For the Imperials, on a very practical side, was the problem of working out details of Saren coronation rituals without the Tortallans discovering their relative ignorance of such matters. Historically, the Imperials had not been terribly concerned about the affairs of nations west of the Roof, for the logistical reasons that they were too geographically removed to be of any real interest. By the time the conflict in Sarain had made conquest a viable option, the Saren no longer bothered with little ceremonies like coronation ceremonies (and other unnecessary niceties, like justice and chivalry, for example). In the Empire, the coronation of the Empress (and on at least five recorded occasions, Emperor) was simply a matter of the prospective monarch placing the Diadem on their head and swearing an oath to serve and defend the Empire, all the while surrounded by a large number of knights prepared to permanently silence anyone who might suggest that the candidate wasn’t going to do a good job. Not that they all did, of course, but given the sometimes murky nature of Imperial politics, any candidate resilient enough to get as far as the coronation deserved a sporting chance to rule the Empire. The Eastern Lands seemed to place a great deal of importance towards the gods, so the Imperials went to research the significance of Mithros, the Mother Goddess, and the others of the parthenon worshiped in the Eastern and Southern Lands. Religion did not play a large part in the daily lives of the Imperials (or at any rate, in the Imperial aristocratic and professional classes, to which nearly all knights belonged), and compared to their neighbours, the Imperials were practically atheists.
In the confusion between planning the ceremony, the banquet, the departure, the clothes, the retinues, and such, it seemed that the bride and groom were almost forgotten.
Kally slipped away from the army of seamstresses and tailors employed to make her wedding gown and trousseau with surprising difficulty. Her mother was taking a very motherly, and very un-Thayetlike interest in Kally’s wardrobe, and had insisted that her daughter be present, and even to help with the embroidery. The last confirmed Kally’s sneaking suspicion that her mother was acting out wedding plans that had previously been ruthlessly quashed, rather than drastically changing her personality, which was the other possibility. Kally knew little about her parents’ wedding, only that, counting the time between her mother’s arrival in Tortall, her father’s coronation, the wedding, and her brother’s birth, that it was quite a rushed affair, with the absolute minimum of pomp and ceremony considered necessary for a royal wedding. She knew the arguments for having the wedding as quickly as possible, though. At the time of her father’s coronation, there had been no clear heirs to the fractured Tortallan throne – only third and fourth cousins, all of whom would have sent the country into civil war had the unthinkable happened to the young King– and it was absolutely necessary to secure the succession. The birth of Kally's brother, less than a year later, must have soothed many anxious fears. Also, with her mother’s childhood spent in Sarain, and fully expecting an arranged marriage with somebody completely loathsome, Kally could guess that the then-Princess Thayet had not even dared to hope for a marriage built on love, or to take part in wedding preparations with joy.
All things considered, Kally had to admit that Prince Yevgen was not a bad option, but that didn’t mean she wanted to sit inside in a solar for days on end, as her mother exorcised long-repressed fair-princess-about-to-wed-handsome-prince fantasies. She doubted that Queen Thayet would ever admit that such feelings were the motivation for her intense interest in her daughter’s nuptials, even to herself. She had taken scrupulous care in helping to organize the wedding of her son and Princess Shinkokami, but as fond as she was of Shinko, even the redoubtable Queen Thayet the Peerless acknowledged that there was a vast gulf of difference in last-minute preparations for a son’s betrothed, no matter how fond of the girl she might be, and organizing the wedding of her own daughter.
That being said, Kally still had to get out into the fresh air or she would go mad. She finally retreated to the stables, to apologize to her palfrey for not taking him up north, and to the two ponies, for having done so. Onua, after consultations with a bemused Daine, had given the pair to Kally with an exasperated expression, saying only that they were lazy sods who preferred the luxury of royal stables to real work. A beautiful creamy destrier who was part of the string given to the Conté family by the Imperials had also been assigned to her, the others being distributed between father, mother, brothers and sister, with the remaining three being given to Cousin Gary, her honourary Uncle Raoul, and Alanna, who didn’t like being called ‘Aunt’, even in an honourary capacity. The gelding seemed to understand that he would no longer be a proper warrior’s mount, and was sulking accordingly. Kally didn’t want to know what he was thinking. The mastiff puppy, miffed at her abandonment during the Scanran campaign, had found a new home with her brother Liam.
She was not completely surprised to see Prince Yevgen there, and, from the hunted look on his face, similarly avoiding the horde of tailors. He bowed politely at her approach, and she was ridiculously pleased to find that he gave her a smile of genuine welcome. He was talking to Everglade, evidently about hunting.
“Escaping too?” Kally asked lightly.
“Yes,” he shuddered. “I had no idea that Kay could get so enthusiastic about something that didn’t directly involve horses, steel, or maps.” He seemed to pause, as though trying to form words. “I hope you won’t take it as a slight that she has to return home straight after the….ceremony.”
That was the first Kally had heard of it, so she could not. “Of course not,” she covered, secretly seething that nobody had bothered to tell her. She’d assumed that the princess would journey back with them on the Imperial flagship.
“She felt that it was best to…er…give us…that is, you and I…some…er…privacy.”
To her intense surprise, there were two spots of colour, high on his cheekbones, clearly visible despite the tan he acquired north.
“How is she to get back then, without the ship?” it slipped out before it occurred to Kally that he might not be permitted to tell her.
“We have ways.” He smiled. “As to the reason why her early departure was not planned for earlier, our elder sister has recently become engaged. Kay wishes to attend…well, more than wishes…she is required to attend the betrothal celebrations. They’re set to take place about a week and a half after….after the…our wedding.” He was somber again. Kally wondered if, like her, despite their growing acquaintance over the last month or so, he was uneasy about the whole process. She honestly could not blame him.
“Do you know the Princess Rislyn’s betrothed?” Kally asked, to take the attention off their own wedding.
“Yes…somewhat. He’s a member of one of our larger Imperial noble families, and he’s got somewhat of a reputation as a gifted fighter who can also scribble a rather nifty stanza or two.” He paused. “We’ll be expected to go to their wedding in Bersone next year,” he added.
“What are Imperial weddings like?” Kally asked, curious. So far, the preparations for their own nuptials had been in the Eastern style, with no objections from the Imperial party.
“They’re much less…formal…” he appeared to have difficulty choosing the right word. “…and….umm…rarer.”
Kally raised an eyebrow, surprised.
“The Delmaran family, as you might have guessed by now, is matriarchal, as are most of the older and more powerful Imperial families. Formal marriages, as such, are quite rare, as they aren’t really necessary for the succession. Traditionally, only the Imperial Heir, if she is of suitable age, marries. Reigning Empresses don’t, as a rule, though nobody really knows why, if the Heir does.” He shrugged. “I don’t tend to argue too much with little inconsistencies like that. It didn’t make much difference with my parents.”
Since Yevgen had never mentioned his father, and spoke of his mother only as ‘the Empress’ Kally leant forward, interested, but he volunteered little information. “My father died a few years ago in a hunting accident.” he told her abruptly.
“I’m sorry,” Kally said automatically. She waited, as it appeared that he was going to continue. When he didn’t she put forward another question. “Do you think that your twin will marry, now that both your sister and…you…are?”
He snorted. “I doubt it. It would be a breach of protocol, even if Kay wanted to give up her freedom to keep company with whatever man she likes that particular moment. Younger princesses, particularly those who are so obviously capable of rule, like Kay, don’t, unless they intend on mounting a challenge to the diadem. Which, of course, she has no intention of doing,” he added hastily. “The formality of marriage is only customary for the Imperial Heir, as it’s politic that the fathers of Empresses conceived before their mothers take the Diadem are official members of the Imperial House. It doesn’t really matter who fathers the daughters of the reigning Empress. Kay will be strongly advised against marriage unless it proves that Ris won’t be able to have children, and nobody will be sure of that for years.” He shook his head. “Hopefully that won’t happen, for Kay’s sake. She won’t really have the sort of career she wants without more extensive battle experience that the Scanran campaign, and mother and the rest of the Council won’t let her do anything more dangerous than that until Ris has a daughter or two.” He forced a smile. “I also have the sneaking suspicion that - aided by Justinia and Radanae, who are my sister’s close friends – my twin also assured the said Council that the Scanran campaign was far less dangerous than it really was.”
Kally, who understood such tactics and the sentiments behind them, laughed with him. They stayed in the stables until pages were sent out to look for them, talking about horses, the Empire, their siblings, Tortall, Scanra, everything, in fact, except the two things that both of them desperately wanted to discuss, but didn’t dare to – the wedding, and Sarain.
As one of her mother’s ladies came to lead her back to the stuffy solar for yet another dress fitting, Kally caught herself thinking that Yevgen was everything a girl could possibly hope for in a husband…except for one thing. She didn’t love him. However, though, Kally admitted, she liked him very much, and it would not take a great deal for her to be persuaded to fall in love with him. She admonished herself for thinking such ridiculous thoughts. It was an arranged marriage, for political and magical reasons, and feelings didn’t come into it at all. She was just so grateful, after considerations of the candidates from Maren and Galla, that he was young, intelligent, handsome and pleasant-mannered, that she was feeling so fond of him.
Such arguments had less and less weight as Kally found herself slipping away at every opportunity she had to go and talk to her betrothed.
*******************
Chapter 13 – Wedding Bells
It wasn’t really much of a bachelor party, Radanae decided the night before the wedding. It was too civilised. Yevgen was a quiet sort at the best of times, a character trait that was a vital survival skill for any young royal with no aspirations for ultimate power, but a need to convince others of that.
However, it was not for want of trying. Somebody (Rislyn, probably, Radanae guessed) had been thoughtful enough to include many of Yevgen’s old Academy friends in the units sent to Tortall, and somebody (Kay) had judiciously kept them all with the groups remaining for the wedding. The Empress had evidently felt enough guilt about packing her only son off to a place that most Imperials regarded as beyond the ends of the world, and among her presents was a sumptuous wine service, and several dozen bottles of the finest Imperial vintages.
Well, there had been several dozen bottles at the beginning of the evening, at least. Whether there would be any at the end of the evening was another question entirely. There had been the traditional fare for the groom’s bachelor party, either shipped from the Empire, or carefully made in the Palace kitchens by the prince’s friends themselves. Radanae helped herself to another spiced biscuit, meant to symbolise a lively marriage and spirited children. There was an air of reserve, of politeness in the room, which was soundly counter to what anyone might expect of a good-sized group of young knights, especially those from (mainly) wealthy families and who were friends of younger royal children. There was none of the good-natured ribbing, the obscene teasing, the too-detailed suggestions and advice that should have been a part of any respectable Imperial bachelor party. Even though Radanae had only been to a few (most knights, with the exception of the Imperial Heir and those non-inheriting children of the greatest families, didn’t marry until they were well into their twenties) she could sense that there was something seriously wrong.
In the Empire, bachelor parties were held by both the bride and the groom, and attended by their friends of both genders, so with the traditional presence of a great deal of alcohol (it symbolised fertility or something or another. After a few pints it didn’t really matter), they had a rather murky reputation for questionable behaviour. The most memorable one Radanae could remember had involved honey, an ant’s nest, and a great many apologies from the unentomologically inclined the next day. Well, she couldn't have told the difference between harmless sugar-ants and fire-ants with their painful stings in the dark, even if she was sober. Yevgen’s party, however, was going to be memorable only for its sheer dullness. Even Yevgen’s former roommate, Sir Aulan Ithoku, who could be relied upon to say something completely tasteless at any occasion (on a biographical note, he was attempting to single-handedly write critical reviews of every single courtesan-house in the Empire) kept his conversation on the difficulties of transporting copper pipes and marble to the new Palace Yevgen had built in the Saren capital.
Everyone seemed to be very concerned with not mentioning the wedding, or Princess Kalasin, more than was strictly necessary. Radanae couldn’t really see why. It was not as thought cadets led cloistered lives, after all, and even those who didn’t know about the prince’s relationship with Felara Eriel (i.e., those who were living on a different plane of existence), would not have supposed that a twenty year old Imperial knight would be unfamiliar with the facts of life.
Yevgen himself seemed reasonably content with his fate, although that may have been at least partially due to the forethought of Kay adding a little poppy-juice to his wine. He appeared to at least like Princess Kalasin, and some of that feeling was reciprocated, but his twin was not going to take the chance of any last-minute pre-wedding jitters manifesting in flight (both metaphorically and physically).
Radanae swirled the wine in her glass, wondering why it was called ‘white’ when it was really closer to a yellowish. At that point, however, Princess Berenice had obviously had enough of everyone’s too-diplomatic conversation and stood up.
“Oh bother this!” she said loudly (‘bother’ was not precisely the word she used. She was a bit tipsy). “What’s a party without dancing? Come on someone, get some music! Let’s all drink a bit more and fall over giggling. We might as well all have some fun.” She determinedly slammed down another glass of wine and gave the rest of the room a stern glare, almost ordering them to enjoy themselves and behave as though it was a real party.
Meanwhile, in Princess Kalasin’s rooms, the gathering was a bit more dignified, even if the sense of slightly forced gaiety was present. Queen Thayet had given her the traditional, completely unnecessary ‘talk’ about the facts of life, more out of a sense of motherly duty than any real ignorance on Kally’s part.
“I had always hoped that my children could marry for love, like I did,” Thayet said softly as she helped brush out Kally’s hair. It was shorter than it had been (she’d cut off a good chunk of it during the Scanran campaign), and so such assistance was hardly necessary, more a bond between mother and daughter. “I am sorry that this happened.”
“It’s all right, mother,” Kally said, not meeting her mother’s eyes in the mirror. She didn’t really want to say it, feeling that it sounded a bit cloy, but she felt that a marriage for love was the least her mother might have got as compensation for her childhood experiences. Thayet had been about Kally’s age when she’d had to flee across a continent, pursued by assassins, with a teenaged Buri the only companion she really knew, having to place her trust in a scandalous female knight, a deadly warrior and a dour man-at-arms. Kally, at least, except for the knighthood issue, had managed to get practically everything she wanted, and, for a princess, had managed a reasonably happy life so far. She supposed that there had to be a price for everything. Yevgen wasn’t so bad, all things considered. She stole a look at her younger sister.
Princess Lianne sat on the bed, with a list in her hand. Kally knew that it contained the names, ages and characteristics of some of the eligible men and boys in the Eastern and Southern Lands. There was a second, shorter list of Imperials. Of the first list, there were a depressingly small number with ages that had a ‘1’ or ‘2’ prefix who might have also been politically valuable. There were a horrifyingly large number who were at least as old as their father. Kally hoped that Lianne would, at least find some sort of contentment when the time came for her.
There were five other women in the room – Buri, of course, and Alanna. Kally sometimes felt that her honorary aunt was more indignant about Kally’s arranged marriage that Kally herself was, were it possible. Daine, who Kally was fond of and often exchanged Healing tips with, was there, as was Crown Princess Shinkokami and the lady knight, Keladry of Mindelan.
“Do you think that you’ll wear the pearls or the sapphire necklace?” Shinko, as always, was the one who began the conversation on an innocuous topic, when the silence was beginning to become deafening.
“The sapphires, I think,” Kally said, glad to get her mind onto frivolous things. “The pearls wouldn’t really have much of an impact with the dress.”
Kally’s wedding dress was a stunning creation of silver-shot ice blue silk, weighted at the hem with hundreds of tiny pale blue baroque pearls, each matched in colour, shape, and size. With it, she would wear the sapphire necklace that was Prince Yevgen’s supposed betrothal present (which, after a little subtle probing, Kally had found that he had actually seen before he sent it), pearl earrings that were all her mother had of Kally’s namesake’s once famed jewellery collection (the rest had gone to fund the Warlord Adijun’s wars), and the Conté family tiara. The tiara was a delicate, fragile creation of white gold and diamonds, and suited her far better than the heavier, more ostentatious pieces that made up the Tortallan Crown Jewels.
“That will look very nice.” It was obvious that the lady knight wasn’t terribly interested in the co-ordination of jewellery and gowns, but Kally was somewhat grateful for the effort Lady Keladry was making. She wasn’t very close to the lady knight, but was well aware that she was friends with Shinko, and was also very well thought of among the female Imperial knights, who had adopted her into their ranks.
Thinking of female knights, Kally was surprised, and no little shocked, that she no longer felt the jab of jealousy and resentment she once had when she had first met them. Time, of course, she supposed, though she knew that she still envied their ease, their freedom to do as they pleased. She especially envied her sister-in-law, who had all the benefits of royalty, and was not only a knight, but would probably not need to make a marriage at all, much less an arranged political one. She gave a little inward sigh. Acceptance, perhaps, of her situation – or was it a useless rationalisation, a feeble attempt to somehow find some sort of happiness in an impossible situation? She only wished that she knew.
“He’s a pleasant enough lad,” Buri said gruffly, with a little show of reluctance. Kally stared at her. The stocky K’mir had said little about the Imperials save to remark that their equestrian training was ‘rather good’, and that some of the birds that they flew were similar to those that roamed the Saren mountains. “I’m not just saying that to make you feel better, Kally,” she continued, “that would not only be wrong, but insulting when things are so serious. I think…I think that you two could very well be happy together. I don’t say that lightly. I do know what it’s like to be happy with someone, hard as it may be to believe.”
Buri rarely spoke about her liaison with Lord Raoul, for all that it was hardly a secret and really not much of a scandal except among the fustiest of conservatives. It was the second real surprise out of Buri in as many sentences.
Kally looked at Daine, who shrugged. “I have no idea what he’s like. Everglade says that he is a good partner who thinks of his charges, human and animal, before himself.”
“Everglade?” the Queen asked.
“His horse.” Kally replied swiftly, and then realised that the other six were looking at her with indulgent expressions. Kally turned up her nose and ignored them. She changed the subject. “I’ve been re-reading the treaty. Has anybody noticed that there’s a hole in it?” She reached under her desk and pulled out a bound book, surprisingly dog-eared for such a new document. “There’s nothing about…er…succession. It states very clearly just what’s going to happen once his Highness and I get there, and get crowned, but not what happens…after us.”
“Ah. The Ambassador and I discussed that after you left.” Thayet produced another, more slender volume titled ‘Addendum’. “Seeing as there are such differences between the two lands as to succession, not to mention Saren traditions on the matter. In brief, it states that one of you rules alone should one of you…er…predecease the other, and only with the abdication or passing of both of you shall there be a new King…or Queen…of Sarain. I believe that we have cautiously put forward that the Heir Presumptive be the eldest knighted child, a compromise between all the positions taken by the various parties. But…” she paused, “I hasten to say that these proposals aren’t binding – neither the Empress, not your father and I have signed them yet.”
Kally received the book into her hands with a look of slight disbelief. Her mother mentioned the possibility that Sarain might be ruled by a line of female knights, a position that was completely alien to nearly all countries west of the Roof, with perfect casualness. She wondered how soon it would be before more Imperial influence began to show in the Eastern and Southern Lands. After the tournaments and competitions with the initial delegation and the ‘support force’, there had been an extraordinary number of applications from girls of noble families to train as knights. She expected Lord Wyldon must have nearly had an apoplexy when he found out that there were actually more girls than boys among the first year pages to start the following autumn. However, that was more because all the boys were ten-year-olds, and the girls ranged in age from ten to fourteen. She supposed that if her mother gave birth to another daughter now (and that was not impossible, Kally knew – Queen Thayet was barely forty), that it might be perfectly acceptable for that princess to be a knight.
However, that was mere conjecture, and a decade away. It was now well past midnight, and with deadly finality, Kally knew that by the end of the day, she would be married, to a young man she knew just well enough to talk to, and preparing to leave to rule a country that she had never seen.
The wedding morning was bright and cheerful. Too cheerful for Radanae’s taste, as she braced herself and stuck her head under the icy cold water of the tap. They’d had to presence of mind to bundle the semi-drugged Yevgen off to his bed at a reasonably sensible hour, but, after that, his guests at the bachelor party had promptly discarded their common sense to toast their friend’s departure from the carefree world of the bachelor, no matter how uneasy they were about the prospect. Radanae supposed that they should at least be grateful that Kay had anticipated their utter wretchedness and had ordered them all to ready their wedding finery before heading off to the party.
Kay, damn her Imperial soul, could drink a shipful of sailors under the table and never got hung over. She was whistling as she pinned her hair up and secured it with a coronet of platinum set with amethysts and rubies. Luckily, the rich Imperial colours suited her, unusual for someone of such a pale complexion (she and Yevgen both took after their father), so she looked regal and dignified, rather than washed-out.
Clanking from the next room indicated that someone had bullied Justinia and the others into their draped tunics and ceremonial armour. Radanae sighed and slid into her dress, carefully positioning it so that the two traditional daggers in their sheaths strapped to her thighs were easily reachable through slits in the skirt. Not that she anticipated any trouble, of course – by the time that any trouble got through the Palace Guard, the King’s Own, and the Imperial Honour Guard, things would have been so bad that she wouldn’t be interested in anything other than self-preservation. She did not have any official place in the ceremony, so she could walk the short distance to the chapel where the wedding would take place, while other members of the party would take part in the meandering bridal procession through the city.
Somebody had managed to get Yevgen up, and get him into his finery. Someone had acutely judged that the brightness of the Imperial colours didn’t suit him as well as it did his sisters (unusual, since he and Kay looked so similar), and instead clothed him in more subdued tones. He settled for a silvery grey, with the sheen of silk and the depth of suede, reserving colour for his surcoat. Yevgen had a coronet as token of his rank, though his was of yellow gold and had garnets with the amethysts rather than rubies. He would not wear a sword, as token that this marriage was one made of peace, not war. (He would, of course, probably have a knife up one sleeve and a dagger in his boot, but that wasn’t the point). The sedative had evidently worn off, and he seemed to be…well…not resigned….almost…accepting? Radanae hoped so, for she was well aware that governance was never easy at the best of times, and it helped to have someone intelligent, and capable that you got along with to help. However, if one didn’t get along, ruling alone was infinitely preferable.
Later, Kalasin would say that she didn’t really recall very much of the events leading up to the ceremony. She had a vague impression of donning the dress, having her hair done, refusing more lip rouge, and the unfamiliar feeling of riding sidesaddle. She sensed, rather than saw, the crowds that lined the streets of Corus to wish their princess well. She knew that they were back in the Palace grounds, before the chapel, when her elder brother appeared at her stirrup to help her down. If she was riding properly, she would have needed no such assistance, but sidesaddles were a nuisance.
Yevgen was waiting at the altar, before the priest and priestess, with a look of polite interest, which all changed when he saw her. His expressions were subtle, but Kally fancied that she could read his face by now. She had known he thought her attractive – announced it, too, on numerous occasions – but his expression, unguarded for a moment or two, was pure admiration – and a little more. She felt ridiculously pleased at that, even as he reached out a hand to hers and they stood before the priest and priestess to make their vows. Someone had special rings made – of plain gold, but adorned with the crest of old Sarain, and flanked on either side with the arms of Tortall and the Empire in little enamelled discs. She couldn’t even remember their first kiss, though afterwards, Shinko, with a little snort of disgust, had remarked that it was so short that it didn’t really count – more of a greeting between friends than the sealing of the contract between husband and wife.
She must have turned, as they walked back down the aisle together, everything coming through a golden haze, until suddenly, everything was sharply, harshly clear.
“Get down!” the shout came from a voice that was unused to panicking, but was rapidly getting the hang of it. “Find cover!”
Things were at once slowed down so she could see them in deadly clarity, and yet so fast that she could do nothing about them. She felt the breath knocked out of her as Yevgen shoved her to the cold stone floor of the chapel, covering her body with his own. Over his shoulder, she saw archers pick off a figure from the left side – or was it right? - of the high walls, perched in the shadows formed by a flying buttress. There was screaming, and confusion, all around her, as courtiers streamed out while the King’s Own, the knights (both Imperial and Tortallan), weapons drawn, scanned the rest of the building.
There was a wetness on her hand. Curious, Kally turned her head, to find that it was covered in blood. She wasn’t sure whether it was hers or not, because, just then, for the second time in just a few months, she passed out.
Her last thought was that she hoped that it wouldn’t become a habit. It was really very inconvenient.
******************
Chapter 14 – New Beginnings
The all-penetrating sulphurous waft of smelling salts hit the Princess Kalasin’s nasal membranes with a punch, forcing her to gasp for air and sit up, her vision coming dizzyingly into focus.
“How long have I been out?” she coughed, as soon as she managed to wipe the tears from her eyes.
“Only a few minutes,” Buri, looking resplendent in her favourite (of two) formal red gown, pocketed the little vial, then looked around. “Well, at least we now know the quickest way to clear a room.”
Most of the guests had somehow vanished while Kally was unconscious. The only ones remaining appeared to be the delegation of Imperials who had come to the wedding ceremony, the guards, and Kally’s family and close friends. She tried to stand up, and Buri rushed over to assist her as she winced from the bruises she’d received from her hard landing on the stone floor. There was still blood on her hand and arm, but she couldn’t feel any cuts or wounds.
“The blood’s Yevgen’s” Buri said in answer to Kally’s unspoken question. “One of the crossbow bolts grazed his shoulder. Baird says that it looks worse than it is, just messy….” Buri trailed off as she noticed that Kally was no longer listening, having turned to face the little crowd around her husband.
He’d taken off his shirt and tunic for Duke Baird to examine the injury. With a start, Kally realised that it was the first time she’d seen Yevgen in any state of undress – even in the Healer’s tents on the Scanran border, he’d always at least been in shirtsleeves. Perhaps it was an inappropriate time, but Kally noted that her previous musings on the subject of Yevgen without his shirt were fairly accurate – muscled without seeming bulky, with a compactness that was somewhat at odds with his tall frame. With a little noise of satisfaction, Baird cleaned the last of the blood away – there was a bloodstained cloth in a little bowl of bloody water – and then set his hands on the prince. The myriad of little cuts vanished, as though they had never been there.
A little further away were two bodies, both dressed in nondescript clothes, near standard crossbows, of the sort impossible to trace to any specific land or manufacturer. Several of the Own and the Imperial Knights were stripping them down in order to see if there were any clues as to their identities.
“Well,” said Queen Thayet, unflappable in any crisis, “I think that a more low key celebratory meal would be more appropriate.”
There was still the feast in the Great Hall, of course, and it was presided over by Sir Gareth the Younger and Lady Cythera, and most of the guests took the opportunity to eat fine food and gossip about the incident during the wedding ceremony earlier in the afternoon. Every theory became more spectacular than the last, ranging from Conté cousins to other noble families, to Scanra, Galla, Maren, Cathark, Tyra – even the Empire, though that was only spoken of softly, with the bulk of the Imperial guards in the Great Hall with the Tortallan nobles. The real wedding feast, however, took place in the royal family’s private dining room, with only family and friends of the two principals (who had hastily found changes of clothing) present.
Princess Berenice changed her plans and stayed with her brother, promising to see the Imperial investigation started before she departed for Bersone. Kally had a very good idea of how she was going to do that, especially considering Yevgen’s own talents in the shape-changing area, and his off-hand admission that such skills were generally more developed in female than in male members of the Imperial family.
Predictably enough, there was a subdued tone in the meal, that nobody’s skills in well-bred conversation could quite elevate. However, all things considered, nobody had ever imagined that this celebration would ever be the sort overflowing with cloying sweetness and joyful bliss anyway, so the politeness seemed to take on an almost surreal quality.
Kally only picked at her food, only dimly aware that the chefs had taken care to prepare all her favourite dishes, but everything seemed to have a heavy tastelessness. Her parents had brought out the best in the cellars, but, again, for all she recalled of them later, they might as well have served bilge water.
She caught a significant look between some of the members of the Imperial delegation and the prince after the desert course was removed. Yevgen gave a tight, barely perceptible nod.
With a rustle of silk, Kay stood and offered the first toast to the newly married couple. She was followed by various others, including Kally’s father. Kally had the uneasy feeling that both sides wanted Yevgen and herself out of the room so that everybody else could discuss the assassination attempt. She didn’t particularly want to be in a room where people were discussing who was trying to kill her, but she was even more uncomfortable with the idea of where she and her new husband would be while all the discussions were taking place.
Outside, the first stars had begun to appear, and the sky darkened to a deep blue-violet. They could hear the less honoured guests spill out from the feast in the main hall to laugh in the gardens.
There was a very uncomfortable silence after everyone who could legitimately have a reason to make a toast did so. A ridiculous part of Kally thought that if anyone had drunk an entire glass at each toast, as they were meant to, they would probably be suffering from a case of liver poisoning. However, that ridiculous part was rapidly being overcome by her nervous part, as they all rose to depart from the table. Yevgen bowed over her hand before leaving with his friends, while Kally was spirited off by mother and female friends.
When Roald and Shinko had married, this had seemed so different, Kally thought. Then, Shinko had been uncharacteristically giggly, and there had been a great deal of laughter as they escorted her to the chambers prepared for her and Roald on their wedding night. Though many of the women and girls who escorted Kally on the seemingly endless journey to her dressing room were the same, the mood could not possibly have been more different. She felt curiously detached to the whole business, as she had since that morning. It was as though she was watching another woman in the mirror as Shinko helped her remove the (slightly dented) diamond tiara and brush out her hair. She watched her own movements, as she mechanically changed out of her hastily found dinner dress and into a nightgown and wrapper of her favourite blue.
It was not until everyone had left her room, and the door closed with a final click, that the finality of her situation really sunk in. She was alone in a small dressing room, in her nightgown, with her husband of a few hours in the next room, and probably equally as uneasy about the whole business as she was. True, they had spoken a number of times in the last few weeks, and true, he had saved her life on more than one occasion – but that didn’t make what was to come any easier.
A noise on the other side of the door, where their bedroom was, caught her attention. She wondered how long he had been there. Reminding herself that knights had to face far more formidable enemies that a rather pleasant, handsome young man, she steeled her courage and placed a hand on the doorknob.
“We’ve identified one.” Justinia lay a sketch on the table. “He is somewhat familiar to us, if in a very different capacity. A former aide to Duxa Zytasi Nheqtl.”
It evidently meant something to the Imperials, but to the Tortallans, the knight might just as well have been spouting gibberish. There were glances exchanged between some of them and several knowing looks.
“A self-appointed, rather paranoid supporter of my sister.” Princess Berenice explained at last. “She has, in the past, cast some fairly unwelcome and inaccurate aspersions as to our – that is, Yevgen and my – long term ambitions.” It was delicately put, but everyone knew what she was talking about. There were significant looks of disapproval among the Tortallans. While no one denied that there was no shortage of heirs in any monarchical system wanting to move up the chain of succession, there was something inherently distasteful about suggestions that they were.
There was a pause. “The timing may be significant. The engagement of the Imperial Heir, coupled with the wedding of his Highness, could very well have convinced her that it was time to begin her self-appointed task of securing the Diadem for Princess Rislyn.”
Kay rolled her eyes in a very unprincess-like way. “Who is more than welcome to it. Anyone…and, no offence meant, Majesty, who takes a crown when they could avoid it, is mad, in my opinion. But I can see your point, Ambassador,” she turned to her brother’s new in-laws to explain. “A fear among the more…traditional…is that my brother may now begin a cadet line eligible for the Diadem. No,” she stopped the questions before they came, “it’s not an objection to her Highness, either personal or political. In most Houses, females lines of succession are very much favoured over male, being more…shall we say, reliable? However, neither males, nor male lines are technically barred, and that presents a problem for the more rabid of those who are currently currying favour with my sister. Since my sister is to wed before the end of next year, it is anticipated that there will no longer be such a need for so many…ancillary heirs…before long.”
More nervous exchanged glances from all present, whether Tortallan or Imperial. Most of the Imperials here, Sir Myles gathered, were those who had staked themselves with the military-minded second Princess, hoping for the safer reflected light, rather than the direct glare of the Diadem.
“Although,” she threw up her hands. “I expect that this is an isolated incident, and is unlikely to be repeated, certainly after I go back to Bersone and have a few words with a few people. However, Ambassador, I do expect security to be increased.”
Nods.
Lord Raoul coughed, “Sirs, Madames, we’ve also information on the second assailant. A Saren dissident, and supporter of the former Warlord zhir Anduo. Doubtless a last attempt to sabotage the foundation of a new Sarain. We’ve found no sign of any sort of co-ordinated plot or plan of any kind.”
“Let’s hope so, Lord Raoul,” Queen Thayet sounded very weary.
“A Saren who supported zhir Anduo, and had the means to come to Tortall would be in very sparse company,” Buri observed. “If there were such a group, they would be very small, but, from today, I think we an safely say that we cannot possibly dismiss anyone.”
“True.” Duke Gareth stood up with noticeable creaking of joints and unfurled another chart. “Here are some other groups…”
Kally lay beside her husband, listening to the soft sounds of his even breathing, feeling that soon, she too would drift off into sleep. She supposed that she should be pleased that Yevgen was a quiet sleeper, not inclined to snore or to hog the blankets, though after only a few minutes it was hard to tell.
“I wonder what conclusion they’ve come to.” His low tenor voice started her, and she sat up suddenly.
“I thought you were asleep.” She said weakly as soon as she recovered.
“No,” she could just make out his smile in the soft candlelight as he turned on his side and leant his head on his hand. “That would be unforgivably ill-mannered – from an Imperial perspective, anyway.” His grin grew wider, and it was only then that Kally remembered to pull the sheet up to cover her front. Yevgen raised his eyebrows expressively, as though to remind her of the absurdity of that act in the circumstances, and Kally laughed and lay down again, this time facing him.
His eyes were very dark, and in the flickering light, she couldn’t make out the difference between pupil and iris. He really was terribly good-looking, and if she wasn’t careful, Kally would find herself falling in love with him, which she knew would be a very bad idea. Despite the physical evidence, she knew very well that his heart was already given – and even though he had given her his oath, and she knew that he could keep it, with body and with mind – the heart didn’t obey such things.
“Well,” he said lightly, trying to break the tension, “if I know my twin well, she should be careering back home right about now to try and strangle as many members of our eldest sister’s circle of self-appointed cronies as possible.”
“Why?”
A raised eyebrow. “Well, that they might have tried to kill you and I today, and will probably go after her in a few years is a fairly good reason. Succession wars are always a pain, particularly when the people who are actually involved have absolutely no intention of changing the succession. I believe that Kay and I are rather a disappointment to most of the Court. If not for you,” he kissed her lightly, unexpectedly on the lips, much to Kally’s surprise, “I would have been perfectly happy in some obscure post, far from the capital. Kay, of course, distresses them a great deal. She’s army-mad, and the military higher-ups adore her, but she’s far more likely to take herself out of the succession in some obscure border war than even consider trying to mount a coup de etat.”
Kally noticed that he did not mention Sarain, and was grateful for it. After all the…physical…had been awkward enough, if not at all unpleasant, and this could potentially have been far, far worse.
She was about to put in her fair share of the conversation, when there was a hesitant knock at the door, and then a piece of paper pushed under it. Yevgen slid out of the bed with a slightly annoyed look on his face, and found his discarded silk robe on the floor, knotting it around his waist as he went to the door.
Kally found herself admiring the way he moved, with a sort of easy, economical grace, as he bent and retrieved the note, conjuring a light to read by with an ease that suggested his abilities in the magical department were not quite as modest as he made them out to be.
He sat back on the bed, still looking mildly irritated. “She must be jittery. It could have waited until morning, but it seems that she just left.” He handed Kally the note. It was from his sister, apologising for any interruptions (with a slight darkening of ink for ‘interruptions’) and stating that so far evidence pointed to an Imperial politician whose name Kally had no idea how to pronounce, and a Saren as being responsible for the attack in the chapel.
“She’ll have started back to Bersone to confront Nhqetl. I swear, that woman gets more paranoid every year. One of the nuts at Court,” he explained. “She has a very unreasonable attitude to spare heirs running around.”
Kally didn’t quite know what to say about that. While she could not honestly deny that any monarchy would have difficulties should there be multiple claimants to power, the opposite would be just as bad.
“Humm…” he appeared to be thinking. “I wonder, would you have any great objections to ...er...leaving a day or two earlier than planned? I say it because if someone wants to finish the job they tried to start today, the next opportunity will be on the road to Port Caynn. We’ve made no secret of our plans, and an unexpected departure should put them off balance.”
He seemed extraordinarily composed about the idea of several people actively trying to kill him, and Kally mentioned it. He blushed slightly and ducked his head. “I’m used to it. There have been half-hearted attempts before, so I have been taught how to foil them before it gets to the fist-fight stage.” He sighed. “Assassination is considered a perfectly ordinary, if slightly impolite way to express a political opinion in Bersone. I confess that I’ll be very glad to leave it behind.” A grin. “From what I’ve heard of most of the K’mir and Saren lowlanders, they’ll at least come at me directly with steel instead of skulking around in dark corners.”
Kally couldn’t really imagine being glad to leave her home behind. She had always known that she would have to do it, for the good of Tortall, and had been resigned to it. “Will you miss any of it?” she asked him, moving over so he could get back under the covers.
“My friends, of course – but most of them are stationed all around the Empire, so I wouldn’t have seen them very often even if I was in Bersone. My family – well, my sisters, at least, can go where they please, and far quicker than almost anyone else can. (Kally knew that he wasn’t talking about simply having the best horses and boats) No matter how much I like them though, I think I’ll be happy to be my own person, no longer just the Empress’s son, playing a very poor third to Rislyn-the-Heir and Kay-the-soldier.”
Kally could feel, even beneath his light tone and his obvious affection for both his older sisters, his desire to prove himself, his need to get away from where he was in the company of those familiar with the rest of his family. Where Kally saw Sarain as exile and obligation, he saw an opportunity to forge his own path, away from the intrigue of court. Perhaps that was better, to look to what might be, rather than what might was.
They left for Sarain a few days later, much to the consternation of the Palace seamstresses and tailors, who had anticipated more time to make Kally’s clothes. It was, as Yevgen had predicted, an incident-free ride to Port Caynn and the Imperial fleet that had come to escort their Prince and his bride to his new kingdom. However, a more cynical observer might have remarked that was equally due to the large numbers of the King’s Own and various other military units keeping a wary eye on anyone who so much as looked suspicious. After the incident in the Palace Chapel itself, no one was taking any chances.
The voyage to Sarain was calm and uneventful, and they were met at the remaining Saren port for their journey inland to the capital. Kally was unnerved at the way some of the older K’mir in their escort darted sideways glances in her direction, until Yevgen showed her some portraits of her grandmother that they’d found hidden away in a secret room in the burned out Old Palace. The resemblance wasn’t really physical, as far as Kally could see, but her husband assured her that her impact was the same as that of her fabled grandmother.
They were crowned at the beginning of winter, in a ceremony that drew primarily on old Saren and K’mir traditions, from the days before the Warlords, with slight touches of Tortallan pageantry and Imperial directness. Both of Yevgen’s sisters were there – Kally was somewhat relieved to meet the slightly imperious Rislyn at last, and even more relieved to find that she was a confident, pleasant young woman with no intentions to influence the chains of succession. Kay did not speak much regarding the Imperial part of the assassination attempts, but there was a definite air of satisfaction around her.
Though unexpectedly early winter storms had seemed to prevent Roald, Shinko and Lianne from travelling to the coronation as they had planned, the Imperials obviously had another way to travel. Kally never found out what it was, and her husband either did not know, or (more likely) was not permitted to tell her, but since both Roald and Lianne were sick for days afterwards, she hoped that she never would.
The Empress Vanaria died the following year, just after the wedding of her elder daughter and heir. The Empress Rislyn took the Diadem, and afterwards, there was quite a dramatic change among the courtiers and power-players in the capital. A few who had counted themselves supporters of the new Empress had rather unpleasant surprises. Not only did she fail to remove her brother and sister even after she had daughters of her own, she made no attempt to hinder their own ambitions. They repaid her trust and more. Princess Berenice was one of the greatest generals even the Empire’s long history had ever seen, and with her two chief lieutenants, Justinia Ferox and Felara Eriel, made an already formidable Empire all but invincible from exterior threat. Rislyn also extended the territory of Sarain, giving her brother the King governance not only of the original Kingdom, but incorporating many of the smaller principalities that lay along the Roof of the World, thus stabilising the traditionally difficult western front. For what it was worth, Sarain’s new borders extended over and past the Roof to the plains on the other side, but neither King Yevgen nor Queen Kalasin were ever such fools to feel that they had to enforce it.
As for King Yevgen and Queen Kalasin, their reign in Sarain was long and peaceful, a new Golden Age for that war-torn land, which became rich not only with its own produce, but also the trade that flourished between the lands either side of the Roof. After them, their daughter Queen Lillias (both Yevgen and Kally felt it was time to stop recycling names), an Imperial knight, continued their work, and her sons and daughters after her.
Did they ever fall in love? Well, the great Imperial stateswoman Radanae Gavrillian, dictating her memoirs long after everyone in them was dead and gone, declared that they had been in love long before they, or anyone else, for that matter, had even so much as considered the possibility.
But then again, she was always a romantic.
Not.
THE END