The Menoans had to be confident indeed to have invaded Balek now. She wished that she knew more about the coal shipments, but she’d never paid the matter much attention. She did know that there were great storehouses on the edge of the city where the shipments arrived for sale. Would those store-
houses already be full—and if so, would that be enough to see her people through the winter?
The fact that she was ignorant in this matter only served to reinforce her feelings of inadequacy.
She wondered if Hammad would attempt to regain control of the Western Road. Or was it possible that the Menoans had taken it as a ruse, hoping to draw Ertria’s woefully inadequate forces there while they attacked the city itself?
Again, her inadequacies made themselves felt, but this time, she thrust them aside. That was Ham- mad's business, and she had complete faith in his judgment. Hadn’t her father told her once that she could never hope to gain for herself all the expertise of her advisors and must learn to trust them?
Thoughts of the city facing the twin dangers of an inadequate coal supply and a possible invasion shifted her attention to the court. It seemed so very distant to her now—another world, far away in both space and time.
In her absence, her uncle, her father's younger brother, would have been set up as regent. He was a pleasant, self-effacing man who wrote poetry and patronized the arts and had no interest whatever in ruling. But Hammad could be counted on to see that he was treated as ruler until her return.
The worst that could happen, she thought with disgust, was that her greedy, unscrupulous nobles would steal even more. Her uncle was incapable of preventing that, and Hammad would be too busy preparing for war.
Still, for all their thievery, Jocelyn was certain that none of them would attempt to usurp her
throne. As long as they could continue as they were, they would remain loyal to her family. Her problems there lay in the future, when she tried to curb their greed. And it was even possible that their concern for the future of the empire would force them to rise above their thievery for now.
The reality of war hung over her bedchamber like a dark, thick miasma. She paced the room endlessly, pausing now and again to stare out at the jagged black mountains. The snow Daken had predicted had come and now covered the scene with a blanket of white that stood out starkly against the black stone.
How could she persuade Daken that it was in his interest to support her? What arguments did she have to use? What incentives? No rulers of Ertria had faced such a problem for centuries. The empire had been so powerful that any negotiations with other people proceeded from that great strength. But that strength now seemed a sham to her.
The empire was built with Kassid power, she thought—and now it can survive only with that power. Yet why should the Kassid help? What was there for them to gain?
She wondered what there had been for them to gain by helping all those centuries ago. The history texts were vague about that, and it was a question she'd never considered before.
Who were these people? How did they think? She had been living among them for several weeks now, but they were still strangers to her.
She shuddered, despite the warmth of the chamber. She had walked among them, talked with
them, shared their lives—but she was certain now that they showed her only what they wished her to see.
She recalled Daken’s evasiveness on the subject of their magic. Did it really exist—or were they merely trading on the legends, much as the Ertrian Empire had traded all these years on its legendary power, a power she saw now was made possible only by the divisions between its enemies.
Part of her wanted to believe that the Kassid possessed no magic at all, that they were only ordinary people living in an extraordinary place. But deep down, in that place where rationality is shut out, she was certain they did indeed possess magic. She hadn’t seen it—but she felt it in that deepest part of herself.
Furthermore, unless the legends were true, her empire was lost. Together, the Menoans and Tur- veans could field an army far superior in numbers to the Ertrians—and they were seasoned warriors who had been fighting each other for years. Not even the addition of Kassid troops could tip the balance—unless they brought magic with them.
When she awoke on the third morning of her self-imposed isolation, Jocelyn knew it was time to demand some answers from Daken. But she dreaded facing him. His mocking response to her demands before, however gently spoken, still rankled. His attitude toward her seemed to be one of indulgence, not one of respect.
And she had certainly not forgotten that moment at the market when their eyes had met and she had all but melted like a foolish, lovesick girl. She was
appalled at her behavior—and determined that it would not be repeated.
She decided to dress the part of an empress, thereby signaling her intentions. So she put on her finest gown and the best jewels she’d brought along, did her best to arrange her hair in one of the elaborate styles she wore at court, then dabbed on the perfume Rina had given her, ignoring the memory of Daken that rose once more with its fragrance. Then she left her chamber to seek him out.
Daken’s suite was large and contained a great room he used for affairs of state, even though there was no throne and no courtiers lurking about.
When she walked into it, she found him gathered with a group of men and women she knew to be his advisors, since she’d met them before. She hesitated in the doorway, not wanting to intrude upon their discussion, even though she suspected it had to do with her.
Daken’s back was to her, but someone must have informed him of her presence because he turned and then stood quickly, starting toward her with a welcoming smile.
Despite her stem warning to herself, Jocelyn felt again that warm, melting sensation, that total awareness of the two of them that blocked out all else. And when he stopped before her and reached out to take both her hands in his, his simple greeting became a caress.
She withdrew her hands. "I'm sorry to interrupt you,’’ she said formally, "but I must speak with you as soon as possible."
He gestured for her to join them. "The discussion has been about you in any event.”
She allowed him to lead her to a chair in the midst of the group, feeling decidedly ridiculous in her formal attire. All of those present, including Daken, were dressed in the loose, casual clothing they always wore. They acknowledged her with smiles, but did not rise or offer formal greetings. Accustomed to the prescribed rituals of the court, Jocelyn felt her determination begin to wane.
One of the women, who was seated next to her, took Jocelyn’s hand in hers. "We are all very sorry about your loss, Jocelyn. Words are not very much help at such a time, but you should know that our thoughts have been with you.”
“Tbank you," she murmured as the others nodded in response to the woman’s speech. “But my father would have expected me to think first of my people—and so I must.”
Then she turned to Daken. "I must return to the palace. Since the Menoans haven’t attacked the garrison, I can find an escort there and return to the city by another route. I am hoping that you can provide me with an escort to the garrison."
"We have been discussing that, Jocelyn, because we knew you would wish to return. But we believe that it would be unwise for you to leave here.
"The winter storms have already begun here in the mountains and in Balek, and the trails could become impassable at any time. Also, the garrison could scarcely spare any men to accompany you. "We also can’t be certain that there aren’t still
more Menoans lying in wait along those trails, guessing that you would attempt to return to the city. They would be unlikely to kill you, but capturing you would be a great advantage to Arrat.”
Jocelyn remained silent. She could not refute his arguments, since she had already made them to herself. But she had hoped there might be a way.
"You would be safest here," an older man said. "The Menoans would never attempt to cap
ture you here."
She nodded her acquiescence, then looked straight at Daken. "And what will happen in the spring? I must speak the truth. If you don't help us, Arrat will overrun the empire. As both my father and Hammad have said, the Ertrian army is no more than a group of game-players. They know nothing of war.”
The words had very nearly stuck in her throat, but she saw no other course of action than to throw herself on the mercy of these people.
"We have made no decision about that,” Daken told her. "Our people have not known war for even more years."
“But there are the legends,” she persisted, knowing she was now treading on very dangerous ground. "Just knowing that you are going to join us may prevent Arrat from attacking."
“Perhaps,” Daken said with a shrug. "But he has already sent men close to our borders. I think he will simply dismiss those legends—as you yourself did."
She wanted to ask if the legends were true, but the words would not come. She met Daken’s eyes and knew that she truly didn’t want to know if he were more than a man.
"We have some time yet to reach a decision,” one of the others pointed out. "And we must seek the advice of the people on such a grave matter.” Jocelyn didn’t bother to conceal her shock. "Seek their advice? But you are the leaders. Surely you can make such a decision.”
Oaken shook his head. "No, Jocelyn. We must ask the people. After all, it is they w'ho will suffer if we go to war—both the men who must fight and the women who will be forced to take over their work here.”
He paused for a moment, gazing at her steadily with those pale eyes. "I w'ill tell you this. I believe that we should aid you. Arrat is a vicious, greedy man who will not stop even if he conquers the Er- trian empire. Sooner or later, he will decide to attack us as well.
"But even though I believe this, I am not happy about sending men into battle to save your empire. I told your father that the Ertrian empire is so corrupt that it doesn’t deserve to survive. People starve while your nobility wrap themselves in riches. Men die every day in the mines that provide that wealth—and when they die, their families starve.” His voice was low, but harsh—harsher than she’d heard before. She sat there stiffly, terribly aware of her own fine gown and jewels.
"I am aware of the corruption," she replied. "But I cannot change that if Arrat takes away my throne. And he would certainly be no better.”
“But probably no worse, either," Daken persisted.
"The stink of corruption is much the same in all those lands.’’
Jocelyn was shocked by his disgust, delivered with an arrogance she wouldn’t have believed possible in him. She felt hurt, personally betrayed by this man who had been so kind to her. Still, she covered her feelings and told him of her plans to change all that he despised.
"Your father once had the same hopes, Jocelyn,” Daken said in a gentler tone. "He was essentially a good man, but he lacked the will to make those changes happen."
She opened her mouth to defend her father, then closed it again. Hadn’t she thought the same thing in that deepest, most secret part of her mind?
"And you think that I lack that will also," she stated flatly.
"That remains to be seen. You are young—and you’re a woman. You could be easily taken advantage of."
She bristled. “You don’t know me well enough to make such an assumption, Daken. And you were scarcely older than me when you became the leader of your people. Furthermore, you have women advisors yourself, so how can you fault me for being a woman?"
She saw the other women present smile at that. Perhaps she might have some strong allies there; it was worth remembering.
"I’m not faulting you for being a woman, Jocelyn," Daken said with the smallest trace of a smile. "I was merely pointing out that it is a disadvantage
in your land. Your nobles may well tolerate your rule as long as you don’t interfere in their various businesses. But to make the changes you say you want to make, you must interfere."
"I am aware of that," she replied frostily. “And I also know that I cannot expect such changes to happen quickly."
Daken leaned back in his chair, stretching his long legs before him as he continued to regard her thoughtfully. "Have you considered that if you do one day succeed with all your plans, your people might decide that they want power for themselves?”
She hadn’t—and it showed in her expression.
"That, I think, is why your father lacked the will to make such changes. Power is like strong wine. When you have drunk too much of it for too long a time, you cannot give it up. Your family has had such power for many years. It is in your blood as much as wine is in the blood of a drunkard."
Never before had anyone dared to criticize her family this way. Jocelyn went quickly from shock to anger.
"How dare you say such things about my family? We have ruled an empire for centuries—while you are nothing more than an elected leader. I came here to ask for your help, but I will not be treated like a—a common peasant."
By the time she had reached the end of her diatribe, she knew that she had just thrown aside every lesson she had been taught—and probably her chances of gaining his aid as well. She was horrified at her loss of control and unable to face the conse-
quences. So she stood up and walked out of the room as quickly as the remaining shreds of her dignity would permit.
"Daken," said one of the women gently, "I think you were a bit harsh with her. She is young, and she has just lost her father.”
"But she is also empress now,” Daken said, staring at the doorway through which Jocelyn had just disappeared. "And she needs to hear the truth."
And, he thought with satisfaction, now I know that there is passion indeed beneath that cool exterior. And such passion could certainly be channeled in other directions.
Then he brought himself up short. He'd satisfied his curiosity, but he could afford no other satisfaction. There was an old proverb among his people about the foolishness of starting something that could never see a happy ending.
Jocelyn returned to her bedchamber in a red haze of anger. No one had ever dared to speak that way to her before. How dare he compare her family— the most powerful family in the world—to drunkards?
While she was still fuming, Rina appeared to offer her sympathy over the loss of her father and to ask if she would like to visit the winter garden, something Jocelyn had already expressed an interest in seeing. Jocelyn accepted her sympathy as graciously as possible, then sent her away rather curtly.
No sooner had Rina departed than she regretted
her behavior. After all, she had no quarrel with the girl. Still, she didn't go after her to apologize; she was feeling disinclined to make any apologies at this point.
But Rina’s appearance had the effect of taking the sharp edge off her anger, and that very quickly led to recriminations. But recriminations served no purpose; what was done was done. She could not take back her words, and in any event, had no desire to do so.
Instead, she looked on the bright side. For all his cruel words, Daken had still said that he believed his people should come to her aid—and even here in this strange place, that must count for something. He'd made it clear that he favored the alliance only out of self-interest, but she couldn't fault him for that.
Still, there was a small, deep pain within her, the shriveled remains of a hope that he might help because it was she who asked, and not just because it was in his interest to do so.
Could she really have been so foolish as to think of him in such terms—she, who had never had a foolish, romantic notion in her entire life? He was far too old for her, he certainly wasn’t handsome— and he was no longer even kind. Furthermore, she could never trust someone she didn’t understand, and she knew she would never understand these strange people, whether or not they were truly sorcerers.
She set aside her thoughts about Daken, which didn’t bear too close a scrutiny at this point anyway, and thought instead about his
people. How would
they reach such a decision? Wouldn’t they think only about the hardships of going to war and refuse? How could Daken and his advisors trust them with such an important decision?
There was a knock at her door and she hurried to it, thinking that it must be Rina again and wanting to apologize to the girl. But when she opened it, it was Daken who stood there. She said nothing, but stepped back to let him enter. Apologizing to Rina was one thing; apologizing to this man was quite another.
"Would you like to go for a ride?” he asked. "The day is pleasant and the snow is not yet too deep on the trails. I know you’re not accustomed as we are to being confined during the winter.”
Was this invitation a subtle form of apology? She decided to treat it as such and nodded. He left and she changed quickly into riding clothes, then hurried out to meet him in the courtyard. The air was cold but still, and the sun shone brightly. She accepted his help to mount, and they rode out across the bridge.
Jocelyn was determined not to repeat her earlier outburst. It appeared that she was being given a second chance. Possibly he had attributed her intemperance to the death of her father—and it was even possible he was right. Certainly it had been uncharacteristic of her.
Snow lay thickly on the dark firs and clung to the black rock along ledges and crevices, but the trail posed no problem to the sure-footed Kassid horses. She recalled what the guide Tanner had said about
Heart of the Wolf Page 10
