Carlich cleared his throat. Marolan hastily dropped Dolia’s hand and stepped back. “In any case, I pray that your early arrival in Milecha will be a joy and a blessing to you.”
“And we are richly blessed by the opportunity to become acquainted with you sooner than we might have,” Whirter added gallantly.
As if reminded by his voice that other people existed besides her betrothed, Dolia tore her gaze away from Marolan and turned to accept Whirter’s greeting. Then she turned to Barilan, as Maryn held him up to her gaze. Dolia’s eyes widened. “This is your son? Prince Barilan? But they told me he is three months old only. He is so big!”
Maryn bowed her head modestly, though she let her lips curve up a little. Everyone could see how Barilan thrived on her milk.
“Yes,” Voerell said with fond pride. “He takes after my father, I think. Sompirla men tend to the tall and broad. Though both Marolan and Carlich are built more like our mother.”
Maryn waited, but Voerell said nothing more.
And he has an excellent wet nurse,
Maryn silently prompted her, although she realized with a sinking heart that the thought would never occur to Voerell. Nor any of the rest. Maryn was invisible to them. Never mind that, whatever his heritage, Barilan could only grow into it because of her constant diligent care.
“Was he so large when he was born?” Dolia asked nervously, twisting the stem of the rose in her fingers, and darting a glance at Marolan’s tall form.
Voerell patted her shoulder in understanding. “No, much smaller. He’s grown like a young ox. The birth went smoothly. We have the finest midwives in all the kingdoms here in Loempno. I’d be happy to introduce you to Litholl, who attended me. She has a masterful command of all aspects of birthing lore and magic.”
Dolia seemed somewhat reassured. “I would like that. Perhaps in a few days, once I have settled—Oh!” She stared at her hand. One of the rose’s thorns had pricked the ball of her thumb, and blood welled from the spot.
Carlich stepped in before anyone else could react. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think to warn you about the thorns. Let me get that for you.”
He pulled out a lace;-;edged handkerchief and dabbed at her thumb. A bright red stain spread on the snowy linen. Carlich waved his other hand over the cloth and Dolia’s thumb. A shower of blue sparks erupted. Barilan squealed in delight and grabbed for the bright glints; Maryn stepped back to pull his chubby fingers clear.
Dolia jerked away. “You speak not the incantation to the Holy One when blood magic you work? You use your hands?” She breathed heavily, staring at Carlich with undisguised hostility. “It is unholy. In Wonora such a thing is never done.” She seemed far more disturbed than Maryn thought reasonable. Carlich might be careless, but he was a skilled sorcerer.
Carlich released her hand and stepped back, folding the handkerchief into a small, neat square and tucking it into his breast pocket. “It’s not? I had no idea. I’m very sorry if I offended you. Here in Milecha verbal magic is preferred also, but I never heard a priest say anything against the use of gestures.”
Dolia glared at him, and stepped stiffly closer to Marolan. “Do your priests not know the writings of Bitorlo? He is much honored in Wonora, a disciple of the Holy One. He wrote much of the dangers of blood magic, if constrained not by the words of the sacred language that the Holy One gave to us.” She turned a little away. “I should have known such things here I would find. Your people came long ago from Hampsia. It should surprise me not if to their pagan ways you cling, though you have chosen the worship of the Holy One.”
So it hadn’t been carelessness at all, Maryn realized. Carlich had contrived to offend Dolia. One way or another, he was going to make sure this marriage didn’t happen. Maryn just hoped he didn’t provoke a war with Wonora in the process.
Marolan took Dolia’s arm and tucked it firmly around his. “You must excuse my brother. I assure you he is in no way representative of what you will find in Milecha. Of course our sorcerers always make the proper incantations to the Holy One. I will be happy to introduce you to the Royal Sorcerer, Rogelan, so that you can discuss the matter.” His glance at Carlich was cold and dangerous. “Carlich, I’m sure you must have matters to attend to before the ceremony begins. Perhaps you might go check on Father, and see if he’s feeling better.”
“I think I shall.” Carlich swept a full formal bow in Dolia’s direction. “Until later, Princess Dolia.” He hurried off.
Voerell beckoned for Maryn. “We should go, also. Prince Barilan needs time to nurse and rest before the ceremony.” She nodded to Dolia. “It was lovely to meet you. I wish you and Marolan every happiness. Come, Whirter.” She nearly dragged her husband away. Maryn shifted Barilan to her shoulder and followed.
Once out of the garden Voerell’s step quickened. “How dare he!” she fumed at Whirter. “On Barilan’s special day! Everyone knows gestural magic is forbidden in Wonora. Does he think petty rudeness will be enough to drive Dolia to break the betrothal? He gave her that rose on purpose, hoping for the chance to offend her!”
She stormed through the palace halls, in the direction of the king’s chambers. Maryn trailed behind, too wary of the princess’s temper to dare ask for permission to take Barilan to the nursery. Whirter hurried after his wife. “Voerell, calm down. You’re overreacting.”
“You don’t know Carlich like I do. This is exactly the sort of thing he always does. If he can’t get what he wants in a straightforward manner, he’ll connive and scheme until he manages to make things go his way. He hasn’t managed to sabotage the treaty any other way, so he’s going to try to get her to do it. But it won’t work. Dolia’s obviously smitten with Marolan.”
“Still, if there’s a chance he can provoke her enough she goes home, we should support him as we agreed.”
“He can do what he likes tomorrow. I’ll even help him. But I won’t have him disrupting Barilan’s ceremony.”
Maryn frowned. She agreed with Whirter. If Carlich was right about the treaty, Barilan’s life was at stake. What was his heirship ceremony compared to that? Was Voerell discounting the danger because she truly believed it was not that great, or could she just not bear to imagine anything bad happening to her son?
Maryn knew all too well that bad things could and did happen, whether you could bear to imagine them or not.
They arrived at the entrance to the king’s suite. Voerell threw open the door and stormed in without even pausing to acknowledge the guards who flanked it. They looked scandalized, but let her pass, Maryn and Whirter behind her.
King Froethych sat on a broad stuffed sofa. Contrary to the report of his ill health, to Maryn he looked robust and vigorous. Carlich sat opposite him. Seeing her brother, Voerell started to speak, but Froethych waved her silent.
The king leaned toward Carlich. “Well? Is she as pretty as all the envoys made her out to be?”
“Oh, yes, Father. If anything, they understated her beauty.” Carlich must have hurried to reach Froethych’s room before them, but he sat as relaxed as if he’d been there for hours. He wasn’t even breathing hard.
Froethych chortled under his breath. “And did she seem pleased with Marolan?”
“Quite, as far as I could tell. Though disappointed you weren’t there to welcome them.”
Froethych dismissed that with an airy wave. “No, no, the last thing Marolan needs is his father hanging over his shoulder intimidating the poor girl. Much better to let them have a few moments alone to get acquainted. I’m glad you found a reason to excuse yourself.”
Voerell executed a sketchy curtsy in the king’s direction. “Actually, Father, Marolan dismissed him. He managed to offend Princess Dolia before he had been in her presence five minutes. He went and performed purely gestural magic right in front of her!”
Froethych’s bushy eyebrows drew together. “Was that wise, son? I’ve warned you many times to be careful how you flaunt your ability in that regard.”
“Of course, now I realize it was foolish. But she was injured, and I didn’t stop to think before I jumped in to help her. I apologized profusely, and I think she accepted it.” Carlich spread his hands with an expression of sheepish innocence. Though Maryn was almost certain he was lying, she couldn’t detect any insincerity in his voice or manner.
“Oh, that’s all right then.” Froethych shrugged, dismissing the matter, though Voerell still fumed. He turned toward Barilan in Maryn’s arms. “There’s my grandson and heir! Come see your grandpa, Barilan.” He held out his arms and Maryn passed Barilan to him. The king nuzzled Barilan’s neck and made a silly face; Barilan responded with an infectious peal of giggles.
Maryn still felt a little shocked whenever she saw the king abandon all dignity this way in his interactions with Barilan. It was endearing to see Froethych act like any common doting grandfather, but also a bit alarming to consider that the welfare of all Milecha rested in the hands of the man who at the moment was sticking out his tongue and crossing his eyes.
“I swear, Voerell, he’s grown another inch since yesterday. We’re going to get you confirmed in your position all nice and official, yes we are, aren’t we, Barilan?” Barilan rewarded the king’s further efforts at contorting his face with a broad grin, and grabbed at Froethych’s full beard.
Froethych disentangled Barilan’s fingers and passed him back to Maryn. He turned to Voerell. “Why don’t you go make sure he’s all ready for the ceremony? It will be starting in less than an hour.”
“Father, please tell Carlich to stay away from Dolia and Marolan for the rest of the day.”
Froethych frowned at her. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”
Voerell clenched her fists, but she did not defy the king. “Yes, Father.” She whirled and strode from the room. Maryn scurried in her wake.
Whirter caught up to Voerell. “Dear, let it go.”
She shook his placating hand from her arm. “I keep getting the feeling he’s up to something…” She scowled at her husband. “Don’t you have something you need to take care of?”
“No. I’ll come with—” Whirter looked at her more closely. “On second thought, I did want to have my boots shined. You go on; I’ll meet you in the hall.”
“Good.” Voerell stalked away and did not turn her head when Whirter stopped and watched her go.
Barilan picked up on his mother’s tense mood, and began to fuss. Maryn was glad when they reached the nursery. She settled down immediately into the large soft upholstered chair that was her favorite nursing spot, and put Barilan to her breast. It soothed him as always, and he fell to nursing with gusto.
Voerell stared into the fire for a while, breathing deeply. She ignored her ladies whenever they tried to get her attention. The continued activity around the hearth kept disturbing Barilan, and he would turn his head to look, pulling Maryn’s nipple with him and allowing his mouth to slide to a painful position so that she had to detach him and start all over. She would be very glad when this day was over, and Voerell resumed her normal distance from her son’s life, leaving the nursery to its regular peaceful routine.
Just as Maryn was beginning to worry that too much time had passed, and they wouldn’t be able to make it to the palace’s main hall where the ceremony would take place before the bell rang for the fourth hour, Voerell shook herself and came out of her reverie. “We’d better get going.”
Maryn pulled Barilan’s gown down over his fresh diaper, made one more futile effort to conceal the hasty alteration of his shoes, and fell in behind Voerell as the princess led them through the palace corridors.
Nine
M
aryn peeked through the wide open doors of the great hall as Voerell led them to an anteroom. Banners hung from the rafters, and flowers and greenery bedecked every surface. It was packed already; noble guests lined the long tables where the celebration feast would be served following the ceremony. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and she shifted Barilan from hip to hip so she could wipe her clammy palms against her skirt. Though she’d rehearsed every move under the Royal Steward’s watchful eyes, she still dreaded making some humiliating mistake. She could imagine the accusing stares and horrified laughter that would follow if she were to trip on her way down the aisle and sprawl with Barilan to the floor.
The fourth bell began to peal from all the churches in the city. The deep clang of the palace chapel’s bell resonated behind Maryn’s breastbone.
King Froethych waited for them with the rest of his retinue. “Ah, there’s the guest of honor. Just in time. Begin the procession.”
The Royal Steward nodded acknowledgment and went to signal the musicians in their balcony. The majestic strains of the Sompirla March echoed through the wide spaces of the hall. The members of the royal party crowded out of the anteroom and clustered in the doorway. Maryn hung back, watching the others enter in turn, stirred despite her nervousness by the grandness of the ceremony.
Ambassador Honro escorted Princess Dolia into the hall and down the broad center aisle, the rest of the Wonoran embassage in their wake. Everyone craned to see the foreign woman who would soon marry their prince. She nodded graciously to either side, meeting their eager stares with a pleasant, private smile. The rest of the entourage peeled off, taking their seats in the reserved section at the front of the long tables. Only Honro and Dolia ascended the tall dais at the front of the hall and took places at the high table. The Ambassador sat down, and Dolia followed, sinking into her seat, a few chairs to the left of center.
Carlich strode through the hall, waving and grinning in response to the enthusiastic applause. Normally he would sit at the king’s left hand, but the customary order had been shuffled to give Barilan and his parents pride of place. He went to his lower seat on the right with cheerful disregard for his demotion.
Marolan accepted the warm welcome that greeted his entrance as if he considered it his due, looking neither right nor left, but fixing all his attention on the high table where Dolia sat. He took his place next to her and bent his head to murmur in her ear.