A Princess of Landover (9 page)

So
, Ben thought.
Aliens
have
taken him over. The Laphroig we know and hate has been replaced by something unrecognizable
. He caught himself.
Well, maybe. Maybe not
.

“What matter is it that brings you to us, Lord of Rhyndweir?” he asked.

Laphroig straightened noticeably, as if bracing himself. “High Lord, I know I have not been the best of neighbors in the past. I know I have been difficult at times, even rude. I attribute this to my youth and my inexperience, and I hope you have found it in your heart to forgive me.”

Ben shrugged. “There is nothing to forgive.”

“You are entirely too kind, High Lord. But I know differently, and I offer my apologies for all offenses given. I wish to start anew with our relationship, which I expect to be a long and productive one.”

Ben smiled and nodded.
What is he up to?

“I also intend to be a better friend to the members of your court, starting with Questor Thews and Abernathy, to whom I have been less than kind at times. That is all in the past now and will not happen again.”

His tongue flicked out as he gathered himself. “High Lord, I have come to ask you for the hand of your daughter, Mistaya, in marriage.”

Whatever Ben Holiday might have thought he was ready for, it certainly wasn’t this. He was so shocked that for a moment he just
stared at the other man. “You want to marry Mistaya?” he said finally.

Laphroig nodded enthusiastically. “I do. It will be a satisfactory match for both of us, I think.”

Ben leaned forward. “But she’s fifteen.”

Laphroig nodded. “Older than I would have liked, but still young enough to teach. We will be a good match: she an eager helper and dutiful wife and I, a strong protector and devoted husband. She is young enough to bear me many children, some of whom, I fully expect, will be sons who will succeed me. She has a pleasing face and temperament to match. She is clever, but not too much so. She is the woman I have always hoped to find.”

Ben stared some more. “Am I missing something here? Don’t you already have a wife? And a son and heir, for that matter?”

Laphroig looked suddenly sad. “Apparently you haven’t heard, High Lord. News doesn’t always travel as fast as we might think. My son caught a fever and died not twenty days ago. His mother, in her grief, killed herself. I am left with neither spouse nor heir, and while I would like the period of mourning to go on longer than it has, duty dictates that I act in the best interest of my subjects. That means taking a new wife and producing an heir as quickly as possible.” He paused, shaking his head. “Even in my grief, I thought at once of Mistaya.”

So that was it. Suddenly Ben wanted to wring his visitor’s scrawny neck. He could do it, right here in the reception room, and no one would know. Even if Questor or Abernathy guessed at the truth of things, they would never say a word. The impulse was so overwhelming that he found he was clenching his fists in anticipation. He forced himself to relax and sit back.

“Your dedication to your duties is commendable,” he said, trying to decide how to put an end to this.

“Mistaya, I understand, has just returned from her schooling in what was once your old world, High Lord.” Laphroig smiled, his tongue flicking out. “I gather she does not intend to go back, but to
remain here in Landover. That makes it all the easier for a wedding to be arranged. It is a suitable match, don’t you agree?”

Ben knew enough not to tell the other what he really thought. He also understood how marriage protocols worked where the Lords of the Greensward were concerned. Taking wives to produce heirs was standard practice. Young wives were favored to allow for maximum production. Marriages were arranged between the ruling families all the time. Such unions created alliances and strengthened friendships with allies. Nothing that Laphroig had suggested was out of line with common practice.

On the other hand, it was entirely out of the question. Ben and Willow’s opinions aside, Mistaya would run screaming into the night if the suggestion were even broached; she hated Laphroig, who was always patting her arm or trying to kiss her cheek. Given the opportunity and the least bit of encouragement, she would have turned him into a real frog But Ben had cautioned her against doing anything overt, pointing out that he had to live and work with people like Laphroig, and there was nothing to be gained by making it harder than it already was.

He half wished now that he had let her have her way.

“My Lord, this is a matter that will require some thought and discussion,” he said finally. “The Queen must be advised of your intentions. Also … um, Mistaya must be told.”

“Of course, of course,” Laphroig agreed at once. “She must be courted, as well. I must win her heart. It was never my intention to ask that she simply be given to me. She must agree to the match, too.”

Ben felt a little of the tension drain out of him. If Mistaya must agree, it would be the Twelfth of Never before any marriage happened. “I am pleased you are taking this approach.”

Laphroig stood, bowed deeply, his feathered hat sweeping down, and straightened anew. “I shall return home to await your word. But I do want to emphasize that I hope to begin courting the Princess as soon as you have had a chance to consider and accept my proposal.
As I said, I do feel some urgency in this matter, and I do feel I have a duty to my people.”

“I understand,” Ben advised, rising with him. “You shall hear from me again very shortly.”

He watched Laphroig bounce out of the room, wondering how in the world he was going to handle this.

MISUNDERSTANDINGS

S
ome distance away from the castle, although not so far that she could not see its silver gleam against the green backdrop of the surrounding forests, Mistaya sat talking with Poggwydd about proper behavior. It was a discussion that was taking considerable time and effort, and they had been at it for several hours now. That these two citizens of Landover should be engaged in a discourse on this particular subject was of itself rather strange, and the irony of it would not have been lost on Ben Holiday had he been present to witness it. No doubt he would have had something to say to his daughter about the pot calling the kettle black or how people who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.

Willow, on the other hand, would have pointed out that sometimes people worked through their own problems by trying to help others with theirs, and that this could be particularly effective when the nature of those problems was so similar.

“If you want to be accepted by others, you have to be considerate of their feelings,” the pot was saying to the kettle.

Poggwydd frowned. “No one is considerate of us. No one wants anything to do with us. G’home Gnomes are friendless outcasts in a friendless world.”

“Yes, but there are reasons for this, as I have been saying,” Mistaya
explained patiently. “For instance, taking things that don’t belong to you is not a good way to endear yourself.”

Poggwydd bristled. “G’home Gnomes are not thieves, Princess. We are finders of lost items, with which we then barter or trade. It is a time-honored profession, and one in which our people have been engaged for centuries. Just because we are not skilled craftsmen or clever artisans does not mean we deserve to be treated badly.”

Mistaya sighed. They were covering familiar ground without making much progress. “Poggwydd, you do not find ‘lost items’ in other people’s storerooms and closets. You do not find them in their sheds and huts. You do not find them in their kitchen cabinets and pantries, some of which are bolted and locked.”

Poggwydd screwed up his monkeyish face and grimaced. “Those are harsh words. Unpleasant accusations.” He thought about it a moment and suddenly brightened. “Where is your proof?”

“Well, in your case, finding you hung from a tree limb by an angry kobold who just happens to serve my father would be a prime example.”

“That was a case of mistaken identity. It wasn’t me. Probably wasn’t even a G’home Gnome, although there are some among us—as there are some among you—who do not obey the rules of the tribe. But if I were pressed for an explanation, I would think it was probably another kobold—perhaps even the one who accused me.”

He nodded with some degree of self-satisfaction, and she wanted to smack him. “Bunion doesn’t lie and he doesn’t have any reason to steal things to which he has free access,” she pointed out. “Besides, Parsnip saw you, too. That suggests you might want to rethink your explanation. The fact is, Poggwydd, you were somewhere you shouldn’t have been. You weren’t invited into the castle, let alone into the kitchen and the pantries. This is an example of being where you aren’t supposed to be for a purpose that shows no consideration for others.”

The G’home Gnome pouted. “I would have paid it all back, you know. Eventually.”

“Well, if you hadn’t done it in the first place, you wouldn’t have had to worry about paying anyone back. And you could have asked for whatever it was you took. Maybe Parsnip would have given you what you needed. Next time, you should just ask for me.”

He shook his head. “No, I can’t do that. You are a Princess. Why would a Princess even be
told
I was asking for her?”

She brushed back her blond hair. “We’re getting off the point. We were talking about proper behavior. Or lack thereof. G’home Gnomes suffer from a failure to recognize what proper behavior is. If they want to be accepted by others, they have to earn their respect.”

Poggwydd snorted. “How is that supposed to happen? Everyone’s already made up their minds about us.”

“And you don’t do anything to change those minds. Besides ‘finding’ things in people’s houses, you manage to latch on to their pets, too. Often right out of their pens. And then you eat them.”

“That is a lie!” Poggwydd leaped to his feet, flinging his arms about, his wizened face screwed up like a walnut. “We do not eat pets. We eat wild creatures we find wandering about. If they happen to be pets that have strayed, what are we to do about that? How are we to know? People blame us, but they don’t want to share that blame! If they took better care of their pets, these things wouldn’t happen!”

Mistaya scratched an itch on her nose and smiled. “Why don’t you stop eating cats and dogs altogether? There are plenty of other things you could eat. Squirrels or birds or voles. Or even bog wumps, if you could catch one. Eat some of those instead.”

“Bog wumps!” Poggwydd was horrified. “Do you eat bog wumps? Does anyone?”

“Well, I don’t,” she agreed. “But I don’t eat cats and dogs, either.”

The gnome sat down again. “I don’t think you know what you are talking about.” He gave her an accusatory stare. “I think you are badly confused about all of this.”

She pressed her lips tightly together in frustration and nodded. “Why don’t you just think about what I said,” she suggested finally.
“In the meantime, stay away from the castle. If you need food, come ask for me. I will tell everyone I am to be told if you do. Is that all right?”

Poggwydd folded his arms across his skinny chest and hunched his shoulders as he looked away from her. “I might just leave. I might just go back to where I came from and forget about trying to make a home here. I don’t think this is going to work out.”

She got to her feet. Couldn’t argue with logic like that, she thought. “I’ll come back and see you again tomorrow,” she promised. “We can take a walk and not talk about anything, if you like.”

He shrugged. “If you can spare the time.”

She left him sitting there looking off into space, pretending that nothing she said or did mattered to him, that he was above it all. She had come out to talk with him after hearing from Bunion the whole of what had led to the little fellow being strung up by his heels, wanting to do something to prevent it from happening again. Bunion and Parsnip could promise that it wouldn’t, but if they caught Poggwydd again where he wasn’t supposed to be she wasn’t all that sure the promise would mean anything. Kobolds were not known for their generous natures, and even though these two were her friends, friendship only went so far.

As she strolled back through the grove of Bonnie Blues toward the castle, she tried to decide what else she could say that would make a difference. She needed to do something besides brood on her situation as a former Carrington student, an identity she was trying to put behind her at this point. Her father hadn’t said anything more about her suggestion that she go back to being tutored by Questor and Abernathy, but she had a feeling he was considering something else. No one had indicated what that might be, not even her two would-be tutors, who kept hemming and hawing around the subject whenever she brought it up to them.

So now she was thinking that it might be a good plan to come up with an idea of her own, a project that would convince her father that she was doing something useful. Working with the disadvantaged
had always appealed to her, and there was no one more disadvantaged than the G’home Gnomes. If she could demonstrate her ability to change even one of them for the better, then her chances of being allowed to try to do so with all of the others would be greatly improved.