The Summoner (57 page)

“But tonight,” he continued, “we feast. I never thought to see my daughter again. You have returned her to me. Nothing is more important. Come, we must get ready,” he said, clapping his hands sharply. Servants streamed from the doors, gathering around Tris and the others and moving them toward the exits. “My servants will help

you prepare,” the king called after them, as Berry stood beside him with her arms around his waist.

CHAPTER THIRTY‐THREE

Back Table of Contents Next

Tris was led to a room that rivaled the most comfortable in Shekerishet. One servant poured a steaming bath, laden with musky oils, while another laid out fresh clothing on the bed and a third prepared a respite of wine, sliced fruit and bread. Berry’s presence enabled him to relax his guard. He removed his soiled and tattered traveling clothes and slipped into the hot bath.

489

I may have already learned the first lesson of kingship too well, he thought, forcing himself to relax as he sipped from a goblet of wine. I’ve started to expect a knife between my shoulders no matter where I go.

Whether it was Carina’s antidote or the passage of several days, Tris felt much recovered from the wormroot. He shuddered as he recalled the empty feeling of having his power out of reach.

Its absence felt as if something vital were pulled from the marrow of his very bones, and he did not doubt Carina’s observation that a long, strong dosing of wormroot could indeed kill or drive a mage to madness. He resolved to take up the issue with the Sisterhood at the first opportunity.

Better to have run into it now, when I can figure out how to deal with it, than later, when I’m up against Jared.

He finished an unhurried bath to the obvious satisfaction of the servants assigned to his care.

Tris wondered how much Berry had stressed that the servants were to see to his every need, for despite having grown up with valets and footmen, Tris could not recall being pampered so lavishly , even in his own kingdom.

The bells of the courtyard tower were ringing the supper hour as Tris straightened his tunic and paced in the reception room, awaiting his companions. Staden’s servants had done remarkably well at finding clothes to fit, and he now awaited the banquet in a gray tunic and slacks of the finest satin, chagrined at the costumier who insisted on adding what he called a “wizard’s cloak” to complete the outfit. Catching a glimpse of himself in a mirror, Tris had to admit that he looked the part of a Summoner, a spirit mage dressed in the color of shadows.

Carroway and Soterius arrived together. Carroway was obviously enjoying their first opportunity in nearly three months to dress for court. The bard wore a flamboyant tunic of gem‐toned silks, with draping sleeves and bright colors. Soterius could not have appeared more different in a muted outfit of hunter’s green, devoid completely of ornamentation, remarkable only for the luxuriousness of its brocade and the perfection of its fit. To their surprise, Gabriel arrived a few 490

moments later, dressed head to toe in midnight blue.

“The Sisters told me that I might find you here,” the vayash moru said off‐handedly at his unexpected appearance.

“No! I won’t do it. You can beg me all you like. Bad enough that I can’t take my sword. Be off with you!” Tov Harrtuck arrived, still arguing with the valet who had been assigned to him, adamant that he would continue to wear his worn leather vest over a rich brown brocade ensemble.

The costumier pulled at the scuffed vest, attempting to wrest it away by force, but Harrtuck scowled and held his ground like a terrier with a bone, prompting chuckles from Tris and the others. “Please, sir, reconsider. You’re to be the guests of the King tonight! Surely you can make an exception—”

“I like my vest,” Harrtuck retorted. “And you’ve already gotten me into these… things,” he said with a wave toward his fine clothes. Tris realized that in all the years he had known the armsmaster, he had never once, no matter the occasion, seen Harrtuck dressed for anything but the barracks.

“Sir, please—” The costumier was almost in tears, but Harrtuck was resolute, though it appeared that the stolid fighter had availed himself of the proffered bath and made an attempt to tame his unruly hair and groom his recently regrown beard.

“No! I will not! Now go,” Harrtuck said, shooing his groomers away with a flurry of waving arms.

“Go dress Vahanian. It’ll take half a dozen of you just to get his sword away from him,” he said, chasing the flummoxed servants from the room. He shut the door soundly behind him, standing hands on hips as if ready should the servants return. He turned toward Tris and the others, grumbling under his breath as he scratched at his beard.

491

“Lady and Whore!” he exclaimed. “What’s the use of making a body miserable for a feast, I ask you?” he continued, in such obvious distress that Tns and Carroway burst out laughing.

“Oh yes, go ahead, have a good laugh,” he said as even Soterius joined in. “Our little peacock finally has his finery back,” he said with a good‐natured jibe at Carroway. “And Ban here was thinking of nothing but the ladies when he dressed.” “Now it’s not so bad,” Tris answered, trying to keep his laughter out of his voice. “I didn’t think they did too badly with me.”

Harrtuck paused and looked Tris over from head to toe. “Aye, my liege, you’re right. Anyone who saw you would know you for a wizard, and a king,” he said, with unexpected seriousness.

Then he shook his head, returning to his self‐pity. “On the other hand, it’s a waste of good cloth to dress up the likes of me,” he added, giving Soterius a scowl when the soldier vigorously agreed. Whatever more might have been said was lost as the doors opened to admit the rest of their companions.

Royster strode into the room first, a wide grin on his face and a bounce in his step. His wild, snow‐white hair was trimmed and tamed under a scholar’s cap, and the thin little man beamed with pride at the flowing academic robe that replaced his riding gear. He hummed a tavern ditty and executed a sprightly pirouette for his audience. “Not bad, don’t you think?” he said with a broad wink. “Oh, it almost makes me wish Kessen were here!” He looked quickly at Tris. “Not that I’d want you to summon him, mind you, but it would make him pop to see me in this!

Scholar’s robes indeed! I hope we get to keep them,” he said impishly. “I’ll save them until I’m back at the Library and wear them every day, just to vex him!”

Kiara and Carina entered together, the Isencroft princess leading the way into the room, with Jae circling overhead. Gone were Kiara’s riding leathers and breastplate, the solid boots and coarsely woven cloak. In their place was a copper‐colored gown of silk that played off her auburn hair and enhanced the firm‐toned contours of her body by its slim cut. Tris met her eyes across the room and blushed as a smile crept to her lips, realizing that his expression betrayed his appreciation. Jae landed lightly on her shoulder, and Tris noted that the little gyregon now wore a slim gold chain around his throat.

Carina was a step behind. A green gown of Mussa silk replaced her healer’s robes, and a 492

headband of pearls secured her short black hair. But where Kiara’s ease was apparent as she teased with the others and glowingly accepted their compliments, Carina hung back, and Tris realized that the court healer was at a loss outside of her role of physician, without the barrier that the status of her robes made easy to enforce.

“You clean up well,” Vahanian said from behind her, and Carina blushed scarlet.

“At least it’s green,” she managed, for once at a loss for words.

Vahanian chuckled. “I’ve always wondered what healers wore beneath their robes,” he murmured. Carina feigned an outraged swing at him which Vahanian dodged easily. “Hey, take it easy. All I meant was that you give Kiara competition in that dress.”

“Really?” she replied, with a glance toward Kiara, who was joking with Carroway about the brightness of his waistcoat.

“Absolutely,” Vahanian replied, executing a courtly bow without a hint of mockery. He was dressed head to toe in black velvet, with just the lightest hint of gold around the collar and cuffs.

It complemented his hair and complexion perfectly, and Tris decided that Berry herself must have had a hand in their wardrobe. The only items out of place were Vahanian’s scuffed black boots and the absence of a sword belt around his waist.

The mercenary pulled at his collar uncomfortably. “I still want to know whose rule it is that we can’t take our swords. Stupid rule if you ask me.”

“You can’t wear a sword in the presence of the

King,” Carina replied. “Everyone knows that.”

493

“Excuse me,” Vahanian retorted, returning to their usual banter, “but everyone doesn’t spend their days at court. I don’t go anywhere without my sword.”

“Where you go, that’s probably a good idea.”

“There’s one small piece of business that hasn’t been taken care of,” Tris said with a glance toward Vahanian. “We have a little settling up to do.” He walked to the table, and from beneath it, lifted a brassbound chest, heavy enough that it shuddered the table with its weight. “I promised to pay you once we reached Principality,” he said to Vahanian. “Here it is.”

Tris released the clasp and flipped open the chest to reveal an ample mound of Dhasson gold.

More than enough to let a man live well for the rest of his life. Tris looked at Vahanian, an unspoken question hanging between them.

The smuggler had not moved, and while his stance suggested that he, too, heard the challenge in Tris’s tone, his eyes were unreadable as he stood silent for a moment, looking at the chest.

“I’m going to Margolan,” Vahanian replied. “Why don’t you put it somewhere safe ‘til I get back.”

Tris broke out laughing and slapped his friend on the back as Kiara and the others gathered around the fighter, expressing their pleasure at his decision. Vahanian shrugged, uncomfortable with the attention, then grinned his pleasure at their acceptance.

“The feast awaits, honored guests,” intoned a servant from the main doors. They filed down the corridor, and Tris found that, despite the assurance of Berry’s presence and her father’s sworn assistance, he was holding his breath as the wide doors swung open.

494

Inside the banquet hall, heavily laden feast tables awaited them. The servant guided them to the head table, where they would be joined by Staden and the queen. A fire burned brightly in the massive fireplace, and the smells of roasting game and simmering wassail greeted them as they edged their way through the throng. Four musicians struck up a merry tune on lyre, flute, dulcimer and drum, while costumed performers delighted the group and cupbearers poured ale.

“Now that’s a feast,” Carroway said. They took their assigned places at the table, and Tris was delighted to find himself next to Kiara. Carina, on his left, found Vahanian to be her tablemate, and Tris decided that Berry had tried her hand at matchmaking with her instructions to the steward. Berry had reserved the seat alongside Vahanian, and next to her would be King Staden and the queen. To the queen’s left were Gabriel, Soterius and Harrtuck, with Royster and Carroway at the far end, nearest the musicians.

With a stately trumpet fanfare, the doors at the far end of the banquet hall flew open and half a dozen liveried trumpeters heralded the entrance of the king. Staden was resplendent in crimson and gold. The queen walked beside him, an older reflection of Berry. Behind them, Berry walked with her head held high. The green dress from the morning was gone, replaced by wine‐colored satin. Tris caught a mischievous wink from Berry, and all rose as the monarch moved through the room.

Staden took his place at the table and looked out over the assembled crowd. “Nobles and ladies, honored guests,” he began. “There can be no celebration grand enough to welcome home my daughter, Berwyn, in safety,” he announced, and paused as a cheer went up from the crowd. He raised a hand for silence. “For her safe return, we thank the Goddess, and these, our guests,” he said, gesturing toward Tris and the others, “who have brought her home at no small peril to themselves.” He paused once more as applause rang out. “In thanksgiving for our good fortune, let the feast begin!” he said, throwing his arms wide with the same mischievous grin Tris saw so often on Berry’s face.

Carina clapped politely, but her thoughts were elsewhere. Tris noticed that Vahanian seemed determined to break through the healer’s distraction.

“I’m sorry,” Carina murmured. “I’m just not in a festive mood,” she demurred as Vahanian’s 495

attempt to engage her in banter fell flat. “I don’t mean to spoil the evening for everyone else.

You have every right to celebrate. It’s just that… being back here…”

“I feel the same way about the Borderlands,” Vahanian replied quietly, unusually serious. “I haven’t been back there in ten years, since I buried my wife.”

Carina looked back at him, surprised at the admission. He leaned toward her, dropping his voice further, and touched her hand. “The dead forgive us. I know that now. They want us to move on.”

Carina was quiet for a moment, but she did not look away. “I want to believe that,” she murmured. “I wish you could.”

The silence hung between them for a moment, and then Vahanian lightened the mood by sliding his goblet in front of her. “Until then, the best way to join the party is with some strong wine,”

he said and motioned for the steward, who filled both their goblets.

“I should warn you that I’m never on my best behavior,” Vahanian murmured to Berry, deliberately attempting to make Carina smile.

“I think that’s why she sat me next to you,” Carina replied, making an effort. “It would be impolite for her to douse you with her water if you get out of place. I, on the other hand…” she warned, and ominously fingered her goblet as her voice trailed off.

“I’m sure that wasn’t it at all,” Vahanian replied sportingly, with a conspiratorial glance at Berry.

“She’s noticed how smitten you’ve been with the tales Harrtuck’s been telling about my adventures, and so—”