"Aliam?" Now the Duke's face was white; he clung to the chair with both fists. "He knew? Aliam?"
"He suspected, my lord, and had no proof, nor any way to find some. And your sister was betrothed, soon to be crowned."
He shook his head, breathing hard. "I trusted him—Aliam—he said—"
"He said that he did not think your parentage could be proven, or your place restored; indeed, that's what he thought at the time. He was not sure; he had been too young when it happened, and he dared not ask anyone." Paks had feared his wrath with Aliam more than anything, but he was already nodding his head slowly as she spoke.
"I can understand. A boy with no background—what could he say? And my memories—so few, so far back. But—" He looked at Paks again. "Are you sure, Paks? Are you certain it's not your regard for an old commander?"
"My lord, it is not my thought only. I have talked to Aliam Halveric, and to elves of high degree—"
"And why didn't they—?" The Duke stopped in mid-sentence, his voice chopped off from a rising cry. His hand dropped again to the chair. "Because I was unfit—am unfit—"
"No, my lord. You are not."
"I am. Paks, you know—you have seen—and Lyonya requires abilities I don't have—if ever I did."
"My lord, you are half-elven, with abilities scarce less than the elves, but constrained by a mortal life. I believe you have them still, buried by what you have endured. Why else would the High Lord and Gird have sent me to find you? Would they choose an unfit king?"
"No—"
"And if they can make a paladin out of me, my lord, after all that happened, they can make a good king out of you."
"Perhaps." The Duke sat again, pulling his chair to the table so suddenly that its legs scraped loudly on the floor. "So—you are sure, and the elves are sure, that I am a prince born, and the rightful heir to Lyonya's throne. Is anyone else convinced?"
"Aliam Halveric."
"And any others?"
"We have not used your name, my lord, for fear that evil would come on you before I could reach you. But the lords of Lyonya, gathered together after the king's death, agreed to accept the sword's evidence. The elves had admitted that the prince lived, and might be found. I think most of the lords, if not all, will accept you." She watched him; his eyes had fallen to the table, where he traced some of the silver inlay with his forefinger.
"It would be a matter for laughter, if I could laugh," said the Duke quietly, "that I am born a prince, and of better birth than those lords who have scorned me as a bastard mercenary. They were so sure of my lack—as was I, most times—and now—" His finger paused; he looked up at Paks. "You assume, Paks, that I want to be king."
"No, my lord. I only know that you are the rightful king, and must be."
"Hmmph." His gaze went past her to meet each of the squires. "Garris—Lieth—Suriya—if Paks is right, then I am your king. But I must say this, however it seems to you. Many years have gone by since I was a lost and lonely boy, tramping the fields of Lyonya looking for work. Aliam Halveric took me in, taught me my trade of war, taught me respect for the gods, and what I know of right and wrong. Garris, you knew me then—you know what sort of boy I was. Did you ever think I might be a prince?"
Garris blushed. "My lord—sir—I thought you were special, then—you know I did."
"As a younger boy to an elder, yes. But birth?"
"Well, my lord—you acted like a prince—"
The Duke's mouth curled in a smile. "Did I? I was trying to act like Aliam, as I recall. But what I mean is this. I had nothing when I came to Aliam. He gave me my start—as you all know, I'm sure. But from there, I made it myself. That land in the north—my stronghold—that is mine. My money, yes, but more than that. I built some of that wall myself; barked my own knuckles on that stone; left some of my blood on the hills when we fought off the orcs. Years of my life—dreams—Tamar and I, planning things. My children were born there, in that chamber you saw, Paks, the night we talked with the Marshal-General. I fought in Aarenis, yes—for that's where the money was, the contracts that let me improve my own lands. The money for that mill came from Aarenis, the food I bought all those years before the fields were large enough. Stock for farmers, fruit-trees for Kolya. But what I cared for—what I gave my heart to—was that land, and those people. My people—my soldiers." His fist was clenched now, on the table before him. "Now I find I'm a prince, with another land, and other people. But can I leave this, that I have made? Can I leave the hall where Tamar ate, and the courtyard where our children played? Can I leave those who helped me, when they knew nothing of princes or kingdoms, only a young mercenary captain who dreamed of his own lands? Already this year they have endured one upheaval. Those that stayed are mine." He looked from face to face. "Can you understand this?"
Paks felt the tears stinging her own eyes. When Garris spoke, she heard the emotion there. "My lord, I understand. You were always that way—even at Aliam's, you would take responsibility. Of course you care for them—"
Suriya had pushed back her chair, and gone around Paks to stand beside the Duke. When he glanced up at her, she spoke. "Sir king, if you were unfit to be our king you could not have spoken so. I am most junior of your squires, but by your leave, I will not leave you until you sit in your own throne."
The Duke's face furrowed. "By the gods, Suriya, were you listening at all? I am not sure I want this!"
"Sir king, on Falk's oath I swear, you will be king, and until that day I will ward you." Paks had never seen Suriya like this, completely calm and certain. She smiled at Paks. "Lady, you told us we would have a king worthy of our service; so I find him. If he cannot find his heart in this yet, it will come, and I will await it."
"Gird's grace rest on your service, Suriya," said Paks. And to the Duke, "My lord—or should I say, sir king—I believe it is the gods' will that you take this crown. Surely if you follow their will, good will come even to your lands in the north."
"Think you so? Think you so indeed? It would not be the first time a man has followed what he thinks is the gods' will, and had things go ill indeed."
"You mean your wife's death," said Paks bluntly. "My lord, that was not the gods' will, but Achrya's; I believe her plan was laid longer than you have yet realized. Do you think you were stolen away by chance? Do you recall the words of her agent that night, when she said you were not born a duke?"
"Yes." The Duke sighed heavily. "Damn. All those years I worried because I did not know who my father was, and now—" He looked at his closed fist and opened it deliberately. He sighed again, and looked up at Suriya. "You are right, of course, as is Paksenarrion. If I am Lyonya's king—though to my mind that's not yet proven—then I must be the king; I cannot sulk on my own estates, and leave Lyonya to suffer evil." Paks felt the tension ease; Garris and Lieth moved from her side to the Duke's without a word. He smiled at them. "So—you would leave Paks unwarded? I assure you, squires, I am in no peril here."
"Paksenarrion is a paladin, and well fit to guard herself," said Lieth. "Though when she goes out alone, one of us will go with her, by your leave."
"Indeed so," said the Duke, as Paks still thought of him. "Until this is settled, I wish that. But now what?" he asked Paks. "Your test is that sword, is it not? Should I draw it here, or before the Council, or in Chaya? What is your word?"
"I do not know," said Paks. "You know more of statecraft than I: here are three witnesses to speak of what happens. Do we need more? I think you should not travel without testing it; the sword will be a mighty weapon for your defense, once you have held it."
"And will leave you swordless," he said, with a small smile. Paks shrugged. "No," he said, "we must find you another weapon; I will not have a paladin of Gird unweaponed for my sake. Let me think. The prince should know as soon as anyone. His father granted my steading, and was my friend; I would have sworn allegiance to this boy with all my heart. Indeed," he went on, with a broader grin, "it's as well you came when you did, Paks.
They were urging me to swear now—before his coronation this summer—as proof of my loyalty. And so I might have done, and been bound by that oath, if you had not come in. For I tell you I had no reason to do otherwise."
"Sir king—" began Garris tentatively.
"Garris, you must not call me that—any of you—until the sword proves me so. Please. Your service I accept, but we must observe the courtesies of this court as well. Paks, it must be before them all, I think: the whole Council. To do otherwise would arouse suspicion. Then if it fails—"
"It won't," said the squires at once.
"If," the Duke repeated firmly, "then all will know, and will also know that I made no secret trials. Paks, if you will speak to the lords yourself, it will be better. The prince has no vote, but the Council defers to his wishes where it can; he will determine the hour."
"As soon as may be," said Paks.
"As he wills," said the Duke. "You will find him certain of mind. As were all of us, at nearly twenty."
"How shall we explain the service of the King's Squires?" asked Paks, thinking how it would look to have the Duke trailed by those green-and-gold tunics.
"You asked them to look over some scrolls—old accounts—I had brought with me. I have brought the Company Rolls, at the Council's request. Will that do?"
"Certainly." Paks rose, with the Duke, and preceded him to the door. Outside, the elderly man who had announced her waited. "Sir, might I ask an audience with the prince?"
"With the crown prince, Lady?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Come with me, then. Is Duke Phelan free to meet with the Council?"
"Sir, I have asked him to look up something from his records; the squires go with him to take notes. By the time I have spoken to those other lords I must see, perhaps he will be free."
The man bowed. "I will inform the Council, Lady." He called to a page, and gave that message to be taken to all the lords in turn.
Chapter Twenty-five
The crown prince received her in his private chambers; Paks found herself face to face with a tall, self-assured young man of nearly twenty. He waved her to a seat with grave courtesy, and handed her a delicate rose-colored cup of some hot, aromatic liquid.
"I know you are used to sib," he said as she tasted it. "This is brewed from two of the herbs in sib, and another from the far southwest mountains. I like it better, but there is sib in this pot if you don't. They tell me you did not stop even to take refreshment."
"No, your highness. I could not delay."
"And then you asked Duke Phelan some questions, and now you wish to speak with me. I assure you, Lady, that I am too young to have knowledge you need."
Paks cocked her head. "I think you do know what I need, your highness. May I tell you?" He nodded, and Paks finished the drink before going on. "I think that Lyonya's king is in your court at this time. For his safety and reputation, the sword's test should be conducted openly, before your Council."
"He is here? Not merely in Tsaia, but in my court—and you know who it is? Whatever you asked Duke Phelan, then, confirmed your knowledge. Perhaps you asked who had come with him?" Paks had not thought to ask that, but the prince seemed not to notice. "It must be someone he knows—a captain of his, or—" He stopped short. "You are not saying it is—"
"I am not saying anyone, your highness, at this time."
His eyes were bright, watching her. "No—you aren't saying, but I have wits enough to guess, I think. Gird's cudgel, this will stir the Council." He laughed, a boy's clear open laugh, and poured her another cup. His face sobered. "And give us a problem, as well. The north—"
"Your highness, I pray you, do not speak of it until the time."
"Oh, very well. But you want a Council session, and it must be before we resume our previous business. You may not be aware that certain lords have been asked to swear their allegiance directly to me even before the coronation. In this case—" his lips twitched, but he controlled the smile, "it might prove inconvenient to your purpose." He poured another cup for himself. "So. A Council session called on special business. The High Marshal will support me there. You will want it as quickly as possible? Yes. Tomorrow morning, then: it will take several hours to arrange, and tonight, as you no doubt recall, is the feast of Luap. We will all be in the grange hall until late, for the High Marshal is knighting a score of youths."
Paks had forgotten about the feast of Luap. "It could not be put off?"
His eyes widened. "Luap's feast? The knighting? Gods, no. Relatives of these boys have traveled days to be here. Not if a dragon sat smoking in the inner court. If you have concern about the—ah—person, I can assign guards, though—"
"No, your highness. Only if anyone asks, could you explain that the King's Squires are looking into the Company Rolls for a name?"
He nodded. "That I can do, and will, right gladly. Now, if you'll excuse me, I will summon the High Marshal on this matter we spoke of."
Paks rose quickly and bowed. "Is there aught I can do, your highness, to help with this?"
"I think not. You will confirm your request, of course, to any lord who asks you—but I think they will not ask." He nodded, and Paks withdrew, to find a page ready to escort her back to the rooms she'd been assigned.
Once there, she found Lieth in attendance; her things had been unpacked, and a hot bath was ready for her.
"I thought—" Paks began, but Lieth smiled and put a finger to her lips.
"With Garris to look, and Suriya to keep notes, they didn't need me. Here, Lady, let me take that mail." Lieth set it aside, and helped Paks strip off the last of her clothes and climb into the tub. "And I thought," she said very softly, "that you would want no one else near the sword. I chased two chambermaids out of here when I came."
"Thank you, Lieth," said Paks. The hot scented water was delightful; she felt she could acquire a taste for bathing this way. When she was done, Lieth handed her a robe of heavy rose-colored wool that had been warming by the fire. Paks put it on, wrinkling her nose at the silver clasps. "A rich house, the Mahierian," she commented.
"Yes," said Lieth shortly. She went to the door of the next room, and gestured. Two maids came through. "They've set a meal out in there," said Lieth. "Will you come?" She had already gathered the armor; Paks took the sword, and followed Lieth, leaving the maids to clear away the bath things.
The meal of sliced breads, cold meats, and fruit was spread on a round table beneath a narrow window. In this room as well a fire crackled on a clean stone hearth. Yet another room opened from it, this with a narrow canopied bed. Paks sat down with an appetite.
"Come eat, Lieth, unless you've had something in the meantime," she said.
"Thank you." Lieth sat across from Paks. For awhile they ate silently, each thinking her own thoughts. When Paks finished, and sat back, she found Lieth watching her.
"What's wrong, Lieth?" Paks hoped Lieth had not taken a dislike to the Duke. Her first words fed that fear.
"I came to serve the king," she began slowly. "I knew nothing of him, but that you knew who he was."
"Yes?" prompted Paks, when she said nothing more for a moment.
"I am glad to have seen him. I don't know what I was expecting, but not that—and it's better than I expected." She stopped again; this time Paks merely looked her question. Lieth shook her head, answering something Paks did not ask—perhaps a question in her own mind. "I am a King's Squire," she said finally. "A Lyonyan. A Knight of Falk. Here, in Tsaia, among Girdsmen, with my king unknown and disregarded, I am out of place. Lady, if I heard in Lyonya what I have heard this day, I would know how to answer—" Her hand had crept to her sword. "But I am a stranger. I have no rights at this court."
"Lieth, what is it? What are you angry about?"
"Paks, do you know how many enemies the ki—the Duke has?"
Paks frowned. "No. Some, but not so many, I'd thought."
"Then they must all be here. Verrakai—I had words with one of his squires, and a se
rvant or so—"
"Words?" Paks was startled. Lieth had seemed the most placid of the King's Squires.
"Just words—so far. They had plenty to say about the Duke, and all of it bad. That your coming here today was his doing, to avoid swearing an oath of loyalty to the prince. That you were no true paladin—and that I argued, telling them I'd seen you fight myself—but they would not believe. They think their lord has a witness who will make it obvious that you and the Duke are both liars and traitors."
Paks felt a chill down her spine. "I wonder how, since we're not. Did Garris and Suriya hear any of this?"
"I don't think so. They're with him; I was looking for your rooms."
"Anything from the the royal servants?"
"No, not really. Some think the Duke's wild and uncanny, but none seem to harbor any malice. But the Verrakai weren't all. I ran into the whole group together: Konhalt, Clannaeth, a Sorrestin page, and the Verrakai. They were eager to tell me the worst they knew of the Duke—and of you."
"That could be bad indeed," said Paks placidly. She did not fear Lieth's opinion.
"It was bad to hear," said Lieth grimly. "Girdsmen. I'd have thought even Girdsmen would have more respect for a paladin."
"Even Girdsmen?"
Lieth flushed. "Lady, your pardon. It was unseemly."
Paks shook her head. "Lieth, these may not have been Girdsmen. While you are here, try not to remember all you were told of Girdsmen by the Falkians, eh? I'm a Girdsman."
"Yes—I know. I'm sorry, truly." She looked suddenly worried. "Is he?"
"The Duke? No. But his wife was."
"And she is dead. He must marry again. Will he, do you think?"
Paks thought a moment. "Lieth, if he has given his word, he will do more; he is that kind of man. He has said he will take the kingdom; I daresay he knows what that means, and will do more than his duty. But I am not one to speak of kings' weddings."
"You spoke to the crown prince?"