“I have hot water readied for a bath, if you care to start there.”
“Make that eternally grateful.”
She had arranged for wine and food, too, and I felt sufficiently drained to avail myself of hearty helpings of both before I stripped off the travel-worn fighting leathers and submerged in the tub.
“Too hot?” Dafne sent a maid off with my clothes for cleaning.
“Not at all. Could be hotter. No, don’t trouble yourself to—”
“I had the maids heat extra.” Dafne poured in enough to make me hiss, then turned to examine my bookshelf. “You struck me as someone who’d like the extremes. Plus, you might be in far better physical condition than I, but that ride from Windroven was grueling. I feel I could fall over and never get up again.”
“You’ll have to bathe next.”
“I already did. Have a good soak. After you’re set, I need to find myself something to wear tonight.”
“If you’re too tired, you could skip the feast.”
She came round the end of the tub and gave me a long look. “I don’t think I should. There’s much to witness, wouldn’t you say?”
I closed my eyes against her inquisitive stare. “Much, yes, that I cannot tell you. Except that they are Dasnarians as you surmised. Mercenaries.”
“I did hear of the moratorium on leaving Ordnung.”
Cracking an eye at her, I confirmed what her voice revealed. “It won’t apply to us. Once Uorsin is reassured of my loyalty, we’ll be off to assist Amelia. Make no mistake of that. If she’s not back at Windroven already.”
“You and I both know full well she won’t go to Windroven. Especially not with Erich there.”
I sat up and soaped my hair. The short length made that infinitely easier. “Think you she’ll take the girl to Annfwn first?”
“Yes. Stella,” she added with emphasis, as if I needed reminding.
“Even if she leaves the girl to foster with Andi and her Tala brethren, continues to keep the girl a secret, she’ll return with Astar. It would be best for all if she came here,” I mused.
Dafne laughed. “You may be a brilliant strategist in a fight, Your Highness, but you do not predict your sisters as well as you might.”
I ducked my head, enjoying the sting of the hot prickling on my scalp. Being in the field meant bathing in a lot of cold lakes. Necessary, but I’d come to savor the luxury of warm water. Dafne had the right of it—my sisters never seemed to do the predictable thing. Very likely Ami and her convict would chase the child’s kidnappers into Annfwn. If they survived the quest—the alternative nearly unbearable to contemplate—she couldn’t stay there with Astar. Even Andi and Ami would know that much. If not, I would inform them in no uncertain terms. They might think I’d prefer Astar away from Ordnung and no competition for the throne, but they should know me better.
All I really cared about was seeing the High Throne secured and the Twelve thriving in peace. Too many people had died to see that happen—including Salena. I’d die myself before I’d let their sacrifices be in vain. The populace depended on us, on me. I would not let the people down while breath remained in my body.
“Did you note the woman—the female Dasnarian?” I asked Dafne.
She looked grave and turned down her mouth. “I did. Though I did not have the opportunity to speak with her.”
“Impressions?”
“I should say that I did not try to speak with her. She . . . unsettled me.”
“Me also.”
“That’s even more unsettling. I thought nothing frightened you.”
I laughed. “Fear is like pain—it alerts us to a danger. That woman strikes me as dangerous. Though my sources did not explain more than that.”
“I can do some research,” Dafne offered. “Not until tomorrow, but there should be some scrolls and texts on Dasnaria in the collection.”
“That would be most appreciated. Everything we can know about them will be advantageous.”
“There’s one problem.”
“Which is?”
“As you may or may not recall, the High King—at Andi’s behest—removed the contents of Ordnung’s library and sealed them in her rooms, part of the condition of her good behavior.”
I should have remembered that. So much had happened in a short time. And I’d been away, alternately chasing my sisters, various armies, and rogue Tala. “Are they still there?”
“I believe so. The last time we visited, the doors were still locked and no one knew otherwise. I couldn’t, of course, ask directly, and Andi naturally never returned, so . . .”
“Uorsin will not be best pleased to be reminded of such, if he has in fact forgotten.”
“No. The books are as safe as they can be, if they’re still there, but if we want to access that information . . .” She raised her brows at the problem.
“I’ll mull it over and we’ll discuss in the morning.”
“Thank you.” She nodded, then headed into the other room.
“Don’t thank me until I’ve found a solution,” I said, more to myself than to anyone else. I leaned back, sinking deeper into the water, willing my back to relax. If only I could take my own advice and rest tonight. The heat seeped into my bones, lulling, soporific.
“Do you only have pastel gowns?” Dafne called from the other room, startling me from the edge of sleep.
“Oh, for Danu’s sake—you don’t have to do that!” I yelled back, then made myself get out of the tub. If I stayed too long, the warmth would make me groggy, and I’d spent any napping time running Danu’s forms. I felt the better for the exercise, however. If the Dasnarian thought he’d spied my secrets from observing my workout, he did not understand Danu’s way. “I can pick out my own thrice-damned dress.”
“Can you?” Dafne reemerged and gave me a dubious look. “Then why does your wardrobe consist of gowns that look as if they belong to Amelia?”
“Most likely because Amelia picked them. The idea was to reduce my harsh angles with softer colors and fabrics, as I recall.” That had been before Amelia married Hugh and moved away, when I’d been intended as his fiancée. They’d fluttered about for months trying to make me into proper princess material, Ami and all the ladies. A well-intentioned effort. As Andi had remarked, however, all such attempts to adorn us was wasted with Amelia, the most beautiful woman in the Twelve Kingdoms, in the room. There’s a reason you can’t see the stars when the sun is in the sky. “I doubt I’ve worn even a third of them. If you want any, help yourself.”
“I’d have to take up the hems and waistlines by a good eight inches,” Dafne mused, holding a buttercup yellow silk confection, “but I might just do that. This color would be terrible on you.”
“You did spend too much time with Ami.”
Dafne made a face. “All knowledge is worth having. My education shall now benefit you. You are still heir to the High Throne, and tonight you should look it.”
I finished toweling my hair dry. “I may not be as well read as you, librarian, but I’ve noticed that my father holds the throne just fine without a pretty outfit to wear.”
“Oh?” Her voice came muffled from the other room, so I pulled on a robe and followed her in. “Let me ask you this—why did the King wear his crown today?”
“He was holding court and he’s entitled to.”
“Though he rather famously detests wearing it and frequently holds court without.”
True. Even I’d noted that his wearing the crown today meant no good for me, that he saw the situation as meriting a particular level of splendor. “I see your point.”
She emerged from the wardrobe with a red velvet dress. “This. Have I ever seen you in it?”
I frowned at it. “It was for a Feast of Moranu. But even I know not to wear midwinter gowns in summer.”
“This is the one. The claret will be perfect. And if you’re wearing something the other ladies aren’t, even better. You made an impression of one kind this afternoon. Tonig
ht you’ll underscore it. Today the noble weary warrior returned home. Tonight Her Royal Highness shines like a jewel in the heart of the Twelve. But first, let’s trim your hair.”
“My hair is already short.” But I obediently sat, bemused by her take on things. Danu taught that no trick should be neglected in battle. If primping would help me hold my own, so be it. “There are those braid supplements my ladies use, to make it look like my hair is put up instead of just short.”
“No offense, Your Highness, but it’s obvious what the intent is. It fools nobody. Everyone knows your hair is short. By wearing the hairpieces, you look as if you’re apologizing for it. You’re extraordinary as you are. Your strength lies in being exactly that.”
Fringes of my hair fell on the white robe as she worked, looking like spatterings of old blood, deep red like the gown.
“You’ve apparently given this a great deal of thought.”
“Ami—Princess Amelia, I mean—and I discussed it. She learned a great deal on her journeys about disguise and appearance as a method of displaying and holding power.”
“Ami—and you might as well call her that when we’re alone, since I know you do anyway—has made a science of being beautiful. If I stick with my strengths, that’s not one.”
“Where is your circlet?”
I swallowed a groan. “Don’t make me wear that thing.”
“Formal feast,” she reminded me. “You’ll wear the Heir’s Circlet. Think of it as another kind of battle helm.”
“Jewelry chest should be in the bottom of the wardrobe, if no one’s moved it. You’ve been in my rooms longer than I have.”
She went rummaging for it while I pulled on the gown and servants came in to light the lamps. The sunset chant went up from Glorianna’s Temple, bidding the day good-bye. By rights we should hear the song for Moranu’s moon, but none at Ordnung observed her worship, at least not openly. It had been interesting, those weeks at Windroven, to hear the rites for all three goddesses. Ami was intent on restoring the balance of the Three, though I didn’t quite understand why. But if she thought I’d missed the changes she’d been making in Glorianna’s church, then she didn’t know me well enough.
More likely she counted on my not caring. Which, in all truth, I didn’t. Glorianna, with her pretty pink roses and promises of life everlasting, had never held much significance for me. The High King had declared Glorianna’s worship supreme in the Twelve Kingdoms, and as long as Ami’s actions upheld his law, I had no problem with her machinations.
For myself, I privately looked to Danu, goddess of high noon and the bright blade. All the warriors did, no matter the time we spent bending a public knee to Glorianna.
With the great exception of Uorsin, who’d declared Glorianna’s church preeminent, but rarely gave her worship more than lip service. He had his reasons, no doubt. Still, it had pierced my heart in an odd way at Windroven, the sound of the “Song of Danu” at high noon. Something I hadn’t heard since the day Kaedrin left.
“Good goddesses,” Dafne exclaimed. “You keep the crown jewels in the bottom of your wardrobe?”
She had the little chest open on a side table and she drew out a glittering strand of rubies.
“Salena’s,” I explained. “They came to me upon her death. I was ten and more interested in swords, so they meant little to me. Recall that we weren’t to mention her name, or her very existence, for quite some time. I didn’t know what to do with them and that seemed like a safe place. It’s not as if anyone would steal them.”
She held up a pair of teardrop ruby earrings. “If only because everyone has forgotten they exist.” She handed them to me and also the coil of the necklace.
“I’m not wearing them.”
“Yes, you are. Along with this matching bracelet and”—she made a frustrated noise as she untangled the gold circlet from a nest of silver chains—“your circlet, once I’ve had it polished. I’ll be right back.”
Amused to find myself obeying, I donned the glittering stones. In an odd way, the Lady Mailloux reminded me of Kaedrin. Perhaps just because my old teacher had come to mind this afternoon. But, for all her scholarly ways, Dafne had a style of direct confidence that Kaedrin shared.
It wasn’t exactly true, what I’d said about stuffing the jewels away. There had been days in those lonely years after Salena died, before Andi grew up enough to leave the nursery, when I’d locked myself in these very bedchambers and pulled all the treasure out. I knew how every piece fastened, how to make the earrings pinch my ears the right amount so they wouldn’t fall off.
Once, I’d put everything on at the same time and preened in front of the mirror. Until I observed how silly I looked, a too-thin girl, drowning in the cold glitter of a dead woman’s unwilling gift.
“This is better.” Dafne carried the flat gold circlet on a black cloth, then paused, eyes going bright. “Oh, Ursula, you look positively queenly. Sit and let me put this on. Then you can see.”
She worked the circlet into my hair, fluffing and smoothing it. “There! I think you’ll be pleased.”
Because she wanted me to, I went to the mirror in the outer chamber. A lingering shadow of that memory made me half expect what I’d seen that long-ago day. Instead, the woman in the mirror took me by surprise. The way Dafne had shaped my hair, it lay close against my skull, coming to fine points in front of my ears, making my cheekbones look higher and sharper than usual. The gown and rubies matched my hair, surprisingly, within a few shades. The Heir’s Circlet, which I’d received in a ceremony when I was twelve—the proudest and most awful day of my life—was a simple gold band that crossed my forehead; I’d worn it rarely over the years, but it looked fitting tonight. Bolstering.
“See, Your Highness?” Dafne sounded well pleased with herself. “Queenly.”
I could only hope my father would be as pleased.
5
Dafne hastened away to tend to her own preparations, cutting short the questions that I had planned to ask her. Clearly the librarian acted on some agenda of her own. I did not believe for a moment that anyone had assigned her to be my lady’s maid. No, she’d made herself my ally in this, which I supposed she’d declared on the journey here.
I would not turn down whatever help Danu sent.
Making my way to the feast hall, I took note of the surprised looks and recovered manners of those I passed along the way. I held myself to a stately pace—queenly—made easier by the odd sensation of the heavy skirts swirling around my legs. There was a knack to it, of staying inside the circular swing, so I wouldn’t tangle in them or step on the hem.
The absence of my sword tickled at the back of my mind, nagging me with the sensation that I’d forgotten something. More than one court wit snickered that I slept with it, that I was naked without it, and other such bawdy insinuations that arise when a woman has no apparent lovers. In truth I felt exposed without a weapon. I’d learned early that I would never have my father’s brute strength, but by Danu, I also knew a blade evened my odds considerably.
I never went completely unarmed, and I had good reasons for it. So I’d compromised by digging out a dagger with a ruby-jeweled hilt, elaborate enough to be considered more decorative than defensive. In the banquet hall, Uorsin sat already at the High Table—nothing unusual there, as he often arrived early, which allowed the courtiers the opportunity to circle by, share a toast, and discuss in conversation matters not suitable for either informal or formal court. However—gratingly unusual—the Dasnarian captain also sat at the table.
I made certain to give no sign that I’d taken note of it, as many sets of eyes scrutinized me to see if I would. The seating arrangement of the High Table echoed that of the throne room, with the King’s chair—the largest and heaviest—at the center. My chair had always been to his right, Salena’s long-abandoned chair to his left, with Andi’s after that and Amelia’s next to hers. When Ami married Hugh, a chair was added to her left. Now, though my seat remained empty for me, another
chair had been added to the right of mine.
Uorsin’s penchant for preserving empty seats for the missing members of the royal family had long caused logistical issues. The arrangement put Andi and Ami far out of speaking distance, even if the King didn’t attend. My mother’s empty chair felt like the bleeding hole of a wound that never healed over, and I secretly hated the sight of it. That distaste naturally extended itself to the spaces left by my sisters’ more recent absences.
I thanked Danu for Uorsin’s odd habit this time. If the captain had been sitting in any of our chairs, I might have had to kill him on the spot.
Instead, I managed to serenely make my way to my seat and did not even put a hand to my dagger when the Dasnarian captain stood and held the chair for me to sit. Uorsin, deep in conversation with Laurenne, the ambassador from Aerron, who stood on the other side of the table, her ancient face set in lines of disappointment, took no note. No one had assisted me in such a way that I could recall, though Hugh had unfailingly treated Amelia to the courtesy. I wondered if the Dasnarian would have done so had I not been wearing the gown.
No sense tipping him off that he’d surprised me—several times now—so I thanked him, with a queenly nod that should have pleased Dafne, and sat.
“We have not been properly introduced, Your Highness,” the Dasnarian said, in that deep baritone. If a boulder could speak, it would sound thus. “I am Harlan, captain of the Vervaldr, at your service.”
“Vervaldr?”
“It translates roughly as ‘seawolves’ in your Common Tongue.”
“Not a very believable creature.”
He lifted a shoulder. “But a vivid image, Your Highness.”
I accepted the goblet of wine from a server, using the moment it offered to order my mind on how to speak to this man. Uorsin clearly held him in high regard, so I could not be openly rude. Nothing, however, required me to be especially friendly. Particularly after the incident at the gates.
“Your man challenged my right to enter Ordnung.”
“Ah.” His tone conveyed regret I doubted he felt. “My deepest apologies, Your Highness. We are still newcomers to your realm and you had not been in residence since we arrived. This afternoon you appeared somewhat unlike your formal portrait.”
The Twelve Kingdoms Page 4
