Tiris dropped a bow and offered his arm. “May I have the privilege of escorting you, madam?”
Having spent the last six weeks trying to convince him she was not interested in being courted, she intended to say no. But before she could speak, Ronesca intruded. “Don’t even think of turning him down on my account, Madeleine. I want you to feel free to accept whatever invitations come your way. And you look a little pale. A walk would do you good.”
Tiris flashed his gorgeous white smile at the queen first and then at Maddie. When she accepted his invitation, his expression grew unabashedly triumphant. As he tucked her hand between his arm and side and walked her toward the nearest door, he murmured, “The queen, at least, seems to think I still have a chance with you.”
“I mean no offense, sir, but she lives in delusion.”
Outside, in the spacious courtyard that opened off the ballroom, the breeze had died to a gentle fillip and the night air hung mildly about them, redolent with the fragrance of the jasmine that draped the arcade. Kelistar garlands glittered amidst the white blooms, while larger orbs floated in the fountain at the rectangular court’s center.
They walked a round of the quadrangle in companionable silence, and Maddie felt the tension that had wound itself around her begin to dissipate. The air did clear her head, but so did the relative silence and the sense that she was no longer the center of attention. Finally they stopped where a railed balcony overlooked the waterpark and the South Pavilion, aglow beyond it.
She let go of his arm to rest her hands on the stone balustrade. Below, the palms that lined the promenade served as stanchions for the garlands of kelistars that looped along both sides of the walk. More garlands illumined the network of paths meandering amongst the waterpark’s streams and ponds, reflecting here and there off the water’s surface. “This is nice,” she said. “Thank you for suggesting it.”
“It is my profound delight, Your Highness.”
She huffed softly. “You calling me Highness! I’m sure in your homeland, it would be quite the other way around, hmm?”
He smiled and shrugged. “We aren’t in my homeland, though, are we?”
She turned toward the view again and loosed a long, low sigh as she watched the river traffic glide up and down the gleaming Ankrill out beyond the park and crenellated wall, illumined by their deck lights.
“The view is lovely.”
“It certainly is.”
Something in his tone made her glance at him again. He’d turned his hip toward the railing and now gazed shamelessly at Maddie herself. Her face warmed and she turned back to her view. “It’s not polite to stare, Draek Tiris.”
“I’m not staring. I’m appreciating. You’re fairly glowing tonight, my lady. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you more beautiful.”
Her cheeks grew positively hot. Feeling like a little girl wanting to hide behind her mother’s skirts, she forced a casual chuckle. “It must be all the dancing.”
“Mmm. I’m fair certain it’s not the company.” He turned to face the railing alongside her, so close his arm just brushed her own. “I’ve missed you these last six weeks,” he said soberly. “Was even beginning to think I’d done something to offend you. You don’t answer my notes, refuse all my invitations . . . and I’ve not even seen your lovely little Abrielle, though everyone says she’s beautiful. Blond and blue-eyed as her brothers.”
“I can’t believe you of all people don’t know why.”
“You speak of the rumor that you were reunited with your husband in some inexplicable way.”
She nodded, disliking how close his tone came to condescension. “I know no one believes me.”
“You were in great pain and duress that night—your delivery, your battle with that strange spore. . . .” Seeming to sense her rising annoyance, he trailed off. “I understand Ronesca still struggles with it. That it gives her blinding headaches and strange dreams. Dreams that become waking delusions.”
“Of which the most absurd is the idea that I’m going to marry some Chesedhan courtier before the summer’s out.”
“Are the rumors untrue, then?”
Maddie sighed. “The headaches are real. And the nightmares. It’s hard to say about the things she’s claimed to see at night.”
“Yet you suffered from the same spore—”
“And purged it. The Light was on me. It was real, Tiris. I was with him. And no matter how much you try to pick at it all, you’re not going to shake my confidence. I know what I know.”
Memory of her disastrous attempts to convince Trap—and Carissa—that she spoke the truth still filled her with dismay. Both had strongly rejected her claims from the moment she’d spoken them, and it had hurt. A lot. She’d expected them, of all people, to trust and believe her, yet they had been her most resolute skeptics. Trap had gotten so agitated the last time they’d spoken of it, he’d begged permission to retire from her presence and hadn’t brought the subject up since.
“So . . .” Tiris began tentatively. “The way it was told me, you believe he came through the Kolki Pass and has been delayed by the winter. Now that the snows are melting, you expect him to arrive at any time.”
“And now that I’ve admitted it all to you, you can tell the tale at your next salon gathering and have much amusement at my expense.”
“I would never laugh at you, Your Highness,” he said softly. He paused, thought a moment, then gave her a sly look. “But I might encourage others to do so, just to make them all look foolish when you are proven right.”
“I would prefer not to make anyone look foolish, Tiris. It only breeds ill will.”
He shrugged. “Ill will is bred regardless. By all manner of things—good and bad. You can’t avoid it.”
They stood in silence for a time as she savored the scent of the jasmine, the chuckle of the fountain at their backs, the low conversations of the others who shared the quadrangle with them, the soft strains of the orchestra floating out from the ballroom. . . .
“So . . .” Tiris said presently. “I’m guessing you are working on a ballad of all this?”
She glanced at him, startled. Early on she had discovered they shared an interest in music. He’d known of her ballads before they had met—owing, naturally, to his interest in Abramm—and had even composed a few of his own works. Works he confessed to having performed for his courtiers from time to time, though he found it awkward and unsatisfying. “They always applaud you, but what else can they do? I can understand why you went out to the taverns to do it anonymously.”
He’d made her blush with that remark, reminding her both of what she’d done as a young girl and what she’d done only months previously. She’d not thought at the time that she might be contemplating another performance quite so soon as she was.
Now she shrugged. “Working on it, yes.”
“And perhaps have finished?”
“Perhaps.”
“Ah. So it remains merely a matter of when and where to perform it— which lucky inn to select to be visited by Molly the tavern wench.” He flashed his brilliant smile at her. “I have a better idea. How about you present it next week when I introduce my Desert Salon?”
“I can’t imagine why the great Tiris ul Sadek would be inviting Molly the tavern wench to perform at the opening of his Desert Salon.”
“I’m not inviting Molly, I’m inviting the exquisitely voiced First Daughter of the realm. Who, of course, needn’t worry about the courtiers giving her false praise, seeing as her talent is completely legitimate.”
“As you needn’t, either, I’m sure, sir. But it is not proper for the First Daughter to be performing in public.”
“Not even if the great Tiris ul Sadek presses her to? I will take all the blame.”
“And not receive any of it. Everyone knows I know better.”
“Ah, but they’ll not be sending you off to a convent this time.”
She gaped at him in indignation. “How do you know about that?” The firs
t time she’d played “Molly” she’d been fourteen and had made the mistake of agreeing to sing for the customers. Which had been fine fun . . . until her father had found out.
Again Tiris disarmed her with his smile. “I make it a point to find out about the women I take an interest in.”
She pushed away from the railing now to face him outright. “My husband is returning soon, Draek Tiris. Why would you want to herald that to all the court and join me in looking the fool?”
“I told you. It will be fun when they are all proven wrong. I love to see the chickens flustered and clucking.”
She looked up at him, head cocked. “You are an evil man, Tiris ul Sadek.”
“Yes. I am.” And the way his eyes glittered gave her an unexpected chill. Then he smiled, dropped her a short bow, and held out one gloved hand. “I hear a familiar melody coming from the ballroom. Would you join me for one last dance? We’ll get them all atwitter with the hope you will accept my suit.”
She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Oh, very well. At least it will discourage the others from trying.”
“It will be our little secret.”
CHAPTER
16
The morning after Abramm made his ill-fated confession to Laud, he stood on the hard-packed snow of Caerna’tha’s gate yard, rucksack slung over one shoulder and snowshoes in hand. The yard around him roiled with activity as those who would go with him bustled about, putting on their snowshoes, making last-minute additions—or removals—to the loads they carried in their rucksacks, and saying good-bye to the permanent residents of the monastery.
Rolland came up as Abramm stood there. “Looks like we’re gonna be ready jest about the time ye guessed.” He released a big breath, put his hands on his hips, and frowned. “What’s wrong?”
Abramm shook his head, bemused. “I really didn’t think they’d all come, when it came right down to it—the route being what it is.” He lifted a brow at his friend. “It’s your fault, you know.”
Rolland’s grin widened. “Well, I told ye my plans. And I know as well as ye do that if we wait ’til the snow’s gone like Oakes wanted, we wouldna reach Peregris ’til midsummer. The whole war could be over by then.”
And not in our favor, Abramm thought.
He dropped his snowshoes on the snow in front of him, then slid off his rucksack and jammed his booted feet into the bindings. Once all was fastened snugly, he stood and redonned his pack, which had somehow grown heavier just from being set down.
Most of what he carried was food—flour, crystallized honey, and a load of shriveled apples from last fall’s harvest. That in addition to his meager belongings, which had this morning increased by two more items, courtesy of Professor Laud. The man had caught him at breakfast, early. He’d said nothing about their conversation the night before but presented Abramm with a book-shaped parcel wrapped in brown parchment and tied with string, and a leather drawstring bag. “To remember us by. Perhaps to remember yourself by, as well,” he’d said.
The book he hadn’t unwrapped yet, but he guessed that Laud was giving him the copy of The Red Dragon. The bag held the speaking stone he’d seen the professor using the night before. Since he and the whole group would be without a kohal for a while, Laud thought they would have greater use for it than he did.
Now as Rolland handed him his staff, Abramm went over to the gatehouse porch to say his good-byes to the professor. The older man looked down at him, his expression calm but sad. Abramm thought of offering his hand but wasn’t sure Laud would welcome that. Instead he said stiffly, “I’m sorry I haven’t turned out to be what you’d hoped. But I deeply appreciate all you have done for me.”
Laud allowed himself a small smile. “I’m still hoping you’ll reconsider.”
“I won’t.” He paused. “But if it’s possible one day, I would like to return.”
“With that family of yours?”
“My wife would love this place. I would probably have a hard time pulling her away.”
Laud seemed to startle. “Your wife is a scholar?”
“A scholar and a bard.”
“That is unusual for a woman.”
“Particularly a Chesedhan woman.”
Laud frowned at him, and Abramm couldn’t help but smile. Best to end this before things got prickly. “We thank you again for your hospitality, professor.”
“It has been my pleasure. And fair journey to you.”
Abramm stepped back, started to turn his snowshoes, one after the other, when Laud said, “Alaric—” Abramm looked over his shoulder.
“Don’t let your ambition or your desire for vengeance get the best of you, son,” the old man advised. “It will only bring you ruin. Whatever Eidon has for you, it won’t be accomplished through deception and trickery.”
Abramm regarded him a moment; then he chuckled briefly, shaking his head. “I know that, sir. Have no fear.”
He took up the place Trinley had assigned him—at the end of the line— and trudged down the slope toward the center of the valley where the stream gurgled merrily between deep banks of snow. First to freeze, it was also first to respond to the sun’s heat, flowing downward to meet the Ankrill.
The day was bright, the sky an inverted blue bowl over their heads, ringed with a crown of white peaks. The group—almost thirty of them with the children—moved down the slope eagerly, following the path Abramm, Rolland, and Cedric had made a week earlier when they’d gone down to investigate the alternate trail. Now the creak of Abramm’s snowshoes melded into the collective rustling, clinking, and chattering of those ahead of him, and he couldn’t help but pick up their excitement. Finally he was on his way!
Their progress was slow. The women needed to rest, especially Jania, and the children had to be let down to move about and relieve themselves periodically, so it took them half a day to reach the village. At their first sight of it, Abramm blew out a breath of relief to see it largely as he remembered from their scouting expedition the week before—still deserted for the winter, the haphazard circle of huts buried to their eaves. Except for the tracks from the men’s previous excursion, the snowfield stood undisturbed. As Abramm had hoped, the villagers had yet to return from their lowland wintering grounds.
Nor had Tapheina and her pack been there. He’d half expected to encounter them when he’d started out from Caerna’tha, even though none of the tanniym had appeared since the night of Jania’s child-birthing. Trinley argued that, having failed to get Abramm to open the gate and knowing they’d not have another chance—he’d been locked in his cell every night since—they’d given up and gone away. Abramm had refrained from pointing out that the tanniym preferred to travel in darkness and that their own party had many leagues yet to travel and many nights to spend in the forest.
As had also been the case last week, the canyon downstream of the village, where the more widely used route snaked alongside the river, stood swathed in a veil of mist he knew was not natural.
Trinley and the others crossed the frozen Ankrill and climbed the bank to the flat without incident, but as Abramm started across—last in line—a flock of crows burst out of the mist downstream. They flew straight over him, cawing erratically, and disappeared behind the high bank’s brow. Everyone stopped and stared at the sky, but after a few moments, when the birds did not return, they moved on.
Abramm climbed the bank and crossed the snowfield without incident to join the others where they’d congregated at the base of the far canyon wall.
The alternate trail snaked precariously across the steep face of the cliff, and the sight of it had unnerved the group. Already Kitrenna Trinley was pressuring her husband to abandon it for the wider, safer trail down on the river’s bank. With the villagers gone, she argued, why risk trying to follow a narrow, rocky trail that could very well end in a cliff when they had a much easier and safer route at hand. Her husband pointed out that it wouldn’t be safer with all the snow, that there were ice-glazed cliffs to negotiat
e where they could as easily fall to their deaths.
Abramm knew better than to enter into the discussion, for Trinley would only see his contribution as an attempt to assume leadership. Sure enough, the alderman asked every man but Abramm his opinion. After too much discussion, Rolland finally pointed out the strong possibility that they’d run into the returning villagers on the lower route—and were also more likely to meet up with tanniym there—and that decided them. They would take the high road as originally planned. Any who didn’t feel comfortable with that would go back to Caerna’tha and wait for the snow to melt. As it turned out, no one went back.
The trail, wide enough to have permitted the horse to pass had they brought her, switchbacked up the face of the steep slope, then curved around the sun-drenched cliff face on a southeasterly course. Below them a pillowy layer of mist filled the canyon and hid the bottom of the drainage from view. Across the way, the facing ice-clad walls stood in shadow, constant reaffirmation of the rightness of the travelers’ choice. There were places where the trail had fallen away a bit, but never enough to make the passage dangerously narrow. Sometimes melting snow above trickled down the rock face and across their route, but that, too, presented little problem. In fact, their biggest discomfort came from the sun, for they’d not traveled very far before it became hot, and Abramm was not the only one to shed his heavy overcoat and woolen mittens.
The crows returned in late afternoon, flying low over the mist, circling the travelers twice, then heading on down the canyon and out of sight. Taking note of the Kiriathans’ position, it would seem, just as night was falling.
Shortly afterward, Kitrenna Trinley’s fear of no place to camp was put to rest when they reached a narrow ravine carved into the canyon wall where a grassy flat provided space enough to set up tents and lay out bedrolls. A snowmelt stream tumbled downward toward the river beside it, and a screen of spruce trees blocked the chill wind flowing down the canyon. There was even a ring of soot-stained rocks to hold a fire, kindling piled nearby to start it.