It was a few weeks later when two riders crossed from the Roof of the World to Sarain. They looked remarkably alike, a young man and woman of about twenty, with pale blond hair and dark eyes – the woman’s blue, the man’s brown. Dressed plainly, but warmly, they rode well-bred, but hardly flashy horses, and bore their weapons with the air of those
well versed in their use.
They’d ‘cheated’ – Kay’s term, not her twin’s – on some of the longer, more deserted parts of their journey west from Bersone. Imperial citizens may have known of the various ‘special talents’ of their ruling family, but that didn’t mean that they always kept them in mind. By using those talents, and taking the fastest routes possible, whether by boat or horse, they’d reached Yevgen’s new home in a fraction of the time it had taken the invasion force less than a year before.
Prince Yevgen of the Imperial House of Delmaran, gazed out at the barren plain that had once held thriving pasturelands and farms. Charred remains and rotting vegetation showed the evidence of heavy fighting. He’d been agreeable to his mother’s original proposal that he take over the governance of this newest, outlying province, and relations with the realms west of the Roof. Neither a military career, though he was a good fighter and tactician, nor politics particularly appealed to him, as it had to his sisters.
He had not, however, originally been agreeable to the small attached condition that he’d have to marry the granddaughter of the last Warlord, a Tortallan princess. It smacked too much of horse-breeding and despotism, he’d said. His sisters had sighed, humoured him by letter for a little, and finally, when they were both home, Rislyn from her political manoeuvrings in some testy southern provinces, Berenice – whom everyone called ‘Kay’ – from her garrison command in the north, taken him aside for a little talk about political expediency and international history.
He still didn’t agree with their logic, but knew there was little real choice. The Saren lowlanders, and their K’mir neighbours, held (from an Imperial perspective) a ridiculously high regard for pedigrees. Even Yevgen had to agree that the task of governing would be easier with someone who would at least be held with some sort of emotional regard by the people. Princess Kalasin was the daughter of Thayet jian Wilima, now Queen of Tortall, who, in turn was the daughter of the last Warlord and his K’miri wife. That was about as much as Yevgen knew about his proposed bride.
He was aware that Kay knew more. He was also not going to give her the satisfaction of knowing his curiosity. Kay had stayed with their mother and elder sister for longer than he after he’d stormed out when the plans were first put to him. It was she who chased him down and dragged him back to put his point across, reasoning that, yes, perhaps their mother wouldn’t listen, but at least he wouldn’t have behaved like a spoilt brat. She was also receiving all the co-respondence from Bersone. His ‘special talents’ were limited, like most Delmaran males, while both his sisters had inherited them in greater quantities.
Kay shaded her eyes and looked at a few dots of horsemen on the far horizon. Her eyes had the slightly unfocused look she wore when she was using someone (or something) else’s eyes to scout. She came back to herself, and nodded to her brother. “That’s our escort. Ready to go?”
Corus
Radanae was scanning the latest correspondence from Bersone. It was a quiet afternoon, with the Ambassador in highly sensitive talks with the Tortallans, where no aides were invited. As such, Imperials were flopped all over the suite, most of them bored.
Justinia was letting Ryane give her a manicure. That was a sure sign that both of them were probably close to being comatose with boredom. The delegation in Tortall had settled into a comfortable routine. The morning meant practice, first among themselves, then with the Tortallans and whoever else was around, then the aides would be needed to help with the talks. After lunch, the Ambassador had more sensitive discussions, where there was, at most, just Radanae, but more commonly no aides at all. Evening meant more parties and functions, which became more elaborate as the wedding between Prince Roald and Princess Shinkokami neared.
The Ambassador planned to have all the issues finalised by the wedding, and the majority of the delegation would return to the Empire afterwards. If the Tortallans wished it, she would leave a small, symbolic party behind to help organise the details of the marriage of Kalasin and Yevgen.
Most of the sticking points concerned the betrothal arrangements. At first, Radanae had thought that unusual, given the generous Imperial offers, before she figured out that the generosity was making the Tortallans uneasy. Arranged marriages were unusual enough in the Houses than any such proposal had to be accompanied by very generous terms. It seemed that in the Eastern lands, where such things were more common, the proposed were looking frantically for a catch.
She continued with the letters. Most of the other delegations, who had simpler issues like trade to discuss, had already finished and were their way back. The Maren delegation was being unbearably smug, because a junior Maren prince (one of King Barnesh’s numerous impoverished distant cousins) had unexpectedly fallen head-over-heels in love with one of the aides. To add insult to injury, she was just as ridiculously smitten, he was a moderately powerful mage, and willing to leave Maren and return with them to the Empire. The Empress (or more accurately, probably Rislyn, who at twenty-three was now deemed able to handle day-to-day matters) was pleased enough to offer them a fief on the Sarain/Maren border, places at court, and considerable other privileges.
Rislyn and Berenice had taken their ‘baby’ brother aside, and presumably told him the hard cold facts of life. Whatever they said, it worked, because reports said that he and Kay and gone to Sarain to oversee the rebuilding and to start planning a new government.
Kay would stay until, as she put it, ‘things were limping along’, or when Yevgen and Kalasin were used enough to each other to rule. She would return to her promising military career, and supporting Rislyn (Kay had been Duxa Seconda, only narrowly defeated by Justinia in the final rounds).
Radanae and Justinia had received a few personal letters from the Princess, with whom they had shared rooms and tents over the last fourteen years. Berenice’s sense of humour was much better suited to the military woman than the princess. She didn’t quite have Rislyn or Radanae’s taste for political intrigue.
The Ambassador came into the suite, and various aides and guards picked themselves off the floor and furniture to help her. “Almost finished,” she breathed as someone poured her a cup of tea. She looked exhausted, probably exasperated by her efforts to conceal that exhaustion in front of the Tortallans. “Trade routes, trade agreements, Inland Sea, Sarain, even bringing in Tortallan architects for the new Palace, all of that’s done, most of the betrothal contract’s done – except where the wedding’s going to take place, and the guestlist.”
“You mean the fate of a country rests on a pack of invitations?” Justinia, ever the military woman, sounded amazed.
“Basically,” Ryane shrugged. “Don’t do that!” she snapped as Justinia made to run her fingers through her hair, a nervous habit, “you’ll get polish all over it!”
“What do the Tortallans want?” Radanae asked, curious.
“They want it here, of course, so they can meet Yevgen.”
“What’s the problem?” Justinia asked. Most Imperial Houses held the wedding at the bride’s familial estate. They had been expecting to drug Yevgen senseless (he got terribly seasick when travelling on water by conventional methods) and drag him Tortall eventually. He would have come with the delegation had he not decided to be Yevgen.
“There isn’t one,” Lansherry took a sip of the tea, “but we have to sound as though there is, or they would think it odd. We’ve already taken up enough time allaying their suspicions about us. Here, it takes place at the groom’s home, especially if he’s got responsibilities in governance. Princess Shinkokami didn’t even meet Prince Roald for several weeks after she came to Tortall, and his Highness has never been to the Yamani Isles.”
Several of them paused at that, admiring the courage of the two involved, and finally
thought about the mess from Yevgen’s perspective.
“Kalasin?” Thayet probed her daughter gently as Kalasin stared at the same page of the betrothal contract for several minutes. They were in the princess’s rooms with the latest draft of the proposed document. Jon sat some distance away, looking surprisingly awkward in the pretty room, somewhat unsuited to Kally’s real character. The only indication that the room didn’t belong to a typical luxury-loving convent darling was the wealth of dog-eared battle treatises on one of the bookshelves, and a longbow and glaive in the weaponsrack next to a never-used loom.
Kalasin and Thayet were at an embroidery table more often used as a desk. The heavy stack of paper was divided into the ‘read’ and ‘unread’ piles, with ‘unread’ much thicker. Kalasin was not present in what Thayet derisively referred to as the ‘haggling’ (though never anywhere her children could hear, for obvious reasons), and the information she had on her future came filtered through her parents and neat black script.
Kally shook her head, picked up a quill and initialled the numbered points of the contract and the bottom of the page without really reading it. She went through the rest of the document in similar fashion, laid down the quill and stood up. “Looks fine to me,” she said quietly, then walked over to the window. By her request, her view was not of the carefully tended garden that most other ladies seemed to prefer, but the Royal Forest. She started to laugh. “Sixteen points about how much interference the Empire may take on Lowlander-K’mir blood feuds and twenty on naval patrols on the Inland Sea. One point about a wedding of some sort. I hardly think it’s my place to give my approval.”
“Kally…” Thayet began.
“I’ve already agreed, mother,” she said, turning around and sitting on the window seat with an inelegant thud. “As Lianne says, no matter what this Prince Yevgen is like he can’t possibly be worse than King Barnesh.”
The four times widowed, back on the marriage-market King Barnesh of Maren was certainly older than Jon, and it was questionable whether he was much younger than King Roald, Jon’s late father.
Jonathan winced. It was definitely true that aside from Emperor Kaddar, there were really no personable eligible males among the Eastern royals – except his own sons, of course, but that wasn’t the point. A twenty year old prince, from a mysterious land that produced thousands of female knights, described as handsome, with no known deviations, combined with full joint rule and authority, certainly would look a very attractive prospect in comparison.
“And if worse comes to worse, item 76 provides that I’ll have the same powers he does. We can just sign laws and ignore each other.”
Justinia had made several friends on the practice courts in the past few weeks. Foremost among them was Lady Keladry of Mindelan, the first known female knight in Tortall in over a century. Sir (or Lady – it seemed to change depending on the speaker) Alanna, as everyone was eager to tell the Imperials, had disguised herself as a boy for eight years, so
she didn’t really count. Justinia was explaining just how hard that would have been under Imperial training, where swimming and water rescue were compulsory elements in their studies.
“Well, not that that’s an issue, of course,” she finished, “there’s always been female knights. Of course, numbers depend on the years. If it’s a really boring stage of history, it’s only the scion – that’s the eldest daughter – who has to go so she can inherit the House titles and lands – but all the other children don’t have to. If one thinks that giving up the House name and noble privileges is worth something else, they’ve always done it. Some scions have given it up for younger sisters, in fact.” If there was a personal tone in Justinia’s voice, Keladry was polite enough not to mention it.
“It’s a little different here,” Keladry and Justinia were watching the others train after their hand-to-hand bout. They’d had three rounds, Justinia winning two and Kel the other. “If you’re a male noble, you generally become a knight – there are a few other careers – healers, mages, priests, and so on. Girls go off to the convent, and then get married. When I first started here, the Master of Ceremonies nearly had an apoplexy. I wasn’t a noble lady, and no one really accepted a female page. It’s changing now, of course,” Kel added, nodding to where the first year pages were having a riding lesson, two girls and eight boys. Unlike nine years ago, as far the Kel was aware, the girls were no more bullied than the boys, and even the bullying had largely stopped beyond the usual fetch-and-carry demands after whispers about the reasons the Chamber had killed Joren of Stone Mountain started to circulate. While no one was actually sure, no one was taking any chances. Bullying was just the simplest of the explanations.
After wincing in sympathy as one of the girls was thrown off her horse and stepped on, the two knights went to see their horses. To both Tortallan and Imperial surprise and shock, the two women’s horses got along together, Kel’s vicious Peachblossom and Justinia’s equally foul-tempered dappled mare Uma.
The two horses were apparently chatting over the fence that separated the paddock and stables given over to the Imperials, and the paddock where the King’s Own turned out their horses on a fine day. Both ignored their riders, intent on gossip.
Justinia hesitated, “Lady Keldary, do you know her Highness the Princess Kalasin well?”
“No, not really,” Kel confessed, surprised at the direction of the inquiry. “Why do you ask?”
“Just curious,” Justinia brushed it off, “the Court holds you instrumental in persuading his Highness the Crown Prince and the Princess Shinkokami in becoming better acquainted. I had hoped…never mind…”
“It was awkward, at first,” Kel admitted, seeing where Justinia was going, “the most important thing was to try and find their mutual interests.”
“Well,” Justinia shook her head as though to clear it. “I’ve never been so glad I’ll never have to go through something like that,”
“Me too,” Kel agreed wholeheartedly, as they both walked back, horses in tow, to get their tack for a ride through the forest.
*******************
Preparations for the wedding of Roald and Shinkokami were in full swing, but that didn’t stop Numair from his research. A cynic would remark that he didn’t even notice the fuss, only that the library appeared to be quieter as pages and squires were commandeered to help with seating arrangements and chores. He finally found the spell he was looking for
and barged into a small meeting of the King and his councillors as they were reviewing the final draft of the agreement.
He explained the scrying spell. King Jonathan and all the others on the Council (especially Sir Myles and Baron George) wanted more information on the Empire. King Jonathan and Queen Thayet especially wanted more information on the Prince. Since there was not the usual scrying focuses – a portrait or personal belonging – there had to be a new type of spell. Numair had finally come up with the idea of using the Seals on the contract itself.
The spell, though it would take a great deal of magical energy to set up, would require surprisingly little to maintain, which would make it virtually undetectable.
Princess Kalasin signed the contract, if not with enthusiasm, at least knowing and understanding all the points and agreeing. It was countersigned by her parents. The Ambassador took both copies – after they were signed one copy would be returned to Tortall – indicating that she would send them to the Empress and the Prince. It should, she said, return before the majority of the delegation left directly after the wedding of the Crown Prince. If not, anyway, a small party, including her personal aide and several guards would remain in Tortall, preparing for the wedding. After some wrangling, the Imperials had agreed to hold the wedding in Corus, in the autumn, with the Prince escorting his new bride back to Sarain for the coronation before winter set in, travelling by ship and then horseback.
After the Ambassador, her aides, guards, and all the other Ambassadors, Envoys and various courtiers who had turned up to watch the signing had left, the King, Queen, their daughter and their most trusted advisers departed to the small, private chamber where Numair was setting up the spell. Prince Roald managed to tag along almost unnoticed.
After a few false tries, where they ended up in various offices around Corus that used the Royal Seal (Jon found out about the amount of creative accounting going on in Treasury, so it wasn’t a complete waste), they finally found the betrothal contracts. Sealed, they lay on a table in the Ambassador’s quarters. A little way from the table, a small group of aides and guards were picking coloured stones out of a box. One of them, the Ambassador’s personal aide, picked up a purple-and-red striped one, and sat at the table with a grimace.
She opened another box with a pulsing crystal and said some words that no one could quite catch. In an instant, the water in the scrying bowl spun around in a whirlpool, before settling on another desk, and the contracts lying on it.
There was another mysterious box on the desk, but their attention was taken away by the woman who took the thick contracts, broke open one, and read it.
She was little older than Jon or Thayet – probably in her mid to late forties, handsome, with grey-streaked copper hair, pulled off her face with a simple silver circlet set with a single small diamond. Dressed in an elegant dark purple gown of unfamiliar cut, she scanned the pages quickly, nodding with definite satisfaction from time to time.
“It’s come?” the voice was younger, female, as a twenty-odd years younger version of the woman came into view. This one was dressed in a rather unimperial manner, two knee-length, short-sleeved tunics of thin gauze in contrasting colours, one over the other, and a plain silver band to hold her hair back. She read the contract over the older woman’s shoulder.
“It’s fair enough,” she admitted, “are you going to send it to Yevgen today, or let everybody else pore over it?”
“If I can,” the older woman told her, reaching for a pen and signing both papers. “There’s nothing in it that needs the approval of council or Senate, and nothing they don’t already know about.”
(The Empress and the Crown Princess, Sir Myles observed. I would have expected…never mind)
“I wonder how Kay’s going to feel about going to Tortall,” Princess Rislyn chuckled, re-reading the section that detailed the wedding plans. “She thought Sarain was the end of the world as it was.”
“Who said I was going to send Kay?” Empress Vanaria raised an eyebrow at her eldest child.
“Come on, mother,” Rislyn flopped onto a chair with an easy familiarity which indicated that she was comfortable in her mother’s confidence, (Roald made a quickly suppressed noise of envy) “you did not send her with Yevgen to Sarain to have her stay there to paint the walls while he goes off to do whatever he has to do. Anyway, he’ll need some support
from at least one of his big sisters.”
(So the younger princess’s name probably isn’t pronounced the way it’s spelt, Sir Myles muttered, I should make a note about that)
“You can go and visit them in Sarain on your progress west next year, if you like. The Doi tribes have been complaining about Immortal incursions. You can go have a look at how the defences are going. It’s not very far from Chitral to Sarain.” the Empress re-sealed the documents and handed placed them under a pulsing crystal.
Prepared, this time, the Tortallans moved away from the table as the water splashed out of the scrying bowl. Alanna swore in language to take the varnish off the table, then blushed and added more water.
It was a completely different scene to the elegant study that the Empress had seen the contract in. It appeared to be a simple military command tent, set up on a barren plain. The ruins of a city could barely be seen past the flap.
Thayet gasped in horror. Concerned, Jon put an arm around her shoulders. “It’s the Palace,” she whispered. The tent flap blew aside to reveal the charred shell of a once grand castle. Understanding, and imagining it was Corus, Jon held her close, heedless of the others in the room. There was scaffolding around the outer walls, and those of the city further down the hill, and the noise of rebuilding.
Their attention was caught up in the scene that they almost didn’t see the contracts being picked up and read by a third woman. While the likeness was not so striking as that of the Crown Princess, there was no mistaking who this was, especially in the context of the previous conversation. Fair haired, indigo eyed, her manicured nails looking odd on
hands with warrior’s scars and sword-calluses, Princess Berenice scanned her brother’s betrothal contact.
(Can’t the poor man do anything without his mother and sisters going over it first? Roald grumbled)
She nodded once, and strode out of the tent, her stride easy and confident, well used to the weight of the sword and dagger than hung from her belt. She moved though a tent city to the scaffolded castle.
She held up a hand and called “Yevgen!”
A man, dark haired like most of the Imperials, turned around.
Kalasin, for all that she had been playing the dutiful princess, couldn’t hold back a her horror. The Imperials had said ‘twenty, and handsome’. Even allowing for diplomatic language, that was an outright lie. This man was in his early twenties, certainly, but calling him handsome was a little like calling King Jonathan blond. ‘Ugly’ was an understatement.
“Silas,” the woman greeted him (Kalasin breathed an audible sigh of relief), “Where’s my brother?”
Silas, who was wearing a mail shirt and rank markings that indicated he was an unknighted military officer, made a vague motion upwards.
Berenice shaded her eyes and gazed up the high walls of the old citadel, now rapidly being repaired. “Yevgen!” she called again, “can you come down, please?”
Keladry, who had somehow managed to be dragged along with Lord Raoul, looked distinctly ill as a figure literally jumped off the wall, grabbed a rope hanging from a scaffold and slid down, landing neatly at the Princess’s feet.
“Show off!” she said affectionately, brushing dust off his collar.
The Prince was taller than his sister, and rather good-looking in a conventional, clean-cut way. His pale hair and freckles made him look a little younger than his twin. Kalasin breathed a very audible sigh of relief.
He glanced at the papers in her hand. “They’ve arrived?” his voice was a pleasant low tenor, but there was no mistaking his distinct lack of enthusiasm.
Kalasin wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or insulted by his complete lack of interest.
Berenice nodded, and with a sigh, her brother followed her as they walked around the walls and passed through a gap that appeared to have been made by a battering ram.
(That was my mother’s garden, Thayet observed sadly as the two imperial children picked their way through a barren, bare patch of dirt.)
There was a table under an awning in the middle of the dust patch, covered with papers, maps, blueprints and plans.
“Still trying your first idea?” Kay asked, picking up a plan. “I don’t think Saren and Imperial architecture quite go together, to be honest. And from Ryane’s sketches, the Tortallan is just going to clash with both.”
“We’re going to try and keep the old Saren façade,” her brother plucked the plan out of her hand and placed it back on the table, “and restore most of the public areas. Saren architecture, Imperial defences and conveniences, basically. I’m not doing without proper plumbing or central heating if it can be avoided – and it can – for the sake of aesethics.
There’s plenty of room in the old dungeons for pipes and furnaces, and all these odd hollows in the walls. We’re going to try and make the outer walls something that an invading army’s going to need more than a few climbing spikes and ropes to get over.”
Queen Thayet looked very, very insulted.
Kay broke open one of the contracts and handed to him. The Prince pushed some papers aside, sat on the table, and scanned it quickly while his sister rifled through the other blueprints, much to the distress of a small architect who was revealed on the other side of the table. “Are you still going to re-build the Queen’s Wing?” she asked, picking up
another bit of paper. “There’s nothing left there. You might as well reconfigure the place. It’s on the opposite end of the building to your rooms….oh, I get it,” she put it down again as her brother raised an expressive eyebrow.
Kalasin got it too, and did not look happy.
“Obviously, we’ll skip the tower,” Yevgen said absent-mindedly as he finished the document, sighed, picked up a quill from the table and signed it with the same distinct lack of eagerness as Kalasin had. He blew on it to dry the ink and then handed it back to his sister, and waited as she gave him the second one.
“Mother wants you to write a little note to go with the ring and the sapphires, too.” She told him. “Gifts,” she shrugged, in response to his raised eyebrow.
Looking long-suffering, he got off the table, dragged a stationery chest out from under the table and selected a piece of parchment embossed with what the Tortallans now knew at the Imperial crest, with the sign of the third knighted child.
“How long do you think it will be before the building crews arrive?” Kay asked.
The Tortallans made noises of surprise. There was already a great deal of building going on in the background, and the Prince and Princess were apparently not worried about having their conversation in public.
“A few more weeks. They were held up with Chitral for a few days – bad weather. Things should pick up when they get here.”
“I should bloody well hope so,” his sister muttered, “I do not look forward to autumn in this ice-cube without central heating or hot baths.”
“Spoiled brat,” her brother teased as he wrote something on the parchment. His sister read over his shoulder, blocking the view of the Tortallans.
“Very pretty,” she complimented as she sealed the note. She took it and one of the contracts. “I got letters from Radanae and Justinia yesterday – snail mail – are you sure you don’t want to know what Princess Kalasin looks like?”
“I hate to say this, sister dear,” the prince shook his head, “but may I hazard to say that a cavalry officer who dislikes humans on principle, and a diplomat who dislikes people randomly, aren’t the best pair to give an objective view? Besides,” he continued, “even if they didn’t try to spare me, you would. The less I know, the less I’ll be disappointed
when I meet her.”
Kalasin looked very insulted.
In the water, the princess broke off a chuckle to dive into the chest, bringing out the largest opal any of them had ever seen, framed by a silver setting. It was pulsing slightly. Berenice frowned, looking worried.
“Get a mage here, quickly,” she turned around and snapped at someone out of view. “There’s something very odd going on. Ripples like the air around a sending. Do you sense anything?”
He brother paused, then shook his head.
Numair swore. “I thought this was all but undetectable,” he muttered.
“She just detected it.” Alanna told him. “Cut it off. She may pass it off and we can try again later. If we stay, they’ll get suspicious.”
Grumbling, Numair moved his hands and muttered in a sylibant language. The water steamed, then evaporated, taking the picture and leaving the bowl empty.
**********************
Part 5 – Signed and Sealed.
One copy of the contract, signed by Prince Yevgen and the Empress was duly delivered to the Tortallans several days later. It was accompanied by a betrothal ring, a beautiful, delicate thing of diamonds embedded in silver. There was also, allegedly, a gift from the Prince himself. It was certainly accompanied by a very eloquent note with a signature that matched than on the contract. It expressed his compliments and wish to make her acquaintance in the near future, in the polite, formal language of someone who read far too much poetry when they were bedridden with injuries.
The princess in the scrying bowl had described the gift as ‘sapphires’, but that did not begin to describe the contents of a deceptively plain wooden box the Imperials gave Kalasin. Inside lay a necklace, bracelet, earrings and tiara of filigreed silver studded with diamonds and sapphires. Each stone was exactly the same size, and cut perfectly, and the workmanship of the pieces was exquisite. They lay on a bed of fine-woven gauze, which proved to be a delicate wool shawl in various shades of blue ranging from almost white to indigo, threaded with silver, and so fragile it could be rolled up and passed through the ring.
“You know, if we hadn’t seen him, I would almost think that he cared,” Kally said to her younger sister as she showed Lianne the gems.
Lianne snorted in a very unladylike manner. “Whether he does or not, he didn’t choose them.” she pointed out. “Men never would. He’d pick some huge bits of rock set in the gaudiest gold he could find so you’d stand out a mile and show everyone how rich he was. His mother or sisters would have in any case. The only difference is that you know that they did.” She paused. “They are pretty, though,” she said grudgingly, “and they know what you look like and what would suit.”
“It’s been several weeks,” Kally said, fastening the necklace and looking into the mirror, “we would have expected them to have said something about my teeth. Anyway, we heard him,” she had already related to Lianne the conversations they had heard among the Imperial family in the scrying bowl, “his sister knows, at least – an aide and a guard who are here have written to her – and he didn’t want her to tell him. He didn’t want to be disappointed, he said,” Kally took the necklace off and threw it forcefully back into the box. It rattled, but didn’t break, testimony to the good workmanship.
“At least you know that both of you are going into the thing with the same feelings,” Lianne comforted, “we can’t all be like Roald and Shinko.”
Though it wasn’t obvious to any except those who knew them, it was becoming increasingly evident as time passed that the next King and Queen of Tortall would carry on the Conté tradition of being sickeningly devoted to each other for another generation.
It made well for more Contés, but it made Roald’s younger siblings nauseous and more than a little envious. With Roald and Kalasin’s marriages already arranged, the younger three were becoming increasing anxious with the unpromising remaining pool their parents were looking through. As Lianne often remarked, anyone was better than King Barnesh, but really, it was a close call. The Scanran warlords were swiftly becoming even less appealing, and that was saying something. With Kaddar of Cathak, who Daine the wildmage still corresponded with and described as personable, already married, and Kalasin betrothed to what appeared to be the last remaining young, handsome prince with no obvious faults, Lianne did not want to think about the remaining eligibles.
**************************
The wedding of Roald and Shinkokami was everything one would expect of a marriage involving the heir to a throne. It was either magnificent or boring, depending on one’s views of such gatherings. Queen Thayet was seen to wipe away a single tear as her eldest child made his vows. King Jonathan, as always, looked regal and full of fatherly pride. All attention not on the bridal pair seemed to focus on Lady Keldary, especially that of the young men – the lady knight, serving as a bridesmaid to the new Crown Princess, was as exquisite as a princess herself. As usual, Lord Raoul, Knight - Commander of the King’s Own, and Commander Buri of the Queen’s Riders looked as though fighting urges to bolt out the door while nobody was looking. Alanna the Lioness and her husband, Baron George, observed the proceedings with polite interest, but seemed to have their minds elsewhere. Numair Salmalin, the black-robed mage, looked distracted and agitated, as though preoccupied with something that had nothing to do with weddings. Daine the wildmage had slightly unfocused eyes that indicated she was listening to something other than the priest and priestess.
Standing with the royal family, Kalasin looked at her brother and imagined her own, all-too-soon-approaching nuptials. Unlike Roald, she would not have the luxury of several years to make the acquaintance of her partner. Her only consolation was that he would be coming to Tortall for the wedding, instead of she having to be parcelled up and delivered halfway across the world to a stranger, as had happened to her new sister-in-law. She knew what he looked like, and wondered what his character was like. So far, she had only seen his interactions with his sister – and Lady Alanna, who would certainly know, said that it appeared that the princess was the dominant twin, and that the pair would probably behave very differently together than when they were apart.
Radanae sat with the rest of the foreign Ambassadors and Envoys and wondered if she’d forgotten to pack anything in Lansherry’s luggage. The Ambassador had offered, and the Tortallans had accepted, a small delegation to remain to sort out any last minute difficulties concerning the wedding arrangements and the arrival of the Prince. Radanae was the nominal head, her first real diplomatic responsibility. Justinia would remain, as would three male knights from the Honour Guard, including Tomas and Deryn. All of them had ‘talents’ – the main reason for their selection – and all bar Justinia had enough of the Gift to activate the communication and transportation devices.
The wedding banquet carried on until the small hours of the morning. The Ambassador and more sensible members of the entourage went to bed early, as they would ride before dawn to depart to Port Caynn. Radanae was among the less sensible who joined in the carousing, reasoning that she didn’t need to get on the ship, and a short ride to and from the port was hardly going to require sleep.
“How’s the wine?” an elderly plump man with a stain on his dress tunic sat next to her.
Radanae bowed in her seat to Sir Myles, having deciphered by now that he was, at the very least, a trusted councillor to the King, and possibly some sort of spymaster. His nose was slightly red, as though he’d had a few too many cups, but his eyes were still shrewd. He caught her noticing, and bowed in reply. They weren’t going to pretend to be the court drunk and the young woman far from home and miscalculating drinks at a party. They were going for another round of verbal fencing about the politics of their respective homelands. Not an appropriate pastime for a party, thought Radanae sourly.
“The white’s very nice,” she told him, filling his goblet, “not too sweet, not too dry.”
“Hmm…” he savoured the liquid. “’53? No…’54. If you ever get the chance, try the ’57. It’s still a little young, but it glides like silk.”
Radanae made some noises of appreciation of Tortallan wine. A roar from the dance floor indicated that it was time to escort the newly married couple to the bridal chamber. Both Myles and Radanae got up to throw handfuls of the rose petals and nuts that had decorated the tables in the general direction of the furiously blushing Roald and Shinkokami. They were separated near the door, Roald being dragged away by his friends among the young knights, with his father and older relatives trying to keep some semblance of order with very limited success. A King who can sense every leaf and pond in his kingdom is no match against a score of not-very-sober young men. Shinkokami was led away with a degree more dignity (but not much) by her ladies, the princesses, and the Queen, who gleefully joined in. Lady Keladry looked as though she wasn’t sure which party to join, before hurrying after the women.
From her slightly irritated look all evening, at least half of her old friends among the knights and squires had tried to proposition her.
“May I say how glad we all are to have an alliance with so worthy an ally,” Sir Myles slurred his words – a nice touch, conceded Radanae – as the din died down.
“We are equally honoured to acquaint ourselves with such hospitable neighbours,” Radanae replied, offering him a tray of unidentified sweets. He thanked her, but shook his head.
A pause.
“I am somewhat of a scholar of chivalrous codes and the history of warfare and strategy,” Myles said, almost-conspiratorially, “if it is not too much trouble, I wonder if you could enlighten me on some points of Imperial knighthood.”
“If you so wish, Sir Myles. Where would you like me to begin?”
“Wherever is most convenient. I confess, I have been curious since the Imperial delegation arrived, but discussions of chivalry hardly ever make it onto the agenda in trade negotiations.”
“I agree, they do not. Training of knights…well, usually a child of a noble House – that is, a child with at least one parent a knight – enters the Knights’ Academy – that’s at the Imperial Palace – at the age of six. We study the usual subjects – literature, history, mathematics, tactics, strategy, biology, physical sciences, chivalry, ethics, philosophy, law, music, etiquette, dancing,” she ticked off all the lessons she could remember, carefully not mentioning several lessons she believed were unique to the Empire, though she knew Tortallan pages and squires were taught the rudiments of magic “and a few others I’ve already forgotten.” She said dismissively, then continued. “Then there’s horseriding, swimming, tilting, swordplay, archery, staff, unarmed, knife, and other interesting ways of getting oneself badly injured. Then herb-lore and treatment of injuries. All things going as expected, we’re knighted at eighteen, then we spend a year on various military posts. After that, some of us remain as military knights, while others, “she bowed, indicating herself, “are dragged off to copy papers and trim quills.”
“Interesting,” Sir Myles said, then refilled her goblet, “in Tortall, we usually start at around the age of ten, though we also knight eighteen-year olds. Do you find that an earlier start makes the education easier?”
“I really wouldn’t be able to tell,” she said honestly, “most of us can’t imagine any other life.”
“No, I would gather not. I would say the main difference between the Empire and Tortall would be the gender balance. We have the odd female page or squire, but they’re quite rare. I take it that there are fairly equal numbers in the Empire?”
“Pretty much.” Radanae shrugged. “It varies, of course, depending on the times, but there are always at least a third of each gender. It’s about half at the moment.”
Myles nodded. “I’ve always wondered. Here in Tortall, all prospective knights take part in rituals before their knightings, consisting of a ceremonial bath and formal instruction in the Code of Chivalry, followed by a night’s vigil, before they enter the Chamber of Ordeal, which tests their worthiness. Do you have anything similar in the Empire?”
Radanae had heard of the Chamber, supposedly a magical room where Tortallan knights underwent unspeakable horrors, but knew very little else about it.
“Well…” she began. “We have written and spoken examinations in the subjects we’re meant to have studied, then a series of running races, swimming races, archery contests, jousts, fencing duels, unarmed and knife bouts, and various other individual and team competitions – teams assigned randomly – they’re collectively known as the Trials of Knighthood. Our scores in each of the sections are collated and we’re given a ranking within our year. The top ten places have titles – I think you’ve heard them – Dux for a male, Duxa for a female, followed by their ranking. There are minor titles, too, of course, like my Duxa Sapra Aude, but they’re not as important as the overall placings. The top two hundred places are published, given prize money, and their Houses are honoured, and they have first choice of the new military assignments.”
Radanae was not going to mention the Display. It was a remnant of the old Trials, before they had to be civilised and simply work out the rankings of new knights among themselves.
No matter how many times Radanae told herself that the non-knight participants in the Display were murderers, rapists, slavers and other criminals of the worst degree, she still found it difficult to watch. The Display took place a few days after the knighting ceremonies, after the new knights had a chance to rest. It was when the ten new titled knights executed those condemned to death by the courts in Bersone in the two months or so before the Trials. Bersone and the surrounding countryside became suspiciously quiet and crime-free in those few weeks, for some reason. Of all the methods of execution, the Display was probably one of the worst. Those to be executed were pushed into the Great Stadium in groups of varying sizes, at best armed with soft lead weapons, to face a fully trained, fully armed young knight on a war-schooled destrier. There were worse ways to die, Radanae conceded, and some among the executed deserved no better, but to be cut down in front of an overflowing crowd of over 100 000 baying for blood as part of a grand entertainment and demonstration of the skills of a new crop of knights made her physically ill.
Like most Cadets at the Academy, she had seen parts of the grisly proceedings from behind the grilled windows of the knights’ dressing rooms over the years, but nothing had prepared her for that day, two years ago, days after she had won her shield. She had been in the Gavrillian family box with her parents and older brother, which had one of the best views of the action after the seats of the Imperial family. Yevgen, who’d placed seventeenth, reclined on a chaise near his mother and eldest sister’s chairs (he’d broken both his legs and several ribs in his final joust), and shared her mingled fascination and horror as they watched with the rest of the audience. Justinia, Berenice, and eight other of their year-mates had ridden into the sandy floor of the amphitheatre, one by one, and between them, slaughtered more than two hundred men and women to the rapturous applause and cheers of the crowd.
Once, each prospective knight had to face such a criminal before they were knighted. It was the original Trial. The condemned were usually offered a choice between this and conventional execution by hanging. Those who chose the Trial were given an iron bar to defend themselves against a fully armed Cadet. If they defeated the prospective knight, they were given a pardon, a stern warning against repeating their crime, and a purse of copper to make a new life. There were too many knights now, and not enough criminals in those months (it wasn’t practical to feed the condemned for all those months simply for the Display), and there had been instances where the condemned had been lucky.
Sir Myles interrupted her musings. “I must confess that we’re not so formal about it. Fewer knights, I think, so the relative abilities of each is already known.”
“Forgive me sir, if I pry,” Radanae asked, curious about the Ordeal, “we have heard of the Ordeal of the Tortallan knights, but we know little of it. Is it permitted that I ask?”
“Asking, yes, but as to the Ordeal…” Myles breathed out, although he had expected the question eventually. “It’s…a test of one’s mental suitability to be a knight, I suppose. One already is physically capable if one has survived the training, I’m sure you’d agree. I can’t really say much more. Anyone who has had their Ordeal is forbidden to speak of it, especially to one who hasn’t been there.”
“Not good for the younger ones to know?” Radanae asked, having expected this sort of answer.
“No. Definitely not.” Myles shook his shaggy head, and nodded in thanks as she refilled his goblet again. The flagon was running dry. One of the few remaining servers took it away and replaced it with a full one.
At that moment, the various bridal parties were ushered back into the room by the King and other responsible adults, whereupon they took it upon themselves to drink the cellar dry and dance the night away.
Radanae was dragged away to dance by a none-too-sober young Tortallan knight, leaving Sir Myles behind to ponder their conversation.
Or to be precise, what hadn’t been said.
**********************************
Princess Kalasin did not return to the ballroom after she’d helped prepare Shinko for the bridal chamber. Instead, she went to the Council chambers, where Numair and the other mages had set up the scrying bowl. They hadn’t managed to reach the Imperial family since the first time. Numair complained of protections around the Empress and Crown Princess, though said they were standard ones and he could get past them in time. Lady Alanna had flatly forbidden, on pain of some unspecified maiming, contact with Princess Berenice for some more time, since it was the Princess who seemed to be able to detect the spell.
No one said anything about the Prince. Kalasin was a skilled enough mage to be able to scry, and she remembered every detail of the Imperial Prince’s face, though she would have strenuously denied it if she was ever asked.
It was simple enough to activate the spell. The water bubbled, reluctant, but eventually the image cleared to show her prospective bridegroom. She hadn’t remembered that it was the early hours of the morning, almost dawn in Sarain, and that she was unlikely to see much. However, she was wrong.
She was in a lighted tent, and the Prince, wearing shirt, breeches, boots and a warm mantle against the chill was sitting at a desk littered with ink stained paper and broken quills. Feeling like an eavesdropper, she read over his shoulder.
Dearest Lara, he wrote
Kalasin gasped, barely noticing her father come in. Jon made as though to say something, but stopped as he saw the picture in the scry-bowl, and came closer to look.
The Prince continued.
Never fear that I shall say those words we agreed never to say. I will not. It would be wrong of me, and completely untoward at a time like this. I suppose you’ve heard that I’m getting married in the autumn, to Kalasin of Conté, the eldest daughter of Jonathan IV of Tortall. She’s also the daughter of Thayet jin Wilima, formerly the Princess of Sarain, now Queen of Tortall (obviously), the only daughter of Adijun jian Wilima and Kalasin of the K’miri...oh, I forget the Clan. The usual reasons. Kay will drag me to Tortall at the end of summer for it, I believe. She’s writing to you too, by the way, and says that if you’ve let her garrison run to fat she’ll stuff you down your horse’s gullet. I promised to bring her up on charges of cruelty to horses.
She still hasn’t guessed about us. You would think that my twin, of all people, would have noticed by now, wouldn’t you? Then again, I have no idea of her romances, so maybe it’s not so surprising.
I just wanted to wish you good luck for the rest of your career, though I am sure that you won’t need it. I hope you will live a long and happy life, and may fortune always grant your heart’s desire.
Yours
Yevgen
He signed it neatly, then sealed the short letter and addressed it. He held it in his hands for a minute or two before putting it in onto a pile of other, more official looking correspondence.