Too Many Princes (86 page)

FACING THE FUTURE

Shadow munched her grain and swished her tail, but her ears twitched restlessly as Brastigan gave her a rub down. Outside the stables, all was noise and hurry. Inside, it was quieter. The soothing ritual of water and curry comb helped to calm them both after the confusion of recent days.

The past week had been tense, as Brastigan sat on Shadow's back and kept watch over the captured Silletsians. The bone men had fought mindlessly until destroyed, but there were other soldiers, humans from various Silletsian territories. Few of them had offered any resistance once Ysislaw was gone. They had been rounded up into hastily built stockades in the nearby fields. It was a greater task to keep back the vengeful townsfolk than it was to watch over those cowed and defeated men. The prisoners hunkered down, refusing to look at each other or their captors. Only those from the provinces had asked when they could go home. None who came from Sillets itself wanted to return there.

None of the
eppagadrocca
had been captured, however. That could be because Yriatt, following her usual tactic, had made sure to burn them before going to aid Ymell against Ysislaw. Still, there were sure to be others left behind in Sillets. Without Ysislaw's control, who knew what they might do? The problem would have to be dealt with one day, Brastigan was sure. Personally, he thought it would be a boon to the world if the lot of them saw to each other. Crutham had already paid too dearly for her safety.

For Ymell's prophecy had nearly come true. A year ago, Unferth had had twenty-two sons. Only eight now survived—if the younger lads hadn’t been picked off by assassins. Alemin's ship was overdue in Forix and presumed lost. Miswald had lost his sword arm, Leolin an eye. Calitar and Axenar's bodies had never been found in the muddy soup of the south wall. Eskelon lay as one dead, never knowing Sebbelon had gone before him. Even Ymell couldn't say when Eskelon might open his eyes again. Albrett remained in Carthell, and they were welcome to have him.

Oskar survived, though he would never walk without a cane. To Brastigan, that was the cruelest blow. Oskar, who had opened the door to this whole disaster, got to keep his throne and honors when so many others lost all. He complained of being tricked and held captive, but none of Unferth's other sons believed Oskar had suffered enough for his sins.

Shadow tossed her head and stepped on Brastigan's foot, just hard enough to get his attention. Only then did he realize how harshly he had been brushing her.

“
Sorry, sorry.
”
Brastigan eased his toes out from under the mare's hoof. He finished his work quickly and gently. Shadow's ears and tail worked impatiently the whole time.

“
You're bored with Harburg,
”
Brastigan murmured. He patted her neck.
“
I know how you feel. I wish I could say we ride out tomorrow. We won't, but it will be soon. I promise.
”

“
Bras?
”
Lottres's voice came into his mind, a sensation that no longer startled him.
“
Remember, you promised Therula you'd be on time.
”

“
I will be,
”
Brastigan answered. He spoke out loud, and it felt funny, like he was talking to himself. Lottres's presence withdrew.

Shadow whickered mournfully as Brastigan left the stables. It was late afternoon. The lowering sun slanted amber rays across the courtyard, where soldiers and servants went about their duties. Brastigan headed for the downstairs bath, to clean himself up now that his horse was cared for.

Used to be, he would show up smelly just to bother Alustra. He didn't have the heart for it any more. Besides, this was Pikarus's and Therula's day. He owed those two his best behavior.

* * *

“
I'm so excited,
”
Cliodora whispered, for what seemed like the hundredth time that day.

Therula smiled patiently.
“
I know.
”

Golden sunlight streamed into Alustra's chambers, where the bridal party had gathered. Therula was aware of her younger sisters cooing over each other's finery, while a flock of servants dressed them and put up their hair. The eldest princess eyed herself in the mirror, taking in the details of her own appearance. Her hair was still bright gold, her eyes blue as the sea. You couldn't say she had changed, and yet she felt very different.

Therula wore a simple gown for her wedding, creamy pink with an overdress of lavender velvet. An embroidered pattern of blackberries and doves ran along the sleeves and skirts as a unifying theme. Therula had deliberately chosen these gowns for the simple lines of the Cruthan style. No more foreign influences for her! As a last touch, Therula tucked her embroidered glove through her belt. At last she could wear it as the symbol of fidelity she had meant it to be, before Ysislaw's odious bet.

“
Aren't you happy?
”
Cliodora asked, picking up Therula's somber mood.
“
You should be!
”

“
Of course I'm happy,
”
Therula said.
“
After everything that's happened, I can't believe it's finally real.
”

Therula admitted to herself what she couldn't say aloud, that she feared Oskar might still change his mind. What if he refused to let her marry Pikarus? Until the ceremony was complete, she could not relax.

“
All right, young ladies,
”
Alustra called.
“
Line up and let me see you.
”

Cliodora gave Therula a quick hug, and ran to her place. The six princesses, Orlyse, Leoda, Alista, Agiatta, Frella and Cliodora, formed a line from oldest to youngest. They tried to stand quiet and demure while the queen inspected them, but the young women couldn't help exchanging excited glances and giggles of anticipation.

Even Alustra, Therula thought, couldn't find anything to criticize in the girls' attire or their presentation. With a war just over, no one was wearing anything really extravagant. They had all adapted existing garments, even Therula, who had been working on her gown with Jenne before Pikarus and Brastigan even left on their journey.

It was all quite proper. Still, Alustra's expression was clouded as she reached her own daughter. They stood uneasily for a moment, neither speaking. Alustra's eyes searched Therula's face. The queen's expression showed regret, imminent sorrow—everything Oskar ought to show, but never deigned to. Since he didn't compromise, neither would Therula.

Slowly, Alustra lifted the veil attached to the coronet in Therula's hair. She let the filmy black fabric fall over her daughter's face. Along the line, the girls began to whisper excitedly as the servants did likewise for them.

Alustra and Therula turned together, no word spoken. They left together, followed by the procession of princesses. The corridor had been scrubbed clean of blood stains. Its floor and walls practically glowed. However, the servants hadn't yet been able to remove the scorch marks that snaked along the ceiling, showing how Shaelen's lightning had decided the battle.

Now that she and Alustra weren't looking at each other, Therula felt a surge of her own regret. Matters hadn't been easy between them since the war's conclusion. Alustra had returned to full alertness, devoting all her resources to aiding Oskar during the reconstruction. After defending her son's interests for so many years, Alustra seemed all too willing to overlook certain uncomfortable truths—such as Oskar's lying to her, painting himself as the victim of Margura's machinations and minimizing his own misdeeds.

The surviving princes had convened a series of tense councils, which Therula and Alustra had both attended, where Brastigan and Lottres laid out the painful facts. For her part, Therula had abandoned her life long habit of placating everyone to support the effort to hold Oskar accountable. Her mother couldn't accept this.

It was Alustra who had said, after the last of these sessions,
“
If you are such a trouble to Oskar, why should he permit you to marry a man of your own choosing?
”

This had raised every fear in Therula's own heart, for she knew a royal princess seldom had such a luxury, but she wouldn't show weakness, not even before her own mother. Therula had snapped right back,
“
If he doesn't permit it, then he will see how troublesome I can be!
”

The two women had scarcely spoken since then. Still, Therula and Pikarus would be leaving for Gerfalkan within a few days. They would take up residence with his parents, at least for a while. It was Therula's first real separation from her mother. She didn't want it to have this sense of grim finality.

Impulsively, Therula reached over, putting an arm around her mother's waist. Alustra gave a kind of sigh. At once, she raised her arm to circle her daughter's shoulders. Something relaxed inside Therula. She blinked away tears as they descended the stairs and passed beneath the arch leading into the courtyard.

Soldiers saluted as the royal procession passed beneath the fortified gate. Above, the banner of Crutham fluttered quietly in the breeze. Below was the beautifully carved entrance to the great hall. At the doorway, Alustra paused. Therula could hear the susurrus of voices within. The two women gazed at each other through their veils, sharing a kind of farewell.