Storms of Destiny (64 page)

The nurse nodded, and her voice was barely audible. “It is a sign that all too soon, breathing will cease altogether, Your Highness.”

The clock on the mantel had just struck half past the hour when they heard footsteps in the salon adjoining the Queen’s chamber. The royal chamberlain opened one half of the big double doors and bowed. “Prince Eregard requesting audience, sire.”

“Bring him in!” Agivir bade.

Ulandra sprang to her feet, her heart thudding in her breast.
He is back! After so long!

As he filled the doorway, she realized she would hardly have recognized him. Eregard’s once pasty features were as tanned and weathered as any soldier’s. He wore the uniform of a royal naval officer, and the buff-colored breeches and sea-green coat suited him as his court clothes never had. His face was thinner, tighter-jawed, and his sun-streaked brown hair was neatly trimmed, pulled back and tied at the nape of his neck. He was stocky, as she remembered, but no longer plump. His shoulders were broad, and the gut that had once hung over his belt had vanished.

As she approached him, staring in amazement, she realized that they were still nearly the same height—it was his carriage that made him appear taller. His gaze was clear and direct as he stood in the doorway, regarding his father.

The King held out both hands. “My son! May the Goddess be praised!”

Eregard flung himself forward, kneeling, his hands going out to clasp his father’s. “Sire, Father!”

Agivir raised him, and the two stood locked in an embrace for long seconds. When Eregard raised his head from Agivir’s shoulder, he was smiling, but there were tears in his eyes. The King wept openly. “My son, my son,” he muttered, holding Eregard’s arms tightly. “How you’ve changed!”

“Father,” Eregard said. “How does my lady mother?”

Before the King could respond, the nurse cleared her throat urgently. “Your Majesty!”

They all turned toward the bed. Ulandra heard the Queen’s voice, so faint that she knew the others, farther away, could not have discerned it. “Eregard?”

Ulandra stepped forward. “Your Highness,” she said, dropping a quick curtsy. “Your lady mother calls to you.”

Eregard glanced a question at his father, who nodded wordlessly, his features gray and haggard with remembered grief. “Go to her, my son,” he whispered. “She has been holding on, waiting for you, I believe.”

Eregard’s eyes closed and his features hardened. Then he straightened, squared his shoulders, and crossed the room with swift strides, smiling. Reaching the bed, he dropped down into the chair the nurse hastily vacated. “Mother?” he said softly, taking the Queen’s hand in both of his. “Mother, I’m here!” His tone was light-hearted, teasing. “I’ve had so many adventures, wait until I tell you! I’ll be writing songs for a year.” He chuckled. “You’ll get tired of hearing me singing them the live-long day.”

Ulandra saw the Queen’s eyes open, and she smiled. “My son …” she whispered.

“I’m here,” he said, and this time his voice broke. He leaned over to kiss her, first on both cheeks, then on her forehead, then a light brush across the faded lips. “It’s wonderful to see you. I’ve dreamed of this moment for so long.”

The Queen’s reply was inaudible to Ulandra, but she saw the Prince’s features tighten as he struggled for control.

“Don’t say that, Mother. You’ll be up and about in no time.”

The rasping breaths grew shallower and more rapid. The Princess glanced at the nurse, who wordlessly shook her head. The Queen tried to lift her hand toward Eregard’s face, but she was too weak. He lifted it for her, kissing it, laying it against his cheek. “Thank the Goddess,” Ulandra heard her whisper.

Eregard glanced up at his father. “Where are my brothers?” he whispered. “They should be here.”

Agivir nodded, speaking quietly. “I’ve sent for Salesin, but Adranan is in the North. He saw her before he left, however.”

Ulandra picked up one of the chairs from the other side of the room, and, before the servants could move, carried it over to the opposite side of the bed. “Your Majesty,” she said, indicating the chair.

The King nodded a quick acknowledgment, then came over to sit beside his queen.

Ulandra glanced at the nurse and the servants and gestured toward the Queen’s sitting room. They followed her, leaving the family members alone.

The Princess picked up a piece of the Queen’s embroidery that she had adopted and sat down with it. She stitched like an automaton, listening for any sound from the bedchamber, but there was none.
Where is Salesin?
she wondered.
Does
he now dare to disobey his father’s summons?

Time seemed to alternately drag and fly. Ulandra found that she was counting her stitches, though the pattern was not a counted-stitch one.
Three hundred sixty-three … three
hundred sixty-four …

The maidservants began dusting the sitting room in a desul-tory fashion. The nurse busied herself folding yet another set of clean bed linens brought to her by one of the laundry maids.

Four thousand six hundred ninety-three … four thousand
six hundred ninety-four …

The door to the Queen’s bedchamber opened, and Eregard stood there. His eyes were reddened, but his voice was steady. “She is gone.”

Ulandra nodded, put down her embroidery and stood up.

Distantly, she wondered why she was not weeping. Surely Queen Elnorin, who had been so kind to her, deserved her tears. Perhaps she had wasted them all on Salesin and her failed marriage.

Walking over to the Prince, she put her hand on his arm.

“Your Highness, I am so sorry. But thank the Goddess you are home safely—and that you arrived in time.”

He nodded, then suddenly seemed to focus on her. He bowed, the brief bob used between equals in rank. “Sister,”

he said, taking her hand and kissing it, “my father told me how kindly you cared for her. Thank you.”

Meeting his eyes, Ulandra felt self-conscious, wondering if Eregard would start up the old flirtation again. But he released her hand. “My father needs some moments to himself. He and my mother were devoted. I must see to my friends. They are waiting in the salon. I want you to meet them.”

Ulandra accompanied him into the formal room with its pale green walls and ivory and rose brocaded furniture. Four strangers awaited them: two women, a man, and a hooded creature—a Hthras, she realized after a moment. The Princess had never seen one herself, but she had heard them described. The two women and the Hthras were sitting on the sofa, speaking quietly as they entered. The man was pacing restlessly across the opulent carpet. As they saw the newcomers, all four of them stopped talking. The three on the sofa rose to their feet.

Eregard held Ulandra’s hand, presenting her as formally as though they had just arrived at some grand ball. “Princess Ulandra, my comrades and friends: Thia, Talis, Khith, and Jezzil.” As he spoke their names, each of his friends acknowledged her in turn … Thia with a curtsy, Talis with a stiff, jerky little bow, Khith with a graceful dip and wave of its hand, and Jezzil with a warrior’s salute.

Ulandra smiled at them, thinking them an odd lot. Thia was small and slight, with hair so pale it was almost white, and huge dark eyes. She wore a much-worn and mended skirt, blouse, and laced tunic. Talis, dressed in a midship-man’s uniform, was tanned and fit, with long black hair caught back in a heavy braid.
She’s a beauty,
Ulandra thought.
Dress her in women’s garb, and men would be
throwing themselves at her feet.
Her gaze traveled to Jezzil, with his weather-beaten skin, greenish eyes, and sun-streaked hair tied back from his face. Despite his battered, threadbare clothes, there was something about his carriage, the way he moved, that bespoke a kind of quiet, potential danger.

Ulandra’s features did not change as she regarded Eregard’s companions. She nodded to them graciously. “Be

welcome here to Minoma, friends of Eregard. My thanks to you for your help to my royal brother.” She glanced over her shoulder. “The King will wish to meet you, but he is occupied at the moment. Please, sit.” She gestured. “You have traveled far and are doubtless weary.” She caught the eye of the footman who was standing across the room and added, “Refreshments for our guests, please. Food and wine.”

The young woman named Thia approached Eregard, concern written across her thin, pale features. “Eregard, how does your mother?”

Eregard tried to speak, then simply shook his head. “At least I was in time to say farewell,” he added after a moment.

“Oh, Eregard!” She stepped over to the Prince and put her arms around him, hugging him tightly. “I’m so sorry!”

Ulandra was moved by her voice and her gesture.
She
genuinely cares about him,
she thought, and when she saw Eregard’s expression as he returned the embrace, she knew that the Prince returned her caring. The Princess felt a pang of …
Jealousy?
she wondered. After a moment Ulandra realized that she wasn’t jealous of Eregard so much as she was jealous of anyone who was genuinely loved and respected.

Jezzil, Khith, and Talis also offered low-voiced condo-lences. Ulandra could see that the five of them were more than just casual friends, they were comrades, sharing a friendship that had been forged by shared peril and a common goal.

If only I had such friends
, she found herself thinking wist-fully.

Minutes later, the refreshments arrived. At Ulandra’s urging, the newcomers sat down and applied themselves to the food. Thia glanced up at Ulandra. “Join us, please, Your Highness.”

Ulandra smiled at her. “I ate not long ago. You must be very hungry. I’m told it’s the sea air.”

“Eating weevily bread, salt pork, and dried figs for four days can do that,” Eregard said. “Not to mention the grubs and seaweed, mind you.” He gestured at the bread, meats, cheeses, and fruit spread out before them. “Back when I was a slave, I used to dream every night about—”

“Slave?” Ulandra gasped, horrified. “You were a
slave
?”

“Thanks to the pirates that captured me,” he said. “It certainly gave me an interesting perspective on life in the colony.”

Ulandra stared at him, aghast.

The door opened then and the King emerged from the Queen’s chamber. Agivir was gray-faced with exhaustion, his strides, once so brisk and sure, slow and hesitant. His haggard features lightened when he beheld his son.

Eregard hastily stood and made introductions. Jezzil bowed, Thia curtsied, Khith touched its forehead and bobbed a greeting, and Talis gave a stiff little nod. When Eregard looked a question at her, she gazed back at him with defiance. “I bow to no royalty,” she said.

“And who is this?” the King said, coming over to stand before Talis.

“I am Talis Aloro, King Agivir,” she said. “I am here as an emissary from Rufen Castio. He wishes me to tell you that, should it become necessary, we Katans will fight the invaders with our brothers, the Pelanese. Better an overlord we know than a strange one.”

Agivir regarded her flushed, earnest expression—half defiance, half fear—then inclined his head graciously. “We are grateful to you …” He glanced at the others, including them. “… to all of you—for your help to our royal son,” he said. “Mistress Talis, to thank you for your aid to him, we hereby exempt you from formal protocol in our presence.”

Talis’s flushed features lost some of their defiance.

“But,” Agivir continued, his voice heavy with grief, “I warn you, child, that we cannot protect you if you fail to extend full sign of fealty to Crown Prince Salesin.” The King gazed at Talis sorrowfully. “My child, I have just lost the person most dear to me in the entire world. Please do not cause me to lose my son Eregard, for, knowing him, he would spring to your defense, and face grave trouble from his brother on your behalf. Surely that cannot be your desire?”

Talis’s eyes glistened, then brimmed over. A tear trickled down her cheek. “Your Majesty,” she whispered, and gave the old man a true bow. “I am so sorry for your loss. I will do nothing to cause you more sadness.”

Agivir nodded at her. “Thank you, child. Thank you.”

The King turned to Thia and studied her. “You have the look of one who has come from far places. My court seer, His Reverence Varlon, has such a look to him.”

Ulandra saw the young woman’s dark eyes widen. “Truly, sire? I would be interested to meet His Reverence.”

“You shall, child, you shall.”

Agivir paused before Khith. “A Hthras … It has been many and many a year since I have encountered one of your people. You wear the robe of a physician.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. I am a healer.”

“Ah, I have heard that Hthras healers are among the best to be found. It is a pity that you did not arrive sooner.” The King’s voice roughened. “Perhaps you might have been able to help my queen.”

“I would certainly have done my best, sire,” Khith replied.

“But no physician can hold back the inevitable. Sometimes, it is just … time for departure from this existence.”

The King nodded. “Sometimes, that is indeed true.”

When the King reached the man Eregard had identified as Jezzil, he said, “My son tells me you are his friend, but are also Chonao. I must advise you that we face an invasion force from your people.”

Until now, the young man had been expressionless, but suddenly his features worked, as though he were in the grip of some strong emotion. He drew a deep breath—the kind a man might take before plunging into predator-infested waters—then abruptly dropped to one knee, bowing his head deeply. “Your Majesty,” he said in a voice that shook. “I am—I
was
Chonao. I never thought to hear myself say this, but since leaving my people, I have … learned so much about this world. What I have learned compels me …” He trailed off, and finally looked up. “I want to—that is, I must …” He swallowed hard.

The King put out a hand to him, nodding encouragement.

“We are listening, Jezzil. What is it you want?”

“Your Majesty, I wish to pledge fealty in this coming war to you and your island comrades. I wish to pledge my sword to Pela.” The words came out in a rush, but Ulandra never doubted their sincerety.