What could I do? Call him a liar?
How dare he treat me like a child?
He dared. He was the king. More to the point, he was my brother, who knew I wouldn't use magic against him.
Won't I? Duwies glan, but it's tempting!
It would be so easy to catch Estmere in a net of enchantment, to bend his will to mine, force him to listen to me—
Just as there had once been a stag snared and helpless in the net of my will, the storm of his terror flooding me and, worse than the horror, the shame of having knowingly done Evil . . .
Gallu, no! Controlling Estmere like that, mind and body, against his will, no matter how briefly—I couldn't do that.
I couldn't just forget the whole thing, either. When I'd first set out on my bride hunt, Rosamonde had been nothing but a name. Now she was real to me, a living, despairing human soul in need. My dreams were of her and Bremor, dreams filled with such ugliness that every night I woke wild-eyed and shaken—
Prophetic dreams? Not if I had any say in the matter.
So I finally cornered my brother, quite literally, in an alcove not far from the royal apartments, trying to ignore the guards hovering nervously behind me, trying to ignore their half-drawn weapons as well.
Even with his back to the wall—again, quite literally— Estmere didn't lose his dignity. He signalled almost casually to the guards to draw back, then studied me with cool, appraising eyes.
"Springing at me like that is a good way to get yourself killed, Aidan. If the guards hadn't recognized you in time . . ."
He was quite right. "I wasn't thinking. I apologize."
"You obviously want to speak with me. Of what?"
"You know very well of what."
"Oh, Aidan, not again! Just because you've seen some pretty little lady who's taken your fancy—if you find her so charming, you many her."
"Don't mock me, Estmere."
"I wasn't mocking. You're a bachelor of the blood royal, after all, a fine catch for—"
"Will you stop being so damniol civilized and just hear me out?"
"No." His voice was flat. "I will not. I have no intention of playing one of your odd little elfish games."
"I'm not playing games! I'm not even asking you to do anything. But Estmere, you must know—"
" 'Must'?" There was the faintest hint of ice to the word. "No. The subject is closed. Stand aside."
"Why won't you listen to me?"
He sighed. "People are always after me, trying their cunning best to persuade me, influence me, push me. You know that. I allow you liberties I'd allow no one else, surely you know that, too. But I will not be pushed, even by you." Estmere's voice sharpened just a bit on those last words, and I saw the guards tense. "Now, stand aside!"
Did he mean to have me forcibly moved if I didn't obey? I felt Power stir, knew I could stop the guards easily enough—
And frighten them. And anger my brother even more. No. It wasn't worth the trouble.
Raging silently yet again, I stood aside.
So. Here we were sitting in my brother's hall, Estmere and I, Sir Verrin and the rest, all of us "a-drinking ale and wine," as the song goes, unofficially celebrating the news that had just reached the court:
There had been a forced (if reasonably gentle) abdication on the part of our northern neighbor, poor, addled old King Wencin: apparently his middle-aged son had finally reached the end of filial patience. And said son, now king, would seem to have taken a hard look at the size and strength of his neighbor to the south, because he had quickly sent a very subdued Ambassador Gern with word he would gladly sign that pact Estmere had been seeking these many months.
Reason indeed to celebrate.
Well, at least most of us were celebrating. I, for one, wasn't in a singularly festive mood.
Someone else wasn't celebrating, either. I could feel the advisors' eyes on me, sharp as daggers. I had been deliberately avoiding the lot of them this past week—and so, it would seem, had Estmere—since the last thing I wanted them to do was learn of my visit to Rosamonde before I was able to discuss her with my brother. If they knew about that visit, they would almost certainly push my brother so hard he never would agree to meet her. But now I knew they were all aching to know when I planned to broach the subject of a new bride to the king.
When, indeed?
It was no longer only a matter of healing my wounded pride. Not after what I had seen in my mirror just before being summoned here to my brother's hall. For I'd been watching Bremor. . . .
He stood alone in his own dark chapel. The sight of that plain little room sickened me with such a painful, unexpected surge of memory I was almost physically ill. And I admit to being terrified, too. Dry of mouth and damp of palm, I almost broke contact there and then, wondering wildly, What if They sense me here, what if They know I'm watching?
But of course the cythrauliad couldn't. There's a limit even to demonic Power. The only way They could know of my spying would be through Bremor.
And Bremor was—what? Not demanding; not even a king makes demands on Them. I certainly won't call it praying. Beseeching, then, most fervently beseeching his Patrons for power, for dominance over his foes.
And, I realized with a shock, for help in winning the Princess Rosamonde. Even though I couldn't hear nim, I clearly saw her name on his lips, and for a doubtful moment wondered if Bremor, in his own corrupted way, might actually be in love with her.
No. I didn't misread what he was offering his Patrons, quite calmly, quite regally:
It was a pact. Let Them insure a son and heir for him from the Princess Rosamonde—and he would grant Them her life and soul in exchange.
Gallu nef, Gallu nef, he didn't even see it as wrong! His Patrons had already warped his mind so badly he thought it only one more royal treaty!
And he was all but ready to march on King Adland.
Dizzy, sickened, head aching most foully, I had broken contact at that moment, silently swearing a vow. Now, here in Estmere's hall, I silently repeated it:
Estmere will learn about Rosamonde, no matter how I must arrange it. And between us, we will keep her from Bremor's pact.
Fine words. Now let me do something about them. It was too late by now for any rational private debates. But here, with all the nobles about us . . . So be it.
As soon as there was a moment's silence, I said, with a boldness very much feigned, "Tell me, fy brawd, when will you think of taking a new wife? A queen at your side would gladden us all."
There was a murmur of surprise and no little approval from the gathered nobles. Estmere stared at me. I don't want to ever see again what was in his eyes, the shock and anguish at this . . . betrayal on the part of the one person he'd thought would never turn against him. In that moment, I think he truly must have hated me.
But what could Estmere do? All the nobles were awaiting his answer in suspense. My brother turned away from me and answered with a false heartiness, "Oh, I don't know that there's a lady in all the land free to marry me."
I was ready for that, of course. "King Adland has a daughter, brawd, the Princess Rosamonde. She's said to be as beautiful as spring, and as wise and witty as she is beautiful." Which was true, even if I was the one, right now, to say it. "Why, were I king here in your stead"— which y Duwies glân forbid!—"that princess might be my queen."
'Might,' Ailanna. Anything might come to pass.
Under his breath, Estmere muttered in fury, "God's blood, how I've misjudged you!"
"No."
"Yes! Tell me, Aidan, who bought you? How much did it take?"
"Don't talk like a fool. I can't be bought."
And I let fire flicker from my fingertips, an illusion for his eyes only, to remind him, I am a magician, I have no need for silly coins. That took Estmere as aback as I'd intended, and I let the illusion fade and continued quickly, "I'm sorry I had to trick you. But you know full well that otherwise you'd never have listened to me."
"And why in
God's name must I listen to you?"
"Because the Princess Rosamonde is every bit as charming as I've said. I'll stake anything you like that you'll agree."
"Our friendship?" he asked darkly. "Or what you may be leaving of it?"
"Look you, brawd, I'm not asking you to marry her. I wouldn't presume so much even if you weren't king." I took a deep breath, because there wasn't any way around the next thing I must say: "But if you don't do something, Bremor of Telesse will."
Ha, that surprised him! Plainly the royal spies had been lax. Estmere snapped, "You're sure of this?"
"I am." Grimly I added, "I doubt you want Bremor as a neighbor."
For a moment my brother just stared, struggling for words. "You have maneuvered me, haven't you? As neatly as Verrin himself." Estmere glanced at the assembled nobles, all of whom were watching us with wide-eyed fascination, and I heard him give an almost inaudible, "Damn!"
But there wasn't any excuse or explanation he could make to them, so Estmere straightened royally and called out, "Sir Verrin."
"Sire?"
"Sir Verrin, find me your most worthy messenger to send to King Adland's court, so I may have a true picture of this"—he shot a deadly glance at me—"wonder of a princess."
I didn't want that. "No, brawd. Many a man has been deceived by secondhand reports. No matter how honest and loyal the messenger, his judgment is still going to be colored by his personal tastes."
"Well?"
"Far better to go to King Adland's court and be your own judge. I'll . . . go with you if you like."
The flat coldness of his eyes made it quite clear that he didn't care for the thought of my company just then. "Och, Estmere," I said, veiy softly, "what harm in simply going to look?"
He frowned. "I never could understand you, Aidan. And I don't know what game you're playing now. But . . . I can't believe you're my enemy. I'll go. I can't very well refuse now, can I? Yes, Aidan, you are most definitely going with me. And, dear brother, the Princess Rosamonde had best be every bit as wondrous as you say."
CHAPTER XXX
VISITS
"So, now." The crisp words cut into my sleep.
"My Lord Tairyn. Am I dreaming you, or have you slipped me into trance?"
He ignored that silliness. Of course this was trance; I'd be a poor magician if I couldn't tell it from mere dream. "And is this not a foolish situation?" the Faerie lord said with his usual cool, quiet mockery. "You may be a human, but you are a wielder of some Power. Yet look at you, wasting that Power, acting as your brother's slave—"
"I am not—"
"—running his errands, hunting for a wife for him."
"Is that what's bothering you? Tell me, my Lord Tairyn, haven't you figured out yet why I've been doing it?"
Silence. By now I'd come to realize that whenever Tairyn didn't have an answer, he slid back into that inhumanly cool quiet, that I am too wise for mere humans pose. But no matter how much I itched to shake that calm, I knew better than to push him.
"My Lord Tairyn," I said gently, "the sooner I find
Estmere someone who can stand by his side in my place, the sooner I am free to leave. To return to Ailanna."
More silence, this time definitely tinged with disapproval.
There's no pleasing you, is there? I thought. Either I annoy you by "wasting" my time and Power among humans, or I annoy you by rejoining Ailanna. "My Lord Tairyn," I added, "like it or not, I will fulfill my vow. I will return to her."
"If you live," Tairyn said shortly, "if your foe does not slay you," and was gone.
And I, of course, was left wide awake and uneasy.
Why, thank you, Tairyn!
Now I couldn't help but keep thinking of Bremor, and the fact that everything I was doing seemed to be pushing me closer to a confrontation. A small, childish voice deep within me cried out in sudden panic, I don't want to die!
Nonsense. Ailanna had said only one of us would die. Foolish to think that one was I . . . foolish to think the future could be read at all.
Foolish to let Faerie slyness bother me! What had Tairyn been about? Had this visit been sparked by curiosity? Malice? Was this another trap? Or, y Duwies help us, could this possibly be Tairyn's way of showing concern?
Impossible.
At last, towards morning, I told myself that any human who tries puzzling out the workings of a Faerie mind is a fool, and settled down to get some sleep.
By that time, of course, it was already too late.
Groggy though I was from lack of sleep that morning, I was all for flying Estmere and myself directly to King Adland's castle on the back of my griffin friend the next day.
"Nonsense," Estmere told me. "I am not going to turn up on another king's doorstep like a beggar. We are going to do this ridiculous quest properly, with a full, brave contingent of guards and courtiers."
"But that's going to take too long!" I protested.
"No more than a few days.
That didn't seem so terrible a delay. "Fine. Then let's start choosing which—"
"Not so fast, Aidan! First I must send out a messenger to Adland, asking his permission."
"Why bother? He'll be thankful to see you!"
Estmere sighed. "I imagine boundaries don't mean too much to magicians. But I can hardly march into another monarch's sovereign territory without that permission."
"Och. Right. Of course not." I really was still sleepy. "But I can see that a message reaches him far more swiftly—"
"What is the matter with you? All this panicky haste—I thought you knew your geography by now. Bremor's capital is half again the distance to King Adland of Lundinia. Even if the man started preparing at the same moment we do—and you've assured me he isn't—we'd still reach Adland a good seven days before Bremor."
We compromised. Estmere began putting together the crowd he wished, while I charmed one of our messenger pigeons so that it would fly straight to King Adland, and sent it out on the wings of the wind sprites.
Sure enough, we received a reply, home by a bedraggled, very weary pigeon, within three days. As I'd predicted, King Adland, though he was a bit puzzled by Estmere's vaguely worded request (deliberately vaguely worded, just in case some harm had befallen the pigeon), quite happily granted us permission to cross his borders.
When Estmere makes up his mind to do something, things happen swiftly. In less than two days, a party of courtiers, guards and victualers was ready to ride. In a bit more than a week we had passed from one kingdom to the other (without more than a few token and very polite questions from Adland's border guards), and had arrived without incident at King Adland's castle, Estmere and I and our royal escort, all of us quite elegant in regal red and gold. Whatever Estmere's private thoughts on the matter—and he wasn't sharing them with me—he was at least willing to make a brave show of it.
What of me? Och, I was most certainly torn between guilt that I'd had to maneuver my brother and anger at him for doubting me, between worry for the Princess Rosamonde and about Bremor—and about whether relations between Estmere and myself would ever return to normal.
Surely they would, I assured myself. If we reached Rosamonde in time. If Estmere actually did take to the princess, and she to him. If I hadn't been mistaken about the whole thing and—
Pw. If, if, if.
I glanced at my brother. No matter what he might be thinking, there was no denying that Estmere looked nigh as proud and handsome as any Faerie Lord, and his hair blazed more brightly in the sunlight than gold. It wasn't surprising that the castle porter should stare at us all, most particularly at Estmere, but the man freely bade us enter.
Which meant, to my relief, that we were in time.
King Adland himself met us in the Great Hall, poised and self-controlled as though he hadn't a worry in the world. "Welcome, King Estmere, in God's name, welcome," he began formally, then stopped and laughed, with eyes as well as mouth. "Ah, but look at you! When I last saw you, you were only a very little princ
e, not even reaching your father's waist. Now here you are, grown into a fine, tall young man, the very image of your sire, may he rest in peace."
I had never stopped to think they might know each other. Then Estmere might already have met—no. If he had been little more than a toddler when he'd visited King Adland, Rosamonde must surely have still been a babe in arms.
There was genuine warmth in Estmere's smile as he returned Adland's greeting. "You were ever a friend of my father. And it's good to see you again, indeed."
Adland hesitated. "The message I received was so very mysterious."
"For security reasons."
"Of course. But might I ask why you've come? Was it for pleasure, or have you some business with me?"
"Both," I said, and the two kings turned as one to me. Suddenly feeling as awkward as a child performing in front of strangers, I continued as calmly as I could, though I wasn't very comfortable with the stiff words of protocol, "King Adland, you have a fair young daughter, the Princess Rosamonde. King Estmere fain would meet with her and, if they are both willing, would court her."
Adland was staring at me. "I didn't know you had a brother, Estmere."
"Half-brother," I told him, giving a polite little bow. "Aidan ap Nia, at your service."
"And at yours," he replied politely. But then what I had said about his daughter registered, and he turned to Estmere in dismay, self-control slipping an uneasy bit. "I'm afraid you're here in vain. Yesterday two weeks King Bremor of Telesse was here to ask for my Rosamonde's hand. She said him nay, and for all I know, she'll say nay to—"
"Bremor is a foul suitor!" The words shot out before I could stop them. I was aware of Estmere staring at me, no doubt wondering at the force of my hatred, but it was too late now not to continue, "And I blame the princess not at all for refusing him."
"But grant me this, I pray," Estmere cut in smoothly. "King Adland, grant me but a sight of your fair daughter."
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