The Wayfarer King (43 page)

“A queen the people can relate to and love,” Daia said.

“I have one request, though.” Feanna wiped her eyes. He nodded, encouraging her to name it. “We marry quietly, before you announce to the world that you’re king. I don’t want to be a pointing-stock for everyone to gossip about in judgment. If we’re already married when the people learn who the king is, they won’t appraise me like I was a prize hog at an auction.”

“You don’t want a big wedding with the lacy gowns and flowers and music?” Gavin asked.

“No. Or the jugglers or bards or an audience of thousands.”

“Don’t you want to ride away in a carriage o’gold drawn by horses with fancy braids and curls?”

“Give me big, sturdy Golam and your lap with my children riding in the wagon beside us, and I’ll be the happiest woman in the world.”

“Make that ‘our children’ and we have an agreement.”

Feanna’s heart clenched. What a fine thing for a man to say. She gazed into his beautiful brown eyes and thought she was living a dream.
I love this man.
The thought startled her, but only for a moment. She embraced it, wrapped her arms around his strong arm and nodded, not trusting her voice.

“Shall we find a cleric then?” Edan asked. “We have plenty of witnesses to speak for you.”

Feanna looked down at herself. “I wouldn’t mind wearing a clean dress to marry you in. And having a bath. I’m afraid I perspired a bit in that cellar.”

“Fair enough. I have the stink o’beyonder entrails on me.”

She took him by the hand. “Shall we explore first? I want to see this grand palace of yours.”

“Of ours,” Gavin said as he helped her step over the debris on the floor. “Everything I have is yours. No secrets, nothing held back.”

“Likewise,” she said. Then a thought came to her. She’d twice heard him deflect questions regarding his lost eyetooth. “First secret — how did you lose the tooth?”

He blushed. She never thought she would see it, but there it was, deep crimson from neck to hairline. “No secrets aside from that one.”

Feanna laughed. “No you don’t, sir. Tell it to me, and I’ll take it to my grave.”

“You swear?” His expression was deadly serious.

“I swear.”

“A promise to a king transcends death, you know,” he said, his voice a low warning.

“Just tell me.”

He pulled her into the first room on the left — a library, with a huge painting over the fireplace. Its canvas had been ripped by the monster’s sharp claws, and its frame hung askew on its hooks, but the azure eyes and stately expression left no doubt that its subject had been a king.

Gavin closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he looked at her so intently, she feared that perhaps this was one story she didn’t want to hear after all.

“When Edan and I were young men, we went drinking one afternoon. Got a hold o’some ale and wine stronger than we were used to, and it made us both bolder and stupider than usual. At our age, that was damned bold and damned stupid. Anyway, we got to bragging and arguing over who was better with our weapons — him with his bow, me with my sword. I told him with my sword I could slice an apple in half on the palm o’his hand without making him bleed.”

Feanna slapped a hand to her mouth in horror.

“He said he could core one if I held it in my teeth, stem out. So we set about proving it to each other.”

“Oh, no!”

“You swore you wouldn’t tell.”

“I won’t.”

“He went first and missed. Well, he hit the apple, but not in the center. Got it a bit on the side. The arrow went all the way through and hit my tooth. Sheared it clean off. A mouthful o’blood was enough to sober me up. Edan’s never quit feeling bad about it.”

Feanna smiled and took his arm. “I thought it would be embarrassing. That was mighty foolish but no more so than anything else boys do to prove their manhood.”

“Yeh,” Gavin said, “but Edan’s a champion archer. If this truth ever came out, the sportsman’s league could strip him o’his titles — which he won fairly.”

“So you keep the secret to protect your friend from losing a title that ultimately doesn’t matter to anyone but him?”

“And to protect his reputation as a man o’good judgment. Besides, it’s more fun making up stories.”

Feanna laughed, charmed by his devotion. “You’re a fine and true friend. Come, darling. Let’s see our new home.” She leaned close to his ear, and he bent his head to hear her. “I want to see where you’ll be making love to me every night.” Feanna felt herself blushing, but she couldn’t deny the thrill the notion gave her.

He responded with a big, sloppy grin. “Yeh. Let’s go see.”

Epilogue

Two months later...

Gavin stood still while the tailor fussed over his blue and black suit trimmed in gold brocade, adding stitches here and loosening threads there. The design was simple yet elegant — a short jacket with an off-center button closure, standing collar, and long, sculpted sleeves that were neither too baggy nor too fitted. It had a split tail in back which was stylish and formal but completely impractical. He’d have to hold it out of the way if he needed to take a crap. The black trousers were simple as well, creased in the front and loose enough to hide his thick thighs. The boots, on the other hand, felt stiff and confining, though they were handsome. He thought he might develop a blister on his heel by the time this was over.

“Lift your arm, please, my liege,” the tailor said. Around his waist, she fastened the ceremonial scabbard’s belt, which held Aldras Gar. He was long-legged enough that the sword didn’t drag the floor as he walked, but during the rehearsal, its tip had struck the dais when he stepped up.

He was too nervous to be impatient. If he were one of the thousands crowding into the Spirit of the Savior Holy Temple of Asti-nayas, he would want his first glimpse of the new king to be memorable. He let the woman work. Curon Naredus, the tall, square-shouldered Lordover Lalorian, stood beside Gavin while his tailor did the same.

Gavin wished Rogan could have been there, or his father. Lord Naredus, the closest man to a father he had, was a fine substitute, though he’d insisted Gavin call him Curon going forward.

Behind them in the temple offices, people scurried around making final adjustments. The horn player had a cough, the bard a black eye from the brawl he’d gotten into, three of the artists were arguing over who was to sit where, and the head usher needed Edan to make a decision. Gavin wondered if his life was always going to be as hectic as this. He might strangle them all.

“Don’t worry,” Curon said. “It gets easier after a while.”

“Does it?”

Curon laughed. “Well, you get used to it, anyway. You’ve chosen your counsel well, though I’ll have to replace him in my own hall.”

“Sorry to have left you without, but Edan was the best choice.”

Curon waved it away. “That’s the truth. I’m relieved for both of you.” A twinkle lit his eye. “And I’m so very proud of you, Gavin. I know your father and brother would have been as well. I always knew you’d save the world.”

Gavin grinned. “All those years, I thought you were teasing me.”

Curon showed him his thumb and forefinger spread a hair’s width apart. “Perhaps a little.”

Edan came in and clapped his hands together once. “Well, we’ve squeezed everyone into the temple we could. The temperature from all the bodies is rising, so perhaps, if you two are ready, we should begin.”

“Where’s my wife?” Gavin asked.

“She’s taken her place. Do you need her?”

He’d hoped for one last good-luck kiss. The three he’d gotten already would have to do. “No, let’s get this over with.”

Curon clapped Gavin’s shoulder. “Such a momentous occasion should be savored like a fine wine. Try to enjoy it. You’ll never see its equal again, since you’ll be dead when your heir is crowned. Are you ready?”

He was two hundred years late, but at last, with friends beside him he could count on and lean on, he finally felt ready. Gavin took a deep breath and nodded.

Curon went out first. Gavin hung back, out of sight behind the door, while the tailor checked that his suit was free of lint. Edan stood in the vestibule, watching his father stride up the center aisle to the altar. By the way the murmur of the audience quieted little by little, Gavin could tell when the lordover reached the dais. Gavin’s hands twitched, and he clasped them, hoping that by stilling them, he could also quiet his thundering heart. From the front of the temple, a man cried, “Announcing the holder of the King’s Blood-stone, decipherer of the King’s Runes, Gavin Rothyr Kinshield.” The horns blared and drums rolled. When Edan turned to him and nodded, indicating the lordover had taken his place, Gavin took another breath to steady himself and stepped out. Everyone in the pews rose to their feet. Another hundred or more lined the walls. They watched him, many leaning or standing on tiptoe, trying to get a glimpse. He heard a few quiet gasps as he began his long walk, but as he met the eyes of people first on one side then on the other, he saw not the shock or disdain he expected but excitement, joy and maybe even acceptance. It seemed to take hours for him to finally reach the altar, but he had the presence of mind to step onto the dais with his left foot first so Aldras Gar didn’t strike it. At last, the musicians ended their march with a raucous fanfare.

“Be seated,” Curon said. His voice projected well in the high-ceilinged temple. “I am Curon Naredus, Lordover Lalorian and current Chairman of the Council of Lordovers, and it’s my life’s greatest honor to perform this ceremony today.” Holding a sheet of paper before him, he turned to Gavin and began to read. “The Rune Law passed in the one thousand four hundred thirty-ninth year of the Sacrifice by unanimous vote of the Council of Lordovers states that ‘He who claims the King’s Blood-stone shall reign as king.’ Gavin Rothyr Kinshield, have you claimed the King’s Blood-stone?”

“I have,” Gavin answered.

“Please tell us, for the record, how you came to possess the King’s Blood-stone.”

The Temple fell into a hush of held breaths and still hands.

Gavin swallowed his nervousness. He’d never spoken to more than two dozen people at a time, and that was outside the Rune Cave after claiming the King’s Bloodstone. The Temple was silent, everyone waiting for him to speak. “I deciphered the five runes in the Rune Tablet. The gems came loose from the tablet when I did.”

The audience uttered a collective “Ah!”

Curon said, “To dispel doubt, are there any present who witnessed the event?”

“I did, Your Excellence,” Daia said.

“I did, Your Excellence,” Edan called from the back of the Temple. Heads turned to see him.

“I did, Your Excellence,” said a young Viragon Sister standing along the eastern wall. Gavin met Brawna’s eyes and gave her a nod.

Several rows back on the left, a short man with a long, black beard stood. “As did I, Your Excellence,” said Risan Stronghammer. Gavin smiled and nodded at the blacksmith. Risan bowed deeply. When he straightened, he wiped his eye as he took his seat beside his new son, Dwaeth.

The blond boy said, “Me too.” Gentle laughter rippled across the Temple.

Curon opened the ornate box beside him. “On behalf of the Council of Lordovers and the citizens of Thendylath...” He removed the golden, jeweled crown that GJ had found in the palace vault. “...before these witnesses I hereby proclaim you, Gavin Rothyr Kinshield...” He placed it atop Gavin’s head. “...King of Thendylath.”

The temple erupted in cheers. The band played another fanfare, but their music was largely drowned out by the crowd. Gavin looked out at the people and saw smiles and tears, mouths shouting in celebration, fists raised into the air, fingers in mouths to whistle, people embracing each other. Curon let it go on for a bit, a suppressed smile trying to break free on his face. Finally, he gestured with his arms for the crowd and the musicians to quiet.

Gavin held a hand toward Feanna, standing at the front pew. She picked up her skirts, blue and gold to match his suit, and stepped onto the dais. He cupped her elbow to assist her. She took her designated place beside him, facing the crowd. He offered his arm and felt her tremble as she slid her hand into the crook of his elbow.

“Lordovers,” Curon said, “will you join me in pledging fealty to King Gavin and Queen Feanna?”

Curon went to one knee and bowed his head. The other lordovers, one by one, followed suit. The redheaded Lordover Tern with his blazing blue eyes hesitated so long that Gavin wondered whether he would storm out of the temple instead. Judging from the whispers rippling through the crowd, he wasn’t the only one who thought so. Celónd’s wife, seated in the pew directly behind the lordover, whispered something fiercely enough that her tone, though not her words, echoed throughout the nave. At last, Celónd lowered himself to one knee and bowed his head.

“I swear upon my honor, my life and my soul that I will, from this day forward, serve my king and queen, to never allow harm to come to them, to take up arms to defend their health, honor and right to rule, and to serve them in good faith and without deceit.” As Curon said these words, he paused to give the lordovers time to repeat them. Finished, they rose and retook their seats.