A Cold Wind

by CJ Brightley

  He leaned forward again, elbows on the table. “I could get the papers next week. Marry me, Riona.”

  I licked my lips, my heart racing.

  “Here, I’ll put it on you.” He stood and walked around behind me. He fiddled with the clasp a moment, with one quiet oath under his breath. “Here.”

  I bent my head forward and he let his fingers linger on my neck, one hand trailing down much lower than it needed to.

  He bent to speak into my ear. “Tell me, Ria, dear. Shall I get the papers?”

  I tensed as he ran his hand down my arm. “Can I think about it?”

  He let out a quick breath and straightened. “What’s to think about? Darling, take all the time you want, so long as it isn’t more than a week. I’m getting impatient.” He grinned wickedly. “Am I competing with anyone for your affections?”

  “No.” My answer was quiet, and I glanced at Joran who was working steadily two tables away. I wondered if he could hear.

  “Then I suppose you’ll see reason soon enough. I can wait.” He grinned and leaned down to kiss my cheek. “You’re beautiful. The gold matches your hair. I need to go, Kally wants me back soon. I know my own way out.” He whistled as he left.

  Kally. Everyone else called him Lord Kalyano. It was another thing that bothered me. Riulono wasn’t as respectful as I thought he should be. Not to Lord Kalyano. Not to me. I fingered the chain on my neck.

  Joran slid into the chair across from me, frowning. “Ria, are you really going to do it?”

  I shrugged. I didn’t know. I didn’t know if I should. He made me feel desired. A woman needs a man, at least in Stonehaven. I wanted children. I wanted a family, and I was tired of being alone. And Riulono was right; he had no competition.

  Joran’s soft face frowned more and he scraped at a spot on the table with one fingernail. “You can do better.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Joran, I’m twenty-six. How many other men have you seen in here courting me?”

  He shrugged a little uncomfortably. “You don’t love him, do you?” His eyes flicked to my face and then away.

  I hesitated. “Not everyone has the luxury of love.”

  I didn’t really know if he loved me, or if I loved him. It was a lot of money for a footman to spend on a necklace. I wanted to believe that meant something, but sometimes when I thought about how he spoke to me, I felt a crushing weight on my chest. I felt trapped. Hemmed in.

  4

  Kemen

  I’d expected to feel nervous at meeting the Rikutan king, but surprisingly I felt very calm. It was as though I knew already the meeting would go well. The throne room was beautiful, a fitting tribute to an ancient and great culture. The floor was paved in white marble, with stark geometric inlays of black granite, and the walls were hung with red tapestries, tall and narrow to accentuate the vaulted ceiling. The throne itself was of dark wood inlaid with gold, surrounded by a red carpet with gold accents on the edges. I bowed respectfully when I entered and again as I approached the throne.

  The king Ashmu Tafari was perhaps forty five years old. The resemblance to his brother Zuzay was clear, the corners of his mouth turning up similarly though his eyes were more tired. A king has a difficult job, and I would not have traded places with him for anything. He stood to greet me and strode down the steps to clasp my elbow as a warrior would have. The gesture surprised me, for it was an unusually warm way to begin negotiations, but I suppose he wanted to make his gratitude quite clear.

  The audience was very short, only an invitation to a banquet that night in our honor. Niramsokai called a manservant to conduct me back to my room and stayed to confer with the king. As I left, out of the corner of my eye I saw Niramsokai standing by the king, his head inclined respectfully; their eyes were on me. I wondered what they thought, and hoped Hakan was right to send me.

  A servant offered to attend me before the banquet, but I preferred to prepare alone. I had a bath to wash away the sweat and dirt of the road and dressed in the court clothes Hakan had provided for me. The fabrics were luxurious; thick, fine wool breeches of a dark grey-green, a brilliant white silk shirt, and a dark green tunic with a supple dark leather belt. When I saw myself in the mirror, I couldn’t help smiling to think how strange it was, that I, a foundling and a soldier, should be representing the Erdemen king in a foreign court. In all my years of hard training, I had not prepared, had not even thought to prepare, for this challenge.

  I looked out the window at the city sprawled below the palace, and wondered how things were different there. In the sunset, the distant houses looked golden and warm, but there were too few cookfires burning and too few shouts of children’s laughter in the streets. I hoped our agreement would change that.

  Tafari welcomed me to the banquet that night with an apology. “I would offer you better fare, more in keeping with the honor I wish to accord you, but I fear this is all we have available. The king exists as a servant of his people, and as such does not enjoy luxuries unavailable to the people.”

  This was not entirely true, for clearly the palace was more luxuriously appointed than a farmer’s hovel, but the principle was valid and well observed. Each dish was elaborately prepared, but there weren’t as many dishes as at Hakan’s coronation banquet, nor was the amount of food so generous, although it was more than sufficient. I liked Tafari and how he honored his country and my status as Hakan’s ambassador without throwing away Rikuto’s scarce resources. If Zuzay had told him to ask for me, Zuzay had also read my preferences aright.

  We began in earnest the next morning. To my surprise, the king himself was the principal negotiator, with his seneschal Niramsokai and a scribe to assist him. We spoke in Kumar, for Tafari was more than fluent. I suppose it serves almost as a common language across our kingdoms, for the soldiers and kings of many nations speak it. Common, or what we call Common, is really only spoken on the west side of the mountains, in Erdem, Ophrano, the Senga tribes, and many of the Tarvil.

  Driniamo listened quietly by my side. Very occasionally, he would lean close to whisper a bit of advice or something from an old agreement that he thought might be helpful, but mostly he left me to it. Tafari was clear and direct but much better accustomed to diplomacy than I was, and I could tell he was aware of my inexperience. I stood firm where Hakan had told me I should and was quick to agree where I knew it would cost Erdem little. There is nothing to be gained by needlessly antagonizing a potential ally, and an ally he was.

  One of the most important things Hakan had hoped for was the repair and security of the major roads between Erdem and Rikuto. He wanted the roads enlarged and made more secure, for though Tarvil raiders would no longer be paid by Taisto, they were yet a menace to unguarded travelers and traders. Throughout the day, Tafari was more than gracious and acceded to most of my requests. His own were much as Hakan and I had expected and prepared for, and I was glad to be able to promise our cooperation.

  To my utter surprise, we finished the day with much of the final agreement decided upon, though it was not yet written. We were treated to a banquet again that night, with music and a demonstration of traditional Rikutan dancing. Tafari was in good spirits, for our arrangement promised great improvements for his country. Zuzay Tafari arrived that afternoon in time for the meal and festivities.

  The banquet was more than pleasant. Though I was among strangers and acquaintances, I felt as though I were among friends. Both the king and his brother took pains to make me feel welcome. Driniamo told me later that though Tafari was always gracious, that evening showed his great pleasure in the day’s agreements.

  Afterwards Driniamo spent several hours writing a tentative copy of the agreement, speaking to me all the while to confirm the details. Of course, the next morning we changed many of the finer points, but Tafari was pleased with the outline and we signed the final agreement before noon.

  I practiced signing my name that night. I’d done it before, but it had been years since then and I’d never done it often
, only for the highest orders for the army. I swallowed my pride, though it stuck in my throat, and asked Driniamo to help me. I wouldn’t shame myself or Hakan by ruining the agreement with a faulty signing.

  He spelled my name and wrote each letter individually for me, but then showed me a good form for the final signature, a smoother and more practiced hand, the letters running down the page like water. It was easier to imitate the casual signature than to form the letters into precise words, and this reassured me. Driniamo was tactful enough to hide even the slightest hint of mockery. When we finally signed the binding agreement the next day, my signature, at least to my unpracticed eyes, looked nearly as fluid as Tafari’s.

  We were set to depart on the morrow, after a greater banquet than before.

  Before the celebration, Tafari himself took me on a walk through his garden. It was a wondrous place, and I could tell he loved it, for he told me far more than most would ever want to know about each plant and flower. The garden was a beautiful example of Rikutan style and design. The pathways were laid out in perfect arcs intersecting with arrow straight paths, all of which were covered in tiny pebbles of pure white or deep grey. Each flower and tree was pruned to perfection. There were glittering pools of still water, their floors paved in cobalt blue tile. Every detail was arranged in an exacting symmetry that must have been stunning from the top of the tower. Off to the west side, well separated, there was a section of the garden left a little more free, the pools unpaved but still carefully tended. It was a peaceful place that the king clearly enjoyed. I imagined it a retreat from the cares of his office, and considered it an honor that he shared it with me.

  I saw a girl some distance away as we walked. She was sitting on a bench with a book before her, though she was not reading. Instead she was carefully braiding some flowers into a small circlet, which she eventually put on the head of a small dog laying next to her. I tried not to stare at her, though I was intrigued, but we passed close by her twice as we followed a curving path through the garden.

  Finally I asked, “Who is that girl?”

  He glanced at me quickly. “That is my daughter, Kveta.”

  I cannot tell what spirit of audacity prompted me to ask it, but I did. “How old is she?”

  His eyes narrowed slightly. “She is seventeen.”

  Well into the age of eligibility then.

  “Why?” He stopped and turned to look me square in the face.

  I inclined my head to show him my respect. “She is very beautiful.” In fact I’d been unable to see her face, but her form was pleasing and I liked the quiet laugh I heard once.

  “Aye, she is.” He studied me closely. “If you were another man, I might ask you not to notice so closely.”

  I swallowed. A father has every right to be protective, but I would not jeopardize my mission for something so foolish. Again, the spirit of audacity took my tongue, as well as a stroke of genius, which I cannot normally claim. “I notice not for myself, Your Majesty, but as the envoy of a king.”

  He blinked in surprise.

  “The king Hakan Ithel is young, wise, and kind-hearted. Yet he has no queen.”

  He smiled suddenly and resumed walking. “You have a smooth tongue, but a good heart behind it. Tell me about this king Hakan Ithel. Not as a king. As a man. Tell me that.”

  “He is calm of temper, not easily angered. He is patient, though he wasn’t always so, and very hard working. He likes to sing. He likes history and the stories of the heroes of old.” What else? What can a man say when evaluating the heart of a friend? What was my right to say and where should I keep silent?

  We walked in silence for several minutes, and finally, almost before I realized it, we had reached the bench where the girl was sitting.

  She jumped up and curtsied to her father and to me before embracing him with a smile. He smiled at her, and it warmed me to see their love. I wanted that kind of love, if I ever had a daughter. I studied her face a moment. She had wide blue eyes and blond hair, common enough in Tuyets. Her face was bright and kind. If she’d dressed differently, she might have been any commoner but for her eyes, which showed a light of educated intelligence I thought would please Hakan. Her eyes on me were curious but showed little of the fear I expected.

  “Kveta, this is Ambassador Kemen Sendoa. He is the representative from the new king Hakan Ithel in Erdem.”

  She curtsied again, her eyes on me.

  “Ambassador, you have the honor of meeting my daughter, Her Royal Highness Kveta Aranila Tafari.”

  I bowed deeply and as gracefully as I knew how. In a moment, he’d drawn me away. It was not fitting for a common warrior, even one acting as an ambassador, to speak at length with a princess.

  We walked in silence a moment before he finally spoke. “Surely you do not ask for the hand of a princess yet. Your king has not even met her. Besides, I will not give my daughter as a pawn.”

  Nor would he send her to be rejected by Hakan. That would reflect badly on them both.

  “No, Your Majesty.” I thought a moment. “I merely beg your leave for the king to write letters to the princess. If, after some time, the two desire to meet, Erdem would be honored to receive your daughter as a guest.”

  He glanced at me. “Only letters?”

  “That’s all I ask. Maybe in time His Majesty Hakan Ithel will ask more.”

  He nodded. “You may convey to your king that she will receive his letters.”

  The banquet that evening was more extravagant than the ones before. My favorite part was the dancing demonstration. The dancers were like flowers in their bright silk tunics, tight waist sashes, and wide skirts for the ladies, flowing pants for the men. Most of the words to the songs and narration were Rikutan High Tongue, and I could understand only parts of it, but Zuzay, sitting next to me, gave me a running commentary. On my other side was the king, and beside him was the princess. She looked across him at me sometimes; when I glanced up and caught her eye, she flushed and looked down at her plate.

  The next morning, when we were nearly ready to leave, the seneschal knocked on my door. “His Majesty requests your presence.”

  He had a very odd look on his face, and I followed him curiously to one of the small offices. When I entered, Tafari was standing behind his desk, and his daughter was standing beside him. He too had a strange expression.

  “Yesterday I said that my daughter would receive your king’s letters. I neglected to ask my daughter her thoughts on this arrangement, and in this she has the right to an opinion. Upon her request, I have changed my mind.” His eyes were very steady on my face, sharply observant.

  My jaw tightened with frustration, the sting of insult, but I bowed deeply. “As you wish. His Majesty would not wish to displease the princess.”

  The girl turned quickly to look at her father, her eyes wide, and he suddenly smiled tautly.

  “My daughter has instead requested that she be allowed to accompany you back to Erdem to meet the king Hakan Ithel for herself.”

  It was a test, and apparently I’d passed it, though I am unsure exactly what he had expected me to say or do.

  He continued, “I have given my consent, and would request your forbearance while her retinue is made ready.”

  I bowed again. “Yes, Your Majesty. Your daughter is more than welcome.”

  The girl smiled at her father and then directly at me. Though Hakan might be very angry with me, I was wholeheartedly glad that she was coming.

  The princess Kveta Tafari rode in her own carriage and I didn’t see her much the first day. I wondered if she’d repented of her decision, but I heard no word from her until that night. I didn’t know whether I should say something to her or pay my respects, or whether it would be improper, and I decided against it. The suvari were eating quietly and I prepared to sit with them, when one of her men came asking for me.

  Her tent was luxurious, at least to me, and she sat inside on a little folding chair behind a small table. The lamps made the space seem
cozy and bright, white and red and gold on the fabric walls.

  “Come. Would you eat with me?” She licked her lips nervously, and I bowed low before her. She was very young and very frightened, but she held her head with the pride I expected of a princess.

  “As you wish.” I sat across from her, wishing my legs weren’t quite so long. My height is less of a problem when I’m at a normal table, but traveling furniture makes me look even more ridiculous than usual. I kept my eyes down on the table for the most part because I did not wish to frighten her further.

  One of her women put plates of food in front of us, and I waited until the princess Kveta began before I took a bite. I glanced up to see her staring at me and biting her lip. “What shall I call you?”

  “You may call me Kemen.” I should have introduced myself to her again without prompting.

  She chewed her lip for a moment, and I wished I knew how to tell her that she didn’t have to be nervous. “My uncle spoke very well of Hakan Ithel.”

  “Your uncle Zuzay Tafari?”

  She nodded.

  “That was good of him.” I tried to make my voice soft, appropriate for speaking with a lady.

  “He also spoke well of you. I wouldn’t have been so bold if he hadn’t.” The words came out in a rush, and she blushed.

  I bowed my head. “I’m honored by your trust.” My eyes caught hers as I looked up.

  She smiled nervously but with a bit of gentle humor. “You needn’t be so formal. My father is the serious one.” She hesitated. “What is he like? The king Hakan Ithel, I mean.”

  How does one describe a friend? I thought, and I suppose I thought too long, because she prompted me.

  “Is he serious? Funny? Tall? Thoughtless or deliberate?” Now she was holding back a smile.

  “He is tall for a Tuyet, but quite thin. Near your age.”

  She nodded, smiling slightly.

  “More humorous than I am, but quite serious when he needs to be.” Her eyes on me made me nervous. “He’s thoughtful.” I paused as I thought some more. “Sensitive?” It was a question, because I wasn’t sure it was the right word, but she nodded more confidently now. “He sings well.”