But after that nothing in the encounter followed any outline either of them had envisioned.
“You plan to go to Breidechboden?” one of the men said, in accented but quite accomplished Terheien. His gaze, from bored, had become intent. “You wish to speak to the Arobern for the Lord of the Delta?” He did not sound, as Mienthe would have expected, doubtful. He simply gave Tan a long look and Mienthe a polite nod and said, “I am glad to save you many miles. The Arobern is not in Breidechboden. He is here.”
“Here? In Ehre?” Mienthe said blankly, before she could stop herself. She had meant to leave all the speaking to Tan, but in her startlement she had forgotten.
“In Ehre. Yes,” said the guardsman. “This is good news, yes? Because you bring an important message. You do not have a wand?”
He meant the white wand Feierabianden couriers carried. Mienthe shook her head mutely, mindful of what
Tan had said about complicated lies. She said, trying to sound confident but finding her voice coming out small and nervous, “But I do carry an urgent message, esteemed sir.”
The guardsman gave a little nod. “I will escort you to the king myself, honored courier, and bring him word you have come. From the Delta, as you say you are sent by the honored Lord of the Delta.” He was watching them closely, Mienthe realized, in case they had lied and the news he gave them was actually very bad news indeed.
But when she met the man’s eyes, he smiled deferentially and ducked his head, and she saw he did not think they had lied at all. He thought she was probably a true courier, that she did bring word of some kind to his king, and that Tan was her proper escort. Though Mienthe
did
carry an important warning and
did
urgently want an audience with the King of Casmantium, she felt oddly like an impostor under the regard of the guardsman. She tried not to let this show.
“It’s good news indeed, esteemed sir,” Tan said with smooth sincerity. He drew his horse aside with hardly a hesitation, nodding to Mienthe to precede him. He, too, had understood the conclusion the guardsman had drawn and now played precisely to that conclusion. Mienthe thought probably Tan would be best pleased to step out of view, play the role of servant and protector. He would tuck himself in her shadow so that everyone would see and remember only her. She understood why he wanted to do that, so even though she found the attention of the guardsmen uncomfortable, she nodded and rode ahead of both men into the town.
It occurred to her before they had gone very far that
they were going to see the King of Casmantium and that, much worse, he was actually going to see
them
. She wondered what her hair looked like—she had not managed to wash it since Kames—and might there be visible dirt on her face? Though the mountains had been clean stone and ice, mostly. But her traveling skirt was terribly crumpled, and once she discarded her coat, she was almost certain she would find a grease mark on her blouse from the previous night’s dinner. She wondered whether they might really need to go
straight
to the Arobern. Might the guardsmen let them stop at some inn or public house, first? One with decent bathing facilities and a laundry?
But a sidelong glance at their escort told her how little hope there was of such a stop. They were accompanied by several guardsmen, not merely the one who had said he would escort them, though that one was clearly in charge. He looked very serious and determined. If Mienthe and Tan had wanted to break away and lose themselves in Ehre, this would have been inconvenient. As it was, except that her sudden burst of self-consciousness made her wish for a little less efficiency, the presence of the guardsmen was very convenient indeed. The streets were terribly crowded and Mienthe had no idea in the world where she was going. But the guardsmen cleared a way for them, guiding them around in a confusingly circular path that seemed to lead them strangely out of the way if they meant to go, as Mienthe had assumed, toward the center of the town.
Just as she started to wonder very seriously where exactly the guardsmen were taking them, the streets suddenly opened up and there before them was a very large stone fortress, a building not without a certain grace, but
obviously intended far more for defense than for beauty. There was no evident garden, only a small courtyard of raked granite grit, with stables to one side and one massive tree on the other.
“The governor’s palace,” said their guide. “The Arobern is there now. I will show you where to wait and then I will take word to the king’s… ah, the word is… the king’s chamberlain, yes? Forgive me; I am clumsy with your language.”
“But you speak Terheien very well,” Mienthe said.
The man ducked his head again. “The honored courier flatters my poor skill,” he said politely, and swung down from his own horse to hold hers.
Mienthe dismounted. So did Tan, though no one held his horse for him. He kept a grip on his horse’s saddle, Mienthe saw, and his mouth tightened with pain as his weight came down on his bad leg. She gave him a worried glance, to which he returned only a short nod. He let go of the saddle and took two deliberate steps away from his horse, hardly limping at all, though Mienthe did not like to guess what that effort cost him.
The door to which the guardsman brought them was a plain one, set out of the way, well around the palace from the main doors. It opened onto a narrow hall, but the rugs on the stone floor were good ones, and the walls paneled in carved wood. At the end of the hall was a surprisingly pretty receiving chamber, furnished with clear attention to elegance and style. The floor was stone, with rugs of violet and blue to muffle the cold and noise. The furnishings were all wood save for the small tables, which were each topped with a sheet of polished granite. A bronze statue of a leaping stag stood in one corner, and a pewter
tree with silver leaves and little birds of copper and black iron in another. There were no windows, but lamps of copper and glass hung from the paneled ceiling, and porcelain lamps stood on the tables.
“I will leave you here,” said the guardsman, speaking to Mienthe. “I will tell the chamberlain. I will be very clear. I think the Arobern will send for you quickly, but I will tell them to send tea. You will wait? This is acceptable?”
“Yes,” said Mienthe, wondering what he would say or do if she said
No
. She said helplessly, “But my hair—” and stopped, blushing in embarrassed confusion.
The corners of the guardsman’s mouth twitched uncontrollably upward before he tamped his lips out straight again. He said very firmly, “The King of Casmantium is accustomed to receive urgent news from couriers and agents. Honored lady.”
“Yes,” Mienthe said, though not with nearly the firmness the man had managed. She told herself it was perfectly true. The guardsman bowed, rather more deeply than she had expected, and went out. None of the guardsmen stayed in the room with them, though she was not at all surprised to see two of them stop outside the door—there was only one door—with a patient attitude that suggested they might be there for some time.
“Your hair looks perfectly charming,” Tan told her, without the hint of a smile, after the door had closed. “There’s a tiny bit of ash on your chin, just—” He brushed his thumb across his own chin.
Mienthe scrubbed her face vigorously with her sleeve, sighed, and looked around. At least there were chairs, nice ones with thick cushions. She thought hot tea
sounded wonderful, especially if it came with cakes or sweet rolls, and she thought even more strongly that Tan should sit down. She sank into the nearest chair herself, by way of example, and said, “I suppose the Arobern really is here.”
“Yes,” agreed Tan. “For a brief time, I was afraid our friends there might be taking us somewhere other than to the king, but now I rather suspect they are royal guardsmen and not merely local men who prefer soldiering to farming.” He lowered himself slowly into a chair, not grimacing at all, and carefully stretched his leg out before him.
Mienthe did not ask about his knee, since the way he moved told her everything she needed to know. Anyway, she had some hope he would be able to rest it properly now. She asked instead, “You do intend to tell the king who you are, don’t you? If he will see us, I mean? Because I don’t know how to explain everything without explaining that.” She considered for a moment and added, “I don’t know how to explain
anything
without explaining that.”
“If the Arobern actually sends for us, I suppose he must have the entire wretched story from top to toe,” Tan said, not as if the prospect pleased him. He tilted his head against the back of his chair, closed his eyes, and let his breath out, slowly.
“I hadn’t known—” Mienthe began worriedly, and stopped.
“I had no difficulty until I tried walking on it,” Tan said, not opening his eyes. “I’m sure it will soon be better. You will do me the favor of not mentioning the problem to anyone.”
“No, of course I won’t,” Mienthe promised, though she couldn’t decide whether this request—or command—was based on any practical consideration or merely on Tan’s habitual unwillingness to let anybody know the truth about anything.
There was a sound at the door, and she turned, thinking of the promised tea. But the sound did not presage a tray-bearing servant, but rather an elegant man in lavender and gray who bowed his head briefly to Mienthe and said, in smooth, perfect Terheien, “The Lord King Brechen Glansent Arobern is pleased to grant you audience, esteemed lady, and you, sir, if you will please accompany me.”
The King of Casmantium looked very much as Mienthe had expected.
Bertaud had never spoken to her—not even to her—of the summer of the griffins, nor of his months in Casmantium that had followed. Mienthe had clearly understood, as so few people seemed to, that whether he had achieved some sort of triumph or not, whether or not he was honored for whatever he had done, her cousin had suffered somehow in that year and did not like to think of that time.
She had once believed, with a child’s natural romanticism, that he had probably fallen in love with a Casmantian woman and she had broken his heart. Later, it had occurred to her that this was, perhaps, a simplistic explanation. Also, she had come to understand that her cousin’s grief, whatever its source, was in some way deeper—no, not deeper, that wasn’t fair. But then perhaps somehow
broader
than the grief that afflicted men who
were merely unlucky with a woman. Though this assessment was based largely on the lovesick and forlorn men who trailed behind her maid Karin like a line of goslings piping piteously behind a swan—well, that was a silly image, but anyway, perhaps comparing Bertaud to her maid’s hopeless collection of would-be lovers wasn’t quite fair.
Whatever the source of his distaste for the subject, she had never asked her cousin any questions about that time. Even as a child, she had very well understood how someone might wish to forget the past. Or, if the past could not be forgotten, at least to keep from dragging through unpleasant memories. She had been wordlessly determined that, with her, Bertaud might speak or keep silent, exactly as he wished.
But that had not stopped her deep curiosity to know everything about her cousin and what he had done. After he had brought her to live with him in the great house, she had admired him enormously and had longed to know all the details about every admirable thing he had ever done. She had asked his guardsmen, and the servants, and she had once found the nerve to ask King Iaor, and although no one knew everything, she had learned by heart the bits they all knew and had made up stories to tell herself that explained the parts they did not know.
But she would have known the King of Casmantium anyway, because he looked so much like his son, Erich. When she saw Brechen Glansent Arobern, she almost felt as though she recognized him. It was odd to think that he could have no idea who she was.
The Arobern was a big man, burly as well as tall, who looked more like a professional soldier than a king,
except for the sapphire and amethyst buttons on his shirt and the heavy gold chain around his throat. He wore unornamented black and had a black-hilted sword slung at his side, and as his close-cropped hair and heavy beard were also black, he made rather a grim, aggressive impression, which Mienthe supposed was purposeful. Certainly it was effective. His jaw was heavy, but his deep-set eyes, glinting with wit as well as forceful energy, prevented him from looking dull or brutish. She would have been afraid of him, except she saw him through Erich’s memory as well as her own eyes, so she saw kindness and generosity in his face, as well as aggressive energy.
The king sat in a plain chair of polished granite, in a room that was not large and yet managed, with its violet-draped walls and thick indigo rugs and the sapphire-blue glass of its lanterns, to seem ostentatious. Though there were other chairs in the room—plain wood—everyone else in the room was standing.
There were several guardsmen and servants, but there were also some few people who were clearly more important than these attendants. Close by the king’s side, leaning casually against the back of the stone chair, stood a slight, fine-boned man with perfectly white hair. Mienthe immediately recognized this man. Bertaud might not like to speak of Casmantium, but both King Iaor and Erich had described him to her. Though King Iaor had disliked him, Erich had told her that while he was impossible to deceive, he was also wise and kind.
He’s the only man in Casmantium who isn’t a little afraid of my father
, Erich had said.
When he’s kind to you, it isn’t because you’re a prince.
This was Beguchren Teshrichten, who, Erich said,
had been a mage but who, so King Iaor had said, had somehow lost his magecraft—used it up or burned it out, or the griffins had burned it out when they defeated him.
Something
had happened to him, but King Iaor had not been clear about exactly what that was.