. This wasn't the calm, slightly ragged-looking, ancient bird of her childhood, but a new, petulant Warhawk with a tendency to react to any heightened emotions within its vicinity. What, Meghianna wondered, did the bird pick up from all these gathered Noveni and Rey'kil nobles and elders?
"Welcome, Meghianna... Queen of Snows," Efrin said, his voice softening with strain.
She nearly stood up straight, instead of waiting for him to take her hand and help her stand, as the ritual had been for the last five years. Always before, Efrin had addressed her as Meghianna Warhawk, Queen's Heir. Without thinking, her head snapped to the right, searching for Mrillis to confirm the change. Was this what had everyone so somber and alert? Her gaze met Mrillis' and he nodded slowly, once. Yes, she had passed the last test and her guardians and teachers were satisfied she was ready to take on her duties without their guidance and approval.
The problem was that Meghianna didn't want to be a grown-up. She liked knowing that she could take chances with her decisions and attempts at magic and diplomacy, because there would always be someone who would stop and make her think and re-think, and tell her when she had forgotten something. From now on, no one would question her. Not to her face, anyway.
She barely caught herself in time before her mouth twisted in bitter distaste, the knowledge that from now on, she would be expected to be perfect, serene, omnipotent--while half the people around her waited eagerly for her to make a mistake. They would criticize in private and dissect every decision she made, every step she took, and never share their so-called wisdom.
"Majesty, what is your command?" she said, deliberately tearing herself out of such bitter, self-destructive thoughts. She nearly laughed aloud in nervous relief when her father took her hand and helped her stand, and led her to the chair that sat directly on his right hand. A chair, with a thick cushion and an enameled plaque with the scroll-and-lamp emblem of the Stronghold decorating the high back. No more padded stool for her.
That wasn't much comfort. Meghianna sternly shoved the uneasy thought away just as fiercely as all the doubts that would sap her strength and confidence.
If her teachers and guardians believed she was ready to carry her duties without their guidance, then she was ready. They trusted her. She had to remember that, no matter what anyone said, either to her face or behind her back.
Besides, she could always rely on Mrillis and her father. And Megassa would always tell her the truth.
"The decision is yours now, Lady of the Stronghold." Efrin's mouth twisted in a crooked grin as he helped her sit in her new chair, then bowed low to her. "Name the time of your investiture. And the place."
"The grand meadow where royal marriages take place," she promptly responded.
That was easy enough. She and Megassa had daydreamed away many rainy afternoons, planning the various ceremonies that awaited them. The day Megassa would receive her spurs as a fully trained Valor. Meghianna's investiture as Queen of Snows. Their wedding ceremonies. They knew what color dresses they wanted to wear, the colors of the flowers, the wine to be served, the food, the songs to be played for dancing.
"A wise political move, Lady," Lord Rondell said, nodding. Murmurs drifted up and down the table as the various lords and elders added their approval and other comments.
And to think I hated the word 'politics' before this, she thought, casting out a mental hand to touch a Thread and share her wry observation with Mrillis. His mouth twitched, and a light flush touched his cheeks from the effort not to laugh. Suddenly, Meghianna felt a thousand times better. Mrillis understood.
Taking the hint from Lord Rondell's comment, Meghianna let the council debate the best time and how many layers of nobility to invite to the ceremony. She sat at her father's right hand, paying more attention to the novelty of being able to lean back in the chair and relax, instead of having to sit upright with perfect posture on the stool. Nalla would never let her slouch or rest her elbows on the table when she grew tired.
She came alert to the discussion when the talk turned to the smaller details of the ceremony, including her escort for the ceremony. It was a given that Valors would escort her from the tent where she would prepare for the ceremony. When Queen D'marus, of the Moertan kingdom of Arknay, suggested that the Valor trainees be included in the escort as a statement of confidence in the future, Meghianna remembered the conversation with her sister only a few days before. This w
as all politics, of course, but she could see where it was a good use of politics. Including these young Valors, some of whom were loudly reluctant possessors of imbrose, would do much toward soothing newly upset feelings. Giving honor to Noveni noblemen and tying their names to the investiture of the new Queen of Snows would say much about the value the Rey'kil placed on the alliance with the Noveni.
"Prince Pirkin, of course, is the highest-ranked," she offered, neatly sliding into the conversation in the slight pause before the expected argument began over the order of precedence.
The silence stretched five heartbeats longer. She avoided looking at Mrillis, sitting on her father's left hand, because she was afraid whatever she saw in his eyes would make her laugh. Instead, she looked at Pirkin and his friends, standing along the opposite wall. He gravely bowed to her. Meghianna caught several of the young men staring at her, and a few scowled. The ones who scowled the deepest and darkest, she noted, were the ones who had tried to curry her favor just in the two days since she had returned to the fortress.
Did they think they had more right to be her escort, or that she had to like them best, just because they brought her flowers and sweets and flattered her? Did they think that choosing Pirkin as her escort automatically betrothed them? Some of them were oblivious enough to ignore the fact that Pirkin hadn't done more than talk with her before a meal with the Court.
"That is very true." Efrin nodded to her. "Prince Pirkin, you will furnish us with a detailed list of the Valors newly come here for training, to choose the remainder of your companions. I do not want to pick young men merely by the size of their father's territory, but by other criteria. You are free for several hours this afternoon, Lady?"
He paused, and for two seconds, Meghianna didn't know who he referred to. Then she realized that her father could no longer call her 'my dear' or even 'birdy' in public any longer.
"Immediately after today's lesson with the Valors, yes," she said, and prayed her face didn't look as red warm as it felt. "Prince Pirkin, will you stay and discuss the criteria with me?"
"I am honored, Lady." He bowed low to her. And winked, tipping his head to the right to indicate several of his fellows, who whispered furiously among themselves.
It occurred to her for the first time that she might have put him in an awkward position among his friends and fellow-trainees. It seemed Pirkin saw some humor in the situation, the possible mad scramble for his favor and for precedence among the trainees. Meghianna was glad. She wondered if he came by that sense of humor naturally, or if he had learned it from his father and step-mother. She rather hoped it was inborn, and he had inherited his wit and insight from his grandfather, Mrillis.
* * * *
"Excuse me, Lady." Borys stepped up to the window where Meghianna sat for a breath of fresh air while waiting for the noon meal to be brought into the council chamber. "I wonder if you could clarify something for me?"
"I will try, Lord Borys." Meghianna agreed with Megassa, that Borys' good looks were in direct contrast to the lack of beauty in his soul. "You disagree with my choice of Prince Pirkin as my escort?"
"I wouldn't disagree with any choice you made, Lady. But I question the accuracy in calling him the highest ranked among us. Goarlotte is a small kingdom, and only partially reclaimed from the poisoning of star-metal at that."
"You didn't hear my royal father say that criteria would not be based on size of territory."
"I did hear him, yes--"
"Leave off, Borys," Pirkin said, coming over to join them. He gave a short bow of head and shoulders to Meghianna.
"My father esteems King Pyris above all his other allies in Moerta," Meghianna said, raising a hand to stop Pirkin when he opened his mouth to, most likely, discourage his friend from questioning her. "Are you familiar with the dark events surrounding the naming of Efrin Warhawk as High King?"
"Somewhat," Borys said, after a pause in which he and Pirkin exchanged questioning frowns.
Meghianna had to struggle not to laugh at having stumped these two. True, Pirkin had been just a baby and Borys was perhaps a toddler when the royal family was slaughtered by Endor, son of the Nameless One. She chose to be amused that she, who hadn't even been conceived at the time, knew more than they did. The alternative to laughter was to weep. Was vital history deliberately forgotten, just because arrogant fools refused to admit the mistakes of their fathers? Those who did not learn from history's mistakes, her teachers had told her too many times to count, repeated those mistakes, to their everlasting sorrow.
"Traitors brought illness into the Stronghold and raised the protective spells so that those who would bring healing to the dying were kept out. Lord Mrillis raced across the width of Lygroes to reach the Stronghold and break those barriers. Only he could do it, because of all the enchanters in the land, he was the only one outside the Stronghold who had been born there. He got there and tore down the barriers, damaging the traitor, Endor, most severely."
"What does that have to do with the crowning of the Warhawk?" Borys said, when she paused to take a breath. He didn't sound quite as belligerent as before.
"At that time, my mother, Belissa, was betrothed to Cafral, my father's older brother and heir to the throne. She and Emrillian, daughter of Ceera, Queen of Snows, and all the children of the forgers of the Zygradon, raced to hide the bowl of magic from traitors and the enemies of Lygroes. Emrillian hid the bowl, but Endor struck her down and killed her. The shock of her death, and the last desperate attempt to save her daughter's life killed Lady Ceera, who lay on the brink of death from the illness that decimated the Stronghold. Lord Mrillis set out on a vengeance quest when the ashes of his wife and daughter's burial pyres were barely cool, risking his life to end the evil that threatened to destroy our land."
Meghianna watched Pirkin as she spoke. He didn't react to anything, except that his frown deepened a little more, mostly in interest. She wondered why he had never heard any of this before. What did his father fear so greatly, to keep the identity of his birth-mother and her family secret from his son?
"When Lord Mrillis was away, hunting his enemy, traitors struck the Warhawk's fortress while everyone still grieved for Ceera and Emrillian. King Pyris was chief of the Valors at that time, and he sensed the evil magic stirring before anyone else did. He roused the Valors and led the warriors who kept all the nobles of our land from being slaughtered like so many helpless birds. King Pyris knew Mrillis had vanished in search of Endor, and he kept everyone else in the kingdom from panicking when Braenlicach vanished in a blaze of light, leaping to the hand that had helped forge it, so that Mrillis was at last able to destroy our land's greatest enemy.
"King Pyris stood with Efrin Warhawk and protected him when fools wanted to panic and take the disappearance of Braenlicach as a sign that the son of Athrar Warhawk was unworthy to rule. King Pyris gave wisdom and strength to my father when he was nearly blind with grief and loss from the deaths of his parents, grandparents, and brother. For that," Meghianna said, dropping into a low curtsey before Pirkin, "the Warhawk's family owes much to the bloodline of Pyris, King of Goarlotte, and acknowledges his bloodline as most noble and royal of all who dwell in Moerta. No matter how small his kingdom may be," she added, standing up, one corner of her mouth curving up.
"I stand corrected, Lady." Borys bowed, and Pirkin echoed him with only a moment of hesitation.
One set of hands clapping startled the three. Meghianna's cheeks burned before she was conscious of her father standing just out of her field of vision. Efrin's smile was crooked, and she couldn't interpret the bright, sharp light in his eyes.
"Thank you for teaching us all a valuable lesson, Lady," her father said. "I can see we have been mightily negligent in teaching history to the next generation." He cocked his head to one side, his eyes narrowing. "Or is it only the nobles of Moerta who have ignored the battles and sorrows of our recent past?"
"I heard a little of these events, Majesty," Pirkin said, "but not the whole story.
Everything was told to me in fragments, not the entire picture."
"I think we must mend that lack. Lord Rondell?" He beckoned for the retired head of the Valors, who stood close enough he must have overhead something of the conversation.
"Majesty?" Lord Rondell bowed to the four. "I heartily agree. With Lord Mrillis' permission, I will change the schedule of our young Valors' training to include some time each day in the library, discussing history."
"Will you be included in our lessons, Lady?" Borys said.
Something about his smile struck her as wrong. Not forced, but not at all pleasant, either. Surely Megassa had to be wrong, and this young Valor didn't intend to court her. Meghianna fought down a swelling of panic that wanted to squeeze her lungs. Just because she was ready to take on all the duties and authority of Queen of Snows did not mean she was ready for courtship and marriage.
How she wished Nalla had come from the Stronghold this year with her. What had made her think she didn't need her beloved nursemaid riding at her side any longer? Nalla would give her priceless advice on how to deal with the strange, unfathomable creatures disguised as civilized young men.
* * * *
"I heard them talking in their courtyard," Megassa announced, after circling the practice field three times, standing on her horse's back.
This afternoon, six days after that fateful Council meeting, the sisters had decided to dress alike, from their blue tunics and brown trousers, down to the same gold-dyed leather thongs binding their hair. They found if they tightly braided their hair and wrapped it in matching kerchiefs, most of the white in Meghianna's hair was hidden. People who didn't know them very well couldn't tell them apart while they sat still and didn't say much. Megassa walked with enviable grace, but she walked with a purposeful stride, a warrior even when she fluttered with ribbons and scarves, or gleamed with jewels.
"Who?" Meghianna asked, though she knew quite well who her sister referred to.
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