Shadow Over Kiriath (28 page)

She frowned at him.

“I am king, Maddie. If I only let those with shields serve me, it will cause people to seek them for the wrong reasons and breed resentment.”

“So you’ll take the chance of letting the rhu’ema that possessed Saeral get close to you?”

“I’d like to think I’d recognize him, no matter what form he takes this time.”

She made a face. “He’s already deceived you once. Why think he won’t again?” Her eyes strayed past his shoulder to the stacks behind him and widened. “Light’s grace!” she whispered, rising to step around him. “Here it is!”

And she pulled yet another volume from the dusty shelves. “Do you know how
long
I’ve been looking for this?!” She laid the book reverently on the table beside the others. Abramm bloomed a new kelistar into the air and bent to read the title over her shoulder:
The Records and Forthtellings of the Kings of Light
.

“This will tell you about the regalia, I bet.” She opened the book, flipped past the title pages, then stopped and murmured, “Oh dear, this first part’s written in the Old Tongue. It’ll take me a good while to decipher. . . .”

And he found himself positively delighted, thanking Eidon for his foresight in arranging this complication, because from the tone of her voice he was pretty sure she wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon.

She made another kelistar, set it on the books she’d already stacked on the table, and paged rapidly through the age-yellowed leaves, muttering to herself and pointing out pictures or lines of text. “Oh yes . . . look at this. It must be Avramm when he first came ashore. And I’ll bet this is Alaric the First leading the Gundians.
Utharn . . .
Yes, that would be right. Oh, and look here! It’s a drawing of the first crown.”

He leaned over her shoulder again to see it, but as had happened with all the other things she’d pointed out, she flipped to the next page before he could even register what she was showing him. “There’s question as to whether it was actually made here in Kiriath or brought from Ophir,” she said. “They didn’t really have crowns in Ophir, from what I’ve studied, at least not like we know them. More simple weavings of grass or vines, which your crown certainly looks like, so . . . Avramm must’ve had a man skilled in Lightcraft.”

“Lightcraft?”

“You know, the wielding of the Light to form actual objects.” She kept her eyes on the book as she paged.

“I thought that was a myth.”

“Well, I don’t know anyone who can do it, but considering everything else we didn’t know, maybe it’s more a transformation—ooh!” Her eyes widened. “This must be Merennis II in prison. There has been argument whether King Oswain had done it. . . .” She went on, popping here and there, as was her way, dropping this name and that, rattling on in a continuous monologue he found difficult to follow, as much for its disconnectedness as for the fact it had been too long since he’d studied Kiriathan history. What he recalled was only the broadest of outlines—which didn’t match up with some of what she was saying. It only seemed to him that the more she looked at it, the more excited she got, until finally she set it aside and went back to the shelves to search for more. Her exuberance continued to mount as she discovered volume after volume of apparent significance.

He wasn’t sure when it happened, but sometime in the middle of it all, he stopped seeing the books and the pictures and the possibilities and started seeing her. Seeing her in a way he never had before. How full of life and passion she was. How real and true, honest as few dared to be. Her eyes especially intrigued him, deep blue-gray of the open sea, just now sparkling with her intense enthusiasm for this project, and her pleasure at finally having solved the mystery and hopefully providing him soon the answers he sought. They were truly windows to her soul, the glass clear and clean, drapes fully pulled aside so that the light inside blazed out, all her being revealed for anyone to see. . . .

“You have beautiful eyes.” The words were out before he realized he’d actually spoken them.

She stopped midsentence. Blinked at him as if he’d spoken in some other language. “What did you say?”

He felt the blood rush hotly into his face as his tongue clove in horror to the roof of his mouth.
Plagues! How could I have said that?

Thankfully, she must not have actually discerned his words, for now she grimaced and said, “You weren’t listening, were you?”

His blush grew hotter. “I’m afraid you left me behind some time ago, my lady. You have much more context for all of this than I do.”

“I’m sorry. I let my enthusiasm get the best of me, I guess. It’s just—” She glanced down at the ancient tome lying open in her hands. “I’m sure we’ll find the answers to so many of our questions. If we could get the guardstar working at Graymeer’s you might not even need this marriage—” She broke off with a look of dismay and caught her lower lip between her teeth, then turned from him to close the book and set it atop one of the three stacks she was now building. “I’m sorry . . . I shouldn’t have said that.”

He sighed. “So you think the marriage is a mistake, too, do you?”

“I didn’t say that, sir.”

“But you do.”

She looked down at the book upon which her hand still rested, fingers tracing the gold-imprinted leafing on its cover. “It’s not my place to say.”

“I’m asking you to say. And if I ask you, it is your place.”

And still she watched her finger tracing out the golden patterns. Then, “I know our peoples need each other now more than ever. Maybe it wouldn’t take a marriage to unite us. . . .” She pulled her hand away from the book and clasped it in the other, fingers intertwined. “But I don’t think my father would ever see it that way. As much as your people distrust mine, so mine begrudge yours. Your marrying her and siring sons through her would give us a stake in this land we never had before.”

“Exactly what my advisors fear.”

“But that is the point, is it not? To become united.”

“To become allies. Not one large realm.”

She frowned.

“
Is
that what they’re about? To win our lands for theirs?”

“I think they’re only about surviving, Abramm.”

“So it is bad, then.” And when she did not respond, he added, “I asked Leyton. He was very politic, admitting nothing. Yet that in itself gave me my answer. I’ve heard from others that Chesedh’s southern coasts are completely bound in Shadow.”

He watched her closely, reading the conflict of loyalties within her, knowing that her answer would tell him much about her own priorities. Her fingers worked back and forth in that way that betrayed her agitation, then stilled as she reached her decision. She lifted her eyes to his, held his glance for a long moment. “Not Chesedh’s. But the entire southern half of the Strait.”

“So the ships he brought are useless.”

“To my father, yes. But not yet to you. Perhaps not ever to you.”

He cocked a brow.

“If the scepter can stir the winds and drive away the Shadow, your ships will carry the day.”

“Is that what Leyton’s here for, then? The regalia?”

She exhaled a breath of almost exasperation. “Why must you always think the worst? You know theWords command us otherwise. Kesrin was just talking about—”

“I remember the message, my lady. And have also taken note that you’ve avoided my question.”

Anger sparked in those lovely eyes. Then she set her lips and turned away, frustration making the movement sharp and jerky. “I don’t know,” she said, beginning now to go through one of the piles of books she’d gathered, parceling out the individual volumes in some categorical order apparent only to her. “If he’s really after the regalia, he has not admitted it to me.” She paused, the soft thumps of the books filling the musty silence for a moment. Then she reached the bottom of her pile and stopped, fingertips resting lightly on the table as she stared at the last pile. “I really don’t think he’d do that. You
have
agreed to marry our sister, after all.”

She
would
have to remind him of that. He grimaced and turned away from her. “Which no one thinks I should do. Including you. And if Leyton had the regalia, Chesedh might not need this union at all.”

“Except that no one knows how they work, including Leyt,” Maddie said behind him. “And we don’t have time to ignore other options while we try to find out. It may be they’ll only work for you—the theory
I
happen to ascribe to.”

He went to the window and stared out through the dust-filmed glass, realizing for the first time he had half hoped this
was
all about stealing the regalia. That Briellen was not really on her way and never would be. But if what Maddie said was true . . . He thought again of his vision of the combined Kiriathan and Chesedhan banners and felt a sense of inevitability in it all. If he’d been destined to become king of this land, it also seemed he was destined to marry the daughter of the Chesedhan king . . . whether he wanted to or not.

“Will I like her, Mad?” he asked softly. “Will she like me?”

He could almost feel her eyes upon him, startled, he imagined. Then he heard her snort. “What does it matter? You’re going to marry her regardless, aren’t you?”

“Yes. But it would . . . make things easier.”

She was silent for a time, while he watched the gardeners down below. Then he heard her sigh. “She’s absolutely beautiful. And charming. Every man who lays eyes on her seems to fall instantly in love with her, so I can’t see you having any problems there.”

That was hardly an answer that cheered him. He couldn’t help but think of Shettai’s talk of men as goats, desiring women for no reason other than their beauty. . . . And anyway, that wasn’t really what concerned him. In fact, great beauty could be a source of trouble. “But will she be good for Kiriath?” he murmured to the glass. “Will she be a good queen?”

Maddie made a strange sound, as if she were snorting or laughing . . .maybe choking. He turned back, but she still stood calmly beside the library table, lit by the soft light from the window. Her chin came up as his gaze met hers. “I think she’ll make a good counterpart to you, my lord, because in so many ways she’s what you’re not. She loves the social scene, the clothes, the parties—all the spectacle of royalty.” Things Maddie herself detested, he knew. “It will be a good balance for all the austerity you’ve imposed.”

He felt his brow lift. “You think I’ve been austere?”

“Of necessity, I understand, but yes, that is how you are perceived.”

Out in the sitting room the mantel clock began to strike the hour, its tinny chimes followed a beat later by the deep low tones of the University clock in the valley below.

“We’ve been in here an hour already? Plagues!” He started for the door. “Hal and Byron are probably beside themselves trying to figure out where I’ve gone to.”

“Sir—” She stopped him with a hand on his arm. “I think it would be best if we kept this discovery a secret for now. I don’t want to have to track these books down again. And it may be they wouldn’t even move them this time, just destroy them outright.”

“If they were willing to do that, they’d have done it in the first place,” he said. “And anyway, once whoever put the staffid in here returns, he’ll know someone’s been in here.”

“Yes, but he may not return soon. I’m not saying keep it secret indefinitely, just . . . until I have the chance to go through some of it.”

“Well, I’m putting a guard on it, regardless.”

Before she could answer, Haldon’s familiar voice intruded from somewhere nearby, but sounding as if it were smothered in wool. “What is
this
doing here?” And then, louder: “Jared?! Did you move this?”

“Well, so much for keeping it secret,” Abramm murmured. He strode back through the spell and nearly gave his grand chamberlain a heart seizure.

The older man leaped back with a cry that was swiftly stifled as he recognized his king. “Your Majesty!” he gasped. Then his eyes darted to the wall at Abramm’s back. “What in the—”

“It’s the rest of the library, apparently. Cloaked so no one would find the books it contains. I’d like to keep it that way for the moment.”

“Of course, sir.” Hal’s eyes came back to him, and Abramm saw his train of thought shift. “Sir, we’ve been looking for you for over an hour.” He paused. “The Princess Briellen has arrived.”

Abramm frowned at him. “Briellen?”

“Aye, sir.”

“She’s here? Now?”

“Aye, sir.”

At that moment Jared appeared in the doorway between study and bedchamber. He looked surprised to see Abramm but turned his attention to Haldon. “You called me, sir?”

“Run and tell Count Blackwell I’ve found the king. Right here in his own study.”

As Jared hurried across the study and into the sitting chamber, Abramm said, “How could Briellen be here so soon? She just crossed over the Rhivaald.”

“That was the party of her attendants, sir. Led by a decoy to draw off potential kidnappers. The real princess came in secret ahead of her. She arrived nearly an hour ago, and they made her stand on the front step before admitting her because no one believed it was her. Prince Leyton has gone out riding somewhere, so he can’t vouch for her, and Madeleine has disappeared, as well. Then, of course, we couldn’t find you, either. Count Blackwell had them put her in the Ivory Apartments, even though nothing was ready—” He broke off as his eyes shifted to something behind Abramm and widened. “Lady
Madeleine
?”

“Did you just say my sister has arrived?” Madeleine demanded, her freckles standing out sharply on her pale face.

“Yes, my lady.” The chamberlain’s eyes flicked to Abramm almost reproachfully, for it couldn’t have escaped his notice they’d been alone in a room neither Haldon nor most anyone else knew about. Hardly an appropriate situation for a man to be in on the day he was to meet his bride.

“You are not to tell anyone about this room, Haldon,” Abramm said calmly. “You do understand that?”

“Well, yes, sir. Of course.”

“Nor that Lady Madeleine was here this morning.”

“But . . . they’ve been looking all over for her, sir. Someone needs to attend the princess—”