Firmly, as if she were sure of herself, she said, “I’m going to make sense out of this. Somehow.”
He spent a moment studying her. Then, in a purposely sententious tone, he said, “My lady, I’ve got the strongest feeling you’ll succeed.”
“Oh, get out of here,” she returned.
***
Nevertheless she hoped he was right. As soon as he was gone, she got dressed, putting on her warm new riding clothes and her winter boots because she didn’t want to be hampered by her more ladylike gowns. Then she went to see the King.
She had no clear plan in mind. She simply wanted him to intervene on Geraden’s behalf.
As she climbed the stairs toward the royal suite, however, she remembered more and more vividly that she had lied to the King the last time she had talked to him. And she still had no idea how he had guessed that she had helped his daughter Myste sneak out of Orison. Before she reached his door, she was tempted to turn back.
The ordeal Geraden had ahead of him determined her to keep going. He needed answers. She needed answers in order to help him. If King Joyse would do nothing else for her, or for the Domne’s son, or for Mordant, he might at least supply a few answers. The chance was worth what it might cost her.
And if the King refused to see her, she could always talk to the Tor.
The guards outside the suite saluted her. Practicing steadiness, she asked them if she could be admitted. One of them stayed at the door while the other entered the suite. A moment later, she was given permission to go in.
Her pulse was laboring enough to make her regret her temerity. Blind to the room’s luxurious appointments, she had eyes only for the three old men sitting like bosom companions before the ornate fireplace.
King Joyse lay as much as sat in an armchair with his legs stretched over a hassock toward the fire. His purple velvet robe showed the benefits of a recent cleaning, and his cheeks were freshly shaved: his appearance, if not his posture, suggested readiness.
In contrast, the Tor slumped as if his skeleton no longer had enough willpower to support his fat. Like his flesh, his robe spilled over the arms of his chair; the green fabric was stained with splotches of wine. Too plump to look haggard, his face sagged like wet laundry. He gave the impression that he had become so involved in Orison’s preparations for defense that he had stopped taking care of himself.
Between the two old friends sat the King’s Dastard, Adept Havelock, looking grimier and loonier than ever in his ancient surcoat, with his unruly tufts of hair and his disfocused gaze.
All three men held large, elegant goblets.
All three turned their heads toward Terisa as she was announced. The Tor peered at her through a haze of exhaustion and wine. Adept Havelock licked his lips salaciously. King Joyse nodded but didn’t smile.
She had been hoping that he would smile. It would have done her good to see his luminous smile again.
He greeted her casually; his tone implied that he was a bit the worse for drink. “My lady, come join us.” His cheeks were red, scraped raw with shaving, but behind their color his skin looked pale. “Pour yourself some wine.” He nodded toward a decanter and extra goblets on a table against the paneled wall. “It’s quite good – a fine wine from—” A look of perplexity crossed his face. “Where did you say this wine is from?” he asked the Tor.
The Tor shook himself as if he were in danger of falling asleep. “Rostrum. A small village near the border of Termigan and Domne, where the babes drink wine instead of milk from their mothers’ breasts, and even the children can do exquisite things with grapes. Rostrum wine.”
King Joyse nodded again. “Rostrum wine,” he said to Terisa. “Have some. We’re celebrating.”
She stood in the center of the thick blue-and-red rug and tried to watch all three men simultaneously. “What’re you celebrating?”
Adept Havelock giggled.
“Are we celebrating?” The Tor’s voice sounded damp. “I thought we were grieving.”
“Grieving? My old friend.” King Joyse glanced at the Tor kindly. “What for? This is a celebration, I tell you.”
“Oh, of course, my lord King.” The Tor waggled a hand. “A celebration. I misspoke.” His fatigue was plain. “Orison has been invested by the Alend Monarch. Your daughter has poisoned our water. While we sit here, the men of Perdon die, spending themselves without hope against Cadwal. And the royal Imager, Adept Havelock” – he inclined his head courteously in Havelock’s direction – “has burned to death our only clue as to where – and who – our chief enemy is. We do well to celebrate, since we can accomplish nothing with sorrow.”
“Nonsense,” replied the King at once. Although his expression was grave, he appeared to be in good spirits. “Things aren’t as bad as you think. Lebbick knows a trick or two about sieges. We still have plenty of Rostrum wine, so we don’t need much water. As soon as he realizes we can’t reinforce him, the Perdon is going to back off and let Festten through. That will stop the killing.”
He seemed unaware that what he was saying didn’t convey much reassurance.
“And the death of the prisoner?” inquired the Tor glumly.
King Joyse dismissed that question. “Also, we have another reason to celebrate. The lady Terisa is here. Aren’t you, my lady?” he asked Terisa, then went on speaking to the Tor. “Unless I’ve gotten it all wrong, she’s here to tell us that she has found a new cure for stalemate.”
Again Adept Havelock giggled.
For a second, Terisa nearly lost her head. A cure? A cure for stalemate? She wanted to laugh feverishly. Did King Joyse really think this was all just one big game of hop-board? Then they were all doomed.
Fortunately, she caught hold of her reason for being here before all her thoughts veered off into panic. Geraden. That was the important thing. Geraden.
“I don’t know anything about stalements. Or cures.” Her tone was too curt. She made an effort to moderate it. “My lord King. I came because I’m worried about Geraden. Master Eremis is going to try to ruin him in front of the Congery.”
The King gave her his attention politely. “Ruin him, my lady?”
“He and Master Eremis are going to accuse each other of betraying Mordant.”
“I see. And don’t you call that a stalemate?”
“No.” She wasn’t getting through. She had to do better. “No, my lord King. The Congery will believe Master Eremis.” And yet she was certain—” But he’s lying.”
The Tor twisted in his seat to study her more closely. With a show of effort, Adept Havelock picked up his chair, turned it, and plumped it down again so that he could sit facing her.
King Joyse, however, gazed toward the fire. “Master Eremis?” he asked as if he were losing interest. “Lying? That would be risky. He might get caught. Only innocent men can afford to tell lies.”
“My lady,” said the Tor quietly, “such accusations are serious. Master Eremis is a man of proven stature. The Congery might have some justification to take the word of one of their own number over the charges of a mere failed Apt. How do you know that Master Eremis is lying?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again. What could she say? The piece of information lodged in her brain refused to come clear. Something Master Eremis had said, or revealed— Or was it Geraden? After a moment, she admitted, “I haven’t figured that out yet.”
“I see, my lady.” The old lord returned his attention to the fire. “You simply trust Geraden. That is understandable. I trust him myself. There is no help that I can give you, however. I am no longer my lord King’s chancellor.”
What?
Adept Havelock grinned at her.
King Joyse sighed and leaned his head against the back of his chair. “My old friend was wearing himself toward his grave with the business of Orison. He doesn’t want to admit he’s no longer young. Sadly, it’s true.”
“My lord King,” the Tor explained, “has given instructions that I am not to be obeyed, except i
n matters of my personal comfort. With the arrival of Alend’s army, my power ended.” He snorted to himself. “You may imagine Castellan Lebbick’s delight. Remember, he thinks it possible that I am a traitor myself. He did not like my interest in our defenses. Though my lord King does not say so, I believe he has taken away my position to protect himself in case the good Castellan’s suspicions prove correct.”
At that, King Joyse jerked up his head. His watery eyes were suddenly acute, and his mouth twisted. He didn’t reply to the Tor, however. Glaring at Terisa, he demanded, “Just what is it you want, my lady?”
She was startled: for a moment, she had lost herself in empathy for the old lord. Almost stammering, she said, “Geraden doesn’t stand a chance in front of the Masters. Master Eremis will chew him to pieces. You’ve got to stop them. Don’t let them do this to him.”
“But if Master Eremis is telling the truth,” returned the King in a voice like a rasp, “Geraden deserves to be caught and punished.”
“No.” She couldn’t think. It was maddening. “You don’t believe that.”
King Joyse aimed his gaze at her like a nail and spoke as if he were tapping his words into wood. “That is not the point, my lady. At the moment, it isn’t him I doubt. It’s you.”
She blinked. Her heart began to labor again, pounding alarm in all directions. “Why?”
“Are you surprised? You underestimate me. I warned you this game is dangerous.
“After we talked, I had Myste’s rooms searched. She took nothing personal with her – none of her little mementos of childhood, none of her favorite gifts. Does that seem likely to you? If she had gone back to her mother, she would have taken everything she could carry.
“You lied to me, my lady. You lied to me about my daughter.”
Inside her chest, a cold hand knotted into a fist. Both the Tor and Adept Havelock squinted at her as if she were being transformed to ugliness in front of them.
“Where did she really go?”
This was what Terisa had feared: King Joyse had found her out. She had learned the danger of lies when she was still a child. Falsehood had been exquisitely tempting to her; her dread of being punished had made her ache to deflect every manifestation of parental irritation, discontent, or disapproval. She had learned, however, that the punishment was worse when she got caught.
In simple defensiveness, she tried to counter as if she had cause to complain. “How did you know she came to see me? Were you having your own daughter spied on?”
Adept Havelock swung his chair back to face the fire, sat down again, and began to twiddle his fingers.
The King continued to glare at her for a moment. She met his gaze because she was afraid to do anything else. Then, abruptly, he too turned away. “You were warned,” he muttered. “Remember that. You were warned.
“My lord Tor, be so good as to summon the guards. I want this woman locked in the dungeon until she condescends to tell me the truth about my daughter.”
“No!” The cry burst from her before she could stop it. “I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you anything. Geraden needs me. If I’m not there, he’ll have to face the Congery alone.”
None of the men were looking at her. The Tor emptied his goblet, but didn’t trouble to refill it.
Terisa took a deep breath, squeezed her eyes shut for a second. “She went after the champion. She thought he needed help.” She swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”
To Terisa’s astonishment, King Joyse’s profile quirked toward a smile. But almost at once his expression turned sorrowful, and he leaned his head morosely to rest against his chair again. “More wine would be nice, don’t you think?” he commented in the direction of the ceiling.
The Tor seemed to slump farther down in his seat.
With a strangled chortle, Adept Havelock tossed his wine into the fire. While the wine hissed and burned, he threw his goblet behind him, narrowly missing Terisa.
“Fornication,” he pronounced, “is hard to do well alone.”
“My lady,” the King breathed as if he were going to sleep, “I didn’t know Myste went to see you. I reasoned it. If you were more honest, I would have less trouble trusting you. You ought to try using a little reason yourself.”
Terisa had expected him to be appalled and angry. Obviously he wasn’t. Preconceptions were being jerked out from under her. This new surprise seemed to knock the last bit of sense out of the situation. Myste was doing something that had been foreseen in Havelock’s augury of King Joyse. Was that why a lie made the King furious and the truth had nearly made him smile?
“I don’t understand,” she murmured weakly. “Don’t you care?”
King Joyse reached out a swollen, unsteady hand and nudged Adept Havelock, who in turn nudged the Tor. “My lord, I said, ‘More wine would be nice.” ’
Sighing, the Tor pried his bulk out of his chair and moved to fetch the decanter.
“You want me to use a little reason.” Terisa had difficulty holding her voice down. “How about giving me some information to reason with? Myste is probably dead. If the cold didn’t kill her – and the champion didn’t kill her – then that firecat probably did. You act like the only thing you care about is that she didn’t go see her mother!”
“No.” The King sounded sad, but he answered without rancor. “What I care about is that she did something I can be proud of.”
Like an echo, Terisa seemed to hear Castellan Lebbick quoting King Joyse to Prince Kragen: She carries my pride with her wherever she goes. For her sake, as well as for my own, I hope that the best reasons will also produce the best results.
She wanted to yell, But that doesn’t make any sense! Elega betrayed you! Myste is probably dead! The words died in her throat, however: they were hopeless. The thought that she would have to go support Geraden with nothing except more confusion made her feel sick.
The Tor refilled the King’s goblet and his own, then eased himself into his chair. “The lady Terisa is distressed,” he remarked distantly. “It would be a kindness, my lord King, if you gave her what she desires.”
King Joyse lifted his head once more, scowling sourly as if he meant to say something acid to the Tor.
But he didn’t. Instead, he growled, “Oh, very well.”
Over his shoulder, he addressed Terisa. “The reason I told Geraden not to talk to you when you were first brought here is the same reason I didn’t intervene when the Masters decided to translate their champion. It’s the same reason I’m not going to intervene now. I’m trying to protect you. Both of you.”
“Protect us!” She was too upset to restrain herself. “How does it protect me to keep me ignorant? How does it protect us to let that champion be translated? We were buried alive.” I almost lost my mind. “How does it protect him to let Master Eremis destroy him? All you’re doing is making us look foolish.”
The King turned his head away and sketched a frail gesture with both hands. “You see?” he observed to the Tor. “She doesn’t reason.” Then his tone grew bitter.
“You’re still alive, aren’t you? Do you have any conception how unlikely that was when you first arrived? Better minds than yours were sure neither of you would last for three days. A little foolishness is a small price to pay for your lives.”
Terisa stared at the back of his head with her mouth open as if he had taken all the air out of the room.
“ ‘Better minds’!” crowed Adept Havelock like a man addressing a crowd of admirers. “He means me. He means me.”
“If I had welcomed you with open arms,” King Joyse went on, “my enemies would have formed a higher estimate of how dangerous you are. They would have put more effort into killing you.” He sounded querulous and old, peevishly incapable of the things he ascribed to himself. “As long as they thought I had no interest in you – that I was too stupid or senile to have an interest in you – they could afford patience. Wait and see. Gart attacked you that first night because my enemies hadn’t had time to find out I hadn’t
welcomed you. But as soon as people heard that I wasn’t treating you like an ally, Gart held back for a while.
“Are you satisfied?”
His demand took her by surprise. She scrambled to ask, “Do you mean the reason you can’t help Geraden now is that if you do your enemies will know you’re his friend and they’ll start trying even harder to have him killed?”
“I mean much more than that,” he snapped. “I mean that if I had given him permission to tell you whatever you wanted to know I would have doomed you both. My enemies would have taken anything like that as a sign that you were on my side.
“Now are you satisfied?”
“But what—?” It was too much: his explanation increased her confusion. It had all been an elaborate charade. “Who are your enemies? Why can’t you protect anybody you want in your own castle?” Images of Geraden and Myste and Elega and Queen Madin and Master Barsonage and even Castellan Lebbick rose in her, all of them lost and aggrieved. “Why do you have to make everybody who’s loyal to you think you don’t care what happens?”
“My lady.” His tone was no longer petulant. Now it was as keen and cutting as ice. “If I had any desire to answer such questions, I would have done so earlier. As a courtesy to your distress, I have already told you more than I consider wise.” Like Geraden’s, his speech became more formal as it gathered authority. Despite his years, his voice still had the potential to lash at her. “I advise reason and silence, my lady. You will not prolong your life by speaking of what you have heard.”
He dismissed her without a glance. “You may go.”
But—? But—? She knew she should have been stronger. She should have demanded a better explanation. But what she wanted to ask couldn’t get past her mental stutter into words. She had no sure ideas left to stand on. King Joyse knew what he was doing – he knew with a vengeance. He was being passive and obtuse on purpose – hurting the people who loved him on purpose. But what purpose was that? It was inconceivable. He—
“My lady,” he said again, “you may go.”
In a tone of faraway sadness, the Tor murmured, “My lady, it is generally unwise to disregard the will of a king.” He spoke as if from personal experience.