King's Son, Magic's Son

by Josepha Sherman

  He gave me a glance like iron. "What foolishness is this?"

  "This isn't merely indignation or a refusal to be pushed. You shy like a frightened deer at the very mention of marriage. You weren't like this before, not even at your most nervous before . . . Clarissa. What do you fear? It . . . can't be that you loved her so much you can't bear to put another in her place."

  Estmere grew very still. I thought that surely he was about to strike me, I even half-raised a hand in defense, because there was suddenly a very keen tension in the air between us.

  The tension faded as swiftly as it had come. I saw my brother's shoulders sag, and all at once pitied him with all my heart. Defeated, Estmere murmured, so softly I almost couldn't hear him, "Oh, Aidan. Why do you have to be so damnably perceptive?"

  He looked at me in misery. "I did love Clarissa. Though I never really understood her, I suppose, nor she, me. I did love her."

  There are different depths to love, and all of them quite real. "I never doubted it."

  My brother nodded, straightening, very obviously forcing himself back under regal self-control. "I know perfectly well I must remarry. Unless I get an heir, the royal line dies out. Except for you, of course."

  Sheer panic must have flashed in my eyes, because Estmere laughed aloud. "Come now! You don't really think I'd be so heartless to you or—to be frank—to my kingdom as to leave you the throne."

  "Not that anyone would accept me, anyhow."

  "Ah . . . no. So. I must marry again. I will. But I—I must have more time."

  Time. That's a luxury monarchs aren't permitted. I pictured Estmere cornered by his advisors as I had been, Sir Verrin might have acted like a blustery, panicky little partridge, but that had only been because of his fear of me. Put him in his proper setting in audience hall or chamber with no terrifying magic about, and he could be quite calmly ruthless. As could the others, all those ambitious, strong-willed, oh-so-cunning advisors. Granted, Estmere was far more experienced than I in matters political. But, strong and kingly clever though he was, my brother was still too young not to be cornered by their older, slyer minds, tricked and overcome by then-long years of political cunning before he knew what had happened, forced into a second marriage not of his choice but theirs—

  There was only one way to outmaneuver them. "Estmere," I said carefully, "isn't there anyone you've seen on whom you could look with some favor?"

  He raised a brow at my archaic turn of phrase. " 'Look with some favor?' You jest. Surely by now you know all the court candidates as well as I."

  "Well . . . yes."

  "Have you seen anyone even vaguely suitable?"

  "There are other lands. Verrin wants to send out official queries—"

  "That's a waste of time."

  I blinked. "How can you be so sure?"

  "I can."

  "Brawd, that's ridiculous. You can't possibly know every noblewoman out there."

  "Are you doubting my word?"

  "Och, don't bristle. All I'm suggesting is letting Verrin send out—"

  "No!"

  I stared at him, seeing nothing behind his eyes but despair. "What in the name of y Duwies glân is so frightening?"

  He stared right back at me, challenging, "Do I dare be honest with you?"

  "I should think so!"

  "That's not enough. Swear to me that what I tell you will go no further than this room."

  "Brawd, brawd, don't be so dramatic. Of course it won't. My word on it."

  "That's not enough! Swear—"

  "Not enough! Look you, if you can't trust me by now, you have no business being in this room alone with me!" The insulted words came tumbling out almost faster than I could order them. "You know vows are sacred to me—I just gave you my word! How dare you mock it!"

  Estmere's mouth tightened in anger. "Walk warily, brother," he said very quietly, and I remembered belatedly that he was, after all, the king. So I bit back my outrage as best I could and said with great, if somewhat sarcastic, restraint:

  "I didn't mean to offend you."

  "I know. And I—I didn't mean to insult you, or your beliefs. It's only . . . I . . ." Estmere took a deep breath, like a man about to plunge into danger. "You read me too well. I am afraid. You like frankness, so I'll try to be as frank as possible:

  "I was fortunate in my marriage to Clarissa. More fortunate than I ever dared hope. But, as I told you the day when you counselled me so kindly before that marriage—remember? When I was so nervous? You . . . don't remember, do you?"

  No, I didn't. Yes, I knew he'd been nervous, yes, I knew I must have said something back then, but what? What? My struggle to remember must have been obvious to Estmere, because he clasped my shoulder and told me softly:

  "Never mind. It's not important. I only wanted to point out that though Clarissa and I were technically strangers, we were still kinfolk; we had both heard enough about each other over the years for there to be at least a tenuous bond between us. And we had enough family memories in common to help us be at ease. To help us find what was turning into love . . ."

  He shook that off. "You were right. I suppose I have been using my loss as a shield, trying to fend off the inevitable. Love isn't going to enter into whatever new marriage I form. Of course not. I'll be firming an alliance, or—or guaranteeing a trade route. What a pity Wencin doesn't have a daughter, or maybe a sister who isn't so old she couldn't give me a son in exchange for a treaty. After all, it wouldn't matter what she looked like, or acted like, or thought, as long as she was fertile and of the proper royal blood—"

  "Enough," I broke in. "Come, sit." Taking him by the arm, I virtually pushed him down into the chair, standing over him to keep him there. "That's better. I have mead in the next room, or if you prefer, I can probably manage to conjure it into wine that's no worse than what you usually drink."

  Estmere glanced up at me with a weak laugh. "I forget; you're used to treating hysterical patients, aren't you? I promise: no more hysterics." He stirred impatiently. "I know, I'm not supposed to worry about such things as love. A king isn't required to love his queen. He need come to her only for the creation of heirs, and as for . . . anything else, why, a king is expected to take as many mistresses as he pleases.

  "But I can't be like that. I don't know why. Maybe my nurse told me too many romances when I was a child!" Estmere hesitated, eyes fierce with distress. "I know it's a weakness in me. But I just can't rid myself of the vision of a true, loving wife—I just can't be properly cold-blooded."

  Now I was truly baffled. "But surely that's to your credit. I don't see what—"

  "Don't you? I don't know what the custom is in Cymra, but here marriage can only be broken by death."

  Yes, Estmere, I do know that. But I wasn't about to interrupt.

  "Whatever politically correct and . . . fertile wife I'm forced to accept," Estmere continued, "whether we chance to like or tolerate or l-loathe each other as much as King Amgrim and Queen Gerda, there just won't be any escape. We'll be forced to go on together, sharing, whether we will it or not, every moment of our lives down through all the years to come." He smiled bleakly. "But at least the succession will be assured. Aidan, you look as though I told you something unbelievably blasphemous."

  "You did." That slipped out before I could stop it, and now there was nothing to do but continue, "Forcing two people into the most sacred of intimacies, conceiving a child in hatred or indifference instead of love—that's against all the harmonies of the world."

  "Ah well, I suppose it is, at least to you of the old religion." Estmere laughed, a soft, humorless little sound. "Now can you see why I wanted privacy? What I've told you, these secret and . . . unkingly fears, I cannot, I will not, tell to anyone else." He paused, chewing on his lower lip, then continued, "I'm not commanding you. I'm asking you, brother to brother, not to let what I've told you leave this room."

  "You already have my word," I reminded him gently. "But don't be afraid. The future isn't going to be lik
e that for you. I give you my word there, too."

  He gave me a quick, almost amused smile. "Don't foreswear yourself. You can't fight royal obligation with swords or even magic." Estmere got to his feet. "Look you, I'm sorry I said even as much as I did. Forget it. In the end I will do what I must for my people's sake, just like every other king before me."

  "If you were willing to start the search for a new queen . . ."

  "Aidan."

  "I know, I know, I'm only asking. If you were willing, how would it go?"

  He frowned slightly. "Didn't Verrin tell you? He would send out messengers to those of our allies with eligible daughters or sisters, and if said allies agreed, I would in time receive firsthand reports and pretty little paintings of the ladies in question, together with descriptions of their royal dowries, so that I might better make a decision."

  "So I thought."

  Estmere stiffened. "Now I do command you. As your king, I forbid you to mention this conversation to Verrin."

  "We already established that."

  "Don't interrupt! I forbid you to give him or any other authorization to send out messengers. And I most firmly forbid you to send out those messengers yourself!"

  I returned his regal stare tranquilly. "I had no intention of doing anything like that."

  He let his fierce gaze drop. "Of course not. Aidan, I must leave."

  I suddenly remembered the Sign on the door. "Ah, wait! You won't be able to get out."

  As I negated the Sign's Power for him, I heard Estmere's inward-drawn breath as he realized that up to this moment he had been virtually my prisoner. I opened the door for him and said sweetly, "Good day to you, fy brawd."

  "And . . . to you."

  As I watched him leave, I was smiling to myself. Och, Estmere, I had tricked you, and you never even knew it! With all your careful bans, you still hadn't forbidden me to do exactly what I had intended.

  First, though . . .

  I replaced the guarding Sign on the door, then settled myself in a chair, eyes shut, concentrating. I felt another consciousness brush my own almost at once, felt a vision pathway opening and growing firm. "You heard?" I asked.

  "Every word. Love, when did you realize I was listening?"

  "Not till the end. Ailanna, cariad, dearest one, you shouldn't have spied."

  "Why not?"

  "Because . . ." As well scold the wind as lecture one of the Folk on human morality. "Because," I finished lamely, "spying on a king is a dangerous thing to do."

  That got the laugh it deserved. "Dangerous for whom? Me? Don't be silly! You? Hardly. Besides, he loves you too well for that." I felt her mood shift with Faerie swiftness. "The poor man." If it wasn't quite said with pity—Ailanna was too much of Tairyn's blood for that—at least sympathy quivered behind tne words. "They're always after him, aren't they? All those foolish, ambitious courtiers, prodding him to remarry." She paused thoughtfully. "Though from what I've seen of your brother and what you've told me, he really would rather be married, wouldn't he?"

  "If he had any say in the matter, yes. If he was allowed to take his time and fall in love."

  "Ae, such fools! Why can't they admit their king is only flesh-and-blood?"

  "Because then they have to admit he's fallible as well."

  She shook that off impatiently. "You humans just will not accept that love is as necessary as food and air."

  "Some of us accept it, Ailanna." I felt her mind touch mine at that, gentle as a caress, and I smiled. "Cariad, something must be done for Estmere."

  "Indeed." Impatience swirled through her thoughts. "Especially if we're ever to be free to lead our own lives. I can't see any way out of your vow unless he does wed that one perfect-for-him mate. Or," she added with true Faerie coolness, "unless he dies."

  "Y Duwies forbid!"

  Ailanna sighed. "Even so, that would leave you as his heir, wouldn't it?"

  "Not that anyone would support me, but yes, it would."

  "Ae-ye, what a pity your brother can't just go out and find himself his own wife!"

  "Nice thought, isn't it? But I'm afraid a human king can't very well up and abandon his throne, even temporarily. Cariad, wait, don't get so upset! I have a plan."

  I told it to her, and she laughed. "But didn't he forbid—"

  "Did he?"

  She retraced the words with Faerie accuracy, then laughed again. "Why, no, he didn't! Ah, my clever love, may your plan succeed—and swiftly."

  Ailanna enfolded me in a sudden wave of love and longing, then was gone, leaving me breathless. After a time I reluctantly opened my eyes, abandoning lovely visions for the solid world around me.

  Who knew Estmere—that inner, gentle, music-loving Estmere—better than I? For that matter, who here at court loved Estmere better than I?

  So. I wouldn't mention remarriage to my poor brother again. Not yet. Somewhere out there must be a lady who would be more than some pathetic little pawn in the game of court intrigue. She must exist, I felt it, that lady who was clever enough, intelligent enough, to understand court politics yet forget personal gain. That lady who would wed Estmere simply because she loved him. That lady who, for all our sakes would be his mate, his partner, his true and joyous heart's delight—

  And I, searching all alone and unabetted (and therefore outside my brother's ban) would find her.

  CHAPTER XXVIII

  HUNTING

  Ambitious, wasn't I? Ah, but surely we're allowed such well-meant conceits by the One who watches over us, call that One what you will, surely we're allowed to use our Powers to help those we love.

  I told Estmere merely that I had some private business to attend. He didn't pry; he who was allowed so little privacy of his own generally respected mine. Which was fortunate, because otherwise I would have had to overcome scruples and attempt a lie he almost certainly would have seen through.

  As it was I set out unchallenged from my brother's court, once more on the back of my tawny griffin friend, whom I'd coaxed out of Faerie with amazing ease (he did seem to enjoy our outings together), to begin my princess quest.

  In the days that followed, I saw princesses and duchesses and ladies enough. Och, yes! I'd never dreamed there'd been so many women born of noble birth! But nowhere in all that time of searching did I find the one I sought, the one who could mix love and wisdom, the one who could be Estmere's joyous bride and friend.

  Dejected, I sat me down on a grassy hilltop and thought, while beside me the griffin preened his yellow wings and snapped playfully at butterflies. The sight of such a powerful predator using his curved sword of a beak (the beak that could, I knew, easily tear a deer in two) to act so—so trivially made me squirm with impatience.

  "This is stupid," I told him. "Stupid! I feel like one of those wispy little minstrel-tale princes who run around on idiotic quests! I ask you, griffin, am I using my powers for good? Am I doing anything wise or clever or heroic? No! I'm bride-hunting! Pw, what a farce!"

  The griffin wasn't impressed by my theatrics. He reached about to delicately work a wing feather into place, then sneezed. "Benedith," I told him drily, and the griffin tilted his head towards me, blatantly inviting a petting. "Now, if life was as neat and easy as it is in those minstrels' tales," I continued, reaching up so I could scratch behind the furry ear he was offering, "Estmere would simply ride out one day, fall madly in love with a beautiful country maid, and live happily ever after."

  But in the real world happy couples really do need to have something in common. And kings and country maids never wed. No, my tedious, ridiculous, so very infuriatingly mundane search must continue amid royalty.

  "But where?"

  Of course the world was far wider than I had ever suspected back in Cymra. Even with griffin wings to help me, I could hardly search it all, let alone bring back some truly foreign bride. Gloomily, I sat and conjured an illusion map before me of those regions I could, in all reality, reach, letting each image land fade as I realized I had already visited it.
Surely there must be one. . . .

  "Ha, yes!"

  The startled griffin stared at me, and I laughed at him, reaching out a hand to rub his furry neck. "More fool I! There's one kingdom so close to home I overlooked it."

  King Adland's realm, it was, a small land but an important one, not so much for its pretty, rolling hills and fertile fields but for its location: it lies trapped between the kingdoms of Estmere and Bremor.

  Bremor. For a moment, a chill, chill shadow seemed to steal over me, leaching away hope and joy. . . .

  But then I straightened, and made a very rude Cymraen gesture. "That for Bremor!" The griffin made a sound almost like an approving chuckle, and I grinned at him. "Now if my memory serves me, King Adland has a daughter. A young, hopefully still unmarried daughter. I think she's called Rosamonde, 'Rose of the World.' "

  Despite its size, her land was certainly of enough strategic importance to satisfy the court. And Princess Rosamonde's lineage was surely proud enough to make even prim Sir Verrin happy.

  "Forget Verrin. Let us pray only that Rosamonde and Estmere can make each other happy!" Getting to my feet, I added, "Come, my furry, feathered friend. Let us pay this Rose of the World a visit."

  Of course I didn't want my presence in King Adland's realm known. For one thing, I was acting very much without my brother's authority. For another, I wanted the chance to judge the Princess Rosamonde honestly. So I left my griffin, cast my invisibility illusion about myself, and entered on silent, unseen feet into King Adland's squat and heavily fortified castle. (Truly, that was a tale in itself, since I had to wait till they'd lowered the drawbridge for someone else, then hurry in after him before I could get squashed.) Once inside, I searched warily, trying not to get lost, listening to servants' gossip for clues, till I finally located the king and his daughter together in a small, sunlit chamber.

  Now, I really had planned to be quite cold-bloodedly efficient about the whole thing: Faerie practical, as Estmere would have put it. But from my first glimpse of the princess, I forgot efficiency, because surely my search was finally ended.