The D'Karon Apprentice (68 page)

Smiling warmly at the sight, Myranda turned
to Caya, who was approaching with Croyden beside her. When she was
near enough to be heard, she whispered low, a sly grin on her
face.

“Did you see how much deeper I drove my
pick?” she said proudly, taking back her crown and positioning it
on the tight bun of her hair.

“It was not a competition, Your Majesty,”
Croyden said.

“Oh nonsense, everything is a competition,”
she said dismissively. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed that
Tressor’s king still hasn’t seen fit to attend any of our joint
ceremonies personally.”

“It is rare for the King of Tressor to leave
the capital,” Croyden stated.

“So I’ve noticed. What’s the point of being a
leader if you never let your people
see
you? I cannot
imagine anyone being so disengaged from his people.”

“Your predecessor followed a similar policy,”
Croyden reminded her.

“Yes, and look how well
he
turned
out.” She cleared her throat and looked up. “Myranda, Deacon! As
ever I am thrilled to have you close at hand again. And where,
might I ask, is Greydon?”

“There was a personal matter in New Kenvard.
A family matter. Tomorrow is… a very important day for us,” Myranda
said quietly.

“Oh… oh yes…” Caya said, her voice suddenly
solemn. “When the work is done, do send word. It is certainly
worthy of a royal visit. However, as for the matters at hand, I’ll
be heading inside the temporary Five Point Hall shortly. Once
you’ve had enough time to mingle and be personable, please come see
me. I’d like to have a word with you.”

“Of course,” Myranda said.

“Take your time. Be a proper diplomat, but
don’t dawdle.”

“Absolutely,” agreed Deacon.

“Caya!” Ivy said, stepping forward and
throwing her arms around the queen in a friendly hug. “Thanks for
inviting me to another party!”

Caya returned the hug and stepped back. “Ivy,
you’re a Guardian of the Realm. You’ll
always
be invited. In
fact, it is your duty to attend.”

“It’s still nice,” Ivy said. She gave a turn,
flaring her skirt as she did. “It gives me a chance to wear this
pretty dress again. And… um… maybe I could have some wine
again?”

“If you’re expecting me to deny a fellow
warrior a good strong drink, you don’t know me very well.” She
turned to Ether. As she did, she just barely failed to hide a
hardening of her expression. “And you… Guardian Ether. In most
circumstances what I have to say is the sort of thing to be put
delicately and in private, but considering your general attitude, I
don’t imagine social decorum is really called for or expected.”

“I see little to be gained from such
things.”

“Good, then I’ll be blunt. Is it true that
you demanded a child from Croyden?”

Lumineblade coughed and turned away.

“I did,” Ether said, no hint of shame or
embarrassment on her face.

“Care to defend that sort of behavior?” she
asked, crossing her arms.

“There is nothing to defend. I was in a
crisis. My emotions were getting the better of me and my purpose in
the world was unclear. He suggested a family would restore focus
and perspective, and he seemed as good a man as any to provide
it.”

Caya turned to Croyden. “Anything to
add?”

He cleared his throat. “I politely
declined.”

Caya narrowed her eyes. “Wise decision.” She
turned back to Ether. “I’ll make this simple for you, Ether. There
are any number of reasons why it is unwise and unreasonable to make
a demand such as yours, but the one you should keep in mind is this
one: Croyden Lumineblade is the queen’s consort. While I admire
your taste in mates, look elsewhere for yours. I’ll see the rest of
you inside.”

The queen took Croyden rather possessively by
the hand and marched toward the temporary hall. Ether, for her
part, did not appear to be at all bothered by the exchange. Myranda
decided it was best to leave well enough alone.

Ivy did not.

After doing her very best to contain herself,
the malthrope snorted and burst out laughing. A deep golden aura
spilled out from her.

“Did you… did you
really
do that?” she
said, wiping a tear from her eye.

“I see no source of humor in the matter. It
seemed the proper course of action at the time,” Ether said.

“You learned to care, you learned to feel. I
guess a sense of humor will come eventually,” she said,
giggling.

“I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?”
said a female voice.

Ivy turned and tried to restore her
composure. “Oh. Ahem. I’m so sorry.” She gave a curtsy. “It’s
wonderful to see you again, Ambassador Krettis.”

It was indeed the woman whom Ivy had shared
her rather ill-fated ambassadorial debut. Beside her once again was
her aide, Marraata.

“And Marraata! You came too, that’s
wonderful
.”

“I won’t take much of your time, Ivy. Though
I appreciate the sentiment of inviting me and the other dignitaries
to this event, I very much doubt either of us has fond memories of
the other. I am, however, mature enough to admit that any
unpleasantness was largely my doing.”

“No, really, I…” Ivy began.

Krettis silenced her with a gently raised
hand. “I came to you having already judged you. That is a terrible
crime and an inexcusable one for an ambassador to commit. I had
judged your race, your homeland, and you as an individual. I was
wrong on all counts. To make amends, I brought something for
you.”

Marraata held out a large wooden case and
slowly opened the lid.

“Ambassador, you didn’t have to…”

This time Ivy was silenced by what she saw.
Within the case was an exquisite piece of craftsmanship. It was a
lute, not so different in function from the one that Ivy had played
during their journey. In form and quality, however, there was no
comparison. This instrument was gleaming with polish. The deep red
wood of the body was inlaid with designs cut from a wood that
seemed almost purple. It was a work of art, yet something about the
care and craftsmanship suggested that an equal amount of care had
been taken to ensure it sounded as good as it looked.

“My great-grandfather was a luthier. This is
one of three lutes he handed down through the generations. I cannot
say I’ve ever taken up the art myself, but you played so
beautifully. An instrument like this is meant to be played. Please.
Take it.”

Ivy reverently took the instrument from the
case and cradled it, plucking a string and shutting her eyes as the
pristine note rang out.

“It’s… it’s beautiful.”

“All I ask is that you play ‘Ascension to the
Stars’ for me once more.”

“Of course I will! Come on, let’s find a
place in the hall for the performance!”

She led the others away. Appearing behind as
though he’d been waiting in line, was Ambassador Maka. Myranda
smiled and extended her hand in the Tresson fashion, but Maka held
his hand instead for a shake.

“We are on
your
side of the border,
Duchess. Allow me to greet you as a friend. I am Ambassador
Maka.”

“Yes, of course. Ether has spoken of you,”
Myranda said, shaking his hand.

“She has! Well then I am truly honored. In
our time, she spoke of each of you as well. Guardian Ether, it is a
great pleasure to greet you once more.”

“Welcome, Maka,” she said.

She spoke with the air of formality, as
though the words were as mechanical and obligatory as a ceremonial
bow. And yet, somewhere deep within her tone and expression, there
was something more. The tiniest dash of respect. In another it
would have been easily dismissed, but for Ether it was so out of
place, Myranda couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow.

“When we last spoke, you were out of sorts.
Your spirit seems lighter now. I wonder, has my advice helped?”

“Some. Time has been short, and there has
been much to do. I have not… spoken to all I had hoped to.”

“I understand, of course. It is a trying
time. But take it from a man,” he grinned, “for whom death is
near
. Do not take for granted that there will always be time
to do so. When things are important, we must
make
time. If
you will excuse me, I believe I am wanted inside.”

“Of course. I am sure we will speak more as
the night progresses,” Myranda said.

“Perhaps we should head inside,” Deacon said.
“Caya sounded as though she had something important to
discuss.”

“Agreed. You go ahead. I’ll make sure Myn
will be well enough without us.”

Deacon and Myranda looked to the border. Garr
had not moved, through Grustim had dismounted. Myn, on the other
hand, had scampered off toward where the carriages of supplies were
stationed where she had quite impatiently been waiting to be
noticed. The very moment Myranda glanced in her direction, she
ducked her head into the back of a wagon and pulled it back out
with a bulging sack clutched delicately between her teeth.

Myranda smiled. “Go ahead, Myn. But just
one!”

The dragon leaped over the wagons, sack
firmly in her grip, and pranced to the border. With all the
enthusiasm of a puppy with a new toy, she set the sack down on the
ground at Garr’s feet, nosing it forward and looking expectantly at
him.

As Myranda paced over, Garr sniffed at the
sack and raised his head again, disinterested.

“Grustim. I’m pleased to see you,” Myranda
said.

The Dragon Rider turned in their direction.
He was perhaps the only person in attendance who hadn’t dressed for
the occasion, wearing instead his usual armor, which aside from
light mending of the worst damage still proudly displayed the scars
it had earned during their trials in Tressor. He nodded in
greeting.

“Duchess,” he said.

“I trust things have been well for you and
Garr. We never got the chance to express our gratitude for all you
did for us.”

“There is no need. I did as the mission
required.”

“Have there been any consequences?”

“My superiors were less than pleased with
some of my decisions. There were reprimands, but as of a few weeks
ago my debts are paid.”

“And Garr is well?”

“Your treatment was exceptional. He has
recovered fully. Though…”

“Is there something wrong? Something I can
help with?”

He shook his head. “Nothing
you
can
help with.”

“Oh?”

He motioned to the pair of dragons with his
head. Myn had torn the bag open, revealing some fine, fat potatoes.
Garr settled to the ground and sniffed again. He flicked one into
his mouth with his tongue, shuddering with distaste at the flavor.
Myn twisted her head in confusion, then plopped down on the ground
beside him, leaning against him and happily munching on the remains
of the unwanted gift.

“Oh…” Myranda said.

“He is faithful to his duty. Does what is
required of him as well as he ever has. Others notice no change.
But when there is no task to be done, his mind is ever on her.”

“I think it is the same for Myn,” Myranda
said.

“It is not a simple problem. A dragon mount
may not choose his mate. Most do not earn a mate, and those who do
are matched with one of the breeding mothers to produce the
strongest clutch.”

“The Dragon Riders have a long history, don’t
they? Surely this has happened before. There must be a
solution.”

“There is, but as I’ve said. It isn’t a
simple one.”

Myranda sighed and gazed at the dragons. Myn
had finished the potatoes and laid her head contentedly upon the
ground. Garr draped a wing over her.

Myranda smiled warmly. “Love is seldom
simple. Will you be joining us inside?”

“In a moment.”

“Excellent.”

She paced inside Old Five Point, the
strangely named temporary hall that this new hall would replace. It
was a hastily built replacement for a structure destroyed in the
early days of the war and it showed; much of its structure was
rough-cut timbers and thin planks. The main room was large enough
to accommodate the tables set up for the feast, and two smaller
rooms off the main one offered privacy for such matters that
required it. At the door to one of these rooms stood Croyden. He
motioned for Myranda, leaning low to whisper in her ear when she
arrived.

“Duke Deacon and Queen Caya are already
inside,” he said.

Myranda nodded and stepped through the door.
He shut it tight behind.

Deacon and the queen were seated at a small
table. Caya was filling a goblet from a wine bottle, likely not for
the first time.

“Ah, Myranda, lovely. I’ll make this brief,
as there is a fine meal and good company waiting for us outside,
and we are quite likely to be missed if we linger. The woman
responsible for this mess… Turiel…”

Myranda shook her head slowly. “We’ve
searched. Sent scouts to places she might have gone, scoured the
Alliance mystically and physically. We’ve not found a trace. I
suppose that you’ve asked means that the Tressons haven’t found her
either.”

“If only. Some of them are doubtful she ever
existed. What precisely happened to her?”

“I don’t know,” Deacon said. “I’ve poured
over the workings of the spell and the ways it might have combined
with the D’Karon aspects. The place… that… tunnel that formed
between the portals. It shouldn’t have been there. The purpose of
the spell…”

Caya raised a hand. “We haven’t got the time
for you to attempt to explain. Myranda, perhaps you could
summarize?”

“The spell should have made two places one
for few moments. When both sides of the portal shut, the portion
between them simply ceased to be. At least, to the best of our
knowledge.”

“She
may
have been destroyed,” Deacon
offered.

“Mmm. ‘May have been.’ Not words I like to
hear in reference to an enemy such as her. This may be a lingering
bit of my Undermine instincts, but I prefer to have a corpse. If
nothing else, it’s a fine bit of closure.” She sighed. “Keep
searching. Keep researching. The sooner we can be certain of where
she is or where she isn’t, the better we shall all sleep at night.”
She drained her glass. “Now, before we venture out, there are one
or two matters of state that should be discussed…”