The Drinnglennin Chronicles Omnibus

by K. C. Julius

  Roth looked as if she’d struck him. “Why ever would you think that?” He strode over and raised her from her obeisance, keeping hold of her hand. “I was only worried—when I didn’t see you at the interment.”

  “I was there, my lord.”

  “I see. Well, of course I understand your wish to mourn in private. I too am filled with sorrow, for I lost a father, even though he never acknowledged me.” A rueful smile flickered on his lips. “It’s true I missed you at my side, but I hope to ensure that in the future—”

  “My lord, please—it’s too soon to speak of the future. You will have much to occupy your time in the present, what with the preparations for your investiture. I need time to mourn, and it is all I can think of at the moment.”

  She was relieved when Roth didn’t press on with whatever he had intended to say. Instead he gestured to a chair by the hearth. “May I sit, just for a moment?”

  “Of course, my lord.” Blushing at her lapse in manners and keenly aware of her clinging sheath, Maura settled across from the future king she had sworn to serve.

  Sighing, Roth ran a hand over his handsome face. “It’s true there’s much to be done. I’m to meet the Tribus tomorrow, and I confess I’m burning with curiosity to make their acquaintances.” He reached forward to recapture one of Maura’s hands. “But it doesn’t matter how busy I am, Maura. I will still want you near.”

  She had suspected his deepening feelings for her, although she’d tried to ignore all the signs. Why? Her heartbeat quickened, and she drew her fingers gently from his grasp. “My lord—”

  “Roth,” he amended, his eyes fixed on hers.

  Maura met his intent gaze with what courage she could muster. “You don’t know me, Roth… not really. You see, I’m not… who you believe me to be.”

  Roth sat back with a dismissive air. “If you mean your mother wasn’t a Gralian princess, I guessed as much. It doesn’t trouble me. The blood of kings still runs through your veins, as it does mine. You and I, Maura—we’re a perfect match.”

  He reached again for her hand, then drew her to her feet. She tried to think of how to forestall what she feared was about to happen, but Roth dropped to one knee before her.

  “My dear,” he said, his voice low and warm, “you must know that you already command my heart. I would make you High Queen of all Drinnglennin, and have you rule by my side.”

  Then he rose, and brought first one, then the other of her hands to his lips.

  “Will you, Maura Konigur, do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  Chapter 41

  After Roth left, Maura sat before her mirror, staring blankly at her reflection. She had promised to give him her answer by the end of the week, citing grief as her reason for delay. But although her grief was real, it was but one reason among many for hesitation.

  For one, Roth had proposed marriage without truly knowing to whom he was offering his heart. And even if her being dragonfast didn’t serve as a hindrance, her mixed blood surely would.

  But suppose, she thought, upon learning of this, he still wants me?

  If this were the case, she knew she should seriously consider his offer. The royal transition was proceeding peacefully, so it seemed unlikely she would need to honor her oath to “defend” the one true king. Besides, she had no place to go now, save for Mithralyn, and that was only because Ilyria was there. Was the elven sanctuary the place she wished to live out her days?

  And then there was the small voice in her head that made her question her own feelings. Even when she had been with Ilyria, even then, there had been a hollow place within her, a sorrow that had not yet been eased. Perhaps Roth was offering her what her heart needed to mend? If she couldn’t call what she felt for him love, she certainly took pleasure in his company. And in the past months, she’d come to the conclusion that love was the stuff of ballads. She’d learned that from her mother’s misplaced affections in her ill-fated relationship with Prince Storn, and she’d witnessed the blind spell love had cast over Cormac. Wasn’t it wiser to eschew such passion and seek instead companionship when deciding on a partner in life? Wouldn’t that be enough to sustain a successful marriage?

  If so, then that left Ilyria to consider. If Maura accepted Roth, would it be of benefit to the dragons? As Queen of Drinnglennin, could she keep Ilyria by her, and at the same time allay any lingering fears held by the common folk?

  And how would Roth feel, knowing his queen had the might of a dragon behind her? Maura did not crave power, but Roth was clearly a man of ambition. Her instincts told her he would be the dominant partner in any relationship, and he would expect her to carry out her courtly duties with demure dignity. Would having a dragonfast queen make him feel threatened? And if so, was she to revert to the role of pleasing others? Was this, in the end, to be her destiny after all?

  She picked up her brush and began running it through her hair. With each stroke she reminded herself that she’d vowed to take charge of her fate, to make of it what she chose. As her questions continued to run through her mind, she gazed into the mirror at the shadow of a face she barely recognized.

  Try as she might, she gleaned no answers there.

  * * *

  Maura tripped down the steps of the palace courtyard to find the Nelvor coach awaiting her, instead of her own. The artfully painted face of Princess Grindasa appeared through the carriage window.

  “I sent your little conveyance back, muiera,” the princess explained sweetly. “I thought we’d be more comfortable in mine. I came to collect you so that we could enjoy some time to ourselves before I must surrender you to my ardent son this evening. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Maura did mind, but she knew it would be petty of her to protest. She’d been feeling a bit smothered of late by all the attention the Nelvor princess had been paying her since her uncle’s death. Nevertheless, she managed a polite smile as she stepped into the ornate black and silver carriage.

  A low roll of thunder rumbled across the darkening sky.

  The princess offered her cheek to be kissed, then arched her regal brow at Maura’s mourning attire. “Black is such a draining color, is it not?” She smoothed her own deep violet skirt. “Your uncle would not wish us to be glum on his account, I feel certain. In fact,” she said, taking one of Maura’s hands between her own, “it is of dear Urlion that I wish to speak with you. You see, I had an audience with him the day before he made the Leap.”

  “Really?” Maura couldn’t hide her surprise.

  Grindasa gave her hand a playfully scolding squeeze. “You sound as if you doubt me! You were riding with Roth and Hadley at the time, my dear. I think Urlion must have known he was nearing the end, and so he sent for me.” Her dark eyes filled, and she released Maura to draw a lace handkerchief from her sleeve. “We shared a very tender leave-taking.”

  Maura tried to imagine this scene. Realizing a response was expected, she murmured, “I’m happy the two of you were reconciled before my uncle left us.”

  “Reconciled?” Grindasa had been dabbing at her tears, but now she looked up sharply. “What an odd choice of words.”

  Her dainty lace cloth suddenly reminded Maura of the day Borne rescued her from the horrid Mistress Tribbly. She smiled, remembering how he’d stopped the village gossips in their tracks while at the same time soothing the angry lace merchant with those impossible dimples and a silver groat.

  The princess frowned. “You find something amusing?”

  “Not at all, Your Highness.” Maura quickly assumed a more sober expression. “I was just taken by surprise. You and my uncle hadn’t met in some time.”

  “Over the course of which I never ceased to think of him,” sighed Grindasa, tucking the lace back into her sleeve.

  It wasn’t the first time Maura had heard Grindasa profess her undying love for Urlion. Conversely, the king had never spoken of the pri
ncess. If he’d sent for her at the end, perhaps he’d been fonder of her than Maura had thought.

  The coach passed by the Gate of Havard, where the awkward silence was broken by the sound of hammers and rolling wagons filled with lumber. On Nelvor orders, workers had commenced rebuilding the aging fortifications around the city. The moat beneath the city walls was being dredged as well.

  “My son tells me he has asked for your hand in marriage,” said the princess abruptly, “and that you have not yet given him your answer.”

  Maura felt her cheeks grow warm. So this is why you came for me yourself, she thought.

  She kept her eyes on her gloved hands. “I—I am in mourning, Your Highness.”

  “Yes, of course, my sweet muiera.” Grindasa sighed in understanding. “I only bring it up because it was Urlion’s wish to see our houses joined. He told me so himself. So you see, your union with Roth has your uncle’s every blessing.”

  Again Maura found herself taken aback. Her uncle had encouraged her friendship with Roth, but he’d never gone so far as to suggest they wed. “I—I don’t know what to say, Your Highness.”

  The princess laughed. “You must say only one word, and this to my son, not to me! It would be wonderful, though, to have the matter settled by Roth’s investiture at the end of the week. Of course, the loss of your uncle weighs on your heart, as it does on ours, but tonight we will do our best to cheer you up! Shall I tell you who the other guests will be?”

  Relieved that the conversation had veered to surer ground, Maura nodded, but she barely heard the names Grindasa rattled off. She was trying to come to terms with the idea that her uncle had wished her to marry Roth. Had Urlion been meaning to acknowledge his son at last, and to name him as his heir? Was that why she’d received the parchment signed by the Tribus requesting that she announce Roth to the people of Drinnkastel as the succeeding High King?

  If so, it was another argument in favor of accepting Roth’s proposal.

  They arrived at Casa Cantabria, and Maura was pleased to see Roth waiting on the staircase, saving her from further discussion with Grindasa about his marriage offer. He looked very dashing in a black tunic with fine silver filigree worked around the collar and sleeves. His blue eyes sparkled, and his hand on hers was warm and firm as he helped her to alight.

  Raising her fingers to his lips, he bestowed upon them a lingering kiss. “You look ravishing, my lady,” he murmured, before excusing himself to assist his mother.

  “Forgive me, Mihna,” he said, helping Grindasa down, “for keeping you waiting.”

  His mother cast them both an indulgent smile. “A king’s first duty is always to his queen.”

  Maura felt a flutter of panic. Had her silence been misconstrued? She needed more time to consider Roth’s proposal, and there remained one big hurdle still to clear—telling him the truth about her mother’s people.

  A few drops of rain pattered down as Roth hurried her up the steps to the grand house. Maura was keenly aware of how close he kept her; she felt the pressure of his hand on hers and breathed in the musky scent he always wore. Only once inside the pillared hall did he reluctantly release her as other guests came forward to greet her.

  She was relieved to see that it was to be only a small gathering of his closest family members. Hadley and Kendra murmured their condolences, after which Maitane, looking sultry in an ebony gown seeded with black pearls, drifted over to kiss her cheeks. When Maura complimented her on her dress, Maitane pulled a face.

  “I hate black,” she complained, “but we’re doomed to it for another month. I wish I had our aunt’s courage. Even the future king can’t naysay the Princess Grindasa when it comes to her choice of wardrobe.”

  Maura found Maitane’s remark in bad taste. It had only been a week since the High King had made the Leap, and protocol required a mourning period of forty days. She was further distressed to see steaming platters appear from the kitchens, rather than the cold dishes that were expected to be served at the tables of mourning relatives. Yet even when they were seated for supper, this breach of etiquette went unremarked.

  Perhaps it’s done differently in Albrenia, Maura thought.

  She picked at the roast capon on her plate, taking in little of the conversations being conducted around her. Only when the talk died down did she become aware that Roth had risen, glass in hand. The triumphant expression he turned on her left little doubt as to what was about to transpire. A small cry of protest sprang from her lips, but no one seemed to regard it as they reached for their glasses in anticipation of their kinsman’s toast.

  Maura’s hands remained tightly clasped in her lap. She looked beseechingly up at Roth, but he had turned his gaze to his mother.

  “I’d like to propose a toast to Lady Maura Konigur,” he proclaimed, choosing to ignore the fact that Maura had no right to the surname, “whom I hope will do me the honor of becoming the first queen of Drinnglennin of the Nelvor line!”

  He did turn then, and regarded her expectantly. Maura hoped he would read her distress, but he merely gave a little chuckle as he extended his hand. “I see my lady has been caught unawares.”

  Everyone laughed, and she felt she had no choice but to lay her fingers on his. He raised her to her feet, then placed her goblet in her hand. “You said at the end of the week,” he murmured in her ear. “That time has come. Will you, my sweet, be my wife?”

  “I—I…” Keenly aware of the eyes of the Nelvor clan upon her, Maura felt a sudden pang of longing for Ilyria. “I must—”

  “Indeed!” cried Princess Grindasa, before Maura could finish what she had intended to say. “You must!”

  Cries of congratulations rang out around the table as Roth touched his goblet to hers. “To our future, my dear,” he proclaimed. “Together we shall build a new dynasty to surpass all that have come before. Let us drink to us, and to the rising fortunes of the house of Nelvor!”

  Then he waited, with a proprietary air, until Maura raised her glass to her traitorously silent lips.

  * * *

  Toast followed toast throughout the evening in honor of the promised pair, and between the outpourings of good wishes and celebratory salutes, Roth showered Maura with flowery words of love.

  It was clear that he had put much thought into the night’s entertainment. Laniere, a famed lutenist, was brought in after the boards were cleared to delight the assembled guests with a love ballad he’d been commissioned to compose in celebration of the betrothal. Maura’s husband-to-be, knowing her fondness for dancing, had also engaged a fine orchestra for her pleasure, and as she whirled across the mosaic floor in his arms, her misgivings eased. The heady wine flowed, and Roth, in higher spirits than she’d ever seen him, caused much merriment with his witty repartee.

  It was in the early hours of morning that Maura at last sank into a chair, failing to stifle a yawn. It had been an extremely long day, beginning with her dawn visit to Urlion’s tomb. She had thought she would find the place forbidding, and had gone there only out of duty, but she’d found comfort in the quiet sanctuary. It was also the first time she’d seen the tomb of her natural father, Prince Storn. An empty tomb, as his body had never been recovered.

  She had just decided to ask Roth if she might borrow a carriage to take her back to the castle when a servant entered the hall with an air of purpose. He hurried to Grindasa, and after receiving his news, the princess made her way to Maura.

  “The streets from here to the Grand Square are flooded,” Grindasa informed her, “and carriages are being turned back. It’s quite impossible for anyone to get across the city. It seems we are to enjoy the pleasure of your company tonight at Casa Cantabria, muiera.” Apparently misreading Maura’s expression, she added, “There’s no need for alarm, my dear. We’re on high ground here.”

  She signaled to a passing servant. “All the excitement of the evening has been a strain on
you, I can see. Beatriz will see you to your room and help you prepare for bed.”

  Maura looked around for Roth and saw him across the room, encircled by his lively cousins. Perhaps he could see her back to the castle.

  Grindasa followed her gaze. “Your betrothed must investigate the seriousness of the flooding. I shall inform him you are retiring.” And before Maura could protest, the princess swept over to her son.

  After a quick exchange, Roth crossed to Maura’s side. “Forgive me, my dear,” he said. “My mother has just been chastising me for neglecting you.”

  “I wasn’t feeling neglected,” Maura assured him, “but is there really no way for me to return to the castle tonight? Perhaps on horseback—”

  “Not this night,” said Roth. “Surely you have no qualms about staying here? It’s only until morning, and there’s no one but your maid waiting up for you.” He raised a teasing eyebrow. “Or is there?”

  There wasn’t, of course. Leif had returned to Mithralyn, and Urlion had departed forever. Only Heulwin would note her absence.

  “No,” she conceded, “there is no one who will miss me.” She summoned her courage and said, “But there is a matter about which I must speak with you, and it’s better done sooner than later.”

  Roth nodded distractedly. “My mother is coming.”

  “I must speak to you in private,” Maura insisted. “I’ll wait until you’ve returned from seeing about the flooding. I won’t sleep otherwise.”

  He raised her hand once more to his lips. “I shall come to you,” he murmured.

  And then he abandoned her to Grindasa and the waiting servant.

  * * *

  An hour later, Maura was still awaiting Roth in the elegant chamber that had been arranged for her, watching spears of lightning split the sky. Rain rattled incessantly on the roof tiles, and she was grateful for it, because the clatter kept her from dropping off to sleep.

  She had come to the conclusion that when Roth came, it would be best to get straight to the point.