The Rose Throne (8 page)

“You are ekhono,” said King Haikor. “You have been tainting all the weyr in my court for the last year. I suspected that there was some hidden ekhono in the palace last summer at the hunt. But I did not know who it was until my queen brought you to my attention.”

“No, Your Majesty,” said Sir Jarl. “It is not so.”

Ailsbet wished she could sense some connection in him with life and growth rather than war and death. But Sir Jarl seemed exactly as any other man in the court. What if it was her fault that he was being accused, her fault that the king had detected an ekhono tainting the weyr? What if the king had sensed that the ekhono was Ailsbet?

She should step forward and reveal herself, she supposed. Save Jarl’s life in exchange for her own. That would be the way a character in a story would do it. A hero.

But Ailsbet was no hero.

And she did not believe that Sir Jarl could be saved by any confession on her part. If Sir Jarl was ekhono, he probably had very little of the women’s magic, but that did not mean he was safe from her father.

“I have done nothing wrong!” shouted Sir Jarl as the king’s guard approached him, swords raised all together as if they had practiced this. “If I do not have taweyr, then that is no crime. I see no reason that I should be punished for it. Surely, it leaves more taweyr for the rest of you. It does not take from you.”

It was a valiant argument, but it would not work. He knew it, too, thought Ailsbet. He was making a show of defiance, and her father had always liked a show.

“Do not touch him if you can avoid it,” King Haikor advised his guards. “Use your swords to prod him forward. If he tries to escape, run him through.”

Sir Jarl looked wildly about the hall. “If I am ekhono, what then? You should be afraid of me. I shall make you all regret this. I shall shower out my
neweyr on this place, and the taweyr will be ruined. Isn’t that what you are most afraid of?” he said, but his manner made it clear that he was grasping at anything. He had no real belief in his own power.

King Haikor nodded to his guards, who began to use their swords to push Jarl out of the hall. They did not use the taweyr on him, only their own strength and the weapons of steel. To touch an ekhono man with taweyr would run the risk of taint.

“Let me live and I shall leave Rurik!” Sir Jarl pleaded. “I shall freely give you all my lands, all my gold. I shall ask for no recompense but my life. I shall serve you all my days, on the continent.”

How King Haikor would be able to hold him to such a promise Ailsbet could not understand. But the man was mad with fear, and he would have promised anything in the moment.

Because he would not move as the guards demanded, Jarl’s mouth and tongue were pierced with a sword, and he did not speak after that.

Ailsbet could see the rest of the court moving to the windows to look out on the Tower Green. In a few minutes, Sir Jarl emerged. The guards forced him to kneel, and he was stabbed over and over again. Since they did not use taweyr, it was a slow and painful death. His body would be burned on the Tower
Green once he was dead, to keep the taint of the ekhono away from the court.

Would her own death be like that? Ailsbet wondered, feeling cold at the thought. Sir Jarl should have kept far away from her father to avoid scrutiny and she should do the same. Whomever she married, she should make an excuse to keep away from court and have a quiet life. She had once wondered if she would help Edik when he took the throne, whisper to him when he needed advice, become the power behind him. But now that seemed too dangerous.

The silence ended, and the court began to murmur again. Ailsbet struggled with anger that Sir Jarl’s life should so easily be dismissed as unimportant. Then King Haikor clapped his hands, and Ailsbet immediately jerked to attention. “But that is not the special occasion that I spoke of. There are happier things for us to celebrate this day. Princess Ailsbet, I present to you Lord Umber of Weirland,” he said, nodding to a man at the far side of the Great Hall, who strode forward.

He was tall and thin, and he dressed very well. He wore a black wool robe with silver embroidery along the edges, and his eyes sparkled when he looked at her. His face was young and striking, with wide cheekbones and thick brows over deep, brown eyes.
He would look handsome when he was an old man, Ailsbet thought. His face had good bones, and he moved with grace.

Ailsbet glanced at her mother’s face and thought she saw a rare hint of anger there. She was surprised; surely her mother was used to her father doing whatever he pleased by now, even where her own kinsmen were concerned.

“Lord Umber of Weirland, Her Highness Princess Ailsbet of Rurik,” said the king, completing the introduction.

Ailsbet curtsied to Lord Umber, remembering now that he had fled Weirland and come to Rurik to ally himself with King Haikor. He had information to offer, though he had given up his title and his land.

In return, Lord Umber bowed deeply to Ailsbet. “I am honored to meet you at last. You are even more beautiful than your father promised me.”

“And I am honored to meet you,” she replied with a smile. But she felt nothing at all, not fear, nor happiness, nor despair. Was the taweyr interfering with her ability to think?

Suddenly, Queen Aske stood up and left the Great Hall without a word. The whole court stared after her. But King Haikor said nothing, turning back to
Ailsbet and Lord Umber as if the queen had never been there.

“Princess Ailsbet, Lord Umber has just now agreed to the terms of your betrothal,” said the king. “There will be an official betrothal on the first day of the new year, and you will marry on the first day of spring.”

Betrothed in three months and married not three months after that? “Is there some reason for haste?” Ailsbet asked her father.

Lord Umber answered gallantly, “Your beauty and my undying love for you are reason enough for me.”

He almost made her believe it, his words were so smooth. But Ailsbet was no romantic. Marriage to Lord Umber would make an invasion of the other kingdom easier for King Haikor. Did her father expect Ailsbet to thank him because the man was also young and handsome and well spoken? At best, she could hope for Lord Umber to treat her kindly for the sake of her father and her title. Now and again, he might even be enjoyable company. She had to admit it could have been much worse.

Ailsbet looked up and found that Lord Umber was looking back at her with eyebrows raised, waiting. “I thank you, Father,” said Ailsbet, then turned to Lord Umber. “I am eager for our betrothal and marriage,
milord.” The words tasted like large, whole eggs in her mouth. She was afraid of cracking them and spilling the yolk down the sides of her face.

“Pleased? It sounds as if you are speaking of a pair of boots, rather than a living, breathing, hopeful nobleman,” said Lord Umber.

Ailsbet forced down anger at his flippant tone.

Then King Haikor began to laugh out loud, and Ailsbet found she could not help herself. She joined in, and so did the rest of the court. When King Haikor laughed, they all laughed.

“I am very fond of a good pair of boots,” Ailsbet said to Lord Umber.

“That I believe,” said Lord Umber, and he smiled at her with what seemed genuine pleasure. “Perhaps once you have broken me in, I shall live up to your expectations.”

“We shall see,” said Ailsbet. “You are an interesting man, Lord Umber,” she added.

“Interesting? I shall consider that high praise from King Haikor’s daughter, who is so often bored by everyone and everything she sees.”

“Is that what they say of me?” said Ailsbet. “I have never heard it.”

“Well, of course, they could not say it to your face. It would only bore you more.”

“Indeed,” said Ailsbet. “Nothing is so boring as being told about being bored.” Suddenly, she was aware of the eyes of the whole court on her and Lord Umber.

For a moment, it had felt as though they were having an intimate conversation, but that was an illusion, a dangerous one. She might enjoy this man’s wit, but she must not forget herself and her place.

“Umber’s father was the son of the sister of King Jaap’s grandfather,” said King Haikor.

A complicated relationship. Ailsbet tried to remember exactly what his place had been, in line to the Weirese throne. Fourth? Fifth? Had he decided he was tired of waiting for others to die and come to Rurik to increase his chances?

“I have given up my title and my lands in Weirland to serve your father in Rurik. And he has been so gracious as to honor me with your hand,” said Lord Umber.

And had he also promised to lead the king’s armies to victory in Weirland, if there was an invasion? At the thought, Ailsbet’s head sang with death and triumph. She realized she would enjoy going to war. She knew that she could not tell anyone this, Lord Umber least of all. But she liked the looks of him, and she thought he would make a good warrior. That,
more than anything, made her decide that she would marry him willingly.

“And now, Princess Ailsbet, I have a gift for you,” said Lord Umber. He clapped his hands, and a servant brought him an ornately carved, white, wooden case. He opened it for her, and inside lay a flute plated in gold.

Ailsbet could feel a roar of taweyr in her ears as she stared at the beautiful instrument. She knew that the man meant well. He had doubtless been prompted in this gift by her father. But a flute made with the wrong material, however beautiful, would have no proper sound. Anyone else in the court would think it was a fine gift for a musician, for none of them understood music as she did.

“Thank you,” said Ailsbet, feeling the gold warm under her fingertips.

“Play it,” her father commanded.

Ailsbet put the flute to her lips and attempted to play. The sound was weak and strained to her ears. But no one else seemed to notice, and Lord Umber looked very pleased with himself.

K
ING
H
AIKOR USED
A
ILSBET’S
betrothal as an excuse to have a celebration of some kind every night that autumn, with feasting and dancing and laughter. Already two weeks had passed, and the official betrothal ceremony would take place on the first night of the new year. Her father had sent the royal seamstress to Ailsbet, and she had been fitted for several new gowns, one of them heavy red damask decorated with jewels. Ailsbet hated the color, and thought it did nothing to compliment her pale skin and flaming hair. But she had no choice in the matter, just as she had no choice
in when or where she would be betrothed. Her father had decided on the Throne Room, and he also had chosen all the celebratory dishes to be served afterward in the Great Hall.

Despite the fact that the official betrothal had not yet occurred, the king still referred to Lord Umber as her betrothed. The other ladies of the court teased Ailsbet, and she couldn’t ignore them, as she had in the past. One lady gave her advice on how to kiss Lord Umber properly; another told her to withhold her kisses to make him want her more. Still another told her to kiss him gently and shyly, and let him believe he must teach her passion. Ailsbet nodded and smiled to all of them. She did not know if she wanted Lord Umber to feel anything for her but what she felt for him—a cool and rational hope that they would get along.

They were spending so much time together Ailsbet felt sometimes as if she could not breathe without him watching her do it. Lord Umber sat next to her at dinner and went on chaperoned walks with her around the palace.

“You do not like the golden flute?” said Lord Umber one dry, cold day when the sky looked like iron. Umber himself wore a bright red cloak, and Ailsbet, who wore the same color, wondered if he
had bribed her maid to tell him what she would wear so he could match it.

“It is beautiful to look at,” said Ailsbet.

They were outside, and Lord Umber had drawn her aside for a private moment away from her chaperones.

Ailsbet could see the river Weyr just below, winding its way through the city, down to the ocean in the south and north to the center of Rurik, where it began. It was a faint green color, and the light glinted off its depths. The Weyr was wide and deep, and Ailsbet had distinct memories of once riding in a boat to see the whole of the city. She had begun by counting the roofs of the grand estates near the palace, but there were soon too many roofs to count. She remembered the thick, rotting smell of refuse thrown into the river and the smell of roasting meat.

“Beautiful,” said Lord Umber. “As you are. With a hint of danger beneath.”

Ailsbet turned back to him, preferring to speak of the flute. “It was a fine gift.”

“You have an interesting way of speaking the truth,” said Lord Umber.

“Are you saying that I am a liar?” asked Ailsbet, smiling in spite of herself.

“Not at all. You are very careful in your truths. You simply choose to tell the ones that suit you.”

“And that bothers you?” asked Ailsbet.

“I hope that in time you will feel comfortable enough with me to tell me even truths you think I would not like to hear.”