Luca looked down. “I did know that, once. And once I could act on it.”
Isen tightened his fingers on Luca’s shoulder. “You’ll do well, son,” he assured him. “It is only practice. And Cole is your slave. If they take him as a draft slave, he’s built for it, and he’ll spare you some coins. But if you have reason to keep him out of the shafts, then as a paying customer you may state your will as if you expect to be obeyed.”
Luca nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”
Isen smiled and released Luca’s shoulder. A few overseers called orders, and the wagons began to rumble forward.
ARIANA FAIRLY DANCED in place, knowing she looked like a giddy child but not caring. “Father! Aren’t you ready yet?”
He called down the stairs. “I have one shoe on. You know the booths won’t be open so early.”
“I want to be sure of a good place to watch the parade! We’ll need room for everyone.”
“Go on, then, and don’t wait for me. I know where to find you.”
“See you there!”
She went out through their front door, past the bare fruit trees hoping for early spring, and though the ornamental gate. The morning was brisk and she tugged her black robes, worn for today’s ceremonial tone, closer about her.
The streets were already busy, but it was still quick passage to the bookbinding shop. Ariana waved a greeting to Vaya, who was showing a customer a selection of leathers, and went directly to the supply room. “Ranne? Are you ready?”
Ranne glanced up as Ariana entered. “Oh—Ariana! Shut the door, quick!”
She was not alone. A man in expensive festival garb was beside her, mouth slightly agape as he stared at Ariana. Ranne’s hand was in his.
Ariana closed the door. “Ranne, what is it?” She looked at the man, who stared back.
Ranne looked embarrassed and guilty and excited all at once. “I’m so sorry, Ariana—I meant to send you a message this morning, but—”
Ariana waved away the excuse. It was clear enough what had happened. “You have another companion for the parade viewing today.”
Ranne’s face wrinkled in conflict. “Oh, Ariana, I wanted to tell you. I only was so afraid it might get out. If you had told anyone...”
“Don’t be silly, I wouldn’t have said anything! But if you’re going out to the festival together, it won’t be much of a secret.”
“It’s not a secret any longer,” Ranne said with a giddy rush. “Ariana, this is Connor Kudo.”
Ariana had guessed as much. She had not met the baron’s son, but she knew Ranne had been seeing him clandestinely.
Connor made a smart little bow to Ariana. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lady mage. Ranne has told me so much about you, all of it complimentary.”
“Except for her faith in my discretion, apparently.” But she smiled and made a small curtsy.
“That may have been my fault, I’m sorry. I’ve urged secrecy. Father has in mind that I should marry among the nobility, but I set my eyes on a mercantile bride. He’ll come around, though, I’m sure. I’ve been quietly warming him to the idea.”
“But promise not to tell, Ariana, not yet,” Ranne said. “We are going to speak to his father today, announce what we’ve done.”
Ariana looked between them. “What have you done?”
Ranne clasped Ariana’s hands. “Connor and I—we’re married. We married this morning, it’s all legal, but we’re going to have it recorded officially so there can be no dispute. Then we’re going to go to Connor’s father tonight and tell him. He’ll have to accept it if it’s all done and everyone has seen us together at the festival.”
Ariana couldn’t speak for a moment. They were already married. A simple handfasting and exchange of vows was all that was strictly needed, but it was wiser to let a frustrated baron seethe against official records rather than their own word.
“Bethia’s been such a help to us,” Ranne continued breathlessly. “She’s lent us messengers when we couldn’t meet, and that’s one of her men right now, keeping Mama busy. Mama—she knows about Connor, of course, but not about the marriage. I knew she’d worry about the baron, but now it’s done, and she can claim ignorance and I hope be safe from retribution. Will you watch her, please? For a day or two? She’ll take it well, being Mama, but I don’t want her to worry. You can tell her where we are if she needs to know.”
“She’s your mother; of course she’ll need to know.” Ariana gave Ranne a quick hug. “Go on, then. I’ll take care of her. Enjoy the day. And I’m so happy for you! I really am. Connor, it’s lovely to meet you, and be good to her.”
“I will, my lady mage!”
They exited the rear door into a narrow alley and started for the street. Ariana went back to the shop’s front room. The customer made his selection and bade Vaya a good day.
Ariana took a deep breath. “Vaya, I—Ranne has...”
Vaya turned and met her eyes. “Ranne has married that baron’s boy, hasn’t she?”
Ariana nodded mutely, surprised.
Vaya smiled wistfully. “I thought as much. It was clear something was afoot, and then no one comes on a festival morning to look over every piece of leather we can show.” She sighed. “I was hoping she’d tell me, but...”
“She was afraid the baron would blame you if you knew. She didn’t want you to worry about him.”
“Of course I’ll worry! From what I understand, he wasn’t hoping for a daughter from merchant stock. But he’s not likely to send men to smash our windows. Where has she gone?”
“She and Connor Kudo are having their marriage recorded, so there can be no dispute, and then they’ll go to Baron Kudo.” Ariana hesitated. “I didn’t know anything of it before, I’m sorry.”
Vaya laughed. “I know. You could never keep a secret, Ariana, dear.” She sighed. “Well, she is safe, and she is happy, and I’ll have her again in a few days. Things could be much worse. It’s not what I would have chosen, but I’ll make the best of it, and it’s not so bad as that, really. Give me a hug, Ariana, and then let me close up. No one will want bindings during the festival, and I should celebrate for them, even if on my own.”
Ariana felt stunned as she walked home. She’d collect her father and then go to hold their viewing spot, now for fewer people. Ranne, married! And so suddenly! She was happy for her friend, but not as happy as she thought she would have been, had she known Connor and shared eager support for their union. She felt a little guilty for that, and a little resentful that Ranne had not told her.
Not that Ariana had any ground to resent keeping secrets, even secrets of inappropriate romantic overtures.
Ariana had misjudged Bethia, it seemed, whom she would not have guessed to help a merchant girl marry into a noble house. True, Bethia was friends with both Ariana and Ranne, neither born to nobility, but she had always felt... conscious of the difference between them, Ariana thought. But perhaps that had been more Ariana than Bethia.
You could never keep a secret, Ariana, dear.
The worst part of keeping a secret, Ariana reflected, was that she could not even tell Vaya she was wrong.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
SHIANAN TUGGED AT HIS uniform, assuring himself there were no wrinkles. He felt for the buckle of his dress cape over his shoulder, checked that it was secure, and then went out to face the chaos.
The assembly yard was busy and loud, filled with laughter and shouts and milling soldiers. Captain Torg gave him a harried glance before turning back to a clot of men. Shouted orders rang through the yard as the captains and sergeants noted Shianan’s arrival and called for order. The men moved into their lines, but it seemed achingly slow. “Soldiers!” he barked at three men jesting about their scrubbed appearances as they moved. “Assemble!”
They jumped, looking startled, and Shianan took a breath, cautioning himself. It would be too easy to be harsher than necessary in his agitation, and that could lead to more trouble. Nothing could be permitted to go wrong
this day.
But they were gathered now and silent in their ranks. Torg fell into his place beside Shianan. “They’re excited today, sir,” he said softly. “A little anxious, I think.”
Good man, Torg, to recognize it in both his men and his commander, and to warn without rebuke. Shianan was grateful for him. “I see. We’ll try to steady them. Where’s our advance?”
“Already out, sir, and watching for us.”
Shianan nodded. “Any word from the palace?”
“Not yet, sir, but it’s early.”
“Right. Well, let’s be ready. Presentation check.”
Torg averted his head slightly, so that he shouted away from the commander. “Presentation check!”
The sergeants along the ranks faced the troops. “Presentation check! See to your fellow. Is his uniform neat and clean? Is his sword in place? Is his helmet correct?”
The list went on, as each soldier reviewed the next in line. It was faster than requiring an officer to look over each of them, and the pressure kept them cleaner; a soldier who helped another correct a fault was lauded, while one who was later found in disarray brought consequences to both himself and to the one who had checked him.
“Horses!”
Shianan turned and saw the animals approaching. Behind him he heard appreciative sounds from the nearer soldiers.
The foremost horse tossed its head and danced sideways, tugging at its lead. The sun shone on its burnished bronze coat. Shianan felt a quiet awe himself. Beautiful creatures, Ariana had called them. So exotic. He moved to meet them.
General Septime strode toward the horses and Shianan as they converged in the open space before the front ranks. “Good morning, Philip,” he greeted the man standing alongside the horses. “Good morning, commander.”
Philip made a small bow to each of them. “My lords.”
“Which one is mine this year?”
“This one, my lord,” Philip answered, turning to the bronze horse. He reached to straighten its dark forelock, his sleeve shifting to reveal the narrow cuffs on his wrists. “Be still on him, as he’s young and excitable.”
Septime nodded uncertainly. “I’ll behave if he will.”
Two more joined them, and Philip and Shianan bowed respectfully. “My lords.”
Chancellor Washe nodded acknowledgment. “Good morning.” He looked at the horses. “They look good.”
“Thank you, my lord. I have the grey ready for you. And for you, my lord, the chestnut.”
Uilleam, Grand Chancellor of the Realm, nodded stiffly. Shianan supposed privately that the man did not appreciate this part of his office. General Kannan had flatly refused this year to ride, citing a troubling old injury.
Shianan would never decline such an opportunity.
Two slaves stood at the head of each horse. They would walk beside the animals, ready in case of accident and careful to protect the valuable horses from any mishap. Philip was a royal slave, charged with the royal horses. He was privileged, but he carried a great deal of responsibility.
Philip gave an order, and the slaves turned the horses, one holding each head while the other moved to the opposite side to steady the animals. Philip himself offered his hands for mounting, first to the Grand Chancellor, who stepped into the cupped hands with a grimace and heaved himself reluctantly onto the back of the red horse. The mare flicked her ears with annoyance.
Chancellor Washe mounted more smoothly and stroked the grey’s neck as he settled into the saddle. Shianan watched motionless as Septime stepped into Philip’s hands and onto the horse.
One day, he would ride a horse for the review, he vowed. One day, Ariana would see him on a horse.
“Sir.” A breathless soldier jogged to face Shianan and saluted, one arm across his chest.
“Yes?”
“The king and his counselors are ready, sir.”
Shianan nodded. “Thank you. Find your place.” He glanced at the mounted men. “With my lords’ permission?”
Septime nodded. “Go ahead, Becknam.”
The front rows of soldiers noted the runner’s arrival and fell still. The yard quieted as the effect rippled rearward. Shianan walked out to the center of the arrayed front line, feeling hundreds of expectant eyes on him. Nine hundred heads swiveled to follow his movement.
Shianan faced them. “Today we display ourselves to our king, demonstrating our strength to His Majesty, our people, and ourselves.” He paused, looking over the erect, attentive soldiers. He smiled. “Do it well.”
He turned and started back to his place. There was a brief moment of silence as the men waited for the rest of the speech, and then as they realized that was it, a cheer went up. Shianan allowed himself a grin as he reached Torg.
“Quick and neat, sir?” the captain asked cheerfully.
“A long speech is traditional, I suppose,” Shianan admitted, “but if there’s anything lacking, I can’t instruct them in a few minutes. And if they’ve learned it well, they won’t be improved by my lecturing.” He glanced back at the laughing soldiers. “They’re good men.”
“That they are, sir.” Torg straightened. “Ready?”
Shianan nodded. “Spears up.”
“Spears up!” shouted Torg, and the order was repeated down the ranks. The soldiers shifted into parade posture, their weapons displayed proudly. Shianan watched the three horses move out and then followed at a respectful distance. Torg marched on his right, a half step behind, and Captain Alanz on his left. Behind them the first ranks moved forward, an array of trained might.
Their path would take them from the assembly ground to the broad thoroughfare beneath the palace, where the royals could look down upon the army, past the Wheel of the Circle, and then out into Alham’s street, where the people could cheer and buy treats in a festival air.
Nobles, servants, merchants, and soldiers not included in the review flanked their path, calling cheers or jests. A few boys made taunts and then ran, secure in their belief that the soldiers would have forgotten them after completing their parade. They reappeared a moment later, emboldened by their success, and threw a small hail of pebbles.
“Alanz,” Shianan prompted.
“My pleasure, sir.” The captain stepped out of the line and started toward the boys, who yelped and bolted.
Shianan’s gut tightened as they approached the royal balcony, decorated with banners. His men were under orders to keep their eyes forward, but he could not resist the urge to roll his own upward, straining at their sockets, to see what he could of the king’s response.
They were all there—King Jerome, Queen Azalie, the two princes, flanked by solemn servants. Alasdair was pointing and saying something to the others over his shoulder. Shianan ignored him and tried to see the king, less visible behind the railing. He looked sober but pleased, Shianan guessed.
Alanz rejoined them. “Problem solved, sir.”
And then they were past the balcony and marching toward the Wheel. As they circled the round building, Shianan scanned the crowds for Ariana or her father. They should have been easy to pick out, but there seemed to be black and white everywhere that he looked.
Now he could see the advance soldiers a short distance ahead, clearing the streets of over-excited children and indifferent vendors. Beyond them, the gates opened to Alham itself and packed streets of people glad of an excuse for festivity.
Septime’s horse leapt to one side, startled by something, but the two slaves quickly brought him back to a prancing trot. The horses rarely saw real battle, of course, though in war the highest officers might have a horse for rapid movement behind the lines, but they made a good image for the people.
They passed through the gate and into the loud streets. The waving crowd alarmed the horses, but the slaves were skilled and kept them under soothed control. Shianan allowed himself a smile. These were the ones they worked to protect, these people who trusted the king and the mages and the soldiers to keep them safe from Ryuven and invaders. Even the
boys who threw stones—all of them, he served them.
The parade marched on, and Shianan relaxed. They had looked good before the king, he thought. It had gone well. Now they had only the public sparring this afternoon, and he trusted that would go smoothly.
There! Ewan and Ariana Hazelrig, dressed in their mages’ robes and waving and cheering from the side of the street. They gave Shianan broad smiles. He felt himself grin in return, and it didn’t fade as he passed them.
The parade march ended without incident back at the assembly ground. Septime and the chancellors dismounted, and the horses were led safely away. Septime came to stand beside Shianan, who straightened. “Sir?”
The general glanced at the departing chancellors. “How’d we look?”
“Very good, sir, I think.”
“I hope so.” Septime looked over the ranks of waiting men, still at attention. “Any reason we can’t release them?”
“None, sir. They’ve earned it.”
“Then we’ll see them in two hours.” He gave Shianan a significant look. “Make sure you eat something this year.”
“Yes, sir.”
Septime departed, and Torg frowned at Shianan. “You missed a meal last year?”
“I was busy,” muttered Shianan. “I didn’t have time to eat. I ended up beside the general during the sparring, with him and me both listening to my stomach rumbling.”
Torg suppressed a smile. Shianan returned a tight smile of his own and turned back to the soldiers. He had indeed been busy last year. He’d also been too nervous to eat. He cleared his throat. “Men dismissed.”
Torg relayed the order, and the released soldiers began to disperse. Shianan sighed with relief. Good so far, and he thought the selected men would perform well in the sparring. He could perhaps eat something after all.
He didn’t pause long, though, simply taking a meat pie to nibble as he went to the exhibition site. He checked the posted matches, confirming all he’d chosen were listed. But then he saw his own name at the base of the sheet.
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