“I’m not sure that’s a compliment,” she said dryly as she gave him the sketch.
Jonathan caught her hand, his eyes serious. “I love you, too, Alanna. You’re a part of me—my sword arm.”
She kissed his forehead. “Fine. I like that. But you need a Queen, too. Thayet would be a good one.”
“Are you sure?” he wanted to know. “Are you positive we couldn’t make a good marriage?” She returned his look, equally serious, and he sighed. “You’re right. Still, it would have been interesting.”
Her head spinning from the events of the last three days, Alanna went to earth. She was all but invisible at palace social functions. Jonathan, knowing that she needed time to think, left her alone. Instead he asked for Thayet when he called at House Olau, taking her for rides or to the palace. He invited Buri on these excursions, guessing—accurately—that the little K’mir would prefer several deaths to making polite conversation with noblemen. Thayet could make no threat that would cause Buri to act as a chaperone at such times. Instead the Princess’s companion joined Alanna as she refamiliarized herself with Corus and the palace grounds.
Alanna introduced her to the remnants of George’s court and to her friends among the palace hostlers and servants. They joined Liam in extended hours of exercise and sparring. George took them on picnics beside the river and on explorations of the city’s catacombs. Buri learned how to pick pockets, and Alanna relaxed in the thief’s company. The pair found themselves drilling the city’s urchins, boy and girl, in staff- and sword-play, and running races with local youths. Alanna brought Buri into the morning practice sessions in the palace, where the K’mir met Raoul, Gary, and the other knights and squires. Many of these young noblemen, particularly those who didn’t know Alanna well, were unsure of what to make of two females—one an unproven stranger—joining their practice. Their attitudes soon changed to respect for Buri and awe for Alanna.
Because the body concerned was hers, Alanna didn’t know how much she’d improved under Liam’s teaching. If she beat her old friends, which she often did, she decided they had been riding chairs too much recently. Alex never challenged her, George could still best her with knives, and Liam always won.
“It keeps me humble,” she told Coram with chagrin after one session with Liam. Coram laughed and ruffled her hair.
She watched Duke Roger. He was often present when she visited Thom. These glimpses were enough to confirm her feeling that she trusted him less than ever. She relayed her suspicions to everyone who mattered; there could never be too many eyes on the Duke. Still, he continued to act conspicuously innocent. Instead of easing her fears, such behavior only increased them.
The days slipped away. She was fitted for dresses, which she wore during quiet evenings with her family and on leisure excursions with George or her friends at court. Summer began with the June festival of Beltane. Since this was the time of year men approached their chosen ladies (the excuse being the custom of leaping over fires hand-in-hand to ensure a bountiful harvest), she looked for George to renew his courtship. Certainly he’d had time to see that she no more belonged to Liam than to the moon! George, however, remained simply friendly; after his enthusiastic greeting on her return, he showed no other signs of warmer feelings.
“I’m doomed to be an old maid,” she told Faithful mournfully, surveying her image in a looking-glass the morning of the festival.
There was a time when you wanted to be a spinster, he reminded her as he washed his glossy fur. A warrior maiden, with no one to tie her down—
“Oh, shut up,” she said crossly. “Must I have everything I said as a girl thrown back in my face?”
You seemed positive, the cat taunted her wickedly.
A serving girl peered in. “Excuse me, your ladyship, but the King says, if you’re awake, will you come down? He’s in his lordship’s library.”
Alanna tugged on one of the new gowns, listening with enjoyment to the rustle of lilac silk as she tugged a brush through her waving hair. She put on slippers as she went downstairs, nearly killing herself by hopping first on one foot, then the other. While she knew Jon rose quite early, it was rare for him to leave the palace at this hour: he must have an important errand.
“Hello,” he greeted her as she rushed into the library. “That’s a pretty dress. Are you wearing it for anyone in particular?”
“Yes,” she snapped. “Myself.”
“Ouch. You should be nicer to your King, my Champion.”
“No I shouldn’t,” retorted Alanna. “Duke Gareth says the Champion must always be honest, even when others lack the courage.”
Jon smiled ruefully. “Lacking the courage to speak out has never been one of your problems, I admit.”
She looked him over with some concern. “Are you taking proper care of yourself—eating right, getting your sleep? It won’t do for you to fall ill for your own coronation.”
“I’ll be fine. I’ve been up late the last week or so, working with the Jewel.”
“How is that going?”
Jonathan smiled. “Very well. Thom has been a great help, finding spells and writing new ones for the Jewel. Its power can be limitless, if you know how to use it.” He sighed. “That’s a temptation I’ll always have to fight. The minute I start relying on the Jewel to rule is the minute I court disaster. There’s no substitute for a human touch.”
“Do you always think like this?” she wanted to know. “Or do you rest sometimes and think about ordinary things with the rest of us?” She couldn’t tell him that she was in awe of him when he spoke of such things. If ever a man was born to be King, it’s Jon, she thought.
“Of course I do,” he replied tartly. “There are plenty of ordinary things for me to think about—the future, and love, and—” He stopped, turning red.
“How are things with you and Thayet?” Alanna inquired, interested.
Jonathan scrubbed his face with his hands. “Baffling.” He sighed. “I don’t know if she goes riding with me to be polite, or because she likes my company—”
“Good,” his Champion said. “You’re too sure of yourself with women. It won’t hurt for you to have to struggle a little.”
Jon picked up Faithful and smoothed the cat’s fur. “Thank you, dearest Alanna. I knew I could depend on you to salve my wounded pride.”
“You always take care of your own pride,” she reminded him. “You’ve never needed me for that. By the way, what do you need me for this morning? Or are you here for the conversation?”
He shook his head. “I’m here for a talk with George—who is late. I thought your presence might smooth things.”
“You aren’t angry with George, are you?” she asked, concerned.
“Quite the opposite.”
The subject of their conversation strolled in, mussed and sweat-streaked. “Sorry I’m late,” he told Jonathan, collapsing into a big armchair. “I had a bit of a scuffle with some hotheads. Nothing serious, but it delayed me.” Alanna poured George a cup of the fruit juice left on Myles’s desk by the servants. He accepted with a murmured word of thanks, and drained it. She poured him another, checking him for wounds from beneath lowered lashes.
He still knew what she was doing. “I’m all in one piece, lass,” he grinned. “Never tell me you were worried.”
Alanna scowled, prodded by his mocking tone. “I wasn’t,” she retorted.
George winked at her. “That’s my girl!”
Jonathan opened a manuscript case that lay on the desk before him and drew out two scrolls, both adorned with heavy seals and tied up with royal blue ribbons. “Enough squabbling, you two.” He passed the first to George. Alanna noted the flowing writing was a court scribe’s and not Jonathan’s precise hand.
George read for only a moment before he stood and tossed the parchment on the desk. His mouth was tight with anger, his face white. “A royal pardon! What d’you take me for, Majesty?” His big hands were clenched. “You’ve had fun with the low-born, and now y
ou’ll throw me a bauble as reward? I want no charity, Jonathan!”
Alanna forced herself to sit, gritting her teeth. She could not interfere.
Jonathan refused to be provoked. “I’m not charitable,” he said coolly. “My father was. Now the results of...certain of his charities threaten this kingdom. I wish he had been more just and less kind.”
He leaned back. “You were the best teacher I had. Must I list what you made me learn? The reaches of men’s trickery. Making even those who mistrust me follow where I lead. The extent of human greed. The things that can’t be bought. The need for ruthlessness. The ability to recognize—and trust—loyalty.” Jon smiled grimly. “I’ve often wondered—would I have survived the Ordeal of the Voice, if you hadn’t taken me under your wing?”
He tapped the pardon. “’The teacher earns his wage,’” he quoted. “But it’s more than that. This is to prevent the day when I have to sign a writ for your execution.”
George went to the bookshelves, staring at them. “You needn’t go so far. I’ve lost my taste for the Rogue. I’ll leave Tortall, settle elsewhere.”
When Alanna would have started forward, Jon gripped her arm, keeping her beside him. “Must you desert me when I need you?” he asked the thief. “Never again will I have any freedom. And our hero is easily recognized, which limits her movements.” He smiled at Alanna and let her go. She stayed where she was, tense.
Jon continued, “I need someone unusual to serve as my confidential agent. I’d trust such an agent implicitly. He must be clever and unorthodox, someone who could venture among all classes without trouble.”
George looked at Jon, his face unreadable. “What’s t’other writ, then?”
“A grant of nobility and the title of baron. The deeds to the lands and incomes traditionally belonging to the lord of Pirate’s Swoop, a day’s ride south of Port Caynn.”
“I know where the Swoop is,” George snapped. “Why? Why must you go and make me respectable?”
“A confidential agent needs a home and income,” was the simple reply. “His comings and goings, particularly at court, cannot be remarked upon, which means he must be a noble.”
“I want to travel, Jon. Before I’m old and know nothin’ but the Rogue.”
Jonathan smiled dryly. “Is life here so dull that you two think of nothing but roaming? Never mind. I need you to travel. I have to know what’s outside my borders, too.” He let George think for a few moments before adding softly, “I can’t do this alone. Say you will.” Both Alanna and George heard the real pleading in his voice when he added, “Please.”
George picked up the pardon, re-reading it. He tapped a large seal in silvery wax. “How in Mithros’s name did you get my Lord Provost to sign?”
“You’d be surprised. He’s an amazing fellow.” Jonathan’s tone was filled with wry respect, making Alanna wonder just what the Provost had done to put that feeling in his voice.
George sighed, rolling the parchment up. “With so many good reasons for me to accept, I’d be touched in my wits to refuse.” With a lopsided grin he told Alanna, “He’s grown up with a vengeance. I wonder if I shall be glad or sorry.”
Alanna rode to the palace that evening as the sun set against the Coastal Hills, paying her daily visit to Thom. When she left him, as always, she was troubled and uneasy. He looked no better than he had when she first returned to Corus. If anything, he looked worse, and she was frightened. She’d also noticed that Faithful stayed away from Thom, and that Thom deliberately avoided the cat. To her there was no better sign of something dangerously wrong; but when she questioned Faithful, he refused to answer.
Instead of riding home or seeking out her friends, she and Faithful wandered idly through the maze of the palace, thinking about the coronation. It was hard to believe only three weeks remained.
Their walk finally brought knight and cat to the Hall of Crowns. This room had one use: Tortallan sovereigns were consecrated to the realm there. At all other times it was closed, its windows covered by heavy velvet curtains.
They entered, smelling beeswax, spices, and incense. The servants had worked hard, cleaning the dust-covered draperies, polishing wood- and metalwork until it shone, scrubbing the manypaned windows. Tiny votive candles winked on the altar, where a Mithran priest and a Daughter of the Goddess would bind Jonathan to the crown and the land.
Her steps echoed to the ceiling as she walked around. Here were the wooden benches where the nobility sat. She climbed the stone risers that would seat the principal merchants, guild-masters, and their families until she reached the top. Here were the City Doors, the height of five men and the breadth of seven. These would be open during the coronation. All who could fit in behind the wealthy and powerful commoners would do so, relaying what happened inside to the less fortunate.
Once crowned, Jonathan would mount Darkness at the City Doors to ride down to his new capital. Alanna would stay a pace behind as he rode through the packed streets.
Thank the Goddess Moonlight isn’t some skittish yearling and hard to control in a crowd, she reflected. Still, I can think of things I’d rather be doing that day.
She sat on a riser, almost on top of Faithful. “Oh, stop it,” she muttered when he yowled. “You aren’t hurt.” Propping elbows on knees, she put her chin on her hands, staring at the distant altar. “I’m getting old,” she whispered. “I should be excited about the coronation. I wish I knew for certain he’d be safe.”
You wanted to be a hero, Faithful said. Heroes have responsibilities.
“I’m not sure I want to be a hero anymore,” Alanna sighed.
Then you are in trouble. That’s the one thing you’ll never be able to change.
“I know. I think about marrying, though, if I could do it and still see the world. It wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Not if it was someone I liked and loved. Someone I could laugh with.”
You want to be warrior and woman. You want to travel and serve Jonathan. Can’t you make up your mind about what you want? complained the cat.
“Who says I can’t have a little bit of each?” she wanted to know. When she realized what she’d said, she began to grin. “That’s right—why can’t I? And I’ve done pretty well, I think!”
I suppose so, he replied grudgingly. For a person. Mind, be careful in your choices—particularly if you want to marry. You need somebody who isn’t as noble-minded as you are. Otherwise you take yourself much too seriously. I won’t always be around to correct you.
“I am not noble-minded!”
Yes you are. You hide it well, but not everyone knows you like I do. And you think you can solve all the world’s ills. You need someone who will cheer you up when you can’t.
Abruptly Alanna sneezed four times without stopping. She got to her feet, blinking teary eyes. Something took form before the altar, something with substance enough to obscure the votive candles. It was the Goddess, her white skin and emerald eyes gleaming in the dark. Impossibly tall, she smiled at Alanna. Of course she’s here, Alanna thought, awed. It’s Beltane. Every couple tonight will ask her blessing on the summer crops. Then why has she come here? I’m alone, without a lover, and I’m more worried about the coronation than the crops.
The gentle whisper nonetheless drove Alanna to her knees. It took all her willpower to keep her hands from her ears: that voice still embodied huntress and hounds and the storm. In the Hall of Crowns even the Goddess’s whisper rolled like thunder. “We meet again, my daughter. You have traveled a long road since last we spoke. Surely you must be pleased, now. Your labors of all these years, here and in the Roof of the World, bear fruit. Your Jonathan is to be King. He will bear the Dominion Jewel.”
Alanna looked up eagerly. “Then he will be King? Please—can you give me a sign, some hint of what is to come? I sense trouble, but...and my brother. What’s wrong with Thom?”
The Goddess shook her head. “I may not answer these questions. The gods cannot reveal all things; otherwise, where is men’s right t
o choose their fates? Where is your right to choose?”
“I think I chose well,” Alanna said, getting to her feet. “How can I thank you for your favor?”
“Your life is my thanks. I have guided you as best I can, but the time for guidance is past. You are fully grown into all your powers, Alanna. The days to come are what you make of them. The coronation is a crossroad in Time. Bend it to your will—if you have the courage!”
Alanna’s blood thrilled to the challenge, but her common sense made her beg, “Just a hint?”
The Goddess shook her head, smiling with amusement. The air brightened. Alanna could see other figures before the altar. The shining warrior could only be Mithros, the divine protector. On the Goddess’s other side, hooded and cloaked, waited her brother the Black God. Alanna knew him and bowed her greetings; the great head nodded in reply.
Behind them were ranged others, only some of whom she knew: the Crooked God, his smile as wicked as George’s own; the Smith’s God; the Sea Goddess. The array of immortals stretched on and on, but somehow she saw each face clearly. Awed and frightened, she covered her eyes like a Doi tribesman.
Slowly the glory faded. When she uncovered her eyes, she and Faithful were alone. She stayed where she was for a while, remembering what she had seen. At last she shook her head. “Ask a silly question.”
It always comes to this, Faithful remarked. A god can guide a mortal, nurture, teach. And yet there comes a moment when the god must stand away from the fosterling and let the inevitable happen.
“Why?” she asked, curious.
That’s how the universe is fashioned, Faithful replied. There are moments when only a human can affect the outcome of events.
She picked him up, letting him perch under her left ear. “You mean they don’t know what’s going to happen?”
People like you are the fulcrums on which the future turns. He gave her ear a nuzzle. Don’t mess it up. I have a reputation to maintain.
Leaving the Hall of Crowns, she was surprised to come face-to-face with Delia of Eldorne and Princess Josiane. Both wore plain dark gowns and veils over their hair. Plainly they were as surprised as she was.