Echoes of Betrayal (60 page)

“Be welcome here,” Kieri said, as if he had expected them both. “We must talk. There are concerns about the border. The day after tomorrow?”

“As it pleases you,” Dorrin said.

“Then that morning,” Kieri said.

The rest of the line surged forward when Dorrin moved away, and for the next turn of the glass Arian accepted bow after bow, hand after hand. Elis of Pargun, Arian noted, was a very different young woman now that she had purpose and a structure in which to exercise it. Perhaps her gravity came from knowing all but one of her brothers were dead and her father had been gravely wounded, but it suited her. Ganlin, too, had changed: she walked without any hint of a limp and seemed completely relaxed and happy. The Sea-Prince had green and blue ribbons in his three long dark braids and a curved dagger thrust into a jeweled sheath. The Dzordanyan Mother of Mothers of the Long Houses was a tiny woman swathed in dark green. Her face, what little could be seen of it, was heavily wrinkled, but when she took Arian’s hand, her grip had strength.

By the time the guests had paid their respects, the other rooms were buzzing with conversation over a background of music. Arian and Kieri circulated among the rooms and guests, pausing to compliment the musicians. After a time, Arian’s feet hurt and she sat down among a group of older women, Siers’ wives, and Sier Davonin.

At once one of the servants brought her a plate of food and a goblet of water flavored with cherry preserves. Sier Davonin leaned over. “My dear, forgive an old woman’s presumption, but are you ensuring you eat enough roots?”

“Roots?”

“Didn’t your mother tell you? Just as trees form strong root systems before they grow tall, so children must root deeply before they grow larger. The first days are most important.”

“I ate plenty of redroots all winter, Sier Davonin.”

“That’s good,” Davonin said, patting Arian’s shoulder in a motherly way. “Now, am I right in thinking this child must have been engendered near Midwinter?”

Arian nodded.

“Then you know to eat spring greens.”

“Yes.”

The Siers’ ladies chimed in then, and she felt trapped in a maze of maternal advice, but Kieri, who had been talking to Duke Mahieran some distance away, suddenly excused himself and came to her rescue.

“At least we do not have to begin our wedding at dawn,” Kieri said. “Come, Arian, we should make another triumphal round, don’t you think? You ladies will excuse us …”

“I’ve told Elis she should talk to Duke Mahieran,” Kieri said when they had moved away. “She can reassure him about Pargun’s intentions. And she will need to know the Tsaians and deal with them as well as us.”

“Has Pargun ever had an ambassador to Tsaia?”

“Not in years. The Verrakaien used to claim they had contact with the Pargunese—fine fellows, they’d say—but the Pargunese claimed they were afraid of assassination if they sent anyone of consequence, and Mikeli’s father would not accept anyone trivial. He had lost his own father to the Pargunese and had little patience with them. Elis is the right person to change Tsaian minds, and I’m sure the Pargunese are no threat to them at this time.”

“Ganlin?”

“Her father’s accepted that she wants to be a Knight of Falk—I suspect that means he’s accepted she won’t find a husband in Kostandan; her brother tells me that they hope she makes a good marriage
alliance here or in Tsaia. If you look over there—” Arian followed his glance and saw Ganlin, flushed and pretty, listening to Rothlin Mahieran. “—she’s already found one handsome young man in line for a throne. Her brother would rather she met Mikeli and wants my advice on how to arrange it.”

“What about Dorrin? And isn’t Beclan really—?”

“That’s a ticklish business just now. Duke Mahieran gave me a précis—apparently an earlier letter didn’t get through. Dorrin had to adopt Beclan as her heir—he had to change his name—to ensure he was out of the succession for the Tsaian throne and had close supervision of his magery.”

“
Beclan?
Magery?”

“Through his mother, Mahieran’s wife, they think. It’s too complicated to explain fully now. We’ll talk to Dorrin after the wedding. Sonder’s staying a full tenday; there will be time. Beclan’s upset about the adoption—and no wonder—but I see he’s already attracted his own following.”

Sure enough, several Siers’ daughters were clustered around Beclan, who no longer looked tense or miserable. In fact, he looked quite happy.

“New faces,” Kieri said in her ear. “Always more interesting than someone’s brother whose faults you’ve heard about from his sister. And he’s now heir to the Verrakai title and estates … quite eligible.”

“That’s what I told him.” Dorrin had come up on Kieri’s other side. She was grinning. “I’m glad he’s enjoying himself. He was an idiot, but he didn’t deserve much of what happened. But that’s for another day’s discussion. I applaud Mikeli for allowing us both to come and for sending Sonder and Rothlin.”

“That doesn’t make it harder?” Kieri asked.

“No. Here, Beclan can meet with his father and brother. In Tsaia, anyone in the line of succession is barred from Beclan and he from them. When I’m summoned to court, he must come with me to Vérella, but cannot attend court or visit his family. Besides, he can see for himself that Roth has just one girl showing interest and he has several. That never hurts a young man’s mood.”

By the end of the evening, Arian was exhausted and longing for her bed. She fell asleep quickly, and the dreams that came to her—though she could not remember them in the morning—left her with
a vague melancholy, not the mood she had expected on her wedding morning.

“That’s a solemn look,” Kieri said. She opened her eyes. In the early light she could not see the scars that he had feared would frighten or repel a bride. She ran her hand down his side.

“I dreamed something,” Arian said. “I’m not sure what the dream was. Do you think the Lady will come?”

“The one thing I know—and the only thing I care about—is that when this day ends, we will be formally wed and you will be a queen in name as you are now in truth. Does that please you?”

“Yes,” Arian said. “Absolutely.” Her earlier feelings of insecurity, of concern about her ability to be queen as well as wife, had dissipated in the quarter-year since Midwinter. Now she looked forward to her planned trip to Tsaia. Besides her Squires, she would travel with Sier Davonin, the only woman Sier, and Duke Mahieran of Tsaia and his son and escort. She had hoped Dorrin would travel with them, but now it could be only as far as the border. Still—an adventure. She stretched and grinned at Kieri. “We will make good dreams together, Kieri.”

“I think so, too,” he said. “But at the moment, we had best make good figureheads … alas that there is no more time for dreaming on this wedding morn. You to your bath and dressing, my queen, and I to mine.”

After that the day rushed on; Arian bathed and ate a little breakfast in her own chamber, before her Squires and Siers’ ladies and Estil Halveric came to dress her. Kieri had insisted she have mail and go armed even for the ceremony and had given her a baldric of the finest leather, dyed green and stamped with the royal insignia in gold to wear instead of her sword belt.

When she was ready and the fussiest of the Siers’ ladies had finally quit moving a tendril of hair from this place to that, she went out into the passage; Kieri emerged from his chamber at almost the same instant. The perfume of spring flowers filled the air; Arian was aware of the scent and of the Lady’s glamour at the same moment. She and Kieri went down together, and she was not surprised to find the Lady waiting for them, along with other elves of her court. But her father stood with them … and that was a complete surprise.

“Blessings of the Singer on this day of joy,” the Lady said. Arian
could feel the flood of enchantment but was not overwhelmed … others, she saw, were deep in awe, almost drowning in the Lady’s power. Behind the elves stood one who was not: Dorrin Verrakai, like Duke Mahieran, wore formal court dress but unlike him was not gazing at the Lady in rapt adoration. Instead, she had a speculative expression, as if about to test what the Lady could do. She gave Arian a sharp look, then a tiny nod. Arian wondered if Dorrin’s taig-sense had strengthened over the winter.

As a path opened before them and they came out the palace entrance to the courtyard, more flowers appeared, this time out of the air, drifting like colored snowflakes. Among them were butterflies, the small wind of their wings keeping the flowers aloft.

The wedding itself meant repeating some of the same vows as at their betrothal, with mention of the child engendered in the betrothal. Arian’s father and the Lady spoke the elven Witnessing together—another surprise—and the Captain-General of Falk invoked Falk’s Oath and the High Lord.

The courtyard was packed with people—many of the same who had attended Kieri’s coronation the year before. Beyond the Lady’s glamour, Arian felt the taig’s wholehearted joy and the joy of the crowd—they had not needed the Lady’s glamour to force them to celebrate.

As the ceremony ended, a gust of warm wind swirled the flowers and butterflies into a tower of color … and then the flowers fell on heads and shoulders and the butterflies flew away. The Lady turned to Kieri and Arian. “I have made up my quarrel with your father, king and queen of Lyonya, and he his with me. Set your mind at rest about that.”

Arian’s father had a quirk to the corner of his mouth that Kieri knew of old—but he said nothing to contradict the Lady.

“I am happy to hear that,” Kieri said.

“And I,” Arian said. She was not sure the quarrel was over—elves were known for long-held grudges—but having her father at her wedding was worth taking their words at face value. She turned to her father. “Thank you for my wedding gown.”

His smile this time was genuine. “It was my delight to provide it, Arian. And you are even more beautiful than I remembered.”

N
ext morning, the palace was still nowhere near back to normal. Kieri and Arian went to the salle as usual, but Kieri left when a servant brought word that Duke Mahieran wanted to talk to him again.

“Every ambassador will want time with me today,” he said.

Arian sparred with one of her Squires and with Aliam Halveric when he showed up, then went to breakfast with Aliam and Estil. To her surprise, Dorrin was there, with Beclan at her side, and—a greater surprise—Arian’s father Dameroth also attended.

“You have heard of my difficulty,” Dorrin said without preamble.

“I don’t understand it,” Aliam said. “You saved the king’s life—how can he be so ungrateful?”

“I saved his life by what, under Tsaian law, is the most heinous of crimes: killing by magery,” Dorrin said. “And to make it worse, in the eyes of some, the man I killed had been invaded—his own life taken—by my father. So I killed his body and my father’s mind and spirit, and all by magery.”

“They had rather their king died because you didn’t?” Aliam asked.

“They had rather I had used another method,” Dorrin said. “I do not blame them, Aliam. I know enough of my family’s history to understand their suspicions of me. They trusted me with their children to be my squires, and two of them were put in peril in my service. Not through my intent, of course, but it happened nonetheless.”

“You may not blame them, but I do,” Aliam said. “I’ve known you long enough, seen you in battle, which they have not, to know that you are utterly honorable. Kieri told them—I know he told them—about you.”

“Yes, but they did not know me. And Kieri had enemies in Tsaia beyond just my relatives—though I think my relatives were the reason he had enemies.”

“You flatter your family,” Aliam said, this time with a smile. “Kieri is quite capable of making enemies on his own.”

Dorrin chuckled. “I have seen that in the South. Still, it’s a reason for some to be less trusting of his opinion. And what happened to my squires would anger any parent.”

“Squires are young fools as often as not,” Aliam said. “And yours didn’t die …”

“No, but neither of them is what he was. Daryan will be all right, especially if his heart-thumb grows.”

“Wait—I hadn’t heard about that.” Aliam leaned forward.

“A Kuakgan, a Master Ashwind, healed him but had the strength only to mend both heel-strings and one thumb. Apparently, there’s a chance that the—” Dorrin glanced at the elf, whose brows had risen. Arian knew her father was startled and a little distressed. “My pardon,” she said. “I know you elves do not like Kuakkgani.”

“I dislike them less than many elves,” Arian’s father said. “The only one I ever really talked to has a Grove in southern Tsaia, near the border. Master Oakhallow.”

“You know Oakhallow?” Dorrin said. “I met him after the battle last year, when Kieri was attacked on his way here.”

“Do you know why he left his Grove?” Arian’s father asked.

“He had word that Paksenarrion wanted him to raise the taig for Kieri.”

“That young woman,” Arian’s father said, “has changed the world in ways we do not yet understand.”

“For Sinyi as well?” Arian asked.

“Indeed. Freeing the banast taig alone would have changed them; finding the lost prince changed them. And what else may come … tell me, lord Duke, was it not at the paladin’s instigation that your mage powers were freed?”