Exile's Valor v(-2

by Mercedes Lackey

  “Myste—” He swallowed. “I apologize.”

  She started, and stared at him. “For what?” she asked.

  “For people like him.” He shook his head. “I am sorry.”

  She laughed again, but this time the humor was back in her voice. “Good gods, Alberich, don’t be. Trust me, the injuries to my heart, such as they were, scabbed over a long time ago, and the scar is a useful reminder. If I hadn’t been hurt and used by all those heartless boys back in the day, I’d never have been able to see right through your lad Norris, would I? So don’t think I’m living with a tragic past! Good gods, compared to at least half of the others that have gone through these walls, it’s a teacup tragedy at worst, and a farce at best.” She winked at him. “Besides, I saw my pretty best friend not long ago. She’s tripled in size, she’s had a baby a year, and her handsome husband chases tavern girls. Have pity for her, not me.”

  “Ah.” He felt a good deal better. At least she wasn’t likely to reject him out of hand if—

  “Besides,” she chuckled again, “it gives me an appreciation for men who blurt out ’you’re not a frump,’ and not some carefully rehearsed speech, who say it without even thinking about it, and who then go on to apologize for the vagaries of their sex.”

  “Ah—” he felt his face burning. “Er—”

  “I think you might be sitting too near the fire,” was all she said then. “Now, about dinner? We shouldn’t let it get cold.”

  ***

  Lord Orthallen had asked, had requested, in writing, an informal meeting with Selenay. She had invited him to dinner, in her own suite. Not alone, of course; they’d be surrounded by servants, but it would certainly be informal. She was intensely curious; the note had a certain apologetic tone to it that she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

  The first course arrived, and was complimented, without her curiosity being satisfied. She sipped her wine as the second course was plated and served. She felt she could afford to be patient.

  “My dear Selenay,” said Lord Orthallen at last, over the third course. “I have done you a grave disservice.”

  She motioned to a page to refill his wineglass. “Yes, my lord,” she said somberly, “I think you have.” She was not going to pretend that she did not know exactly what he was talking about. He had been the prime instigator of that wretched plot to get her married off, and she was not in the least happy about it, and what was more, she intended for him to know it.

  He sighed, and grimaced a little. “In my own defense, I was trying to protect Valdemar from being in the precarious position of having no Heir. But I am afraid—truly and sincerely, Selenay, I was afraid, I was dreadfully afraid, and I still am. I never dreamed we would be in this position. Sendar should have been King for decades yet. You are a very young woman, and we have just fought a hideous war—”

  “And Valdemar needs to look strong, not vulnerable, I know, Orthallen,” she replied with spirit, and with some heat. “But didn’t it occur to you that rushing me into a marriage is going to do the very opposite of making us look strong? Why would I suddenly wed the first candidate presented to me, if I wasn’t desperate? I might as well send out letters to every likely ally we have, saying that I’m up for sale to the highest bidder!” She frowned at him, and he looked pained.

  “I know, I know,” Orthallen replied, flushing. “And if I had possessed any sensitivity or common sense where you are concerned, I would have come directly to you, rather than laying it all out in front of the Council—”

  “So it was your idea.” Selenay gave him a hint of the anger she felt in her gaze. She’d been certain it was all along, as had some of the others, but now, at last, he had admitted it.

  “To my shame.” He nodded. “Not that the men we presented are not fine—”

  “My lord,” she said, interrupting him with exasperation as well as a feeling of real depression, “although I would give a very great deal to be like other young ladies and at least be able to dream of finding a great romantic love, I am not, and I know it.” She heard her own voice retaining its steady, reasonable tone, despite the lump in her throat, and felt a moment of pride at her own self-control. “I am Queen, and when I wed—which I must, for the people would not accept an Heir born out of wedlock—it is for Valdemar, not myself. But my father did find a lady who suited him well enough that he never remarried, and I at least hope to be able to find a friend, if not a lover. I will not find such a Consort by being rushed into an imprudent marriage. And I cannot find one if I have twelve dozen potential husbands shoved at me every time I turn about!”

  Orthallen flushed again. “Sendar might not have been in love with your mother when they agreed to marry,” he said quietly, “but he came to love her, deeply, and she him. And they were great, good friends before they wed.”

  She spread her hands wide, ignoring the fork in one of them. “So you see that I am right.”

  “Indeed, I do see,” he agreed. “And I was wrong, very wrong. I was just afraid that—” he laughed, self-consciously, “—well, there are a number of fine young foreign princes out there, younger sons, whose fathers would be very happy to cement an advantageous alliance with us. Perhaps too advantageous. Especially if one of them managed to make you infatuated with him. My thought was that—Well, at the least, we could keep your interest here at home.”

  She sniffed. He took the hint. “Well, you have given me every reason to agree with your point of view, and I believe you have convinced me. I will approach my fellow Councilors and suggest that the subject should be tabled for the foreseeable future—and I will insist that our Queen is wise enough to choose her own future husband without our help.”

  She exhaled a long sigh of genuine relief “And I thank you for that, Orthallen. You cannot know just how much easier that makes me feel.”

  “Oh, perhaps I do, I little,” he replied genially. “Your father was none too pleased at the prospect himself, and he was not even King when the idea of marriage was first broached to him.”

  As the meal progressed, Orthallen first told her about her father’s reluctant search for a prospective bride, and how he had eventually settled on her mother when after a month went by without her throwing herself at his feet, he asked her why—or rather, why not. After all, every other young woman of rank and spirit had. . . .

  “And she told him that she would, on the whole, prefer to be his sister than his wife!” Orthallen laughed, shaking his head. “And when he asked her why, she told him that she had more desire for his library than for him!”

  All this was new to Selenay; she stared at him, not quite believing it. “And what did he say?”

  “That he would rather at least have someone he could talk to, and that anyone who wanted his books that badly was someone who could hold an interesting conversation.” Orthallen smiled. “She certainly intrigued him; and I think most of what intrigued him at first was that she wasn’t trying to intrigue him, she really felt that way. She was inordinately shy, you know. And then, when she proposed to him, she made him agree that she would participate as little as possible in Court life before she’d even entertain the merest idea of marriage with him.”

  “But she was happy?” Selenay felt she had to know.

  “Oh, very,” Orthallen assured her. “And by the end of a year of marriage, as much in love with Sendar as any woman could be. And he with her. Remarkable, really. Usually the most one can expect from a marriage of state is an easy partnership—a business relationship, of a kind.”

  Her heart sank a little at that, and Selenay couldn’t help wondering if that was what she was fated to have. And she changed the subject.

  Nevertheless, before the dinner was half over, she found that she had confided a great deal in Lord Orthallen, and not the least of those confidences involved her own, barely-articulate wishes for—well—romance.

  She was rather surprised at herself for spilling so much into his willing ears, and even more surprised when he seemed sympathe
tic and not at all dismissive.

  :He’s certainly easier to talk to than Talamir,: she said to Caryo, after he’d gone.

  :On that subject, a doorpost would be easier to talk to than Talamir,: Caryo replied sadly. :At least Orthallen is well rooted in the here-and-now, enough to know that a young woman, Queen though she is, deserves to at least be able to dream. Poor Talamir.:

  Poor Talamir, indeed. But at least now, and with Caryo’s tacit approval, Selenay had someone she could confide in.

  And to her mild surprise, she found that it helped, a little.

  Enough that she went to sleep that night, for the first time since the end of the Wars, without first lying awake for a candlemark staring into the darkness.

  11

  Something teased at the back of Selenay’s mind for the next several days, making her feel restless, full of nervous energy. Perhaps it was the season; spring was almost upon them, the early crocuses were already pushing their way up through the flower beds, the last of the snow was gone, the really wretched end-of-winter rains had begun, and now the days were long enough to make you believe that winter might actually end, after all. The air still felt raw, and other than the optimistic crocuses there was no sign of anything growing, but there were moments when the sun felt warm as a hand on the cheek, and when there was a hint of green-scent in the wind. Winter would end. Spring would come, and after it, summer, and a year would have gone by without her father. Time, they said, was a great healer. Some of her depression eased a little more with the lengthening days, certainly. Maybe it was due to the season, maybe she was just getting used to Sendar not being there anymore; there was no longer the blow to the heart when she entered the Throne Room and did not see him there, nor quite the feeling of emptiness when she took what had been his chair at the Council meetings. Not all of it—oh, by no means. But enough that she was sleeping the night through, and not waking up to weep in the darkness.

  Sometimes she even slept until her maids woke her, and it was a deep and thankfully dreamless sleep.

  Orthallen was as good as his word. At the next meeting of the Full Council, before it was called officially into session, he asked for a moment to address the group personally. “This is not Council business, precisely,” he said. “But it is something that I would like the Council to hear.”

  They all looked at Selenay; she nodded. The Seneschal called the meeting to order, and gestured to Orthallen. And when he had the silent regard of everyone around the table, he cleared his throat awkwardly, which was not like him at all. That alone got him the full and alert attention of everyone sitting there.

  “My lords, my ladies, I believe that we have been pressing the Queen on an issue that really has no urgency at all,” he said, looking embarrassed. “And by that, I mean the issue of her choosing a spouse immediately. After due consideration, and more thought, I believe we have been overly hasty.”

  Selenay inclined her head, accepting what he had said without saying a word herself. This was not the time to add her own thoughts. She wanted Orthallen to explain it all to the rest of the Council in his own words. Though there was one thing that struck her as odd, and that was the phrasing Orthallen had used. Spouse was a peculiar choice of word, when it came to the Queen of Valdemar. Why not say Consort, which was the traditional title if the ruler was the Queen, and the husband was not a Herald?

  Perhaps it was because she had shown no real interest in any of the Heralds, but Orthallen did not want to make that too obvious. Now if she’d had a candidate among the Heralds, she’d have made her choice known immediately. It was a given that unless her husband was also a Herald, he could never be King and co-ruler. But still—given that none of the candidates were Heralds, why not just say ’Consort?’

  Maybe it was just that Orthallen was keeping the options open in their minds, eliminating neither the possibility of Consort nor King. It’s been a long time since Valdemar had a Queen. Maybe it’s just slipped their mind that no husband of mine can rule unless he’s a Herald. It might be just as well not to remind those of the Council who had forgotten that fact.

  “It should be obvious to all of us by this time, that while the Queen is a young woman, she is not only capable, she is wise enough to know when she needs advice and guidance. She could lawfully have replaced all of us, and has not, because she trusts us as her father trusted us, and believes that we, who were her father’s advisers, are capable in ourselves.” He coughed, as a murmur went around the table. “We may be flailing about in the wake of our loss and casting for solutions to situations that are not actually problems.”

  Selenay exchanged looks with the other Heralds on the Council; Kyril, the Seneschal’s Herald, Elcarth, and Talamir. Although Orthallen had included the rest of the Councilors in this “admission,” it was a signal departure for him to admit to making a mistake.

  And they had been flailing about, as if she herself was a problem, before there had been any evidence of anything of the sort!

  Orthallen cleared his throat again, and continued, reluctantly. She held her breath. Was he? Was he going to admit it? “Furthermore, by seeming to cast about frantically for a suitable candidate, we may be giving an impression of weakness to those who do not wish us well. As if we do not trust our Queen and our own ability to carry on in the absence of her father. We could be giving the same impression as a herd of sheep, milling about anxiously without a shepherd, and I do not need to tell you that there are wolves about.”

  Another murmur, and Selenay stifled a smile, hearing Orthallen borrowing so heavily from her own argument. He did. He admitted I’m right. I may only get apologies from him in private, but at least he’s admitting that I’m right in public. It was a triumph, but she was not going to gloat over it.

  “I know that I was the one pressing most eagerly for such a wedding—or betrothal, at least—but I should like to urge that we drop the subject for now.” He shrugged, and no few of the other Councilors looked as embarrassed as he did.

  “If you recommend so, Orthallen,” Lord Gartheser said hesitantly. “You know more about foreign affairs than the rest of us do.”

  “I think it would be the wisest course.” And in that moment, Orthallen all but said, I was wrong. But he went on quickly, making an attempt to regain the face he had lost. “In all events, having the Queen so blatantly unattached can also work to our benefit. There are a number of young men of rank, of valuable connection—princes, even—in other lands, who are also unattached. No doubt, their rulers will soon see that there is a way to bring Valdemar into close alliance by the closest of ties. So let us table this search for now, and get on with the business of the realm.”

  Nods all around the table, a few reluctant—well, not surprising that the oldest Councilors were less than comfortable about a Queen, and a young one at that, and the oldest men were the ones least inclined to trust her to rule alone. Only time will cure that, she decided. Time—or perhaps a change of Councilors. It wouldn’t hurt for the Bardic and Healer representatives to retire, for instance. It would be better if there were more women on the Council. A woman who has made her own way in the world will be more inclined to see me as a leader and less as someone needing to be led. Perhaps she should also add an entirely new seat or two. Someone from one of the newer Guilds, perhaps? To have more people whose wealth was self-made rather than inherited could be of real benefit.

  Orthallen moved on to some dispute between the Guilds of the Mercers and the Weavers while Selenay’s thoughts were elsewhere. She quickly brought her own attention to bear on the situation; it would not be a good idea to undo all of Orthallen’s work by seeming to be lost in other thoughts. She did notice that several of the Councilors actually waited to hear her opinion before voicing theirs, which was a pleasant change. The rest of the meeting proceeded in the same atmosphere, and if she felt a momentary resentment that she’d had to get Orthallen’s “approval” before being granted the respect she was due, at least now she had that respect. And though
it might be temporary, having gotten it once, it would be easier to regain it.

  But once the meeting was over, as she and she and her escort of Guards and ladies wound their way back to her quarters, she allowed her thoughts to tend in other directions. Orthallen’s comment about foreign princes—that struck a chord, and told her that that was what had been nagging at her all this time, since the Councilor had first voiced that idea over dinner.

  What foreign princes? Certainly there had been no hints of such a possibility before now. No envoys had presented themselves, no inquiries had been voiced via ambassadors.

  But perhaps they had all been waiting until her year of mourning was over. That would only be appropriate, really.

  Assuming there are such mythical creatures, she told herself, as she entered the door to her suite, and the Guards took up their stations outside.

  But they might not be mythical—

  Surely, though, if there were such young men wandering about unpartnered, she would be aware of them. Granted, her knowledge of highborn families outside of Valdemar was sketchy to say the least, but the only royal that she knew of was the King of Hardorn, and he had married an allegedly lissome young creature out of his own Court a little more than a year ago.