Through Wolf's Eyes (22 page)

The possible existence of a granddaughter gave the
king an upper hand once again. The king smiled, but it was not
precisely a kind smile.

"Norvin, bring your ward . . ."

Not "my granddaughter,"
Derian noted to himself.
He's not ready to grant quite that much, not yet. He wants Earl Kestrel to remember who is in charge.

"And join my family at table tonight. They have all
heard rumors of your travels. It is time that they learn just what you
have brought home."

T
HE BANQUET HALL
into which they were escorted some hours later was not the largest room
Derian had ever seen. The Guildhall of the Combined Crafts (tanners,
leatherworkers, harness and saddlemakers) in the city below was larger.
Nor was the banquet hall the grandest room he had seen. The inner
chamber where the grandmasters of the smiths held their secret
conclaves was grander, its beams gleaming with gilding and sparkling
from the tiny silver stars that depended from invisible threads.

This hall, though, surpassed both for mere
magnificence. The stone floor was polished to such a shine that the
torches in the wall sconces and the candles on the tables seemed to
burn twice: once in flame, once in reflection. Referring to the
ivory-white marble walls as bare would be an insult, for though they
were free from tapestry or curtain, the marble itself was so
beautifully carved as to disdain further ornamentation.

In the center of the hall were four long tables set
in a modified fan, all of their ends meeting near a head table. The
flaring backs of the throne-like chairs set at the center of this head
table left no doubt that the king and queen would be seated where they
could command the attention of those dispersed along the fan. Derian
wondered where Firekeeper and Earl Kestrel would be placed.

The chief steward was a solid, silvery woman who
shared some of Valet's immunity to excitement. As she addressed Earl
Kestrel, her voice rang in the nearly empty room like a herald's
trumpet.

"The king commands that you and your ward be seated at the head table. The ward is to be at the king's right, you to
her right. Your party will be granted a few moments to orient yourselves before the family will join you."

Derian was grateful for those moments. Thus far
Firekeeper had been on her best behavior, but there was a trembling
tension about her that made him glad that she would have time to scout
out the room before it was filled with strangers.

He watched her as she flitted about from point to
point, touching the friezes on the wall, fingering the woven linen
tablecloths, peeking under the tables as if uncertain what might lurk
in their shadow. Blind Seer trotted beside her, more tense, less
curious. Derian feared that the wolf might have reached his limit
regarding new things and simply strike out at anything that came near.

Clearly the two members of the King's Own who had
remained with them shared his concern. Each stood straight with his
back against the wall, knuckles white around his halberd shaft. If they
found Firekeeper's behavior amusing, no trace of mirth showed on their
impassive countenances.

Derian ignored them, turning instead to Valet, who,
along with Derian, made up the entirety of Earl Kestrel's escort. Ox
and Race had been excluded on the grounds that no one else would bring
bodyguards. Doubtless they were in some servants' hall even now being
plied with ale and rich food by castle staff eager for gossip.

"Valet," Derian said, keeping his voice low, "what am I supposed to do? I'm out of my element here."

"You and I will stand there along the wall," Valet
gestured to the stretch behind the head table, "where we can be ready
if the earl needs us. Your particular role will be to assist Blysse. If
she is about to make any particularly dangerous error, stop her, even
at risk of reprimand to yourself."

Derian had no doubt that the errors Valet referred to
were not merely social ones, like holding her spoon incorrectly or
drinking her soup from her bowl. Firekeeper possessed a quick temper
when she perceived offense and he had yet to figure out precisely what
would
give offense.

He was permitted no further time to worry. The
towering wooden doors at the far end of the hall were beginning to open
and the steward's trumpet voice announced: "Grand
Duke Gadman, Lord Rolfston Redbriar and Lady Melina Shield, with Sapphire, Jet, Opal, Ruby, and Citrine Shield."

"Firekeeper," Derian hissed hopelessly, but his charge hurried over to him immediately.

"Stand there," Valet said, his own voice somehow both
strong and nearly inaudible. He dared a slight push to center
Firekeeper behind the chair where she was to sit. "And wait."

Firekeeper did so and Blind Seer sat beside her, his
hackles slightly raised. The woman acknowledged his tension by curling
the fingers of one hand in his fur, but her dark gaze was fixed on the
eight people entering the room. Derian reflected that the nobles might
mistake her unwavering stare for awe, but he knew the young woman well
enough to know that to Firekeeper any stranger was an enemy until
proven otherwise.

Such care might well be indicated when encountering
this particular family. Although the rumors Derian had heard about
Grand Duke Gadman and Lord Rolfston credited them with everything from
courage to ruthlessness, they were as nothing compared to what was
whispered about Lady Melina Shield. In city and countryside alike it
was agreed that the noblewoman was a sorceress, one of power the like
of which had not been seen since the days when the Old Country still
reigned.

Looking at the woman, demurely gowned in mutedly
iridescent silk, her fingers resting lightly on her husband's sleeve,
Derian was at first inclined to dismiss those rumors as mere
superstitious talk. Then he noticed the jeweled necklace encircling the
still-firm flesh of Melina Shield's pale throat.

The necklace was short, just a few links too long to
be a choker. Polished silver links were hung with five pendants, each
holding a single faceted gem. The colors were not harmonious. Indeed a
connoisseur might even say that they clashed: brilliant blue; opaque,
glittering black; fiery hues like those of a new-lit fire; bloodred,
and, lastly, a rich orange-brown, the shade of a fine cognac. Derian
did not need to be a gem cutter's nephew to recognize that each of
these gems was a pricelessly perfect example of the name-stones of each of Lady Melina's children.

Now, seeing the necklace, seeing how each of the
scion Shields wore set in a band about their brow a namestone gem to
match the one about their mother's throat, Derian believed with a
sudden thrill of his terrified soul that Melina Shield was indeed the
sorceress gossip had named her. He had little time to grow accustomed
to the thought, for the steward was announcing Grand Duchess Rosene and
her kin.

Although a widow of seventy, Rosene could still wear
soft pinks, for her hair was snow-white and her skin the delicate hues
of the inner petals of a newly blossomed wild rose. Her eyes, however,
were as shrewd as those of her brother the king and she let her son
escort her without hindrance, less from obedience to custom than the
better to glance about her and assess the situation.

Baron Ivon Archer, though a mature man, bore himself
like the son of a hero, but it was in his sister, Zorana, that Derian
saw the true heroic fire. Both of Grand Duchess Rosene's children were
accompanied by a spouse and trailed by their get, the youngest of whom
might have been excluded from such a gathering just a year or so
before. Derian hardly had time to note that Baron Archer's daughter,
the Lady Elise, was easily as lovely as any of her more ostentatiously
named second cousins when the steward announced:

"Their Royal Majesties, King Tedric and Queen Elexa!"

As no one had taken a seat, no one needed to rise,
but when the brass trumpets sounded their fanfare, everyone stood
straighter in respect and turned to watch the monarchs enter. Everyone,
that is, except Derian's Firekeeper. The loud trumpet call in the
contained chamber frightened her, causing her to start back in alarm.

Before she could err further, Derian hurried forward
and seized her arm, aware that in doing so he had once again brought
himself to the king's attention. He was too busy to worry about this,
for Firekeeper's hand had flown to her knife even as she looked about
for some sheltered place from which to defend herself.

"Easy," Derian assured her, wishing that his voice didn't
sound so loud in the suddenly hushed hall. "Easy."

Firekeeper felt no such need not to be noticed. "What that?"

"Trumpets," he said, letting his own tones match
hers. If he could not go unnoticed, then let no one think he had
anything to hide. "Like a flute but larger and louder."

"Where?"

"Over there." He indicated with one hand, his other gently guiding her knife back into its sheath.

Firekeeper moved as if she wished to examine one of
the instruments. Derian put a restraining hand on her arm, knowing that
if she intended to go, no strength of his would hold her.

"Stay," he said, more pleading than ordering. "You can look at them later. Now we owe the king our attention."

"Still?" she asked, blowing out through her nose in what he had learned was exasperation. "We did!"

"And still we must," Derian said patiently.

King Tedric rescued him. "Steward Silver, have one of
the heralds' trumpets brought here for my guest's inspection. The rest
of you have my leave to be seated."

Even Earl Kestrel obeyed this implicit command and, after examining the trumpet, Firekeeper was willing to do the same.

"Young man," the king said, and Derian realized that
he was being addressed. Hurriedly, he bent knee. "Remain at the young
woman's shoulder and advise her."

Derian did as ordered, standing at Firekeeper's
right, slightly to the left of Earl Kestrel and as far away as was
polite from the alarming presence of the king. Still, from where he
stood he noticed that the king's white hair was a wig. The realization
embarrassed him, as if he had stumbled onto a state secret.

Servants bearing wine and bread emerged from discreet
alcoves along the wall. Noticing that none of the nobles seemed to
regard them at all, Derian did his best to mimic the servants'
impassive expressions, wishing more than anything else to be forgotten.
He only moved when one would pour Firekeeper wine.

"Water only," he said softly.

The king, however, cocked an eyebrow. "Do you think my vintage not good enough for her?"

Derian was about to answer when Firekeeper said:

"Wine like sick bird berries. Makes prey."

"She means," Earl Kestrel translated, "that she has
observed wild birds eating fermented berries or fruit. They become
sick, and sick creatures become easy prey."

King Tedric stroked his angular cheekbone with one finger. "Surely she does not believe that I intend her harm."

Norvin Norwood was too old a campaigner to be discomfited.

"Not at all, Your Majesty, but her prejudices are
firm. We have not been able to convince her that wine or beer or any
liquor is a fair substitute for water."

The king did not press the point, but directed his
attention down the fan of tables where his relatives were watching with
as much interest as would be considered polite. Indeed, a few, like
Sapphire and Grand Duchess Rosene, were watching with rather more
attention than good manners should admit.

"This young woman," said the king with a slight
gesture, as if which young woman he meant could be in doubt, "is the
ward of Earl Kestrel. At his own initiative and at great personal risk
and expense, he mounted an expedition to learn the fate of my son,
Prince Barden."

Behind his carefully impassive face, Derian marveled.
Those last two words, just a name and a title, but spoken so casually
by the king himself, all but rescinded the disinheritance Tedric had
passed on his son. From the expressions that flickered across surprised
faces at the lower tables not everyone was pleased.

The king paused, perhaps making a similar assessment, perhaps merely to sip his wine.

"Sadly, for myself and for my queen, Norvin has
learned that Barden's expedition was a failure. The prince and his
followers—all but one—died in the early years of the colonization
attempt, apparently in a fire."

At least some of the murmurs of shock and pity seemed
to be genuine. Tedric waited for these to subside before continuing:

"The sole survivor was the young woman seated beside
me. Believing her to be his sister Eirene's daughter Blysse, Earl
Kestrel has made her his ward. His mother, the Duchess Kestrel and head
of his household, has confirmed the adoption. Thus, my guest is Blysse
Norwood, newest member of House Kestrel."