Myrren's Gift (60 page)

“And if he does?” she said, determined to be gloomy.

“I have taken precaution,” he answered.

“You’re being evasive.”

“I’m being optimistic. You just concentrate on being irresistible and charming so he can have no complaint against the hospitality of the Queen of Briavel. Let me worry about everything else.” She sighed, looked toward Fynch.

“And even you can’t be seen. I now realize.”

Fynch stirred from his comfy position against Knave. “No. your majesty. We cannot run the risk that he or one of the Morgravians may recognize me.”

“Romen, how are you going to disguise yourself when you duel with him?”

“All taken care of. Fret not.”

She dragged a tuft of grass from its roots and threw it at him. “Ooh, you can be maddening. How are you so confident?”

“Soldiers get like this before battle, your majesty.” he said, grinning and dusting the grass from his chest.

He desperately wanted to roll over, push her back, and kiss her, but Fynch was present.

As if on some silent signal, Knave suddenly nudged Fynch, barking and nipping at his heels.

“Game time,” Fynch said, shrugging. “He’s been feeling a bit ignored with all the activity of the last two days. I’ll just give him a run through the orchard. He likes to chase a lemon in the absence of a ball.” Fynch stood, glanced at Wyl, who winked at him. and then ran off after an hysterically happy Knave.

“What was that about?” Valentyna queried, frowning.

“He knows.”

“About us? How can he?”

Wyl nodded, sitting up. “He’s clever, remember. He’s giving us time alone.”

“Him or Knave? The dog started it,” she said playfully.

He looked at her and saw behind her merriment; she was fighting her intuition that Knave was much more than an ordinary hound. “Both, I suspect.”

“Well, then, we should not waste the time they’ve given us. As it is I shall have to do without your lips on mine for the next two days.”

As she laid her head against his chest Wyl remembered Fynch’s vision of her and Celimus. He buried his face in her thick, dark hair and pushed the vile thought from his mind.

Chapter 37

Celimus had never felt more sure of himself. Here he was riding through Briavel. enemy territory, and he was being welcomed as a savior.

His dream of himself as the all-conquering emperor of the southern lands was beginning to seem as if it could become a reality. The journey through Morgravia had proved an unprecedented success. On Jessom’s suggestion, prior to setting out he had announced a significant reduction in taxes for the next four moons as part of his coronation festival. It had worked beautifully. The people had greeted him with smiles on their faces and food in their bellies. He had even tossed silver coins into the crowds of well-wishers who lined the road into Briavel and bade him bring back a Queen.

At each stop, ale and free food had been made available to all who came to welcome their new King.

The generosity was seductive. As Jessom rightly pointed out. people must view him as benevolent so that when the hard decisions needed to be made—when taxes needed to be raised—they would be less likely to revolt, understanding that their good King would not do this to them without reason.

“You have captured their hearts, my King.” Jessom flattered as they rode side by side on fine horses.

“They adore you.”

When Jessom was elevated to the new role of King’s Chancellor, no one in any position of prestige could understand why Celimus had chosen an unknown outsider—someone so new to the palace—for the role.

Celimus smiled. He too was impressed. This trip through the townships was inspired; he felt elated at the spectacle he imagined he must present to the commoners. Jessom had cautioned him against using that word, “commoners.” suggesting that “subjects,” “civilians,” even “my people” were far more endearing alternatives. Privately, Celimus considered them all peasants who should be grateful to have so magnificent a monarch to cringe before. He could tell they were excited at the prospect of their King marrying young and to the neighboring realm’s Queen. Everyone believed it was the perfect match, bringing unification and peace to the region at last.

Pah
! he thought,
peace and unification be damned. Power alone is what this is about. Power and
wealth. When I have Briavel cowed and under my control, I shall look north and deal with the
hoodlum who dares to cross my borders and offer death threats to my soldiers
.

Celimus conveniently overlooked the fact that Cailech’s aggression had been entirely in retaliation for the execution of his own people, or the fact that Celimus himself had hoped that one Morgravian party in particular might be captured and killed.

Cailech will eat his words. No, Cailech will eat humble pie before me
, Celimus told himself.
I shall
see him trapped and cornered. I, Celimus, will be hailed Emperor
.

Celimus continued to amuse himself with notions of his grandeur and majesty all the way from the fertile plains of Morgravia to the lush meadows of Briavel. It only waned as he felt the first tension of being on enemy soil.

“Do you think we brought enough reinforcements?” he queried.

“Yes. sire. Five score from the Legion is more than enough to make a firm statement about who is the greater power here. I gather in the last war Briavel lost thousands of her young men. Your father punished Valor the previous time they battled.”

“My father was a soft touch—him and that other aging idiot, Fergys Thirsk!” The King hawked and spat.

“Any other soldier worth his salt would have completely demoralized the enemy by inflicting a far greater death toll. As I understand it Briavel was reeling, her throat exposed, just waiting for Morgravia to rip it out…and still, still my father showed compassion.” He made a sound of disgust. “The only good thing to come of that battle was the death of Thirsk, may Shar see his soul rot in hell.” Jessom, realizing this was a sore subject, smoothed the King’s ruffled emotions with honeyed words.

“Nevertheless, your majesty, they were humbled and have not recovered. They are in no position to threaten us. If anything, you are their future, their salvation…you will bring peace and prosperity to two lands that have known countless eruptions of war.”

Celimus felt soothed by the encouraging words and noted with pleasure that the Briavellians were already gathering to greet him—it had occurred to him they might act hostile but such a notion was apparently unfounded. He saw nothing but smiling faces and cheering people. Valor’s death had never been fully laid at his own feet then. People would have their suspicions, he knew. But Valentyna’s advisors were obviously playing a clever game.

Better yet, reports back from various messengers confirmed that the Queen of Briavel was not the plump, frumpy sort he remembered from childhood but a slender, gracious woman…some went so far as to describe her as a rare beauty. Romen was right, then. That at least would make the task of siring an heir on her less distasteful.

Producing an heir whose birthright would straddle both realms was his paramount wish just now. It consumed him. If he was going to risk all-out war with Cailech and the Mountain Dwellers, then he must secure the throne of Morgravia and better still, ensure it was irrevocably linked with Briavel. His son would rule both realms—there would be strength, wealth, and men to call upon. There were moments when he almost wished his father were alive to hear of his grand plan so he could show the stupid old fool what a truly great King could achieve.

“How much longer?” he asked.

“Riders have been sent ahead, majesty. The palace will already know your arrival is imminent. I would hazard a guess of two hours at most.”

The King relaxed. Not long then. He would drink in the fine scenery, accept the well-wishes from the crowd, and arrive ready to greet his new bride with the appropriate amount of discretion and flattery.

As if reading his thoughts, Jessom interrupted them. “There is a huge banquet planned for tonight, I’m told, sire.”

“Do we have to?”

“I’m afraid so, your majesty. Briavel is turning out its finest for you. It is a high compliment; you must attend.”

“I could use a long sleep after all this riding.”

“I understand, sire. And you will certainly enjoy some rest, for sure. However, they wish to honor you with this.”

“And the formal talks?”

Jessom took a breath. He hoped the King would hold his temper. “After the tourney, sire,” he replied evenly.

Celimus turned in the saddle and glared at his advisor. “You jest?”

“No. sire. I was only informed of it this morning. Queen Valentyna has heard of your prowess and wishes to highlight your skills with a tournament in your honor. In her letter she outlined how much the people of Briavel would feel privileged to witness your skills, and how fitting it would be for her lesser subjects to be able to see their Queen and her suitor together on such a social occasion.” He hoped he had chosen the right words of appeasement, even though Valentyna had expressed nothing of the sort, other than to say that the tourney was being presented in his honor.

Celimus no longer bristled. Predictably, he lifted his chin. “Yes, well, I suppose I should let them see what a lucky woman she is to have snared the attentions of the Morgravian King.” Jessom offered a conspiratorial chuckle. “Yes, my lord, and a chance to reinforce our prowess too, my King. War will seem an even more undesirable choice when they see how brilliantly our monarch fights.

The Legion too will put on an exhibition.”

“Yes, good. I should be told these things in advance, though, Jessom.” It was a gentle rebuke but a rebuke nonetheless. Jessom bowed his head. “As you wish, sire. I simply like to keep much of the frippery from you.”

“And the marriage proposal?”

“You are free of duties, as is her majesty, for that afternoon following the tourney. It would be an appropriate time to make her aware of your, er… shall we say, affections? Formal talks will occur late that afternoon. It is my intention we sign all papers and exchange seals before supper, your majesty.”

“Excellent,” Celimus said. “Well, carry on. I think I shall ride ahead alone now, Jessom.”

“Of course, sire. Let them see your full majesty,” the Chancellor said, smiling benignly as the King cantered toward the front of the column, though the contrived brightness of that smile did not touch his eyes.

Valentyna looked magnificent. Even Liryk, used to her natural beauty, took a deep breath upon seeing how their Queen presented herself this afternoon. Her cheeks were flushed from her morning’s ride and matched the close-fitting dusky rose-pink gown she had chosen to wear. The richness of the color set off her smooth, polished skin and loosely clasped raven hair to perfection, while its softness of hue complemented the lightly rouged full lips and gentle smile she wore as she waited on the steps of the grand palace.

Liryk was impressed. She was paying Celimus full homage. No monarch was ever required to meet their guests, royal or not, in person outside the palace, so this was a departure for Valentyna, a cunning and courageous move to ensure her visitor felt more important than any other. He was proud of her and knew her father would be too.

She stood alone, tall and erect. Her bearing was regal, there was no doubt, and Liryk wished old Valor could see his superb daughter now as she held court, preparing to pull off one of the greatest coups in Briavel’s history. If she could find the courage to put what had gone before behind her and somehow make a good match with Celimus, their marriage meant instant peace and prosperity for Briavel.

Liryk glanced toward the battlements, where the realm’s top archers trained their sights on the approaching column. Soldiers were positioned to show a very strong presence. The Briavellian Guard stationed around the palace outnumbered the Legion by ten to one and still his eyes darted around, taking in and juggling all possibilities should trouble arise. He had no doubt that this was a visit made in true peace—one of diplomacy, aimed at securing a brilliant and strategic marriage agreement—but he ensured every one of his men was ready and focused. There would be no surprises this time.

Valentyna smoothed her skirts, wiping her clammy hands, as the King’s party approached. She lifted her head and‘ smiled radiantly as Celimus, King of Morgravia, brought his magnificent horse to a halt not far from where she stood.

He was utterly beautiful. She smiled inwardly. Stop admiring ,the horse and make him welcome; she admonished herself. Romen would laugh if he knew she was watching the stallion more than the King.

Celimus alighted gracefully and handed the reins to his man. He held her gaze and although she was unnerved by the dark, intense stare, she forced herself to curtsy as he finally bowed very low, very elegantly before her. And still having said nothing, he took her hand and kissed the back of it softly.

“Your majesty,” he said, straightening, unashamedly impressed by the woman who stood before him.

“The King of Morgravia, at your service.”

She looked at his broad white smile and unwavering gaze. She imagined she saw a hunter, sizing up his prey. “The honor, your majesty, is ours. Be most welcome to Briavel,” she lied.

A refreshing drink of crushed, chilled parillion fruit was served in the rose garden to Celimus and his immediate party, which included Jessom and the present General of the Legion, a bluff, middle-aged man who exchanged no pleasantries other than the bare words of greeting. Valentyna thought of Wyl Thirsk and how he might turn in his tomb to see his successor. The Legionnaires had already been shown to their barracks, their horses stabled, and three lesser dignitaries were presently being shown to their guest rooms.

“Do you have spies, Valentyna, to know my favorite fruit?” She noticed they had moved swiftly to first names. Two monarchs, two equals.
He would do well to
bear that in mind
, she thought.