Legacy (23 page)

Steldor took the lead, kissing my hand as he always did. Dispensing with small talk, he extended his arm to me.

“May I have the honor?”

I nodded, uncertain what to expect from him as we had not parted on the best of terms two weeks previously. We left the room to walk down the corridor to the dining hall, followed by Miranna and Temerson, and our bodyguards. As we proceeded, I ruminated over Steldor's atypical behavior—he had neither flippantly complimented me nor tried to engage me in conversation.

My thoughts flew apart when the door to the hall opened and the raucous sounds of the guests hit my ears. We walked down the center of the room toward the high table, the noise
subsiding as heads were lowered in respect. Wine and ale were being served, but the feast would not begin until the King and Queen arrived. Steldor, at his charming best, held my chair out for me as I took my seat, then poured and offered me a glass of deep red wine.

A trumpet blast from the far end of the hall told me that my parents were about to enter, preceded as always by Lanek. I laughed softly as I realized even the palace herald could not have been heard above this group of revelers, and he had thus been forced to resort to trumpets.

“All rise for King Adrik and his queen, the Lady Elissia,” Lanek shouted.

The room fell silent as those gathered in the hall stood for the entrance of the King and Queen. My father greeted his guests as he proceeded, while my mother walked serenely at his side. A dozen Elite Guards followed in pairs, moving to stand in a row behind the high table with Halias and Destari, their royal-blue uniforms adding vibrant color to the rich, cherry-paneled wall. Cannan, Kade and a number of Kade's Palace Guards prowled the perimeter of the room, watching for signs of trouble. Stepping onto the platform that held the high table, my father positioned himself behind his chair to open the festivities.

“Let the feast begin!” he proclaimed, holding high a goblet of ale.

A shout went up from the revelers as servants began to bring platters of food to the tables.

The feast went on for hours, stretching through several courses. My father had spared no expense, and legs of mutton and veal, chicken, venison, pork and beef weighed down the platters amid an array of breads and vegetables. Sugar wafers,
oranges, apples, pears and cheeses were served as dessert. Wine and ale were consumed by the barrel.

As the meal came to an end, the merriment began. Tumblers and acrobats worked their way up and down the aisles, while jugglers and jesters performed at the front of the room, between our table and the others, to be later replaced by singers and musicians.

Throughout it all, Steldor played the part of the solicitous suitor, filling my wineglass, plying me with sweets, pointing out clever tricks and antics and identifying some of the men who would be the best competitors on the morrow. He did not brag or boast, something I would not have thought possible, but took pleasure in the available entertainment and in bantering with the guests. Whether due to the wine or his change in approach, I found myself enjoying the evening, and perhaps even his companionship.

Just when it seemed one too many barrels of drink had been opened, as some participants were threatening to start the competitions in the dining hall, my father stood. Trumpets again sounded to call attention to him.

“My good lords, depart and get some rest, for the sun shall soon rouse you, and the tournament games will begin,” he announced, indicating that the feast had come to its conclusion.

With that, he and my mother left the hall, followed by Steldor and me, then Miranna and Temerson, with the Elite Guards last. Behind us, I could hear the riotous sounds of our departing guests.

As soon as we were within the lesson room, Temerson bowed and took his leave. I turned to Steldor, hoping he would do the same.

“We must also rise early, so I will bid you good-night,” I said, rather abruptly.

“Surely you can keep me company a moment longer.” His smooth voice and dark eyes contained a touch of amusement, and for the first time since the evening had begun, I grew anxious.

“We should not be together without a chaperone,” I argued, twining my fingers.

“I only desire a few minutes, and your bodyguard is outside in the corridor.”

I glanced at my sister, hoping for some assistance, but all she gave me was a reassuring smile. With a flip of her bouncy hair, she stepped out of the room, leaving me alone with Steldor. He studied me for a moment, then reached out to still my nervous hands, laughing when I jumped at his touch.

“Are you really that terrified of being alone with me?”

When I did not answer, he lightly continued, “It appears you have given some thought to our conversation at Baron Koranis's estate. I'm sure you will agree that our time together is more pleasurable when you do not continually resist me.”

I stared at him, his ability to put all blame on me for the problems between us robbing me of speech. As I struggled to formulate a response, he reached out to stroke my long, sleek hair.

“May I kiss you good-night?” he asked, once again catching me by surprise, and I knew my face gave full notice of my jumbled feelings.

“Just one kiss, I promise,” he teased. “I won't expect anything more.”

It came to me then that he thought I was reluctant to be alone with him due to my lack of experience with men. While that was part of the reason, it seemed to have escaped him that
I did not like him or trust him. I decided not to correct his misconception. After all, he was at least taking a courteous approach.

I nodded my head and he placed one hand on each side of my face in a gentle caress, his pleasing scent washing over me. His lips joined with mine, soft and sensual, and I felt myself relaxing into him against my will.

“Sleep well, Princess,” he said, removing his hands and stepping away from me. “I will return to escort you to the tournament field in the morning.”

He bowed deeply and departed, leaving me off balance, as I had not anticipated such tenderness from him, and unsettled by the knowledge that I had enjoyed both his kiss and his touch.

“Good night, Destari,” I murmured, stepping into the corridor where he awaited me.

As I drifted toward my quarters, the foreign notion that I had just had a pleasant time with Steldor broke over me, and I reluctantly admitted to myself that he could, in fact, be good company. Unfortunately, I had no idea how to ensure that the Steldor with whom I had just spent the evening would be the Steldor I would wed if my father had his way.

ON THE MORNING OF OCTOBER TWENTY-NINTH, the royal family rode in two carriages to the tournament site west of the faire. The King and Queen traveled in one carriage, and Miranna and I, with our escorts, occupied the other. Our bodyguards and numerous other Elite Guards accompanied the carriages on horseback.

The weather was sunny but cold and breezy, and fur throws had been provided for our use both as we traveled to the event and within the royal box. While the spectators would most likely feel the chill as the day wore on, such weather was well suited for the competitions, as it would exhilarate the participants and spur them on to greater feats.

The viewing box that had been constructed for the royal family and our guests sat on top of the hill that sloped down to the military training field where the events would be held. The box was entered from the rear and had walls with large, open windows and a roof to provide shelter from the elements. The exterior was draped with royal-blue-and-gold silks, and
tapestries hung on the inside provided insulation against the cold.

The royal box would be full, as it would hold not only my family, our escorts and our bodyguards, but visiting royalty from two of our neighboring kingdoms, Sarterad and Gourhan. Emotana's sovereigns had sent regrets and would not be in attendance. We were on good terms with all of these kingdoms, despite their reluctance to aid us in the Cokyrian War; the warriors of the east were feared, and none of our friendly neighbors had dared take the risk of crossing Cokyri to defend Hytanica. Temerson's parents, Lieutenant Garreck and Lady Tanda, would also be our guests, as would Koranis and Alantonya, serving to ratchet up the tension in the box, although my father seemed oblivious to the strained relationship between the captain and the Baron. Even though Cannan would be on duty, his wife, Faramay, would join us as well, for she would otherwise have lacked an escort.

It would be clear to anyone who had seen Faramay that she was Steldor's mother; it was equally clear why Steldor was so good-looking. Baroness Faramay was, without dispute, the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Her chocolate-brown hair fell around her lovely oval face in thick curls that moved when she turned her head, sweeping gracefully across her shoulders and back, drawing attention to her whether she sought it or not. She had blue eyes that were large and striking, and though she was almost forty, her fair skin was smooth and glowing. While Cannan was himself an attractive man, his wife was an arresting beauty, and Steldor had been blessed with many of her features. The only similarities between father and son were their chiseled jawlines, the deep brown of their eyes and hair, and their powerful physiques.

By the time we entered the royal box, competitors were
already on the field preparing for the contests; lords and ladies in colorful raiment of lush velvet and embroidered silk had begun to fill the viewing stand constructed for them on the north side of the field, and the citizenry were gathering on the grassy hillsides. I knew the audience would grow throughout the day, drawn first by the archery, knife-throwing and axe-throwing competitions, then by the more daring and perilous horse races, culminating in the dangerous fighting events: first hand-to-hand and then with swords and other weapons. The noise level would also increase, as the crowd would extol its favorite competitors and be equally vocal in its jeering of those it abhorred, the abundance of wine and ale tending to inspire avid crowd participation.

The field itself had been marked out to meet the needs of the tournament. An oval track had been established and was roped on both sides of its twenty-five-foot width, ready for the horse races. On the near inside edge of the oval, slightly to the left of the royal box, a large stage had been erected for the one-on-one combat competitions. To the north of the stage, targets were set for the archery tournament and would later be replaced by targets for the knife-throwing and axe-throwing events. To the rear of these areas but still within the oval, several large tents had been pitched for use by the participants as they readied themselves for the games. Billowing silk banners indicated which tents had been assigned to each kingdom: royal-blue-and-gold for Hytanica, black-and-silver for Sarterad, Gourhan's crimson-and-white, and Emotana's black-and-forest-green. Water for drinking and washing had been provided, and doctors were on hand to treat the injured.

The start of the tournament was heralded by trumpets and drums, and my father stood to open the event with the
traditional speech, deepening the pitch of his voice so that it boomed across the hillside.

“Honored guests, valiant competitors and loyal citizens of Hytanica, I bid thee welcome to this auspicious tournament. Competitors, I exalt thee to be brave and daring, yet honorable and true, and I pray you will be safe from injury. To those in attendance, I encourage thee to rejoice with the winners, commiserate with the losers, but above all, to loudly cheer.”

My father paused, then pronounced, “Let the tournament begin!”

The archers, displaying the silks of their respective kingdoms, approached the competition area as the cry of, “Let the tournament begin!” was repeated across the hillside. They eyed their targets and made final adjustments to their bows while waiting for the contest to commence.

I located Lanek, who would be announcing the events, on the field. It would be his responsibility to provide commentary throughout the day, and he would no doubt be hoarse by the time evening fell. As the archery began, Lanek called out the distances to the targets, the marks of the archer's arrows, and the names of those who would be advancing. With each succeeding round, targets would be moved farther away to provide an ever-increasing challenge to the competitors' skills.

Steldor's mood had not changed much from the previous evening, and he continued to use his inexhaustible charisma to enchant the King and Queen, as well as the other royals in attendance. If anything, he was even more charming and witty than he had been at the pretournament dinner. While his ability to ingratiate himself with my parents taxed my patience, his mood otherwise suited me perfectly.

From archery, the tournament proceeded to knife throwing, followed by axe throwing, with Lanek continuing to
announce distances to targets and accuracy of throws. After a break for lunch, the horse racing began, and by the time the first winner crossed the finish line, the hillside was packed with vocal spectators. The horse racing involved much jostling among the competitors, which sometimes resulted in fallen riders and downed mounts. While there were some injuries, all of the toppled riders were able to limp off the track amid shouts from the crowd, most without assistance.

Friendly repartee filled the royal box throughout the day's contests, but Koranis was careful to maintain his distance from the Captain of the Guard. Of course, Cannan's reaction to Koranis's presence was far more difficult to ascertain.

When the fights with weapons began, conversation among those in the royal box fell off, although the crowd on the hillside voiced their opinions as vociferously as ever. Competitors would fight one-on-one in several different modes during this part of the tournament. First would be wrestling, then hand-to-hand combat, followed by combat with swords and other weapons. Although weapons used in the fighting events were blunted in an attempt to prevent harm to participants, injuries were frequent but rarely fatal.

The men involved in the fourth to last battle, one Hytanican and one clad in the black-and-silver of the Kingdom of Sarterad, were called forth by Lanek, and they climbed the few steps on either side of the stage, drawing their swords. Steldor had been concentrating on the fights and was startled when Cannan put a hand upon his shoulder and motioned to the exit. Steldor stood, then made a point of offering words of consolation to me before departing.

“I'm afraid that I must leave you now, as the time to fight the
Cokyrian
draws nigh.” He bowed and kissed my hand, but
did not release it, knowing full well he had irked me by the manner in which he had referred to Narian.

“Don't worry, I won't be gone long,” he added. “I know you will miss me terribly, but perhaps Miranna will be able to cheer you.”

He let go of my hand, bowed to all the royals and gave his mother a dutiful kiss on the cheek before leaving to prepare for the exhibition.

After he had departed, talk resumed, centering mostly upon the fight that would take place between Steldor and Narian. The Cokyrians were the most feared warriors in the Recorah River Valley, and the exhibition offered a rare chance for the public to gauge their skills. Though it was known by everyone in the royal box that the flow of the fight had been plotted from first thrust to final parry, no one except Cannan had witnessed it, and excitement permeated the air. Adding to the sense of danger was the knowledge that, unlike the weapons wielded in the competitions, Steldor's and Narian's would not be blunted. Cannan had wanted to preserve the authenticity of the weaponry, allowing Steldor and Narian to use their personal armaments, and was willing to trust the skills of the young men involved to prevent injury. I too felt on edge about the upcoming event, though my feeling was not one of anticipation, but of trepidation.

Destari's whisper jarred me from my thoughts. “Excuse yourself and come with me.”

I looked at him in confusion, but his serious expression discouraged me from raising any questions. I stood, depositing the throw that I had been draping over my legs on the chair, and approached my father, placing a hand on his shoulder to draw his attention.

“I feel I must move about for a few moments but I will return shortly.”

He nodded and returned to watching the sword fight taking place on the stage below. As I moved toward Destari, Temerson's mother, Lady Tanda, laid a hand on my bodyguard's arm.

“How is London?” she inquired.

“He is fine,” Destari replied with a hint of what presented itself as disapproval. “He has survived far worse than this.”

After glancing at me to ensure I was complying with his directive, Destari slipped out the door. He waited for me outside and extended his hand in assistance as I hurried down the steps.

“Follow me,” he said as soon as my feet were on the ground. Before I could inquire about his strange behavior, he began to walk briskly in the direction of the faire grounds.

I trailed after him, almost jogging to keep pace. He led me through the maze of vendors, paths teeming with people, to a gold-and-maroon tent on the outskirts of the faire near the Market District. The front flaps of the tent were spread open around a long table covered in old and expensive-looking artifacts. I frowned, drawing my cloak securely about me, thinking it unlikely that Destari had brought me here to see ancient relics but unable to decipher his true purpose.

Behind the table sat a deathly thin, middle-aged man with scruffy hair and bulbous black eyes. He bobbed his long, crooked nose up and down to motion us into the tent, and I nervously followed Destari, then waited as he pulled aside one of two hanging tapestries that served as dividers between the front and rear sections of the tent.

“Destari, what—” I began, but swallowed my words as my eyes swept the shadowy back section, lit only by a small, open
flap in the cloth ceiling. Crates that had contained the vendor's merchandise were stacked in the corner, and leaning against them with his arms crossed over his chest was someone I had not seen in many months.

“London!” I exclaimed.

Only the dust particles wafting through the air in the stream of light from the ceiling flap separated us, and I would have run to him had not my good sense surfaced. London was not a physically demonstrative person and would not appreciate my show of affection under the best of circumstances, which these were not.

I stepped forward, aware that he and I had not spoken since the day of Narian's capture, at which time nothing had been resolved between us. While I was elated to see him, he probably did not feel the same pleasure to be with me.

“Princess Alera,” he said in greeting. “Glad you could fit me into your busy schedule.”

His familiar sarcasm served to remind me of how sorely I had missed him. I stopped a few feet away while I scrambled for an appropriate response, and Destari stepped through the tapestries to stand behind me.

“You look well,” I finally faltered.

“As do you, Princess.”

I averted my gaze, disheartened by his continued formality, and stared for a moment at my shoes. Regaining my composure, I tried again, with more sincerity than I had managed before.

“Truly, how are you?”

“Just fine. I always land on my feet.” He smirked as he chided, “I hear you've managed to dispose of yet another bodyguard.”

I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, but London did not seem to notice.

“I am sorry for causing you pain,” I said, searching his indigo eyes. “Isn't there some way we can put this behind us?”

“Whatever suits the Princess,” he responded, and I was relieved to hear a tease in his voice. After a glance at Destari, who had moved up beside me, he more seriously added, “This wasn't intended to be a social gathering anyway.”

An awkward hush transpired, during which London ran a finger along the dusty edge of one of the wooden crates. Finally, he broke the silence.

“Destari tells me you've become friendly with Koranis's son.”

I should have known Destari would be keeping London informed of my activities—after sixteen years of monitoring my every movement, it would be difficult for old habits to die—but I suspected London had pieced together more information about my visits with Narian than even my bodyguard knew. Not wanting to say the wrong thing, I shrugged.

“And what is your opinion of him?” London persisted, equally unrevealing of his purpose in pursuing this topic.

I knew there was no point in trying to deceive him. “He fascinates me, and I enjoy his company.”