by Matt Heppe
At some point the neighboring rings started dancing in opposite directions. Hadde laughed as she tried to keep up with what was going on.
With a final fanfare, the music stopped, and all stood staring at the sculpture. Many breathed hard after the exertion. Hadde joined in as everyone in the crowd took a deep breath and blew toward the sculpture. Cheers and clapping followed. Hadde glanced around, bewildered at the sudden end to the dance.
Servants moved into the crowd offering ceramic goblets of wine. Morin took two and offered one to Hadde.
“That was fun,” she said. “Why did everyone blow at the swan?”
“It’s an old tradition. If the Winter Swan melts before dawn it means a short winter and an early spring. The Dance of Spring starts out slowly to represent winter and then increases in energy as spring arrives. Once everyone is heated by the dance they blow on the Winter Swan to help it melt faster.” He took Hadde’s elbow and led her toward the swan.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Hadde said. “The streams in Landomere rarely ice over. If they do it’s just for a day or two.”
“This ice comes from the Treteren River, north of the King’s Crossing. It used to come from Namir, but cold winters bring ice much farther south these days.”
“It’s a beautiful sculpture. It’s a shame to think of it melting away.”
“Nothing lasts forever. It’s part of the tradition. Even winter, though it seems it may last forever, will someday end. There is always hope.”
“Does it work? If the sculpture melts will winter end early?” She felt a little foolish for asking.
He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter what the sculpture does. Winter gets longer every year. The Wasting is stronger than tradition.”
“Why do people do it, then?”
“Old traditions die hard. And, I think, people want to have hope. The Winter Swan gives them hope.” The musicians started into another tune, and Morin led Hadde to the dance floor. The intricate dance involved groups of four couples. She tried to follow along as best she could, without looking too clumsy. Morin and the other men were kind enough not to make her feel out of place.
At the end of the dance the king and queen departed the Great Hall. A quarter of the guests followed them. “I thought our revelry was supposed to melt the Winter Swan,” Hadde said as she watched them leave.
“My brother has little time for fun. He thinks it deprives him of time he could better spend on more important matters. At least he gives us leave to carry on. Otherwise the festivities would end with his departure.”
“Why did the queen leave?”
“It would be inappropriate for her to be present without her husband. She has to leave with him. The others were here to curry the king’s favor. They have no reason to stay. Speaking of currying favor, did she have anything to say to you?”
“She… she said very unpleasant things.”
“As I would expect. She grows uglier by the day. She’s like a beautiful tree rotting at its core.”
“She said you once attacked your brother. That you want to be king.”
“She did?" He snorted in derision. “She exaggerates. He and I had an argument. A scuffle, that’s all. I felt I should have been made king, but our father chose otherwise. He thought magical talent more important than leadership. Boradin won and I’m the prince. And that’s that.”
“How could Boradin have ever defeated you?”
“The shield. Forsvar is also known as ‘The Defender.’ It protects its wielder against magical harm. Even those allies standing nearby, they say.” He shrugged.
“She also said you loved her." Hadde stared at Morin for any sign he might give at the words.
Morin looked surprised, but after a moment shook his head. “Once I might have. But she’s not that person anymore. My heart lies with another, now.”
The look Morin gave her dismissed any question as to whom he loved. She stared into his eyes. There was no doubting him. Morin was the brave, honest man she was falling for. And the queen was a vile woman who wished only to spread dissent. Heart pounding, she leaned close to kiss him, but he stopped her with a barely perceptible shake of his head.
“Not here,” he said.
“But—”
“There are others. They cannot see us. I’m sorry, but it’s the way it has to be.”
She furtively glanced at the people around them. None seemed to be paying the two of them any mind. She wanted so much to hold him close. She hated the Saladorans and their silly rules about love. “I want to be with you.”
“Soon, I promise.”
Chapter Eighteen
Hadde ran the polishing cloth over Belor's bow one last time and then gently leaned it against the wall next to his bowcase. A score of white-fletched arrows rose from the case—the feathers perfectly smooth. The bow had been Belor's most prized possession, just as Hawkeye was hers. Both unstrung bows rested beside each other, Belor's noticeably larger.
It wouldn't be too big for Morin, she thought. But could she part with it? Morin had given her the dress, and more than that she had fallen for him. It was too fast, she thought. It was all too fast. She stared at Belor's bow. Not yet. She couldn't part with it.
Hadde turned to a knock at her door. “Come in,” she said.
The door opened to reveal Maret. The girl’s eyes were downcast. “Hello, Hadde,” she said.
“Hello, Maret.” Hadde kept her tone neutral.
“I came to visit earlier.”
“I was down at the stable visiting my horses,” Hadde said, as she absently tossed a stick into the fire. “I think Lightfoot wants to do more than just ride around the yard.”
Maret nodded and stood silent for a few moments. “I’ve come to apologize,” she finally said. “I was awful to you before.”
Hadde stood. “Come in, Maret. And there’s no need to apologize.” She smiled at the girl. After last night, it was hard to summon up any anger.
“I should have known better. After all, it's ridiculous to think a prince would marry a... well, you know.”
Hadde's face flushed. So much for a real apology. “Yes, I know.”
Maret strode into the room and seated herself on the hearth. A smile brightened her face. “The ball was wonderful. Everything was perfect. Did you see us?”
“Yes, I saw all the maidens there.” Hadde busied herself buttering a piece of bread. She had woken up late, but had not had much interest in food for the first few hours after she rose.
“No, not them. Prince Morin danced with me. He came up to me and asked me to dance.”
“Oh, I saw you. You were very happy.”
“It’s a shame he didn’t show you much attention. Well, besides the dress. It was nice of him to let you wear it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, he did dance with you a little early on, but he favored me far more. I only wish they allowed the maidens to stay for the Dance of Spring. I’m sure he would have danced with me again. I was the only maiden he danced with, you know. It just isn’t fair that we have to leave before midnight.”
“Well, I’m glad you had a good time,” Hadde said. She wondered how crushed Maret would be to find out the truth. It would be so easy to put the girl in her place. But she couldn't. Morin was intent on keeping his love for Hadde secret.
Maret sprang to her feet. “That's all, really. I just wanted to let you know that I was sorry for speaking unkindly to you. I should have known better.”
“I'm glad we cleared everything up,” Hadde replied.
“I must be going,” Maret said as she headed for the door. A piece of paper fluttered to the floor behind her.
“Wait,” Hadde called. She put down her bread and picked up the paper as Maret turned.
“Let me have that!” Maret demanded, her face suddenly white.
Hadde glanced at the meaningless scribble and held it out to Maret. Hadde forced a smile and said, “That must be important. Is it from some
one special?”
“Yes—no! No, it isn't.” Maret tucked the note in her sleeve and backed from the room. “I have to go.”
***
Hadde lay down in bed and pulled the thick comforter up around her neck. She stared into the brightly burning fire. The day had been a disappointment. A queasy morning, brought on by far too much drink, followed by Maret's bizarre appearance. And then her hopes for seeing Morin dashed.
Maret had delivered the letter just after lunch. “So sorry, Hadde,” Maret had said, her voice anything but sorrowful, “but Prince Morin has cancelled his lesson with you.”
Sleet rattled against the dark window. She imagined her cottage in Long Meadow. Her parents would be curled on their sleeping mat near the fire. She hoped that they were well. She glanced at the tapestry-hung stone walls and longed for the wooden timbers of home. Sleep came slowly.
She awoke to pounding on her door.
“Wake up! Hadde, wake up!” a girl’s voice shouted. The door flew open.
“What is it?” Hadde sat up, her mind still foggy with dreams. “Is it the Kiremi?”
She reached for her bow and then shook her head. Kiremi? She blinked her eyes. She was in Salador. There were no Kiremi.
Jenae ran to Hadde’s bed. “She’s been attacked!” Sobbing, the maiden put down her lantern and threw her arms around Hadde’s neck. “She’s going to die.”
Hadde’s heart lurched in her chest. “What are you talking about?” She took the girl by the shoulders and pushed her back so she could see her face.
“Maret! Someone attacked Maret!”
Still sleep-addled, Hadde couldn’t grasp what she had said. “What?” She shook her head. “She what?”
“Maret’s in the surgeon’s parlor.” Jenae collapsed into Hadde’s bed, sobbing uncontrollably.
Hadde pulled on her hose and moccasins, yanked on her tunic, and ran from the room. Crying girls filled the hall. Lady Celena fruitlessly attempted to settle them.
Brushing past, Hadde ran to the end of the hall. Torches lit the intersection and instead of just two guards, there were a half dozen in full harness. “Let me through,” Hadde yelled as she approached. “Move aside.”
Someone grabbed her by arm. A knight. “Ambassador Hadde, you can’t leave. The murderer is still on the loose.”
“She’s not dead! She can’t be. Let me go. I have to see her.” She wrenched herself free. Tears pouring from her eyes, she shoved her way through the crowd. It didn't matter how the girl had behaved before. She was still Hadde's friend. And someone had hurt her. She wanted to run, but didn’t know the way. Suddenly Morin was there.
“Someone attacked Maret,” she said. “I have to see her.”
“I know. I was just with her.” He took Hadde by the hand and led her down the hall. Armed escorts fell in behind them. “She’s alive, but barely.”
“Make way. Make way for Prince Morin,” someone called from in front of them. A path opened. Turning, they entered a bright, lavishly decorated room. Fresh tears sprung to Hadde’s eyes as she spotted Maret lying on a couch. Blood-soaked bandages covered her face and arms. A man and two women stood over her, working to staunch the bleeding, but it looked hopeless.
Hadde walked to the couch. The man was stitching a terrible cut that ran down Maret’s face from her temple to her jaw. Where her skin wasn’t covered in blood, it was deathly pale. “How did it happen?” Hadde asked. Someone stepped up to her and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. Hadde didn’t take her eyes from Maret.
“We don’t know yet,” Morin said from just behind her. “She left the Maiden Hall last evening and never returned. It was midnight before Lady Celena discovered Maret was missing. A team of squires searched for her, and one of them discovered her and her assailant in an abandoned apartment. The villain knocked the squire to the floor and ran off. The squire chose to aid Maret rather than pursue her attacker.”
“Who would do this? She never hurt anyone.”
The surgeon stood up. “I’ve done all I can do. She’s alive, but I fear she won’t be for long.”
Hadde bent low over her friend. “Maret? Can you hear me?” She wanted to touch the girl, but it seemed every part of her was bandaged. “Who would do this? She has no enemies."
“Make way for the king!”
“Stand back, Morin,” Boradin commanded as he strode up to the bed. His wore Forsvar on his arm as if prepared for a fight. Morin backed away as his brother commanded.
“Your Majesty?” Hadde asked. “Can you do something with your magic?”
He shook his head as he examined Maret’s wounds. “It doesn’t work that way.”
“What do you mean? Look at her. She’s dying!”
“I wish I could help, Hadde, but I’m a master of elemental magic.”
“What good is magic if it cannot help her?”
“Send for Orlos,” Morin said from across the room. “He is our greatest healer.”
Boradin shook his head. “Orlos isn't well. He cannot help.”
“The South Teren has turned against you, and now you'll risk the East? You'll tell Earl Seremar you let his only daughter die?”
Boradin paused a moment, regarding his brother with a cold stare. “Lord Fenre, wake Master Orlos and bring him here. Be gentle with him.”
Someone maneuvered Hadde into a chair. A mug of mulled wine was thrust into her hands, but she couldn’t drink it. In the background she heard the surgeon shooing people from the room.
Nidon's friend, Sir Gorwin, entered the room. He held a bloody parchment in his hand. “I found a letter. From the killer.”
“She's not dead!” Hadde snapped.
The knight blanched “I mean it was found—”
“Give it to me.” Boradin ordered. He unfolded the letter and read it. “Where did you find it?”
“Your Highness, I found it in the room where the maiden was attacked.”
The king scanned the letter and looked around the room. “It’s an invitation to a… a lover’s meeting,” the king said. “There’s no name. No address.”
“A lover’s meeting?” Hadde asked.
“You know something of this?” the king demanded.
“I saw that note. Maret dropped it this morning.”
“Did she say who sent it?”
“No. She wanted to keep it secret.” Hadde glanced around the room, her eyes momentarily meeting Morin's. “She has no lover though. I would know it.”
“I was on duty then, my lord,” a squire said. “A page brought a letter very early this morning, but it was for Ambassador Hadde. I gave it to Maiden Jenae to take down the hall to Ambassador Hadde.”
“How did it get into Maiden Maret’s hands?”
“I was at the stable with Lightfoot in the morning,” Hadde said, “Jenae must have taken it to Maret.”
Boradin examined the letter again. “It's unsigned. She thought it was for her. But who would she expect such an invitation from?” He stared around the room as if expecting a response.
Hadde glanced at Morin again. Had he sent her a letter only to have it intercepted by Maret? Maret would have eagerly accepted an invitation for a secret meeting from him. But even if Maret had shown up instead of Hadde, it was impossible to think he would have done such a thing to her.
“It is unfortunate that the girl thought the letter was for her," Morin said. “But this attack was planned against Hadde. The letter was intended for her.”
“Waltas,” Hadde said, suddenly certain of herself. “Earl Waltas did it.”
“Find him,” Boradin ordered. “Bring him to me.”
“I warned him,” Morin said. He turned to Hadde. “I told him to stay away from you.”
***
“She’s alive,” Hadde announced to the mob of girls who surrounded her as she entered the Maiden Hall. “They've summoned Orlos.” The words were greeted by a fresh outpouring of emotion. Hadde couldn’t bear to tell them the true extent of Maret's injuries.
&nb
sp; She made her way through the crowd to Maret’s room. Someone had pulled the blankets back, but Maret’s deception was still obvious. Piled clothing under the blankets had fooled Celena when she had taken roll. The stupid hag hadn’t made much of an effort to check on her wards.
Rage welled within Hadde. But only a small part of it at Celena. She thought of Waltas. The bastard would suffer. Hadde ran to her room and threw open her storage chest. In moments she had her bowcase, cloak, and pack. Only twenty arrows, but they would be enough. She pulled on her boots and ran out the door.
She didn’t need to be told that Waltas had departed the keep. She knew it. He had attempted to take his revenge on her, had failed and nearly been caught. Hadde ignored the girls calling out their questions as she jogged down the hall. Her tears had stopped and her torment had been replaced by grim determination.
She pushed past the knights who tried to stop her at the end of the hall and ran the entire way to the stables. There, she discovered stable boys already preparing horses for the pursuit.
Hadde ran to Lightfoot and dropped her gear next to the stall. “Sorry for getting you up, but there’s something we must do.” Puddle scampered up to her. “What is going on, Lady Hadde?”
“I need to leave quickly, Puddle. Maiden Maret has been attacked. Help me saddle Lightfoot and Windwalker.”
Soon, Hadde was mounted and riding for the stable exit. The throng of stable hands, squires, and knights preparing their mounts frustrated her efforts at making a rapid departure. Nidon stepped in front of her as she finally reached the door. He grabbed Lightfoot’s bridle. “What are you doing?”
“The same as you, I think, Sir Nidon.”
“You can't go after him. It’s too dangerous.”
“It’s too dangerous for that bastard. Not for me. Last night he hunted me. Today, I hunt him.”
“No, leave him to me. He came to me and attempted to apologize. I rejected it and told him he had to face me in combat, so instead he sought his revenge and fled. I couldn’t accept his apology after what he had done to you. And now this…”