Shadows Past: A Borderlands Novel Page 6

  I turned to stare at my former captain, as did Jusson and Thadro, all of us startled not only at Suiden’s words, but also his tone. However, before any of us could say anything, there was bright laughter and a woman standing behind Kveta pushed to the fore.

  “The sages tell all sorts of things about wolves,” she said, “some of them even good.”

  “So they do,” Kveta said, stepping aside. “Honored king, please allow me to present to you Her Highness, Princess Rajya of Tural.”

  If Lady Margriet was a jeweled bird, the newcomer was an entire flock. Her dark eyes were slightly tilted over smooth brown cheeks, her black hair caught up in an intricate twist that emphasized the delicate line of her face and neck. She was dressed in a brocaded long tunic in a riot of rich gold, emerald green, and sapphire blue that fell over matching blue trousers, which in turn draped over gold slippers. Around her neck was a torque of gold, emeralds, and sapphires, a gold bracelet with the same precious stones was heavy on her wrist, and alternating studs of emeralds and sapphires followed the shell-like curve of one ear, while a trio of small gold hoops hung in the other. Reaching cleared space, she executed a complicated bow, arms and hands waving, her slender body gracefully bending. Beside me, Javes made a soft exclamation and looked at Suiden.

  “It is truly a time of reunions and surprises,” she said, coming up for air. “I greet you, King Jusson of Iversterre.”

  “Her Highness is Tural’s newly appointed ambassador to Iversterre,” Kveta said.

  “Is she?” Jusson said flatly. A servant, braver than the rest, worked his way over to us and the king plucked a steaming cup from the tray. “Pardon our surprise, Your Highness, but while we had received word of Captain Kveta’s arrival, the missives did not include you.”

  “A messenger with news of my appointment was sent from Tural as soon as it was announced, Your Majesty,” Princess Rajya said. “He must’ve missed you in Iversly.”

  “So he must have,” Jusson agreed.

  “And when I discovered that Sra Kveta was coming to Iversterre, I presumed to journey with her because I was anxious to not only begin my duties, but to renew old ties myself.” Princess Rajya looked at Suiden, her smile white against the berry of her lips. “Hello, Father.”

  Forgetting that we weren’t talking, Jeff, Arlis, and I all looked at each other before turning back to the jewel princess. “Bones and bloody ashes,” Jeff said softly, and I nodded in agreement, amazed that someone so vivid and bright had arisen from our former captain with hair clipped short and dressed in army drab.

  Thadro, though, aimed his incredulity at Suiden. “Captain?” the lord commander asked, frowning.

  “Yes, sir,” Suiden said quietly. He took a deep, shuddering breath and let it out. “I see you, Daughter.”

  Several men had pushed through the crowd to stand with Princess Rajya, all with dark skin, topknotted crystal-beaded braids, and clan markings on their face—except for one dressed in light gray billowing robes with a shaved head covered in intricate tattoos and eyes outlined in kohl. Topknotted or kohl-eyed bald, they gave Jusson the same elaborate bow with arms and hands flying. Then, straightening, they turned to Suiden, the bald one once more bowing elaborately, the topknotted men dropping to one knee, holding a right clenched fist against their left shoulders.

  “Sa Abbe,” they said, their heads bowed.

  My Father, in Turalian. But they weren’t more children come to get reacquainted with their long-lost da. The kneeling men looked as old as my former captain, or older, some with gray mixed into the black of their braids. They also looked battle-hardened with curved swords at their sides and serviceable chain mail under surcoats that sported a device I’d seen once before, a device that Suiden had once told me belonged to him as the crown prince of Tural: a dragon in flight.

  At Princess Rajya’s greeting of her father, Jusson had paused with the cup halfway to his mouth. But instead of watching either Her Highness or the kneeling men, he fixed his gaze on Suiden for a long moment. He then lowered his eyes and took a sip.

  “My entourage, Your Majesty,” Princess Rajya said, her face benign as the kneeling men rose in unison. With a stamp of booted feet, they turned and took up stances behind the Turalian princess.

  “So we see,” Jusson said, his voice mild.

  “The amir sent one of his battle wizards as part of your embassage?” Wyln asked, a slight frown on his face as his gaze rested on the bald man. Or, rather, on the tattoos on the bald man’s head. He then blinked and his frown abruptly deepened, while all around him there was quiet shifting as hands casually drifted towards swords, daggers, and other items with sharp edges.

  The battle wizard paid no attention to the weapon-handling. Nor did Princess Rajya. “While having served in the Army of the Sun, Munir has long since hung up the war robes, Sro Wyln,” she said, her benign expression firmly in place. “He is now an integral part of His Glory’s court and is here in an advisory role.”

  “That’s interesting, Your Highness,” Jusson said, his voice mild. “Especially since every Turalian ambassador to our kingdom before Your Highness did not have a wizard to advise them. That we know of.”

  “Ah, but times have changed, have they not, Your Majesty?” Princess Rajya said. “During Her Majesty Queen Herleve’s rule, there weren’t any—how do you call them, Sro Wyln, Sro Laurel?—acknowledged talent-users in your fair kingdom. That has obviously changed with there being not one but three wizards at the right hand of the throne.”

  “Faena,” Laurel corrected.

  “Enchanter,” Wyln said absently, still frowning. “And Two Trees’son is a journeyman mage.”

  “What is more interesting, Your Majesty, is that the proximity of Lord Rabbit’s teachers to the throne has become of concern to the amir,” Thadro said, his blue-gray eyes frosty as they narrowed at Kveta. “Among others.”

  “The position of those of the talent isn’t of any concern whatsoever, honored Thadro,” Kveta said before Princess Rajya could speak. “Her Highness was just commenting on the rapid changes that have taken place here in the past few months—”

  “More than a few months,” one of the northern aristos interrupted. He then looked startled.

  Kveta gave another bow. “As you say.”

  “Years,” another northern aristo said. “Decades.”

  “Centuries,” a southie nobleman put in. “Since the beginning of Iver’s reign—”

  “This is not a topic we should be discussing,” said Thadro. He aimed a scowl at Princess Rajya. He then shifted it to Lord Idwal and Lady Margriet, who were standing silently by, listening, Lady Margriet with a worried expression on her face. “At least not here in the middle of the hall for all and sundry to hear.”

  Lady Margriet’s worried expression deepened, but Lord Idwal drew himself up to his full height. “These are His Majesty’s invited guests—”

  “One is,” Thadro said. “The others are not.”

  “—who are also my guests too,” Lord Idwal said, ignoring his wife as she laid a restraining hand on his arm. “And I will have polite behavior in my hall no matter who is under my roof—”

  “Polite is not springing unexpected princesses and foreign battle wizards on people,” Thadro said.

  “So the Qarant sent you to me?” Javes asked Kveta, ignoring the blossoming argument between his lord commander and his host.

  “In part, yes, Javes Damas’son,” Kveta said. “I have communications for you from your esteemed uncle, Jakub.”

  “Does the High Council know you’ve become an agent for the Qarant?” Laurel asked before Javes could respond.

  “Why should the High Council be involved in anything I do?” Kveta asked back. “Unlike some, I do not answer to them.”

  “I seem to remember there were certain times that you did,” Laurel said. “In fact, I distinctly remember you standing before the entire Council, answering all sorts of questions.”

  “Which were answered to the Council’s
satisfaction,” Kveta said. “And I still stand before them, each time they contract for my services. Just as the Qarant has done.”

  “And apparently as Her Highness and the amir have also done,” Laurel said.

  “I am a free agent,” Kveta said, unperturbed. “And my free agency takes me all sorts of interesting places, including the Sun Court of His Glory the amir. When I am through with this, I shall also stand before the amir’s court and answer any questions they might have.”

  “You are part of His Glory’s court, Daughter?” Suiden asked Princess Rajya.

  “Yes, Father,” Princess Rajya said.

  “We protect her, sa Abbe,” a grizzled Turalian guard said. “As we protect your other children.”

  Jeff, Arlis, and I all blinked at the thought of Suiden having a bevy of children, and I turned to Jusson to see if he heard, but my eye was caught by the former battle wizard turned adviser. Seeing me looking, he smiled and gave a brief bow, the voluminous arms of his gray robe shifting slightly. I was about to ask what the hell was his problem when a commotion sounded in the entryway, growing louder, and everyone stopped talking and turned to see Cais leading other royal servants carrying trunks and baggage. Lady Margriet gave a soft sigh in the immediate quiet before pasting a determinedly cheerful smile on her face and, stepping in front of her husband, dropped a curtsey. “It seems that your household has arrived, Your Majesty. Would you like to retire to your chambers?” she asked, her voice hopeful.

  Jusson had been following the various lively conversations, his head turning from speaker to speaker, his face mildly interested. “In a moment,” he said, his gaze now going behind Lady Margriet and Lord Idwal. “But first, is this your daughter?”

  An identical expression of startlement swept over both Idwal’s and Lady Margriet’s faces, as if they’d forgotten said daughter’s presence. Then it was swiftly gone as they both stepped aside.

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Idwal said, the lines fanning out from his watchful eyes as he also smiled. “May I present our daughter, Berenice eso Mearden.”

  Six

  The royal chambers occupied two floors near the top of the main tower. We were hustled up the main stairs and along the gallery to a smaller, winding staircase that got narrower and more winding the higher we climbed. The winding stair took us past the king’s lower floor, fully occupied by Jusson’s bustling servants and the King’s Own. Then they were all blocked from view as we continued our climb, stopping at a landing outside a stout door.

  “Your rooms, Your Majesty,” Berenice said as she opened the door. We were a smaller group than we’d been downstairs as the aristos had been shunted off elsewhere in the castle, and it was just Jusson—along with Lord Commander Thadro, Captains Javes and Suiden, Laurel and Wyln, Jeff and Arlis, and the attending royal guards—who trooped inside. I hung back, waiting for Berenice to enter the room before me, but she stayed on the landing, her hands demurely folded together in front of her, her eyes modestly lowered. Feeling awkward, I followed the rest.

  We were in a small, handsomely proportioned hall with archways along two adjacent walls leading off to what I assumed were bedchambers. Another, opposite wall was punctuated by windows that allowed light to stream in. In the middle was a long table with wood chairs on either side, and a cluster of more comfortable-looking chairs were near the fireplace. Like the great hall downstairs, tapestries vied for wall space with candle-filled sconces that, when lit, would make the night very bright. The fireplace was already lit, chasing away any chill as royal servants bustled here too, setting up beds in the side rooms, replacing the chair at the head of the table with one that had a crown carved on the front and back, adding another crowned chair by the hearth. Evergreen boughs decorated the mantelpiece—forerunners of Festival decorations—and the scent of cedar mingled with the smell of the burning peat moss in the fireplace. And standing in front of the hearth tending to its flames was the king’s majordomo, Cais. He looked up as we entered, his eyes assessing. He then put the fireplace poker down and moved to meet the king.

  Still feeling awkward, I dodged Finn hurrying by with the royal crest to walk to a window and looked out at an unimpeded view of the port and the sea beyond. A convoy of windriders flying the colors of Iversterre sailed through waves turned golden by the afternoon sun as they headed for the harbor. Sunlight also gilded the rooftops of the town’s buildings and warmed the masts of the anchored ships. Looking straight down I could see the forest surrounding the castle, the trees’ branches moving in the blustery winds. Then the sun abruptly went behind a cloud and the waning day turned cold and gray, the swaying bare branches ghostly in the chill light. A moment later, the sun reemerged, once more turning everything to gold. But the chill remained, radiating through the glass pane.

  “Does Your Majesty desire a bath before the evening meal?” Berenice asked from behind me.

  I quickly turned from the window to see that the daughter of Mearden had finally entered the room. She stood just inside the door, with her hands again clasped before her. However, instead of the modest downward gaze, she was watching me.

  My proposed bride was a mixture of both her parents. She wasn’t as small as her mother, but she didn’t have her father’s height or breadth. Her mild brown eyes were lighter than her mother’s and were set in an oval face with a rounded chin. Her brown hair was darker than her father’s and she wore it pulled back and tucked neatly into a snood. She wasn’t past her prayers, but she wasn’t in her first blush of youth either; she appeared to be a couple of years older than me. But though she had the maturity to get away with wearing bold colors like Lady Margriet’s red gown or Lord Idwal’s dark green robe, she was dressed in inoffensive pink, a color appropriate for her unwed status. Her jewelry was just as appropriate—a single pearl hung from a gold chain in the middle of her forehead. Earlier, her curtsey at her presentation to Jusson in the great hall downstairs was briskly competent, revealing neither shy gawkiness nor poetic grace (or even a nicely turned ankle), and my heart had sunk as I wondered how two remarkable people could have such an ordinary daughter.

  “Damn, Rabbit,” Jeff had said sotto voce from behind me, while I caught out the corner of my eye Arlis’ wince.

  But then, rising from her curtsey and finding herself the center of attention, Berenice smiled, a merry curve of her mouth with an echoing spark in her eyes—and I’d found myself smiling back, my heart beginning to pound. Maybe—just maybe—it’ll be all right.

  “Woof?” Kveta had muttered, her ears pressing forward, her eyes darting between me and Berenice, while Princess Rajya’s expression turned speculative. Jusson, however, ignored both the wolf and the princess.

  “Ah,” Jusson had said to Lady Margriet, his face gentling. “Yes, we would very much like to go to our chambers. If your daughter would take us?”

  Another expression flashed across Idwal’s and his lady’s faces, this one much more readable. However, it was the custom for daughters of the House to see to the comfort of guests, and with a murmured “of course, Your Majesty,” Idwal and Margriet merely stood aside and allowed Berenice to dispense Mearden’s hospitality to the House’s most important guest.

  Which included offering hot baths to the king’s decidedly bachelor establishment.

  At Berenice’s offer I felt my face heat. Happily, she didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she had, but it didn’t faze her. Whatever trappings of maidenly modesty she’d assumed outside on the landing had vanished as she easily met my gaze, all merriment gone, her own face thoughtful.

  Jusson wasn’t fazed either. He stood in the middle of the hall conferring with Thadro while Cais relieved him of cloak, sword, and battle helm. At the offer of baths, the king glanced over his shoulder. “Yes, thank you,” he said.

  Tearing my gaze from Berenice, I looked at Jusson, waiting for him to add that Cais, Finn, or another suitably male servant would see to it. However, he merely returned to his conference with his lord commander, and I started to worry.
I was just about the only one. Javes and Suiden had walked to another window to look out at nothing—or at least Javes was. Suiden was staring at something below. And maybe Javes had also found a target; he raised his quiz glass and shifted as if to get a better vantage, his surprisingly blank face reflected in the windowpane. Laurel had wandered over to the fireplace to do his own staring into the flames, and Wyln followed, looking pensive.

  The only other person who seemed to be aware of the looming danger was Jeff—even Arlis seemed unconcerned. Once again forgetting that he wasn’t talking to me, Jeff met my gaze, his face also worried. We both turned back to Berenice to see that her mouth was curved up, the merry spark back in her eyes. “Yes, Your Majesty,” she said with another competent curtsey. Turning, she exited the hall, her brisk steps fading as she descended the stairs.

  “Rabbit,” Jeff said.

  “Sire,” I said at the same time, my voice urgent.

  Thadro held up his hand and we both fell silent. He nodded at the door and the royal guard left, two of them taking up posts outside on the landing, the rest clumping down to the lower floor. At the same time, Cais sent a glance around the room and all the servants except for Finn also left, the last one shutting the door behind him. My two personal guards had started for the door with the King’s Own, but Thadro stopped Jeff and Arlis with a murmured command for them to remain, and they returned to stand next to me.

  “Well, that was certainly interesting,” Jusson said. Pulling off his tabard, he dropped it on the floor. He then held out his arms and Cais began removing his armor and the padding underneath. “Like fishing for minnow and hooking a whale.”

  “Or a shark, Your Majesty,” Thadro said.

  “A huge smiling shark full of sharp teeth,” Jusson said. Finn, having disappeared with the royal battle gear, reappeared with a basin of hot water and a towel. Despite the promise of hot baths, Jusson quickly sluiced away the dust from his hands, face, and neck. Then, drying himself, he took his robe from Cais and put it on. Made of thick fabric in the blue of his House, it swung heavily about him, covering him down to his still booted feet. Tightening the belt, he aimed his gaze at Javes. “Seafaring wolves, free agents, and unexpected appointments by uncles,” he said.