Song of the Lioness #4 - Lioness Rampant

by Tamora Pierce

  Alanna couldn't speak until she could master her amusement. Already Thayet had Jon off balance, and already they seemed attracted to each other. I knew it! she told herself triumphantly. I knew I was right to bring her!

  "Thayet jian Wilima," George said, eyeing Alanna, "may I present Jonathan of Conté? Are you officially 'King' now, Jon, or does that wait till the coronation?"

  Jonathan was not listening. "Does the introduction meet your standards, your Highness?" His voice matched Thayet's for dryness.

  The Warlord's daughter curtsied to just the degree proper for a princess to greet a king—not an inch more. Instead of modestly looking down, she kept her eyes on Jon's. "I am 'Highness' no longer, your Majesty. My father is dead, and I am an exile. I hope to become your Majesty's loyal, low-born subject." She inclined her head graciously, her curtsey not wobbling an iota.

  Alanna sighed wistfully. She could never match Thayet's skill at courtly female behavior. Thayet glanced at her, knowing the reason for the sigh, and her gravity gave way. She began to giggle, then to laugh. A fourth cup of tea was poured, for her, and she took the seat beside Jon.

  THE NEXT morning Alanna and Liam met for their dawn work-out. Buri and Thayet, half awake, joined them shortly after they began. The four worked silently and hard for an hour before splitting up for the day. Alanna bathed, deciding to pass up a morning meal. Her nerves were wound too tightly for sleep or food. Despite a short night and excitement the day before, she was wide awake and ready for something she'd wanted to do for weeks.

  Duke Roger was on the wall overlooking the City Gate as she rode into one of the many palace courtyards. Alanna stared up at him for a long moment, then glanced at the four Bazhir who had accompanied her this far. How far would their un-asked-for protection extend?

  Their leader bowed, interpreting her look correctly. "We await you here, Woman Who Rides Like a Man." Glancing up at Roger, he added, "As long as we may see you plainly."

  She nodded. Leaving her mare to the hostlers and draping Faithful over a shoulder, she climbed the stairs up the wall.

  Roger leaned against the battlement, waiting. Alanna was surprised to see his hair was too long and there were foodstains on his robe—he used to be vain of his appearance. Drawing a deep breath, she put her cat down. "Behave yourself," she told him firmly. She approached to within arm's reach and stopped; the cat, his tail dancing with badly contained hatred, crouched at her feet.

  "So," Roger said, his light voice poisonous, "you survived. What a pity."

  Alanna grinned with relief. She didn't have to pretend everything was fine and she liked this man. Open war was declared. "Hello, Roger. You look pale. Not enough time in the sun?"

  His eyes, lighter than Jon's, narrowed. "You're cocky, aren't you? Killed anyone recently?"

  "No. It's so depressing to come back and find one's work reversed." Her nerves hummed as if she were in combat.

  A cruel smile curled his lips. "You know who to thank."

  Alanna shrugged. "I know. Tell me something, will you? You meant to kill her—the Queen? And the King, and Jon?"

  Roger tugged his beard. "If you ask about the days before you killed me, yes, I did. You doubted it? Or did you persuade yourself a court trial would have absolved you from complicity in my death?" She flinched and looked aside. "You aren't absolved. If not for you, I would have been King. Those were my plans. Now, of course, it's different. I had nothing to do with their deaths. I have promised to behave. Not that I can misbehave, since my Gift stayed behind when I came back to the living." He grinned wolfishly. "It keeps my tomb warm for me, against my return." Alanna shuddered. "Don't you want to assure yourself my fangs are drawn? Use your keepsake." He pointed at the ember. "I know all about it from Thom."

  Alanna did not like it that Thom had seen fit to tell Roger that bit of news. Still, she touched the ember and saw only him, not even a tinge of orange fire. Disquieted, she released the ember. "You're still a dangerous man, Roger. Your Gift just made things easier for you."

  He reached out and gripped her wrist, searching her eyes. "You've changed, Squire Alan. You're very much the experienced knight, aren't you? And you don't fear me anymore—not as you did once." He let her go.

  Alanna tucked her hands into her pockets to warm them. Thinking about what he'd said, she replied slowly, "You know something? There are sandstorms that strip man and horse and bury them—I've seen them. I saw bones piled higher than my head for the folly of a bad king and those who wanted his throne. I lived through a blizzard that froze every other living creature solid. Against those things, you're only a man. I can deal with you."

  Delight played across his face and eyes. "I'm sure you can, my dear. But I won't give you the chance—not a second time." He walked away, climbing to a higher level.

  Alanna watched him go. At last, she sighed and picked up her enraged cat, warming her nose against his fur. "Calm down," she whispered. "I'm not fooled, if that's what you're worried about." She felt cold. "He's up to something. I'll stake my reputation on it."

  Raoul awaited her at the foot of the stairs. Instead of the rough shirt and breeches he'd worn aboard ship, he wore the royal blue and silver of the King's Own, with the silver star of the Commander on his chest. Alanna stopped to admire him.

  "I know you told me you were commanding the Own," she said as she joined him, "but hearing it and seeing it are two different things." They started walking deeper into the palace grounds. "Did they run to seed while you were off fetching me?"

  Raoul shook his head, grinning. "Mahoud ibn Shaham, my Second—he kept them on their toes. Still, I'm glad to be back. I worry when I'm not able to look after things. I saw who you were talking to, by the way."

  "And?"

  "What do you make of him?"

  "He's crazy," Alanna said flatly. "I don't know if it's because he's above ground when he should be in his tomb, or if the spell that brought him back rearranged his mind, but it doesn't matter which. He's crazy, and he's dangerous."

  Raoul nodded. "I agree; Gary agrees; sometimes I think Jon agrees. But what could we do? King Roald—gods rest his passing—you remember how much he disliked a ruckus. He wanted to forgive and forget, especially forget. He restored Roger's estates, his titles—everything. So now we're stuck with a crazy royal Duke and all those people who think we're cursed for keeping him. Can we talk about something else? I'm getting depressed."

  Alanna smiled. "All right. Tell me how you like commanding the King's Own."

  "It's all right," admitted Raoul. They walked through a passage to emerge in the training area for knights, squires, and pages. "It's not like the border patrols. Commanding the Own means you have to sneak and spy, what with people conspiring to kill Jonathan—

  "What?" she whispered.

  Raoul turned red. "Forget I said that. It's taken care of—ask Jon. Listen, I don't want to talk about me. What've you been doing? What's the Dragon like? And why in the name of Mithros did you go to the Roof of the World?"

  "It's a long story." Alanna looked around at the open-air courts, the racks of wooden swords and staffs, the practice dummies, the targets. At this early hour only a few knights were out—Gary, Alex, Geoffrey of Meron. They gathered around, clapping her on the back and demanding to hear all of her adventures. Laughing, she refused, telling them she'd have plenty of time to spin tales.

  As they talked, she examined each face. Alex's was as closed as ever, although he seemed pleased about something. Gary stopped to think before he spoke, so he wasn't as sarcastic as he used to be. Myles had said Gary had taken up Duke Gareth's duties; Alanna thought the responsibility was good for her friend. Even Geoffrey seemed sharper, more honed. He told Alanna Scan-ran raiders kept him hopping all winter on the northern borders.

  "Come on, Alan—Alanna," he corrected himself as the others laughed. "Let's see if you're still in shape." He tossed her a wooden practice sword.

  "Of course she's in shape," Gary said tartly.

  "I doubt she
did much fencing with the Shang Dragon," Alex commented. When Alanna looked at him to see if he meant something nasty, he explained, "I know Ironarm prefers hand-to-hand techniques over weapons."

  Alanna hefted the practice sword, testing its weight. "That doesn't mean he avoids weapons."

  Gary, Raoul, and Alex sat on the railings to watch. "Is it true Sarain's a shambles?" Gary called as Alanna and Geoffrey squared off.

  "Yes." Alanna sidestepped Geoffrey's lunge and engaged his blade, twisting down and up. He freed his sword and darted back, looking at her with respect. Alanna concentrated, knowing she was being tested to see if she'd changed. From what people had said the night before, she knew Jonathan needed her as a knight, to point out to skeptics that his vassals were loyal and strong. That she was female was a source of trouble, but she could balance that by proving—here and now—her abilities were the same.

  Geoffrey came in with a series of chopping blows, trying to limit her to a defense. She slid away and kept him turning. He faltered and she darted in, her sword coming to rest at the base of his throat. Geoff lowered his blade.

  "I'd forgotten how gods-cursed fast you are." He grinned.

  Gary climbed down. "My turn."

  Alanna got into position. Part of her was aware that servants and nobles were coming into the yard to watch. With a grim smile she went to work, forcing Gary to attack. She beat him with a disarm like the one she'd tried on Geoff, hooking his sword out of his hands. Raoul didn't last as long as Gary; he wasn't really trying, and she told him so.

  "I'm used to you beating me," he told her with a grin. "It's hard to change an old habit. From the evidence, I needn't bother. You're still best, except maybe for Alex." He nodded at the dark young man, who was seated on the railing. "Come on, Alex. Give the Lioness a try."

  The hair on the back of her neck stood up. It was weird to hear her warname on an old friend's lips. It told her—more than anything else she'd seen or heard—how much she'd grown away from her fellow knights.

  Alex shook his head. "I want to catch the lady knight when she's fresh." His eyes met Alanna's with an expression she couldn't read. "Some other time, I promise."

  Others volunteered, eager to try a pass or two. Alanna had another five practice bouts before she bowed out—she was getting hot. The men and boys protested her departure, but she noticed they began to fill the courts as soon as she stepped out of hers. I should be flattered they held off practicing to watch me, she thought, accepting a towel.

  Gary walked her to the stables, an arm around her shoulders. "Were the last two even Tortallan?" Alanna panted, wiping her face.

  "No." The big man was pleased. "One was Gallan, and the black was Carthaki. They're here for the coronation."

  "A little early, aren't they?"

  "Everyone wants to know what Jonathan's like. They particularly want to know if he'll be King for long. That's why it's good to have you at home. Most of us younger knights aren't known outside Tortall. The Lioness is known and respected. A king who commands your loyalty is worth paying attention to." They'd reached the stable doors.

  Beet red, Alanna muttered, "Hogwash."

  "To you it's hogwash," Gary agreed. "To foreigners it's important. They'll keep their fingers out of our business until they know more about Jon." With a cheerful salute he left her to return to the palace and his new duties.

  Entering the stables, Alanna found them deserted. Most of the hostlers were in the courtyards or the paddocks, which suited her. Putting fingers to her lips, she gave an ear-splitting whistle. A stocky man slipped down from the haymow above, not bothering to pick dried grass from his strawlike hair.

  "So there you are," Stefan commented, bowing and tugging a forelock. "It's that good t'see you. Mayhap now his Majesty'll perk up. It's been that gloomsome, Mistress Alanna."

  The knight leaned against a post. "Why don't you tell me what's going on to make things so 'gloomsome.'"

  Stefan looked around, wary. "Come up," he invited, climbing a ladder to the mow. "And keep your voice low."

  ON HER return to House Olau, Alanna found the premises occupied by seamstresses. "It was Eleni's idea," Buri explained. "She says you and Thayet need clothes. Good luck!" Faithful saw the welter of fabrics and earnest-looking women and fled with Buri; the men had already vanished.

  "I know you'd rather do other things today," Eleni explained as she hauled Alanna into the fitting room. "But his Majesty wants you to bring Thayet to court tonight. He left you this." She handed over a sealed parchment.

  Breaking the seal, Alanna read Jon's note while George's mother divested her of sword belt, tunic, and boots.

  Lady Knight, Tonight would be a good time to present you officially at court, and to formally introduce Princess Thayet. The longer more conservative souls have to get used to you, the more productive your presence will be. This will also be an excellent opportunity—with so many there to witness—for you to present me with the object we spoke of.

  She nodded in approval of Jonathan's strategy as she threw the note onto the fire. A formal introduction was a grand occasion; foreign diplomats and Tortallan nobles alike would be present. By virtue of her rank Thayet was due such a reception, even though the court was in mourning. While Alanna preferred an informal welcome, she knew her life would be easier if Jonathan gave her public approval. Also, giving him the Jewel would help—both her and him. No one would wish to unthrone a king who held the Jewel. And once presented, word would get around. The sooner the better, after all the news she'd heard that day!

  With a sigh, she removed her shirt and breeches as an assistant came to take her measurements with a knotted cord. Grimly, she looked at the ceiling while the cord snaked around her body.

  The fitting, however, was almost over before it began, when the chief seamstress showed Alanna dress designs. "I won't wear a gown, not tonight," the knight said firmly. "They'll think I'm crawling back with my tail between my legs."

  "Ye can't show your legs to the whole court and his Majesty that's to be," the seamstress replied. "It's indecent and disrespectful, and all the nobles will talk about ye."

  "They do that already," Alanna retorted.

  The woman shook her head stubbornly. "The only ladies as wears hose are them that's no better than they ought to be." Rispah turned a laugh into a cough when the seamstress glared at her.

  "I'm not a lady—I'm a knight," Alanna growled. "And I'm making my bow to the court as one. Dresses are fine sometimes, but not tonight."

  "Sir Alanna is right, and you're right," Thayet put in diplomatically. She held up a sketch she'd been working on. "Is this a suitable compromise?"

  "With a bit of gold or silver stripe along the seam?" Eleni suggested gently as the seamstress frowned.

  Alanna peered at it. It was a shirt and tunic, with soft, full breeches instead of hose. The tunic was longer than usual, coming to the knee, yet splits in the sides to the waist ensured the wearer's freedom of movement.

  "All right?" Thayet asked.

  "I like it," replied Alanna.

  "Hm," the seamstress commented, still skeptical.

  Rispah put a friendly arm around the woman's shoulders. "The dark grey silk, with—oh, of course, I can see where it might be too much trouble, with Princess Thayet's and Mistress Cooper's ballgowns besides. Perhaps Mistress Weaver, as has a shop over in—"

  "It's no trouble," snapped the seamstress, pulling out of Rispah's hold. "No trouble at all, for a shop of the first cut, like mine. Weaver! She sells inferior cloth and stitchin' that comes undone in the first bow—" Rispah winked at Alanna; the skirmish was settled with honor to both sides.

  The gleam in Eleni's eye made Alanna uncomfortable. George's mother was looking her over, inch by inch, leaving no part of Alanna un-scrutinized. The knight hurriedly began to dress.

  "Earrings!" the older woman exclaimed.

  Alanna forgot her trepidation and looked at Eleni, hardly believing her ears. "Could I?" she whispered. All her life she'd env
ied the court beauties their eardrops, to the point that she'd refused to get the single earring a man could wear—it just wasn't the same.

  In a twinkling Eleni and Thayet had her in a chair while Rispah heated a needle. "This shouldn't be any trouble at all," the redhead grinned, "bein's how you're a blooded knight. Hold still!"

  Alanna gritted her teeth as the needle punched into a lobe; the bottom dropped out of her stomach, and her ears roared. "I'll tell you what the Daughters told me when I had mine done," Thayet said as Rispah replaced the needle with a bit of silk. " 'Beauty is pain.' "

  "Is that supposed to be a consolation?" Alanna gasped. She closed her eyes against the next punch of the needle. This time the bottom of her stomach continued to drop, and the roar was deafening. She opened her eyes onto more blackness.

  Someone was waving aromatic salts under her nose. Alanna sneezed and sneezed again. "What happened?" she asked, struggling to keep her stomach in place. Rispah stopped trying to fight laughter; Eleni wiped teary eyes with a handkerchief. Even the seamstress showed signs of amusement. Alanna fixed Thayet with a darkling look. "Thayet?"

  "You fainted," the Princess gasped, and surrendered to whoops of mirth.

  RISPAH and Eleni told the travelers what had been going on in the palace and city, while the seamstresses worked nearby. The picture drawn for Alanna was grim, grimmer than she had thought from the recital in the stable. Jonathan's future subjects wondered if he was cursed. Duke Gareth had taken the deaths of his sister and brother-in-law hard; he was in retirement, and Gary was virtually Prime Minister. No one questioned Gary's ability, but everyone had known and respected his father, and few people outside the palace had ever met the younger Naxen. Many of the older nobles, who normally could be relied upon to support the King, had withheld support from Jon without giving reasons. Their excuse was that they waited for the coronation, which was the proper time and place; but Myles and Duke Gareth had told Jonathan that the same lords had pledged to support Roald before his coronation. Claw appeared to have vanished, but Alanna knew from Stefan that his followers still made trouble for George. A wet spring and cool summer this far meant sickly crops, a bad omen in a king's first year on the throne.