Never After

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  “They wanted to marry me because I’m a princess,” I said glumly. “Perhaps one day to be queen.” I risked one sidelong look at his face. “That’s why you wanted to marry me, no doubt. A throne makes even a shrew seem attractive.”

  “I would have wanted to marry you if you were a beggar’s daughter fighting for survival,” he said quietly. “I will want to marry you if Gisele is right and your father manages to sire a son by some new bride. I am moved by your indomitable spirit, I am awed by your determination, and I am impressed by your intelligence.”

  He reached up his free hand to brush a stray lock of hair from my face. “And I remember always the lonely child you were, growing up in that unfriendly palace,” he went on. “The expression on your face, when your mother would walk into a room—the hope you would show—the smile you would produce. And the look of abandonment you would wear when she turned aside without noticing you. I never saw anyone so willing to be loved and so surrounded by people who were not capable of such an emotion. I thought, ‘I will love her, if she will let me.’ ” He gave me a smile of such tenderness that for a moment I couldn’t catch my breath. “All these years later, and that’s still how I feel.”

  I wondered why he didn’t kiss me, and then I thought perhaps it was not quite so pleasant to be kissing someone who had just been throwing up, no matter how many oranges she had eaten since then. I didn’t have the right words to respond to his extraordinary speech, but I had to say something. “I don’t think I will be marrying Darius after all,” I said, speaking airily to cover my slight dizziness. “I feel rather bad about that, except I’m not so sure Darius wants to marry me, either.”

  “I think Darius likes you very much,” Harwin said. “But I also think Darius would be relieved to learn he’s not expected to take up the crown and scepter after all. He is not—shall we say—a man who flourishes in a lifestyle bound by conventions.”

  That made me laugh, but I tried to assume a thoughtful expression. “Still. I agreed to marry the man who proved his strength, valor, and intelligence by winning my father’s three contests. I can hardly break my word now.”

  “May I remind you that I also succeeded at each one of those contests and that I am therefore a perfectly eligible bridegroom?” Harwin said. “I do not like to boast about myself, but I, too, am strong, courageous, and wise. You will be breaking no compact if you marry me instead.”

  “Well,” I said. “I will think about it.”

  I expected him to come back with some kind of gallant reply—I mean, think of it! Harwin was actually flirting! — but suddenly I felt his muscles grow tense and I sensed that I had lost all his attention. I slewed around to see what he was staring at and saw a line of soldiers trotting in through the front gate.

  Royal soldiers. Eight of them. Sporting my father’s livery. The leader wore a closed, purposeful look, and all of them were armed as if for combat.

  “Why are they here?” I asked in a fearful voice.

  Harwin came swiftly to his feet, almost dumping me on the ground, though he kept a hand clamped around my arm to help me find my balance. “Gisele,” he said.

  We both took off running for the house.

  * * *

  The parlor was a scene of madness.

  Soldiers milled in the cramped hallway outside the room, half of them with their swords drawn, three of them shouting. The slatternly housekeeper was shrieking and sobbing, but no one paid attention to her until one of the guards shoved her unceremoniously down the corridor, where she fell to her knees. Two of the soldiers were beating at the door to the parlor, as if trying to break down a heavy panel of wood, but there was nothing there except a block of shimmering, translucent air. Through this scrim I could spot bodies roiling inside the room—Darius, Dannette, Gisele, her maid, even the coachman—all of them holding makeshift weapons, all of them poised for battle.

  Darius’s weapon appeared to be the magic in his hands, with which he had created a shield across the open doorway, and none of the soldiers could breach it with their blades or their fists.

  Behind me, I felt Harwin gather his strength as if to join the fray. But he hadn’t been wearing a sword when he came after me and I didn’t know if he carried a dagger and I did not want him plowing through the mass of irate soldiers with only his rage to defend him. I drew a deep breath and demanded in my iciest voice, “What is going on here? Answer me, in the name of the king!”

  That caused a big swell and commotion as the soldiers spun around to face me and my friends began shouting to me through the ensorcelled doorway. I held up a hand for silence and glared at the whole group.

  “Quiet!” I shouted. “One of you—give me some answers! Why are you here?”

  One of the guards pushed to the forefront—a man I knew, more’s the luck. His name was Mackoby, and he had been at the palace since I was born. A bleak, hard, but honest man. “Princess Olivia,” he said, his voice raspy. “Your father has sent troops out across the land, looking for the queen. We got word that she arrived at Kannerly this afternoon.” He gestured toward the doorway. “And you see we have found her.”

  I kept both my expression and my tone glacial. “And why are you so interested in Gisele’s whereabouts?”

  “She has practiced treason and must be brought to justice,” Mackoby said.

  “I did not!” Gisele retorted furiously. “What treason? What is the charge?”

  I didn’t look at her. “The queen asks a legitimate question,” I said. “What is her exact offense?”

  Mackoby stood to stiff attention. “It was not my place to know that,” he said. “But she knew she did wrong, because she stole jewels and money from the palace and she ran away.”

  “I stole nothing! I only took what was mine!”

  I was thinking very fast. Everything depended on the soldiers’ orders. Gisele was convinced my father meant to kill her. It would be simpler to do that several hundred miles from the palace walls with very few witnesses. But a public condemnation might earn my father sympathy for an execution, once he manufactured evidence of Gisele’s crime. That was the question. Did he want her back at the palace alive or dead?

  “Those are serious accusations,” I said. “What is my father’s plan for the queen once she is back in his custody?”

  “Olivia!” Gisele cried, but I continued to ignore her. I could not make it appear as though I were her ally, or I would lose any leverage I had with the soldiers.

  “He spoke of a trial to produce proof of her wrongdoing,” Mackoby said.

  I gave him my sternest look, one of the regal stares I have cultivated over the years. “If I allow you to take her now, will you swear that she will come to no harm in your custody?”

  Mackoby looked insulted. “Princess! My orders are to return her to the palace with all speed. During our journey, I will defend her with my life.”

  I pretended to deliberate. Behind me, I felt Harwin standing mutely, a strong, supportive presence. He certainly would understand that I was playing a role. He certainly would know that I was straining my wits to think of a way to save Gisele, not betray her. But those others inside the enchanted parlor—oh, I could tell they were all shocked and horrified by my sudden treachery.

  “I will allow you to take her,” I said, “but I insist on accompanying you. All of us will come,” I added. “My betrothed and all my companions.” I let everyone in the hallway determine who they thought my betrothed might be. I was fairly certain not everyone guessed correctly.

  Mackoby spoke stiffly. “We cannot breach the door. Magic blocks our way.”

  “Darius will remove his spell,” I said, “once he is convinced the queen will suffer no harm at your hands.”

  “I swear it,” Mackoby said, “and I offer surety for my men.”

  I finally faced the parlor again, letting my gaze rest on each occupant in turn, trying to convey a silent message first to Gisele, then to Darius, then Dannette. I don’t know; maybe Harwin, behind me, was adding
his own unspoken reassurance. But Gisele’s face smoothed out, and she nodded infinitesimally, and Darius let the golden screen evaporate. Mackoby stepped across the threshold and took the queen’s arm in a firm hold.

  “We leave as soon as you are all ready to travel,” he said.

  “We need no more than a few minutes,” I said.

  So, as it happened, I did not spend even a single night at Kannerly. Not that I minded. I had learned everything I needed to know in the few short hours I had been on its tainted acres.

  8

  The Cruel Father

  We made the journey back to the palace in half the time our outbound trip had taken. Mackoby had conjured a second carriage and a handsome team of horses from the Kannerly stables, so I traveled in comfort, if you discounted the high level of anxiety. Even Darius had been outfitted with another pair of horses, so that the wagon kept up with the rest of the party. Not that I was allowed to speak to Darius, or Dannette, or Gisele, or even Harwin. Mackoby didn’t trust me, and in order to keep us from plotting Gisele’s escape, he kept me segregated from everyone in my party.

  Except Gisele’s maid. Who ever notices the servants?> She came to me every morning to help me dress and carried messages from me to Gisele and the others. We formulated a hasty and desperate plan, but none of us had any idea if it would work.

  We arrived at the palace close to midnight on our third day of travel. I was kept locked inside my own carriage until Gisele had been escorted inside under heavy guard. When I tumbled out the door, I looked around wildly. Dannette and Darius were being ushered inside—by servants, not soldiers, so they were probably safe—and Harwin, still on horseback, was being crowded back toward the courtyard exit.

  “Don’t leave me!” I called in a sudden panic.

  He pulled on the reins to bring his horse around. “If they make me go, I will be back in the morning!” he shouted.

  We had no more time to speak, for footmen were on either side of me, urging me toward the door. The minute I stepped inside, I let all pretense of cooperation fall away. “Take me to my father,” I said in my haughty-princess voice.

  The steward, who had overseen this whole debarkation, said smoothly, “Princess, the hour is late, and the king is no doubt sleeping.”

  “The king has no doubt been wakened with the news that his queen has been returned,” I said coldly.

  “Take. Me. To. Him.”

  The steward hesitated a moment, then bowed. “Highness,” he said, and led the way.

  My father was indeed awake, wearing a gaudy purple dressing gown, drinking a glass of wine, and conferring with Sir Neville. The minute I stepped into the room, I asked a single bald question. “What are your plans for Gisele?”

  He rose to his feet and eyed me with disfavor. I was reminded of the fact that he was a rather small man. Not nearly as tall as Harwin, for instance, and I myself was almost exactly his height. “I see you are back from your trip with your betrothed,” he said. “I trust you have grown well enough acquainted to consent to a hasty wedding.”

  “Yes, I feel certain I will want to marry soon,” I said. “What are your plans for Gisele?”

  “Why would you care?” he said. “You have never had any interest in her fate before.”

  “I am always interested in the affairs of the kingdom, Father,” I said in an edged voice. “The soldiers said she will be tried for treason. I would like to see how such a trial is carried out.”

  Sir Neville spoke up in his gruff voice. “Your father will convene three trusted lords to sit in while he reads off evidence of her crimes. If we agree that she has committed the acts she has been charged with, she will be convicted and punished.”

  “Traitors are executed,” I said.

  My father nodded. “They are. And she will be, if she is found guilty.”

  So it was true. Gisele had not lied. He planned to kill her and then marry Sir Neville’s stupid, scheming daughter. It was not a surprise, but somehow the news caught me like a blow.

  What good sense I had always shown by hating my father.

  “I want to watch the trial,” I said.

  My father looked annoyed, but shrugged impatiently. “Fine. We will meet in the morning. Sir Norbert and Sir Milton have agreed to be ready at such short notice.”

  “I will bring my betrothed with me,” I said. “And his sister.”

  My father flung his hands in the air. “Shall you invite the cooks and the grooms as well?”

  “It’ll be like a damned fair,” Neville snorted.

  I made a show of hesitating, and then I said in an uncertain tone, “We all traveled with her for the past week, you know. She said some things—they might be useful to you—all of us heard her.”

  Now my father’s eyes sharpened. “Did she, the little bitch? Then, yes, you may bring them both, if they are willing to testify.”

  I was not feeling civil enough to curtsy, but I did nod my head in acknowledgment. I could only imagine how unkempt my hair looked, how ratty and wrinkled my clothing. But I fancied I still managed to make the nod look stately. “We will join you in the morning.”

  * * *

  Smoky oil lamps and sputtering candelabra provided suitably gloomy lighting in the throne room the next day as we gathered for Gisele’s trial. My father sat on his engraved chair while Norbert, Neville, and Harwin’s father, Sir Milton, settled in more ordinary chairs beside him. Sir Milton was a big man, as brown as his son, and even more serious and less inclined to idle conversation. It was no surprise that he was frowning.

  Gisele stood meekly before the four of them, plainly dressed, head bowed, silent; a heavily armed soldier was in place beside her. Darius, Dannette, Harwin, and I had been relegated to uncomfortable benches at a slight angle to the dais. My father hadn’t seemed to notice that I’d augmented my party by one. No one else was present, though two more soldiers watched the door.

  It was clear my father wanted to get through this charade as quickly as possible. “Gisele, queen of Kallenore, you have been charged with crimes against the throne,” he rattled off. “If you are found guilty of them, you will be put to death.”

  “I would hear the list of my sins, majesty,” Gisele said quietly.

  My father consulted a piece of paper. “You stole jewelry cases filled with three diamond necklaces, a complete set of emeralds, a complete set of rubies, and a total of fifteen rings. You also ransacked the royal safe for three bags of gold and a bag of silver. In addition, you took a royal seal with which you could forge my orders. How do you plead?”

  I came to my feet. “Guilty,” I said.

  My father sent me an irascible look. “You—what? Sit down, Olivia. I’m speaking to the queen.”

  “Gisele did not take the jewels and coins,” I said, looking at my feet and mumbling a little. “I did. I’ve never traveled from the palace without your protection before, and I was afraid. I thought if I had money, I could buy my way out of any trouble.”

  The look on my father’s face was indescribable. Norbert said in a fair voice, “Well, she makes a good point. Money will make almost any problem go away.”

  Neville peered at me in some uneasiness. “So you’re saying—you took the goods? Not the queen?”

  “I swear it.”

  Sir Milton was frowning again. “Then that accusation must be struck.”

  My father looked ready to burst into flames, he was so angry. “There are other charges,” he bit out. He rustled the paper again. “You sent messages to the envoy from Amlertay and arranged to meet with him to share secrets about Kallenore defenses. You sent similar messages to the envoy from Newmirot.”

  Still on my feet, I turned to give Darius a wide, wondering stare. “Darius,” I breathed. “You told me you were talking to those men about trade goods. Not state secrets.”

  A very satisfying tumult ensued. Darius leapt up and cried, “We were discussing trade! Nothing more!” while Norbert and Neville and Milton all talked at once, very loudly. I
t took my father’s roar of “Silence! All of you!” before the room subsided into anything like quiet.

  “It appears she is not guilty of this crime, either,” Norbert said, his round, red face puffing up with disapproval. “If she has done nothing truly heinous, I do not think—”

  “Perhaps this will strike you as a significant enough betrayal,” my father snarled. “While she traveled with my daughter, she took a lover into her bed. Two inn-keepers will testify they saw a second person entering and leaving her room. She sought to bear a bastard to the throne—to make a cuckold of the king and disinherit his true daughter.”

  “That’s very bad,” Neville said eagerly.

  It was—extremely bad. Harwin had been the one who guessed what the first two charges would be, so we had crafted defenses that might be far-fetched, but difficult to disprove. But it had not occurred to any of us that Gisele would be cited for infidelity, a crime that had sent more than one queen to her death before this.

  “Yes,” Harwin’s father intoned, “that is a serious and treasonable offense.”

  Norbert added, “A grievous accusation.”

  “And completely untrue.”

  Everyone turned to gape at the person who had just spoken. Dannette, rising gracefully to her feet to stand between her brother and me. She continued. “It was I they saw coming and going from the queen’s chambers, for we indeed shared a bed upon the journey. You may ask my brother—my grandmother—anyone who is acquainted with me. Everyone knows that all my lovers have been women. The queen is only my latest paramour.”

  Now everyone was staring. My father looked flummoxed, but Neville and Norbert appeared to be intrigued, in a nasty, lascivious way. Even Gisele had turned to give Dannette a sidelong look over her shoulder—and I swear the queen was wearing a small, private smile.

  It occurred to me with a sort of blank shock that this might be the only defense of the day that was actually true.

  Harwin’s father gave a dry chuckle. “Well, Reginald, if that’s your queen’s lover, you might not like it, but there’s no chance she’ll be bearing any bastard child,” he said. “It doesn’t look to me like any of these charges are going to stick.”