Valdemar 06 - [Exile 02] - Exile’s Valor (17 page)

“I think your people love you, Your Highness,” said one of Lord Orthallen's hangers-on, patently hoping to curry favor, for he still had his mouth open to continue with a compliment when Selenay laughed.

“I think they love the Queen's Bread they're getting today, and the feast I've arranged for tonight,” she replied, and Alberich smothered a smile. For this, the final official day of the Festival (although people would probably stretch things out for as long as the ice held), she'd arranged for bread to be distributed in the morning until the supplies ran out, and meat, wine, and bread for the same time as the Court Feast this evening. If the fountains weren't running with wine instead of water, it was because it was too cold; instead, there would be hot wine available in huge cauldrons along the bank, alongside fires where various beasts were roasting on spits, and more of the bread that had been baked well in advance, and stored cold. Although the notion of “whole roasted oxen” was a romantic one, for practicality's sake, what was going to be offered was just about any beast that could be spitted and roasted and would provide enough meat to satisfy a portion of the crowd. There were quite a few sheep, for instance, and a great many pigs, domestic and wild.

Selenay had been as generous as her purse would allow. If anyone had seen these creatures alive, he would have been well aware that they were all, well, not exactly prime. Most of them had come from the Royal Farms, and were past breeding or working age. Still, they'd been well tended all their lives, and if they were going to provide somewhat tough eating, well, as one old man once told Alberich, “Forbye, much chewin' makes it last the longer, and tough be tasty.” Most of the people who would be swarming the fires didn't taste meat more than a few times in a year, and it was almost never anything like beef or mutton.

And as for those who could afford better, well, they could take their purses and go buy it.

In fact, the fires were already being set up for the cauldrons, and the carcasses turning over
their
flames when they arrived at the river. It occurred to Alberich, as the scent of roasting meat filled the air, that the food merchants were not going to do badly out of this, after all. The meat wouldn't be ready for hours, but people would be hungrier with the scent of it in their noses.

For all that he disliked the crush, the sidelong glances, the discomfort of his position as Selenay's shadow, Alberich could not begrudge the Queen a single moment of her day of relative freedom. All he had to do was to catch a glimpse of her face to know that she was enjoying herself for the first time in—well, in far too long. She was smiling a great deal, even laughing, and there was a glow on her that made her look more alive than she had in months.

It didn't take a MindHealer to know why either. This day at her Ice Festival was, perhaps, the only time she had spent since her father's death that wasn't shadowed with memories. Sendar had never presided over such an occasion; guided only by old Chronicles, her friends, and her own imagination, this was something that Selenay had created for herself. It had taken Alberich a little aback to see her
smiling.

With special nail-studded shoes to give traction on the ice (for the blacksmith had finally come up with something that worked as well as the ice cleats) the Queen, her escort of Heralds, and their Companions came down onto the rock-hard river just about a candlemark after dawn to view the ice sculptures. When a winner had been chosen and rewarded, she went on to watch the childrens' races and present medallions, money, and skates to the winners. Alberich enjoyed that; the children were enthusiastic and excited without turning it into the cut throat competition he'd seen watching the preliminary races of the adults. The losers were disappointed but consoled by the sweet cakes Selenay passed out to all the competitors, and the winners so bursting with joy that they could hardly contain themselves.

By midmorning she was ready to taste the three finalists in the meat pie, the mulled ale, the spiced cider, and the hot and ice wine competitions. Then, fortified, she returned to the exhibition area for the fancy skating.

By this time, Alberich was both cold and frustrated, for he hadn't yet seen the young highborn fellow he'd been hoping to identify. When Selenay retired to the Royal Pavilion set up on the ice for a hot meal and a chance to catch her breath,
he
left her in the guard of Keren and Ylsa, and went prowling.

Selenay never had her noon meal in the presence of her Court; by the time she had a chance for that respite, she was generally sick to death of most of them, and wanted nothing more than a little privacy to go along with her food. She wasn't going to change that habit now, so Alberich had a good candlemark to roam about the Royal Enclosure to see what, if anything, could be seen.

There wasn't much. Just a few of the younger set who were already sport-mad, and some of the older ones who never missed a chance to hover in the presence of royalty, and had done so even in Sendar's time. Alberich decided that he would have the best luck if he sidled in near the former and tried to eavesdrop on their conversation, so he got a skewer of basted meat from one of the cooks serving up food
al fresco,
and stood just behind a likely pair, slowly eating and staring off at nothing in particular, doing his best to be ignored.

“. . . Jocastel may think he's clever, taking the whole house for the day,” one of them sniffed, “but they shan't see anything but the middle of the races.”

“Well, none of them will, except for Redric. He took that warehouse.” The other nodded at a warehouse on the opposite bank, whose docks were festooned with greenery and a few pouting girls wrapped up to the eyes in expensive furs.

“Oh, yes. Well, trust
him.
That entire set is gambling-mad. They'll be there all day.”

“And so will Jocastel's, and I doubt that any of
them
will be watching even the middle of the races.” A knowing tone crept into the young man's voice. “Redric may have snared most of the ladies, but Jocastel got the keys to his father's wine cellar.”

The first one snorted. “Idiots. The lot of them. You can guzzle wine anytime, but when is there likely to be another Ice Festival in our lifetimes? The last one was over fifty years ago, and every champion skater who could get here in time is going to be in the races today! Listen, the big races will begin as soon as the Queen comes back out—
I'm
for hunting down one of those broom-ball tournaments I've heard of. The Terilee might thaw, but the pond up at the old pile will hold for months yet, and I've a mind to get a bunch of the lads together and try the game out ourselves!”

“Oh, now there's a plan!” enthused the second, and both of them moved away, gesturing at each other.

Well, that explained why there was no one here to speak of . . . a gambling party in a warehouse, a drinking party in a rented house, and that pretty much accounted for most of the youngsters of the Court.

Alberich wandered over to the vicinity of a quintet of older men, who were glaring at the young ladies on the dock with disapproval and muttering at each other. “What are their fathers thinking?” grumbled one, just as Alberich got within earshot. “The idea! Going off to some rented hovel unescorted—”

“Oh, it isn't the daylight hours that I would be concerned about,” said another sourly. “But who's to say what's going to happen when the Feast is going on and some of them slip off, unsupervised?”

Alberich eavesdropped shamelessly a little more, learning only that most of the “younger sets” weren't even planning to come down to the Royal Enclosure until the sun set. The older courtiers would be trickling in during the late afternoon, but they weren't the ones Alberich was concerned with.

He returned the skewer to the care of the cooks, and drifted back to Selenay's Royal Pavilion feeling heartily annoyed at humankind in general and that feckless lot of highborn in particular. Hang it all! Why couldn't all those eager parents insist that the young men come down here to dance attendance on the young—and eligible—Queen? Why were they allowing their offspring to gamble and drink away the afternoon without even trying to steal moments of Selenay's time? What were they thinking?

:They're probably thinking that if Selenay hasn't indicated her interest in any of them by now, there's no point in freezing their manhoods off to try to impress her today,:
Kantor observed dispassionately.

:Hmph.:
Alberich nodded to the Guards at the entrance, and pulled back the door flap, feeling entirely disgruntled.
:Then there's no damned point in my being here now.:
The Royal Pavilion had been set up with a kind of antechamber to keep out the coldest air; he parted a second set of door flaps just inside the first.

:Yes, there is. It will get everyone used to seeing you playing bodyguard, so that no one will think twice about it tonight,:
Kantor retorted.

It wasn't much warmer inside, but at least there were carpets laid over the ice, and braziers of coals on sheets of slate atop them that provided little pockets of warmth. The light in here was a lot more restful than out on the frozen river, too; the pitiless sunlight glowed through the painted canvas rather like the light coming in through his precious colored window. And it was out of the wind.

“Alberich!” Selenay called from amid a heap of furs and cushions piled on a high-backed settle that had been brought down from the Palace, her cheeks glowing, her eyes sparkling. “What's to do between now and the Feast?”

“More races,” he replied. “The really serious ones; all the champion skaters that could get here in time are going to be competing. Out there will be some intense rivalry; the prizes for the adult races are considerable, and to claim one bragging rights will bestow for a decade.”

“Really!” She looked entirely pleased. “How exciting! Have we referees along the course?”

“Absolutely,” Keren replied, before Alberich could answer. “Not only is there the prospect that someone is likely to cheat, there's the fact that if someone goes down, there might be a fight over it. He'll probably claim he was fouled, and he might take a part of the field with him. We have this sort of thing every Midwinter where I'm from.”

“And there is, I hear, much gambling over the outcome,” Alberich added. “So, more incentive there is, to cheat.”

“And if someone's accused of cheating?” Selenay looked from Keren to Alberich and back again. “What do I do? Whoever is accused will deny it, no doubt.”

“Depends on how and where in the race, and if a referee saw it,” Keren said judiciously. “Let the referee handle it, unless enough people got taken down. Then, if you're inclined, you can have 'em run the race over again. Presumably, everybody'd be equally tired, so they'd all be on the same footing. if I were a betting person, I'd lay odds you'll have to rerun at least one race this afternoon. This is going to be the climax of the Festival for a lot of people—not even the Feast is going to eclipse it. Feelings will be running high.”

“Which is why I have plenty of the Guard stationed on the course and off it,” Selenay replied, nodding. “The Seneschal warned me about that, after he watched the semifinals.”

“You won't be able to jail everyone who starts a fight—” Keren began dubiously.

Selenay laughed. “And we won't try! Instead, anybody who gets out of hand is going to find himself hauling wood and chopping wood for the spits and the cauldrons!”

Keren laughed, too. “Good enough! Work the energy out of a hothead and leave him too tired to fight!”

“That was the plan,” the Queen agreed, looking pleased with herself. “So, besides the races, is there anything else for me this afternoon?”

“Only a skating pageant,” Alberich replied, having seen the preparations going on for the thing nearly every day since the Festival began. “Like a street pageant.”

“Only instead of
you
riding along the street and stopping at every display, you'll be the one sitting, and the groups doing the displays will pass in front of you, stop, and make their presentations,” Keren said helpfully.

Selenay made a face. “I suppose,” she sighed, “that everyone would be very disappointed if I didn't watch the whole thing.”

Alberich didn't blame her. There were only so many badly rhymed paeans to one's beauty and goodness, sung by shrill and slightly-out-of-tune children's choirs, that a sensible person could stand.

“Very,” said the Seneschal, who had just entered the Pavilion himself, in his finest voice.

“Can I watch it on Caryo instead of in the grand-stand?” she asked hopefully. “It's warmer on Caryo—”

“But the purpose of the pageant is as much for you to be seen as for you to view the presentations,” the Seneschal pointed out, in a tone that made it very clear that Selenay would not be watching the affair from her saddle.

She sighed. “I hope you have lots of these furs,” she said.