| |
Valo called into the ladies tent a second time, a subtle edge to his sociable voice. “Eliya, are you perfect at last? Everyone awaits your glorious presence in the main tent.”
Before Eliya could soothe him with a promise that she was almost ready—minus a few hairpins—Valeria called back, “My lord, if you’re half as glorious as your sister, the empire will be blinded when you two walk in together. Have patience, good sir.”
His patience obviously failing, Valo muttered, “Eternal, save us!”
As Vaiya hurriedly oiled Eliya’s clean fingernails, Torena clasped Eliya’s second-best gold-embroidered violet mantle around her shoulders, settling its shimmering collar to frame and reveal her bare throat. The instant Valeria’s ladies slipped the last glittering pins into Eliya’s upswept hair, Valeria herself stepped forward with a polished silver mirror for Eliya’s inspection.
Her embroidered green gown, shimmering jewelry, and subdued face paints didn’t conceal the distress reflected in her golden eyes. But what could Laros Rakiar expect? By now, he knew that her sadly diminished dowry—contained within three beautifully painted chests filled with shimmering garments, gems, and coins—couldn’t match the extravagant sums her father had promised to deliver after the wedding. Her former wealth lay drowned in Khelqua.
She must not think of Khelqua. Of her family and Ariym lost forever.
Eliya lifted her gaze from the mirror to Valeria. “I’m ready. Thank you, everyone.”
Valeria smiled, her silvery gaze wistful, as if she suspected Eliya’s unexpressed grief. “You look perfect. If he’s not thrilled, then run, because there’s no pleasing him.”
Eliya tweaked a long gold-adorned hair pin snugged uncomfortably close to her scalp. “I pray he’s as gracious as you’ve been.”
“If he’s not, Ceyphraland will have much to say. My lord-uncle thinks you’re delightful.”
“Your lord-uncle is the delightful one. I’ve been nothing but a burden since my arrival.”
Valeria snagged Eliya’s arm, leading her toward the entryway. “Enough—you’re not a burden. Your sorrow’s speaking. Let’s greet your betrothed and see if I’m right. You’ll amaze everyone.”
The instant they stepped outside, Valo met them, his golden eyes brightening, banishing his earlier impatience. “You both look wonderful.” He led them toward the main tent, taking a muddied path heavily overladen with straw to protect their shoes and gowns. “Aniketos introduced me to Laros Rakiar.” Valo grimaced at Eliya over his shoulder. “He’s impressive, but deciphering him’s the trouble. He might as well be a Chaplet guardian’s statue.”
Lovely. Eliya sighed. Just what every princess wanted to marry—a royal statue.
Prayers mingling with her fears, Eliya entered the main tent and blinked at the immediate hush. Was her appearance so ghastly? Danek’s open admiration told her otherwise. Aniketos smiled as if he were a fond relative, and Belkrates nodded, visibly approving her, before giving Laros Rakiar a thinly veiled glance of annoyance. Standing between their royal fathers, the heirs, Adalric and Belkian, stared steadily at the northern tetrarch like hunters watching potential prey.
Adjacent to the tetrarchs and their mistrustful heirs, Trisguard’s tall, elegant ruler waited at ease, clad in deep green edged with gold. His dark ash-brown hair and short, meticulously sculpted beard emphasized the slim, perfect lines of the most aristocratic face Eliya had ever seen. Laros Rakiar affected more hauteur than her brother Iscah, or even her lord-father.
His silver-gray eyes cool, he studied Eliya as if she were a landscape or an evening sky. She nodded toward him, maintaining dignity as she’d been trained, watching his face for clues to his true nature. She must find some way to love this man. Indeed, she must choose to love him, chilling demeanor notwithstanding—Torena would counsel her to remember her training and emulate her royal mother’s graciousness and patience.
Laros Rakiar met her gaze and smiled. “You are more beautiful than my envoy described. I’m delighted to greet you at last.” His smile didn’t reach his fine gray eyes.
Suppressing a shiver, she matched his courtesy.
Lord-king Danek had shown more warmth at their introduction, despite his wariness while meeting her family in Ariym. Would Trisguard’s lord-king remain a stranger? She must break past his cool façade.
“Thank you, my lord. I’m delighted to meet you as well. My lord-father regarded you so highly.” Not as much as Belvasae’s royal family, and certainly not as highly as Ceyphraland’s but well-regarded insofar as Rodiades comprehended Trisguard’s aloof tetrarch. “I hope your journey wasn’t too inconvenient.”
“Not inconvenient so much as unexpectedly extended.” Rakiar bowed his head toward the elder tetrarchs. “I suppose this gathering was past due. If only Syvlande’s western tetrarch could be here as well.” His enigmatic gaze touched Eliya’s again, then cut to Valo. “I’ve heard about Khelqua’s tragedy. We regret your losses.”
He might have been regretting a cup of spilled water instead of an entire nation swept away. How could he be so cold? Would he despise her grief? Eliya swallowed. “Thank you, my lord.”
Valo nodded, his gaze and voice older, stern-edged. “Thank you. For your sake, my sister changed from her mourning.”
“I appreciate the tribute.” Laros Rakiar lifted Eliya’s hand, placed it on his proffered arm, then looked toward the two elder tetrarchs and their heirs. “In honor of Khelqua, we should keep wedding festivities to a minimum. I have sent word to my court to cancel all large gatherings except the feast I’ve planned for my people in Iytair. We will observe a year of mourning. Meanwhile—”
“Meanwhile,” Belkrates interposed, his tone vinegar-sharp, “Since you’ve arrived at last, Lord-king Laros, we can move our tents to fresh ground. I suggest we delay any talks or marriage celebrations until the task is complete.”
Laros regarded Syvlande’s southern tetrarch without a flicker of emotion. “Move? To where?”
“Four long furrows in any direction you please.” Belkrates’ small mouth turned sullen. “As long as it’s fresh land. We’ve been in one place too long, and the dung heaps are becoming mountains outside the camp.”
Aniketos nodded. “Agreed. Otherwise, the air will be foul when the weather warms, which I hope will be soon.”
Laros shrugged. “If you deem the matter imperative, we’ll move. But if you move north, go no farther east. There’ve been night hound sightings this past week in the Na’Khesh foothills, and gauatchens aren’t creatures to be trifled with.”
“Then,” Belkrates sighed, seeming bored, “We’ll move directly north, four long furrows.”
Valeria stepped toward them, entering the conversation. “Forgive me, my lords, but ...” She faced Laros. “The Na’Khesh foothills? Your people are certain they’ve seen night hounds in the borders of my lands?”
Rakiar stared at Valeria as if he’d never seen her before. As if she might be almost fascinating. “That’s true. Your lands border on Trisguard’s. I’d almost forgotten. Yes, beware, lady. If the famed gauatchen doesn’t stalk your people after dusk, then a na’khesh might at dawn.”
She stepped away, as if Rakiar were a monster disguised as a man. But Adalric of Rhyve nodded toward Laros, changing the subject. “Cousin, I believe you owe me another round of archery.”
“Later, perhaps.” Rakiar’s finely curved upper lip twitched as if he were almost amused. “But I should think that you’re still stinging from your last defeat.”
“No.” Adalric grinned. “Only plotting revenge.”
“Very well. A wager?”
Ceyphraland’s heir shook his head. “I can’t afford your wagers, lord-king.”
“Because you realize defeat’s inevitable,” Rakiar taunted. He clasped Eliya’s hand, then leaned down to murmur, “Lady Eliyana, let’s walk while the encampment’s taken down.”
Without so much as a nod or parting pleasantry to anyone else in the tent, Laros Rakiar, ruler of the northern realms, led Eliya toward the tent’s entryway. Just before Rakiar stepped outside, Eliya looked over her shoulder, expressing her silent dismay to Valo, and Valeria.
Aniketos and Belkrates both stood, their outrage raw and undisguised at being snubbed.
Why was she worried? Rakiar’s rudeness wasn’t hers. Eliya gathered her skirts, one-handed, to protect them during their proposed walk. Rakiar tugged her outside, complaining, “You are too slow, lady.”
“Your legs are longer than mine, my lord, but I’ll hurry.” She quickened her pace, consigning the hems of her richly embroidered garments to their fate amid the mud and straw. “Tell me of the gauatchen—the night hounds. Are they fierce creatures?”
“Ravening. Forever hunting food, no matter what species that food might be.”
“In other words, human flesh is also their prey.”
He faced her, his smile again adding no luster or life to his gaze. “Yes. And while we’re discussing hunted creatures, my men tell me that you’ve suffered two attempts on your life.”
“The most recent was an arrow aimed at me. Torena, my revered teacher, caught the arrow instead.”
“Was hers the grave I saw on the camp’s edge?”
“No. She survived—the arrow embedded itself in a book she was carrying. That grave belongs to my poor attacker. He was assassinated last night, by one of your own men.”
“Ah. I’ll question my men later. What happened the time before? Obviously, another failure.”
Another failure? She looked up at him from beneath her lashes. Had he hoped for success?
His mask-like expression revealed nothing. Perhaps he’d wanted her dead and counted the ‘failures’ as disasters. She pressed her fingers into his arm, feeling muscles, long and lean beneath the richly embroidered dark green sleeve as she guided him toward the charred remains of her once-beautiful wagon. “The time before, someone threw incendiaries into the wagon my lord-father commissioned for this journey. The fire was set during the night when we were all asleep. Thankfully, Lady Valeria had invited me to stay the night with her ladies in her tent.”
Rakiar studied the charred, now collapsed remains of Eliya’s wagon, which still rested in the slightly muddied area not far from Valeria’s tent. He nudged one booted toe at a crumbling, fire-warped board, his words toneless. “You would have died had you been asleep inside.”
She could read anything into his voice. Submerged horror. Muted dismay. Or a near-buried wish that she’d actually died amid that fire. How could he be so neutral?
She looked up at him, trying to gauge his temperament. Movement, at the edge of her vision, made her turn. Valeria, Torena, and the other ladies neared—all preoccupied with keeping their flowing garments away from muddied ground, when they weren’t eyeing Rakiar with appalled fascination. He had been rude. Yet he was stunning to behold, his thick ash-dark hair gleaming in the sunlight, while his well-fitted garments commanded notice of his tall, lean, regal body. Some might argue he was more handsome than Danek. Yet good looks meant little without kindness.
If only he’d possessed a tenth of Lord-king Danek’s warmth and humor. As it was, she could only hope she was wrong, and that he didn’t long for her death.
Eliya gathered her courage. “My lord-king. We both know Khelqua is ... gone ... and I’ve almost no power or wealth to offer you and your people. Do you wish to escape our marriage contract?”
“Escape the contract?” His gray, unblinking gaze held hers. For an instant, an errant gleam hinted his temptation at her suggestion. But then he shook his head. “No. I’m a man of my word. Trisguard won’t break the contract.”
Why not? The words were on her lips until she realized that Valeria was watching closely. Eliya smiled and nodded to her cautious highborn hostess.
As if making up her determined mind, Valeria smiled and approached. “Cousin Laros! Please forgive me—I didn’t truly welcome you. Congratulations on your pending marriage by the way. Your bride is so lovely and well-respected, that I promise you are much-envied.”
“Am I?” Bland interest flickered across his handsome, beard-accentuated face. “By whom?”
“Oh, any of the lord-kings and their heirs. Just look at them. They’re regretting their slowness in writing to Khelqua for the Lady Eliya.”
Another smile traced its way along Rakiar’s face—a lazing smirk that sent alarms chasing over Eliya’s arms, just before sweat chilled her flesh and made her exhale. Rakiar gloated. He didn’t care about her, but oh, how he relished any small victory over his tetrarch peers. Obviously, they could all go hang themselves as far as Laros Rakiar was concerned. Even her.
How sad that he’d suffered a terrible childhood, with a brutal lord-king father. But why should she subject herself to its pitiless aftermath? She would not marry this man.
HIDING HIS FISTS BENEATH his heavy cloak, Danek watched the obtuse northern tetrarch. How could Rakiar be such a fool? With or without her royal family and Khelqua’s wealth, Eliya was a match for any lord-king of the Syvlande Empire. And this sneering over-dressed northerner couldn’t be bothered to treat her with courtesy.
For no coin whatsoever—a service to all civilized people—Danek would knock Laros Rakiar unconscious and steal Eliya.
Bootsteps scuffed the straw beside him. Valo halted beside Danek and groused, “I was right from the very beginning! Rakiar should have fought for the privilege of marrying her.”
Beneath his breath, Danek said, “I would have challenged him.”
“I would have sharpened your weapons, then helped to bury him. I should just take her and escape. Before this meeting’s over.” Huffing his exasperation, Valo added, “That’s another thing! Why are we here? Belvasae and Ceyphraland should state their purposes, resolve their differences with Rakiar, and we should all leave!”
“I hope it will prove that easy. This gathering of tetrarchs promises adversity—I trust none of them.” As they talked, Danek watched another messenger ride into the encampment, dismount, then kneel before Belvasae’s lord-king.
Ceyphraland’s Lord-king Aniketos seemed unsurprised, and the two tetrarchs lingered near Belkrates’ regal tent, their heads lowered like a pair of assassins, plotting their attack.
A QUIET BREATH OF EVENING air caressed Eliya’s face, then toyed with her hair while she, Valeria, and Torena stood on the fringes of Adalric and Rakiar’s archery competition. Her guards from Khelqua, and Valeria’s guards from Ceyphraland stood around them, almost blocking her view of the competition, and of Lord-king Belkrates’ prized fresh ground.
He’d been right, of course. The previous encampment was too overrun, trampled and rimmed with waste pits, dung heaps, and a grave. Belkrates, seated on the other side of the current archery round, was now smiling—even nudging his glum heir with one royal elbow. Perhaps, if Belkrates was in a good mood, she could quietly persuade him, and Lord-king Aniketos, to forbid her marriage to Laros Rakiar. After all, the marriage contract had displeased the two tetrarchs.
Yet her marriage wasn’t the true reason for this gathering of tetrarchs. Something else was afoot. The guards around her seemed restless, shifting and muttering dark comments among themselves, while casting suspicious looks toward other tetrarchs’ factions.
As Eliya watched Belkrates and Aniketos, Valeria leaned toward her and whispered, “Well. What do you think of your future husband?”
Eliya shifted her gaze to Rakiar, who sauntered over to Adalric to change places in the current round. His elegant form drew whispered comments from the onlookers—not all of them complimentary. “He’s rude. Cold and distant as a frozen mountaintop. I want to escape him.”
“I think Valo agrees with you. Look at how he’s folding his arms.”
Valo’s arms were indeed crossed, his stance hostile, his expression grim as he watched Rakiar raise his bow, anchor his shot, then release an arrow, which flew straight to the target-dummy’s straw heart. As the arrow thudded home, Valo nodded to Danek.
While the crowd applauded, both men stalked over to Eliya and Valeria.
Eliya’s guards stepped back, allowing Danek and Valo space. Valo leaned down, still grim, but a half-smile played over his face. “I see your guards are taking their job seriously.”
“Yes. They’re suspicious of all the new faces from Trisguard. Perhaps the murder and the assassination attempts have unsettled them.”
Valo scowled. Lord-king Danek murmured, “I wish you blessings, lady. May your marriage bring you joy.”
“It won’t. Unless he is hiding a tender soul.”
“Oh?” Valo lifted one dark eyebrow, his golden eyes glittering, intense. “You don’t like him then?”
“No. And he’s not interested in me. Only in his own glory.”
“That was my impression too.”
Danek muted a cough—covering a disdainful laugh. “We’re in agreement, then. Can you break your contract?”
Valo nudged Eliya and muttered, “Father gave me a copy of the contract. I’ll read it tonight and look for an escape clause.”
Eliya stared at her brother. “Would you?”
“Do you approve?”
“Yes.”
“Then I will.” Valo tilted his head toward Rakiar. “The thought of feasting with that pompous crown-stand during holidays will put me off my food indefinitely.”
Twice more, Laros Rakiar sent arrows straight to the hapless target, widening the hole over the dummy’s straw heart. The onlookers applauded politely. Their applause increased as Adalric marched forward, obviously fighting for the grace to concede defeat once again.
Danek half-bowed, including Eliya, Valo, Valeria, and the ladies in one sweeping glance. “Forgive me.”
He left them, his powerful warrior’s grace blending admirably with his regal stride. When he chose to don the aura of a lord-king of the Syvlande Empire, albeit a minor lord-king, everyone gave way to Danek. Each man in his path retreated, bowed, or half-bowed to him, depending on rank. Even Laros Rakiar allowed him a polite nod, his false smile broadening as he listened to Danek’s hushed request.
Whatever, Lord-king Danek asked, it amused the tetrarch of the northern realms. Adalric shrugged, then grinned and handed Danek a quiver of arrows and one of Ceyphraland’s gleaming pale bows.
Danek gathered a clutch of arrows from the quiver, clasping them easily, the feathered fletchings dangling beneath his strong, sinewy fingers. A secretive smile played over his features, drawing Eliya’s appreciation despite Torena’s subtle nudge. Never mind that Torena watched him as well—everyone did, and with reason.
Of all the lord-kings, he remained the most intriguing.
Danek’s strong features smoothed, then his gaze narrowed, focused on the straw dummy. He set one arrow’s nock against the bowstring while three remained dangling between his fingers. Before Eliya caught and released a full breath, Danek shot four arrows in rapid succession, ferociously surrounding and trapping Rakiar’s two much-applauded arrows in the dummy’s straw heart.
As the Ceyphralanders and Belvasae’s citizens cheered and the Trisguard men howled Danek’s feat, Eliya’s troops and Danek’s applauded and whooped like packs of jubilant boys, hammering each other’s shoulders and backs with their fists.
Amid the uproar, Danek nodded politely to Rakiar and Adalric, obviously thanking them as he returned the bow.
Rakiar smiled and nodded, his face mask-like. But an instant later, he eyed the arrow-bristled target again, glowering before he turned away.
HER GAZE FIXED UPON the distant, glittering stars amid the violet-blue night sky, Eliya sat on covered haybales between Valeria and Torena, enjoying their camaraderie, as well as the flickering hearth before the women’s tent. Low-voiced and wary, Torena read from the journey-rumpled, arrow-pierced Rone’en at Valeria’s earnest request. “‘Seek the Eternal’s sanctuary. For even surpassing the strength of the mighty aeryon, His wings offer you shelter.
His truth shields you and His might is your stronghold.
Dread flees Him. The night’s terrors dare not approach,
nor will you fear the arrow strike ....’”
Eliya leaned against her revered teacher and muttered, “Last night, you were reading the Histories and Praises. Why war songs tonight?”
“Considering everything that’s happened, I feel the verse is appropriate—an impression, somehow. I’ve been praying today—I’m uneasy.”
“I’ve been uneasy as well. Tomorrow, we’ll know the true purpose of this gathering. Now that he is here.”
“And here he is indeed.” Valeria straightened, looking toward Laros Rakiar, who strode into their circle and glanced around, handsome, perfectly groomed, and seeming bored. His gaze rested on Eliya and he lifted one eyebrow.
As he approached, she stood with Valeria. Torena closed her book, then retreated, clearly ceding to Rakiar her place beside Eliya. Of course, he took Torena’s seat as his due. But then he pulled the Rone’en from Torena’s hands as he settled onto the leather-covered hay-bale. “What are you three reading?”
“The Holy Verses.” Eliya’s heart thudded an extra beat of agitation as Rakiar fanned through the final pages pertaining to the Liege.
He glared up at Torena, offended as if she’d spit on him. “The Rone’en. This book’s fit only for hearing while translated by priests. Why did Rodiades allow you to teach her such upstart beliefs?”
Rakiar threw Torena’s Rone’en into the fire, the flames gusting around the illuminated pages as the book landed.
While her attendants gasped and protested, Eliya dove after the Rone’en, snatching the ruffled pages before they caught flames. “Sir, this book’s an ancient treasure!”
“Ancient?” He huffed his outrage as Eliya thumped the book onto bare soil and pounded out the sparks flaring around it. “Not the final testimonies—they defy ancient traditions.”
“They complete ancient accounts, my lord. If ...” Eliya’s protest faded beneath his unrelenting stare. Rakiar’s cool, steadfast gaze promised that if she said more, she’d never be forgiven. Was winning an argument worth sundering their marriage before it began? Not that she intended to marry him.
Yet, escaping this betrothal undoubtedly required discretion to save his limitless pride, and ensure her safety.
Rakiar lowered his chin, exactly as he’d done when Danek bested him during the archery round. “Lady Eliyana, throughout my life, every person who should have owed me loyalty has betrayed me. Am I to count you among those traitors?”
Her mouth dried. Would he dispose of her with false charges of treason? In the past hundred years, Several of the Syvlande Empire’s queens had been executed on lesser charges. Two were northern queens. Eliya controlled herself. “I’m loyal to those I love—my future husband in particular, my lord.”
“Your revered teacher will not bring her dogma into my realms. My subjects and I won’t endure it.”
“Yes, my lord. We’ll heed your advice.”
He left the communal fire, his deep cloak flaring as he stalked away.
Eliya exhaled, then traded looks with Torena. “I’d never suspected he was religious.”
“That,” Torena said, “is why so many mortals love the Chaplet faith—they live worldly lives and buy forfeits to earn eternity, without consulting the Eternal.” Torena clutched Eliya’s hand, her own fingers cold. “We won’t be safe in Trisguard.”
“If I have my say, dear Torena, we won’t go to Trisguard.”
“You won’t have say,” Valeria hissed, “Because I won’t allow Trisguard to have you!”
WAKEFUL AFTER A TOO-restless sleep, Eliya softly pushed aside her thick layers of coverlets, crawled out of her pallet, then crept from the ladies’ tent, sweeping her cloak around herself as she stepped into the chilly dawn air.
Muted clatterings caught her attention from the south, then from the east, where multitudes of shadows shifted about the camp.
Soldiers. Hundreds of soldiers. From Ceyphraland and Belvasae.
All armed for war.