Lioness Rampant (28 page)

Jon laughed so hard tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. When he regained his self-control, he said, “I need you home, if only because you make me laugh.”

“I'm not sure that's a compliment,” she said dryly as she gave him the sketch.

Jonathan caught her hand, his eyes serious. “I love you, too, Alanna. You're a part of me—my sword arm.”

She kissed his forehead. “Fine. I like that. But you need a queen, too. Thayet would be a good one.”

“Are you
sure
?” he wanted to know. “Are you positive we couldn't make a good marriage?” She returned his look, equally serious, and he sighed. “You're right. Still, it would have been interesting.”

Her head spinning from the events of the last three days, Alanna went to earth. She was all but invisible at palace social functions. Jonathan, knowing that she needed time to think, left her alone. Instead he asked for Thayet when he called at House Olau, taking her for rides or to the palace. He invited Buri on these excursions, guessing—accurately—that the little K'mir would prefer several deaths to making polite conversation with noblemen. Thayet could make no threat that would cause Buri to act as a chaperone at such times. Instead the princess's companion joined Alanna as she refamiliarized herself with Corus and the palace grounds.

Alanna introduced her to the remnants of George's court and to her friends among the palace hostlers and servants. They joined Liam in extended hours of exercise and sparring. George took them on picnics beside the river and on explorations of the city's catacombs.
Buri learned how to pick pockets, and Alanna relaxed in the thief's company. The pair found themselves drilling the city's urchins, boy and girl, in staff- and sword-play, and running races with local youths. Alanna brought Buri into the morning practice sessions in the palace, where the K'mir met Raoul, Gary, and the other knights and squires. Many of these young noblemen, particularly those who didn't know Alanna well, were unsure of what to make of
two
females—one an unproven stranger—joining their practice. Their attitudes soon changed to respect for Buri and awe for Alanna.

Because the body concerned was hers, Alanna didn't know how much she'd improved under Liam's teaching. If she beat her old friends, which she often did, she decided they had been riding chairs too much recently. Alex never challenged her, George could still best her with knives, and Liam always won.

“It keeps me humble,” she told Coram with chagrin after one session with Liam. Coram laughed and ruffled her hair.

She watched Duke Roger. He was often present when she visited Thom. These glimpses were enough to confirm her feeling that she trusted him less than ever. She relayed her suspicions to everyone who
mattered; there could never be too many eyes on the Duke. Still, he continued to act conspicuously innocent. Instead of easing her fears, such behavior only increased them.

The days slipped away. She was fitted for dresses, which she wore during quiet evenings with her family and on leisure excursions with George or her friends at court. Summer began with the June festival of Beltane. Since this was the time of year men approached their chosen ladies (the excuse being the custom of leaping over fires hand-in-hand to ensure a bountiful harvest), she looked for George to renew his courtship. Certainly he'd had time to see that she no more belonged to Liam than to the moon! George, however, remained simply friendly; after his enthusiastic greeting on her return, he showed no other signs of warmer feelings.

“I'm doomed to be an old maid,” she told Faithful mournfully, surveying her image in a looking-glass the morning of the festival.

There was a time when you wanted to be a spinster,
he reminded her as he washed his glossy fur.
A warrior maiden, with no one to tie her down
—

“Oh, shut up,” she said crossly. “Must I have everything I said as a girl thrown back in my face?”

You seemed positive,
the cat taunted her wickedly.

A serving girl peered in. “Excuse me, your ladyship, but the king says, if you're awake, will you come down? He's in his lordship's library.”

Alanna tugged on one of the new gowns, listening with enjoyment to the rustle of lilac silk as she tugged a brush through her waving hair. She put on slippers as she went downstairs, nearly killing herself by hopping first on one foot, then the other. While she knew Jon rose quite early, it was rare for him to leave the palace at this hour: He must have an important errand.

“Hello,” he greeted her as she rushed into the library. “That's a pretty dress. Are you wearing it for anyone in particular?”

“Yes,” she snapped. “Myself.”

“Ouch. You should be nicer to your king, my Champion.”

“No I shouldn't,” retorted Alanna. “Duke Gareth says the Champion must always be honest, even when others lack the courage.”

Jon smiled ruefully. “Lacking the courage to speak out has never been one of your problems, I admit.”

She looked him over with some concern. “Are you taking proper care of yourself—eating right, getting your sleep? It won't do for you to fall ill for your own coronation.”

“I'll be fine. I've been up late the last week or so, working with the Jewel.”

“How is that going?”

Jonathan smiled. “Very well. Thom has been a great help, finding spells and writing new ones for the Jewel. Its power can be limitless, if you know how to use it.” He sighed. “That's a temptation I'll always have to fight. The minute I start relying on the Jewel to rule is the minute I court disaster. There's no substitute for a human touch.”

“Do you always think like this?” she wanted to know. “Or do you rest sometimes and think about ordinary things with the rest of us?” She couldn't tell him that she was in awe of him when he spoke of such things.
If ever a man was born to be king, it's Jon,
she thought.

“Of course I do,” he replied tartly. “There are plenty of ordinary things for me to think about—the future, and love, and—” He stopped, turning red.

“How
are
things with you and Thayet?” Alanna inquired, interested.

Jonathan scrubbed his face with his hands. “Baffling.” He sighed. “I don't know if she goes riding with me to be polite, or because she likes my company—”

“Good,” his Champion said. “You're too sure of yourself with women. It won't hurt for you to have to struggle a little.”

Jon picked up Faithful and smoothed the cat's fur. “Thank you, dearest Alanna. I
knew
I could depend on you to salve my wounded pride.”

“You always take care of your own pride,” she reminded him. “You've never needed me for
that.
By the way, what
do
you need me for this morning? Or are you here for the conversation?”

He shook his head. “I'm here for a talk with George—who is late. I thought your presence might smooth things.”

“You aren't angry with George, are you?” she asked, concerned.

“Quite the opposite.”

The subject of their conversation strolled in, mussed and sweat-streaked. “Sorry I'm late,” he told Jonathan, collapsing into a big armchair. “I had a bit of a scuffle with some hotheads. Nothing serious, but it delayed me.” Alanna poured George a cup of the fruit juice left on Myles's desk by the servants. He accepted it with a murmured word of thanks, and drained it. She poured him another, checking him for wounds from beneath lowered lashes.

He still knew what she was doing. “I'm all in one piece, lass,” he grinned. “Never tell me you were worried.”

Alanna scowled, prodded by his mocking tone. “I wasn't,” she retorted.

George winked at her. “That's my girl!”

Jonathan opened a manuscript case that lay on the desk before him and drew out two scrolls, both adorned with heavy seals and tied up with royal blue ribbons. “Enough squabbling, you two.” He passed the first to George. Alanna noted the flowing writing was a court scribe's and not Jonathan's precise hand.

George read for only a moment before he stood and tossed the parchment on the desk. His mouth was tight with anger, his face white. “A royal pardon! What d'you take me for, Majesty?” His big hands were clenched. “You've had fun with the lowborn, and now you'll throw me a bauble as a reward? I want no charity, Jonathan!”

Alanna forced herself to sit, gritting her teeth. She could not interfere.

Jonathan refused to be provoked. “I'm not charitable,” he said coolly. “My father was. Now the results of … certain of his charities threaten this kingdom. I wish he had been more just and less kind.”

He leaned back. “You were the best teacher I had. Must I list what you made me learn? The reaches of men's trickery. Making even those who mistrust me follow where I lead. The extent of human greed. The things that can't be bought. The need for ruthlessness. The ability to recognize—and trust—loyalty.” Jon smiled grimly. “I've often wondered—would I have survived the Ordeal of the Voice, if you hadn't taken me under your wing?”

He tapped the pardon. “‘The teacher earns his wage,'” he quoted. “But it's more than that. This is to prevent the day when I have to sign a writ for your execution.”

George went to the bookshelves, staring at them. “You needn't go so far. I've lost my taste for the Rogue. I'll leave Tortall, settle elsewhere.”

When Alanna would have started forward, Jon gripped her arm, keeping her beside him. “Must you desert me when I need you?” he asked the thief. “Never again will I have any freedom. And our hero is easily recognized, which limits
her
movements.” He smiled at Alanna and let her go. She stayed where she was, tense.

Jon continued, “I need someone unusual to serve as my confidential agent. I'd trust such an agent
implicitly. He must be clever and unorthodox, someone who could venture among all classes without trouble.”

George looked at Jon, his face unreadable. “What's t'other writ, then?”

“A grant of nobility and the title of baron. The deeds go to the lands and incomes traditionally belonging to the lord of Pirate's Swoop, a day's ride south of Port Caynn.”

“I know where the Swoop is,” George snapped. “Why? Why must you go and make me respectable?”

“A confidential agent needs a home and income,” was the simple reply. “His comings and goings, particularly at court,
cannot
be remarked upon, which means he must be a noble.”

“I want to travel, Jon. Before I'm old and know nothin' but the Rogue.”

Jonathan smiled dryly. “Is life here so dull that you two think of nothing but roaming? Never mind. I
need
you to travel. I have to know what's outside my borders, too.” He let George think for a few moments before adding softly, “I can't do this alone. Say you will.” Both Alanna and George heard the real pleading in his voice when he added, “Please.”

George picked up the pardon, re-reading it. He
tapped a large seal in silvery wax. “How in Mithros's name did you get my Lord Provost to sign?”

“You'd be surprised. He's an amazing fellow.” Jonathan's tone was filled with wry respect, making Alanna wonder just what the Provost had done to put that feeling in his voice.

George sighed, rolling the parchment up. “With so many good reasons for me to accept, I'd be touched in my wits to refuse.” With a lopsided grin he told Alanna, “He's grown up with a vengeance. I wonder if I shall be glad or sorry.”

Alanna rode to the palace that evening as the sun set against the Coastal Hills, paying her daily visit to Thom. When she left him, as always, she was troubled and uneasy. He looked no better than he had when she first returned to Corus. If anything, he looked worse, and she was frightened. She'd also noticed that Faithful stayed away from Thom, and that Thom deliberately avoided the cat. To her there was no better sign of something dangerously wrong; but when she questioned Faithful, he refused to answer.