The Trouble With Kings

by Sherwood Smith

  I curtseyed again, suspecting that this comment was, in fact a question: why did I thus come with Jewel and not from home? A question I was not even remotely going to answer! “My brother will be grateful for the kind words, your majesty, as am I.”

  “I entreat you to enjoy your sojourn here, child.” She passed on to Jewel. “Yet another I have wished to meet.”

  “Thank you, your majesty. And I have always wished to visit.” Jewel curtseyed with a flourish of her stiff skirts.

  Queen Tamara tapped her on the wrist with her fan. “A remarkable family, yours.” She drawled her words so subtly one could easily miss the glimmer of humor. “You must next visit insist Prince Jaim accompany you, and in the spring, when we hold our festival. I believe he might find our games and competitions to his interest.”

  Jewel curtseyed again.

  Smiling, the queen passed on. Her third companion was a woman, slighter of stature, about the same age, her eyes a darker gray than mine. She was soberly gowned, though the fit and fabric were fine, and her gaze had that same quality of fast appraisal that characterized Tamara, Jason and Maxl.

  I stared, cold with shock. It was only now, as I gazed after Tamara, that I finally comprehended what our mission meant.

  We weren’t reuniting lovers long separated. We were participating, however tangentially, in a plot to overthrow this queen.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Though we never again had private converse with Tamara ru Fidalia—if that can be considered private—I sometimes encountered her greeny-brown gaze over the next few days, and I was convinced that she comprehended a great deal. And I began to have misgivings.

  During the two days that we waited for her sister, Princess Eleandra, to return, Jewel garnered a great deal of gossip about the queen—not that her life was very dramatic. She had been betrothed at a young age to a much older man who had fallen heir through the devastations of the last war to a vast amount of wealth and land. When she reached adulthood, the marriage was duly compassed, as were so many royal marriages—according to carefully worked out treaty, not according to inclination.

  The king lived a secluded life on a distant estate, seldom coming to court; he was an artist, apparently, having never taken any interest in politics. It was his hand we saw in the new furnishings and the delightful design of the court theatre, whose balance of sound and space was exceedingly well devised.

  The woman in the sober-hued gown was Lady Aelaeth—the queen’s beloved. Once a scribe, she had been given title and land. In every way but treaty-ordained fact, she was the consort. The court knew it, ambassadors knew it, the country knew it. But, like most kingdoms in the world, tradition required one ruler of each gender, a man and a woman to symbolically represent the men and women who comprised the country’s subjects.

  Unless the queen chose to try the Birth Spell, and one could never predict if it would work or not, no matter what your rank in life, Eleandra was the heir. The queen led a staid, middle-aged existence; Eleandra, more than ten years younger than her sister, apparently led quite a dashing life.

  “Of course,” Jewel pointed out the third night of our stay, “gossip about affairs doesn’t mean that they are serious, and sometimes they aren’t even real. I heard what was said about me in my short stay at Carnison. All lies. Not that I care,” she added in a brittle tone.

  “At least we’ll meet Eleandra tomorrow. And there will be a ball as well.”

  “I look forward to that.” Jewel wandered toward to her room to get ready. “Not that I mislike plays, but I never realized before that court comedies are only funny when you know the local gossip. And we don’t.”

  “True,” I said, glad that I had not been invited to see this play a second time.

  Jewel had already managed to make friends with some of the more stylish courtiers our own age. They liked her title, she liked their wealth and they all liked one another’s looks. “I only said yes because Lord Darivei whispered to me that there will be impromptu dancing afterward,” she called from her room.

  Impromptu here meaning the same thing as at home: open to everyone instead of by invitation, and you don’t have to tread all the way back and change clothing yet again.

  I was glad that I had chosen to hear one of the choral groups instead; that ended well before midnight, consequently I woke early.

  Because Jewel slumbered on and the dawn was fair, I decided to take a walk. By the third day I had learned my way around the gardens, which were divided into quarters by tiled paths. On this morning I struck out in a new direction, and drawn by the sounds of laughter, found myself on a terraced portion of the garden overlooking a grassy space on which people were engaging in sword fighting, wrestling and various sorts of target practice. At first I thought it was only the guards, for their silvery-gray tunics with the crimson edging predominated, but then I recognized some of the faces from court. Most of the guards were female, some exhibiting impressive displays of skill. One young woman in guard silver-gray disarmed two opponents, a man and a woman, both much bigger than her.

  I followed the narrow path down to the grass, keeping to the perimeter until that young woman had finished and turned to a long table to get something to drink.

  I followed. “Pardon, may I ask a question?”

  She looked up. Her hair was much lighter than mine, her sun-browned face square and ruddy with her recent effort. She bowed. “Your ladyship?”

  I didn’t bother correcting the title. “I wonder, can anyone learn that? What you did to disarm those others.”

  She chuckled. “Begin in childhood and you’ll know better tricks than that.”

  “Could I learn anything like it?”

  Her face went serious. “Self-defense can be learned at any age—and ought to be, at least so our commander says. Come each morning, dress like this—in riding trousers and tunic—and we’ll undertake to teach you as long as you wish. The dawn practice is open to anyone, no matter what your rank.”

  “Thank you. The sun just came up. Is it too late, or could I learn something today?”

  She squinted upward. “If you are quick, you could get some of the basics over with.” She grinned. “I warn you, though, you’ll be stiff come morn.”

  “I’m not afraid of that,” I said.

  “I’ll wait, then.”

  I fled, found that Jewel was still asleep. Good. I would not have to explain myself. Not that I really could. It was an impulse as incomprehensible as it was intense.

  I changed into my riding clothes and ran all the way back, arriving breathless and damp.

  She kept her word. She put me through some exercises that were not unlike those my dance mistress had taught me when I was young, which I still performed by habit. Afterward she taught me exercises for strength, especially in the arms. By then my muscles burned and trembled. But we were not done. She showed me eight arm blocks, four with each arm, and made me do them with her until I could deflect her attempt to strike me.

  When at last a bell gonged and the practice broke up, my body felt held together by strings—unraveling ones at that—but my mood was exhilarated.

  There is little else to report about that day. Princess Eleandra did indeed return, sending a storm of whispers and interest through the court, but we only glimpsed her from a distance. Apparently she was even more difficult to get near than the queen.

  The closest we got was when she was handed, laughing, into a canoe on one of the canals, by no fewer than three young, wealthy and handsome lords. And she was beautiful—probably the most beautiful female I have ever seen. Her hair was a compelling blend of shades that reminded one of all the richest woods of the world—heavy, waving and thick, partially dressed up, the rest hanging like a shining cloak against her skirts. Her coloring was rose-tinged coffee-and-cream, her lips delightfully curved and naturally red. From the distance I could not descry the color of her eyes, but guessing from the colors in her gown, they were a chestnut brown.

  “She’ll s
urely be at the ball,” Jewel said with satisfaction. “We’ll get to her for certain. The stupid part of our mission will be over with, and we can spend the remainder of our visit enjoying ourselves. All we need is an introduction. She’ll make the time for a private chat.”

  I agreed, for Jewel’s words sounded sensible.

  They also turned out to be wrong.

  We never got within speaking distance of the popular Eleandra that night. The grand ballroom was quite spectacular—almost barbaric in its splendor. It had been made in the far-north Venn style long ago, with golden mosaics and great carvings of fantastic bird figures above high inset arches. Color smote the eye from all directions as brocaded dancers performed for one another and for the onlookers.

  We did not get within speaking distance of the princess for three weeks.

  As those days passed by, I began to make a few acquaintances. The queen’s formal affairs lasted a long time as they were conducted to exact ritual according to precedence. Since Eleandra tended to avoid them, so did we. For choice I attended music concerts, which did not permit much talk, or I went with Jewel to the less formal dances. Jewel had managed to make a great many superficial acquaintances, all one needs for dancing. We did not lack for partners, because she introduced me to her new friends, and most of those young lords were quite happy to dance with a princess—especially a wealthy one.

  It was Carnison all over again. They talked of their holdings, their views, what they could do with some added wealth and power. A few questions to me, not from any interest, but to find out what I liked so as to make themselves sound better. If I mentioned music, I invariably heard something like “Oh, everyone loves music!” and a quick change of subject.

  How many conversations like that have I endured while twirling down the line of a dance? Impossible to count. With the skill of long practice I nodded, smiled and scarcely listened. I could see in their polite, slightly bored faces that they found me a bland pudding of a princess, easily impressed. For my part, I listened to the excellence of Queen Tamara’s musicians and rejoiced in my sore arms and legs.

  From what coincidences are our lives shaped? After that first day of practice I might have gone right back to bed, but the knowledge of the hot baths downstairs, kept filled and warm by costly magic, brought me down to bathe. The soreness eased after a hot soak, leaving me ready to venture out to training.

  My guard had become my regular teacher. Her name was Ressa. She knew me only as Flian, and free of the awkwardness of rank, we got right to work.

  And so the three weeks slid by. Eleandra continued to be elusive. I was privately convinced that she knew who we were and was avoiding us, a notion I didn’t share with Jewel. I was afraid Jewel would get angry before she and Eleandra had a chance to become friends. Then there were my own feelings to contend with. I did not want Eleandra to cause Jason to unleash a war against Tamara and her peaceful kingdom.

  So I made no attempt to meet the elusive princess. Jewel was so busy flirting with two young men, I don’t think she remembered our mission.

  But I finally got tired of worry and avoidance. Over breakfast one morning, I said, “Maybe I should risk all the attendant gossip by requesting an interview from her household steward.”

  Jewel had been sitting with her chin on her hand, gazing out the window. She transferred her attention to me, and the bemused, tender expression altered to curiosity. “Tamara’s?”

  “Eleandra’s. When she gets back from wherever it is she’s gone this time.”

  Jewel grinned, reached over and tapped my arm. “What you need is a lover.”

  “No I don’t.”

  She gave her head an impatient shake. “No one to marry. You’ll marry to the benefit of Lygiera, if you marry at all—naturally. But someone with whom to flirt. The time passes much quicker with someone who knows how to kiss.” She grinned.

  “You’re in love,” I observed.

  “No.” Her answer was too quick. She blushed, pressed her lips into a thin line, then said, “Interest only, not devotion. Why not pass the time in agreeable flirtation here, where we’re not known, and once we’re gone we’ll be forgotten?”

  “I guess it’s because no one I’ve met inspires me with the inclination.”

  “What? Don’t tell me you did not find Krescan attractive? He’s tall, has that pretty auburn hair, and he moves so well. He’s even eligible! Krescan is a huge holding, and he has the title.”

  “He is handsome,” I agreed, “and doesn’t he know it. I swear he was watching his own reflection as we danced down past the black marble insets. He certainly wasn’t watching me.”

  “Rimboal finds you attractive. He told me as much—and he seems to partner you frequently enough.”

  I recalled Lord Rimboal’s sweaty hands, his oppressive compliments on my hair, my sea-gray eyes, and shuddered.

  “You can’t say he’s ugly. You can’t.”

  Lord Rimboal was tall, as thin for a male as I was for a female, curling dark hair. Brown eyes, curved lips. He was attractive enough—in the way of a fine painting. I shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t like his standing so close, and all those compliments. And some of his questions—” I made a face. “What perfumes do I prefer? That’s so, so personal.” Personal. For a moment I was no longer there, but stood in a tiny woodcutter’s cabin. I was not looking at the handsome Rimboal, but a black-haired figure sick and feverish, whose derisive blue eyes stared straight back at me. Shoving away that unpleasant memory, I said, “There’s no meeting of the mind. Not with anyone.”

  “Well, but you don’t have to have that to flirt. You just have fun. If you find the fellow attractive.” When I made a face she shrugged, one of her dark brows slanting up. “No help for it. You’re hopeless.”

  “Not hopeless.” I tried not to laugh. “But probably much like my father. Who knows? Maybe I will fall in lust with a handsome, witless seventeen-year-old when I turn sixty.”

  “And I shall throw him in the lake if he hurts you,” she declared. “But by then I hope I—” She looked away and shook her head, her lips compressed.

  “Well, you continue to have fun, and I’ll continue to—” I paused, stopped, thinking of my mornings with Ressa and the others.

  “Continue to moon after the perfect harpist,” Jewel finished. “Whatever you enjoy, which is the point, after all. We are here to have fun, and I mean to have it. I don’t know what awaits when we leave. I don’t trust those idiot brothers of mine not to make it impossible to go to Carnison with you. So I mean to please myself as long as I can.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Good! Good!” Captain Voliz clapped me on the shoulder with a tough, callused hand. He grinned, gray whiskers bristling. “Again.”

  He came toward me with a knife, made a stab, and I used his motion to push him off balance, then hooked my foot round his ankle and yanked. He went down. I pretended to step on his elbow, grabbed the knife he dropped and held the blade to his neck. All as drilled.

  “Excellent. Very, very good for a few days’ work, eh?”

  “She moves well.” Ressa stood on the side, watching as she awaited her turn. “Learns quick.”

  A young guard said earnestly, “You ought to train with the rapier. You’re fast—you might have fun with it.”

  I thanked him, adding, “My brother has been trying to get me to do that for ages. Maybe I’ll surprise him and go along to practice with him one day when I get home again.”

  “Where d’you come from?” Ressa asked tentatively. “Your accent is coastal, unless I’m mistaken.”

  “Lygiera is my home.”

  Captain Voliz snapped his fingers, and Ressa did not look surprised. “You’ll be the princess, then.”

  I laughed. “How did you guess that?”

  He gave a nod. “You have a slight look of your father. Saw him once, back when we were having trouble from the north.”

  By then no one used titles, excep
ting the captains in charge of the practices. The free give-and-take was bracing; not one of them asked what land I would inherit, or whether or not I controlled my fortune. Not even the other courtiers at practice. It was as if political questions had been set aside—while we drilled the elements of fighting. This contradiction sometimes amused me as I walked down in the cold dawn, or back when the sun had topped the gate towers. Still, I kept at it, because my goal was never again to be abducted against my will.

  The very morning we finally met Eleandra, I went to practice in a prickly mood, for I had dreamed about Garian Herlester the night before.

  I tried to see Garian’s face on my first opponent and felt a corresponding determination that verged on anger. The result was a flurry of action too quick for me to follow, and I found myself lying on the grass, a blade pressed to my neck.

  I smacked the grass with my hands, the signal that I’d lost, and the woman I’d been paired with straightened up. “You’re quick. But you don’t see the counterattack yet.”

  “That’s dangerous,” Ressa added. “You’re at a bad place in training.”

  “Of which there are many,” the taller woman put in dryly.

  Ressa said, “Never lose sight of the fact that you’re medium of height for a female and light of build. So until you’ve had years of special training you’ll never be able to take on a trained person bigger and stronger. A hill ruffian who counts on surprise and shock, sure. But even then you have to act fast, because you’ll probably only get one chance. Even the hillside ruffian is going to be stronger than you, and if he gets a hand on you, chances are you’re going to eat mud.”

  “Or die,” the other said.

  I was in a somber mood when I returned to my room.

  I had seen almost nothing of Jewel for two days. I let the door shut and kicked off my riding mocs, preparing to undress for the baths downstairs, when the connecting door opened, and Jewel appeared, her eyes red rimmed.