Crown Duel

by Sherwood Smith

  Behind us we heard a cough, and we both turned, me dizzily, to see one of the liveried door attendants fall to her knees, sobbing for breath. Then she fell full length into what appeared to be sleep. Her companion slumped down and snored. On the floor near the great tree, the remains of the Duke of Grumareth had turned into clear stones.

  Beyond the doors, the street and the gates were empty. The Hill Folk had vanished as mysteriously as they had come.

  A shuddering sigh of relief, not my own, brought my attention home and heartward. I shut my eyes, smiling, and clung with all my strength to Vidanric as kisses rained on my hair, my eyes, and finally—lingeringly—on my lips.

  The duel was over, and we had won.

  AFTERWORD

  It has taken me very nearly a year to write down this record. In fact, today is my Name Day. As my adventures began on that day two years ago, it seems appropriate to end the story of my life thus far on its anniversary.

  Will there be more adventures to write down? I don’t know. Vidanric thinks I am the kind of person who is destined to be in the midst of great events despite herself. Flauvic’s mighty tree in the Throne Room is silent testimony to how great events can overtake even the provincial denizens of a small, unknown kingdom like Remalna. Word of the tree, and how it got there, certainly spread beyond our borders, because visitors from far beyond Sartor have traveled here to see it.

  Who is to say if any among these observers have been the ones who trained Flauvic in his magic? The Hill Folk do not easily take lives. Flauvic might well continue to grow there, silent witness to all that is good and bad in government, for centuries. I suspect that the Hill Folk somehow know how to commune with him, and it is my fancy, anyway, that someday, should he suffer a change of heart, they will release him.

  Unless, of course, those Norsundrian sorcerers from whom he learned appear first, and we awaken one morning to find the tree gone.

  But that’s for the future—generations ahead, I trust.

  What I need to finish up is the past.

  oOo

  By the time everyone in Athanarel, from the highest to the lowest status, had woken from the groggy slumber they’d fallen into when released from that spell, Vidanric and I had had a chance to comb through Merindar House. We found very little of interest. The marquise had taken her papers with her, and Flauvic apparently kept all his plotting in his head. All we found were his magic books, which we took away and locked safely in an archive.

  After that, events progressed swiftly. On midsummer Branaric and Nimiar were married amid great celebration. They withdrew to Tlanth soon after, leaving me behind to lay down the stones, one by one, for a new life-path—one I wanted, one that gave me new things to learn every day. But from time to time, usually when the wind rose, I would stop and look eastward and think about roaming freely over my beloved mountains, hearing the distant windharps and reed pipes. I’ve promised myself that when I have children, they will spend more than one summer up there, running barefoot through the ancient mosses and dancing through soft summer nights to the never-ending music of the Hill Folk.

  But here I am again, looking ahead.

  Except there is little enough left to tell. At least, no events of great import, save one, which I will come to anon. The days passed swiftly in a series of little happinesses, each forging a bright link in the living chain with which Vidanric and I bound ourselves into a partnership. One can imagine how many nights were needed to talk through, until dawn, to lay to rest all the shadows of past misunderstanding. And of course the business of government had to be carried on, for no longer were our lives our own.

  There were no more thrones in the Royal Hall, not with that awe-inspiring monument to what can happen when ambition goes astray. We sit on cushions, as do our petitioners—and the Court, which in turn caused an alteration in Court fashions. In fact, there is less constraint of formality—a loosening of masks, and a corresponding increase in laughter—which Vidanric says is like a fresh breeze blowing through the ancient buildings, and which he insists on attributing directly to my influence.

  Perhaps. I still wander sometimes from room to room in the Royal Wing here and think back on the days when I slept in the kitchen of our crumbling old castle at Erkan-Astiar, wearing my single suit of clothes, and I marvel at how far my life has come—and wonder where it might yet lead.

  There is left to tell only that on New Year’s Day was Vidanric’s and my wedding, and the coronation. I don’t need to describe those because the heralds and scribes wrote them up exhaustively, right down to the numbers and quality of jewels on each guest’s clothing. The rituals are long, and old, and I felt like an effigy most of that day. I still can’t remember most of it. The resulting celebrations—a much more pleasant business!—went on for a month, after which the prince and princess withdrew to Renselaeus, to take up once again the quiet threads of their own lives.

  And so I come to the end of my tale. I look through my window at the early buds of spring and think of placing this little book on the shelf here with all the other memoirs of queens and kings past.

  Who is reading my words now? Are you a great-granddaughter many years ahead of me? Ought I to offer you advice? Somehow it doesn’t seem appropriate to detail for you how to properly go about organizing a revolt—and likewise it seems kind of silly to exhort you to look, if you should suddenly start receiving mysterious letters of courtship, for possible inkstains on the fingers of the fellow you quarrel with the most.

  So let me end with the wish that you find the same kind of happiness, and laughter, and love, that I have found, and that you have the wisdom to make them last.

  VIDANRIC’S BIRTHDAY SURPRISE

  Vidanric and I stood side by side in the throne room, staring up at Flauvic’s great tree, all blond wood with gold and amber and even silver streaks winding up the smooth bark. Way, way beyond the roof his silver-green leaves had turned to gold, for the time was autumn, and the leaves would soon come drifting down.

  Whatever you thought about Flauvic Merindar, you had to admit he made a really handsome tree.

  “Let’s go,” I said.

  Vidanric smiled down at me somewhat quizzically. “You really think he listens to us?”

  “Oh, I’m sure of it. And while I don’t have the least objection to his hearing lots of good government”—I pointed at the cushions before what was once the throne dais—”I don’t care for him to hear anything else.”

  Vidanric laughed. As we started out, he glanced over his shoulder. “I must admit, the idea that he hears every judgment I make keeps me honest.”

  “As if you weren’t already,” I muttered.

  His lips twitched; he gave me one of those speculative looks from his wide gray eyes, and he slid his hand under my swinging hair to hold me close. His touch still gave me that fizzing shiver inside, as strong as our very first kiss. I think it will always give me shivers. I look forward to a lifetime of shivers, I thought happily—though at the same time I was somewhat apprehensive, for once again, I’d embarked on what had seemed a splendid idea in the middle of the night earlier in the season, but since then, I’d begun to wonder.

  But Vidanric had been away a great deal, particularly now that the summer rains had diminished. There was still much in the kingdom to be overseen with his own eyes, especially along the border.

  We passed through one of the hallways and then up to our own suite, which was empty of servants. We were alone, behind real carved-wood doors instead of tapestries. No one could overhear us.

  Vidanric stopped in the middle of our sitting room and put his hands on my shoulders. “Now,” he said. “Let’s have it. You’ve been giving me funny looks and grimaces all day, and I have to leave soon, but I won’t until you tell me what’s disturbing you. Unless, of course, you’re anxious to get rid of me for a week so you can whistle up the army and do some conquering.”

  At one time his jokes would have sent me into a lather of expostulations and angry denial
s, but I’d gotten accustomed to Vidanric and Savona’s particular style of humor, so I said, “How did you guess? I’ve got my sword and my armor in the other room, all ready.” My reward was the sudden lift to his eyelids, letting the light in, and his quick, soft laugh.

  Then I sighed. “And I thought I was being so subtle! All right.” I took a deep breath. “You know, next week is your birthday.”

  “I vaguely remember something of the sort,” he murmured, eyes still curved with laughter.

  I plunged grimly on. “I had this surprise. I’ve been wondering, though, if I ought to tell you first. Before you’re in front of everyone.” I felt my face burning. “Ugh! I’m doing this worse than I dreaded.”

  He leaned down to kiss me. “Bring on your surprise next week. I shall look forward to it.”

  I sighed again. “If you’re certain.”

  He stepped back. He still had that quizzical smile. “You are not?”

  I waved my hands, as if those could express my thoughts better than words. “Well, it seemed like a good idea, but the more I think about it—the more time will get taken up—oh, I don’t know. It might be all a big mistake, that’s what I’m afraid—”

  His smile was still there, but only on his lips. “Can we postpone this discussion until next week?” he asked in his gentlest voice. “I have a courtyard full of riders waiting. It would be most remiss of me to have insisted on their promptitude at the candle-change and I linger.”

  I hesitated, then shook my head. “No. You’re right. Go ahead. You’ve got to reach Grumareth by nightfall, or Elenet’s supper will be all ruined. And you know she’ll have a splendid one all planned, because she has such good ones when she’s here.”

  “Very well,” he said. “Do I take any message to her?”

  “Only my very best greetings,” I said automatically, for my mind was still several exchanges back.

  But there was no time to catch up, for he kissed me, picked up his riding cloak, and then was gone. Soon I was waving through the upper windows as he mounted his long-tailed gray and, amid the ringing of iron-shod hooves on the fine mosaic tiles, his honor guard formed round him. They raced through the gates and vanished up the road.

  I turned away, feeling desolate. It wasn’t the empty room, it was something…something.…

  Yes. There was indeed something wrong. He could still hide his feelings when he wanted to, though I’d seen that polite mask very rarely indeed, and then mostly in Court.

  Why would I see it now? When exactly did I first see it?

  I tried thinking back. Was it when I mentioned Elenet’s supper? No, before that. When, exactly? What had I said? Not when I first mentioned my surprise—it had to be afterward.

  I was still brooding about it when my door opened and Nee came in, carrying my new niece.

  I gave a foolish grin when I glimpsed that tiny head with its dusting of silken dark hair and reached out to touch her with one finger lest I disturb her. “Trouble sleeping again?”

  Nee nodded. “Bran took night duty, so here I am. This is our second tour of the palace. I’m glad it’s plenty large.”

  Nee and Bran had come down to celebrate their baby’s Name Day, since Vidanric and I could not leave Athanarel and go to Tlanth. I had convinced them to stay for Vidanric’s birthday, and his surprise.

  Nee said, her eyes considering, “Are you feeling all right?”

  “Oh, Nee, I’m afraid my surprise is a mistake. I was thinking, maybe my magic lessons might have some kind of state significance. You know I’m not very good at thinking ahead about things like that. And what if he doesn’t like it?”

  She laughed—silently, so as not to waken the babe. “But you did look ahead! Seriously, what possible bad effect could there be from your learning a little magic?”

  I flopped down onto the pillows and propped my chin on my hands. “I don’t know,” I moaned. “But something did upset him. I’m sure of that much.”

  “Did he say so?”

  “No, but he went blank on me. At first I thought it was just because he was going away, but there was something else. It was when I mentioned my surprise—and incidentally, he wasn’t surprised. I mean, I didn’t tell him it was magic, but he knows. I’d swear that much. Did I leave one of my practice books out by mistake? And why would he be so blank? Does magic practice somehow draw evil mages?” I groaned again. “When I first began learning, I thought it would be so wonderful—but now I wonder if I’ve made a disastrous mistake, and he doesn’t want to tell me it’s a disaster lest it hurt my feelings. That, I assure you, makes me feel worse.”

  Nee was still laughing, a quiet, shaking laugh that reminded me of a boiling kettle. The baby stirred in her arms, and she walked toward the door. “I’d better put her down,” she whispered. “But I think you’re imagining things. Don’t fret. Just practice, so your birthday concert will go perfectly. I am absolutely certain he will be charmed.”

  oOo

  “He will be delighted,” Savona said that night.

  We were alone in the royal suite’s private dining room. Tamara had gone off to Chamadis to oversee the harvest, he’d said, when inviting himself to supper. I could tell from the careless way he’d said it that they’d had one of their rather frequent quarrels—but they always took as much pleasure in making up, Vidanric had told me, so I pretended not to notice anything amiss. I was not about to interfere in their lives; Savona had become like a brother, but a sort of oblique, hard-to-comprehend brother, and Tamara, while remaining steadfastly (and surprisingly) loyal, was still as prickly as holly leaves.

  Since Savona and I were alone, I’d sounded him out on my fears. He knew Vidanric better than anyone did, and he shook his head while I talked. “I don’t believe it,” he kept saying. “I can’t believe he’d think anything but good of your decision to learn magic. He’s said often enough that he wished he had the time to learn it, but he doesn’t. I think he’ll welcome your surprise with heartfelt relief.”

  “Thanks,” I said, but inwardly I still had doubts. I thought: but you didn’t see his face.

  So I was only half comforted when I finally fell into bed that night. I lay with the drapes all pulled open so I could stare out the windows at the stars. Was Vidanric also looking out at them? Or was he busy with Elenet still?

  I sighed. It was me she had come to, not him, about the still unresolved problems in Grumareth, left over from the bad old Galdran Merindar days. And it was I who suggested that he go himself, rather than sending messengers—and that he should stay for a week, and visit every problem person himself.

  The fact that she had come to me, and not to him, suggested to me that she was still trying to resolve her feelings; and I knew that having him there for a whole week would be difficult for her, which meant she truly needed the help.

  I silently wished them both well, and slid into troubled dreams.

  oOo

  That was the last free time I had for the week. I still had to arrange the last details of the party, which was to be quite spectacular. The entertainment was to be music, and I was going to make illusions to go with it. So in between sitting alone on the cushions before Flauvic’s great goldenwood tree to hear Court petitioners, and presiding over the subsequent discussions, and dealing with the constant stream of domestic details, and visiting and being visited by foreign diplomats, I practiced my spells until I was muttering them in my sleep.

  The week melted away with all the swiftness of a spring waterfall, and Vidanric was back, riding in through the gray mist on his birthday. I waited anxiously, but I was not alone, for kingship does not afford much of the luxury of privacy. Others had been on the watch for him, and footmen and errand runners from an astonishing number of people, mostly military, waited in the courtyard as he and his riders dismounted. I was not able to resolve any matters dealing with the army or with border disputes; my experience as a revolutionary countess had actually trained me in comprehending the intricacies of trade.

  Vi
danric glanced past them all to find me, his tired eyes dark with appraisal. I smiled, hoping that for once I managed to hide the anxiousness that made my heart thunder in my ears.

  That glance was all we had, but I could tell that my face had somehow betrayed me yet again, for his brow was tense before he turned away, and then all I saw was his long wind-tousled yellow hair lying against the black cloak as he and the train of messengers went inside.

  And there was a continual stream of messengers dashing in and out of his interview room as the afternoon progressed; when the evening bells rang out, I gave up trying to get a moment with him and ran to dress. I proceeded alone to the salon to receive the guests and look over the last-moment details—muttering spells under my breath the entire time.

  As it was, he nearly was late. Savona brought him in, thrusting him down by the shoulder onto the cushions at the table of honor. He bent to whisper to me, “I almost had to challenge him to a duel in order to get him to leave business. Make it good.”

  Well, I made it good. At least, it seemed good.

  The food was delicious, the musicians played better than they ever had at rehearsals, and my illusion spells made the guests gasp and exclaim with delight. I experienced how one’s mood really does affect magic—that the more intense one’s emotions, the stronger the magic. Stars streamed across the ceiling, great rainbow-clouds of color drifted through the air; scenes of beauty blanketed the room, selected from each of the seasons.

  The guests loved it, but their reception registered on the periphery of my mind, for my heart, my whole attention, was reserved for Vidanric.

  He watched and nodded approval and clapped with them all, and when, at the last, courtiers and relatives alike exclaimed over my magical skills (not that illusion-making is very hard, but it looks difficult if you don’t know anything about magic!), Vidanric still smiled, but the smile was his polite smile, his court smile, and his eyes looked—tired.