| |
Danek tightened his grip on his horse’s reins to prevent himself from chasing Lady Eliya back into the comparative safety of their own men.
How could he allow her to ride into that waiting formation of imperial predators?
If only he could snatch her into the shadows, and hide her in his realm, the humblest and least civilized people of all in the empire. At least she’d be safe for a time. She’d faced enough distress on this journey, and considering the glares of those grim-faced soldiers ahead, she was about to face more. Perhaps they’d all endure threats when these imperial soldiers learned of the recent attack on the Ceyphralanders’ cavalcade.
Aware of his own men subtly shifting their hands to their varied bows and swords, Danek guided his horse alongside Valo’s wearied gray, then spoke as low as possible. “Lord-prince, we’re beyond my lands, so it’s up to you to encourage peaceable rapport among our fellow-citizens of the empire.”
Valo gusted out an impatient breath. “Obviously! But what can they possibly want?”
“Perhaps they’re seeking the Ceyphraland cavalcade.”
The young prince tensed, aging before Danek’s gaze. Tight-voiced, Valo told Danek, “Guard my sister if I’m killed.”
“I’d prefer to think we’ll survive.” Yet, if he, Danek, should die, what would happen to the Walhaisii?
He mustn’t waste his energies on imagining disasters that could only happen after his death. Hadn’t the Liege preached in the Walhaisii foothills against borrowing trouble? He couldn’t change one hair on his own head by fretting over what couldn’t be helped—or by imagining calamities that might never happen.
Danek willed himself to relax and concentrate on the wall of soldiers arrayed before them. Obviously, Ceyphraland and Belvasae had deliberately chosen this show of joint force, though a ceremonial envoy with a decorative retinue wouldn’t have been as alarming to a royal cavalcade.
Before Valo could utter a word, Eliya called to the allied forces of east and south in exactly the right mix of regal indignation and bewilderment, “Sirs, I am Eliyana of Ariym, daughter of Rodiades the tetrarch of Khelqua. What’s happened? Why are Khelqua’s allies interfering with my wedding journey?”
As soon as she pronounced her name and her father’s name, the allied commanders and their men bowed their heads in brief, formal acknowledgement of her status. And, thank the Eternal, obvious respect for her rank. Even so, the most gold-decked of Ceyphraland’s crimson uniformed commanders lifted a gloved hand to halt her. “Lady, we were commanded to invite you to a council—an inquiry of Ceyfraland and Belvasae—before you cross the border into Trisguard. The council waits for you in the plains beyond us.”
Valo leaned forward, his voice surprisingly cold and authoritative. “Do you command my royal sister, sirs, or is she invited of her own free will?” Before they could ask, Valo added, “I am Lord-prince Valo of Ariym, second son of Tetrarch Rodiades of Khelqua, and my sister and I have the honor of being accompanied by Lord-king Danek of the Walhaisii. And his men.”
Valo bowed his head, acknowledging Danek’s higher status. Slight shifts threaded among the commanders and their subordinates like the uneasy stirrings of a cobweb caught in a breeze.
Compelling the lead commander to hold his gaze, and allowing his own irritation to show, Danek took advantage of their adversaries’ fresh uncertainties. “Whatever happens, sirs, we must inform you of unwelcomed news. Recently, we found an ambushed cavalcade from Ceyphraland—its citizens had been dead for several days, so we buried them and collected documentation and evidence for your lord-king. The cavalcade’s remains await your inspection in the plains just west of ancient Parneh. We offer our condolences for your country’s losses, and invite any further questions.”
The two commanders traded looks and sharply whispered words. At last, Belvasae’s commander shrugged. Ceyphraland’s commander motioned five men forward. “Go. Find the cavalcade and bring a full report to the king.”
His expression flat, remote, the Ceyphraland commander dismounted and bowed his head. “Lord-king of the Walhaisii, we thank you for the warning. As pertaining to my primary mission: please ride with us. I give you my oath that this council will benefit you and Khelqua. My lord, Aniketos, tetrarch of the eastern realm of Ceyphraland and his heir, Adalric of Rhyve, will certainly request the favor of your presence. As will Belkrates, tetrarch of the southern realm of Belvasae, and his heir, Belkian.”
Danek’s very being stilled. What brought the empire’s allied rulers together in the most desolate plot on the continent? He could not refuse their forced invitation. Nor could Eliya or Valo.
Eliya reined back her horse as if unsettled, but she addressed the lead commander coolly. “What about my betrothed, Laros Rakiar, tetrarch of the northern realm of Trisguard?”
“Messengers have been sent to inform him of the council. Lady, night approaches. Please, accept the empire’s invitation. We’ve no wish to battle you or ...” He bowed to Danek. “...the Walhaisii.”
A delicate grimace played over Eliya’s face, but she half-nodded, then swept a glance toward Danek and Valo, obviously seeking their opinions.
Danek exhaled, then shrugged. Was the Lady Eliya’s pending marriage of such great concern to Belvasae and Ceyphraland? Or were the imperial lord-kings maneuvering them all like pieces in some deceitful game of their own?
SHIFTING WITHIN HER saddle to ease her fatigue, Eliya studied the sprawling torch and lamp-lit encampment ahead. Its air of slumberous quiet reassured her. Yet weapon-wielding guards rimmed the camp as she and her exhausted cavalcade rode in, led by Ceyphraland’s torch-bearing foot-soldiers. In the camp’s center, more guards encircled two truly regal crimson and blue tents that glowed from within. Regiments of men could fit within those tents—not to mention the empire’s rulers and chief courtiers.
What grand schemes had the eastern and southern tetrarchs concocted?
As Eliya descended from her palfrey, Valo hurried to meet her and to whisper, “Now we’ll learn if we’re guests or prisoners.”
“Oh, I’d guess we’re prisoners. Why should we expect anything wonderful after all that’s happened on my wedding journey!”
“You’re right.” Valo’s voice was half-mirth, half-gloom in the darkness. “This is all your fault.” He gave her a bracing hug, then shook her lightly. “But, I forgive you—no matter what disaster you’ve led me into.”
Danek stalked over to join them as his horse was led away by his men. Even in the dark, Eliya saw his brooding mistrust of their hosts. “Have the lowland lord-kings quarreled with your betrothed?”
Watching their imperial guards forming ranks once more at the camp’s edge, Eliya whispered, “If they’ve quarreled, I haven’t heard of it. As far as we knew, they were all on good terms when I left Ariym. My lord-father communicated with the other tetrarchs routinely.”
“Until recently,” Valo reminded her. “Before we left, Father complained that we’d heard very little from the other realms since before Rakiar offered for you in marriage.”
True. Had there been a falling out among the other tetrarchs? Eliya scowled. “Look—our guards are about to take charge of us again. Any advice, Walhaisii?”
Danek grumbled, “Be wary of the empire’s politics—say as little as possible. And prepare for snow. There’s a breath of winter in the air.”
Pessimism and predictions of a storm from the Walhaisii highlands ruler. Well. The weather was approaching from his own realm. Eliya called to Torena and Vaiya, “Please bring our winter cloaks, then remain near.”
Ceyphraland’s guards halted, and their red-garbed commander bowed. “Your presence is expected in Ceyphraland’s tent.”
“As soon as I’ve received my cloak,” Eliya promised. While the men shuffled and traded impatient looks, she fixed her gaze upward, on the stars, watching them vanish behind a misted haze-like fog. Her winter cloak and Valo’s, unlike their owners, would be clean, beautiful, and worthy of being presented before the joint rulers of the Syvlande Empire. Her lord-father would agree they must be neat despite their journey. Even if this coerced meeting might send him into a royal rage.
Sooner than she’d expected, Torena and Vaiya returned, wearing their own winter cloaks and carrying hers and Valo’s. Obviously impatient, Valo snatched his cloak and swung it over his shoulders, careless of its gilded clasps. Eliya hid a smile. If only donning apparel could be so simple. She must wait and allow her ladies their work.
While Vaiya shook out its gold-embroidered, sable-edged purple-wool folds, Torena whisked away Eliya’s travel hat and veil, then replaced it with a simple gold circlet. She hurriedly combed back Eliya’s hair, then helped Vaiya fasten the heavy cloak over Eliya’s shoulders. Eliya whispered to them, “I wish I could carry weapons.”
“You’ll be surrounded by our prayers to the Eternal,” Torena promised.
“Thank you. Pray for the others in attendance as well.”
Her teacher’s eyes widened in the misty darkness. “Lady, remember: let your thoughts be disciplined, your words few and well-chosen.”
In other words, don’t lose her temper. “I’ll pretend I’m facing Kiyros during lessons. Did I ever lose patience with him?”
“No, but you routinely provoked him, and these men aren’t mere teachers!”
Valo reached for Eliya’s hand. “Torena’s right, and we’ve delayed too long. Enough stalling—one would think you’re afraid.”
One would be right. However ... “I wasn’t stalling.” She lifted their linked hands as if they were two fighters pledged to the same team. “May blessings emerge from this meeting.”
“Yes, if that makes you feel better.” Valo started toward the huge tent. Eliya tugged him to a halt. Valo glared. “What now? You are afraid.”
“Fear’s not why I stopped you.” Eliya stepped aside and glanced at Danek. “We should proceed in order of rank.”
“As you say.” The Walhaisii lord-king strode ahead, evidently determined to charge into the meeting and finish it as quickly as possible.
The guard announced their names—his full and authoritative voice drowning any polite conversation inside the huge tent. “Lord-king Danek of the Walhaisii. Lord-prince Valo of Ariym and Khelqua, and his sister, the Lady Eliyana of Ariym and Khelqua!”
Everyone stared, obviously curious—a highborn crowd bored with its own company. Could they actually be nothing more than a pack of spoiled royal idlers who’d journeyed to this wilderness for mere amusement? Eliya smiled, allowing her dark amusement to show. Yet, she must behave. At least Valo looked dignified. And regally handsome—worthy to stand among the royals facing them now.
Lord-king Aniketos, tetrarch of the eastern realm of Ceyphraland, stood and stared at her—his rank and country emphasized by the gold circlet on his yellow-white hair, and the Ceyphraland red and gold of his sweeping tunic and cloak. His reddened, rheumy eyelids sagged over his gray eyes, his broken-veined face implying a man wearied of life. Nothing like the determined, vigorous signature he’d routinely inked onto imperial documents sent to Khelqua.
Aniketos studied Eliya and Valo, then his glance shifted to Danek and turned remote. As if he’d donned a mask of courtesy. Clearing his throat, Aniketos nodded toward Danek, Valo, and Eliya. “On behalf of Ceyphraland, and my heir, Adalric of Rhyve, we welcome you.”
He flicked a careless hand toward a taller, younger, healthier version of himself. Adalric of Rhyve briefly bowed his head, then met Eliya’s gaze, frankly interested.
Another gold-crowned and imposing royal stepped toward Aniketos, then nodded at Danek, his dark blue and gold robes and weathered skin informing Eliya that she’d just met Belkrates, tetrarch of the southern realm of Belvasae. “Welcome to all on behalf of Belvasae. Thank you for attending us.”
Unlike Aniketos, Belkrates didn’t bother to introduce his heir. But beside him, a bored, dark-haired adolescent, with much the same thin physique, shifted from foot to foot as if he’d rather not attend this gathering. Were the rumors of Belkian, lord-prince of Belvasae true? Had the young lord truly fallen in love with a commoner? If so, was he fighting with his father to have her brought into the royal family?
Adalric of Rhyve cleared his throat, bringing Eliya’s attention toward him. Again, he gave her an appraising glance. Presumptuous. Ignoring him, she bowed toward both tetrarchs, then straightened. “My lords. We’re interested in your reasons for halting my wedding cavalcade. And ... we bring you news.”
Aniketos lifted one hand. “Let’s be seated and allow our food to be served. Then we’ll discuss your news.”
Servants brought unexpectedly comfortable red cushions, sang brief Chaplet worship prayers, then presented silver trays of food. Soft, pale bread, roasted lamb, fiery red sauces, dried fruits, and numerous choices of fried, boiled, and baked eggs. A springtime feast she’d no appetite for. Eliya forced herself to eat.
Belkrates picked at his food, and just as fussily, quizzed Valo and Danek for the news. Obviously, princess or not, Eliya was a female, unlikely to know anything important.
In sparse yet sympathetic terms, Danek described the devastated Ceyphraland cavalcade, adding, “I am sorry. My men are guarding the documents and valuables we found as we buried the dead—we’ll have them brought to you, Lord-king Aniketos, as soon as this meeting ends. No sealed boxes or parchments were opened, and we honored the dead with prayers and hymns. We’ll gladly answer any further questions.”
Around the tent, courtiers’ whispers and aggrieved expressions matched Aniketos’ bleakness. The eastern tetrarch set down his gilded goblet and exhaled. “Thus, I’ve lost an ambassador and some of my country’s finest clerks and servants.”
He lapsed into brooding silence, but slowly continued to eat. Belkrates toyed with a morsel of bread while Valo, seated beside Eliya, described Khelqua’s flood. Tremors shook Eliya, as the remembered death scents of humid air and broken soil evoked her country’s loss. She set aside her half-eaten food. As did Aniketos.
At last, after working his tongue over his teeth, either freeing half-chewed crumbs or biting back words, Ceyphraland’s lord-king sighed, then shook his head. “It seems my ambassador and servants would have been dispatched to the Eternal even if they’d reached their destination. Yet, natural or divinely predicted disasters must be accepted. Murderous mortals, however, are quite another matter.”
He gazed at Eliya for such a long moment that she almost forgot her grief over remembering the flood. “Eliyana of Ariym and Khelqua, we sent our servants—for the third time—to request that you marry my son. My first two messengers were never heard from again. And you saw the fate of the most recent ones.”
He’d sent three messengers? “That was the cavalcade’s mission?” Eliya swallowed. She’d been the indirect cause of all those deaths. Blinking down the first hints of tears, she managed, “We received no correspondence from Ceyphraland concerning marriage. Only from Trisguard.”
“Obviously.” Belkrates carelessly set a golden goblet onto his silver tray, allowing it to clatter. Then he spoke to the air above Eliya’s head. “This past year, two of my own messengers were lost to the wilderness around ancient Parneh. Those lands were ever a curse to us.” He lifted his chin at Valo. “What of Ariym? When do you expect to hear news of your lord-father?”
Valo handed an emptied dish to a servant. “If our messengers travel swiftly with no delays, we should greet them within a few days. Though I told them to meet us at the designated gathering place beyond Trisguard’s border.”
Aniketos said, “They will be met. As will Laros Rakiar.” He looked at Eliya. “Trisguard did not request our permission for your marriage, lady.”
Could these two infuriated tetrarchs dissolve her marriage contract? Did she want them to dissolve the contract? She wouldn’t be intimidated. Chin up, Eliya kept her voice low and neutral. “I didn’t realize. Again, his was the only realm that requested me.”
“That your lord-father knew of.” Aniketos coughed.
“Yes. We hope your lost messengers return soon.” An unlikely hope.
Had Laros Rakiar ordered his rivals’ messengers intercepted and killed?
She dared not ask aloud. Yet there was no need—she saw her unspoken question reflected in both tetrarchs’ eyes.
Amid a furtive hum of low-voiced comments from courtiers around the tent, Valo leaned toward her and whispered, “Better we endure this meeting now, than war against half the empire later.”
“True. I don’t believe we’re being blamed for the messengers disappearing.” Eliya studied the onlookers from beneath her lashes, trying to discern their mood. As she watched, a hitherto unobtrusive young noblewoman stood amid Ceyphraland’s still-whispering courtiers, splendid in gold-embroidered crimson, her dark flowing curls veiled, her extraordinary silver-eyed gaze fixed on Eliya and Valo.
Her rich crimson robes gently sweeping past others as she walked, the young noblewoman approached Eliya and Valo, then knelt between them. “Please excuse my possible rudeness. But if I wait for my uncle to remember to introduce me, I’ll be silver-haired or dead before we meet. I am Valeria Lantes, niece of my dear Lord-king Aniketos.”
This pleasant young lady was Aniketos’ niece? Moreover, judging by the fond look the girl cast toward Aniketos, she genuinely loved and admired her uncle. Eliya almost winced. Apparently, she’d judged Aniketos too harshly. Even now, Aniketos paused amid a hushed conversation with his heir and made a wry face at his niece. Trading him glance for jesting glance, Valeria wrinkled her small nose mischievously, then laughed. “See! Now he’s remembered. But I don’t blame my lord-uncle. He’s been troubled by too many matters of state these past few months. Listen ...”
She leaned toward Eliya. “I’ve heard you’ve been sleeping in your wagon during your journey. Would you and your ladies like to share my tent while you’re here? We’re quite outnumbered by the men. We might as well join forces. What do you say?”
Eliya smiled. Her beautiful violet and gold wagon, with its small tile-shielded iron stove and thickly cushioned beds, might prove warmer tonight if Lord-king Danek was correct about the coming storm. But she and Torena and Vaiya needed cheerful company. Grief and bleak memories of Khelqua hovered too near each night. “Thank you—yes.”
She glanced at Valo for his silent opinion.
He was gazing at Valeria as if she’d placed the world at his feet.
CRUSTS OF ICE BROKE under Eliya’s boots as she walked with Valeria to the central tent for morning meal. Snow, deep as her fingers were long, cloaked the ground and all undisturbed objects. Snow in Khelqua’s low river valley was rare. Too rare—she’d always enjoyed it as a child, and mourned as it melted away. Danek certainly had a knack for predicting storms. She’d compliment him this morning.
Her teasing silvery gaze bright, Valeria tugged Eliya’s arm. “Slow down! Now that we’re not surrounded by everyone, I want to warn you ... they plan to break your betrothal. My lord-uncle wants you to wed my cousin Adalric. If that’s true we’ll be cousins.”
Break her betrothal? Eliya lifted her eyebrows. “How can they break a legal and religious contract binding me to Laros Rakiar? And wouldn’t Belvasae object either way?”
“Ceyphraland is mightier than Belvasae, so Belkrates won’t be able to muster enough opposition. Besides, I’ve heard that Belkian’s secretly married. And what does it matter if Laros Rakiar objects? If your lord-father signed a contract, some clever Ceyphraland cleric will find a weak clause and declare it void. Or pay an open hand among the Chaplet hierarchy that’s willing to accept a bribe to break the agreement. Not that I approve.”
Valo crossed their path and grinned, then waited. Valeria tilted her head toward Eliya and murmured, “What I wish my family would do is plan my own marriage. To someone like your handsome brother. What if—”
Several more men halted and waited with Valo. Ceyphraland’s smiling lord-king, and his heir, Adalric. Catching her glance, Adalric grinned—wearing the satisfied look of a man planning to best an unseen foe.
Did he loathe Laros Rakiar?
Would she?
Standing just beyond the other men, Danek watched her. When she met his gaze, he looked away.
Until Adalric stepped forward, his brown eyes shining, admiring Eliya openly. “Well-met, cousin, and Lady Eliya. The snow, being warmed by such beauty, is bound to melt off by midday. Meanwhile, I pray to the Eternal and all the powers that be, to have Rakiar’s supply wagons frozen and all his roads unpassable for a week.”
“Why a week?” Eliya demanded.
“Because ...” Adalric lifted her hand without asking permission, then held it firmly within his gloved fingers. “Anything can happen within a week.” Lowering his voice, he added, “If I weren’t convinced I’d start a war, I’d steal you and run. Let the north deal with that.”
Eliya managed a smile. But his words nagged, even as his gaze measured her reaction. Did he actually intend to steal her? As if she were property.
She must talk to Valo. Adalric’s flirting wasn’t the only troublesome aspect of this ‘visit’ among the tetrarchs. Couriers wearing military insignias from Ceyphraland and Belvasae appeared with unnerving frequency. Each courier offered their respective tetrarch parchments and whispered messages, then vanished as swiftly as they’d appeared, evidently running relays throughout half the empire. Military couriers signified more than routine talks among tetrarchs. The Syvlande Empire seemed restless as a bees’ hive preparing to swarm, and she’d no warning of where the dark nettlesome cloud might descend.
ELIYA SHIVERED BENEATH her heap of quilts and furs, then squirmed to find a comfortable position on her pallet. The first night she slept here, she’d been so tired that she fell asleep instantly. Now, on this second night, thick as the padding was, the ground beneath was lumpy and rocky and she felt every small pebble and every knotted tuft of trampled weeds. Tomorrow night—actually tonight, for dawn was undoubtedly a short time away—she’d invite Valeria to stay in her comfortable, richly appointed wagon.
Sooner than she expected, Eliya watched the air brighten outside the tent. Dawn neared. She would give up on sleep, sneak outside to the privy, and then prepare for the day. Except that she’d brought her clothes and grooming gear into Valeria’s tent last night, and she might wake the other ladies from their well-deserved rest. Ah, well. She’d give up on facing the day early. But at least she could sneak out to a privy.
She sat up and reached for her robe. Instantly, Valeria sat up and whispered, “Oh, good! You’re awake—the light woke me. How can it be morning? Actually, dawn shone yesterday from the other direction. Something’s amiss.”
They pulled on their outer robes and boots, scooted from Valeria’s admittedly fine tent and looked toward the unexpected source of light—just as men’s voices bellowed throughout the camp, “Fire! Save the ladies!”
Eliya halted in the tent’s entry, staring as fire consumed her beautiful violet and gold wagon.