Song of the Lioness #4 - Lioness Rampant

by Tamora Pierce

  "Everyone's waitin' to see which way the cat will jump," Rispah said as Alanna submitted to fittings. "With no reason at all. They're hopin' for another claimant to the throne, but who's it to be? The Conté Duke's givin' them no encouragement, for certain."

  "With some, all it took was the Bazhir coming here in great numbers," Eleni explained. "Plenty of northerners hate them, and any King liked by the desert men will find he has trouble."

  "Some folks say Duke Roger's older and more experienced than Jonathan," Rispah added. "They say what happened two Midwinters ago—" she nodded to Alanna, "was Jon's plot to get Roger out of the way."

  "Easy, child," Eleni cautioned, putting a hand on Alanna's arm. "It's just talk. No one's doing anything, not even speaking out publicly. But Jonathan could do with a miracle."

  To her surprise, Alanna smiled. "Then we'll give him one."

  SHE FOUND Myles in his study late that afternoon, napping. Once he was awake, Alanna sat down to discuss the events of the past year with him. He could fill in the blank spots because he knew better than anyone else why nobles behaved as they did, and his merchant friends were always honest with him. "They don't think Jonathan can hold the throne," he told Alanna bluntly. "Until they see proof that he can, they're going to hold back. It isn't that many of them expect Roger to try for the throne. Well, those who live at court don't expect it. But Tortall's a big kingdom, and it's hard to keep it knit together in the best of times. If Jonathan can't rule, the fiefs on the borders will start to break away and form their own kingdoms. Tusaine, Galla, and Scanra will nibble at the edges. That's what people fear. Roald let them be, and twenty-odd years of that kind of benificent neglect is bearing fruit now. Does that answer your question?" Alanna nodded. "The Jewel will help. After that, it's up to Jonathan and the use he makes of you bright young people."

  Alanna laughed. "Don't forget, he's got you on his side, too."

  Myles chuckled. "By the way, I have something for you. Eleni told me you'd had an ordeal this afternoon. I bought these to make you feel better." He dug in a pocket and handed Alanna a small box. "Don't open it in here. Expressions of gratitude embarrass me." He leaned back in his chair, putting up his feet. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to finish my nap."

  Outside his study, Alanna opened the box. Inside was a pair of black pearl earbobs.

  EVERY Tortallan girl dreamed of descending the Great Stair in the Queen's ballroom with all eyes fixed on her, the knight of her dreams singling her out and bearing her away to a life of bliss. Minstrels made their living off tales of common-born girls presented at court by mysterious—wealthy—guardians for just that fate. Now it was Alanna's turn to descend; she felt a degree of panic she was unaccustomed to as an old palace hand. She had seen hundreds descend the Great Stair to cross the long room and kneel before the sovereigns. In the ballroom she'd met girls who came to court to make good marriages, foreign diplomats and their ladies, merchants, visiting warriors—the list was endless. If they had been as terrified as she was that night, they didn't show it.

  They stood in the chambers outside the ballroom's great doors: Thayet, Buri, Eleni, and Liam for official presentation; Myles to. bolster their confidence; and Alanna to be—Reintroduced? That can't be right, she told herself. The Jewel, snug in its box, seemed to have caught her case of nerves; she could feel it humming through her black kid gloves. "Jump up," she told Faithful, wriggling her shoulder. "I need the reassurance."

  No, the cat replied, shaking his head. I'll muss your pretty clothes. Startled, she pulled away. He'd actually sounded serious!

  Eleni Cooper fussed with the gold lace at her throat. "I wish I hadn't agreed to do this, Myles." She was elegant in mahogany-colored silk, her grey-streaked hair in a heavy knot at the back of her head. "I am suitably entertained in the Lower City."

  Hazel eyes met hazel eyes, with a depth of love that made Alanna wistful as Myles raised Eleni's hand to his lips. "This will be just as entertaining, my dear. Perhaps more so."

  Strong fingers brushed Alanna's new ear-bobs. "Pretty," Liam approved. "A nice touch."

  Alanna's heart skipped a beat. The Dragon did not have to wear dark colors or pale greys or lavenders of mourning for Lianne and Roald. He was magnificent in blue-violet satin over silvery shirt and hose. His hair flamed in contrast.

  "It isn't fair of you to look so good!" she hissed.

  "I could say the same about you. You think I don't have regrets about us breaking it off?" His eyes were the bright aqua he seemed to reserve just for her. "When you're Queen of Tortall, you'll thank me."

  She was opening her mouth to say, "I'm not going to be Queen," when Gary joined them. "Liam Ironarm? I'm Gareth—Gary—the Younger of Naxen. My father's Prime Minister. Can you tell me about Shang?" He put his arm through Liam's and walked him away, calling, "I'll talk to you later, Alanna."

  Timon, once Duke Gareth's personal manservant, now chief of the palace footmen, arrived looking harassed. Gary bade a swift farewell and went to stand by the throne. Timon nodded to Myles, who took Eleni's arm. "You're worth any of them, Mistress Cooper," Alanna heard him whisper. The chief herald bowed and opened half of the great door, admitting the couple.

  "Am I all in one piece?" Buri wanted to know. She wore a deerskin jacket richly beaded in red and silver, tight deerskin breeches, and soft boots. She bristled with silver and black daggers; both the short and long sword were thrust in her sash. Her thick hair was tightly braided and coiled; the pins securing it were silver. She slapped black gauntlets nervously against her arm as Alanna looked her over.

  The knight smiled. "You look splendid. Your mother and brother will be proud."

  "We are proud," Liam added. The herald beckoned to him. He drew a breath. "Shang Masters, I hate this kind of thing." Leaving the two women staring in astonishment, he went through the open door.

  Buri poked Alanna's arm. Thayet had emerged from the robing room. Alanna's voice caught in her throat as the Princess tried to smile. "Do I look all right?"

  Her hair was a mass of ringlets cascading from crown to shoulders. Her hazel eyes were big against her creamy skin, her lips crimson. Her flame-red gown left shoulders and an expanse of bosom glowing against the muslin, then blossomed into a wide skirt. Rubies set in lacy gold shimmered in her hair and against her neck.

  The chief herald stared at Thayet too, stunned. "Don't ask me," Alanna grinned. "He's seen all the beauties come and go. He told me they didn't impress him anymore."

  Thayet looked curiously at the chief herald; he bowed to her, as deeply as he would to a king. "Princess, may you always grace our halls," he said with feeling.

  BOTH DOORS at the head of the stair swung open. The silence in the crowded ballroom was abrupt: both doors were used only for visiting royalty. The herald walked to the head of the stair; he struck his iron-shod staff three times on the floor.

  "Her most Royal Highness, Princess Thayet jian Wilima of Sarain, Duchess of Camau and Thanhyien." Alanna walked forward with Thayet on her arm. "Sir Alanna of Trebond and Olau, Knight of the Realm of Tortall. Buriram Toura-kom of the K'miri Hau Ma."

  Jonathan rose, watching them. The awe-stricken look on his face was all Alanna needed to see. She gave herself a pat on the back for an idea well conceived. Thayet descended the stair as if she were floating, her face impassive. Only her tight, somewhat damp grip on Alanna's arm revealed the state of her nerves. Jonathan walked down the scarlet runner between door and throne, to meet them in the ballroom's center.

  Alanna gently withdrew her arm from Thayet's clutch, letting the Princess walk the few steps to Jon alone. The King-to-be embraced Thayet gently and kissed her on both cheeks. "Cousin, welcome," he said, using the form of address common to royalty. "We regret the sad event that drove you from your home."

  "Thank you, your Majesty." Thayet's gaze was stern; plainly—to Alanna—she was trying to remind Jon of her wish to become a private subject.

  Jonathan ignored the hint. "Until such time as peace retur
ns to Sarain, know that Tortall is your home." Offering Thayet his arm, he led her to the chair placed for her just below his own. She sat gracefully, her skirts settling around her feet in a perfect fan. Buri took up her station at her side. No one knew who began it, but a patter of applause turned into a roar of enthusiasm. In Sarain she was the female who should have been a male heir; the Tortallan courtiers accepted Thayet for herself.

  George also enjoyed Thayet's entrance, but he was not blind to her companions. He nodded his approval to Buri. And he was acutely aware of Alanna from the moment she appeared. In her dark grey and black, she was elegant and somber; her hair and eyes blazed. No one could miss the sword belted at her waist. Beneath one arm she carried a box not much bigger than her fist.

  Remembering his disguise as stern-faced Bazhir, George defeated the urge to beam like a proud lover. She's done it, he thought. My darlin's made them pay attention and dance to her tune. And I thought only common-born knew how to do that.

  Waiting for the applause to quiet, Alanna looked around. Even in his disguise she knew George. She bit back a grin—she should've known he'd come!—and winked at him, enjoying the approval in his eyes.

  Behave, Faithful scolded. You have business to take care of!

  The noise was finally dying. Jonathan nodded. "Sir Alanna, come forward."

  She continued down the carpet, hand on sword hilt, Faithful beside her. Thayet smiled encouragingly as Alanna knelt before Jonathan.

  "Your Majesty." She drew Lightning and laid it on the step at his feet, in token of her allegiance. "This I swear: to serve you and your heirs with all I possess, in the Mother's name." Taking the box in both hands, she flipped it open. The Jewel lay on a black velvet bed. She held it up to him. "I bring you the fruit of my traveling, Majesty—the Dominion Jewel."

  Jonathan reached for it as total silence fell. The moment his fingers touched the Jewel, it flared into life, blazing like a small sun in his hand. Jonathan held it aloft, and first one courtier, then another, knelt, until everyone but Jonathan and Thayet was kneeling.

  "We thank you, Sir Alanna." His voice was audible in every corner of the room. "And we praise the gods for sending us this Jewel—and our Lioness—in this time of need."

  7: Period of Mourning

  The next morning Jonathan called a meeting of his most trusted advisors: Myles, Gary, the Provost, Duke Gareth, Duke Baird, Raoul, and Alanna. Feeling uneasy, Alanna went. In the last year she'd grown more used to taking action than to sitting in meetings. Also, she was unsure of her place in such a gathering. She was a knight; all the others had great responsibilities or wisdom, like Myles. She didn't even hold a large fief.

  Arriving early, she found the King-to-be in his small council chamber. He rose and kissed her cheek. "Thank you for coming," he said. "I hate to plunge you into things just when you've come home, but we have a great deal to do." As she took a seat a little way down the table from him, he asked, "Have you given some thought to the place you'll hold in my reign?"

  Alanna was startled by the question. "What place—? I never thought that I'd hold any place, not really. Although it would be nice to have something to do," she admitted. "I like roaming around, but I like it far better when I have a purpose. Maybe Liam is happy wandering from country to country like the wind. I feel as if I'm a sort of weapon, but a weapon must have someone to wield it, or it just lies around rusting." She grinned, suddenly embarrassed. "Listen to me. Next thing you know I'll start sounding like our old philosophy master."

  Jonathan groaned. "That old bore!"

  Gary peered inside. "Is this a private gathering, or can anyone come?" He took a chair, plumping a stack of documents on the table in front of him. Seeing Alanna's horrified look, he said kindly, "Don't worry, the papers aren't for this. They're documents I refer to constantly, so I carry them around. It saves waiting for a servant to fetch them."

  "Gary, how awful!" she exclaimed.

  "Nonsense," Duke Gareth's son retorted. "I had no idea before how interesting a kingdom's business can be. To put diverse things like rainfall, the number of people leaving their farms, and the price of iron goods together and find out how they affect each other—"

  "He'll go on all day if you let him," Raoul interrupted as he took his seat. The Lord Provost sat beside the big Commander and nodded a greeting; Alanna nodded back. Raoul went on, "Me, I have no talent for administration. Give me a good horse and a patrol any day!"

  "You underestimate yourself, Raoul," said Jon. "The Bazhir love him," he explained to Alanna. "He's made a good impression on the northerners and the foreign soldiers in the King's Own as well."

  Alanna beamed at her large friend, who blushed. "I always knew you'd be a credit to us," she teased him.

  When she saw Duke Gareth at the door, Alanna got up and went to greet her teacher, hiding her shock as she knelt before him. The Duke, always lean, was rail thin. Streaks of grey had turned his hair a muddy yellow-brown.

  Gary's father looked Alanna over as she rose. Finally he smiled. "You have lived up to your promise," he said quietly. "We are all very proud of our Lioness. Welcome home."

  Coming from Duke Gareth, who had always been sparing of praise, it was the highest honor she could receive. "Thank you, sir," she whispered as she blinked tears away. "You're very kind. I tried to be a credit to my training—to you." She bowed herself back to her chair as the Duke sat beside Gary. The others busied themselves with papers, pretending not to notice.

  Baird and Myles arrived together while Alanna mastered herself. The Duke greeted her cheerfully. At the reception the night before he'd complimented her on her work as a healer among the Bazhir. Myles winked at her as he settled into place.

  Alanna fidgeted as servants put out water, paper, ink, and fruit. How long will I be stuck here before I can go riding? she wondered. I don't have any place at councils like this!

  Jonathan cleared his throat, and the conversations stopped. "Thank you all for corning. I know the sixty days until the coronation seems like a great deal of time, but we have much to do." He glanced at Duke Gareth. "I've given some thought to the appointment of a King's Champion." Alanna's throat went dry. "Uncle Gareth was my father's. It seems to have been an easy post for him—"

  "Thank the gods," the Duke said dryly. "None of the others were."

  Jonathan joined the company's chuckling before he went on. "Except for taking part in the coronation of my father, he was never called on to represent—or defend—the throne. I think many have forgotten the post exists. Uncle no longer wants it." Duke Gareth nodded. "We feel someone young should be Champion. A proven warrior, of course. One who is known to our people and our neighbors."

  She saw all too clearly the direction this was taking. "Raoul," Alanna croaked, looking at the Knight Commander. Grinning, Raoul shook his head. "Or Gary," she tried as Gary tugged at his mustache to cover a smile. "Both fine, strong fellows, liked by—"

  "No," Jonathan said firmly. The others in the room fought their amusement. "I want them where they are—Raoul with the King's Own and Gary as Prime Minister."

  "Geoffrey of Meron." She wiped sweat from her upper lip. "Noble, far more respectable than me—"

  "I've made up my mind." The Provost was the last to grin as Jon spoke. All the others had seen such confrontations between the Prince and his obstinate squire.

  "You'll make enemies," Alanna said flatly. "There's never been a female Champion, not even when women could be warriors! Not in Tortall!"

  "That's true," Myles said. "And it's understandable that you would be concerned about your standing in the eyes of the people. There are some, still, who feel a lady knight is unnatural. And at first there was a lot of feeling against it. Even the King—" He stopped and looked at Jon. "But a lot of that thinking has changed."

  "Like it or no, you're a legend, after the Bazhir and winnin' your shield," the Provost said in his blunt way. "Girls play at bein' Lioness. I saw one chasin' her brother down the street, wavin' a stick and calli
n' for the Conté Duke to submit to her sword."

  The men laughed. Alanna blushed and continued to shake her head.

  "Should we call a minstrel and have him sing all the Lioness songs in his memory?" Duke Baird asked, his eyes kind. "The newest is the one in which the Lioness and the Dragon defeat whole armies of Saren mercenaries. I like it, although now that I see you again, I remember you aren't ten feet tall."

  "The Bazhir are for you," Raoul added. "You're The Woman Who Rides Like a Man. You also helped to bring down the Black City. The other one to do that will be King. Your own tribe would be the first to say it's your right to stand beside Jon."

  Jonathan met her eyes, his gaze friendly but determined. "And let's not forget that you journeyed into the stuff of fables and brought back the Dominion Jewel." He took it from his belt-purse and set it on the table, where it shimmered. "This alone would cause you to be given a high place, even without everything else you've done. So say 'thank you,' Alanna."

  "Jonathan," she whispered, knowing it was useless.

  "Say 'thank you,' Alanna," Myles told her gently.

  She looked at the others, but they weren't looking at her. They watched the Jewel, speculating or wondering, as their natures dictated. She realized then that even they had changed the way they thought about her. Only Jon met her eyes, and he would give no quarter. She had earned this honor. Did she really want to refuse?

  "You said you wanted to be useful," Jon pointed out.

  Alanna had to grin—trapped by my own tongue, she thought. "Thank you, Jonathan," she whispered.

  He smiled. "You won't regret it—or at least, I won't." He gathered in everyone's attention. "Let us discuss the situation in Tortall. I refer to the interesting rumor that my reign is cursed and that I will be unseated from the throne."