Legacy (22 page)

The second song ended, but Steldor did not release my hand. With an affectation of pleasure upon his face, he led me away from the other couples.

“Now, won't you join me at the refreshment table?” he said with forced pleasantness in his voice as well.

Stung by his criticism and unable to refuse his offer lest I prove his point, I let him guide me to the table, for once not fighting the arm he slid around my waist. I waited for him to bring me a glass of wine, hating that he was at least partially correct about my behavior toward him and racking my brain for a way to escape the circumstances in which I wallowed. As Steldor returned to my side, I noticed Miranna approaching
him from behind, and gratitude swept through me when she tapped him on the shoulder.

“Lord Steldor, would you care to dance?” she asked, her tone a touch too sweet.

He glanced between us in annoyance, no doubt aware that Miranna's objective was to rescue me, and I feared he would turn her down.

“By all means, feel free to dance with Mira. It will, after all, give you another basis on which to compare the two of us,” I goaded. “Let's see, you have flirted with us both and kissed us both. I would assume dancing with us both would be of interest as well.”

His eyes darkened, then he gulped down his wine and thrust the empty goblet into my hands.

“A gentleman will always satisfy a lady's desires, even should it enable him to make such comparisons,” he responded before shifting his attention to Miranna. “I am honored by your request,” he said to her, bowing and offering his arm.

While I was relieved to see him walk away, I was dumbfounded by his gall, as he had intimated that both my sister and I sought his attentions. Seized by a desperate desire to leave the gathering, I located Destari and instructed him to inform the grooms that they should prepare one of the three royal carriages for departure. I then thanked Koranis and Alantonya for their hospitality, noting as I did so that the Baron had recovered his self-important air. Finally, I sought out my parents to let them know I was returning to the palace. My father, in particular, looked disappointed, but ultimately he did not object. Shortly thereafter, and due in no small part to Miranna's continued insistence that Steldor dance with her, I was settled into a coach and on my way home, Destari riding
his horse alongside the carriage while several additional guards followed behind.

We had not traveled far when I became aware of the sound of an approaching horse, traveling at a leisurely canter. Destari motioned for my carriage driver to halt and rode out to meet whomever had intercepted us. As only an occasional muffled snatch of conversation reached my ears, I was not able to identify the speakers, and I began to worry that Steldor had pursued me. My disquiet was allayed a few moments later with the return of my bodyguard.

“Lord Narian is here and requests to see you, Princess.”

I nodded, puzzled but not displeased, and Destari assisted me to step down from the carriage. I walked toward Narian, who had alighted from his impressive dappled gray steed to stand fifteen feet away, his eyes continually scanning the guards who were with me.

Although I knew I should be wary of him after what I had witnessed only a few hours ago, my reaction was in fact quite different. I was feeling a very pleasant, light and tingly sensation at being in his presence.

“Shall we walk?” Narian invited, still holding his horse's reins and seemingly unwilling to speak in front of my guards.

“Yes,” I murmured, then I turned to Destari. “Will you bring me one of those lanterns?”

I motioned to the oil lamps hanging from the front of the carriage, and he retrieved the one nearest him.

“We'll return in a short while,” I promised as he handed it to me, indicating I did not want him to trail us.

He did not object, and I could only assume that he was acquiescing due to the amount of trust Cannan had shown in Narian by allowing him to retain possession of his weapons.

“I presume our meetings, and your lessons, are at an end,” Narian said when we were out of earshot of the others.

“My permission has been withdrawn,” I said, unable to hide my disappointment, but realizing my tone was a match to his.

With a sharp laugh he halted, and his horse shifted restlessly. “I forgot—you need permission for everything.”

I turned toward him, unsure how to respond and unable to read his mood. I held up the lantern so I could see his face, but his expression was inscrutable.

“I know you are not familiar with the types of weapons I carry,” he continued, sounding for once ill at ease about the topic he was broaching. “I asked you once if you were afraid of Steldor—perhaps I should ask if you are afraid of me.”

It did not take me long to answer. “Reason says I should be, but I am not.”

“I would never hurt you, Alera.”

His mesmerizing blue eyes held me, then he looked away, as if he'd said something improper.

“Unless you count pulling me off a horse,” I jested.

I caught a flicker of amusement in Narian's eyes and his horse snorted as if on cue. He gave it a pat on the neck before indicating with his hand that we should resume our aimless stroll.

“And how are things between you and your father?” I inquired hesitantly after we had walked a few additional paces.

“Koranis fears his own son,” Narian said contemptuously. “As you heard, he wants the Captain of the Guard to enroll me in the Military Academy. Until then, I am to move into his manor house in the city. I am to leave with the captain tonight. Koranis even chose to oversee my packing, not trusting that
I will take only those things that are my own.” He glanced sideways at me, his countenance less guarded. “Of course, this means I will be living closer to the palace.”

I did not reply, uncertain of his meaning, although my heart quickened at his intimation. I hoped he would elaborate, but he did not, instead changing the subject.

“You didn't appear to enjoy Steldor's company tonight.”

I gave little thought to how he had seen me with Steldor, let alone discerned my feelings, as I was growing quite accustomed to his keen observations.

“I don't ever
enjoy
Steldor's company,” I said with a laugh.

“Then why do you endure him?” Narian responded to the lightness of my comment with confusion and frustration.

“I really have no choice,” I said, confident he would acknowledge the difficulty of my circumstances.

“You always have a choice.”

His words were blunt and devoid of sympathy, and I stared at him as we returned to the vicinity of the carriage, without an inkling of what to make of this encounter.

“I'm sure Steldor has noticed my absence by now,” I said, “so I had better continue to the palace before he pursues me.”

“He may find that rather difficult, as I borrowed his horse.”

“Borrowed?” I shook my head in disbelief as he mounted the powerful animal.

“Good night, Princess,” Narian said with a smirk, before galloping into the darkness in the direction of Koranis's estate.

“SO TELL ME, DID TEMERSON EVER WORK UP THE courage to ask you to dance?”

This was the first time my sister and I had visited since Semari's birthday celebration five days earlier, and we were sitting in my parlor, I upon the sofa, and she in an adjacent armchair.

“No.” Miranna giggled. “But Perdic, his eight-year-old brother, did.”

I laughed along with her, picturing Temerson's face as his own brother asked a princess to dance, when Temerson could hardly put together a full sentence around her.

Miranna and I were spending the afternoon together, embroidering the handkerchiefs we were to give out before the tournament. The mid-October sky was gray and overcast, and the logs smoldering in the fireplace were necessary to chase the chill from the air.

It was tradition that each princess who was of courting age would choose an escort for the tournament and the dinner the evening before by delivering a personally embroidered handkerchief to the favored young man. While Miranna and
I were given leave to stitch whatever design we fancied on the cloth, I had, since the first time I'd been escorted at the age of fifteen, simply sewn my name into the corner. Miranna's design would be more elaborate and creative, but then embroidery was more to her liking than it was to mine; more to her liking as well was the man who would be receiving her kerchief. I knew full well mine was to be sent to Steldor, despite my confused feelings.

“I danced a couple of times with Perdic,” Miranna continued, her eyes bright as she thought back to the party. “He's a very sweet boy, though he's much braver than his brother. Zayle, who spent most of the evening with Perdic, also requested a dance, which made Semari laugh. Eventually
I
asked Temerson!”

“And, of course, he blushed and agreed,” I teased.

Our conversation ended as my parlor door swung wide and my father bounded across the threshold.

“Ah, both of my daughters, I see. Excellent! Not interrupting anything, I hope?” he asked, bustling into our midst.

“Not at all,” I said, returning his smile. “Join us, Father.”

The King took in our activity as he sat beside me on the sofa and grinned from ear to ear.

“Ah, the handkerchiefs. And who will be so lucky as to receive yours, Miranna? The same boy from last year, perhaps? He was quite charming, if recollection serves.”

He winked, and Miranna's cheeks grew warm.

“No,” she said, realizing that Father's thoughts had traveled to potential suitors for her, though she would not be of marriageable age until she turned eighteen. “I was planning on sending mine to Lord Temerson.”

“Isn't he the boy I chose to accompany you on the picnic?” He chuckled in a self-satisfied way at her nod. “Excellent.
Comes from a fine family. I really do have a knack for these things!”

He turned to me, patting my hand.

“You will be interested to know that Steldor is going to take part in a fighting exhibition at the tournament. Cannan has arranged a mock battle between his son and Lord Kyenn to show the people some Cokyrian fighting techniques.”

“Why Steldor?” I blurted, apprehensive on Narian's behalf.

My father interpreted my words in a way that I had not intended.

“You will only be deprived of your escort's company for a short time. What grounds are there to deny such an opportunity to the best fighter in Hytanica, especially when he volunteers for the good of the event?”

I looked at him blankly, and he glanced at Miranna as if begging her to help him allay my anxiety. He was clearly under the impression that the reason for my concern was that I couldn't bear to be apart from Steldor.

When Miranna shrugged but otherwise remained mute, my father spoke again, his spirits dampened by my reaction.

“Well then, there's another item to discuss. I noted that things went quite well between you and Steldor at Semari's birthday. That was an extraordinary gift he extended, and I was happy to see you accept it. Your mother and I were also quite heartened to see the two of you dance.”

My father's brown eyes sparkled as his zest for his subject increased.

“I think the time has come to make it known to the kingdom that you and Steldor are to be wed. I've talked with the priest about a betrothal ceremony, and I have arranged for it to take place within the next few days so that the engagement can be made known at the tournament.”

My lips parted in shock. I could not believe that he thought I was on good enough terms with Steldor to be betrothed. Steldor would embrace the idea, but I could hardly stand to consider it, as evidenced by my urge to bolt from the room.

“I can't.” I faltered, hoping I sounded less distraught than I felt.

My father frowned. “Whatever do you mean, Alera?”

“I mean…that I can't. I can't pledge myself to Steldor. I…am not convinced he is the man I should marry.”

A strained silence fell in the room, the only sound an occasional hiss from the fireplace.

“Why not?” my father demanded.

I searched for a way to express my feelings, for I knew the simple fact that I abhorred Steldor would not disqualify him as a candidate. While I knew I was risking my father's anger and jeopardizing his opinion of me, all I could think to do was to tell him something I had confided only to my sister.

“I feel…an attraction…to someone else.”

“You are
attracted
to someone else?” he repeated, playing with his ring in agitation. “Who is this person?”

“I do not wish to say. But the fact that I am drawn to someone else would suggest that Steldor is not the ideal match for me.”

I prayed I did not sound disrespectful. Nonetheless, my father did not take this revelation well.

“This is preposterous, Alera. If you will not tell me who this young man is, then I must assume he is someone of whom I would not approve, in which case, you would not be permitted to marry him. Unless this other man possesses the qualities necessary to be my successor, whether you are attracted to him or not is irrelevant. You must marry a
king.
”

“I implore you, Father. Just give me a little more time.”

He looked at me critically for a moment, then relented with a heavy sigh.

“Granted. But I expect you to use the time wisely. We are six months from your birthday and the day when you will be wed, and a decision must be reached regarding your husband. In fairness to Steldor, it is deceitful of you to receive such a splendid gift as that necklace with a divided heart.”

My father stood to leave, then faced me one last time, his stern visage making him seem older, and I became cognizant of the extent to which his dark brown hair had been replaced by gray. At that moment, I realized why his sights were so firmly set on my birthday. “Alera, notwithstanding this other person, you are to bestow upon Steldor the honor of acting as your escort for the tournament and the dinner preceding it.”

My father's steps were noticeably less buoyant when he at last exited the room. As his footfalls faded, frantic thoughts flashed in my head, but strangely, the one that plagued me most was the fighting exhibition my father had mentioned. Why had Steldor volunteered? His opinion of Narian was no secret to me, and I doubted it was to the captain. Cannan must have deemed his son trustworthy, but I could not conceive that Steldor's motivations in participating in this simulated fight were innocent.

I glanced at Miranna, who was twisting her coppery-blond hair, and knew that she was having similar thoughts.

“Now men really
are
fighting over you,” she said.

 

Criers and heralds who had been sent forth several weeks ago to publicize the approach of the weeklong Harvest Festival began to return over the next few days, and vendors from surrounding kingdoms arrived to unpack and set up their displays.
Everyone intending to offer merchandise for sale was required to check in with the keeper of the faire to pay a fee and be assigned a location from which to operate. Inns began to fill and business at the taverns boomed as excitement reached a fever pitch.

The morning of the first day of the faire dawned crisp and clear. Miranna and I worked our way through the gathering crowd to the grassy area where market day was normally held. Tents spread from here toward the Military Complex and the palace to the north. A smiling Halias and a grim Destari accompanied us, but this time they remained in uniform and stayed at our sides, as there was a much increased potential for jostling and thievery amidst such a teeming crowd.

As we wandered among the tents, a happy uproar bombarded our ears, as laughing, shouting and bargaining blended into a cacophony of sound. Above the hubbub, we would occasionally catch an unusual accent or a foreign tongue, or the melodic tones of minstrels and musicians. I cocked my head at one point, believing that I had heard a Cokyrian accent. Was Narian nearby? I thought it possible, for he had been living in the city since the night of Semari's birthday celebration, but I did not catch a glimpse of him.

The sights of the faire were as overwhelming as the din. There was an astounding variety of merchandise for sale: wool, cotton, silk and linen cloth were available in myriad colors, some interwoven with strands of gold or silver. Hemp for nets, ropes and bowstrings; furs and skins; and embossed leather were also in abundant supply. Spice vendors busily measured out unusual seasonings such as cinnamon, pepper, cardamom, turmeric and mustard seed for their eager buyers, and purveyors of rare oils and perfumes did the same. As we moved with the flow of people, we saw jewelry, swords and
daggers, magnificent tapestries, handcrafted candlesticks and chests, hand-carved ivory and ebony figurines, valuable books, exotic clothing and rare carpets, all of which were available for purchase.

The inevitable scuffle, as well as a brawl or two, would occasionally break out in the pathways between the tents, to be quickly subdued by City Guards who were trolling the grounds in large numbers. It was important to the success of the faire that the merchandise was protected from theft and damage and the safety of sellers and buyers alike ensured.

Perhaps our favorite aspect of the faire was the entertainment, with the large selection of tempting treats for the palate a close second. We laughed at the antics of tumblers and jugglers, and gaped in awe at magicians who could swallow swords and fire. The smells of stews, meat pies and other prepared foods whetted our appetites, while unusual sweets, uncommon flavors of cheese and sumptuous tastes, like chocolate, fed our souls.

We returned to the palace that evening quite fatigued, but exuberant, our senses battered by the sights, sounds and smells of the day. We were determined, however, to venture forth again, and our next few days followed the pattern of the first, as it took a good deal of time to fully appreciate the festivities. We would wake in the morning ready to meet the challenge of the day, and fall into our beds utterly exhausted in the evening.

As the week went on, more visitors arrived. The inns were now overflowing, and some city residents made extra money by renting out rooms in their homes, while the King permitted travelers to pitch tents on the open ground near the palace or outside the city walls. Most of these new arrivals were coming to participate in the tournament that was held
on the last day of the Harvest Festival. Young men, lured by the generous prize money and other rewards the King posted for the winners, came from far and wide to participate in the contests that would challenge their skills and, in many cases, their bravery.

On the day before the tournament, Miranna and I did not attend the faire, as I was needed to oversee the final preparations that were underway in the palace for the pretournament dinner. My mother had once again placed the event in my hands, which I understood to be a high honor, for it implied my skills were adequate in this regard. My primary tasks had been planning the menu and the evening's merriment.

The dinner would be held in the King's Dining Hall on the second floor, with approximately four hundred guests in attendance. The guests were those men who had paid their entry fee to participate in the tournament and their ladies. The King's Dining Hall could seat at least a thousand people, with ten oak tables running the length of the room. Three dozen candlelit chandeliers provided lighting, as did numerous oil lamps hung by chains from the walls. At the far end of the hall, a high table was set perpendicular to the rest for the royal family and our escorts. Decorations were minimal, as this dinner was less formal than most hosted by the King. Spirits tended to run high, wine flowed freely, bragging was boisterous and entertainment was plentiful.

On the evening of the feast, Miranna and I awaited the arrival of our escorts in the second-floor lesson room, which doubled as a parlor, with Destari and Halias outside in the corridor. I was wearing a gown of burgundy velvet that laced across the bodice, then fell into a wide circle skirt, the richness of the color complementing my loose dark brown tresses. Miranna's gown of deep blue velvet captured the color of
her eyes and was styled with a fitted waist and gently flaring skirt.

It wasn't long before Steldor, self-assured and resplendent in a black doublet with gold stitching, and Temerson, scared and uncomfortable in an ivory doublet, arrived. Tradition dictated that the men honored by the handkerchiefs display them in some way, and Steldor had tied the one he had received from me around the hilt of his sword. This tradition did not denote a romance between us to the public eye, but it was significant nonetheless. In our patriarchal society, the custom of the handkerchiefs allowed women to lay claim to men for once, rather than the other way around. Whether or not I wanted Steldor was another matter, and I pondered the notion of some far-off man I might have happily claimed, a strong, fierce, but respectful man. I felt moments away from conjuring a face to match my daydream, but instead I was distracted by Temerson. He carried no sword, and I could not at first discern how he was displaying Miranna's handkerchief, but then saw it tied about his left wrist.