She jumped and started back (one hand brushing a hidden dagger) when she realized who it was and relaxed.
“Havens, Lord-Un—Lord Orthallen, you startled me out of a year’s life!”
“I most sincerely hope not,” he replied, “But I do wish you would continue to call me ‘Lord-Uncle’ as you started to. Surely now that you’re nearly through your studies you aren’t going to become formal with me!”
“AH right, Lord-Uncle, since you ask it. Just remember to defend me for my impudence when Mother takes me to task for it!” Elspeth grinned, and leaned back on the window-frame a little.
“Now what is it that you were watching with such a long face?” he asked lightly, coming close enough to look out of the window himself.
Below the window were some of the Palace gardens; in the gardens a half-dozen couples—children of courtiers or courtiers themselves—ranging from Elspeth’s age upward to twenty or so. They were involved in the usual sorts of activities that might be expected from a group of adolescents in a sunny garden in the spring. One couple was engaged in a mock-game of “tag,” one girl was embroidering while her gallant read to her, two maids were giggling and gasping at the antics of two lads balancing on the basin of a fountain, one young gentleman was peacefully asleep with his head in the lap of his chosen lady, two couples were simply strolling hand in hand.
Elspeth sighed.
“And why aren’t you down there, my lady?” Orthallen asked quietly.
“Havens, Lord-Uncle, where would I get the time?” Elspeth’s reply was impatient and a touch self-pitying. “Between my classes and everything else—besides, I don’t know any boys, at least not well. Well, there’s Skif, but he’s busy chasing Nerissa. Besides, he’s even older than Talia.”
“You don’t know any young men—when half the swains of the Court are near dying just to speak to you?”
Orthallen’s expression of incredulity held as much of bitter as playful mockery, though Elspeth was so used to his manners that she hardly noted it,
“Well if they’re near-dying, nobody told me about it, and nobody’s bothered to introduce us.”
“If that’s all that’s lacking, I will be happy to make the introductions. Seriously, Elspeth, you are spending far too much of your time among the Heralds and Heraldic Students. Heralds make up only a very small part of Valdemar, my dear. You need to get to know your courtiers better, particularly those of your own age. Who knows? You may one day wish to choose a consort from among them. You can hardly do that if you don’t know any of them.”
“You have a point, Lord-Uncle,” Elspeth mused, taking another wistful glance out the window, “But when am I going to find the time?”
“Surely you have an hour or two in the evenings?”
“Well, yes, usually.”
“There’s your answer.”
Elspeth smiled. “Lord-Uncle, you’re almost as good at solving problems as Talia!”
Her race fell a trifle then, and Orthallen’s right eyebrow rose as he took note of her expression.
“Is there some problem with Talia?”
“Only—only that there’s only one of her. Mother needs her more than I do, I know that—but—I wish I could talk to her the way I used to when she was still a student. She doesn’t have the time anymore.”
“You could talk to me,” Orthallen pointed out. “Besides, Talia’s first loyalty is to your mother; she might feel obliged to tell her what you confided in her.”
Elspeth did not reply to this, but his words made her very thoughtful.
“At any rate, we were speaking of those young gentlemen who are perishing to make your acquaintance. Would you care to meet some of them tonight, after dinner? In the garden by the fountain, for instance?”
Elspeth blushed and her eyes sparkled. “I’d love to!”
“Then,” Orthallen made her a sweeping bow, “it shall be as my lady commands.”
Elspeth thought a great deal about that conversation as she sat through dinner. On the one hand, she trusted Talia; on the other, if there were a conflict of loyalties there was no doubt who her first allegiance was due. She hadn’t thought about it before—but the idea of her mother knowing everything about her wasn’t a comfortable one.
Especially since Selenay didn’t appear to be taking Elspeth’s maturity very seriously.
But Elspeth had gained inches since Talia had gone—and with the inches, a woman’s curves. She was taking more care with her appearance; she’d seen the glances given some of her older friends by the young males of the Collegium and recently those glances had seemed very desirable things to collect. She found that lately she was looking to the young men of Collegium and Court with an eye less bemused and more calculating. And to the eyes of a stranger—
She’d looked at herself in her mirror before dinner, trying to appraise what she saw there. Lithe, taller than Talia by half a head, wavy sable hair and velvety brown eyes—the body of a young goddess, if certain people were to be believed, and the look of one more than ready to know more of life—yes. There was no doubt that to a stranger, she looked more than ready to be thinking about wedding or bedding, certainly old enough by the standards of the Court.
Or so Elspeth thought, setting her chin stubbornly. Well, if her mother wouldn’t see on her own that Elspeth was quite fully grown now, perhaps there were ways to bring that knowledge home to her.
And, she thought, catching sight of Lord Orthallen among a group of quite fascinating-looking young men, it just might be rather exciting as well ...
Five
The weather, which had briefly taken a turn for the better, soured again. Talia’s mood was none too sweet either.
The rains returned, and with them, spoiled tempers among the Councillors. Again Talia found herself spending as much time intervening in personal quarrels as helping to make decisions. Orthallen, strangely enough, seemed content now to let her alone. He brooded down at his end of the Council table like some huge white owl, face blank and inscrutable, pondering mysterious thoughts of his own. This alarmed her more than it reassured her. She took to examining every word she intended to say, and weighing it against all the possible ways Orthallen might be able to use what she said against her at some later date.
Dirk split his free time either lurking in her vicinity or hiding out in the wet. The one was as frustrating as the other. Either she didn’t see him at all, or she saw him but couldn’t get near him. For whenever she tried to approach him, he turned pale, looked around—wearing a frantic expression—for the nearest exit, and escaped with whatever haste was seemly. He seemed to have a sixth sense for when she was trying to catch him; she couldn’t even trap him in his rooms. Either that, or he somehow knew when she was at the door, and pretended he wasn’t there.
Kris all but hibernated in his room. And Talia was determined not to see him until he apologized for what he’d said to her. While their quarrel of itself was of no great moment, she was tired to death of having to justify her feelings about his uncle. After her little talk with Alberich, she was certain—with a surety that came all too seldom—that in the case of Orthallen she was entirely in the right, and he was entirely in the wrong. And this time she was going to hold out until he acknowledged the fact!
Meanwhile she made up for the absence of both of them by trying to be everywhere at once.
She was shorting herself of sleep to do so, and still felt there was much she wasn’t doing. But there was just so much work; Selenay had asked her to take on the interviews of petitioners from the flooded areas, Devan needed her with three profoundly depressed patients, and there were all those quarrels among the Councillors.
It was with heartfelt gratitude that she found the sessions with Destria going well; Vostel’s arrival put the cap on their success. It was plain to Talia that his reaction to Destria’s appearance comforted her immensely. It helped that he regarded her scars as badges of honor and told her so in as many words. And as Rynee had thought, he was of trem
endous aid when they began Destria’s rehabilitative therapy—for he had gone through all this himself. He coaxed her when she faltered, bolstered her courage when it ran out, goaded her when she turned sulky, and held her when she wept with pain. He was doing so much for her that she needed Talia’s Gift less with every day.
Which was just as well, for Selenay needed it the more. As soon as one crisis was solved, another sprang up like a noxious weed, and Selenay’s resources were wearing thin. And when some of the choices she made turned out to be the wrong ones—as, soon or late, happened—Talia found herself exercising her good sense and Gift to the utmost.
A drenched and mud-splattered messenger from Herald Patris stood before the Council; when the door-Guard had learned his news, he’d interrupted the session to bring him there himself.
“Majesty,” the man said, with a blank expression that Talia found very disconcerting, and which made her very uneasy, “Herald Patris sends this to tell you that the outlaws are no more.”
He held out a sealed message pouch as those at the Council board erupted in cheers and congratulations. Only the Queen, Kyril, and Selenay did not join in the rejoicing. There was something about the messenger’s expression that told them there was much he had not said.
Selenay opened the message and scanned it, the blood draining from her face as she did so.
“Goddess—” the parchment sheet fell from her nerveless fingers, and Talia caught it. The Queen covered her face with trembling hands, as the tumult around the Council table died into absolute silence.
Her Councillors stared at their monarch, and at an equally pale Queen’s Own, as Talia read Patris’ grim words in a voice that shook.
“ ‘We ran the brigands to earth, but by the time they were brought to bay, the temper of the Guard was fully aroused. We cornered them at their own camp, a valley overlooked by Darkfell Peak. It was then that they made the mistake of killing the envoy sent to parley. At that point the Guard declared “no quarter.” They went mad—that is the only way I can describe it. They were no longer rational men; they were blood-mad berserkers. Perhaps it was being out here too long, chasing phantoms—perhaps the foul weather—I do not know. It was hideous. Nothing I or anyone else could say or do was able to curb them. They fell on the encampment—and the outlaws were slaughtered to the last man.’ ”
Talia took a deep breath, and continued. “ ‘It was not just the outlaws themselves; the Guard slew every living thing in their bolt-hole, be it man, woman, or beast. But that was not the worst of the horrors, though that was horror enough. Among the dead—‘ ”
Talia’s voice failed, then, and Kyril took the message from her, and continued in a hoarse half-whisper.
“ ‘Among the dead were the very children we had hoped to save. All—all of them, dead. Slain by their captors when it became obvious that they would get no mercy from the Guard.’ ”
The Councillors stared in dumb shock, as Selenay wept without shame.
Selenay blamed herself for not replacing the Guard companies with fresher troops or for not sending someone who could have controlled the weary Guardsmen no matter what strain the troops were under.
Nor was the murder of the children the only tragedy, although it was the greatest. Vital intelligence had been lost in that slaughter—who their leader had been, and whether or not he had been acting under orders from outside the Kingdom.
It took days before Selenay was anything like her normal self.
The one blessing, so far as Talia was concerned, was that Orthallen exercised a little good sense and chose to back down on his militant stance for more local autonomy; just as well, for Lady Kester’s people began having the expected troubles with pirates and coastal raiders, and the promised troops had to be shifted to the West. But before they could reach their deployments, Herald Nathen was seriously hurt leading the fisherfolk in beating off a slaving raid.
And that opened up another wonder-chest of troubles.
Nathen himself came before them, although the Healers protested that he was not yet well enough to do so. He was a sharp-featured man, not old, but no longer young; brown-haired, brown-eyed—quite unremarkable except for the intensity in those eyes, and an anger that kept him going when nothing else was left to him. He sat, rather than stood, facing the entire Council. He was heavily bandaged, with his arm bound against his side, and still physically so weak he could scarcely speak above a whisper.
“My ladies, my lords—” he coughed,”—I did not dare trust this to anyone but myself. Messengers can be waylaid, documents purloined—”
“My lord Herald,” Gartheser said smoothly, “I think you may be overreacting. Your injuries ...”
“Did not cause me to hallucinate what I heard,” Nathan snapped, his anger giving him a burst of strength. “We captured a prisoner, Councillors; I interrogated him myself under Truth Spell before I was hurt. The brigands are serving those slavers we thought banished!”
“What?” Lady Cathan choked out, as she half-stood, then collapsed back into her seat.
“There is worse. The slave-traders are not working unaided. I have it by my prisoner’s confession and by written proofs that they have been aided and abetted by Lord Geoffery of Helmscarp, Lord Nestor of Laverin, Lord Tavis of Brengard, and TradeGuildsmen Osten Deveral, Jerard Stonesmith, Petar Ringwright, and Igan Horstfel.”
He sank back into his own chair, eyes still burning with controlled rage, as the Council erupted into accusation and counter-accusation.
“How could this have occurred without your knowledge, Cathan?” Gartheser demanded. “By the gods, I begin to wonder just how assiduous you were in rooting out the last lot—”
“You were right up there in the front ranks to accuse me the last time, Gartheser,” Cathan sneered “but I seem to remember you were also the one who insisted I do all the dirty work. I am only one woman; I can’t be everywhere at once.”
“But Cathan, I cannot see how this could have escaped your knowledge,” Hyron protested. “Those four named are of first-rank.”
“And the other three are Kester’s liegemen,” added Wyrist, suspiciously, “I’d like to know how they managed to operate a slaving ring under Kester’s nose.”
“And so would I,” Lady Kester snapped. “More than you, I reckon.”
And so it went, as Selenay mediated the strife among her Councillors. Talia had her hands full seeing that she remained sane during all of it.
All this, of course, meant that she had no time to pay heed to her own problems—most particularly that of the rift between Dirk and Kris, Kris and herself, and Dirk and herself.
It was bad enough that the quarrel existed—but to add yet another pine-bough to the conflagrations, Rolan was causing her considerable discomfort.
He was the premier stallion of the Companion herd and while Talia had been on internship, had only had another stallion—Kris’ Tantris—for company. Now he was making up for his enforced celibacy with a vengeance—and the partner he dallied with most often was Dirk’s Ahrodie.
And Talia shared it—couldn’t block it if she tried. Not that she blamed Rolan; Ahrodie was sweet, attractive, and a most cooperative partner. She ought to know; she was on the empathic receiving end of all of it. But to have this going on, two and three times a week, while she positively ached for Ahrodie’s Chosen—well, it was unpleasantly like torture. Rolan evidently had no notion of what he was doing to his Chosen, and Talia refused to spoil his pleasure by letting him know.
So she lost further sleep at night; either in suffering through what Rolan was unknowingly inflicting on her or in dreams in which she worked desperately to knit up some undefined but important object that kept unraveling.
She didn’t see Elspeth except at training sessions with Alberich, occasional meals, or now and again with Gwena out in the Field. She seemed a little distracted, and maybe a touch shy, but that was normal for a girl just into puberty, and besides, Talia had her hands full to overflowing. So Talia never once
worried about her—until one day she realized with a chill of foreboding that she hadn’t seen the girl in several days, not even at arms practice.
Well, that could have been simple circumstance, but it was a situation that needed rectifying. So Talia went looking for her.
She found the Heir in the garden, which was not a place where Elspeth usually spent any time. But she was reading, so she could have decided simply that she needed some fresh air.
“Hello, catling,” Talia called cheerfully, seeing Elspeth’s head snap up at the sound of her voice. “Are you waiting for someone?”
“No—no, just got tired of the Library—” Had she hesitated a fraction of a second before denying that? “Say, you’ve been so busy, I’ll bet you haven’t heard the latest scrape Tuli’s gotten himself into, and I’ll bet you could use a good laugh—”
With that, Elspeth kept the conversation on Collegium gossip, and then pled tasks elsewhere before Talia could gain control of the situation.
The incident left Talia very disconcerted, and when she began seeking the girl out on a regular basis, she only got repetitions of the same. Then Talia began to take note of the specific changes in the girl’s behavior. She was secretive—which was unlike her. There was just the vaguest hint of guilt in the way she evaded Talia’s questions.
Talia took an indirect approach then, and began checking on her through her year-mates and teachers. What she found made her truly alarmed.
“Havens,” Tuli said, scratching his curly head in puzzlement. “I don’t know where she is. She just sort of vanishes about this time of day.”
“Uh-huh,” Gerond agreed, nodding so hard Talia thought his head was going to come off. “Just lately. She’s swapped me chores a couple times so she had the hour free—an’ she hates floorwashing! Somethin’ wrong?”
“No, I’ve just been having trouble finding her today,” Talia replied, taking care to seem nonchalant.
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