Banners fluttered from the turrets, and from walls and rooftops in the town below, as if it was a festival week.
Lytia and a host of retainers rode out to meet them just outside the town walls. The grey-haired steward reined her palfrey in beside Tamír’s horse. “Welcome home, Majesty! Your castle is in good order and a feast is prepared for tonight. I anticipated two hundred. Is that acceptable?”
“Yes, that’s fine,” Tamír replied, amazed as always by the woman’s efficiency. “You’ve taken good care of my holding, as always, and you’ve done well supplying Ero. I hope it was not too much of a burden on my people here?”
“Atyion is rich in every way,” Lytia assured her. “The people here have plenty and were honored to share with their less fortunate brethren in poor Ero. Is it true you’re going to bum it?”
“It has to be done.”
Lytia nodded, but Tamír saw the way her gaze swept her own fine town, as if she was trying to imagine such a calamity here. As steward, she ruled in the absence of the noble. According to Tharin, his family had served Tamír’s family here as long as anyone could remember. His aunt took her duties seriously and loved the town and castle as if it were truly her own.
The townspeople streamed out to meet her on the road. Beyond the vineyards, on the rolling river mead between the town and the sea, a district of new wood-and-stone houses was being erected on the lands Tamír had designated for the Ero survivors.
“You’ve been busy, I see.”
“We’ve settled over a thousand so far, Majesty. They’ve named the village Queen’s Mercy, in your honor.”
Tamír smiled at that, but as they approached the castle gates a grisly sight greeted her. The pitiful remains of Duke Solari’s corpse still hung from the battlements overhead, reduced to a few blackened scraps and bones in faded yellow silk. “Why hasn’t he been cut down yet?” Tamír demanded. Riding beside her, Lord Nyanis had gone pale at the sight of his onetime friend.
“He was a traitor and has been treated as one,” Lytia replied. “It’s customary to leave the body for the birds, as a warning to others.”
Tamír nodded grimly, but the sight pained her. Traitor he might have been in the end, but she’d known him all her life. “What of Lady Savia and the children?”
“Gone back to their own estate. But the eldest son, Nevus, gathered the remains of his father’s forces and has sworn in with Korin. I had it from Lady Savia herself that he means to avenge his father’s death on you.”
“What will you do to them?” Nyanis asked.
Tamír sighed. “If Lady Savia will swear fealty to me, then she can keep her lands.”
“I wouldn’t be too trusting,” Tharin warned. “Her husband was a turncoat and a serpent. She has no reason to bear you any goodwill.”
“I’ll sort that out later, I suppose. If her son has the forces of the holding away with him, then she’s not an immediate threat, is she?”
The greensward between the curtain walls was filled with livestock and fowl. The yards were filled with soldiers, and all the gardens were bright with summer flowers. A crowd of liveried servants stood waiting to greet Tamír as she dismounted and handed her reins to a groom. She spoke briefly with them, then strode inside.
She paused at the large household shrine in the receiving chamber and made offerings to the Four. As she cast her feathers on the brazier of Illior, something brushed against her leg. She looked down to find Ringtail regarding her with lazy green eyes. She scooped up the big orange cat and winced as he bumped his head against her chin. Kneading her arm with his big, seven-toed paws, he broke into a deep purr.
“Looks like he’s glad to see you again, too,” Ki said, chuckling.
She let Ringtail down and he trotted along at her heels as she continued on through the gallery to the great hall. More cats appeared from under tables and the tops of shelves, as if they’d been expecting her.
Afternoon sun streamed through the high windows, illuminating the rich tapestries and war trophies on the walls, and the myriad silver and gold vessels on the age-darkened oak sideboards. The long tables were set up facing the dais and high table, and were spread with shining white linen and colorful silk runners. Servants in blue livery were already bustling about with platters and mazers.
Home, she thought, trying the word out as she gazed around. It still didn’t quite fit, not the way it did at Alestun, even after all her years at court.
Nobles and royal retainers were everywhere, already having taken up residence in what was now the royal palace. There was certainly room, hundreds of them in fact, in the great, two-towered edifice.
“This is how it was in your father’s day,” Lytia said as she accompanied her up to the room with the swan hangings. “You’ve made this castle come alive again. Will you have an official progress? A festival might be in order, as well. The people have had no chance to celebrate your reign, and those poor displaced souls up from Ero could certainly do with a bit of merriment.”
“Perhaps.” Tamír wandered over to the window as Baldus and Ki oversaw the servants with her meager baggage. Ringtail jumped up on the sill and she stroked him absently.
From there she could see more of the herds, now being tended in the close. “It looks more like you’re preparing for a siege than a festival.”
“I thought it best, with things as they are. Any word from Prince Korin?”
Tamír shook her head, wondering if her herald had made it safely to Cirna.
Tamír made a progress around the entire extensive holding the following day, and was pleased by the reports of her reeves and householders. The summer fields were ripening and the grapevines were heavy with fruit. According to her herd master—another relation of Tharin’s—three hundred new colts and fillies had been born in the royal herds that spring, the most in years.
She left it to Nikides and Lytia to choose her lesser courtiers, and the pair proved invaluable in their knowledge of such details. A royal court needed its own small army of functionaries.
Tamír chose her principal ministers, with help from Tharin and the wizards. Jorvai and Kyman wanted nothing to do with court responsibilities, respectfully requesting to remain her commanders. Nyanis—charismatic, intelligent, and clever—would retain his command, but also serve as a chief emissary, helping to court those nobles who’d still not declared for her.
Duke Illardi had proven his worth at Ero, and she appointed him her Lord Chancellor. Tharin was pressed into accepting the title of duke at last, and made Lord Protector of Atyion, charged with the defense of the castle and the queen’s person. Ki stubbornly refused any change in his status and told her so in no uncertain terms when they were alone.
Nikides also remained a Companion for now, but accepted an appointment as Royal Secretary, overseeing her correspondence and petitions. He, in turn, would organize the many scribes required.
At Tamír’s suggestion, one of his first choices was young Bisir, whom she’d known in Lord Orun’s household. She had not forgotten his kindness, or his company the winter he’d gotten snowed in with them at the keep.
“You do me too great an honor, Majesty!” he exclaimed when he presented himself at court at her summons. He was still pretty and soft-spoken, but the kindness he’d known from her, and from the woman who’d taken on his training here in Atyion had driven the haunted look from him at last.
“Those were dark days for both of us,” she reminded him. “You were one of the few who showed me any kindness. But you also saw many of the most scheming lords among his friends. I’ll rely on that knowledge. You are to alert me to anyone you recognize and tell me all you can of their dealings with my guardian and my uncle.”
Bisir nodded gravely. “I never thought I would be grateful for my service there, Majesty. I am honored to be of use to you.”
There were also the wizards to consider. Many of her nobles, who hadn’t been with her at Ero, still had a strong distrust of wizards.
“It’s impo
rtant that we be seen as your allies, just the same as your generals,” Iya advised. “Niryn left a bad taste in people’s mouths. The Third Orëska must be seen to be loyal and above reproach.”
“I will rely on you to make certain they are,” Tamír replied.
Lytia had found comfortable rooms for them in the west tower, overlooking one of the private garden courts.
Tamír made a point of visiting the hall where the wizards practiced and found a warm welcome there, especially among the children. They delighted in showing off newly learned skills, and happily spun acorns and spoons in the air for her, and showed her how they could make fire without flint or wood.
Messengers arrived almost daily with word from towns along the coast and the western hills. The harvests were good, and no plague had come, even during the dog days of summer. There were still too many empty villages, and too many orphans and widows on the roads, but a new sense of hope flowed out from Atyion.
Tamír shared in that hope for the land, but for herself there was less joy.
Her friendship with Ki was no secret to anyone. He was at her side constantly and had the room next to hers. The other Companions were housed along the same corridor, but none of them excited the sort of gossip that he did. Jealous courtiers whispered “grass knight” and “queen’s favorite” thinking she would not hear of it. But she did, and so did Ki. He bore it stoically, but wouldn’t talk about it, not even to her. Instead, he became more careful and spent less time alone with her in her room, finding excuses to include Lynx and the others, and leaving her when they did. They rode and sparred and practiced their archery together, as they always had, but the tenuous thread of attraction she’d thought she’d felt that last night together seemed to have broken. Alone in the huge bed with only Baldus and the cat for company, Tamír bore the nightmares and visitations from Brother in silence, torn between hurt and concern for her friend’s honor and too proud to ask anyone else for help. She thought nothing of it; since childhood, she’d suffered such burdens alone.
Even so, the pain did not go away. Sometimes, unable to sleep, she shyly explored her body with her hands beneath the covers, testing its curves and folds with trembling fingertips. Her breasts were a bit rounder, but still small. Her hipbones and ribs were as sharp beneath her skin as they had ever been, though, and women’s girdles had been taken in to keep them from slipping off her narrow hips. Tobin’s hips, she thought darkly. Hardest of all to touch was the hidden cleft between her legs. Even after all these months, she felt the lack of what had been there before, still missed the comforting weight of cock and balls against her thigh. Behind the downy triangle of soft hair that remained, there was only a mysterious cleft she could hardly bear to touch. She made herself do it now, though, and gasped at the textures and sensations there. It was warm, and moist, not at all like it had been before, and left the smell of the ocean on her fingers. She turned on her stomach and buried her burning face in the coolness of her pillow, unable to bear the powerful mix of wonder and revulsion she felt.
What am I, really?
And close on the heels of that, What does he really see when he looks at me? Is that why he stays away?
Never had she missed Lhel more. Who else would understand? Lying in the dark, fighting back tears, she vowed to go back to the keep as soon as she could. It was almost a relief when Brother came whispering that night.
“What do you see when you look at me?” she demanded softly.
What I always see, Sister, he replied. I see the one who has my life. When will you let me rest?
“I want you to be free,” she told him. “I want us both to be free. Can’t you tell me anything more?”
But as always, he was no help at all.
By day she had no choice but to put such thoughts out of her mind, but there were daylight worries to take their place. As the weeks passed, she searched the audience chamber for her herald, but there was no sign of him.
Arkoniel noticed her distraction and drew her aside into the gallery one day after the morning’s audience. Ki followed, as usual. In daylight he was her faithful shadow.
“You haven’t been reading my thoughts have you?” she demanded suspiciously.
“Of course not. I merely took note of your obvious disappointment each time a herald arrives.”
“Oh. Well, you might as well know, I wrote Korin a letter.”
“Ah, I see. You still think Korin can be reasoned with?”
“Maybe, if I could get him away from Niryn.”
“What do you think, Ki?” asked Arkoniel.
“Tamír knows what I think,” Ki said, frowning. “I pegged him as a weak reed from the first.”
“A weak reed?”
“It’s what my old dad used to say of a man who was too easily swayed. Korin may not be a bad sort at heart, but he’s got no grit when it matters. We saw it in that first fight we had, against those bandits, and again at Ero. And he always let Alben and the others lead him into mischief, too. Now it’s Niryn.”
“Hmm. Well, you also can’t discount the fact that Korin really does believe he’s the rightful king.”
“What else can I do?” Tamír asked, frustrated.
“Eyoli has volunteered to go north for you. I believe he can get inside the court and be your eyes and ears there. His magic is not strong enough to attract the notice of the Harriers but does allow him to move about freely.”
“Risking his life for me again?” Tamír noted. “I think he may be the bravest of all your wizards.”
“He is devoted to you and all you stand for. Shall I tell him to go?”
“Yes. If nothing else, perhaps he can tell us if Lutha and Barieus are still alive.”
When Arkoniel was gone, Ki sighed and shook his head. “If they are still with him, then it’s by choice.”
He left the rest unsaid, but she knew what he was thinking. If their friends had made that choice, then there were two more people they both dreaded having to face in battle.
She turned to go, but Ki caught her by the arm and stepped close, looking at her closely. “You’re pale these days, and thinner, too, and—” His other hand came up to clasp her shoulder, as if he expected her to run away. “Well, you just look worn-out. You can’t keep on like this.”
“Like what?” she asked, wondering if her fears about him showed after all.
He smiled and she felt a shiver run up her spine. She could feel the warmth of his hands through the sleeves of her gown. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek and smell the ripe pear he’d eaten during the assembly. Stunned, she wondered suddenly if his lips still tasted of the fruit?
“You haven’t given yourself a moment to rest since Ero fell,” he replied, oblivious to her turmoil. “You’ve got to rest, Tamír. There’s no battle to fight right now and those damn courtiers have no right to run you into the ground like this. We should take off and go hunting or fishing—anything to get away from all that.” He gestured in the direction of the hall. “Hell, I’m worried about you and so are the others.”
He sounded so much like his old self that it brought tears to her eyes. “There now, you see?” he murmured, and pulled her into an embrace.
And once again, Tamír felt torn in two—half of her still Tobin, glad for the gesture of a friend, the other—Tamír—caught up in emotions she didn’t fully understand, except that she still wanted to taste Ki’s lips.
She pulled back a little, heedless of the tear that escaped down her cheek and looked up into his eyes. Their lips were just inches apart, so close …
Like my dreams, she thought. It would be so easy to just lean forward a little and kiss him.
Before she could, the sound of approaching footsteps made her start and pull back. A pair of young nobles passed by, making her a hasty bow as they caught sight of her behind the pillar.
She returned it with what dignity she could manage and when they were gone she saw that Ki was blushing furiously.
“I’m sorry. I
shouldn’t have— No, here. Look, I’m going to go fetch our horses and we’re going for a ride. To hell with all this, at least until supper. Just us and the Companions, all right?”
She nodded and went to find the others, thinking glumly Just like my dream, in every way.
Chapter 22
Yawning through another dreary evening feast, Lutha was about to invite Caliel and some of the younger officers back to his room for a game of bakshi when there was a stir among the guards by the door. Porion rose from his place and went to see what was going on. He returned a few moments later with a herald, who’d just arrived.
The man was young, and notable both for his striking long blond braid and the bloody bandage wrapped around his left arm.
“I’ve never seen a wounded herald before,” said Barieus. Heralds were sacred.
The young man came forward and bowed gracefully to Korin. “Your Majesty, please forgive my tardy delivery of this message. I should have been here a week ago, but I was delayed on the road.”
“I see that you’re hurt. Were you attacked?” asked Korin.
“Yes, Majesty. I met with some brigands on the road, but the message I carry remains safe.” He pressed a hand to his breast and bowed again. “It is a most important letter, and the person who sends it requires that I give it to you in private. If it please Your Majesty, may we withdraw?”
Lutha glanced over at Niryn, but the man appeared to be taking little notice.
Korin raised a questioning eyebrow, however. “Who is this message from?”
“That, too, I may only impart to you alone, Majesty.” Even a king could not order him to go against a vow he’d given to the one who’d entrusted him with the message.
Korin rose. “My lords, I’ll bid you good night now. We’ll speak more of strategy in the morning.”
Alben yawned and ran a hand back through his long hair, which he’d taken to wearing loose except for the braids. “Tell Korin I’m in my room if he needs me. Mago, go find us that brace of pretty little dairymaids I met this morning and ask them if they’d like to see our chamber. Good night, boys.” He gave the others a rakish wink; handsome Alben wasn’t often refused.