The Sheening Of The Blades (Book 1) (20 page)

Melkin was staring at her, too. 
“A stowaway we picked up along the way,” he said tersely, weighing her with his eyes.

Ari, alone knowing her secret, smiled to himself…until he noticed
Kai was still looking at her.  There was no need for that.

The Merranic King was leading them into the dining room,
on his arm a smug Cerise that had apparently forgiven him his inattention.  Ari scurried to follow, giving Selah a warm, proud grin as he led her in.  It wasn’t unenjoyable, the meal, despite the formality and the long table and the fact they were joined by the three eldest of Kane’s Line: Crown Prince Kierrane, and the Princesses Kilde and Katrine.  The Crown Prince became (and stayed) instantly infatuated with Cerise, who flirted professionally, while Kilde’s wide eyes dashed with delighted indecision between Loren and Ari.  Even with all the rampant royalty, there was amusing conversation, formal Merranics a dozen times more personable than informal Northerners.

“
Forgive the Queen’s absence,” Kane said after everyone had been seated and started in on the delicious food.  “She’s with our newest.”

“
How many is this?” Banion asked good-naturedly.

“
Twelve,” Kane said proudly, and every Northern head picked up.

“
They don’t have children,” Rodge hissed at Ari, “they have
litters
.”  Ari kicked him quiet. 

“
It’s just a girl,” Kane went on, and Cerise choked on her chicken, “but she’s a wee, fair thing…little Kaelwynn.”  Doting fondness fairly thrummed through his voice.  Banion chuckled at him.

“
Speaking of children,” the monarch said more briskly, “I’ve five sons needing wives, and you, young lady, have a steady eye.”  He was looking down the table to where the girls were sitting and Cerise smiled graciously, obviously agreeing with both his sentiment and his ambition.

“
You honor me, my Lord King, but I have been spoken for,” she said smoothly, dipping her glowing, pale head.

King Kane raised his eyebrows,
“Your pardon, Lady Cerise, but I was speaking to your young companion.”  He smiled engagingly at Selah.

Cerise looked like she
’d been slapped with a butter knife.  Ari didn’t hear the rest of the conversation—he was focused fiercely on Rodge’s frozen, twitching face, certain he’d burst out with something scathingly inappropriate any minute. 

As the last of them sat back with satisfied sighs and a dab of napkin, Kane said,
“Kierrane, perhaps our young guests would be interested in seeing the Gardens?”

Everyone rose
respectfully when His Majesty did, small talk starting up as Kierrane offered Cerise his arm and led the way out.  The men were going the opposite way, to a room being opened for them beyond the dining hall, the Merranics and Melkin already pulling pipes out of their pockets.  For a second Ari hesitated, then, hardly believing he dared, he squared his shoulders and went to smoke.

Kane looke
d at him in surprise as he turned to shut the door. 

“
My daughters don’t please you?” he asked blankly.  Ari paused, gulping, appalled by his own temerity and the offense he’d apparently given.  Everyone turned to look at him.  Banion chuckled.

Kane
’s eyes were beginning to twinkle and he said confidingly, “You’re a wise man.  Kilde’s a bit…troubled…right now.”

And Ari, awed, found himself shown
to a big, comfortable chair and promptly sank into it as far as he could, his presence apparently accepted.  The room was lined with overflowing bookcases, big chairs, scattered tables and knick-knacks, and several wolfhounds, complete with their distinctive aroma.  It was the coziest room he’d seen yet in this place—even cozier when one of the dogs flopped companionably and painfully onto his foot.

The pipes were barely lit when Kane rumbled out comfortably,
“Banion’s been keeping me abreast of events, Melkin, but I’d like to hear your take on them.”  His presence filled the room, and Ari began to wonder a little wildly what in the world had made him think he belonged in a King’s council.

“
Most of what we’ve gotten is more questions,” Melkin said, as short-tempered as ever.  “Raemon and his unquenchable propensity for war are supposedly imprisoned in a statue, the husk of the Empress.  That’s also supposed to explain both her absence and the Five Hundred Years of Peace.  The really pressing questions, what happens when the Five Hundred years are up and when that is, are apparently beyond the knowledge of the living,” he finished with a snap.  He was in a silvery grey doublet that should have made him look grandfatherly, but instead, with his flinty eyes sparking irascibly, gave the strong impression of a rabid wolf ensnared in velvet blankets.

             
“If the Shepherd is accurate, the prison is near opening,” Dra Kai said, deep and quiet.  He was the only one still armed, though the blades hung free.  “Our time grows short.”

             
Kane nodded, eyes sharp and concerned despite the lazy rings of blue-ish smoke rising out of his pipe.

             
“That Statue may be an issue,” Melkin admitted blackly.  “If the forces are rising in the south, it may be because they know something we don’t…or that they’ve discovered the location of the Statue.  Or, worse, have it already.  The Shepherd hinted the Peace could come to a premature end if the Statue was broken.”

             
Kane slowly took the pipe from his mouth, staring at Melkin in dismay.  Finally, he said firmly, “I cannot believe we would not know it if Raemon were free.”

             
Slowly, the other three men nodded.  The pipe went back in the royal mouth.

             
“Aye,” Melkin agreed quietly.  “Aside from spinning up a new story of Montmorency that included the Empress turning into stone, that Shepherd wasn’t real helpful.”  His lip curled in derision.  “It’s the flaming Swords of Light that have all the information we need, to listen to him, but you wouldn’t have known it from the one we met in Alene.”  Which seemed an understated summary for an event that had shaken Ari to his toes.  It had been like having the door to a closed house suddenly thrown open so that sunshine streamed in.  His dreams had been startlingly intense ever since, bursting with that sense of light and laughter that was associated so closely with his childhood.  More than any actual tangible memories, it was the remembrance of that buoyant normalcy, the warm sense of belonging, that haunted him. 

             
“Her worthy advice was to continue our quest in Cyrrh.”  Melkin’s rough voice was almost a snarl.  Kane frowned but didn’t look surprised.  Banion had no doubt passed this little morsel on already.

“
After the Kingsmeet, then,” the King rumbled, then rather confusingly said, “I tried to talk her out of it.”  His voice bordered on the plaintive.  “But she’d have none of it.  The North can no more understand why a queen shouldn’t run a Kingsmeet than they do the traditional tithe to the Border Realms.  And I, I was not perhaps as firm as I should have been.  She’s barely older than my Kilde, and beautiful and prudent and thoughtful…and very strong-willed,” he finished drily.

             
“You’re getting soft-hearted,” Banion accused him, grinning.

             
“She needs a husband,” Melkin said suddenly, completely serious.  “Especially if there is to be war this generation.”

             
“I’m not sure a husband’s going to help,” Banion observed.  “Northerner men are rarely as strong as their women. Perhaps someone from outside the Empire…” his eyes cut slyly to the Dra.  “You’ve not taken a mate yet, Kai…rather unusual for a Dra of your age…perhaps…?”

             
The Merranics grinned openly and Ari looked around the circle of faces in bewilderment.  There was a lot of humanness going on here.  Kings with guilt complexes, Drae courting Queens.

             
Kai, hardly the blushing type, said merely, “Perhaps more changes than just the War are coming…”

             
Grins faded and the King of Merrani said, “My spies say Ramshead seethes with activity.”  The other men exchanged quick looks.

             
“Aye,” Melkin said.  “We saw Ram but a day’s ride from the Aepont.”  Ari knew they were talking about the Addahites, knew Ramshead lay somewhere lost in the mists north of Alene, but was baffled why there was such ignorance about these people.  Spies?

              “Why don’t we talk to them?” he asked without even thinking, and immediately wanted to crawl under the chair.  But Melkin answered, without a trace of impatience, “We can’t get close to them.  They’re better woodsmen even than Drae.  There probably hasn’t been a conversation with the Ram since Montmorency.”

“
Not just the Illians are restless,” Kai murmured, the rich timbre of his voice resonating in the small room.  “We were ambushed by over forty brigands on the Kendrick.”

The pipe came out of a slack mouth as Kane raised his eyebrows, saying reprovingly
to Banion, “You said nothing of this, Steelmists.”  Which was a funny nickname, Ari thought.  The Steelmists were the northern range of the Ethammer Plateau, the rough country up around Alene.

Banion waved a big paw dismissively. 
“It was just a little skirmish.”

Kane looked at Melkin, who shrugged.  Then, so fast Ari thought he might have imagined it, Melkin
’s eyes flicked to him and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.  Ari blinked, searching the faces opposite him for some clue to this enigmatic exchange, but they were already moving on.  Had Kane been wondering if the attack was related to the boys somehow?

“
What news in Merrani?” Melkin asked.

“
Earthquakes.”  The pipe came out of the mouth again, the storm-colored eyes above it grim in the craggy face.  “Almost half the complaints I heard on the Stone Bench today were pleas for reparations for damages.  They don’t seem to understand that the acts of the gods are out of my control.”

“
Why don’t you get a court system?” Melkin asked.  “Personally issuing judgments is kind of a waste of your time, don’t you think?”

“
It’s only one day a week.  And it keeps me in touch with the people.  Makes them feel like they’ve got access to a higher ear, so to speak.”

Melkin
didn’t look particularly touched, but all he said was, “We haven’t heard of any quakes in the North, though the fault line runs right through the Ethammers…”

“
Fault lines…aftershocks,” Kane muttered.  “You sound like the Magi.  Maybe you could talk to Perraneus while you’re here,” he suggested darkly.

“
I’d intended to,” Melkin answered, shrewd eyes on the King’s face.  “Why?  Is he losing his, er, sense of discretion?”

“
It’s lost,” Kane said shortly.  “If he challenges Vangoth openly, I’ll have no choice but to remove him from First.  I’ve already threatened him—with that and with banishment—and he’s only getting worse.”

“
He’s always been bold,” Banion rumbled soothingly.

Kane grunted, teeth mangling his pipe stem. 
“Vangoth came to me two nights ago.  He feels…Perraneus is a threat.”  The room went quiet.  Kane’s powerful voice rippled with frustration, vibrating around their little circle.  Amazement and alarm swept through Ari…such things didn’t happen in the North.  Ari couldn’t think of a single instance where Marek had spoken personally with one of his subjects, to say nothing of being personally
upset
at one of them. 

Everyone was staring at the King of Merrani.

“I love my people,” he grated out, with unapologetic (and very un-Imperial) emotion, “but I dare not cross Vangoth.”  Ari was stupefied, wondering what in the world this poor sap had done to warrant such attention, and why in the world the Merranic god would bother about it.

“
What did Vangoth suggest?” Banion asked cautiously, obviously leaping a mental chasm Ari was finding a touch out of reach.

“
Something permanent,” Kane said flatly.

“
I’ll talk to him,” Melkin assured him, also untroubled.  His steely eyes were thoughtful.  “We’ve some catching up to do if he’s been provoking the gods.  The Academy’s on the way out of town anyway, though it might mean pushing it to make the Kingsmeet.”

Kane winced as if reminded of something. 
“I was going to take him,” he admitted.  “Who better to explain the earthquakes?…I don’t suppose you, Melkin, with your ‘natural sciences’ background…?”

“
It would be better from a Merranic.  I’ll be presenting fables and tall tales—and probably getting my Master-ly self laughed out of the room for conspiring with the Whiteblades.”  The Merranics chuckled, the mood lifted, but the sardonic look stayed etched on Melkin’s face.

From Melkin’s raging impatience the next morning, it was apparent that he was feeling the teeth of time gnawing at their heels.  They rode down the backside of the Fortress Heights early, at a distinctly brisk pace.  Fog clung heavily to the streets, protected from the sea breeze by the craggy bulk of the high ground behind them.  Glimpsed surreally through the thick mist, structures of towering, delicate stone and ghostly, empty streets lay wreathed like some forgotten land floating beyond the veil of time.