“Would Your Highness make a choice of practice weapons?” the Guardsman asked.
But the Prince waved them off. “Live steel is the choice of men,” he said, with a touch of arrogance that made the Guardsman flush.
:Stupid. Overconfident,: Kantor said acidly.
:Testing me,: Alberich countered, as he took up his own sword from where it was lying with the Guardsmen’s. :And he knows that there is no way that I would dare harm him. He has me at the advantage, he thinks.:
The question was whether that advantage was real or only in the Prince’s mind. There was muscle under that silk, but somehow Alberich doubted whether the Prince had ever had a Weaponsmaster who really tested the Prince to the limits of his ability. There was too much sly arrogance there.
Nevertheless, Alberich was not at all certain that he wanted to show the Prince which of them was the superior fighter. The Prince was the enemy here, but he was an enemy who had not yet truly shown his hand. He knew far more about the Prince, he would warrant, than the Prince knew about him. So there was a distinct advantage in leaving the Prince with the impression that his expertise was less than it actually was.
All that flashed through his mind in a few moments, as he made sure that his weapons were in good condition and his own muscles thoroughly warmed up.
Then they faced off, and the combat began.
It was no real challenge; Alberich was not only able to react automatically to the Prince’s blows and feints, his mind was free to think about what he was doing, despite the fact that they were using live steel weapons.
The Prince’s style of fighting was a curious combination of aggression and stealth that told Alberich far more about the Prince’s personality than the Prince would ever guess. He did not—quite—engage in the underhanded moves of the street-fighting bravos that Alberich had encountered in his own nighttime prowlings, but the things that he did left Alberich with no doubt that he was perfectly well acquainted with such tactics. And while Alberich himself made no bones about teaching his Trainees those moves, he doubted that the Prince had any notion of this. So he pretended that he had not noticed those little suggestions of a feint, and proceeded exactly as if he was fighting in the “classical” style. And he thought that he saw the Prince’s lips tighten in a self-satisfied little smile when Alberich failed to respond to those feints.
So much for the testing; having established the perceived limits of Alberich’s expertise, the Prince abruptly switched tactics, and went for a very aggressive, straight-on attack. Alberich kept up a purely defensive strategy, and did not respond to any of the openings that the Prince gave him. This was surely puzzling Kimel and the other Guards, but Alberich wasn’t working for their benefit, only for this audience of one. The impression he wanted to leave the Prince with was that Selenay’s Weaponsmaster was skilled, competent, strong, but limited in his vision—and thus, in what he was teaching the Trainees.
I’ll have to have someone watch the boy when he practices, he realized. There was a lot he could guess from what the Prince had done so far, but if it ever truly came to a fight between the two of them, he wanted to be sure of what the Prince could and could not do.
Gradually, the Prince’s style began to drift, and for a moment, there was a nagging sort of familiarity to it that Alberich could not pin down. It was flamboyant, definitely overconfident, and grew more so as time went on.
Then, as the young man committed to a traveling lunge with a shout, a lunge that would have gotten him into a world of difficulty if he had not had lightning reflexes and stupendous athletic ability, Alberich realized where he had seen this style, and knew who had been teaching him.
Norris.
Should I let him beat me? he wondered, then.
:I wouldn’t,: Kantor cautioned. :He might guess that you did. And besides, you want him wary of you, yet sure he can beat you if he really puts his mind to it. Wait until he gets a little careless, and take advantage in such a way that it can be a draw—there!:
But Alberich had already spotted the momentary distraction, and drove in, so that the two of them ended up body-to-body with their blades hopelessly entangled. A draw.
And the Prince withdrew with a salute that was not—quite—mocking.
“An excellent bout, Weaponsmaster!” he said jovially, removing the practice helm and tossing it carelessly to Kimel, who caught it unthinkingly. “Thank you!”
Alberich gave him a grave bow without speaking, and as the Prince and his chattering entourage sauntered back up the path to the Palace, he disarmed and turned his attention back to his Guardsmen.
Kimel gave him a questioning look, but said nothing. The others took their lead from him. Alberich nodded.
“Sometimes,” he said quietly, “it is as well, not to reveal all.”
Kimel grunted and nodded. “I wondered,” he said and left it at that.
But Alberich was not quite done. “I would be grateful, should anyone an eye to that man keep, should he be found in weapons’ practice.”
Kimel nodded again, and this time, so did the other Guardsmen. “We’ll see to it, Weaponsmaster,” he said, and Alberich clapped him on the shoulder with a feeling of satisfaction. The undercurrents of that simple conversation had said more than the words themselves. Kimel and the others had seen the hints of underhandedness and had not liked what they’d seen. And perhaps they had already observed some things in the Prince that made them uneasy. For the first time, Alberich had some coconspirators who were not among the Heralds (or in Crathach’s case, the Healers).
And that would be very useful indeed.
Nevertheless, this was hardly something that needed to be pursued immediately; it was unlikely, having had this round of exercise, that the Prince would choose to go find another sparring partner and continue the practice. That was not how Alberich was reading his nature. He would bask in the admiration of his friends and sycophants, none of whom had or ever could have taken Alberich to a draw, and after he tired of the admiration, he would probably either find another subject or move into a dissection of the bout. But he would not, now that he was warmed up, follow it up with more practice. Nor would he make much of an effort to find out what his cronies knew about Alberich.
So the immediate need was to continue the practice that had been interrupted, perhaps now with an eye to drilling in the counters to those abortive moves that the Prince had displayed.
“So, Rusken,” Alberich said, picking up a wooden blade and gesturing to the Guardsman, “your turn it is, I believe?”
***
Dutifully, though her heart was not in it, Selenay forced herself to concentrate on the dull details of the Council meeting when what she really wanted to do was to lapse into a daydream. She felt like a cat full of cream; she wanted to smile and purr and generally make a spectacle of her contentedness. And of course, she could do nothing of the sort. She had to look grave and attentive, and pay attention to her Council debating over the details of the trade agreements with Rethwellan that were a consequence of her marriage, when she didn’t want to think about trade at all, she wanted to think about tonight, and what would happen when she and Karath were alone at last.
No wonder that people would do and say nearly anything for love!
She had known that it would not be pleasurable at first; she’d had plenty of instruction from a sympathetic Healer named Anelie during the weeks before the actual wedding. But the “at first” had not been long—
Ruthlessly she dragged her attention back to the meeting, in time to nod gravely as the Councilors finally agreed on a trade package, then went on to the relatively simple matter of signing off on the grants of property that Karath had asked her to settle on his friends. It was a small enough thing. There were properties along the southern Border whose owners were no longer among the living, thanks to the Tedrel Wars, and here were landless second sons out of Rethwellan, who were eager to take responsibility for them. The Councilors had no great objections, and the papers
were quickly written up.
So ended yet another tiny problem—with the income from these properties, those landless second sons would now be able to support themselves in Haven at least half of the year. Karath would have friends here, something that had worried her—though he did seem to be getting along very well with some of her own young courtiers.
That was, in fact, where he was now; out hawking with some of the young men of the Court. He had also said something about wanting to test the mettle of her famed Weaponsmaster; she hoped that Alberich would go easy on him.
The Council meeting went on for what seemed to be an interminably long time. Yet she had to admit that there was a great deal of business to take care of, as much had been set aside in the rush attending on the hasty wedding and the week she had stolen for herself thereafter. But it was concluded at last, when it appeared that if it was not concluded, the Councilors would be forced to do without their dinner.
And as this was not an emergency, sending the pages out for cold viands and drink and continuing the business—even if Selenay herself had been prepared to put up with it—was not to be thought of. The Councilors like their comforts, too, and were not prepared to do without them, having been forced to do so for the last months of the Tedrel Wars.
She took her leave of her Councilors, and all but flew to her quarters and the hands of her maids; as she changed her clothing and submitted to their attentions, she heard, with an internal thrill, the sounds of laughter as Karath approached the door. He and his friends must have had a grand day while she had been working. And after all, why not? He was not co-Ruler and could not be unless he was Chosen, which was looking less and less likely as time passed, so why shouldn’t he be spending his time in sport? In fact, by socializing with the courtiers, he would be taking the burden from her of doing the same.
“Ho, Selenay!” he cried, bursting through the door, waving some of his friends, who laughingly tried to follow, back into the hall. “I have met your Weaponsmaster, and tried his blade!”
She leaped up from her seat, as the maid who had been fixing her hair waved her hands in fruitless protest. He enfolded her in his arms and kissed her; her lips parted beneath his and his tongue teased hers as she tasted the salt on his mouth.
She felt herself melting, as always; it was he who pulled away first. “And what came of that, my Prince?” she asked breathlessly.
“Oh,” Karath said carelessly, “I think, had I exerted myself, I could have taken him. But he is a fine swordsman, conservative, but fine. I am sure he is a good Weaponsmaster.”
Selenay almost said something then, for that certainly did not sound like Alberich—Alberich, conservative?—but then she thought better of it. Alberich was certainly doing her a favor, letting Karath think himself the finer fighter, and where was the harm in that? In fact, now that she came to think of it, she felt a surge of warmth toward dour Alberich, that he would compromise his own reputation in order to make Karath feel the superior.
So she resolved not to say anything about it, she simply smiled and said, “I doubt it not,” and let him lead her in to dinner.
The contest turned out to be something of a topic of conversation among Karath and his friends, with a great deal of gesturing and boasting. She discovered, with a flush of pride, that Karath was very much considered to be the superior swordsman among his cronies, and she thought, given the apparent sincerity of their talk, that this was not just flattery. That he had fought Alberich to a deadlock was considered to be amazing by those of his friends who were Valdemaran, and their admiration was considerable. Karath warmed under their regard, and expanded on the theme, describing other bouts he was particularly proud of. She smiled and paid little attention to the chatter, which sounded to her ears very like that of the younger Trainees when they first began to gain some success in arms, and concentrated instead on merely watching him. He was hardly insensible of her regard, and looked as if it gave him a great deal of pleasure.
Bless him—let him preen and strut a little! He had never been forced to use that sword of his, and if she had her way, he never would. It was all still a game to him, and not the deadly business that she knew it was; she took great pleasure in that.
From dinner, the Court went out into the gardens, where there was music and some simple dancing. He remained assiduously at her side, showing by means of a smile or a casual, whispered remark that he was as eager to withdraw as she was. But of course, this sort of thing was as much of a duty as the Council sessions, and she carefully exchanged pleasantries and conversation with, not only the Rethwellan Ambassador, but all the other notables present.
It did give her a great deal of pleasure, however, to be able to tell Karath’s friends over the course of the evening, that they were to receive official word of their grants from the Council on the morrow. She loved the way that Karath smiled and accepted their effusive thanks graciously.
Finally, it seemed that to her that they had distributed their attention enough for one evening, and when she whispered to Karath, “My lord, shall we withdraw?” he smiled knowingly and nodded.
It was not the custom in Valdemar, much to her relief, for the Monarch to leave a social gathering with any fanfare. So they simply drifted off under the ever-watchful eyes of her Guards, and took the private entrance back into the Royal Suite.
Once there, her maids descended on her like a swarm of ants, while he sauntered off to his dressing room to the like attentions of his servants. The days were long gone when she could dress and undress herself; being Queen apparently meant wearing gowns that it was impossible to get into or out of without help. But once her maids had taken down her hair and gotten her stripped down to her shift, she dismissed them all, slipped into a silken bed gown, and with a shiver of anticipation, got into bed to await Karath.
He was not long in coming. With a knowing grin when he saw her waiting for him, he extinguished the last candle, and she felt the mattress take his weight in the sudden darkness.
In the next moment, he had slipped the gown from her shoulders, and his lips were on hers, insistently; his tongue probing at her mouth. Her lips opened immediately as she felt her skin flush, and for a moment, his hands cupped the sides of her face as his tongue teased hers.
But then his hands were moving lower, caressingly, clever fingers making her skin tingle, and when his hands reached her breasts, she gasped at the sensations he awoke in her body, and with that now-familiar feeling of melting, lay back into the softness of the mattress.
As one hand slipped still lower, his mouth took over where his hands had been, evoking still more intoxicating thrills of pleasure, and she moaned softly under his caresses. By this time, she was nearly mindless, all of her attention bound up in the sensations that he was creating in her body, feeling herself on fire with pleasure and desire and an urgency driving her towards that peak she now not only knew existed, but which had become so very necessary to her life.
So that, when he finally took her, she was all animal, crying out as she raced toward the goal, nothing else mattering in all the world but their bodies moving together to that moment when she exploded in pleasure, convulsed and paralyzed at the same time, a cry escaping from her that she could not have stopped and didn’t want to.
And before she had fallen from that pinnacle of sensation, he had come to his own shuddering climax, so that they fell together, tangled in sweat-gleaming limbs, into dreamy, euphoric lassitude, and then, when he had pulled the covers over them both, sleep.
18
Karath was eating and talking at the same time, and it always amazed Selenay that he managed to eat as much as he did and still look trim and fit. At the moment, he was eating his way through the plate of breakfast pastries like a fire going through dry timber. Selenay was just as happy to let him have all of them to himself; a little dry toast and some tea was all that she could bear to stomach at the moment, and her stomach was not altogether pleased about that. And alas, this was no mere illness, which
she could expect to recover from in a day or so. Oh, no.
She had, somewhat to her dismay, discovered that eternal truth that most women learn, soon or late. The pleasures of the bedroom, undertaken without precautions, end in babies. Three days of discovering that she could not rise in the morning without recourse to a basin had told her that much.
Of course, in her case, the pleasures of the bedroom were supposed to end in babies, and in fact, were required to end in babies. As many as possible, in fact—but at least the typical “heir and a spare,” so that there were two chances of being Chosen. That was, after all, what her Council had been nattering about for months—why they’d wanted so desperately to find her a husband in the first place. When she let them know—well, they’d be thrilled. At least, right up until the moment that it occurred to them that there was some risk in childbearing. Not that she was worried; she was in the best of health and positively surrounded by Healers. She’d been in a lot more danger of injury watching a Hurlee game.
I just didn’t think it would happen so quickly, she thought mournfully, and told her stomach sternly to behave itself while Karath went on with his meal and his one-sided conversation, utterly oblivious to her discomfort. Of course, the Healers would have things that could help in this case—but that would mean going to the Healers, and then they would know she was pregnant, and then everyone would know she was pregnant, and that would open up an entirely new set of things for the Council to natter at her about—
Yet another worry. Why was it that she always seemed to add concerns, and never seemed to actually get rid of any?
Karath’s chattering, usually about things that interested her only vaguely, like hawking and the recent exploits of his friends, tended to pass through her head at the best of times like an express coach, without stopping to unload any information. This morning, as preoccupied as she was with keeping her scant breakfast down, she almost missed what he was saying entirely. Except that one word caught her distracted attention, forcing her to bring her mind back to the breakfast table, and she blinked and finally looked at him.
Valdemar Books Page 408
