Lhind the Thief (40 page)

Rhis stepped in, her slippered step soundless.

The audience chamber was not the most imposing room in the
castle, but it was the most comfortable. It had rosewood furnishings and gilt
lamps and the stone walls were covered by colorful tapestries. The king did
most of his work there, often joined by Rhis’s mother, when she could.

King Armad was seated in his great carved chair, a fine
table loaded with neat stacks of paper at his right hand. At his left side, in
an equally great chair, sat the queen, a book on her lap, her pen busy on a writing
board. She smiled at Rhis then returned to her work.

“Is there nothing you can attest to in my daughter’s favor?”
the queen said in her calm voice. Rhis felt her face go hot. She was reassured
to see the humor narrowing her mother’s wide-set gray eyes, though her mouth
was serious. “You have had the training of her for ten years.”

Elda flushed, her round cheeks looking as red as Rhis’s
felt. “I have tried my very best,” she said. “What she does well is what she
wants to do well—singing, dancing, and reading histories. No one dances better,
but a great kingdom like Vesarja will require more of a future queen than
dancing, or knowledge of which clans fought which back in the dark days, before
Nym became civilized!”

“This is true,” the king said.

Elda added, with her chin lifted, “As for what matters most,
my own daughter—scarcely ten years old—knows her map better, and the rates of
exchange, and can recite almost half the Common Laws. If Rhis knows twelve of
them, it would surprise me.”

The king was still stroking his beard. “But your daughter
knows that she will one day rule Nym, after my son. Is Rhis’s character bad? Or
her disposition?”

Rhis bit her lip. She longed to point out that Elda’s
disposition was none too amiable, and she’d married a prince. But she stayed
silent, fuming to herself.

Elda gave one of her annoyed sighs, short and sharp. “Her
habits are lazy. She would rather loll about in her tower room, piddling with
her song books, than apply herself to appropriate studies. Her disposition is not
bad, for she does not argue or stamp or shout. She simply disappears when she
does not agree with what she ought to be doing.”

The king looked up at Rhis. “Is this summary true, child?”

Rhis gulped. She wanted so badly to shout that Elda was not
being fair. Rhis was
not
lazy—she
kept busy all the day long. She simply didn’t see the reason to study those
dull laws and tables, since she wasn’t going to rule.

Yet Papa had not asked if Elda’s words were fair. Only if
they were true.

“Yes, Papa,” she said in a subdued voice.

Her father stroked his long silver-white beard with one
hand, and lifted the other toward Queen Hailen.

The queen said, “We will discuss it further.”

o0o

Everyone from high degree to low knew that Elda was a
princess, born and raised in Gensam, and Rhis’s mother was just a magician
whose family had been farmers. They knew equally well that when King Armad was
gone, Rhis’s mother would sail east to the Summer Islands to teach magicians
and Gavan and Elda would rule Nym. Still, no one—including Elda—ever argued
with Queen Hailen.

“Very well,” Elda said, and walked out, scarcely giving Rhis
a glance.

“Come, child.” The queen rose to her feet. “I have worked
the morning away. Now I need to stir a bit.” As she passed the king she bent a
little and laid her hand briefly on his old, gnarled hand.

The king smiled at them both, then returned to his work.
Rhis glanced back doubtfully. She hadn’t really thought about how
old
her father was. She knew that after
a long single life, refusing every match, he’d been nearly fifty when Queen
Hailen was sent to replace the old Royal Magician, and he fell in love with her
almost at once. Gavan and Sidal had been born each year following the marriage,
but another fifteen years had passed before Rhis was born.

She seldom saw her father, except for formal occasions. Now,
as she and her mother passed out onto the roofed terrace, she wondered how she
could not have noticed how frail he looked.

The door closed behind them. Rhis turned to discover her
mother studying her. She was now fully as tall as her mother. Who had aged,
too. Rhis was eye to eye with her mother. For the first time she saw the tiny
lines at the corners of the queen’s mouth and eyes, and her brown hair, so neat
in its coronet, was streaked with gray.

“Is Papa all right?” she asked in a whisper.

“Your father’s health is good, and his mind is quite as
strong as it was when he was young.” The queen smiled, but her eyes were
serious. “I confess it would hearten him very much to see you well
established.”

“Well, I do know what my duty is,” Rhis said, trying without
success not to sound resentful. “I’ve always known that Gavan and Elda will one
day rule, and after them Shera.” Rhis thought of her thin, small niece, named
after Elda’s own sister. Princess Shera was so good and perfect. She studied
all the time, and never smiled, or laughed, or made jokes. Despite the fact
that Elda never failed to hold Shera up to Rhis as an example of what she ought
to be, Rhis sometimes felt sorry for her niece. “Sidal will be Royal Magician.
And since I did not want to go away and study magic, my duty is to marry to the
benefit of Nym.” On impulse Rhis pleaded, “Oh, but is it so wicked to wish for
adventure and romance first?”

“Wicked? No one could say it’s wicked.” The queen laughed
softly. “Perhaps the wish for adventure is, oh, a rash one, as adventure is
seldom comfortable for anyone undergoing it.”

Rhis smiled. She had embroidered the saying she thought so
wise, taken from one of her ballads:

Adventure is tragedy
triumphed.

“And romance, for those who wish it, is not unreasonable. It
can also lead to disaster, if one makes it an end in itself.”

Rhis held in a sigh. How many lectures had she endured from
the sharp-tongued Elda on the follies of young girls and love?

A hesitation, a quick glance, then her mother said, “This
invitation is a splendid opportunity. It will be a chance to practice courtly
behavior among others your age, and to hear the wisdom of your elders in
another kingdom. You could learn much.”

Rhis curtseyed. “Yes, Mama.” She peered out through the
misting rain toward the green mountain slopes. In the distance a waterfall
thundered. Now that she’d gotten over the surprise, this invitation was
beginning to sound more like a duty—and not very romantic at all. The
invitation sounded more like a summons.

“But . . . you wish that this unknown prince
had come courting you here, am I right?”

Rhis stared at her mother.

“You remind me very much of my sister, who was even more
romantic than you,” the queen said, still smiling. “At least you can be
practical when it is necessary. Consider this: if you were to marry Prince
Lios, you would be living in Vesarja. How else can you find out if you can
adapt to their ways?”

Rhis exclaimed, “Oh! I see. But why are they inviting me? No
one knows me—I’ve met no princes. In fact, I’ve hardly met any boys my age.”

Her mother made a quiet gesture of agreement. Nym’s rulers
did not keep court. They met frequently with the guild council, and Elda and
Gavan spent the summer and autumn months each year traveling about the country,
the better to truly see what the various provincial governors were doing. Last
year they had taken their daughter—as future queen, Elda explained, Shera ought
to get to know her important subjects—but Rhis had been deemed unnecessary.

The Queen said, “Your father knows Queen Briath, for they
are close to the same age. He thinks that she has invited every young lady she
deems eligible so she can look them over at once.”

Rhis turned to her mother in silent dismay. “So it
is
a summons!”

The Queen’s eyes crinkled—just like Sidal’s. “What that
really means is that there will be parties, picnics, ridings, dances, and all
manner of wonderful festivities planned for the young people. You can be sure
that if there are princesses and girls of suitable high rank invited, there
will also be boys who very much want to meet those princesses. Even if you and
Prince Lios do not take to one another, there will be many opportunities to
find another boy you might like better—and you’ll have the time to get to know
one another. And meanwhile, you will be an ambassador for our own kingdom. Good
relations with our neighbors is important.”

Rhis laughed. “Being an ambassador might not be romantic,
but the parties and dances sound like fun!”

Queen Hailen patted her cheek. “I think it will be. Flirt
all you like, but remember you cannot marry until you are at least twenty. That
might be a comfort.”

Comfort
, Rhis
thought indignantly.

Her mother went on with a smile, “At sixteen we often make
vows about the rest of our life, but the truth is, the rest of our life usually
looks very different at seventeen, and even more different by eighteen. Enough
talk! You have a long journey ahead, so you must prepare. And part of that
preparation is to listen to Elda. She knows a great deal about the etiquette of
court life. This is something I know nothing of, which is why she undertook to
teach you, and not I.”

Rhis bit her lip. She did not want to complain about Elda,
but she did not look forward to extra lessons.

Her mother took both her hands in her cool, strong fingers.
“Part of being a ruler is to recognize that everyone has something of value to
offer. What isn’t as valuable can be . . . overlooked.”

Overlooked. Did that mean that the queen knew as well as
Rhis did that Elda was a sour-pie?

The queen gently squeezed Rhis’s hands. “I see you
understand what I mean.”

It was all she said, but suddenly Rhis felt a lot more grown
up. “All right, Mama,” she promised. “I’ll learn as much as I can.”

Once the decision had been made that Rhis should go, Elda
took over the organization of her journey. With her customary brisk and
indefatigable energy, she not only insisted on doubling Rhis’s lessons in
proper royal etiquette, she also made certain that Rhis would travel with an
entourage fit for a princess of Nym, complete to a new wardrobe.

This last item made all the tedious lessons, and lectures,
worthwhile for Rhis. For the first time, she realized what being rich
meant
.

Though no one would know it to look at them all in their
sturdy castle that had for several centuries held off ferocious winter winds,
and equally ferocious warriors, Nym’s royal family was wealthy. Queen Hailen
only had a single jeweled and embroidered velvet gown not because they couldn’t
afford any others, but because she only wore it once or twice a year, and
thought it impractical to order more. She was more proud of her mage’s robes
anyway. Those she’d earned, she’d told Rhis once.

Nym was small, mountainous, wealthy—and not the least romantic
any more.

Rhis could recite Nym’s history without much thinking about
it. Its gemstones were world famous, and its mines—most of them made by magic
centuries ago by the mysterious Snow Folk, whose descendants lived in the
fog-shrouded Summer Islands to the east—difficult for anyone but the people of
Nym to find and exploit. Many had been the attempts over the years to conquer
Nym, and failing that, to raid the caravans that left twice a year to sell
gems. For ages they had been protected by the tough mountain fighters who had
honed their abilities in Nym’s interminable clan feuds, but after the country
was united, the king had chosen to protect his interests through magic rather
than bloodshed.

Rhis had learned her history, but until now the only part of
it that had interested her were the old romances. Not that there were many, but
those few had been fairly spectacular—night-time raids, escapes, abductions
(planned by the princess in question herself, so it would go right)—and most of
them happy. She didn’t like the ones that had come out tragically.

Finally the last day arrived. Everything was packed, and
loaded, and guards picked, and all the servants that Elda thought appropriate
for a Princess of Nym were also ready. This included a lady’s maid, something
Rhis had never before had. Elda had declared that she would choose a proper
lady’s maid, but unexpectedly Queen Hailen had intervened, and saw to the
selection herself.

Rhis did not say anything, but she was secretly glad. Elda’s
own lady’s maid was a prim, sour-mouthed woman who spied on servants and
royalty alike, reporting wrong-doings—real or assumed—to Elda. Instead of
getting another such person (who would, no doubt, write awful reports back to
Elda on every mistake Rhis made) she was introduced by her mother to a quiet,
calm-faced woman named Keris, with a sweet voice and quiet ways.

And so, at last, night fell. A terrific storm battered the
castle. Rhis lay in her bed listening to the wind howl and rain and hail
clatter against the windows. The rain itself didn’t disturb her. Anyone who
grew up in Nym knew that mountain weather, though fierce, seldom lasted long.
But she was so excited she couldn’t sleep. Even if the night had been balmy and
silent, she suspected she’d still be lying awake.

Finally, when the distant bell rang the midnight pattern,
she gave up trying and clapped on her glowglobe. She could at least read for a
while, and daydream.

She was just reaching for a book when she heard a soft
tapping at her door.

She dashed across the cold stone floor. “Who’s there?”

The door opened, and to her surprise a tall silhouette in
pale blue emerged from the dark hallway and walked into the light room—her
sister Sidal.

“I came to wish you a safe and happy journey.” Sidal sat on
the bed beside Rhis.