The Summoner (24 page)

She took her time, using the long flight of stairs as a pretext to examine the ambassadors. One man was thick set and coarse looking, more like a strongman than a diplomat. His companion looked more the part. He was a distinguished gentleman of perhaps sixty summers, white haired, slender and fine boned. Despite his polish, he seemed nervous, and for an instant, Kiara had a pang of conscience about the ruse she must now play out. She wondered if failure would cost the ambassador his life, and guessed, from the concern she saw in his blue eyes when she met them, that it might indeed. I have no choice, she thought as she inclined her head in greeting. And neither does he. Princess or liegeman, we’re both pawns. The seneschal stepped up to announce her.

“Esteemed visitors,” Allestyr intoned, “I present Her Royal Highness, Kiara Sharsequin, Princess of Isencroft.” Kiara met the ambassador’s gaze impassively, but watched him closely, gauging his reaction.

“Your Highness,” the burly man said with a fumbling attempt at courtliness, “May I present Ambassador Catoril of the Royal Court at Margolan.”

Catoril stepped forward and dropped to one knee, then cleared his throat to prompt his guard to do the same. The older man seemed mortified by his companion, but kept his composure. “Your Highness,” the ambassador said. “This is a great honor.”

“You may rise,” Kiara replied stonily, pitying the ambassador for the performance on her part he must now endure.

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The ambassador rose gracefully, while his companion shambled to his feet. Bowing low, the ambassador withdrew a small box from a pouch at his belt and held it out to her with a cautious glance at Jae, who seemed determined to make his presence as intrusive as possible and nearly pecked the man’s hand.

“If it please Your Highness,” Catoril said, “a gift from Jared, King of Margolan.” He opened the box to reveal a ruby the size of an almond, glowing with inner fire. “It is but a token of our king’s esteem,” the ambassador said as he offered the gift.

Allestyr stepped forward to receive it for Kiara, who maintained an impassive expression. “Her Highness appreciates the gesture,” the seneschal replied, whisking the gift away. “Your king is most generous.”

“King Jared is a strong king, respected by all our people,” Catoril said, and it seemed to Kiara that the ambassador barely kept himself from glancing nervously back at the oaf beside him as he spoke. So, she thought, the guard is here to assure that the ambassador doesn’t speak out of turn. How interesting. She looked at Catoril and wondered just what it might be that the man could say which would warrant a guard.

“We have much to discuss,” Kiara said formally. “Come, let us find more suitable quarters.”

Allestyr led them from the receiving hall into a small parlor where a meal for four was already set on the table, along with a small bowl of diced meat for Jae. As Kiara had researched from court protocol, the foods chosen and their presentation were appropriate to the ambassador’s rank but did not suggest any attempt to impress.

Kiara waited until they were all seated before she addressed Catoril once more. “You have come a long way, ambassador,” she said as the servants poured wine and brought the first course.

“Tell me of your travels.”

“Quite uneventful, Your Highness,” Catoril replied. “The road from Margolan to Isencroft is 200

straight and safe. We did not anticipate any adventures.”

He may be honorable, but he’s no fool, Kiara thought. Whatever his opinions of his king, he’s doing his job reminding me that Margolan is close enough to cause trouble, and no barriers exist to stop them.

“How fortunate,” she said impassively. “And how fares your king?” At her elbow, Jae pulled at his meat. Maybe with luck, Kiara thought, they’ll think he’s my familiar and report that I’m a witch, and unsuitable for marriage. Not likely. King Bricen’s second wife was the daughter of Bava K’aa, the most powerful sorceress in the Winter Kingdoms. With my luck, she thought, Jared would like a witch‐bride.

Catoril studiously avoided looking at Jae. “King Jared is in fine health, Your Highness,” he said, a bit too quickly. “He is quite involved with the hunt these days, as has always been his pleasure.”

He paused. “King Jared also asked after your father, King Donelan. He is well?”

It was Kiara’s turn to remain impassive. “Quite well, yes,” she lied, meeting Catoril’s eyes. “He, too, is taken with hunting, and sends his regrets that he was not here to meet with you,” she continued. “He is in the field a few days’ travel from here, and I’m afraid that even affairs of state come second to a chance for a large boar,” she said lightly.

“I believe that is a reason King Jared can appreciate,” Catoril replied, and if he sensed deception on Kiara’s part, the ambassador gave no indication. “I wish King Donelan luck in the hunt.”

Kiara inclined her head. “I will pass that on to him. He is usually quite lucky,” she said, feeling a pang at the deception. While it was true that Donelan was an excellent huntsman, it was also true that he had not been well enough to hunt all season. Resolutely, Kiara forced her mind from those thoughts as if her guests might read them, and looked back at Catoril, only to find his guard staring at her. Unfazed, she met the rough man’s gaze, and the guard looked away. She sipped her wine. The sooner these guests from Margolan were on their way, the better.

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The servants set the first course in front of them. It smelled delicious, reminding Kiara how hungry she was. Jae impudently stole a tidbit from the corner of her trencher. “And the royal family, how are they?” Kiara asked, watching Catoril closely. A flash of pain seemed to cross his eyes, although his face remained impassive.

“You did not hear, Your Highness? Several weeks ago, a terrible tragedy struck. Fire broke out in the royal living quarters. I’m afraid no one but King Jared escaped.”

“How fortunate,” Kiara murmured. Catoril’s guard looked decidedly ill at ease and frowned as he watched every move the ambassador made.

Catoril’s fine hands fluttered nervously as he spoke, and he dropped his knife.

“But to speak of happier things, Your Highness,” Catoril continued, regaining his poise, “I bring you tidings from King Jared. He extends an invitation for you to visit Margolan as his esteemed guest. It would be a great honor to receive you.”

“How kind,” Kiara replied. “Unfortunately, I must decline until spring,” she stalled, watching Catoril closely. “There are religious celebrations here in Isencroft over which the first‐born daughter of the king must preside. My father would be inconvenienced were I not to carry out my role, and our people would be offended should I choose to travel from the kingdom at that time.”

“King Jared will be quite disappointed,” Catoril returned, and Kiara thought she saw a glimmer of nervousness behind those icy blue eyes. “He hoped to show you Margolan’s midwinter festival, which is quite impressive.”

“Lam honored,” Kiara replied. “But I must defer to my people.”

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“Our princess plays a vital role in our own midwinter feasts,” supplied Allestyr. “Our people’s devotion runs strong,” the seneschal added with a meaningful look at Catoril. “You know that Chenne appeared to Kiara on the battlefield and gave Her blessing. There is nothing the people of Isencroft wouldn’t do for their princess.”

If Catoril registered Allestyr’s veiled warning, it did not show in the ambassador’s impassive face.

“Indeed,” the older man murmured. “Our customs differ somewhat, but King Jared respects Isencroft’s devotion to the Goddess. We will plan a spring visit, and take the opportunity to show the princess how lovely Margolan is in blossom.”

“You are very gracious,” Kiara replied, feeling her stomach twist. She had eluded the invitation for now, but it would be twice as difficult to evade come spring. She would have almost nine months to plan, she told herself, finding her appetite completely gone as the servants removed her untouched trencher and placed a new one of steaming game in front of her. Spring was a long time away.

And so the day passed, with each side probing the other through conversation which appeared pleasant and guileless. When at last Kiara could excuse herself and have her servants ready the guests for bed, she made her way back to her own quarters, exhausted by the sham. Malae was waiting for her anxiously.

“So, my Lady, how did it go?” she asked, helping Kiara removed her gown.

Kiara sighed. “We’ve postponed the trip once more, but I’m afraid that eventually I’m going to run out of excuses.”

Malae clucked her tongue. “You’ve bought yourself time, Your Highness. That is precious in itself. Now you must trust Cam and Carina. You do your duty by giving them more time,” the older woman said gently, patting Kiara’s hand. “And who knows? Perhaps by spring, the Goddess 203

will have selected you for your Journey.”

Kiara managed a tired smile. “That would certainly get me out of going to Margolan, but I’m not sure it would be less of an adventure.” She paused. “Do you remember how I used to worry when I was a child and Father would go off with the soldiers?” Kiara asked, wriggling into her nightshirt and dropping onto the bed. Malae smiled.

“I couldn’t forget, Your Highness. You usually found your way into my bed and I carried you back to your own room,” Malae chuckled.

“I never thought I could worry more about him,” Kiara said wistfully.

“The burdens of the crown come young,” Malae replied, “as they did for your mother. And I will tell you what I always told her, when she would come to my rooms for a hot cup of tea in the middle of the night. Trust the Goddess.”

Kiara smiled sadly at the thought of her mother, Queen Viata, dead now three years. Viata, had been a daughter of the king of Eastmark, an old and proud monarchy, nearly as old as the House of Margolan. Her marriage to Donelan had been something of a scandal. Donelan was only the third king in his line, testimony to Isencroft’s troubled history—an interloper to the minds of the more established aristocracy in venerable Eastmark. Worse, theirs was a love match, not even an arranged alliance. So it was with strained goodwill that Eastmark let its princess go to wed the upstart king of a frontier kingdom, a place with a strange, war‐like aspect of the One Goddess.

Isencroft’s court had been equally dubious of their new queen, with her exotic features and heavy accent, and her devotion to an out‐land aspect of the Goddess. But the will of a young, determined and utterly love‐struck king prevailed, and while Viata had a troubled time with the aristocracy, the love between her and Donelan never wavered, even when their union produced just one child, and that, a girl.

It was from Viata that Kiara learned the Eastmark style of fighting, with its complicated and deadly footwork. Viata’s almond‐shaped eyes stared back at Kiara from her own reflection, and 204

her mother’s duskier skin mingled with Donelan’s fair northern blood, made it easy for Kiara to tan as soon as the sun turned warm. And it was, indirectly, because of the sting of the court’s chilly reception of Viata, that Kiara found herself betrothed to Jared of Margolan. King Donelan, anxious to legitimize the House of Isencroft, engineered the arranged marriage at Kiara’s birth, knowing that the alliance with ancient House of Margolan could further enhance the standing of his lineage in the eyes of the ruling houses of the Winter Kingdoms.

Kiara sighed. “I know. But things have gone so wrong. It seems as if the Lady’s forgotten us.”

Malae pulled the covers back and beckoned for the weary princess to lie down, then bent over and tucked her in like a child, brushing her hand across Kiara’s forehead. “Chenne doesn’t forget her Blessed One,” the older woman comforted.

Kiara caught Malae’s hand for a moment and pressed it against her cheek. “Please, stay with me until I fall asleep.”

Malae nodded and crossed to a chair by the fire. “As you wish, my princess,” she said, settling into a comfortable seat and cozying a throw around her. “Now, sleep.”

Despite the comforting crackle of the fire and the knowledge that Malae was near, it still took more than a candlemark for Kiara to fall into a fitful sleep, filled with troubled dreams.

Kiara awoke with a start. She blinked, then raised herself on her elbows. The sun was already up, but Malae had drawn her heavy drapes to block its light and let her sleep. Jae dozed in his perch on the headboard of her bed, hissing softly. Kiara could smell a pot of herbal tea already boiling on the fire. Although Kiara thought she moved noiselessly, Malae was awake and beside her by the time she poured herself a cup of tea.

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“Allestyr worries about you,” Malae said, laying a soft woolen shawl across the princess’s shoulders.

“I know,” Kiara replied quietly, staring at the dancing flames. “They all do. I’m sorry to be such a bother.”

Malae sat down next to her and laid a comforting hand on Kiara’s arm. “It’s our honor to take care of you, my princess,” she said. “But we worry more these days, since there are many strange things afoot.”

Kiara nodded glumly. “Something’s about to happen, something big. I don’t know what it is, but I can… feel it.”

“You are Goddess Blessed,” Malae replied. “Perhaps the Goddess is about to choose you for your Journey.”

Kiara shook her head tiredly and sipped at her tea. “It couldn’t come at a worse time.” Malae patted her hand. “Perhaps the Oracle could help,” the older woman said.

“I have been thinking the same thing myself,” Kiara confessed. “But—”

“But you’re also thinking that your father was never comfortable with the Oracle’s prophecies,”

Malae finished for her. Kiara nodded and gulped her tea.

“Odd, isn’t it? I’ve been running the kingdom for him for months now, and I’m scared like a kitchen maid to go against his wishes.”

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Malae chuckled. “Not so odd, my princess. He is still your father, and still the king. But if you recall, he is not opposed to the Oracle. He merely lacks patience with her roundabout prophecies.” She smiled. “Your father is a direct man. He does not want to have to figure out advice. I suspect that if the Oracle spoke plainly, your father might take up a good bit of her time.”