Never After

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  I had looked away for only a few moments, but even in that short time, the field had thinned out considerably. Some of the contestants had fled, dogs harrying their retreat, for maybe a dozen scratched, shocked, bloodied men stood shivering outside the arena. Some had fallen and been hauled outside to be tended by palace servants. Maybe ten remained in the arena, still engaged in combat. Still proving their valor.

  One was Darius. With the arena now more than half empty, he was easy to pick out and, amazingly, he appeared to be completely unharmed. The bare skin of his chest was untouched, and his trousers were not even muddied. He stood calmly, his hands before him, palms out as if pressing against an invisible wall. Before him, the two dogs assigned to him crouched and snarled. One was a mottled brown, the other a matted gold, and both of them looked ferocious enough to kill a man. But they were having no luck with Darius. They growled and leapt and snapped at his feet, but they were unable to close their teeth over any part of his flesh.

  Magic, I thought, with a great uprush of relief. He’s protecting himself with magic. I was impressed by his fearlessness, his ability to keep his wits about him in such mayhem. He must have called up a wall of protection the instant the animals were loosed. One of the dogs leapt again, aiming for Darius’s throat, and then fell back to the ground, whimpering, after encountering some hidden obstacle.

  “That’s magnificent,” I murmured. “That’s bravery.”

  I felt Gisele glance at me, determine what I was watching, and then shake her head. “No,” she said, and pointed. “That is.”

  I followed the direction of her hand and I gasped.

  Harwin was still standing, but it was clear he’d been involved in a vicious fight. His left arm was dripping with blood, and his bare chest was marked with dirt, blood, and one long, ugly scratch from shoulder to waist. His pants were filthy and his feet so muddy that at first I thought he was wearing shoes. I supposed he must have vanquished his own attackers, because no creatures snarled at his heels or circled his body, looking for an opening. I thought I saw, in the frenetic shadows of the arena, a few lifeless animal forms—stunned, I hoped, not dead, for I hated the idea that my father’s dogs might be killed simply for obeying their training.

  But even victorious in his own contest, Harwin wasn’t heading for an exit. Some scream or cry had caused him to whirl around in time to see an exhausted young man being dragged to the ground by a pair of sleek attackers, one black, one brown. Harwin didn’t hesitate. He charged over and fell on the brown dog from behind, forcing its lower jaw open and down toward its chest. I couldn’t tell if he was using his bare hands or some weapon he had appropriated from a watching guard. The young man scrambled to his feet, the black dog still clinging grimly to his thigh. With a tremendous effort, Harwin flung the brown dog against one of the half walls, where it landed with a pained yelp, scrabbled, and lay still. Harwin snatched up something that had fallen to the ground—yes, one of the heavy wooden rods that the guards had carried—and began beating the black dog on its nose and eyes. It loosed its hold and charged at Harwin, but he fended it off while the younger man stumbled toward the exit, coughing and sobbing. Backing away, but never lifting his eyes from the dog’s face, Harwin moved slowly toward the arena wall, then felt his way to the nearest door.

  I thought he would turn and dash out, but he didn’t. He merely kept his back to the wall and his weapon upraised until one of the handlers slipped a collar over the dog’s head. Then I figured out what Harwin had obviously realized—no one who left the arena could be considered a winner in this round. He had to stay until every other contestant defeated his dogs or fled in humiliation.

  I took a long, long breath and assessed the situation again. Darius was still unharmed and unmarked, standing in the center of the arena. Three other contestants appeared to have survived their encounters. One was the big, stupid man who looked so likely to win any event that required force. I didn’t even want to think what might have happened to the poor animals assigned to attack him. Two others were strangers, both so covered in blood and grime that I couldn’t tell much about their physical appearance.

  Five. Five men still left to vie for my hand. I surveyed the carnage and thought bleakly that I was not worth this kind of effort.

  Gisele spoke up, her voice low and controlled but full of rage. “I hate your father’s dogs,” she said.

  I shook my head. “I’m afraid of them, but they break my heart,” I said. “They’re only doing what they’ve been taught to do.”

  Now she looked at me. Her eyes matched her voice. “Then maybe I just hate your father.”

  I was too weary to be shocked. “Half the lords in the kingdom keep fighting dogs, and those who don’t own such animals come to watch the fights.”

  “Then maybe I just hate all men,” she said.

  Remembering that I didn’t like Gisele, I gave a mocking laugh. “And yet you’re the one who’s been insisting I get married as quick as can be.”

  “I encouraged you to choose a groom carefully,” she said. She swept a hand toward the arena, which was emptying out as the dog groomers took away the last of the animals and other servants escorted the five final contestants back to the palace. “Surely you could see that there was one among those suitors who was worthy of you.”

  “Yes!” I said. “I was amazed by Darius!”

  “Who’s Darius?” she asked sharply.

  “The blond man. The one who kept the dogs at bay through magic. He was not harmed, but neither were they.”

  “Magic,” she repeated. “That’s a dangerous sort of toy.”

  I tossed my head. People still talked about the wizard my grandfather had kept as part of his household, a powerful and unscrupulous man who had sometimes used sorcery to enforce the king’s less popular decrees. There had been some suspicion that my grandmother’s first husband had not died a natural death, freeing the lovely young widow to accept the king’s offer of marriage. But most of the magicians in Kallenore had relatively limited and benign power, and they were generally welcomed wherever they traveled. The ones I had encountered had been rare, itinerant, and cheerful. Well, wouldn’t you be cheerful if you possessed the power to heal people or change objects or create illusions? I think I would be.

  I think I would be happy if I had any kind of power at all, whether or not it was magical.

  “Maybe magic is just the toy I need,” I said.

  “Listen, Olivia,” she said. “I know you dislike me.

  But you should believe what I say. Your father plans to marry you off with all speed, and he won’t be overnice in his requirements. Please make it possible for him to choose a generous man, a thoughtful man, a man who will care for you.”

  I sneered. “And were those the qualities you were looking for when you chose to marry the king?”

  “I didn’t choose,” she said evenly.

  I turned away with a flounce. The others were already climbing from the dais, my father solicitously holding Mellicia’s hand to guide her down the temporary steps. “I hardly think, no matter who I marry, I shall fare worse than you,” I said. Just to be contrary, I didn’t bother with the stairs at all. Instead I dropped to the floor, flattened my hand against the wood, and vaulted down to land lightly in the grass. I was sure any spectators got a nice flash of my ankles and underskirts, but I didn’t care.

  I barely heard Gisele’s reply. “But don’t you wish you could do better?”

  * * *

  After the intensity of the middle round, the third trial my would be suitors faced couldn’t help but be anti-climactic. It was not even interesting to watch. My father had hired three of the most famous scholars of the kingdom to create a long list of questions about mathematics, history, and the natural sciences, and a series of these tests were administered the next day. Whoever had the lowest score on the first exam was eliminated first. Whoever scored most poorly on the second test was eliminated next. And so on. Each suitor was quizzed separately in a seques
tered room, attended by a scholar and two witnesses. Those of us who cared about the outcome hovered anxiously in the hallways, watching as the scholars emerged to compare scores.

  I was relieved, but not surprised, when the large brutish man was the first to fail. He burst out of the room where he had been questioned, slammed the door behind him, shoved aside the folks who clustered in the corridor, and stomped on down the hall. I was glad to see him go, but still nervous. Who would be the next contestant eliminated? Surely Darius was clever enough to pass this final test—if not honestly, then artfully, by bedazzling his judges into believing his answers were correct. I sighed in monstrous relief when the next two fallen contestants proved to be strangers. Only belatedly did it occur to me that Harwin was not among the losers, either.

  The crowd in the hall had grown to sizable proportions by the time we were down to the last two suitors. By late afternoon, even my father had stopped by to see how the competition was progressing. Neville and Mellicia trailed after him.

  “How many are left?” he asked Gisele. The queen had waited with me all day, not that I had wanted her company.

  “Two,” she replied. “I believe we will have results soon.”

  My father looked intrigued. “Well, then, perhaps I shall linger a few minutes,” he said. His eyes sought me out and he gave me his wolf’s grin. “So that I can learn who shall have the honor of wedding my beloved daughter.”

  Coming close enough to put his arm around my shoulders, he whispered in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear, “So you’ll be married soon, won’t you? My little girl! A wife before the end of the day. Maybe a mother before the year is out.”

  He squeezed me so tightly that words I hadn’t planned to say came tumbling out of my mouth. “But, Father, I do not want to rush so hastily into marriage with any man,” I said breathlessly. “Especially if he’s a stranger. May I have an engagement period to get to know my groom?”

  His face grew stormy. “What’s this? An engagement period?”

  “Marry her off right away, that’s my advice,” Sir Neville boomed out.

  My father uncoiled his arm and practically shoved me aside. “What a troublesome girl you are!” he exclaimed. “First you won’t marry the man of my choosing, and now you turn all nervous and shy. There’s no dealing with you at all!”

  I had stumbled a little when he pushed me, but now I straightened myself and smoothed down my skirts. I had not forgotten, if he had, that a couple dozen people were crowded into the hallway, avidly watching this entire scene. After spending a lifetime balking at my father’s orders, I was very good at outmaneuvering him, especially if I had an audience.

  “I do not think I have been so unreasonable, Father,” I said, my voice low and hurt. I half turned to make sure old Sir Norbert could catch every word. Norbert was a fat, choleric, irascible old bore, but he was powerful, and he had always been my father’s most outspoken critic. “All I’m asking for is time to accustom myself to my new life.”

  “An excellent notion,” Norbert said in his loud, raspy voice. “My own daughter’s betrothal period was six months, and she needed every day.”

  My father’s eyes were icy. “You may have a month, if you require it,” he said through gritted teeth.

  I wasn’t sure if that would be enough time, but I had no attention left to spare for quarreling. The doors to the final two exam rooms were opening—in minutes I would know who had won the right to marry me. My heart started pounding so hard it was actually painful to breathe. The two scholars whispered together, both of them growing slightly heated, and then whispered some more.

  “Well?” my father demanded. “Who has passed all my tests and proved himself worthy of my daughter’s hand?”

  One of the scholars cleared his throat. He looked to be a hundred and eighty years old, all crepy white skin and wispy white hair. I had to think he had forgotten at least half of the facts he had ever managed to learn. “My liege,” he said. “There is no clear winner. Both men have answered all of our questions correctly.”

  There was a slight murmur of approval from the onlookers, a few desultory rounds of applause. My father scowled. “Well, she cannot marry two men,” he said. “Ask another question.”

  “We have asked them all,” said the second scholar, whom I belatedly realized was a woman. She was as fragile as a creature made out of dried leaves and corn husks, a notion reinforced by her papery skin and overall brownness of coloring.

  My father’s expression became even more thunderous. “Then think up another one!” he shouted.

  Norbert pushed himself forward. “You say there are only two suitors left?” he said. “Let them stand before the princess so she can choose which one she will wed.”

  “Yes!” I exclaimed. The generally approving reaction of the crowd drowned out Gisele’s gasp of, “No! My liege! You can’t!”

  My father was nodding vigorously. “Very well,” he said. “Bring them both to the throne room in half an hour. We will see Olivia engaged before the day is out.”

  * * *

  What do you wear to the announcement of your own betrothal? When you have only thirty minutes to prepare, you don the nicest gown you own that matches the accessories you’re already wearing. My maids stuffed me into a dark yellow dress with lace foaming over the décolletage and quickly brushed and repinned my hair. The topaz necklace and eardrops stayed in place, and soon I was hurrying back down the long hallways to the throne room.

  As you’d expect, it was a large domed chamber made gloomier than necessary by imposing carved pillars, lugubrious murals, and a complete lack of windows, so all the lighting had to be supplied by candles and oil lamps. When I arrived, my father and Gisele were already seated on the great carved, painted, and bejew eled chairs that were set up on a low stage in the center of the chamber. About two hundred other people were milling about the room, restless and excited. I wove between them on my way to the dais, then climbed up to take my place in the more delicate chair situated at my father’s right hand.

  “Let the contestants be brought forward!” my father commanded.

  The crowd parted and the two scholars led Darius and Harwin deep into the room. Darius and I stared at each other, each drinking in details. In this much better lighting, he was much better-looking. His blond curls had been freshly washed and combed; he was wearing a silky blue shirt over black trousers and boots, and he looked young and hopeful and sparkly with possibility. I know men aren’t sparkly, but he was, somehow. He seemed to be on the verge of breaking into laughter or bursting into song or flinging up his hands to call forth rainbows.

  I hoped that, this close up, I looked as good to him as he did to me.

  Harwin, by contrast, was much the worse for yesterday’s escapades and today’s deep cogitation. The first thing I noticed was that he walked awkwardly, employing a cane and favoring his left foot. I had not seen him fend off the first set of attack dogs yesterday; clearly one of them had chewed on his leg or ankle. As he got closer, I saw that his face was almost haggard, perhaps with pain, perhaps with accumulated weariness. His eyes were fixed on my face, and his expression was dismal.

  Only three people in the room knew whom I would choose, and two of them weren’t at all happy about it. I saw Gisele lean forward and bend in my direction, but I would not look at her. I kept my gaze on the approaching men and tried to maintain a serious expression.

  Harwin and Darius halted in front of the thrones and executed deep bows. “Well done, both of you!” my father declared. “Each of you has demonstrated his strength, his valor, and his wit—each has proved himself worthy of my daughter. Yet only one of you can marry the princess. Now is the time for her to choose which of you she will call husband.”

  My father rose to his feet and gestured for me to follow suit. Gisele and I both stood up. “Introduce yourselves,” my father said grandly and pointed at Harwin. “First you.”

  Harwin stepped closer to the stage, his gaze still leveled
on me. “I am Sir Harwin Brenley, twenty-eight years old, a man of property and my father’s sole heir. If you choose me as your husband, I will treat you gently, love you fondly, share all my material goods with you, and consider myself a fortunate man.”

  A soft sigh ran through the room, produced, no doubt, by the women in attendance. I blinked at Harwin, for that was certainly the most romantic string of sentences I had ever heard him put together. But it was still Harwin staring back up at me, tall, brown, steady, dull. I didn’t know how to answer him, so I merely nodded, thanked him, and turned my attention to Darius.

  The magician stepped forward and dropped into a bow so low that his curls brushed the floor. When he straightened, he was holding a bouquet of enormous white blossoms that gave off a rich and heady scent.

  “I am Darius Kent, son of a landowner and also my father’s heir. I am possessed of a sunny temperament, a wealth of fantastical stories, and the ability to do small magics. If you marry me, your life will be filled with laughter and decorated with enchantments, and both of those serve to lighten even the dourest days.” He flung the flowers into the air and they were transformed into white butterflies that danced and fluttered around my head before winging their way up into the painted dome. I clapped my hands together like a child, and all the women in the audience cooed and applauded along with me.

  My father turned toward me. “Daughter, can you choose between them?”

  “Darius,” I said with what might have been unbecoming haste. “The magician. I will marry Darius Kent.”

  The reaction from the crowd was so loud that I couldn’t hear what my father or Gisele might have said in response. But Darius flung his head back and laughed, then spread his arms wide in invitation. “Come to me, then!” he called, and I didn’t even hesitate before jumping off the stage into his arms. He caught me deftly and twirled me around until I was as dizzy as one of those butterflies.

  “We shall plan the wedding immediately!” My father’s declaration rose above the excited chatter of the crowd. “Everyone shall be invited!”