Still, Ilhadal was House Leader. He was reportedly not accepting any personal duels, but instead sending challengers to his champions. He could survive, for a time, in such a manner. He would need to do something eventually to prove his legitimacy, but for the moment his loyalty to King Ahven lent a stabilizing factor to the Three Houses. Rienar had pledged itself in alliance to Davar, and Davar had pledged itself to Vedenel. It appeared that the squabbles amongst the Three Houses would instead become unification—a transformation no less amazing than the king’s supposed Remaking.
This new image of King Ahven was somehow more discomforting than the old one. The idiot Ahven, at least, had been a stable component. Despite her unfamiliarity with him personally, Shinri had been certain she knew what she could expect. While the prospect of marrying a man with the mind of a child was unsettling, at least it was something she could make plans around and understand.
The new Ahven, the reborn and Remade Ahven, was unassessable. What did one make of a man who was a mental invalid one day, then became a powerful leader and accomplished duelist the next? He provided just the kind of unpredictable element that Shinri had been carefully taught to avoid in her machinations. Unpredictability, by its very nature, cannot be trusted—or so Jasnah had always said. Far better to choose the stable yet less-efficient than to gamble on the excellent yet random.
And yet, dared she hope? The ladies spoke of this man in such awed voices that it was impossible for Shinri not to share in at least a bit of their adulation. True, they were young, and true, Vedens were a superstitious lot. But perhaps this man would live up to his budding reputation. Perhaps he would be a man like Lord Dalenar. Strong, true . . . even loving?
Shinri didn’t meet the man she was to marry until the day of the wedding itself. After being stuck in her rooms for several weeks waiting, the joy of being released was almost enough to wash away her nervousness.
Her father had purchased for her an extravagant gown—apparently, his new position was providing him with the wealth he had coveted when she was a child. The garment was mostly white, embroidered with gold—Lord Ahven’s colors. She stood quietly, waiting as her ladies dressed her—a strange experience, since she was accustomed to being in their place.
In a short while I will be Queen of the Three Houses. The thought was almost as dumbfounding as the concept of getting married.
Her father soon arrived to inspect her. He looked out of place in his lavish costume, complete with a masterful cloak pinned back slightly at the side to reveal the lack of a sword at his waist—an ostentatious reference to his being a Shardbearer.
Ilhadal regarded his daughter with a characteristically mercantile air. “You’ll do,” he finally decided.
You’d hate to think you spawned an inferior product, right, Father? Shinri thought angrily as the women finished her braids. That’s what it always was. You hated me because I came from you, because my imperfection was your own. Well, I’m glad you finally found your place. You’re at the top now. I hope you go mad from the frustration of not having anyone left to pander to.
“It’s a good thing this is a political union,” Ilhadal noted. “Because I doubt anyone would choose you otherwise. At least the dress is beautiful.”
Shinri was already working at the threads on the inside of her oversized left sleeve, and she yanked one free just for him. She probably shouldn’t have snapped back at him—Jasnah would have waited—but her frustration needed an outlet, and she spoke. “How long do you think he’ll let you live once we’re married?” she asked.
The ladies paused, and Shinri could feel their embarrassed exchange of glances. Let them speak—anything that undercut her father’s authority served Shinri’s purposes.
Ilhadal glared at her. “Leave us,” he commanded the ladies. They did, leaving her alone in the cell of a room with her father.
“You will not speak of such things again,” he commanded.
“Oh?” Shinri asked. “Should I not seek to warn my own father? Really, do you think that King Ahven can afford to let you survive the wedding? The chance that you’ll kill him quietly, like you did the others, is far too dangerous.”
“Do not speak so to your father!” he said, stepping forward as if to hit her.
Shinri remained firm. “You would strike your queen on the day of her wedding?”
Ilhadal froze.
“That’s right, Father,” she said. “Queen. This is the place you’ve given me—and it is one over and above you. Of course, soon there will be few whose place isn’t greater than your own.”
“I was wrong again,” he said with a snort. “That Kholin woman fooled me. You haven’t lost any of your impudence—you just put a fair cover over it.”
“Tell me, Father,” Shinri said. “Have your noblemen been giving you gifts? Large sums, presented in quiet, as pledges of loyalty? Do they give you promises to follow and accept your leadership? Do they seem a little . . . too eager to please?”
He paused. Shinri studied him carefully. You only have this one chip to play, she told herself. Get as much from it as you can.
“King Ahven gives speeches often now,” she guessed. “And, oddly, he makes most of them before the troops. Your troops. Their loyalty was never really yours—it belonged to Talshekh. You are a poor substitute, a last-moment replacement for the man they admired. Your faction may have gained dominance, but only because of the Veden sense of martial decorum. You were next in line, and that is the only reason they let you become First Prince. Of course, there’s one easy way to remove that problem—take you out of the line, and someone else can step up.”
Ilhadal looked . . . dumbfounded. “How do you know these things?” he demanded. “Your maids have been speaking! I told them to remain quiet about outside events.”
“Ahven and your own noblemen are already plotting your death, Father,” Shinri said, ignoring his comment. “They’re waiting for the formality of a marriage, for they see the advantage of uniting two of the great houses. You had better tell your assassins to be quick. Once this marriage happens, you’ll need to kill the king immediately.”
“I would never!” Ilhadal snapped. “I’d take up my own sword and strike him down first!”
Ah, Shinri thought, reading his face. There was honesty in his anger. So you didn’t do it, then. Ilhadal Davar had not killed his kinsmen. It was an oddly relieving revelation—there had been children among the thirteen men ahead of him for the House throne. It was a comforting thought to know that one’s father did not murder children.
But, who then? Could it really be a coincidence? Fourteen men, dead in a few months? All of the precise lines required to put my father on the throne?
“Then you’re doomed,” she said out loud. “Even if the king doesn’t kill you, you won’t keep your place long. Your so-called supporters are only placating you while they gather strength. Everyone assumes you took the throne through deception. They’ll give you money and private promises, true. But, think about this, Father—when you were a sycophant in the very court you now rule, did you give the largest gifts to the men you trusted and respected, or did you give them to the men you wanted to lull? They’ll begin presenting real challengers as soon as the wedding is finished, and eventually you won’t be able to hide behind champions. No man can fight off an entire House. They’ll bring you down eventually, one way or another.”
He was very nervous now. Her words had obviously shaken his confidence, and he tugged at his lavish clothing, as if seeing it anew. “How . . . ?”
Shinri raised an eyebrow. “Really, Father,” she noted dryly. “You shouldn’t have sent me to tutor under the greatest political mind of our time if you didn’t want me to learn a few things. I can try and help you, once I am queen, but so far you have given me little encouragement to do so.”
Ilhadal snorted, eyeing her with a look that, she was satisfied to note, now contained a great deal more respect than it had before. Of course, he probably gives crom more respect tha
n he usually gives me.
“We’ll see,” he finally said with a wave of his hand. “The thing is, child, you don’t know half of what you think you do. There’s something greater than this all, something that will hold the noblemen together, and something that will make certain people respect me rather than whisper snidely behind me. Yes, if only you understood . . .”
He smiled then, not realizing that in nibbling at her bait, he had given away far more than he expected. Shinri was missing a piece of it all. A bit more prodding, and she would know what it was.
That prodding, however, would have to come after the wedding. The doors opened at her father’s command, and her ladies rushed back in to put the final touches on her hair, then pick up her train. Soldiers waited at attention on either side of the hallway. They held their swords out, point down, tips touching the stone and making a column of steel that led her way to the wedding chamber.
Blessed Almighty, Shinri thought, her nervousness returning full-force. I’m not ready for this!
The ceremony, however, obviously didn’t intend to wait until she was ready. Her father nodded for her guards to begin the escort, then hurried off to place himself at the front of the audience.
Shinri walked slowly down the hallway, swords lining her on either side, feeling a numbness overtake the passion she had felt during the debate with her father. The last few weeks had been a different life, a dream. She didn’t even know what had become of Alethkar. Had Jasnah found the assassins? What of the tension between Jezenrosh and King Elhokar? Jasnah’s own marriage to Meridas could very well have happened already—and if it hadn’t, it would come very soon.
I won’t be able to return to that life, Shinri realized for the last time. My father was right. One way or another, my wardship is over now. I’m not the student any more. I’m on my own.
The doors to the wedding chamber opened, and she felt her first real hint of terror at what was about to come. She was too young—most women were at least given until they were eighteen, even in political marriages. She didn’t know enough, hadn’t learned long enough. She couldn’t even decide if she enjoyed noble society or was disgusted by it. She looked for something to break, scatter, or twist—but there was nothing. Her ladies continued to prod her forward, and the waiting crowd watched expectantly.
She barely saw King Ahven—standing in a sharp white uniform, showing none of the idiocy she had seen in him before. She wasn’t certain how she kept walking, moving forward, until she stood before him. She knelt, taking her place on the cushion facing him. Only one line of thought kept her strong.
He looks like a good man. If he really has spent all this time pretending, then he’s clever too—and strong enough to keep his throne when everyone thought he would lose it for certain. He is handsome, now that his eyes are firm and intelligent. He’s calm too. He could be the man I’ve hoped for.
His face was rigid. He gave her no smile, no look of encouragement as she knelt, but she shouldn’t have expected one. This was a serious occasion, and all reports made him out to be a sober man. He didn’t know her. But she would be his most powerful supporter. She would keep his throne for him, protect his interests as Jasnah had so deftly taught her. He didn’t realize it yet, but he was getting more than just a simple political union. Far more.
The ceremony passed in a blur. A Vorin monk spoke some words, the crowd waited politely, and Shinri knelt demurely. At the end, King Ahven Vedenel reached down, palm forward.
And she took his hand. The ceremony was over.
The next few hours were a dazed mix of congratulations and feasting. Shinri wanted to speak with the man she had just married, but as the wedding feast began, she was almost immediately pulled away to the queen’s table. Her table. Women who had barely been civil to Shinri during her visits to Vedenar searching for Tethren now jostled and vied for a chance to sit next to her.
Shinri glanced toward the king’s table, letting the women work their seating out amongst themselves. Ahven Vedenel reigned at his table with a commanding presence—he had the kind of charismatic aura that took skill and experience to produce.
It was only then, sitting at the table, being served a meal she was too nervous to eat, that Jasnah’s training finally kicked in. Why would he pretend to be an idiot for so long? Shinri thought suspiciously. What would it accomplish? She could think of several advantages. In recent centuries, House Vedenel had been the weakest of the three Houses, despite its possession of the throne. A strong king would have been subject to duels from the other House leaders. But, by feigning idiocy, Ahven would have been able to maneuver himself into a position of power before revealing himself.
But what a gamble! Shinri thought, not certain whether to be impressed by his resourcefulness or skeptical of his fortune. How had he learned leader-ship skills when he had spent his days acting the imbecile? How could he be certain that, even now, he would have the necessary core group of loyal attendants to secure his rule? A popularity gained through sensationalism could be lost in a flash of poor luck.
Shinri spent most of the meal pondering these issues. She was still more than a little stunned by the day’s events—she was no longer Shinri, the child ward of Jasnah, but Lady Shinri, the woman queen of Vedenar. Her logical ponderings about Ahven were more a retreat to the familiar than they were an exercise of true rationality.
By the meal’s end, she had come to only one conclusion: Ahven Vedenel was a man of superior luck and skill. Great events would mark his reign—and she had to know what kind of man he was.
The feasting ended, and within moments Shinri found herself alone with him, a man she still didn’t know, in his chambers. The wedding night was a thing she had barely let herself consider. This moment was to have belonged to Tethren—that she should have to spend it with another seemed wrong, a violation of the love she had once held.
Tethren is dead, Shinri told herself firmly. You have to make a new life now. She stood quietly as Ahven closed the door to his bed chamber.
“My lord,” she said humbly, his back still to her. “Though we are now husband and wife, I find that I barely know of you—let alone know you personally. What kind of man is it that I have married?”
He didn’t answer—in fact, he acted as if he hadn’t heard her. He turned, and began to disrobe with careful, almost emotionless, functionality. He paused only once, looking up, his expression explaining that it was time for her to do what was expected of a wife.
He took her quickly, without speaking. Resigned to her place as his wife, Shinri accepted it.
Until she saw those eyes.
Focused in the wan light above her, more powerful than the passion, pain, and confusion, were those eyes. She saw a depth of rage and anger within them, a hatred that made her want to curl up in horror. They were not the eyes of a lover. They were not the eyes of a noble lord. They were the eyes of a monster, released from their mask during those moments when all emotions became bare.
Then she understood. He climbed off of her, stepping away from the bed, his face and motions returning to their previous level of control. Shinri sat back, shivering as she pulled the blankets up around her naked body. A sudden and sickening terror drove her. She wanted to hide from those eyes.
“It was you,” she whispered—silently enough that she was certain he wouldn’t be able to hear her.
“What was me?” he asked firmly, his voice oddly accented, his eyes focused on her face.
“You,” she repeated. “You killed them, or had them killed. The people in the succession line before my father. You assassinated them.”
And he smiled. A cold, terrible smile. “Yes.”
“Why?” she whispered.
King Ahven shrugged. “Your father was the only one ambitious enough to take the House throne, yet weak enough to hesitate when the time came to kill me and take my place.” He paused, looking at her and smiling again. “And he was the only one with an unmarried daughter of age—or, at least, near enough.”
>
The chill in Shinri’s breast became ice, and it begged her not to ask the next question. Yet, like an onlooker drawn to a scene of carnage, she could not stop herself. “But,” she whispered, “I was engaged to another.”
Ahven’s smile deepened.
“How?” she whispered.
“I’m amazed that you never noticed,” Ahven said, continuing to dress. “The man Tethren never loved you, not really. He wanted my sister Nanavah with the deep, foolish love men reserve for something unattainable. You should have paid more attention to the ballads he listened to. ‘The Song of a Hundred Lovers,’ ‘The Blessing of Minalah,’ ‘Windborn Fate’ . . . These are the songs of a hopeless romantic. All I had to do was promise him Nanavah’s hand, and he was willing to risk his honor . . . his life . . . everything. You see, Prince Tethren could never have loved you. You were given to him freely.”
Numbness. Just let yourself be numb. No feeling. Don’t think about what just happened. Don’t think of that . . . thing touching you.
Ahven tossed her dress onto the bed, its fine seasilk now wrinkled. “Put that back on.”
Shinri didn’t move. She couldn’t.
Ahven regarded her. He displayed no hints of anger as he walked to the door and threw it open. He pointed to the guards outside. “You four,” he said. “Go and dress my wife.”
Shinri felt her eyes widen in reflexive horror. He wouldn’t dare . . .
Ahven stepped over and ripped the blanket free from the bed, leaving her exposed.
“Now!” he snapped to the guards.
He would.
Despite the direct command, the guards stood uncertainly. Shinri reacted first, the air cold on her skin as she scrambled off the bed and picked up the dress. The guards eventually stepped forward, making perfunctory efforts at helping as she hastily, embarrassedly, struggled to don the dress. She tried to ignore the faces poking in through the door, though she couldn’t help blushing as they saw her nudity. The dress’s tassels and exaggerated train made the dressing difficult, especially since the soldiers did their best to look anywhere but at her as they helped.
The Way of Kings Prime Page 41