"I really don't understand why you're doing this," Elspeth said one day, about a week from the date of the ceremony. "After all, I'm the one who's the better fighter." She had been watching from a vantage point well out of the way, sitting cross-legged on one of the benches in the salle, against the wall. Talia was absolutely sodden with sweat, and bruised in more places than she cared to think about—and for a wonder, Alberich wasn't in any better condition than she.
Alberich motioned to Talia that she could rest, and she sagged to the floor where she stood. "Appearances," he said, "partially. I do not wish that any save the Heralds should know how skilled you truly are. That could be the saving of your life, one day. Also it is tradition that crowned heads do not defend themselves; that is the duty of others."
"Unless there's no other choice?"
Alberich nodded.
Elspeth sighed. "I'm beginning to wish I wasn't Heir, now. It doesn't look like I'm going to be allowed to have any fun!"
"Catling," Talia panted, "If this is your idea of fun—you're welcome to it!"
Elspeth and Alberich exchanged rueful glances that said as plainly as words, she'll never understand, and made shrugs so nearly identical that Talia was hard put to keep from laughing.
Finally the day arrived for the long awaited—and dreaded—rite of Elspeth's formal investiture as Heir. The fealty ceremony was scheduled for the evening with a revel to follow. Talia, as usual, was running late.
She dashed from her last drilling session with Kyril to the bathing-room, then up to her tower suite, taking the steps two at a time. She thanked the gods when she got there that one of the servants had had the foresight to lay out her gown and all its accoutrements, else she'd have been later still.
She donned the magnificent silk and velvet creation with trepidation. She'd never worn High Court ceremonials in her life, though she'd helped Elspeth into her own often enough.
She faced the mirror, balancing on one foot while she tied the ribbons to the matching slippers around the ankle of the other.
"Oh, bloody hell," she sighed. She knew what a courtier ought to look like—and she didn't. "Well, it's going to have to do. I just wish ..."
"You wish what?"
Jeri and Keren rapped on the side of the tower door and poked their heads around the edge of it. Talia groaned; Jeri looked the way she wished she looked, gowned and coiffed exquisitely, every chestnut hair neatly twisted into a High Court confection and precisely in place.
"I wish I could look like you—stunning, instead of stunned."
Jeri laughed; to look at her, no one would ever guess this lady was nearly the equal of Alberich in neatly dissecting an opponent with any weapon at hand. "It's all practice, love. Want some help?" Her green eyes sparkled. "I've been doing this sort of nonsense since I was old enough to walk, and mama usually commandeered all the servants in the house to attend her preparations, so I had to learn how to do it myself."
"If you can make me look less like a plowboy, I will love you forever!"
"I think," Jeri replied merrily, "that we can manage at least that much."
For the next half hour Talia sat on her bed in nervous anticipation as arcane things happened to her hair and face while Jeri and Keren exchanged mysterious comments. Finally Jeri handed her a mirror.
"Is that me?" Talia asked in amazement, staring at the worldly sophisticate in the mirror frame. She could scarcely find a trace of Jeri's handiwork, yet somehow she had added experience and a certain dignity without adding years or subtracting freshness. Replacing her usual disordered tumble of curls was a fashionable creation threaded through with a silver ribbon.
"Do I dare move? Is it all going to come apart?"
"Havens, no!" Jeri laughed, "That's what the ribbon's for, love. It isn't likely to happen this time, praise the Lord, but you know very well what your duty is in an emergency. The Queen's Own is supposed to be able to defend her monarch at swordpoint, then calmly clean her blade on the loser's tunic and go right back to whatever ceremony was taking place. That's why your dress is ankle-length instead of floor-length, has no train, and the sleeves detach with one pull—yes, they do, trust me! I ought to know; I supervised the making of it. It's been a long time since we've had a female Monarch's Own, and nobody knew exactly how to modify High Court gear to suit. At any rate, you could work out now with Alberich without one lock coming loose or losing any part of the costume you didn't want to lose. But don't rub your eyes, or you'll look like you've been beaten." She gathered her things. "We'd better be moving if we don't want to get caught in the mob."
"And you'd better take care of the important part of your costume, childing," Keren warned as they started down the stairs.
Talia had not needed the reminder. The rest of her accessories were already laid out and waiting. A long dagger in a sheath strapped around her waist and along her right thigh that she could reach—as she carefully determined—through a slit in her dress was the first weapon she donned. Then came paired throwing knives in quick-release sheaths for both arms—gifts from Skif, which he had shown her how to use long ago. Even Alberich admitted that Skif had no peer when it came to his chosen weapons. Lastly, were two delicate stilettos furnished with winking, jeweled ornaments that she inserted carefully into Jeri's handiwork.
No Herald was ever without a weapon, especially not the Queen's Own, as Keren had reminded her. The life of more than one Monarch had been saved by just such precautions.
Just as Talia was about to depart, there was a knock at her door. She opened it to find Dean Elcarth standing on her threshold. Towering over him, fair and raven heads side by side, lit by the lantern that cast its light beside her door and looking like living representatives of Day and Night, were Dirk and Kris. Talia had not heard that either of them had returned from the field, and surprise stilled her voice as she stared at the unexpected visitors.
"Neither of these gallants seems to have a lady," the Dean said with mischief in his eyes. "And since you have no escort, I thought of you immediately,"
"How thoughtful," Talia said dryly, Finally regaining the use of her wits, and knowing there was more to it than that. "I don't suppose you had any other motives, did you?"
"Well, since you are interning under Kris, I thought you might like to get acquainted under calmer circumstances than the last time you met."
So Kris was to be her counselor, Sheri had been right.
"Calmer?" Talia squeaked. "You call this calmer?"
"Relatively speaking."
"Elcarth!" Dirk exclaimed impatiently. "Herald Talia, he's teasing you. He asked us to help you because we know most of the people here on sight, so we can prompt you if you get lost."
"We also know who the possible troublemakers are—not that we expect any problems," Kris continued, a smile warming his sky-blue eyes. "But there's less likely to be any trouble with two great hulking brutes like us standing behind the Queen."
"Oh, bless you!" Talia exclaimed with relief. "I've been worried half to death that I'll say something wrong or announce the wrong person and mortally offend someone." She carefully avoided mentioning assassination attempts, though she knew all four of them were thinking about how useful the pair would be in that event.
Kris smiled broadly, and Dirk executed a courtly bow that was saved from absurdity by the twinkle in his eyes as he glanced up at her.
"We are your servants, O fairest of Heralds," he intoned, sounding a great deal like an over-acting player in some truly awful romantic drama.
"Oh, don't be ridiculous." Talia flushed, feeling oddly flattered and yet uncomfortable, "You know very well that Nessa and Sheri make me look like a squirrel, and the last time you saw me, I was passing out at your feet like a silly child and probably looked like leftover porridge. Among friends my name is Talia. Just Talia."
The Dean pivoted and trotted down the staircases, seemingly very pleased with himself. Kris chuckled and Dirk grinned; both of them offered her their arms. She accepted both, feeling dwarfed betwee
n the two of them. There was barely enough room for all three of them on the stairs.
"Well, you devil, you've done it again," Dirk said to his partner over her head, blinking as they emerged from the half-dark of the staircase into the light of the hall. "I get a scrawny ex-thief with an appetite like a horse for my internee, and look what you get! It's just not fair." He looked down at her from his lofty six-and-a-half feet, and said mournfully to her, "I suppose now that you've gotten a good look at my partner's justifiably famous face, the rest of us don't stand a chance with you."
"I wouldn't go making any bets if I were you," she replied with a hint of an edge to her voice, "I have seen him before, you know, and you don't see me falling at his feet worshiping now, do you? My father and brothers were just as handsome. No insult meant to you, Kris, but I've had ample cause to mistrust handsome men. I'd rather you were cross-eyed, or had warts, or something. I'd feel a great deal more comfortable around you if you were a little less than perfect."
Dirk howled with laughter at the nonplussed expression on his friend's face. "That's a new one for you, my old and rare! Rejected by a woman! How's it feel to be in my shoes?"
"Odd," Kris replied with good humor, "distinctly odd. I must say though, I'm rather relieved. I was afraid Elcarth's mind was going, assigning me a female internee. I've only seen you once or twice, remember, and we weren't exchanging much personal information at the time! I thought you might be like Nessa. Around her I start to feel like a hunted stag!" He suddenly looked sheepish. "I have the feeling I may have put my foot in it; I hope you don't mind my being frank."
"Not at all. It's my besetting sin, too."
"Well, you seem unexpectedly sensible. I think we'll do all right together."
"Provided that I haven't taken a dislike to you," Talia was just a little nettled at his easy assumption that she would fall swift prey to his admittedly charming manner. "Haven't you ever been told not to count your eggs till the hens lay them?"
From the look on Kris' face, that possibility hadn't occurred to him, and he was rather at a loss to deal with it. Dirk didn't help matters by becoming hysterical.
"She's got you there, old boy!" he choked. "Stars be praised, I've lived to see the day when it's you that gets put in his place, and not me!
"On, Bright Havens, don't worry about it," Talia said, taking pity on him. "We're both Heralds, for pity's sake! We'll manage to get along. It's just for a year and a half. After all, it's not as if somebody were forcing me to marry you!"
Kris' expression was indescribable when Talia spoke of being 'forced" to marry him as if it were something distasteful.
"I m fairly sure you didn't insult me, but that certainly didn't sound like a compliment!" he complained forlornly. "I'm beginning to think I prefer Nessa's attitude after all!"
By now they'd had to stop in the middle of the hall, as Dirk was doubled over and tears were streaming down his face. Both of them had to pound on his back in order to help him catch his breath again.
"Holy—Astera—" he gasped. "This is something I never expected to see. Or hear! Whew!" He somehow managed to look both contrite and satisfied at the same time. "Forgive me, partner. It's just that seeing you as the rejected one for a change—you should have seen your own face!—you looked like you'd swallowed a live toad!"
"Which means that nothing worse can happen to him for the rest of the week. Now look, none of this is getting us to the ceremony," Talia pointed out, "and we're already running late."
"She's right again," Dirk said, taking her arm.
"What do you mean, 'again?" Kris asked suspiciously, as they hurried to the Great Hall.
Fortunately, their arrival at the door of the Great Hall prevented his having to answer that question.
Dirk had been having a little trouble sorting out some very odd feelings from the moment that Talia had answered her door. The last time he'd seen the Queen's Own, she'd fainted from total exhaustion practically at his feet, after having undergone a considerable mental and emotional ordeal. He had learned afterward that she had experienced at firsthand the murder of the Herald-Courier Visa, and saved Visa's lifemate Keren from death-willing herself in shock. Then, without a pause for rest, she had mentally guided him and his partner to the spot where Visa had been slain. This slight, fragile-seeming woman-child had aroused all of his protective instincts as well as his admiration for her raw courage. He'd carried her up to her room himself, and made certain she was safely tucked into her bed; then left medicinal tea ready for her to brew to counteract the inevitable reaction-headache she'd have when she woke. He'd known at the time she'd exhausted all her resources—when he heard the whole story later in the day he'd been flabbergasted at her courage and endurance.
And she was so very frail-looking; it was easy to feel protective about her, even though her actions gave lie to that frail appearance. At least, he'd thought at the time that it was only his protective instincts that she aroused. But the sight of her this time had seemed to stir something a bit more complicated than that—something he wasn't entirely sure he'd wanted to acknowledge. So he defused the situation as best he could, by clowning with Kris. But even while he was bent double with laughter, there was a vague disquiet in the back of his mind, as though his subconscious was trying to warn him that he wasn't going to be able to delay acknowledgment for long.
Talia was refusing to allow her nerves to show, but they were certainly affecting her despite her best efforts. She was rather guiltily hoping Kris had realized that she had been taking some of that nervousness out on him.
The Great Hall, tables cleared away, and benches placed along the walls, with every candle and lantern lit, gleamed like a box made of gold. The courtiers and notables were dressed in their finest array, jewels and silver and gold ornaments catching the light and throwing it back so that the assemblage sparkled like the contents of a highborn dame's jewelbox. Prominent among the gilded nobles were the bright scarlet of Bards, the emerald green of Healers, the bright blue of the uniforms of high-ranking officers of the Guard and Army, and the brilliant white of Heralds. Each of those to be presented wore over his or her finery the stiff tabard, heavy with embroidery, that marked a family or Guild association. The men and women of the Guards standing duty in their sober midnight-blue and silver ringed the walls, a dark frame for the rest.
The Queen's Own and her escorts assumed their places behind the thrones, Talia in her place behind and to Selenay's right, Kris and Dirk behind and to either side of her. Talia had a feeling that the three of them made a very impressive and reassuring sight to those who had come here fearing to see weakness.
But there was uneasiness, too—the uneasiness she had been sensing for the past three weeks, magnified. And she could not, for the life of her, fathom the reason.
The ceremony began; Talia determined to ignore what she could not change, and did her best to appear somehow both harmless and competent. She wasn't sure just how successful she was, but some of the background of general nervousness did seem to decrease after a while.
She tried to will some confidence into the young Heir, who was beginning to wilt under the strain. She tried to catch her eyes and give her a reassuring smile, but Elspeth's expression was tight and nervous, and her eyes were beginning to glaze.
For Elspeth was not faring as well as Talia. The ceremony demanded that she respond to each of her new liegemen with some sort of personalized speech, and about halfway through she began running out of things to say.
Kris was the first, with his musician's ear for cadence, to notice her stumbling and hesitating over her speeches. As the next worthy was being brought before her, he whispered, "His son's just presented him with his first grandchild."
Elspeth cast him a look of undying gratitude as she moved to receive this oath. As the gouty lord rose with difficulty from his knees, she congratulated him on the blessed event. The gentleman's expression as he was escorted away was compounded of equal parts of startlement and pleasure, for he'd
no notion that anyone knew other than the immediate members of his family.
Elspeth decided at that moment that Kris was fully qualified for elevation to sainthood, and beamed quickly at both of the Heralds before the next notable arrived.
Dirk caught on immediately and supplied the information for the next. Kris countered with intelligence for the following two. Elspeth began to sparkle under the gratified looks of the courtiers, reviving as quickly as she'd wilted; and Kris and Dirk began to keep score in the impromptu contest. The Queen seemed to find it all she could do to keep a straight face.
Finally, the last dignitary made his oath, and all three Heralds took their places with the Circle to swear their oaths en masse. The Healer's and Bardic Circles followed them, then the various clerics and priests made vows on behalf of their orders and devotees.
And the long ceremony was at last complete— without a mishap.
The Queen's party retired from the dais, leaving it to instrumentalists of the Bardic Circle, who immediately struck up a dance melody.
Talia joined Elspeth in the window-alcove furnished with velvet-padded benches that was reserved for the Queen's entourage. "What were you three up to?" she asked curiously. "I was too far away to hear any of it, but you certainly seemed to be having a good time!"
"These two Heralds that came as your escort—they were wonderful!" Elspeth bubbled. "I ran out of things to say, and they told me exactly what I needed to know. Not big things, but what was most important to them right now—the lords and so forth, I mean. Then they started making a contest out of it, and that was what was so funny, them arguing back and forth about how much something was 'worth' in points. Mother could hardly keep from laughing."
"I can imagine," Talia grinned, "Who won?"
"I did," Kris said from behind her.
"You wouldn't have if I'd thought of the sheep first," Dirk retorted.
"Sheep?" Talia said inquisitively. "Sheep? Do I want to know about this?"
Dirk snickered, and Kris glared at him.
"It's perfectly harmless," Kris answered, with just a hint of irritation. "When Lady Fiona's husband died, she and Guildmistress Arawell started a joint project to boost the fortunes of her family and Arawell’s branch of the Weaver's Guild. They imported some sheep with an especially soft and fine fleece much like lambswool from outKingdom—quite far south. They've finally succeeded in adapting them to our harsher winters; the spring lambing more than doubled their flock, and it seems that everyone is going to want stock or fabric of the wool."
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