The Trouble With Kings

by Sherwood Smith

  I certainly felt better as I stepped through the cleaning frame and into the linen underdress. Netta lifted the heavy overgown, I put head and hands through, and she let the ribbon-edged hem fall to my feet.

  The lovely fabric foamed around my feet as I sat. She wove flowers and green gems into my hair. My throat felt dry and nasty, my body heavy. This was my wedding day, but I had no emotion whatever.

  Presently a tap at the door caused Netta to scurry in fright to open it. Garian entered, the candlelight shimmering over the gold brocade and embroidery on his long tunic. Gems sparkled with starbright color in his hair, at his ear, and on his hands. Round his brow he wore a golden circlet.

  “Are you ready, Flian?”

  “Yes. You look quite fine. Netta, first may I have a drink of water?”

  Garian waited while Netta brought me water in a crystal wine goblet. I raised it, looking into its depths. The swirling reflections of the fire coalesced into two eyes, and I almost dropped the goblet.

  “Seeing again?”

  Garian was right next to me; I could feel his breath stirring my hair, and his fingers gripped my wrist.

  “A face. Jason’s, I guess.” I shrugged.

  Garian let me go and I drank the water, which eased the dryness of my throat. Garian took the goblet from my fingers and set it with a crystalline ching on the table.

  “Let us depart.” He took my arm and led me from the room.

  “I wish I could see myself once.” I frowned down at my hair swinging against my skirts.

  From the gloom on the stairway came a quiet voice. “Why not let her?”

  “It’s too late to do any harm.” Garian chuckled.

  An arched door stood open off the first landing. Garian led me inside, Jason’s quiet tread behind us. The room was lit by several branches of candles. Jason was dressed for the first time in something besides riding clothes. Over a tabard-woven, loose-sleeved linen shirt, he wore a long, dark green velvet tunic belted with blackweave, undecorated by any trim or finery, his black hair as always tied back. Except for the wedding green, he looked less a bridegroom than did Garian.

  Then Garian gestured, and I faced the mirror.

  Vertigo—memory—made me dizzy. I peered into the wan face of an ordinary young lady with rather bland coloring—skin and hair more or less the shade of honey, and eyes too pale to be considered blue. The gown was beautifully made, but I scarcely gave it a glance, for I was more interested in myself. The bruises were visible, dark smudges that made my features difficult to descry, but I did not faint or quail away. I felt no reaction at all besides a faint curiosity, even when I gazed straight into my eyes. They were the eyes of a stranger.

  A tall shadow moved to my side. Jason stood next to me; the top of my head came to his shoulder. His smile at my reflection was brief. “Come along,” he said.

  “The guests are waiting,” Garian added.

  I glanced up into Jason’s face. “For a moment I almost had it.”

  “I know. I saw.” He slid his hand under my arm.

  I whispered, feeling acutely self-conscious, “I wish it had come. I am sorry I cannot pretend a happiness I ought to feel.”

  “No matter.” The answer was quiet, and without any emotion.

  Garian stepped up on my other side and took my other arm.

  Together the three of us walked downstairs to the dining hall. The panes in the windows were old-fashioned diamonds, which glistened with fire-reflections from the candle-sconces along the walls. Above the candles, the banners glowed with muted color. Around the perimeter of the room about thirty well-dressed strangers waited, their jewels winking and gleaming.

  Most of the people smiled. One tall, black-bearded man laughed, then turned away quickly and coughed.

  Jason led me to the high table.

  “…all right?” A matronly lady was before me, giving me a questioning look.

  The man who had laughed said in a hearty voice, “As right as she’ll ever be.”

  Garian responded in a similar hearty voice. “We explained about the carriage accident, Lady Ordomar. Flian is otherwise quite well, are you not?”

  “Of course.” I willed it to be so.

  The three of us took our places behind the chairs at the high table, and Garian lifted a goblet high. He spoke our names, the guests echoed, and they all drank to Jason and me. We would share wine after the ceremony—

  How did I know that?

  I closed my eyes, dizzy.

  Crash! Glass shards from the windows flew everywhere, glittering as bright as the guests’ gems as they recoiled, screamed, shouted, cursed.

  Silent black-clad figures leaped in, one of them on horseback, glass crunching and tinkling under the animal’s hooves. They spread round the perimeter of the room, their faces obscured, some holding bows, others swords; the two men-at-arms converged on the mounted figure, whose sword arced and hummed. In five strokes he wounded both men. They dropped to the floor, groaning.

  Garian was hemmed by two of the intruders, so he could not reach the bell-pull. The horse skidded on the glassy slate flooring, and pranced toward the high table.

  A hand tightened on my arm. I felt curiously distant, as if this all happened on a stage, and I watched from far away.

  Jason gripped a long dagger in one hand. But before he could raise it, a sword slashed down from behind and stopped at his neck. “I wouldn’t if I was you,” growled a man in Garian’s livery. “And I might add I’m glad I ain’t.”

  At that moment the dancing black horse reached the high table. It tossed its head, eyes wide. The black-clad figures collected weapons from the guests.

  “Stand, Flian,” commanded the horseman.

  Garian’s face was white with rage, but a gauntleted hand held a sword at his neck as well, held by a sturdy man dressed in Garian’s own livery. Garian’s eyes flicked back and forth, back and forth, sweat beading his brow.

  Jason stood very still, his attention entirely on the rider of that horse.

  The animal stepped closer. Round dark eyes reflected the candles behind me as I got to my feet. An arm slid round my waist and I was lifted into the air.

  A grunt, and I sat astride the horse’s withers. A hard arm held me against a slim body whose heart beat a steady tattoo. I smelled horse and human sweat, a sharp scent over the wine and perfumes of Garian’s hall.

  “Do you desire the consequences, Jaim?” Jason asked wryly.

  “No.” The man holding me laughed. “But the thought of putting a hitch in your gallop will warm me those cold nights on the run.”

  I felt the rider nod.

  The second man in Garian’s livery reversed his blade and brought the hilt down across the back of Jason’s head. Jason dropped soundlessly to the floor. The second man served Garian the same way—shouts, screams—and next to my ear, the rider clucked. An edge of cloak was flung over my head, so I no longer saw the shocked faces of the guests or the shard-framed window. The horse gave a powerful leap, landed, trotted, and then gathered speed.

  Chapter Four

  After a time the horse slowed, and stopped.

  The cloak was pulled from my head and cool, sweet air ruffled across my face. A number of mounted people waited under a great spreading oak.

  “Cover ’em.” My rider hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “The rest of us ride.”

  I twisted around. In the weak moonlight, Jaim looked a lot like Jason, only without the mustache.

  “So you’re Jaim.”

  “Yes. We have a long ride. Will you cooperate?”

  I said with as much dignity as I could muster, “I have neither the strength nor the inclination to scuffle.” Added more normally, “Where are we going?”

  “Away from here.”

  He raised a hand. The horses began their gallop.

  He was right. It was a long ride. The gallop eventually slowed to a trot and then to a walk. Jaim began turning this way and that.

  A sigh went through him when so
meone rode out from a shaded gully, leading a string of horses. In silence the riders all exchanged mounts, and once again we galloped.

  I did not stay awake for the entire night, but drifted in and out of a kind of strange sleep, my dreams disturbed by the rhythm of the horse’s hooves on the road, by the heartbeat beneath my ear, by the memory of those swords reflecting the firelight in blood-red glow. Down and up mountain roads, across bridges that spanned thundering falls, and at last into a narrow tree-protected valley, and thence into an old cave.

  At once people crowded around, everyone talking.

  Jaim lifted his voice. “How about letting us dismount?”

  The press of people eased.

  Jaim climbed down, then pulled me after and set me on my feet. “She’s had a rough month. First let me get her settled.”

  “If you’re going to talk about me,” I said, “I want to hear it as well.”

  “Anon.” Jaim led the way through a narrow crevice into an oddly shaped room lit by candles. It was bisected down below by a dark, rushing stream. At the other end was a kind of shelf, with a pile of woven yeath-fur rugs and pillows. “You can sleep here.”

  I dropped onto the inviting rugs. “I don’t understand anything.”

  “I’ll explain come morning. And there’s plenty to explain. You have to be awake to hear it all.” He pointed a finger at me. “That means you need to sleep off whatever potions Garian’s been slipping you.”

  “Healer’s draughts, he said. In the wine. So that’s why I kept getting sicker!”

  Jaim snorted. “Sounds like Garian’s usual trickery, all right. Never mind. It’s over. Sleep!” He left, taking out the light.

  I tried to unlace the wedding gown, but it was too much work. So I just stretched out, pulled the soft rug over me, and slept.

  I woke when lamplight flickered over my eyelids.

  Jaim walked in carrying a lamp. He leaned against the wall, which glinted in layers slanting upward at an angle. “Do you feel any better?”

  “A lot better. But ravenous.”

  “Food is being prepared. For now, I really want to hear what happened to you.”

  “You don’t know?” I asked.

  “Not the way you understand it.” His jaw tightened—fighting a yawn.

  I paused, looking at him more closely. Bony face—no mustache—long black hair tied back. His shirt was unlaced, rolled to the elbows, his posture the tight stance of someone who needs to sit—has needed to sit for time past counting.

  “You’re tired,” I observed.

  He nodded. “Very.” Blinked down at the rugs and made a curious grimace. “Since you noticed, mind if I avail myself?”

  Surprised, I shrugged. “There’s room for five here, in truth. Go ahead.”

  He disengaged from the wall, set the lamp down and stretched out on the blankets just beyond arm’s reach, his nose pointed toward the ceiling and his eyes closing. “Ah.”

  “Why do you look like Jason?”

  “I’m his brother.”

  “He never mentioned that,” I said. “The brief references were more that of an enemy. That’s one confusion. The entanglement of relatives who dislike one another is another. Then there’s my own dilemma, such as: will I like myself when I regain my memory? From what Garian hinted, I might not be so pleasant a person, and I can’t for the life of me see why I betrothed myself to Jason…” I rambled on, mixing questions with observations until I realized I wasn’t getting any answers.

  Jaim was breathing the slow, steady breathing of one who is dead to the world.

  I laughed, cast my rug over him, and got up. I’d find that food myself.

  I made my way to the other end of the cave, where I was met by a tall blond man dressed in rough forest clothing and mocs. He bowed, which surprised me.

  “Good, what, morning? Evening?”

  “Good evening, Princess.”

  Princess? That explained the bow. Interesting that Garian hadn’t told me and Netta had called me just “lady”.

  “Where may I get something to eat?”

  “Come this way, please, your highness.”

  He led me up a narrow rocky corridor lit at intervals by torches. A sharp angle opened into a huge cavern that had a waterfall at one end, as well as a stream. A group of people turned and one came toward me, a young lady somewhat shorter than I, with a vivid face and lovely figure. She had long, curling black hair and expressive dark blue eyes. She was dressed plainly in a woolen skirt and bodice. Her linen blouse had full sleeves and a low neckline that made the best of her figure.

  “Welcome, Flian.” She put out her hand. “I’m Jewel. Jaim tells me you’ve lost your memory, but we haven’t met in any case.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Jewel.” I peered past her, sniffing the air. “Oatcakes! I am famished.”

  “You look it,” she said with brisk sympathy. “Far too skinny, if you don’t mind my adding. Felic, would you fix a plate? Where’s Jaim? He said he was going to interview you.”

  “He fell asleep.”

  “Good! I put the sleepweed he stole into his wine. After all, if it can work for our big brother, it can work for me—not that it took much. He’s been on his feet for too many days.” She cast me a laughing glance. “I hope I won’t have to take care of him any more.”

  Food appeared then, plain but well-cooked oatcakes and baked potato with vegetables stuffed inside. We sat on hay-stuffed pillows a ways from the others, who appeared to be young men and women of our own age. Most of them; some were older.

  For a time Jewel watched me eat. I gathered the impression that she was endeavoring to be patient—and that patience did not come easily. When I was done, she pounced. “What happened? What lies did they tell you?”

  “Lies?” I told her my story from the time I woke up in the cottage. I’d thought it innocuous—I could not really believed that astonishing business in the dining hall had happened to me—until I ended with, “So I guess what I really wish to know is, why did Jaim abduct me?”

  Her cheeks bloomed crimson, her eyes widened. I almost dropped my fork as she declared, “Oh! I can’t bear it! Lies indeed, worse than I thought!”

  I sat back. “I assure you I haven’t purposefully lied—”

  “You were not abducted. You were rescued.” She jumped to her feet and began to pace, waving her arms. “Absolute, ridiculous, rotten, miserable lies! No wonder you went along with everything. Jaim was afraid Garian had broken your spirit, forced you in some nefarious way to fall into their horrid plans. Oh, Garian’d love that, he would. Only we didn’t think he’d dare, because too many people would know, but how else to explain that marriage? When the couriers went out to the local nobles two days ago, Jaim knew he would have to act fast, or it would be too late—”

  “I’m lost,” I said.

  Jewel stopped, snorted, looked back at Jaim’s people, some of whom were staring at us.

  She put her fists on her hips. “Oh, I ought not to get so mad, I know it, because I exaggerate terribly. But it’s not good to bottle your feelings inside, like they do. Jaim does. Jason has no feelings, unless you count cruelty, nastiness and evil! Do people really feel evil?” She sidetracked herself, looking perplexed. “Well, if anybody does, Jason is the one. If he’d managed to marry you, once he’d gotten his claws on your holdings—” She drew her finger across her neck and made a squelching noise.

  I shivered.

  “Huh! So, Jaim really did rescue you. He saved your life! Say, you’re finished, and the dishes barrel is here. We haven’t many luxuries, but we do have a kitchen cleaning bucket. And a cleaning frame. Or, would you prefer a nice bath?”

  “Oh, would I ever!”

  We put our dishes in the water-filled barrel; someone had managed to get a cleaning frame on it, because I saw the sparkle of magic.

  She led me down a narrow passage. I smelled running water, and even steam. She stopped at one point and called, “Anyone here?”

  “
Yes!” Several male voices echoed back.

  She sighed. “We’ll have a turn later. Let’s go to where I sleep, since Jaim’s asleep in his place.”

  “I was using his bed?”

  “Well, it was the only empty one, because he knew he’d be staying up, the idiot.” She snorted, plunging up another narrow tunnel. Along the way I saw various cracks and crevices leading in different directions. Some had tapestries hung over them, and some didn’t.

  Jewel had laid claim to a small water-hollowed cave with one thin connection of rock left. Stalagmites and stalactites stippled the rest of the cave, except for a smooth area in the far corner on which she had scattered brightly colored quilts and lengths of fabric, including silk and velvet. She also had a small glowglobe, evidence of Jaim’s regard for his sister, for he hadn’t one in his own chamber.

  She flung herself down on this magpie bed, and I stretched out next to her. “There’s one thing I can safely tell you, and that’s my story,” she announced. “You’ll understand more about us, don’t you think?”

  “Certainly,” I said, though I wondered why I needed to understand her family.

  “Jaim can tell you his part,” she added. “You already know that the three of us are siblings. Our mother died a few years ago. Drink. Father was assassinated when I was little. They used to fight a lot, that previous generation. Of them, only your father is left—and he tried to use diplomacy or trade rather than fight, which got him sneered at in the past, but he’s still alive. And rich.” She gave me a wry sort of grimace. “We’re not, you see. Ralanor Veleth is twice the size of Lygiera, your kingdom. Larger than twice, probably, but it’s rocky and soil-poor, and we’ve had a long history of fighting to get access to better land. We’ve expanded to the eastern mountains and—”

  She tossed her curls back. “This is harder than I thought! Jason took over from our mother when he was, oh, twenty-two or so. That was because he could best all the warriors, and he thought he could rule. He forced Jaim to be as good. Jason wants to keep the army large against others coming against us, or against Norsunder, but actually we think he’s intending to go over and take Lygiera and maybe even Dantherei. It would certainly solve our treasury problems! Jaim says we can’t, that all the fighting has to stop, that we solve our own problems without being grabby with other people’s land and treasury.”