Lioness Rampant (26 page)

“Everyone's waitin' to see which way the cat will jump,” Rispah said as Alanna submitted to fittings. “With no reason at all. They're hopin' for another claimant to the throne, but who's it to be? The Conté Duke's givin' them no encouragement, for certain.”

“With some, all it took was the Bazhir coming here in great numbers,” Eleni explained. “Plenty of northerners hate them, and any king liked by the desert men will find he has trouble.”

“Some folks say Duke Roger's older and more experienced than Jonathan,” Rispah added. “They say what happened two Midwinters ago—” she nodded to Alanna, “was Jon's plot to get Roger out of the way.”

“Easy, child,” Eleni cautioned, putting a hand on Alanna's arm. “It's just talk. No one's doing anything, not even speaking out publicly. But Jonathan could do with a miracle.”

To her surprise, Alanna smiled. “Then we'll give him one.”

She found Myles in his study late that afternoon, napping. Once he was awake, Alanna sat down to discuss the events of the past year with him. He could fill in the blank spots because he knew better than anyone else why nobles behaved as they did, and his merchant friends were always honest with him. “They don't think Jonathan can hold the throne,” he told Alanna bluntly. “Until they see proof that he can, they're going to hold back. It isn't that many of them expect Roger to try for the throne. Well, those who live at court don't expect it. But Tortall's a big kingdom, and it's hard to keep it knit together in the best of times. If Jonathan can't rule, the fiefs on the borders will start to break away and form their own kingdoms. Tusaine, Galla, and Scanra will nibble at the edges. That's what people fear. Roald let them be, and twenty-odd years of that kind of beneficent neglect is bearing fruit now. Does that answer your question?” Alanna nodded.
“The Jewel will help. After that, it's up to Jonathan and the use he makes of you bright young people.”

Alanna laughed. “Don't forget, he's got you on his side, too.”

Myles chuckled. “By the way, I have something for you. Eleni told me you'd had an ordeal this afternoon. I bought these to make you feel better.” He dug in a pocket and handed Alanna a small box. “Don't open it here. Expressions of gratitude embarrass me.” He leaned back in his chair, putting up his feet. “Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to finish my nap.”

Outside his study, Alanna opened the box. Inside was a pair of black pearl earbobs.

Every Tortallan girl dreamed of descending the Great Stair in the queen's ballroom with all eyes fixed on her, the knight of her dreams singling her out and bearing her away to a life of bliss. Minstrels made their living off tales of common-born girls presented at court by mysterious—wealthy—guardians for just that fate. Now it was Alanna's turn to descend; she felt a degree of panic she was unaccustomed to as an old palace hand. She had seen hundreds descend the Great Stair to cross the long room and kneel before sovereigns. In the ballroom she'd met girls who came
to court to make good marriages, foreign diplomats and their ladies, merchants, visiting warriors—the list was endless. If they had been as terrified as she was that night, they didn't show it.

They stood in the chambers outside the ballroom's great doors: Thayet, Buri, Eleni, and Liam for official presentation; Myles to bolster their confidence; and Alanna to be—
Reintroduced? That can't be right,
she told herself. The Jewel, snug in its box, seemed to have caught her case of nerves; she could feel it humming through her black kid gloves. “Jump up,” she told Faithful, wriggling her shoulder. “I need the reassurance.”

No,
the cat replied, shaking his head.
I'll muss your pretty clothes.
Startled, she pulled away. He'd actually sounded serious!

Eleni Cooper fussed with the gold lace at her throat. “I wish I hadn't agreed to do this, Myles.” She was elegant in mahogany-colored silk, her gray-streaked hair in a heavy knot at the back of her head. “I am suitably entertained in the Lower City.”

Hazel eyes met hazel eyes, with a depth of love that made Alanna wistful as Myles raised Eleni's hand to his lips. “This will be just as entertaining, my dear. Perhaps more so.”

Strong fingers brushed Alanna's new ear bobs. “Pretty,” Liam approved. “A nice touch.”

Alanna's heart skipped a beat. The Dragon did not have to wear dark colors or pale grays or lavenders of mourning for Lianne and Roald. He was magnificent in blue-violet satin over silvery shirt and hose. His hair flamed in contrast.

“It isn't fair of you to look so good!” she hissed.

“I could say the same about you. You think I don't have regrets about us breaking it off?” His eyes were the bright aqua he seemed to reserve just for her. “When you're queen of Tortall, you'll thank me.”

She was opening her mouth to say, “I'm not
going
to be queen,” when Gary joined them. “Liam Ironarm? I'm Gareth—Gary—the Younger of Naxen. My father's Prime Minister. Can you tell me about Shang?” He put his arm through Liam's and walked him away, calling, “I'll talk to you later, Alanna.”

Timon, once Duke Gareth's personal manservant, now chief of the palace footmen, arrived looking harassed. Gary bade a swift farewell and went to stand by the throne. Timon nodded to Myles, who took Eleni's arm. “You're worth any of them, Mistress Cooper,” Alanna heard him whisper. The chief herald
bowed and opened half of the great door, admitting the couple.

“Am I all in one piece?” Buri wanted to know. She wore a deerskin jacket richly beaded in red and silver, tight deerskin breeches, and soft boots. She bristled with silver and black daggers; both the short and long sword were thrust in her sash. Her thick hair was tightly braided and coiled; the pins securing it were silver. She slapped black gauntlets nervously against her arm as Alanna looked her over.

The knight smiled. “You look splendid. Your mother and brother will be proud.”

“
We
are proud,” Liam added. The herald beckoned to him. He drew a breath. “Shang Masters, I hate this kind of thing.” Leaving the two women staring in astonishment, he went through the open door.

Buri poked Alanna's arm. Thayet had emerged from the robing room. Alanna's voice caught in her throat as the princess tried to smile. “Do I look all right?”

Her hair was a mass of ringlets cascading from crown to shoulders. Her hazel eyes were big against her creamy skin, her lips crimson. Her flame-red gown left shoulders and an expanse of bosom glowing against the muslin, then blossomed into a wide skirt.
Rubies set in lacy gold shimmered in her hair and against her neck.

The chief herald stared at Thayet too, stunned. “Don't ask
me
,” Alanna grinned. “
He's
seen all the beauties come and go. He told me they didn't impress him anymore.”

Thayet looked curiously at the chief herald; he bowed to her, as deeply as he would to a king. “Princess, may you always grace our halls,” he said with feeling.

Both doors at the head of the stair swung open. The silence in the crowded ballroom was abrupt: Both doors were used only for visiting royalty. The herald walked to the head of the stair; he struck his iron-shod staff three times on the floor.

“Her most Royal Highness, Princess Thayet
jian
Wilima of Sarain, Duchess of Camau and Thanhyien.” Alanna walked forward with Thayet on her arm. “Sir Alanna of Trebond and Olau, Knight of the Realm of Tortall. Buriram Tourakom of the K'miri Hau Ma.”

Jonathan rose, watching them. The awestruck look on his face was all Alanna needed to see. She gave herself a pat on the back for an idea well conceived. Thayet descended the stair as if she were floating,
her face impassive. Only her tight, somewhat damp grip on Alanna's arm revealed the state of her nerves. Jonathan walked down the scarlet runner between door and throne, to meet them in the ballroom's center.

Alanna gently withdrew her arm from Thayet's clutch, letting the princess walk the few steps to Jon alone. The king-to-be embraced Thayet gently and kissed her on both cheeks. “Cousin, welcome,” he said, using the form of address common to royalty. “We regret the sad event that drove you from your home.”

“Thank you, your Majesty.” Thayet's gaze was stern; plainly—to Alanna—she was trying to remind Jon of her wish to become a private subject.

Jonathan ignored the hint. “Until such time as peace returns to Sarain, know that Tortall is your home.” Offering Thayet his arm, he led her to the chair placed for her just below his own. She sat gracefully, her skirts settling around her feet in a perfect fan. Buri took up her station at her side. No one knew who began it, but a patter of applause turned into a roar of enthusiasm. In Sarain she was the female who should have been a male heir; the Tortallan courtiers accepted Thayet for herself.

George also enjoyed Thayet's entrance, but he was not blind to her companions. He nodded his approval to Buri. And he was acutely aware of Alanna from the moment she appeared. In her dark gray and black, she was elegant and somber; her hair and eyes blazed. No one could miss the sword belted at her waist. Beneath one arm she carried a box not much bigger than her fist.

Remembering his disguise as a stern-faced Bazhir, George defeated the urge to beam like a proud lover.
She's done it,
he thought.
My darlin's made them pay attention and dance to her tune. And I thought only common-born knew how to do that.

Waiting for the applause to quiet, Alanna looked around. Even in his disguise she knew George. She bit back a grin—she should've known he'd come!—and winked at him, enjoying the approval in his eyes.

Behave,
Faithful scolded.
You have business to take care of!

The noise was finally dying. Jonathan nodded. “Sir Alanna, come forward.”

She continued down the carpet, hand on sword hilt, Faithful beside her. Thayet smiled encouragingly as Alanna knelt before Jonathan.

“Your Majesty.” She drew Lightning and laid it on
the step at his feet, in token of her allegiance. “This I swear: to serve you and your heirs with all I possess, in the Mother's name.” Taking the box in both hands, she flipped it open. The Jewel lay on a black velvet bed. She held it up to him. “I bring you the fruit of my traveling, Majesty—the Dominion Jewel.”

Jonathan reached for it as total silence fell. The moment his fingers touched the Jewel, it flared into life, blazing like a small sun in his hand. Jonathan held it aloft, and first one courtier, then another, knelt, until everyone but Jonathan and Thayet was kneeling.

“We thank you, Sir Alanna.” His voice was audible in every corner of the room. “And we praise the gods for sending us this Jewel—and our Lioness—in this time of need.”

7

PERIOD OF MOURNING

T
HE NEXT MORNING
J
ONATHAN CALLED A MEETING
of his most trusted advisors: Myles, Gary, the Provost, Duke Gareth, Duke Baird, Raoul, and Alanna. Feeling uneasy, Alanna went. In the last year she'd grown more used to taking action than to sitting in meetings. Also, she was unsure of her place in such a gathering. She was a knight; all the others had great responsibilities or wisdom, like Myles. She didn't even hold a large fief.