Finally, able to delay no longer, Matrinka spoke her piece. “I think I know a way.”
Kevral listened closely. A flawed plan could pose fully as much harm to Matrinka as an outside threat. Under the current circumstances, Kevral could not imagine any way to convince the council to allow an heir to leave Béarn. Only Kevral’s blatant dismissal of their concern, and her reputation, had rescued her from their lectures about taking Matrinka into the forests and fields to gather herbs. Even so, their trips beyond the castle walls were always closely timed and monitored.
Matrinka explained. “If I abdicated any claim to Béarn’s throne, and was therefore no longer an heir, I could go wherever I pleased. It would surprise no one if an heir surrendered nobility for safety, then chose to disappear.”
The words stunned Kevral, and the others fell into startled silence. Ra-khir found his voice first. “But you can’t do that.”
“Why not?” Matrinka shot back.
Ra-khir flushed, stammering a reply. “W–well, I–I suppose you can do that, but it seems extreme. Surely, we can find a better way. . . .”
“Better?” Matrinka shook her head doubtfully. “I don’t think so. As long as I’m an heir, the council won’t let me leave here, not even for a day trip. They’d lock me in my room. Or in the dungeon if it came to that.” She spoke matter-of-factly, but Kevral suspected the decision had not come as easily as Matrinka made it seem. Weeks or months of thought had preceded her pronouncement, probably initiated when she first failed the tasks. “If I ran away, it’d trigger a monumental search that would foil any attempts at secrecy. We might just as well announce our departure from the sage’s tower.”
Ra-khir drummed his fingers on his sword belt, finally recognizing Matrinka’s point. “I couldn’t let you run either. Not if it would leave the kingdom in turmoil.”
Matrinka lowered her head. “It’s not like I could ever sit on the throne anyway. Not unless I married the king. . . .”
Darris winced, almost imperceptibly.
“And if I really mean that much to Béarn, they can reinstate me when we return.”
Kevral was not sure she followed. “You mean they can disown and reown you?”
Matrinka smiled at the inventive terminology. “The king can do as he pleases. The hard part’s going to be talking my grandfather into renouncing me in the first place.” She tipped her head, plunged into deeper consideration. “The council or the new king may not be as forgiving, but I’m willing to take that chance. If they held the decision against me after learning the circumstances, I wouldn’t want to live among them anyway.” She turned her attention to the cat suddenly, though the animal had not made a sound. She nodded, and her features screwed into an uncomfortable knot, as if acknowledging that the process she had so glibly outlined would not prove nearly as straightforward as she had implied.
Knowing Matrinka’s expressions well, Kevral guessed that the princess believed her decision would hurt someone; and natural conclusion brought Kevral to King Kohleran. She tried to imagine her own father’s reaction should she ever announce that she no longer wished to be Renshai. The idea seemed unfathomable. She would have to abandon every tenet that made her Kevral, and the idea of giving up the training, the honor, and the glory in battle that would become her final reward was a madness beyond plausibility. Her father, indeed the entire tribe, would have no choice but to kill her for such a foolish decision: both to rescue her from derangement and to prevent her from knowing or teaching the sword maneuvers that only Renshai were permitted to learn. She would welcome the execution to escape an insanity strong enough to drive her to such folly.
Kevral frowned, modifying her comparison to a more parallel level. If she only disowned herself from her family, not her tribe, she would scar her parents deeply without risking the knowledge and skill she had developed since the day her infant hand could close around a practice hilt. Having found what she believed to be the source of Matrinka’s discomfort, Kevral turned her contemplation to another matter. Once the princess divorced herself from the kingdom, she no longer required a Renshai escort. Kevral believed she could circumvent this problem without much difficulty. Once assigned a task, she would remain rigidly faithful to it. She could convince even those Renshai with the staunchest commitment to semantics by reminding them that Matrinka, or her children, might still sit on the throne if the circumstances changed.
“Settled, then.” Ra-khir took over again. “I’ll determine the best day to leave.” He indicated the bard’s heir. “Darris, you plan out our route and gather gear. Matrinka, I think you’ll have your hands full. Tae . . .” He turned his attention to the Easterner, unable to entirely keep loathing from his voice.
Tae did not seem to notice the disparaging tone. Unruly black hair dangled over his eyes, and his brows rose in patient expectation.
Ra-khir continued, “You’ll need to take those notes back. I’m also betting you can pick the best time and cover for leaving to avoid notice. If anyone sees us leaving together, it’ll arouse suspicion. Until we determine who’s safe and who isn’t, it’s best if no one connects our departures.”
“Just give me a direction.”
“Southeast,” Ra-khir supplied.
Tae nodded once.
Ra-khir addressed them all then, and Kevral suspected he left out a job for her deliberately. “Everyone is responsible for getting himself or herself a legitimate reason to disappear, without casting suspicion on oneself or others. If you need help, don’t hesitate to ask. Will anyone have trouble getting a horse?”
Tae, Darris, and Matrinka all made fast gestures to indicate no difficulty. “I can get one for Kevral, too,” Matrinka added.
“And I’ve got my own,” Ra-khir finished. “Let’s meet here in three days and compare information one last time.”
Kevral added directly to Tae. “I’ll meet you here a little after sundown. We’ll get those notes back together.” She clung to her promise to see the sage’s scroll returned.
Tae shrugged to indicate she could join him if she wished, but her presence would prove unnecessary. And the group adjourned to its separate tasks.
Chapter 13
Oa’si
When you stand on the boundary between warring countries, you become the target of them both.
—Colbey Calistinsson
Matrinka chewed her lower lip until the skin peeled and the pressure of her teeth brought pain. Mior sat near her mistress’ left foot, tail curled around her paws, waiting with the patience cats feigned so well. The act did not fool Matrinka. She knew Mior shared her anxiety and her concern for her grandfather’s well-being. In addition, the animal worried for Matrinka, which made her burden the heavier one. Matrinka kept a brave face and fought down the urge to pace, but she doubted her attempts to appear calm deceived Mior any more than the cat’s did her.
Matrinka glanced down the hallway to where Baltraine, Kevral, and a scribe waited for her to initiate and complete her business with the king. Discomforted by their scrutiny, she turned back to the door to Kohleran’s sickroom. Permission to meet with him had proved even more difficult to obtain than Matrinka had expected. Over the past several months, the king’s health had limited her visits to rare occurrences closely regulated by Prime Minister Baltraine, but she thought an issue of this import would earn her swift audience. The council knew, as did she, that her decision would prove more significant than she had indicated to her companions.
*You lied to them,* Mior reminded.
Despite the cat’s nonjudgmental attitude, Matrinka cringed, suffering enough guilt for them both. *Sometimes it is better to mislead friends than cause them the pain that truth can bring.* The decision had gnawed at her, but in the end, she had chosen compassion over honesty. Ra-khir did not need to bear the burden of knowing she had permanently sacrificed her royalty, and that of her offspring, for this cause. Had Kevral known the irrevocability of Matrinka’s decision before they met with Béarn’s council, she might not
have allowed it at all. She probably would have seen it as her own failure to properly guard an heir. *I’m going to be a part of retrieving the new king. No one will take that from me.* Matrinka could not fully fathom her own unwavering loyalty to the cause, though she knew it came as a direct result of the humiliation she had suffered during the staff-test.
*The price is high,* Mior reminded.
*I’m willing to pay it.*
*You’re not the only one it will cost.* The cat had an undeniable point, the very one that held Matrinka frozen in place. She loved her grandfather. This sterling example of humanity had already endured more emotional pain than anyone ever should. He deserved better, yet she had little choice but to proceed with disownment. *I have no other options.* The idea of causing anguish, especially to one she loved, ached through her conscience.
*You do have other options.*
*None that won’t jeopardize the mission. Even if I believed we could evade searchers sent to find us. Even if our quest could tolerate everyone in the kingdom knowing and suspicious about my departure, I don’t want Béarn wasting time, money, and security tracking me.*
Mior lapsed into silence, offering only her presence as consolation.
Matrinka knew she could not afford to stall too long. Initially, the prime minister had denied her request to deliver news that might break the last fragile thread of their beloved king’s health. This once, she had not accepted his proclamation meekly. She’d badgered Baltraine, invoking law and convention until he finally agreed to let her present her request to the council. Only after all efforts to convince Matrinka to change her mind had failed did the council finally relent. They would not grant permission for disownment. That decision lay in King Kohleran’s hands, and the law decreed she confront him directly.
Baltraine had filled their walk from meeting to waiting rooms with cajoling, chastisement, and appeals that bordered on pleading. He understood that heirs to the throne had rigid and difficult lives now, but that would change, he promised. He knew that watching cousins die hurt, that fearing for one’s life every day became as much a sickness as an actual disease, and that failure at the staff-test eroded reason and confidence. He used every argument she could surmise, and several she had never considered, to convince her to stay. Matrinka had listened stoically, answering only when directly questioned and always in the negative. She could not budge from her position. She could not tell him why without endangering their mission, so she gave no explanation at all.
Mior had made a running commentary on Baltraine’s arguments in an obvious attempt to keep Matrinka’s mind light at a difficult time and keep her from falling prey to the ceaseless desire to confess all to one she trusted. Conversely, Kevral had remained quiet. Even her footfalls made no noise against the polished, wooden floor. Matrinka guessed the confirmation that disownment was the permanent process Kevral had originally assumed had irritated the Renshai. At the least, it would make her excuses for remaining with Matrinka far more difficult to slide past the Renshai chieftains.
Still Matrinka stalled. Baltraine had told her to act quickly as the king needed his sleep. Once he drifted off, Matrinka did not have permission to disturb him. This last thought mobilized her. In his weakened condition, she would not dare awaken him, even if the ministers had allowed her to do so. It seemed too cruel, especially right before shocking him with her news. Steeling herself, Matrinka pushed open the door and stepped inside. Mior slithered in after her, and Matrinka closed the door behind them both.
The rancid odors of old blood and sickness assailed Matrinka’s nostrils. Repulsed despite her healer’s training, it took strength of will to meet her grandfather’s watery stare. He seemed to have aged a decade since her last visit. His familiar features folded into more wrinkles than seemed possible. Cheekbones jutted from a gaunt face that belied its Béarnian heritage. None of the healthy, swarthy hue remained, replaced by a pasty pale yellow. Moisture blurred the once-piercing black eyes, and the whites had dulled to saffron. His silver hair had receded, revealing freckled scalp. Nevertheless, he gave her a broad smile. Life still lingered in the sickly eyes. “Matrinka,” he said. “It’s always a pleasure to see you. What’s happened since I saw you last?”
Mior bounded onto the bed, purring, then curled into the crook of the king’s armpit.
“I love you, Grandpapa.” Matrinka avoided the question. She shoved aside the lacy curtains, and summer sunlight chased gloom into the farthest corners. She opened the window, admitting a warm breeze pungent with perfume from the courtyard gardens. Memories swept in with the wind, and the fragrance reawakened a happy childhood spent skipping past statues and tended beds of vegetables, braiding flowers into her hair. Her grandfather had spent many hours spinning apocryphal tales of animals or explaining the wonders and history of Béarn. The idea of disclaiming this past brought tears to her eyes.
“I love you, too,” Kohleran returned, his adoration for his granddaughter radiating with his words. “You always know what I need.”
Not this time. Matrinka bit her lower lip, immediately evoking pain from her previous nervous gnawing at it.
Even through rheumy eyes, Kohleran noticed her pain. “Are you well?”
“I’m well,” Matrinka said, crossing the room to sit on the edge of his bed. “I wish you were well, too.”
King Kohleran dismissed her concern with a scornful wave. “Bah. I’m old, and it’s my time to go. I’ve missed your grandmother terribly, and soon enough I’ll see her again in the Yonderworld.” Although the Béarnides believed in the Northern gods, they still clung to the Western concept of a single place where all souls gathered after death. Valhalla and Hel, they believed, existed only for warriors. “Don’t feel sorry for me. I’ve had the happiest life any man could. I wouldn’t trade it for anyone’s, not even the sickness because it makes me appreciate all I’ve had. And it makes me appreciate moments like this one.” He smiled broadly.
Stricken, Matrinka swallowed hard, able to return only a lopsided grin.
Kohleran picked up on her mood immediately. “What’s troubling you?”
His concern proved too much for Matrinka to bear. She burst into tears, feeling like a lost child. Kohleran raised his hands toward her, though weakness did not allow him to gather her into his arms. Sensing his need, as well as her own, Matrinka settled into his embrace and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. His warmth lodged her firmly in the past, and reality faded around her. With only tactile impression as a guide, her mind conjured images of her grandfather as a robust, gentle man of justice, not yet withered by disease.
For a long time they lay that way, neither speaking, both clinging. Eventually, Matrinka slid free of his grasp and sat near his head. He brushed aside strands of dark hair that clung to drying tears on her cheeks and gave her a sober examination as if to read the pain cloistered inside her. “Times are hard for Béarn now.” Misinterpreting the source of her tears, he tried to console. “The world never meant for men to outlive their children. Worse, their grandchildren. That one thing about my life I would change.”
Kohleran intended to soothe, to show Matrinka they all shared the same pain. Instead, his words sparked guilt and self-loathing. Matrinka knew her news would strain the worst of her grandfather’s sorrow. The yearning to crawl into his lap and beg stories nearly overwhelmed her, yet the urgency of her task forbade it. This might be the last time she saw her grandfather alive. She cleared her throat, speaking before the remnants of her courage crumbled. “Grandpapa, I love you dearly. I’m so sorry for what I have to ask you now.”
The king took Matrinka’s hand in his withered grip, comforting with a touch as she had done so often for him since his illness started.
Matrinka’s voice fell so low, she could scarcely hear herself. “I want you to disown me. I can’t be an heir to Béarn any longer.”
Though she had spoken barely above a whisper, Kohleran heard. He stared, eyes widening in increments, mouth pursed and still, face a bloodl
ess yellow. Then it was his turn to cry, tears brimming away the mucus coating his eyes and drawing trails along his shrunken cheeks.
Matrinka squeezed his hand, wishing desperately she could make him cease to care about a decision that now seemed like treachery and betrayal. Her chest felt smashed and empty, as if every rib had shattered at once and her lungs could no longer expand.
For several moments, neither spoke. Mior ceased her purring, the only sound the rattle of breath in the old man’s tired throat.
Kohleran broke the silence in a painful whisper that scarcely resembled a ghost of his once powerful voice. “No. Oh, no. Not Matrinka. Not my favorite. I can’t.”
“You have to,” Matrinka begged, crying again. “It’s the only way.”
“Why?” Kohleran wheezed, the question obviously directed at her reasons for asking for renunciation rather than as follow-up to her last statement. “What have I done to drive you away?”
His words jabbed through her like blades. “Nothing, Grandpapa. It’s not you.”
“Then why?”
Matrinka could not answer, bound by her promises to her companions. “I can’t say.”
Kohleran studied her through doelike eyes dulled by moisture. “You expect me to disown my granddaughter without explanation?”
“It’s the only way.” Matrinka looked away, unable to meet his candid gaze.
“I can’t do it. I won’t.” Kohleran twisted his fingers free of her grasp, his weakness now an obvious frustration. “I can deal with losing my grandchildren to illness and even to murder. But I will not willingly let one go.”
“Grandpapa,” Matrinka whined through her own tears, grabbing for his hand.
Kohleran dodged her attempt, clumsy from illness. “Go away. Leave me to my misery.”
*Be strong.* Mior sent her presence to help buoy Matrinka. The purring resumed, and she rubbed against King Kohleran’s hand. He twined his fingers through the soft fur, and a slight smile broke through his sadness for a quarter of a second.
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