Valdemar Books

by Lackey, Mercedes

  “Lord and Lady!” Elcarth’s sharp features twitched as he controlled his urge to laugh. “She sounds like Talamir already!”

  Kyril just shook his head ruefully. “That she does, brother. Well enough, Talia—we’ll see you there. You’d best be off; I imagine Selenay is wanting to discuss a few things with you before the Council meeting itself.”

  Talia knew a dismissal when she heard one, and took her leave of both of them, with a light foot to match her lightened heart.

  “Talia—” Selenay forestalled all formality by embracing her Herald warmly. “—Bright Lady, how I have missed you! Come in here where we can have a little privacy.”

  She drew Talia into a granite-walled alcove holding a single polished wooden bench, just off the corridor leading to the Council chamber. As usual, she was dressed as any of her Heralds, with only the thin circlet of royal red-gold that rested on her own golden hair proclaiming her rank.

  “Let me get a good look at you. Havens, you look wonderful! But you’ve gotten so thin—”

  “Having to eat my own cooking,” Talia replied, “that’s all. I would have tried to see you last night—”

  “You wouldn’t have found me,” Selenay said, blue eyes dark with affection. “I was closeted with the Lord Marshal, going over troop deployments on the Border. By the time we were finished, I wouldn’t have been willing to see my resurrected father, I was that weary. All those damn maps! Besides, the first night back from internship is always spent with your closest friends, it’s tradition! How else can you catch up on eighteen months of news?”

  “Eighteen months of gossip, you mean.” Talia grinned. “I understand Kris and I caused a little ourselves.”

  “From your offhand manner can I deduce that my thoughts of a deathless romance are in vain?” Her eyes danced with amusement and she pouted in feigned disappointment.

  Talia shook her head in mock exasperation. “You, too? Bright Havens, is everyone in the Collegium determined to have us mated, whether we will or no?”

  “The sole exceptions are Kyril, Elcarth, Skif, Keren, and—of all people—Alberich. They all swore that if you ever lost your heart, it wouldn’t be to Kris’ pretty face.”

  “They ... could be right.”

  Selenay noted her Herald’s faintly troubled expression, and deemed it prudent to change the subject. “Well, I’m more than happy to have you at my side again, and I could have used you for the past two months.”

  “Two months? Is it anything to do with what Elspeth sent Skif out to us for?”

  “Did she? That minx! Probably—she hasn’t been any more pleased over the Council’s actions than I have. I’ve gotten an offer for Elspeth’s hand, from a source that is going to be very difficult for me to refuse.”

  “Say on.”

  Selenay settled back on the bench, absently caressing the arm of it with one hand. “We received an envoy from King Alessandar two months ago, a formal request that I consider wedding Elspeth to his Ancar. There’s a great deal to be said for the match; Ancar is about Kris’ age, not too great a discrepancy as royal marriages go; he’s said to be quite handsome. This would mean the eventual joining of our Kingdoms, and Alessandar has a strong and well-trained army, much larger than our own. I’d be able to spread the Heralds into his realm, and his army would make Karse think twice about ever invading us again. Three quarters of the Councillors are for it unconditionally, the rest favor the idea, but aren’t trying to shove it down my throat like the others are.”

  “Well,” Talia replied slowly, twisting the ring Kris had given her, “you wouldn’t be hesitating over it if you didn’t feel there was something wrong. What is it?”

  “Firstly, unless I absolutely have to, I don’t want Elspeth sacrificed in a marriage of state. Frankly, I’d rather see her live unwedded and have the throne go to a collateral line than have her making anything but a match that is at least based on mutual respect and liking.” Selenay played with a lock of hair, twisting it around one of her long, graceful fingers, thereby betraying her anxiety. “Secondly, she’s very young yet; I’m going to insist she finish her training before making a decision. Thirdly, I haven’t seen Ancar since he was a babe in arms; I have no idea what kind of a man he’s grown into, and I want to know that before I even begin to seriously consider the match. To tell the truth, I’m hoping for her to have a love-match, and that with someone who is at least Chosen if not a Herald. I saw for myself the kind of problems that can come when the Queen’s consort is not co-ruler, yet has been trained to the idea of rule. And you know very well that Elspeth’s husband will not share the Throne unless he, too, is Chosen.”

  “Good points, all of them—but you have more than that troubling you.” Talia had fallen into reading the Queen’s state of mind as easily as if she’d never been away.

  “Now I know why I’ve missed you! You always manage to ask the question that puts everything into perspective!” Selenay smiled again, with delight. “Yes, I do, but it wasn’t the kind of thing I wanted to confess to the Council, or even to Kyril, bless his heart. They’d put it down to a silly woman’s maunderings and mutter about moon-days. What’s bothering me is this: it’s too pat, this offer; it’s too perfect. Too much like the answer to everyone’s prayers. I keep looking for the trap beneath the bait, and wondering why I can’t see it. Perhaps I’m so in the habit of suspicion that I can’t trust even what I know to be honest.”

  “No, I don’t think that’s it.” Talia pursed her lips thoughtfully. “There is something out of kilter, or you wouldn’t be so uneasy. You’ve Mindspeech and a touch of Foreseeing, right? I suspect that you’re getting foggy Foresight that something isn’t quite right about the idea, and your uneasiness is being caused by having to fight the Council with no real reasons to give them.”

  “Bless you—that’s exactly what it must be! I’ve been feeling for the past two months as if I were trying to bail a leaky boat with my bare hands!”

  “So use Elspeth’s youth and the fact that she has to finish her training as an excuse to stall for a while. I’ll back you; when Kyril and Elcarth see that I’m backing you, they’ll follow my lead,” Talia said with more confidence than she actually felt. “Remember, I have a full vote in the Council now. Between the two of us we have the power to veto even the vote of the full Council. All it takes is the Monarch and Queen’s Own to overturn a Council vote. I’ll admit it isn’t politic to do so, but I’ll do it if I have to.”

  Selenay sighed with relief. “How have I ever managed all these years without you?”

  “Very well, thank you. If I hadn’t been here, I expect you’d have managed to stall them somehow—even if you had to resort to Devan physicking Elspeth into a phony fever to gain time! Now, isn’t it time to make our entrance?”

  “Indeed it is.” Selenay smiled, with just a hint of maliciousness. “And this is a moment I have long waited for! There are going to be some cases of chagrin when certain folk realize you are Queen’s Own in truth, vote and all, and that the full Council will be in session from now on!”

  They rose together and entered the huge, brass-mounted double doors of the Council chamber.

  The other members of the Council had assembled at the table; they stood as one as the Queen entered the room, with Talia in her proper position as Queen’s Own, one step behind her and slightly to her right.

  The Council Chamber was not a large room, and had only the horseshoe Council table and the chairs surrounding it as furnishings, all of a dark wood that age and much handling had turned nearly black. Like the rest of the Palace, it was paneled only halfway in wood; the rest of the room, from about chin-height to the ceiling, being the gray stone of the original Palace-keep. A downscaled version of Selenay’s throne was placed at the exact center of the Council table, behind it was the fireplace, and over the fireplace, the arms of the Monarch of Valdemar; a winged, white horse with broken chains about its throat. On the wall over the door, the wall that her throne faced, was an enormous ma
p of Valdemar inscribed on heavy linen and kept constantly up-to-date; it was so large that any member of the Council could read the lettering from his or her seat. The work was exquisite, every road and tiny village carefully delineated. The chair to the immediate right of the Queen’s was Talia’s; to the immediate left was the Seneschal’s. To the left of the Seneschal sat Kyril, to Talia’s right, the Lord Marshal. The rest of the Councillors took whatever seat they chose, without regard for rank.

  Talia had never actually used her seat until this moment; by tradition it had to remain vacant until she completed her training and was a full Herald. She had been seated with the rest of the Councillors and had done nothing except voice an occasional opinion when asked, and give her observations to Selenay when the meetings were over. While her new position brought her considerable power, it also carried considerable responsibility.

  The Councillors remained standing, some with visible surprise on their faces; evidently word of her return had not spread as quickly through the Court as it had through the Collegium. Selenay took her place before her chair, as did Talia. The Queen inclined her head slightly to either side, then sat, with Talia sitting a fraction of a second later. The Councillors took their own seats when the Queen and Queen’s Own were in their places.

  “I should like to open this meeting with a discussion of the marriage envoy from Alessandar,” Selenay said quietly, to the open surprise of several of her Councillors. Talia nodded to herself; by taking the initiative, Selenay started the entire proceedings with herself on the high ground.

  One by one each of those seated at the table voiced their own opinions; as Selenay had told Talia, they were uniformly in favor of it, most desiring that the match be made immediately.

  Talia began taking stock of the Councillors, watching them with an intensity she had never felt before. She wanted to evaluate them without using her Gift, only her eyes and ears.

  First was Lord Gartheser, who spoke for the North—Orthallen’s closest ally, without a doubt. Thin, nervous, and balding, he punctuated his sentences with sharp movements of his hands. Though he never actually looked directly at Orthallen, Talia could tell by the way he oriented himself that his attention was so bound on Orthallen that no one else made any impression on him at all.

  “There can be no doubt,” Gartheser said in a rather thin and reedy voice, “that this betrothal would bring us an alliance so strong that no one would ever dare dream of attacking us again. With Alessandar’s army ready to spring to our rescue, not even Karse would care to trifle with us. I venture to predict that even the Border raids would cease, and our Borders would be truly secure for the first time in generations.”

  Orthallen nodded, so slightly that Talia would not have noticed the motion if she had not been watching him. And she wasn’t the only one who caught that faint sign of approval. Gartheser had been watching for it, too. Talia saw him nod and smile slightly in response.

  Elcarth and Kyril were next; Elcarth perched on the edge of his chair and looking like nothing so much as a gray snow-wren, and Kyril as nearly motionless as an equally gray granite statue.

  “I can see no strong objections,” Elcarth said, his head slightly to one side, “But the Heir must be allowed to finish her training and her internship before any such alliance is consummated.”

  “And Prince Ancar must be of a suitable temperament,” Kyril added smoothly. “This Kingdom—forgive me, Highness—this Kingdom has had the bitter experience of having a consort who was not suitable. I, for one, have no wish to live through another such experience.”

  Lady Wyrist spoke next, who stood for the East; another of Orthallen’s supporters. This plump, fair-haired woman had been a great beauty in her time, and still retained charm and magnetism.

  “I am totally in favor—and I do not think this is the time to dally! Let the betrothal be as soon as possible—the wedding, even! Training can wait until after alliances are irrevocable.” She glared at Elcarth and Kyril. “It’s my Border the Karsites come rampaging over whenever they choose. My people have little enough, and the Karsites regularly reive away what little they have! But it is also my Border that would be open to new trade with our two Kingdoms firmly united, and I can see nothing to find fault with.”

  White-haired, snowy-bearded Father Aldon, the Lord Patriarch, spoke up wistfully. “As my Lady has said, this alliance promises peace, a peace such as we have not enjoyed for far too long. Karse would be forced to sue for a lasting peace, faced with unity all along two of its borders. Renewing our long friendship with Hardorn can only bring a truer peace than we have ever known. Though the Heir is young, many of our ladies have wedded younger still—”

  “Indeed.” Bard Hyron, so fair-haired that his flowing locks were nearly white, was speaker for the Bardic Circle. He echoed Father Aldon’s sentiments. “It is a small sacrifice for the young woman to make, in the interests of how much we would gain.”

  Talia noted dubiously that his pale gray eyes practically glowed silver when Orthallen nodded approvingly.

  The thin and angular Healer My rim, spokeswoman for her Circle, was not so enthralled. To Talia’s relief she actually seemed mildly annoyed by Hyron’s hero worship; and something about Orthallen seemed to be setting her ever so slightly on edge. “You all forget something—though the child has been Chosen, she is not yet a Herald, and the law states clearly that the Monarch must be a Herald, There has never been a reason strong enough to overturn that law before, and I fail to see the need to set such a dangerous precedent now!”

  “Exactly,” Kyril murmured.

  “The child is just that; a child. Not ready to rule by any stretch of the imagination, with much to learn before she is. Nevertheless, I am—cautiously—in favor of the betrothal. But only if the Heir remains at the Collegium until after her full training is complete.”

  Somewhat to Talia’s surprise, Lord Marshal Randon shared Myrim’s mild dislike of Orthallen. Talia wondered, as she listened to that scarred and craggy warrior measuring out his words with the care and deliberation of a merchant measuring out grain, what could have happened while she’d been gone to so change him. For when she’d last sat at the Council board, Randon had been one of Orthallen’s foremost supporters. Now, however, though he favored the betrothal, he stroked his dark beard with something like concealed annoyance, as if it galled him, having to agree with Orthallen’s party.

  Horselike Lady Kester, speaker for the West, was short and to the point. “I’m for it,” she said, and sat herself down. Plump and soft-spoken Lord Gildas for the South was equally brief.

  “I can see nothing to cause any problems,” said Lady Cathan of the Guilds quietly. She was a quiet, gray, dovelike woman, of an outer softness that masked a stubborn inner core. “And much that would benefit every member of the Kingdom.”

  “That, I think, is a good summation,” Lord Palinor, the Seneschal, concluded. “You know my feelings on the matter. Majesty?”

  The Queen had held her peace, remaining calm and thoughtful, but totally noncommittal, until everyone had spoken except herself and her Herald.

  Now she leaned forward slightly, and addressed them, a hint of command tingeing her voice.

  “I have heard you all; you each favor the match, and all of your reasons are good ones. You even urge me to agree to the wedding and see it consummated within the next few months. Very well; I can agree with every one of your arguments, and I am more than willing to return Alessandar’s envoy with word that we will be considering his offer with all due gravity. But one thing I cannot and will not do—I will never agree to anything that will interrupt Elspeth’s training. That, above all other considerations, must be continued! Lady forbid it, but should 1 die, we cannot risk the throne of Valdemar in the keeping of an untrained Monarch! Therefore I will do no more than indicate to Alessandar that his suit is welcome—and inform him in no uncertain terms that serious negotiations cannot begin until the Heir has passed her internship.”

  “Majesty!”
Gartheser jumped to his feet as several more Councillors started speaking at once; one or two growing angry. Talia stood then, and rapped the table, and the babble ceased. The argumentative ones stared at her as though they had forgotten her presence.

  “My lords, my ladies—forgive me, but any arguments you may have are moot. My vote goes with the Queen’s decision. I have so advised her.”

  It was fairly evident from their dumbfounded expressions that they had forgotten that Talia now carried voting rights. If the situation had not been so serious, Talia would have derived a great deal of amusement from some of the dumbfounded expressions—Orthallen’s in particular.

  “If that is the advice of the Queen’s Own, then my vote must follow,” Kyril said quickly, although Talia could almost hear him wondering if she really knew what she was doing.

  “And mine,” Elcarth seconded, looking and sounding much more confident of Talia’s judgment than Kyril.

  There was silence then, a silence so deep one could almost hear the dust motes that danced in the light from the clerestory windows falling to the floor.

  “It seems,” said Lord Gartheser, the apparent leader of those dissenting, “that we are outvoted.”

  Faint grumbling followed his words.

  At the farthest end of the table, a white-haired lord rose; the faint grumbling ceased. This gentleman was the one Talia had been watching so closely, and the only one who had not spoken. Orthallen; Lord of Wyvern’s Reach, and Kris’ uncle. He was the most senior Councillor, for he had served Selenay’s father. He had served Selenay as well, throughout her entire reign. Selenay often called him “Lord Uncle,” and he had been something of a father-figure to Elspeth. He was highly regarded and respected.

  But Talia had never been able to warm to him. Part of the reason was because of what he had attempted to do to Skif. While he did not have the authority to remove any Chosen from the Collegium, he had tried to have the boy sent away for two years’ punishment duty with the Army. His ostensible reason was the number of infractions of the Collegium rules Skif had managed to acquire, culminating with catching him red-handed in the office of the Provost-Marshal late one night. Orthallen had claimed Skif was there to alter the Misdemeanor Book. Talia, who had asked him to go there, was the only one who knew he had broken into the office to investigate Hulda’s records. He was going to try to see who, exactly, had sponsored her into the Kingdom, in an attempt to ferret out the identity of her co-conspirator.