“Your Highness, may I say how honored I am that you…ah…how pleased I am to be remembered…gaaaah.” He shook his head in disgust and cleared his throat. “Your Highness, I was astounded—no—surprised when you spoke to me, and hope that you might consider our friendship…Hanalea’s bloody bones!” he exclaimed, smacking himself in the forehead. “What an idiot.”
Raising her hand to indicate that Magret should stay where she was, Raisa moved forward. “Amon?”
He jumped and swiveled around, his hand automatically going to the hilt of his sword. He tried to change it into a kind of elegant gesture, extending his hand toward her and bowing low. “Your Highness,” he croaked, straightening and staring at her. “You’re…um…you look well.”
“Your Highness?” She strode toward him, satin swishing, chin lifted imperiously. “Your Highness?”
“Well,” he said, flushing furiously, “I…ah…”
She gripped both his hands and looked up—way up—past the square Byrne chin and straight nose and into his gray eyes. “Bones, Amon, it’s me. Raisa. Have you ever in your life called me ‘Your Highness’?”
He studied on it. “As I remember, there were several times you made me call you that,” he said dryly.
Her face grew hot. “I never did!”
He raised an eyebrow, an expression she remembered well. Very annoying.
“Well,” she conceded, “all right. Maybe a few times.”
He shrugged. “It’s probably best if I get used to calling you that,” he said. “If I’m going to be at court.”
“I suppose,” she said. They stood like that, hands linked awkwardly for a moment. She was suddenly very aware of the contact. Her heart stuttered.
“So,” he said. “You look…well,” he repeated. He couldn’t seem to decide where he should be looking, which gave him a rather shifty-eyed appearance.
“And you look…tall,” she replied, briskly withdrawing her hands. “Are you hungry? Magret brought supper for you.”
He flinched and glanced around, his gaze lighting on Magret, sulking next to an ancient jade tree. The eyebrow again. “You brought Magret along? Here?”
Raisa shrugged. “She wouldn’t let me come otherwise. It’s hard these days.”
“Oh.” He hesitated. “Well, I am hungry,” he admitted.
Raisa motioned to Magret, who set the tray on a small wrought-iron table at the waterside, lit the torches, and then withdrew to a bench close enough so she might still overhear what they were saying.
“Please,” Raisa said to Amon. “Sit.” She settled into a chair and chose a small bunch of grapes to nibble on, though she was still stuffed from dinner. She was glad of the distraction of the food, glad it gave them something to focus on besides each other.
Amon carefully removed his uniform jacket and hung it on the back of his chair. Underneath he wore a snowy white linen shirt. He rolled the sleeves past the elbows, exposing tanned and muscled arms.
“Sorry,” he said, finally sitting. “I’m used to doing my own laundry at Wien House, so I try to keep my cuffs out of my soup.”
He enthusiastically tucked into the bread, cheese, and fruit Magret had assembled, washing it down with cider. He looked up once and caught Raisa staring at him. “Excuse me,” he said, hastily swiping at his mouth with a napkin. “I rode a long way today, I’m starving, and I’m used to eating in a barracks. It’s kind of a free-for-all.”
To Raisa, it was a relief to talk to someone who didn’t try to flatter her. Who said what he thought. Who wasn’t so smooth that she felt clumsy and ill-spoken herself.
“So,” she said, “you’re assigned to the Guard this summer?”
He nodded, chewed, and swallowed. “And every summer from now on.”
“Will you be working a lot?”
“Aye, my da’ll make sure the queen gets her money’s worth from my sorry hide.” He rolled his eyes. “I might get to see you if I’m assigned to your personal guard. But that’s unlikely as a first year in the Guard.”
“Oh,” Raisa said, disappointed. She’d been lonely since returning to Fellsmarch from Demonai. There was Micah, of course, but being with him wasn’t exactly relaxing, not even with a chaperone.
She’d looked forward to a summer knocking about with the Amon she remembered. It hadn’t occurred to her that he’d be so different. Or that he wouldn’t have any free time.
“I hoped we could ride up to Firehole Falls again. I heard there was a new geyser that shoots fifty feet in the air.”
“Really?” Amon cocked his head. “You haven’t gone to see it?”
“I was waiting for you. Remember that time we went swimming at Demon Springs?” They’d fished for trout in the Firehole and cooked their catch in one of the steam fissures that crazed the landscape.
“Ah.” He looked uncomfortable. “The queen may not like the notion of us riding off on our own anymore.”
“Why not?”
“Several reasons.” He paused, and when she didn’t respond, added, “For one thing, it’s more dangerous than it used to be.”
Raisa twitched impatiently. “Everybody keeps saying that.”
“Because it’s true.”
“And why else?” Raisa persisted.
“I’m a soldier, and I’m of age. You’ll be of age by midsummer. It’s different. People will talk.”
Raisa made a disgusted noise. “People will talk regardless.” But she knew he was right. After an uncomfortable silence, she changed the subject. “Tell me about Oden’s Ford.”
“Well.” Amon hesitated, as if to be sure she really meant it. “The academy is split by the Tamron River: Wien House, the warrior school, is on one side, and Mystwerk, the wizard school, on the other. Guess they thought it best to keep the two separated, in the beginning. Those were the first two, but these days there are other schools as well.
“There are fifty plebes in Wien House each year. They come from all over, from Tamron, and the Fells, and Arden, and Bruinswallow. Some of ’em are actually at war with each other, but they’re not allowed to bring it onto campus. There’s something called the Peace of Oden’s Ford that’s enforced really strictly. Oden’s Ford itself is like a small realm all on its own. It’s on the border between Tamron and Arden, but it doesn’t belong to either.”
“Where do you stay?” Raisa asked, kicking off her shoes and drawing her feet up under her gown while Magret scowled disapprovingly.
“Each class stays together until we’re proficients,” Amon said. “Then we can choose our own housing.”
“Is it pretty evenly balanced in Wien House, girls and boys?” Raisa asked casually.
He shook his head. “We send girls from the Fells, but in the south things are different. They have strange notions about what girls can do. Some say it’s the influence of the Church of Malthus.”
“Ah.” Raisa nodded wisely, pretending to understand. Amon seemed so informed, so worldly next to her, and she was princess heir of the queendom! Shouldn’t she know about these things? Did her mother, the queen, know about them? Maybe not. Marianna had never traveled outside the queendom, either.
Raisa was seized by the sudden desire to go somewhere, anywhere, out of the Fells.
“So it’s about three-quarters boys, one-quarter girls,” Amon went on. “The girls hold their own, though. Being a soldier isn’t all about brute strength, as some of the southerners have found out.” He laughed.
“What do you do, then?” she asked. “Do you do seat work or—or drill, or what?” Right, she thought, eying him sidelong. Seat work didn’t put that muscle on your arms and chest.
“Some classroom, some applied,” Amon said, seeming pleased by her interest. “We train in strategy, geography, horsemanship, weaponry, that sort of thing. We study great battles in history and analyze the outcome. The further along you are, the more practical application.”
“I wish I could go,” Raisa blurted.
“You do?” Amon looked surprised. “Wel
l, it’d be too dangerous, I think. These days, just getting to and from school is a challenge.”
“Why is that?” Raisa fingered her briar rose necklace. Maybe her yearning for foreign lands came from her trader father.
“You know there’s the civil war in Arden—five brothers fighting over the throne, each with an army. So if you’re of military age in the south, even if you’re just passing through, you’re at risk of being ganged into somebody’s army. And military age is defined broadly—age ten to eighty, or thereabouts.”
He pushed back from the table, stretching out his legs, massaging the muscles in his thighs as though they hurt. “Plus, you never know when you’re crossing enemy lines or walking straight into a battle. Deserters and bands of mercenaries between patrons are everywhere. These days, people don’t even try to identify you before they run you through.”
“My father’s in Arden,” Raisa said with a shiver. “Did you know?”
He nodded. “Da told me.” He paused, looking like he wished he could take back what he’d just said. “He’s Demonai, and he was a warrior once. I’m sure he’ll be all right. When’s he coming home?”
She shook her head. “No idea. I wish he’d come. I just feel…uneasy, you know? Like something’s going to happen.” Raisa thought of what Edon Byrne had said, about the lawlessness in the countryside and the need for a guard on a simple hunt. What else was going on that she didn’t know about?
“What do you think we should be doing differently?” she asked. “About the wars, I mean?”
He colored. “It’s not my place to—”
“I don’t care if it’s your place or not!” She leaned across the table toward him. “I want to know what you think. Just between us.”
Amon studied her, as if not sure whether to believe her or not.
When I’m queen, Raisa thought grimly, people won’t be afraid to speak their minds.
“Just between us?”
She nodded.
“Well,” he said, his gray eyes steady on hers, “Da and I have been talking. The civil war in Arden isn’t going to last forever. If nothing else, they’ll run out of soldiers. One of those bloody Montaigne brothers is going to come out on top, and when he does, he’s going to need money. He’ll look north, south, and west for new territory. We think there’s things we could be doing now that would help protect us in the future.”
“Such as?” Raisa prompted.
“Get rid of the mercenaries,” Amon said bluntly. “They’re always for sale, and the Montaignes are bloody treacherous. We need an army that’s unquestionably loyal, made up of native born. Even if it’s smaller. Otherwise the queen could be overthrown by her own soldiers.”
“But”—Raisa bit her lip—“where would we get recruits? Times are hard. Who would volunteer?”
He shrugged. “Men from the Fells are selling their swords to Arden,” he said. “Meanwhile, we’re importing trouble from the south. Why pay foreigners to fight for us? Give people a reason to stay home where they belong.”
“What reason?” Raisa persisted.
“I don’t know. Something to fight for, to believe in. A decent living.” He threw up his hands. “Like I’m an expert. I’m just a cadet, but it’s what my father thinks.”
“Do you know…has Captain Byrne discussed this with the queen?” Raisa asked.
Amon looked away from her, unrolling his sleeves with exaggerated attention. “He’s tried. But Queen Marianna has lots of advisers, and Da’s just the captain of her Guard.” Raisa had the feeling he’d left as much unsaid as said.
“What about General Klemath? What does he think?” Raisa asked. Klemath was father to Kip and Keith, her persistent suitors.
“Well,” Amon said, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “he’s the one who brought in the mercenaries in the first place. He’s not likely to support a change.”
“We have wizards,” Raisa said, thinking this was the kind of conversation she should be having with her mother. “We have Lord Bayar and the rest of the council. They’ll protect us from flatlanders.”
“Aye.” Amon nodded. “If you can trust ’em.”
“You’ve become a cynic in the south,” Raisa said, rubbing her eyes and realizing it had been a very long day. “You don’t trust anyone.”
“That’s how you stay alive in the south,” Amon said, staring out at the fountain.
Raisa smothered a yawn. “That’s how you deal with suitors too. You don’t trust any of them.”
Amon’s head jerked up. “Suitors? Has that started already?”
“Already?” Raisa shrugged. “I’m nearly sixteen. My mother married when she was seventeen.”
Amon looked appalled. “But you don’t have to marry right away, do you?”
Raisa shook her head. “I’m not getting married any time soon,” she declared flatly. “Not for years and years,” she added, when Amon didn’t look reassured. “My mother’s still young, and she’ll rule for a long time yet.” Raisa was glad to be in the role of expert for once. She looked forward to courtship, but marriage was another thing altogether.
“Rai. Will you have to marry an old man?” Amon asked, with that familiar Byrne bluntness. “Not that I think your da…well, he is a lot older than the queen is all I’m saying.”
“It depends. I could marry clan royalty or even some king or princeling from Tamron or Arden. It could be an old man, I guess. That’s a good reason to put marriage off as long as possible.”
Had her mother ever loved her father? Raisa wondered. Or had it been purely a political match? Before she’d gone to Demonai, it seemed like they’d been more of a family. How much did Raisa’s current aversion to marriage have to do with what she saw between her parents?
She looked up to find Amon watching her. He looked away quickly, but she’d seen the sympathy in his gray eyes.
He was so different from Micah. Micah was intoxicating, always challenging everything she believed. Amon was comfortable, like a pair of broken-in moccasins. And yet, the changes in him were intriguing.
She glanced over at Magret. Her nurse was sound asleep, stretched out on one of the park benches, mouth open, snoring.
“Well,” Amon said, following her gaze, “we’ve lost her.” He stood. “And I’m on duty at sunrise. With your permission, I’ll say good night.”
He looks dead on his feet, Raisa thought with a rush of guilt. “Of course. But first, I’ve got something to show you,” she said, still unwilling to let him go. Still wanting to negotiate some new kind of treaty. “There’s a secret passageway. It’s like a shortcut. We can go that way.”
Amon hesitated, frowning. “Where does it let out?”
“You’ll see,” Raisa said mysteriously.
Amon tilted his head toward Magret. “What about her?”
“Let her sleep,” Raisa said. “She looks comfortable enough.”
“She may never find the way out on her own,” Amon said.
“I promise I’ll fetch her in the morning,” Raisa said. Lifting free one of the torches, she marched off, between the walls of greenery, not looking back to see if Amon was following, but soon hearing the crunch of his boots on the gravel path.
They circled around and around until they reached the center of the maze. There, an exquisite wrought-iron temple stood forlornly amid a tangle of old roses and overgrown fragrance gardens. Honeysuckle and wisteria twined over trellises and covered the roof, dangling nearly to the ground, giving it the look of a living cave or a lovers’ bower. Even Raisa had to duck her head to enter.
Leaves and twigs littered the floor. At one end stood an altar to the Maker, centering a semicircle of stone benches, with room for no more than a dozen worshippers.
A stained-glass window at the other end depicted Hanalea in battle, sword drawn, hair flying. In daylight, when the sun shone through it, it sent rivers of color washing over the stone floor.
Amid the stone pavers in the floor was set a metal plate engraved with wild roses. Ra
isa knelt and brushed away the debris with her forearm.
“Under here,” she said, pointing. “You have to lift it.”
Setting his torch into a bracket in the wall, Amon grasped a ring set into the plate and pulled, rocking back on his heels. Hinges screeching, the plate swung up, followed by a rush of dank, stale air.
Amon looked up at Raisa. “When’s the last time you were down here?”
Raisa shrugged. “Maybe two months ago. It’s hard because there are always people around.”
“I’d better go first,” Amon said, eying her gown skeptically. “Who knows what’s moved in here since your last visit.”
“There’s a ladder along the side,” Raisa said helpfully.
Bracing his hands on either side of the opening, Amon lowered himself until his feet found the first rungs. He climbed down until his head and shoulders disappeared below floor level. He stopped at that point and reached his hand up. Raisa handed him a torch, and he resumed his descent until he reached the floor two stories below.
He looked up, and she could see his face in the torchlight. He seemed far away. “It’s a long way down,” he said. “I don’t think this is such a good idea.”
“It’s fine,” she said, with more confidence than she felt. “I’ve been up and down before.”
Only not in slippers and a tightly fitted satin dress, she might have added, but didn’t.
“Let’s go back out the way we came,” Amon argued, putting his foot on the lowest rung. “You can show me the passage another time, when you’re…um…dressed for it.”
“When are we going to get another chance?” Raisa said stubbornly. “Like I said, there’re always people around, and you’re going to be working every day.”
She knew she was being unreasonable, but she was tired, and she felt cheated. She faced the prospect of a summer on her own again, for all intents and purposes, when she wanted to adventure with Amon.
“I’m coming up,” Amon warned, taking hold of the ladder with both hands.
The Seven Realms- The Complete Series Page 11