Nightlord: Shadows (123 page)

I didn’t know whether to feel relieved, affronted, or scared. I settled on scared. I usually do; I frighten easily. I could use a running chicken on a yellow field as my heraldic device.

The rest of my councilors voted with her until it was Amber’s turn.

“How soon will the marriage take place?” she wanted to know. It was hard to hear her; her voice was quieter without a fleshy throat. I resolved to build a legitimate conference call system for the mirrors.

“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “I got the impression it would be immediate.”

“How will that affect the war?”

“We double the size of the army?” I asked, puzzled.

“I mean, how will this affect your participation in it? Will you wait until your hair grows long again?”

Marriage. I wondered if I should test Larsus’ daughters to find one good with a razor. Suddenly, my scalp itched.

“I doubt,” Torvil said, “that His Majesty will be participating in any actual combat.”

“The hell I won’t,” I replied.

“I withdraw the comment,” Torvil said, faintly, and all three of them looked more worried.

“Someone explain to me this custom about the groom getting a haircut at the wedding,” I said.

They explained, in various ways, about the bride either cutting the groom’s hair or shaving his head; it varied according to taste. The custom seemed to be similar to a honeymoon. During the hair-growing period, the newlyweds were pretty much off-limits. The two were supposed to be on their best behavior for each other as they moved into their marriage. For the weeks or months involved, they built good habits for living with each other.

It also provided them with a cooling-off period for disgruntled suitors, angry fathers, and similar disruptions. Taken to an extreme, it could be used as a dodge to get out of military service, but that was usually regarded as going a bit too far. The goal was to provide the couple a period of social tranquility and reduced worries, not a get out of the draft free card.

“All right,” I said, finally, “I think I get it. First, I’m not getting my head shaved. Second, if I feel I need to get down into the fight, I will. With that understanding, do we still think this marriage is a good idea?”

They did.

Well, crap.

It looks like we’re having a wedding.

Instead of interviewing the prospective brides, I sought out a lady who served the household as one of the nannies/governesses/whatever. I got her opinions on the children, which narrowed the list considerably. The daughters’ ages did a lot of that; they were nineteen, sixteen, twelve, eleven, and ten. That gave me two that I might consider. Then she told me that the eldest was unladylike and totally beyond control, playing at being a warrior, while the next eldest, the sixteen-year-old, was very much a lady—loved fine dresses, jewelry, and all the luxuries that a princess should.

Turns out Larsus thought much as I did, although for different reasons. Lissette was the eldest, and at nineteen, verging on old maid. Add to that her tendency to enjoy swordplay more than wordplay, or musical plays, or just about any other form of recreation… yeah, he was going to have a hard time marrying her off to anyone else.

I give Larsus this: He doesn’t dawdle. There’s a war on, and he knows it. He didn’t waste any time and he didn’t waste any effort on overwhelming pomp and ceremony. A high stage was constructed, some bunting applied, and a trio of priests appointed—apparently, there are separate goddesses for marriage (Hekalia) and love (Frianna), plus a god who oversees the fairness of bargains, contracts, and agreements (Mector).

He didn’t press the point about the bride shaving my head. Smart man.

Armor all polished up, Bronze gleaming, Firebrand on its best behavior, leather clean and oiled, banner flapping from my (borrowed) lance, I rode up to the platform while the audience of thousands watched. I think I managed to climb the steps with something resembling dignity. The rest of the ceremonial party was already waiting, as is the custom. I ritually parted the guards around my prospective bride, “forcing” them aside, and took her hand.

My first look at her was a pleasant surprise. She was actually quite pretty, with large, dark eyes and a heavy braid of hair almost to her waist, that peculiar color wedged between light brown and dark blond. She was taller than I expected, an inch or two short of six feet. A narrow, fine scar ran from her left cheekbone almost to her chin, brushing the left corner of her mouth, making her seem slightly amused at everything, all the time. As I took her hands in mine, I felt their strength and the hard ridges of a fighter’s calluses. I looked in her eyes and I think I saw a resignation, along with, perhaps, a spark of curiosity.

Firebrand?

Yes, Boss?

Please relay for me. Ask her if she’s willing to do this. Her father is selling her to get what he wants. If she’s not willing—if she doesn’t want to do this—then I’ll drop this deal on the spot.

Firebrand relayed that to her and her eyes widened as she heard its psychic voice in her head; her hands tightened, as did her lips.

She says that she doesn’t know you, so of course she doesn’t want to do it,
Firebrand told me,
but she’s willing to do it anyway. Boss, I get the impression that she doesn’t like it in her father’s house and is willing to marry just to go somewhere else. She also has hopes that you’ll let her continue to fight without… uh, I think she gets a lot of crap from people who think she shouldn’t be a fighter.

Firebrand, I didn’t ask you to go probing around in her head!

Look, Boss, I didn’t mean to. When I asked, she flashed on all the reasons she’s willing to do this. Not everyone can fine-tune a thought like you do! You’ve had practice thinking at me; she hasn’t. It’s not my fault her brain babbles. Most everybody’s does!

Oh. Well… I suppose that’s fair. Sorry about that.

De nada, Boss.

We moved away from the ritual guards and took our places before the clergy. There followed the usual lecture on the seriousness of marriage that priests love to go on about. Since there were three of them, it went on longer than was comfortable for anyone, since they all seemed determined to outdo the others in terms of gravitas.

I caught Larsus’ eye where he was standing off to the bride’s side of the platform. He nodded slightly at me.

Firebrand?

Yo.

Please ask these guys to finish up quickly; I have a war to fight.

On it, Boss.

The expressions that ran across their faces were gratifying. They finished up their three-fold sermonizing in a hurry. We got on with the ceremony as the priests directed us. I found it interesting that we were not called upon to say anything, really; it was a very authoritarian wedding. Maybe it’s fitting, though, when they’re binding to people in a marriage of alliance, rather than witnessing two people pledge their love. I suspect the second sort of wedding doesn’t happen often; most are arranged marriages.

I helped Lissette into the hat-bag thing—the
wriage
—which was very fancy, made of some sort of velvety stuff with bits of gold wire and pearls sewn on. She removed my helm and looked me, an expression of surprise flashing across her face. Still, she handed the helmet to me and I held it while she ran her fingers through my hair, kind of as a symbolic substitute for the haircut. Then we kissed and everybody cheered.

Typically, people throw money, not flowers or rice or what-have-you. The groom’s retinue normally collects it while the happy couple make good their escape. We asked everyone to forego the money-throwing and just cheer. Kings collect taxes; no need for a rain of coins.

The feast began immediately. This was the traditional time when people would eat, drink, be merry, play games, hold contests, all that stuff. I had no doubt there would be injuries galore and a lot of wild tales to tell about that day.

As for the bride and groom, they don’t stick around to participate. They hurry off to someplace private to consummate and finalize the nuptials.

Lissette rode on Bronze with me back in the castle-palace of Philemon. We didn’t talk much. Well, the situation was a trifle awkward. We dismounted at the front door and she led me up to what was probably her bedroom.

Lissette bolted the door behind us and leaned on it, looking at me with expression mixed of appraisal and thought. I was about to say something, but she made a sharp
be quiet
gesture and I held my tongue. For another half-minute she regarded me, then appeared to make up her mind. She grabbed a heavy chair and jammed it up under the handle of the other door, presumably to a private bath or some such. I wondered who was in it.

You want I should ask, Boss?

Yes, please.

Lissette froze for a moment, eyes going wide, while Firebrand greeted her again. Well, it’s disconcerting to have an unexpected voice in your head. I would have used a communication spell, but it takes time to cast and is a little too much like a mental invasion for my taste.

She wants to know if you can do the talking-into-the-mind trick, too,
Firebrand informed me.

Yes, if she insists.

She doesn’t, if you’ll just follow her. She says you two need to talk and there are too many ears in this room.

I gestured her to lead on. Whatever was going on, it wasn’t a pre-scheduled sexual encounter with a stranger. Maybe it would be a bonding experience and I’d feel less awkward. Then again, I’m pretty much always awkward, so maybe not. This was certainly interesting and might even be more fun.

She crawled under the bed. It was a big, four-poster thing with heavy curtains, yet she went
under
it. I wondered if Fred was down there. I shrugged internally and clanked under the bed after her.

Lissette was already worming her way toward the head of the bed, pulling a wooden panel down, writhing past it into another room. I followed her through a rough, broken-through section of wall and she pulled the panel closed behind me.

The room was small, little more than a cell, quite narrow but extending at least thirty feet. A magical lantern gave off about as much light as three candles; there was no window. The room also held a three-legged wooden stool, a single-person cot, and several weapons set on pegs in the wall. It seemed unreasonably tall; the ceiling vanished in the gloom above. At a guess, it might be an architectural error discovered by a child who liked to crawl under her bed. Don’t all children need a place to call their own, or a place to hide?

“Now we can talk,” she said, softly, “as long as we stay quiet.”

“Fine by me,” I told her, and sat down carefully on the stool. I didn’t think the cot would hold me, but the stool looked solid. “What’s on your mind?”

“You.”

“Fair enough. You’re kind of on my mind, too. I’m wondering what kind of person you are and how this marriage is going to affect the people in my kingdom.”

She cocked her head to one side and regarded me with an unreadable expression. I decided that the scar was too faint to really affect her expression, aside from the slight smile-quirk; it was little more than a line drawn on her face. Two minutes at the cosmetics counter would make it disappear and just leave behind the slightly-amused look.

“You are one of the stranger men I have ever met.”

“You don’t know me,” I told her. “I get much stranger than this.”

“Before this goes any further, tell me something.”

“Okay.”

“Are you really a nightlord?”

I grinned at her, then opened my mouth to show off the fangs. She held very still, like a bird in front of a snake, or just someone who doesn’t want to provoke the deadly thing. Which, come to think of it, is pretty much the same thing. I closed my mouth and retracted my fangs.

“All right,” she whispered, and I didn’t think it was from a need to be quiet. “You are. Are you also… that is… I hear that you have a peculiar view on women in your army.”

“What about them?” I asked. “They want to fight and feel that they can.”

“And what about women back in your kingdom?”

“What about them?”

“Do they have to… hmm. Are they treated the same there as they are here? I have to know.”

“I don’t know how they’re treated here. I know I want them treated as free and equal people, but I’m going against a lot of tradition and customs, so it’s a slow process. Maybe in a couple of generations. Why?”

“One more question, please?”

“Okay.”

“What does it mean to be Queen of Karvalen?”

“Well…” I said, considering, “for one thing, I’d like you to spend at least a year there, listening to the council and learning the place. We can work on making decrees and laws and suchlike after that. You’ll advise me, of course, and if I’m not around, you’ll have to sit on the throne and make the big decisions. I hope you’ll try to do things my way, even if I’m off on some errand. On the other hand, if I am around—not off to war or something—I do expect you to have your own opinions. We’ll probably have to work out some compromises as we go along, but I usually have a pretty good reason for wanting something… what is it? You’re looking at me funny.”

Lissette sat down on the cot, still looking at me funny.

“You talk like a Queen is second only to the King.”

“Well, yeah,” I said, surprised. “What did you expect?”

“I… I don’t know. I didn’t expect…” she trailed off.

“Okay. While you’re thinking about that, answer me a question or three.”

“Very well.”

“Why are we hiding?”

“My father is a machinating bastard.”

“Ah.” I thought for a second and took my best guess, based on many lifetimes in the political jungle of the Empire. “He’s planning a coup, hoping to use you as leverage for power in Karvalen? Or as a bargaining chip with Byrne? Or, maybe a bargaining chip with another of the city-states, like Carrillon?”

“I don’t know his plans,” she told me, adding bitterly, “I’m only a woman.”

Translation: he never tells me anything because of my gender, and I’m going to make him pay for that, somehow.

“But you suspect?”

“Yes. I think he’ll try to kill you after… the consummation of our marriage. I don’t know if he’ll try to kill your men or if he’ll try to control them through me, as Queen.”

“Excuse me a moment.” I pulled out my pocket mirror and called Kelvin. He answered after several seconds. I could see he was in a tent, holding a mug in one hand. We talked for less than a minute, at the end of which he was not holding a mug and had a helmet on his head. I folded the mirror case and put it away.

“That’s dealt with. So, what do you want to do?”

“I can’t stay here.”

“Why not? He won’t do anything to you.”

“No, but I
won’t
stay here. For all my life I have been ‘only a woman,’ despite my skills. Having married you at my father’s command, I am no longer ruled by him—that was my chief reason for willingness.”

“I’m your escape from under his thumb?”

“Exactly. I lack the power to enforce my will over him, however, despite my new position. So I
must
leave. He would be only too happy to have a captive Queen.”

I shrugged and pulled out my mirror again. A moment later, I had contact with Tort. We spoke for even less time, then I set the mirror aside, still operating.

“May I borrow that dagger on the wall?”

“For?”

“Magic.”

“I suppose…”

I took it off its pegs and scratched an arch on one of the long walls, tracing it several times to make it deep. I stood on the stool to make it tall, close to the same size as the one in Karvalen.

Then I felt the flicker. I snatched up the mirror, put my arm around Lissette’s shoulders, and told her to be ready to move.

“Move?” she asked. “Move
where?
This chamber is—” The archway opened, revealing the cavern of the gate. “—tiny,” she finished. I hustled us through and the gate closed behind us.

“Your Majesties,” Tort said, smiling, bowing slightly.

“Queen Lissette, may I present the Royal Magician and King’s Consort, the Lady Tort.”