Michelle West - The Sun Sword 02 - The Uncrowned King (95 page)

"Valedan, you take too much upon yourself. It is a type of arrogance."

Palms became fists. "Arrogance? There would be no demons on the streets, Serra, had I not chosen to join this contest."

He waited for her denial; there was none. What could she say? She was no fool, and no liar; she knew the truth when she heard it.

"And did I choose to join it so that
others
might fight while I run or play at fighting?"

"That is your arrogance," Serra Alina said, but not as unkindly. "That you think that raising sword in a battle you are not yet equipped to win is somehow more noble than letting men fight and die who
are
capable of doing so.

"Do you think you will lead an army and defend each man, each common soldier, with your own person? Do you think that because your cause
is
the noble cause—and it is that, Valedan, and I do not mistake it—no one need die in its service? Do you think that whole villages won't be slaughtered, in either your name or your enemy's?"

"No!" He turned, then. Rose in a single motion to face her, to face the words that she alone could speak aloud to him. "But I
think
," he said, through teeth that were clenched so tight it was hard to speak at all. "that they should not be dying while I am
playing
. That they should not be facing death and darkness, while I run for gold-plated
leaves
beneath the Lord's gaze!"

She did not take a step back. Did not, in fact, appear to notice his anger, the obvious lack of control that he showed by expressing it so openly.

His mother would have fled in tears.

"Valedan, I am not your mother, and I am not a part of your mother's harem; nor am I—nor can I be, to my regret—a part of
yours
. I say this, then, as an outsider, and you must take it for what it is worth.

"You made your choice. You made it with what wisdom and knowledge you had at that time. You
knew
what the risks were."

"I knew they'd try to kill
me
," he said.

"And you thought that that wouldn't cause deaths outside of your own? You have been too young, Valedan. You are gaining wisdom now, as any of us must do: by experience. You no longer have the comfort of such naivete. Your choices will always cost lives: you are pawn to power, but if you succeed, you will be Northern King, Southern Tyr. Men will kill for you, and die for you, on days when you do nothing more than drink the waters of the Tor Leonne."

Stillness, an utter economy of motion, fell like a mantle on his shoulders as he met her unblinking gaze. "And am I, who rule, to have no say in this?"

"What do you think, Valedan?" She asked, softly, surrendering some of her harshness because—and he knew it—she had spent too long in the North.

"I think," he said softly, "that I can't stop making choices, so it doesn't matter. Is that what you wanted me to say?"

"I? No. I want you to come to your rooms. I want you to sleep. Commander Sivari says that you must do well tomorrow."

"In the
games
," Valedan said, bitterly.

"Even so. Perhaps this is the most important lesson you will learn from this, kai Leonne. You have made the commitment, Vale-dan; you must continue it now, with grace, and if you are not pleased with the commitment itself, learn from it for the future."

Jewel ATerafin sat beside Meralonne APhaniel and Sigurne Mellifas, or rather, sat between them; they had both been laid out in the healerie by a rather short-tempered Dantallon.

"You again!" he said, when Meralonne walked, washed in blood, through the healerie's modest arch.

But he'd fallen silent when Kiriel had come bearing Sigurne Mellifas. And his silence had become more dour when he realized that the cause of her ailment was beyond his ability to cure.

He'd seen to Meralonne's wounds—inasmuch as Meralonne, who loathed healers for reasons that Jewel couldn't fathom, but would never have argued with, would allow him to. He'd brought cloths and blankets for Sigurne, and had sat by her side, carefully wiping her damp brow, until Jewel had offered to take over for him.

"It's just make-work," he told her quietly.

"I know," she said. Their hands met, and he smiled wryly.

"She has that effect on people. I—she's not young, but I want her to survive."

"I know."

"And will she, Jewel ATerafin? Will she survive?"

"Yes."

He froze a moment as the word died into stillness, and then his eyes closed and he let his head fall into his hands. "Will you need a bed again, ATerafin?" he said, a moment later.

"I hope not. Not that I have anything against the beds here," she added, "but I've spent way too much time in healeries in the last month, and if I never see one as a patient again, it'll be too soon.

"I'll stay a few hours."

"Your domicis?"

Avandar stood close to the largest window, a grim shadow against the glass.

"He'll stay until I'm gone. He's… not happy with me at the moment."

"I'm not sure I'd want him unhappy with me," Dantallon replied. But Jewel had seen him face down a room full of upper nobility when he felt his cause—usually the health of a stubborn patient—required it; she couldn't imagine that Dantallon would particularly care if anyone were unhappy with him, given the right circumstances. She watched him leave.

And when he was gone, a hand touched her hand.

She turned to meet the open eyes of Meralonne APhaniel, unsurprised by his convenient wakefulness.

"Jewel ATerafin," he said, his voice soft rather than weak. Dantallon was convinced that the fevers had him again, or that they would—but possibly not as badly. She couldn't understand why; the rings seemed trivial compared to the fight with the demon. But she wasn't magi, and she knew better than to ask.

She held his gaze. And then, acknowledging what he had not yet spoken openly of, she turned from him to look at the troubled face of Sigurne Mellifas.

"Yes," he said softly.

"Did you see what she did?" Jewel asked, her eyes tracing the lines in the old woman's brow with a mixture of fear and affection.

"I did not need to see it," Meralonne replied, his voice failing to draw her attention away from the woman of whom they spoke so obliquely. "I heard the name."

"I thought it was myth—the name thing."

His answer was a trifle frosty. "You have spent too much time with Kiriel to be that stupid, but I forgive you your transparent attempt at protection."

Silence again. At last, Jewel said softly, "What will you do?"

And she heard, of all things, a chuckle. She turned then, his hand still on her hand.

"What will
I
do? What will you do, Jewel ATerafin? Of the two of us,
my
history, I believe, is somewhat less sterling than yours."

"
I
was the thief," she countered.

"True enough, but there was a certain purity even in that; you were a thief when you had no power. And therefore the thieving did not define you; what defined you then still binds you now."

She wanted to know what he thought that was, and even started to ask, but there was something in his expression that made her pull back. Made her ask instead, "And what shadows your history. Member APhaniel?"

"Perhaps I have dabbled in the same arts," he replied softly.

She stared at him until his lips turned up in a smile.

"Your particular talent gives you the advantage in this conversation."

She shrugged. "It wouldn't have mattered at all had I been the one trying to wield your sword." She was quiet a moment, and then she said, "Sigurne knew you wouldn't make it on your own. She knew it."

His gaze grew remote; passed beyond her to the woman on the bed. "Yes," he said softly. "And no, I don't know how."

"I do. She knew who that creature was."

"I think it… unlikely."

"Why? You seemed to know who that creature was."

"That is why I think it unlikely." He rose, stiffly, releasing Jewel's hand.

"Meralonne—Dantallon's going to kill me if you collapse."

"Probably." He passed her bed; came to stand at the foot of Sigurne's. She saw the shudder take his slender frame; twist his features. He forced it aside. Dantallon would have
been furious
. "The magi suspected," he said, "but we did not know for certain.

"Sigurne has seen much in her life, and—like you—she may have done things she now regrets at a time when she had no power. What she has done since she gained true power defines who she
is
.

"I will not betray her, if it is possible not to betray her: I believe that the arts she learned, she must have been fated to learn for just this reason: battle is coming, Jewel. Beyond it, the war that will forgive all, or destroy all." He bowed his head. "And truthfully, I have become fond of Sigurne, and I am fond of very few people in my dotage."

The funny thing was that
was
the truth; so few people spoke truth when they announced their intention to do so.

"Well," Jewel said, "you're a member of the magi, one of the wise. If you don't think she's any danger, who am I to argue? Besides, if I take this complaint to the council of the magi, and you deny it, they'll have to side with you."

He was utterly, completely silent.

And then she understood, and she understood completely. She felt a chill in the room that emanated entirely from his eyes. It wasn't much lessened when he bowed, although his subsequent collapse into the bed that Dantallon had designated his did take a bit of the edge off his unspoken threat.

Why, she thought, as she returned his bow, acknowledging the threat that he had chosen not to make, and that she had chosen— by so bowing—not to take offense at, were powerful people always so cold-blooded when they made their decisions?

25th day of Lattan, 427 AA Avantari

In the morning, things were clearer.

He rose with the dawn, having seen too long a night, and when he left his chambers, it was the Princess and not the former Kings' Champion who was waiting for him.

The halls were empty; the air was quiet.

On just such a morning as this, for several years now, Princess Mirialyn ACormaris would meet him. Just as today, she would carry a bow; he would carry nothing. They would walk—as she walked—down the quiet hall, and at the end of the hall, not the middle, and not near the door where the discussion might drift backward into the occupied halls, she would turn to him, and she would ask, "Are you ready?"

And he would shrug.

And she did. And he did. It made him laugh.

The sound startled him. She answered it with a smile, a rare warmth that travelled the breadth of her face, changing very little.

"I spoke with Alina," she said, as they continued to walk.

He stiffened a moment. Sighed. "And?"

"Valedan, she understands what it is to be a Southerner. She does not—she
cannot
—understand what it is to be Valedan kai di'Leonne. None of us can. You were born in the South; you were raised in it until your eighth year. Some elements of that remain. But you've come of age in the North, among the patriciate, the Northern nobility. You have learned our ways.

"They will become inseparable. North and South, within you, if you succeed."

"And if I fail?"

She turned to face him. "Death." Before he could reply—and there was no guarantee that he could have—she removed the bow from its resting place across her shoulder. It was unstrung, almost unbent, but he could tell just by looking at it that it was, if unornamented, a very fine weapon. "I would be honored," she said, "if you would use this."

He caught it in both hands; was surprised by its weight. It was heavy, much heavier than it looked.

"I will not be able to go with you," she continued softly.

He knew that she spoke of the Dominion and the war.

"Alina will go, and that will cause comment. I believe that Sivari will take his leave and travel with you as well. The Commanders will go. Listen to them, Valedan; they do not give poor advice."

He started to speak; she lifted a slender finger.

"Listen to them, but remember that in the South,
you
, and you alone, must be seen to rule. If you disagree with anything they say, choose to speak privately, and quietly, no matter how strong the disagreement is. To disagree, and then to be persuaded to their way of thinking will not be acceptable to the Southerners who watch, who weigh the Northern influence in your life.

"But," she added softly, "if you make a decision, and the Commanders are arrayed against you—if you are certain in your convictions, declare yourself publicly; they will bow, because they have no right to be there without your request."

"I will have Baredan," he said quietly. "And Ramiro."

"Yes. And Fillipo as well; he is cunning, but I think has more of a heart than his brother."

"He can," Valedan replied without thinking. "He doesn't have to rule."

She stared at him a long time, and then she nodded. "Truth in that, kai Leonne. How much of your heart will you give away to become power's vessel?"

"I don't know."

"You know that there's a choice, now. Don't forget it."

"Will I be allowed?"

She smiled. "Probably not. But I would say, no, I
will
say, that you will take Jewel ATerafin with you as well, and when you are troubled, you might turn to her, if only to listen to what she has to say."

"Because she has the so-called sight?"

"Because," Mirialyn said gravely, "she is caught in the same struggle that will bind you: the choice between power and compassion, between wisdom and justice, between duty to a cause and loyalty to yourself. She has the advantage; she is older than you are, and she surrounds herself with people she can trust.

"But you, Valedan, can trust so few that it might be better if you did not trust at all."

They were waiting for him.

The Ospreys, the Commander, the Callestans. Even the General, Baredan di'Navarre, seemed to exhale and gain his ease only when Valedan came into full sight.