Sasharia En Garde (66 page)

The woman clucked to herself and trailed after, offering
suggestions and comments as,
clomp,
clomp,
our procession passed through the small confines of the wooden
cottage and out into the sunshine. I closed my eyes against the glare.

The man’s breath was warm on my cheek as he set me across a
horse’s withers, then mounted behind me.

The prince tucked my left arm across my middle and patted
it. “It will be best. Thank you again.”

His smiling voice had altered from assurance to command. The
woman’s twittering protests stopped. Weapons clanked, well-shod hooves clopped.
A quick glimpse: quite an armed company. All for me? And how, and why, was all
this panoply so familiar?

The man carrying me shifted his grip, picked up his reins,
the horse moved forward, and I knew I was not going to enjoy this journey at
all.

A shadow on my face made it possible to open my eyes. The
red-haired prince rode next to us. “We searched most assiduously for you,
Flian,” he said. “I promise you will receive the most attentive care at my
castle.”

“Good,” I muttered, wincing at the increasing gait. “I’m
going to need it.”

The walk became a trot, and stars splattered across my
eyelids; they whirled larger and larger and engulfed me. I sank with gratitude
into insensibility.

My next awakening inspired from me a bit more enthusiasm
once I’d registered a few facts.

First, no horses. Second, I lay in a soft, clean bed. A
quilt of silk and down covered me.

My bed was in a large chamber with white-plastered walls with
blue flowers painted in a pattern below the ceiling.

Need made me automatically whisper the Waste Spell—which I
was glad I remembered, even if I couldn’t remember where I was born.

A sweet voice murmured, “Please, would you take some broth?”

“Gladly,” I croaked. “So hungry I can’t even remember my
last meal.” I was going to add,
Ha, ha
,
natural wit can be counted out of
whatever talents I might possess
, but it took too much effort to speak.

A stout, middle-aged woman sat near the bed, wearing livery that
called the guards to mind. So some memories were staying, then. I remembered
the old woman, the cottage, the blond-haired young fellow—what, Kardier? Yes,
Kardier. Who had carried me so carefully out, as if I’d been a basket of eggs.

And I remembered the red-haired prince who commanded them
all.

As these thoughts limped their way through my mind, the
woman lifted my head from the pillow, and a very savory-smelling cup was
pressed against my lower lip. I sipped, felt warmth work its way down inside
me.

Another cup, this one with the pleasantly astringent smell
of listerblossom steep, and then I lay back down.

Slept.

Woke up feeling less foul.

Enough so that I could look about the room, note the bank of
windows, one of which was open to let in a cool, pine-scented breeze. And over
there against the far wall, a wood-framed mirror.

A mirror.

Intense desire made me struggle up, fighting against
dizziness.

The dizziness won. I flopped back, and my nightcap came
askew. So I reached up, pulled that off, and with it unrolled a long length of
waving blonde hair. Dirty, twig-decorated blond hair. I gazed in dismay at the
tangle lying across my lap.

I’d begun working my fingers slowly through the knots when
the door opened and the woman came back in. She smiled. “Ah, you are awake, and
if I may be permitted, you do look more awake.”

“I feel it. In fact, I think I might even be hungry.”

She moved from window to window, opening out the casements
and letting more air in. It smelled wonderful.

“His highness wishes to visit you as soon as might be,” she
said.

“Why not now? I have so many questions.”

She straightened the quilt and fluffed more pillows to put
behind me to help me sit up, as I chattered on.

“Like who am I? Do I live here? What happened to me? I hate
to be talking about myself so much. But it’s not like I’ll be hearing things I
already know.”

She smiled. “I can’t answer that, my lady. You met with an
accident, is all I know for certain. The rest his highness can better relate.”

“Well, then, tell me about myself. Am I ugly?”

She laughed, a soft sound. “No. No one is really ugly,
unless ugly inside, and it shapes the outward form. You are a young lady of
medium height, I should say, and on the thin side, but good food will take care
of that. You have gray eyes and blonde hair, and you are covered with too many
bruises and scrapes to count.”

I touched my face as she spoke, discovered what had to be a
black eye and swelling behind my ear. The headache was a dull reminder of my
earlier awakenings. “May I comb my hair and put on a wrap first?” I added,
looking down at the nightdress. “Unless that fellow you mentioned is . . .
my brother?”

When I thought the word “brother” an image flickered through
my thoughts, too fast to catch. Trying to recapture it made the headache pang
in warning.

“Bide easy,” the woman said. “One thing at a time.”

She brushed out my hair and brought me a silken shawl of a
fine shade of violet. Presently that red-haired fellow entered the room. He was
dressed in a long, dark blue tunic with gold embroidery that made a fire of his
hair. He did not wear a blackweave sword belt, instead a belt of golden links.
More gold on his hands.

“Good morning, Flian.” He studied me while I looked him over.
“Feeling better?”

“Well as can be expected. Will you answer some questions? It
hurts to think, but I want to know where I am, and who you are, and who
I
am, to begin with.”

“Don’t press for it, you’ll only feel worse.” He
glanced at the woman, who moved swiftly to fetch him a chair. She set it, and
he sat down, and smiled at me. “I am Garian Herlester of Drath. You are Flian
Elandersi, my cousin. You were on your way to visit me before your marriage.
You rode in an open carriage, and you encouraged your driver to go too fast.
The carriage overturned and your driver was killed.”

“Oh.” I winced. “I caused a death? No wonder I don’t want to
remember.” Distress made my head pang again, more insistently.

“Don’t be. He was drunk.” Garian waved a ringed hand. “Or he
wouldn’t have driven so badly, for my roads, by and large, are quite good. The
animals escaped injury, but your carriage was a ruin.”

I sighed. “The old woman told me none of that, only that
they found me face down in the road. And—did she not say I’d fallen from a
horse?”

“Well, they didn’t want to mention the driver, no doubt, and
as for the horses, they’d worked loose, and we recovered them farther down the
mountain.”

“Ah. Does my family know what has happened? And who are
they?”

“You have a father and a brother. They know. They wish you
to stay here. You have never gotten on well with your father. He is old and
autocratic, and favors your brother, who incidentally opposes your marriage
because you are betrothed to a king. This will place you in a position of
power. So you came here. We have always been friends.” He smiled, his hazel
eyes unblinking as he watched me assess his news.

“It doesn’t sound dull, does it?” I ran my hands over the
shawl’s fringe, not sure what to think—or to feel. “My intended, does he know?”

“Rode straight here, soon as my messengers reached him.”

“So when can we meet? Er, that is, see one another? Again?”

Garian hesitated, then stood. Without warning he bent and
picked me up, quilt and shawl and all. He said over his shoulder to the
open-mouthed woman, “Find King Jason, will you, Netta? We’ll meet him in my
library.”

“But—Your Highness—”

“Now, Netta.” Garian sounded impatient.

The woman fled.

“I appreciate your wanting to help me sort it all out at
once. It can’t wait? I feel like a fool, being barefooted and in a nightdress.”

Garian smiled down at me. He smelled of wine—recently drunk,
too. “But he’ll be seeing you in that soon enough, won’t he? And truth to tell
he’s been up here and seen you sleeping, so why not awake?”

“Then one last request, please? Step near yon glass. Perhaps
my reflection will jar loose this wall between me and my identity.”

He laughed a little. “Believe me, you’d regret it just now.”

I groaned. “And this king is going to be glad to see this
black eye?” I fingered my sore cheekbone.

“Remember, you two are quite passionate about one another.”
Garian passed out of the room and down a curving stone stairway. Past arched
windows, old hangings, fine furnishings.

A sense of the ridiculous chased away the anxious worries
that I couldn’t place. Outside carved-wood doors, Garian stopped. “We’re here.”

One of the doors opened.

I turned my eyes toward my beloved.

And stared, aghast.

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