Valdemar Books

by Lackey, Mercedes

  “Well, I’m into it at last,” she said, half to herself. “I thought I’d never make it, sometimes ....”

  This had been the first day she had truly been Queen’s Own—with all the duties and all the rights; from the right to overrule the Council to the right to overrule Selenay (though that was one she hadn’t exercised, and still wasn’t sure she had the nerve for!); from her duty to ease the fears of her fellows in the Circle to the duty to see to the Heir’s well-being.

  It was a frightening moment in a way, and a sobering one. On reflection, it almost seemed as if the Queen’s Own best served the interests of Queen and country by not being too forward; by saving her votes for the truly critical issues and keeping her influence mostly to the quiet word in the Queen’s ear. That suited Talia; she hadn’t much enjoyed having all eyes on her this afternoon—especially not Orthallen’s. But Selenay had been more at ease just because Talia was there; there had been no mistaking that. In the long run, that was what the job was all about—giving the Monarch one completely honest and completely trustworthy friend ....

  The dying sun splashed scarlet and gold on the bottoms of the few clouds that hung in the west, while the sky above them deepened from blue to purple, and the Hounds, the two stars that chased the sun, shone in unwinking splendor. The tops of the clouds took on the purple of the sky as the sun dropped below the horizon, and the purple tinge soaked through them like water being taken into a sponge. The light faded, and everything began to lose color, fading into cool blues. Little frogs began to sing in the pool at Talia’s feet; night-blooming jacinth flowers opened somewhere near her, and the cooling breeze picked up the perfume and carried it to her.

  And just when she was feeling totally disinclined to move, a mosquito bit her.

  “Ouch! Damn!” She slapped at the offending insect, then laughed. “The gods remind me of my duty. Back to work for me, love. Enjoy your evening.”

  Three

  As if that tiny insect bite had been an omen, things began to go wrong, starting with the weather.

  The perfect spring turned sour; it seemed to rain every day without a letup, and the rain was cold and steadily dismal. The sun, when Talia actually saw it, gave a chill, washed-out light. Miserable, that was what it was; miserable and depressing. The few flowers that managed to bloom seemed dispirited, and hung limply on their stems. The damp crept into everything, and fires on the hearths all day and all night did little to drive it out. The whole Kingdom was affected; there were new tales reaching the Court every day of flooding, sometimes in areas that hadn’t flooded in a hundred years or more.

  This was bound to have an effect on the Councillors. They worked like heroes at all hours to cope with emergencies, but the grim atmosphere made them quarrelsome and inclined to snipe at each other at the least opportunity. Every Council session meant at least one major fight and two ruffled tempers to be soothed. The names they called each other would have been ample cause for dueling anywhere else.

  At least they treated Talia with that same lack of respect—she came in for her share of sniping, and that was a positive sign, that she had been accepted as one of them, and their equal.

  The sniping-among-equals was something she could cope with, though it was increasingly difficult to keep her temper when everyone around her was losing theirs. Far harder to deal with in any rational way were Orthallen’s subtle attempts at undercutting her authority. Clever, those attempts were; frighteningly clever. He never said anything that anyone could directly construe as criticism; no, what he did was hint—oh, so politely, and at every possible opportunity—that perhaps she was a bit young and inexperienced for her post. That she might be going overboard because of the tendency of youth to see things always in black and white. That she surely meant well, but ... and so on. It made Talia want to scream and bite something. There was no way to counteract him except to be even more reasonable and mild-tempered than he. She felt as if she were standing on sand, and he was the flood tide washing it out from under her.

  Things were not going all that well between herself and Kris either.

  “Goddess, Talia,” Kris groaned, slumping back into his chair. “He’s just doing what he sees as his duty!”

  Talia counted to ten, slowly, counted the Library bookshelves, then counted the rings of the knothole in the table in front of her. “He was claiming I was overreacting at the same time that Lady Kester was calling Hyron a pompous peabrain at the top of her lungs!”

  “Well—”

  “Kris, he’s said the same damn things every Council session and at least three times during each session! Every time it looks as if the other Councillors are beginning to listen to what I’m saying, he trots out the same speech!” She shoved her chair away from the table, and began pacing restlessly, up and down the length of the vacant Library. This had been a particularly bad session, and the muscles of her neck felt as tight as bridge cables.

  “I just can’t see anything at all sinister in my uncle’s behavior—”

  “Dammit, Kris—”

  “Talia he’s old, he’s set in his ways—you’re frighteningly young to him, and likely to usurp his position! Have some pity on the man, he’s only human!”

  “So what am I?” She struggled not to shout, but the argument was giving her a headache. “I’m supposed to like what he’s doing?”

  “He’s not doing anything!” Kris scowled, as if he had a headache, too. “Frankly, I think you’re hearing insult and seeing peril that isn’t there.”

  Talia turned abruptly, and stared at him, tight-lipped, fists clenched. “In that case,” she replied, after a dozen slow, careful breaths of dust-laden air, “maybe I should take my irrational fantasies elsewhere.”

  “But—”

  She turned again and all but ran down the staircase. He called something after her, in a distressed voice. She ignored it, and ran on.

  So now they didn’t talk about much of anything anymore. And Talia missed that; missed the closeness they used to have, the way they used to be able to confide their deepest secrets to each other. Truth to be told, she missed that more than the physical side of their relationship—though now that she was no longer used to being celibate she missed that, too ....

  Then there was her relationship—or more accurately, lack of one—with Dirk.

  His behavior was baffling in the extreme; one moment he would seem determined to get her alone somewhere, the next, he shied away from even being in the same room. He would be lurking in the background everywhere she went for a day or two, then just as abruptly would vanish, only to reappear in a few days. Half the time he seemed determined to throw Kris at her, the other half, equally determined to block Kris from getting anywhere near her—

  Talia saw her elusive quarry leaning on the fence surrounding Companion’s Field. He was staring, broodingly, off into the far distance. For a wonder, it wasn’t raining, although the sky was a dead, dull gray and threatening to pour any moment.

  “Dirk?”

  He jumped, whipped about, and stared at her with wide, startled eyes.

  “W-what are you doing here?” he asked, somewhat ungraciously, his back pressed hard against the fence as if that barrier was all that was keeping him from running away.

  “The same as you, probably,” Talia replied, forcing herself not to snap at him. “Looking for my Companion, and maybe somebody to ride with.”

  “In that case, shouldn’t you be looking for Kris?” he asked, his expression twisted as if he’d swallowed something very unpleasant.

  She couldn’t think of a reply, and chose not to answer him. Instead she moved to the fence herself, and stood with one booted foot on the first railing and her arms folded along the top, mimicking the pose he had held when she saw him.

  “Talia—” He took one step toward her—she heard his boot squelch in the wet grass—then stopped. “I—Kris is—a very valuable friend. More than friend. I—”

  She waited for him to say what was on his mind, hopin
g that this time he’d finish it. Maybe if she didn’t look at him, he’d be able to speak his piece.

  “Yes?” she prompted when the silence went on so long she’d almost suspected him of sneaking away. She turned to catch his blue, blue eyes staring almost helplessly at her before he hastily averted them.

  “I—I’ve got to go—” he gasped, and fled.

  She was ready to scream with frustration. This was the fourth time he’d pulled this little trick, starting to say something, then running away. And with things somewhat at odds between herself and Kris, she really didn’t feel as if she wanted to ask Kris to help. Besides, she hadn’t seen Kris much since their last little set-to.

  With an exasperated sigh she Mindcalled Rolan. They both needed exercise—and he, at least, would be a sympathetic listener.

  Kris was avoiding Talia on purpose.

  When he’d first returned, his uncle had taken tune out to give him familial greetings; that was only to be expected. But Orthallen lately seemed to be going out of his way to speak to his nephew two or three times a week, and the conversation somehow always turned to Talia.

  Not by accident, either. Kris was mortally sure of that. Nor were they pleasant conversations, though they seemed to be on the surface. Kris was beginning to get an impression that Orthallen was looking for something—weaknesses in the Queen’s Own, perhaps. Certainly, whenever he happened to say something complimentary about Talia, his uncle would always insinuate a “Yes, but surely ...” in a rather odd and confiding tone.

  Like the latest example.

  He’d been on his way back from a consultation with Elcarth about some of his latest Farseeing pupils, when Orthallen had just “happened” to intercept him.

  “Nephew!” Orthallen had hailed him, “I have word from your brother—”

  “Is anything wrong?” Kris had asked anxiously. The family holdings were in the heart of some of the worst flooding in a generation. “Does he need me at home? I’ll be free in a few weeks—”

  “No, no; things are far from well, but it’s not an emergency yet. The smallholders have lost about a tenth of their fields, in total; obviously some are worse off than others. They’ve lost enough livestock that the spring births are barely going to make up for the losses—oh, and your brother lost one of his Shin’a’in cross-bred stallions.”

  “Damn—he’s not going to find another one of those in a hurry. Are we needing any outside help?”

  “Not yet. There’s enough grain in storage to make up for the losses. But he wanted you to know exactly how things stood, so that you wouldn’t worry.”

  “Thank you, uncle. I appreciate your taking the time to let me know.”

  “And is your young protégée settling in, do you think?” he then asked smoothly. “What with all the emergencies that have come up lately, I wonder if she has more than she can cope with, sometimes.”

  “Havens, Uncle, I’m the last one to ask,” Kris had said with a little impatience. “I hardly see her anymore. We both have duties, and those duties don’t let us cross paths too often.”

  “Oh? Somehow I had gotten the impression that you Heralds always knew what was happening in each others’ lives.”

  Kris really hadn’t been able to think of a response to that; at least not a respectful one.

  “I only asked because I thought she looked a bit careworn, and I thought perhaps she might have said something to you,” Orthallen continued, his cold eyes boring into Kris’. “She has a heavy burden of responsibility for one so young.”

  “She’s equal to it, Uncle. I’ve told you that before. Rolan wouldn’t have Chosen her otherwise.”

  “Well, I’m sure you’re correct,” Orthallen replied, sounding as if he meant the opposite. “Those rumors of her using her Gift to manipulate—”

  “Were absolutely unfounded. I told you that. She has been so circumspect in even reading others that she practically has to be forced to it—” Kris broke off, wondering if he was saying too much.

  “Ah,” Orthallen said after a moment. “That is a comfort. The child seems to have a wisdom out of keeping with her years. However, if she should feel she’s having problems, I would appreciate it if you’d tell me. After all, as the Queen’s eldest Councillor, I should be aware of possible trouble. I’d be only to happy to help her in any way I can, but she still seems to be carrying over that grudge from her student days, and I doubt she’d ever give me the correct time of day, much less confide in me.”

  Kris had mumbled something noncommittal, and his uncle had gone away outwardly satisfied—but the whole encounter had left a very bad taste in Kris’s mouth. He was regretting now the fact that he’d confided to his uncle in one of those early conversations his belief that Talia and Dirk were lifebonded; the man had seized on the tidbit as avidly as a hawk on a mouse. But at the same time, he didn’t want to have to face Talia herself with these suspicions awakened; she’d get it out of him, no doubt of it. And while she wouldn’t say, “I told you so,” she had a particular look of lowered eyelids and a quirk at one corner of her mouth that spoke volumes, and he wasn’t in the mood to deal with it. Besides, it was only too possible that she’d infected him with her paranoia.

  If only he could be sure of that—but he couldn’t. So he avoided her.

  Dirk straddled an old, worn chair in his room, staring into the darkness beyond the windowpane. It was nearly dusk—and as black as midnight out there. He felt as if he were being torn into little bits.

  He couldn’t make up his mind what he wanted to do; part of him wanted to battle for Talia by all means fair or foul, part of him felt that he should be unselfish and give Kris a clear field with her, part of him was afraid to find out what she thought of all this, and a fourth part of him argued that he really didn’t want any commitments to females anyway—look what the last one had gotten him.

  The last one. Lady Naril—oh, gods.

  He stared at the sullen flickers of lightning in the heart of the clouds above the trees. It had been so long ago—and not long enough ago.

  Gods, I was such a fool.

  He and Kris had been posted to the Collegium, teaching their specialties—Fetching and Farsight. It had been his first experience of Court and Collegium as a full Herald.

  I was a stupid sheep looking for a wolf.

  Not that he hadn’t had his share of dalliances, even if he’d always had to play second to Kris. He hadn’t minded, not really. But he’d been feeling a little lost; Kris had been born to Court circles, and flowed back into them effortlessly. Dirk had been left on the outskirts.

  Then Naril had introduced herself to him—

  I thought she was so pure, so innocent. She seemed so alone in the great Court, so eager for a friend. And she was so young—so very beautiful.

  How could he have known that in her sixteen short years she’d had more men in her thrall than a rosebush had thorns?

  And how could he have guessed she intended to use him to snare Kris?

  Gods, I was half out of my mind with love for her.

  He stared at the reflection in the window, broodingly. I saw only what I wanted to see—that’s for certain. Lost most of my few wits.

  But there had been just enough sense left to him that when she’d asked him to arrange a private meeting between herself and his friend, he’d hidden where he could overhear her. The artificial grotto in the garden that she had chosen was secluded—but had ample hiding space in the bushes to either side of the entrance.

  Dirk probed at the aching memory as if it were a sore tooth, taking twisted pleasure from the pain. I could hardly believe my ears when I heard her issuing Kris an ultimatum: come to her bed until she tired of him, or she would make my life a living hell.

  He had burst in on them, demanding to know what she meant, crazy-wild with anger and pain.

  Kris had slipped away. And Naril turned to him with utter hatred in her enormous violet eyes. When she’d finished what she had to say to him, he’d wanted to kill him
self.

  Again he stared at his reflection. Not everything she said was wrong—he told himself sadly. What woman with any sense would want me? Especially with Kris in reach ....

  It had been a long time before he’d stopped wanting to die—and a longer time before life became something he enjoyed instead of something he endured.

  Now—was it all happening again?

  He was doing his level best to come to terms with himself, and being stuck at the Collegium with Talia in sight at least once a day wasn’t helping. The whole situation was comical, but somehow when he tried to laugh it off, his “mirth” had a very hollow sound even to his ears. He had thrown himself into his work, only to find that he was watching for her constantly out of the corner of his eye. He couldn’t help himself; it was like scratching a rash. He knew he shouldn’t, but he did it anyway, and it gave him a perverse sort of satisfaction. And even though it troubled him to watch her, it troubled him more not to.

  Gods, gods—what am I going to do?

  The reflection gave him no answer.

  After three weeks of rain, the weather had cleared for a bit. To Talia’s great relief, things were emotionally on a more even keel, at least where the tempers of Court and Collegium were concerned. The evening had been warm enough to leave windows open, and the fresh air had made a gratifying change in the stuffiness of her quarters. Talia was fast asleep when the Death Bell shattered the peace of the night with its brazen tolling.

  It woke her from a nightmare of flame, fear, and agony. That nightmare had held her in a grip so tenacious that she expected to open her eyes to find her own room an inferno. She clutched the blankets to her chest, as she slowly became aware that the air she breathed was cool and scented with night mist, not smoke-filled and choking. It took several moments for her to clear her mind of the dream enough to think clearly again, and when at last she did, it was to realize that the dream and the Death Bell’s tolling had related causes.