King Martris Drayke stood on the steps to Shekerishet. The heavy cloak that protected him from the early Fall snows also hid his nervousness. Kiara's carriages had just arrived from Isencroft, bearing King Donelan, the princess, and her retinue. A lone figure stood on one of the castle balconies. Jonmarc. He and Gabriel had arrived from Dark Haven two nights before, on the eve of the heavy snows that now blanketed the Margolan landscape. Tris had stayed up late with them, talking over a bottle of brandy.
Soterius pushed the crowd back from the reception, keeping the well-wishers beyond bow range. The pomp Tris hated about kingship swirled around him. Zachar had worn himself ill making certain everything was perfectly according to protocol. Crevan, Zachar's assistant, had to take over to give Zachar a needed rest before the wedding. Carroway was beside himself with the sudden change, and his nervousness added to Tris's apprehension.
Heralds blew their trumpets as King Donelan's carriage approached. Every element was like an elaborately staged play, including formal greetings that satisfied protocol but felt stilted and awkward. As if I didn't have enough to be nervous about, meeting Kiara's father for the first time!
King Donelan was tall and gaunt, but his walk was purposeful. "Greetings, King Donelan," Tris said. "Welcome."
"Hail, King Martris. Your welcome is accepted."
Their eyes met. Tris felt his stomach knot.
"I trust your journey was uneventful?"
"Fortunately so." He gestured toward the waiting carriages. "May I present my daughter, Princess Kiara."
Trumpets blared. The crowd moved forward for a look at the princess. Despite his best attempts to maintain a regal indifference, Tris could not keep from smiling. Two footmen helped Kiara from the carriage, through Tris knew she could swing down from the saddle of a battle steed unassisted. Gone were the tunic and trews Kiara had favored on their journey, as well as her sword. A gown of pale blue showed beneath the white furs of her traveling cloak, brushing the snowy ground as she walked. Her auburn hair was elaborately coiffed, glistening with gems and pearls. She met his eyes, and Tris could tell she also chafed at the formalities.
Donelan took Kiara's arm. Gathering her skirts, Kiara slowly ascended the stairs, making a low bow as she came two steps below where Tris was standing. "Greetings, your majesty," she said, head bowed and eyes averted.
So much for being allowed to remain two nobodies from nowhere.
"We are graced by the honor of your presence, your highness," Tris replied, extending his hand for Kiara to clasp as she rose to stand. If she startled at the note that he passed to her in his palm, her face gave away nothing, although he thought he saw a glitter of amusement in her eyes.
"Come in, warm yourselves, and be comfortable," Tris welcomed them. The other carriages were now unloading their passengers, and Tris glimpsed Cam and Carina among the entourage. He was certain he saw Carina glance toward where Jonmarc stood, but by then, Crevan was leading the way into Sheker-ishet. Compared to all this nonsense, I almost prefer rappelling in from the top, the way we did when we fought fared. Storming the castle was easier than satisfying the diplomats!
"It's been many years since I visited Sheker-ishet," Donelan said as they entered. "Your father was an excellent hunter. I've missed him this autumn, when there are stag aplenty in the forest."
Tris smiled, taking Kiara's arm. "I don't think I ever saw father happier than on a hunt. And I know that he enjoyed your hunts together, although I suspect the stag got bigger with each retelling!"
There was no time for private conversation. Crevan led them to a dining room where a table lay glittering with all the formal settings that Jared had not pillaged. Servants bustled around them, seating each person in the order court protocol demanded. Tris hoped that his desire to be done with formalities was not plain in his face.
"Your shoulder is feeling better, I hope?" Donelan asked casually.
Of course Donelan bad heard about the assassin. He's got spies in Shekerishet, just as Margolan has spies in each of the other kingdoms, friendly or not. It's just good business—never mind that he's sending his daughter into a kingdom that's barely stable.
"Mending well, thank you," Tris replied.
"Most unfortunate. Such things happen in difficult times," Donelan replied.
Tris lifted his goblet, and the others followed his lead. "To peace and prosperity."
"To peace and prosperity."
When the meal finally ended, Tris felt relieved. Cam grinned at him and surreptitiously tapped a flask at his belt, an invitation for Tris to stop by for a drink when time permitted.
King Harrol of Dhasson made a less formal entrance, as boisterous as Tris recalled from his fostering. Seeing his aunt, Queen Jinelle, Bricen's sister, made Tris feel a sudden pang of loss. Jinelle had Bricen's eyes and her laugh reminded Tris so much of Bricen that it brought a tear to his eye.
"There you are! Look at you. A king. I shudder to think." Jair Rothlandorn of Dhasson slapped Tris on the back.
"Glad you made it. You look very official," Tris said, taking in Jair's well-tailored clothing and the circlet that marked him as the Dhasson heir to the throne. "Don't tell me you've become a responsible member of the royal family."
Jair was just as tall as Tris but stockier, and although Jair's features showed his Dhassonian heritage, there was no mistaking the family resemblance. "Spent the last year fighting those bloody magicked beasts out on the border." Tris saw a fresh scar across Jair's right cheek. "Heard tell they were meant for you."
"We met up with a few of them ourselves."
"So where's your bride-to-be? I came prepared with plenty of stories from your fostering. Father says he can add a few of his own. Although," he said with a conspiratorial glance toward King Harrol, "truth be told, father never really knew the best ones."
Tris laughed. Jair, just two years older, had shared Tris's love for adventure, much to King Harrol's chagrin. "I'll introduce you to Kiara at the reception. By then it'll be too late."
Jair clapped a hand on his shoulder. "I've heard some of what you had to go through to free Margolan. I'm sure the news that reached Dhasson is only half the story. I'm sorry about Uncle Bricen, Aunt Serae, and Kait."
"Thanks." Tris managed a sad smile. "Now, get going before you miss the entertainment. Carroway will never forgive me if I hold up the guests."
King Staden and Princess Berwyn arrived from Principality before nightfall. "The least a mage of your power could do is magic-up some better weather!" Staden joked, embracing Tris like a son. "Won't be too long before the mountain passes close altogether. Of course, I guess it assures you that your northern company won't stay too long."
"Is Jonmarc here?" Berry asked. She was dressed for court in a gown of dark green Mussa silk accented with pearls. A fine headpiece of gold mesh covered her auburn hair. It was difficult to look at the young lady on Staden's arm and remember the tomboy captive Tris and his companions had freed from the slavers less than a year ago.
Tris laughed. "Yes, he's here. And I imagine Carina won't mind too awfully much if you claim a dance or two with him. Just between us, I think Jonmarc's going to propose to her any day now."
Berry beamed and clapped, forgetting herself enough to give a little hop of glee. "I hope you're right!" She returned the conspiratorial whisper. "You know, Kiara and I have been working on that project for a while now."
"I never doubted it for a moment," Tris replied.
"Your majesty," Crevan interrupted as Tris greeted a long line of well-wishers. Tris caught Carroway's eye, signaling for the musicians to begin early. "We have unexpected guests."
"Who?"
"King Kalcen of Eastmark—and his entire retinue," Crevan replied.
"That's a first, isn't it?"
"King Radomar, Kalcen's father, never forgave Bricen for the marriage pact between Margolan and Isencroft. We've had ambassadors in Eastmark, but there's been no meeting between the crowns of Margolan and East-mark in over twenty years. We issued the invitation out of politeness, but I never expected them to come."
Tris drew a deep breath and squared his shoulders. He wanted nothing so much as the chance to slip off somewhere far removed from the politics of court to talk privately with Kiara. That was unlikely to happen for many hours. "Well, they're here. Let's make sure we don't start another war."
Tris waited outside of the great hall until Crevan and the heralds properly announced his arrival. He was nervous at the prospect of meeting Kalcen. Eastmark was, if not exactly secretive, intensely private. It was well known for its military expertise and did a brisk trade, but its people kept their own counsel. Few outsiders fully understood Eastmark's ways.
The doors swung open.
"Greetings, King Kalcen," Tris said with a perfunctory bow.
"Greetings, King Martris," Kalcen returned. "We would have liked to have arrived sooner, but snow is already deep in Eastmark; The passes were treacherous."
"Thanks to the Lady in all Her Faces for your safe travel," Tris replied.
King Kalcen of Eastmark w.as an imposing figure. He stood slightly taller than Tris, among the tallest of the guests in attendance, and he was at least fifteen seasons older. His dark skin, the color of brewed kerif, made it clear that Eastmark's ruling nobility and unbroken line of kings were descended from the fearsome nomadic warriors of the far Southeastern plains. Long, raven-black hair framed an angular face. Around Kalcen's broad shoulders was a cape of black stawar fur. Beneath the cape, Kalcen wore flowing robes of deep ochre, and a clavicle of gold set with large precious gems lay below his throat. Gold glittered on each finger, and wide gold cuffs finely wrought with runes stacked up each arm. Kalcen's crown showed a roaring stawar crafted of gold.
The left side of Kalcen's face was marked with a complicated design tattooed into his skin: a sigil, Tris knew, that told both rank and ancestry. Between the gold cuffs and the ochre sleeves, Tris glimpsed more complicated markings. To prove his worthiness for the crown, Kalcen would have had to endure a series of mystic visions and quests, each more brutal and dangerous than the last. Completing a quest earned him the right to have part of his family's history tattooed into his skin, a living tapestry and a testament to his endurance, bravery, and strength. Tris thought of all the new scars he had gained in his own quest for the throne. He did not envy Kalcen his journey.
Kalcen's eyes were so black that it was difficult to see their center. Tris felt the faint tingle of magic. "I would meet the man who weds my niece."
He's truthsensing, Tris realized, recognizing the prickle of magic. He sensed no threat, and permitted Kalcen his light mental touch. Kalcen seemed uninterested in the pleasantries of protocol. Rather than take offense, Tris felt relieved. "I love Kiara with all my heart," Tris said. "I would give my life to keep her from harm." Tris hoped the other was satisfied with what he sensed.
"Even in Eastmark, I've heard much about you, Bricen's son. For the sake of my late sister, Queen Viata of Isencroft, I come to pay my respects."
Tris gave a formal bow. "You are most welcome. We're honored by your presence."
Kalcen had a direct gaze that held nothing back, and Tris found himself liking this unexpected visitor. "Old ways are changing in the Winter Kingdoms. Our world is not the world our fathers knew. Our ways cannot be their ways. This marriage creates a blood bond among Margolan, Eastmark, and Isencroft. Such bonds are not made lightly."
"I agree. It's time to make a new bond from what our fathers put aside. These are dangerous times."
"My seer dreamt of a great storm looming on the horizon, breaking over the Margolan mountains to the South. Even he was not sure of the dream's meaning, but it bodes darkly. Your power as a Summoner is known even in Eastmark. But the living are sometimes more to be feared than the dead."
"Then let's enjoy today," Tris replied.
"Well said, King Martris. Now, my companions and I would take our rest. We've had a long journey."
Crevan came immediately from where he stood near the doors. Tris made his farewell and took his leave. Kalcen's warning kept him preoccupied for many hours, while he received the banal greetings of the nobles who still waited for their moment with the king.
Alone in his guest room, Jonmarc Vahanian paced. He listened to the courtyard bells chime the eighth hour. It would be three more until Carina would be free of official duties. Time passed far too slowly. He felt for the velvet pouch in his pocket that held the shevir. He'd know soon enough when he saw Carina whether he had any chance of getting her to accept the betrothal token. Gabriel's right. There's no reason to think she's changed her mind. She's wintering at Dark Haven—now I just have to get her to make that a permanent arrangement.
The knock at his door made Jonmarc glance up sharply, and his hand fell to the pommel of his sword. Cautiously, he opened the door.
"May I come in?" King Donelan of Isencroft stood framed in the doorway.
Caught completely off guard, Jonmarc managed to step aside. "Sure. Come in. Your majesty."
Up close, Donelan was even more impressive than he had seemed at a distance. His hair was a darker auburn than Kiara's and his complexion was more fair. Donelan's recent illness showed in his eyes.
"So you're Jonmarc Vahanian," Donelan said, planting his hands on his hips. "Kiara and Cam have told me quite a bit about you."
"I hope that's a good thing."
Donelan's dark eyes were shrewd, and Jonmarc felt like an item for sale at a bazaar. "I understand you're the new Lord of Dark Haven."
"Very new."
"And you wear your sword, even in your friend's palace."
Jonmarc shrugged. . "'King's Sword.' Tris made the title up just so I had an excuse to wear my sword whenever I'm around him. Makes him feel safer that way." He shook his head. "I'll admit—after storming the battlements to get in here just last summer, it's a bit strange to walk in through the front door. And I spent six weeks healing my bones in' these rooms. I feel as if I never left."
"Kiara's told me some of what happened during that battle—although I suspect that she's minimized the more dangerous parts that involved her." Donelan cleared his throat. "I'll come straight to the point. Carina's like a daughter to me. I'm concerned for her happiness. I've given Carina leave to winter in Dark Haven. But before she goes, I would know— what are your intentions toward her?"
Any flippant remark that might have crossed Jonmarc's mind died in his throat at the look in Donelan's eyes. His mouth went dry. "I love her," he said, finding his heart beating as quickly as if he were riding into battle. "I want to marry her."
Donelan regarded him in silence for a moment. "Your reputation is not unknown— even in Isencroft. I've heard about Chauvrenne, and about later...escapades. What of the bounty hunters?"
Jonmarc drew a deep breath. "I've paid off the hunters. Tris lifted the bounty Jared set. Everything's settled—except for Eastmark."
"Kiara told me about that, too. I've asked King Kalcen to remove the bounty." The king took a step closer to Jonmarc, and his dark eyes blazed. "Let me make one thing perfectly clear. I'm entrusting Carina to your protection. If she's in any way dishonored, I'll personally set a bounty that will bring every hunter in the Winter Kingdoms to your doorstep. Am I understood?"
"Completely, your majesty."
Just as quickly as he had grown serious, Donelan brightened. "Very well then, that's done. Now—I understand you're partial to river rum. How about a drink?"
Kiara waited in her room, looking out the mullioned window at the bonfires that blazed in the courtyard below. Jae perched on her shoulder. She stroked the little gyregon absently, deep in thought. So much had changed since the night she and the others had battled Jared and Arontala within these same walls. Kiara listened to the bells chime the ninth hour, waiting for Donelan to escort her to yet another party in her honor. Carroway had done himself proud with the festivities; the ball would go on well into the night.
A knock at the door roused her from her thoughts. Jae fluttered, instantly alert. Kiara opened the door carefully, keeping a hand near the dagger she concealed in a sheath beneath her sleeve.
King Kalcen of Eastmark stood in the hallway outside the open door. "You're every bit your mother's daughter."
"Your majesty!" Kiara managed, remembering to curtsey. "Please, come into the sitting room. I was waiting for Father."
Kiara looked at the man whom she knew only through letters. She could see Viata in Kalcen's features. He had the same dark -eyes that Kiara had inherited from her mother, the same beautiful brown skin, and the same scent of musky incense that had often clung to his letters, a scent Kiara identified with Viata. Everything about Kalcen seemed at once exotic and heartbreakingly familiar. Kiara did not know whether to laugh or cry.
"My dear, it is so good to finally see you with my own eyes. The portrait you sent doesn't do you justice."
Kiara blushed and looked down, accepting Kalcen's hand as they moved to sit by the fire.
Jae hopped down from her shoulder and sniffed at Kalcen, who reached down to gently touch the gyregon. Satisfied, Jae curled up by the fireside. "I can't believe you're really here."
Kalcen grinned. "I nearly didn't accept the invitation from Margolan. But I couldn't pass up the invitation from you." He looked at her for a moment in silence.
"There's a lifetime of things to tell you, and our time is short. But I came for Viata's sake as much as yours. Our father was a great warrior and a good king in many ways. But he was also a man of his times, fixed in some ideas that have outlived their usefulness. I think at the end he may have regretted the way he treated Viata, but he was too proud to ask forgiveness. I've tried, while striving to follow in his footsteps, to also learn from his mistakes."
Kiara bit her lip. "Mother missed you terribly," she said finally, her voice catching. She spoke Markian, and Kalcen looked up, surprised. "She rarely spoke of her father. But for all the years she lived in Isencroft, she never stopped being of Eastmark. It was in her blood. And while she did everything she could to adjust to her new home, I think she would have been happier knowing that Eastmark was still open to her."
"That you speak our tongue like a native is all the witness I need to know you speak truly. I was just a boy when Viata and Donelan eloped. I was heartbroken—I loved her so dearly. And I watched Father's anger with horror, terrified that something awful would happen. I didn't really understand that we nearly went to war. I only knew that Vi might be hurt."
"All those years,' you wrote to her."
"Not an easy thing—I had to have the letters smuggled into and out of Eastmark. Father would have had a fit if he'd known. He was not a forgiving person," he said with a thin smile. "When I learned of her death, I grieved alone. Father had held her funeral years before—when she married an outlander."
Old anger flared up inside Kiara. "Why was that such a crime? Mother wouldn't speak of it, but how could that bring the Winter Kingdoms to the brink of war?"
Kalcen looked at the fire for so long that Kiara was afraid he might not speak. "East-mark is an old kingdom and a proud people," he said finally. "The Kings of Eastmark can trace our lineage back to the ancient days, to the warlords of the Southern Plains. The old tales say that when our people found the lands that would become Eastmark, they brought with them the Stawar God, one of the Old Gods who are lost now. The Lady wouldn't grant us peace until the Stawar God consented to be her consort. That's why we worship the Lover. The memory of the Stawar God has faded. But he gave us His skin as a token to remember who we are.
"The old legends say that you can tell the honor and the strength of a man by the darkness of his skin—that those who are most like the fierce, wise, brave Stawar God are given His mark. And for generations, although East-mark allowed others to serve and live and trade in its kingdom, intermarriage with an outlander was punishable by death. We were jealous guards of the Stawar God's mark."
Kiara was acutely aware of how pale she seemed in comparison to Kalcen, although in Isencroft she was as tawny as those who made their living out of doors. "It was unthinkable when Viata ran away with an outlander, even one whose reputation was as fine as Donelan's. Father couldn't believe that someone not of our blood could be as brave, as wise, or as strong as the sons of Eastmark." He met her eyes apologetically. "There's a word in our language I won't repeat. But it summed up what Father believed of outlanders."
"Sathirinim" Kiara murmured, and Kalcen flinched as she said it. "Corpse flesh. I heard the Eastmark ambassador say it once to Mother, before she banished him from the palace."
"Old ways die hard, Kiara," Kalcen's dark eyes searched hers for understanding. "I make no excuses for Father. He held his beliefs sincerely. But he was sincerely wrong." Kalcen took her hand in both of his. "It was the threat of war with Margolan that made Father back down. Even in his last years, he dreamed that he might somehow spirit you away from Isen-croft and marry you to one of the Eastmark nobles, reinstating the blood." Kalcen looked down and shook his head. "I knew my sister. I knew that Vi would choose a good man, a man who would be as fine a king as our ancestors. Later, when I was grown and went to battle, I saw that our hired outland troops bled the same color as our own, and fought with the same valor. And 1 knew that the measure of a man couldn't be taken by the darkness of his skin.
"Still, it's one thing to know something in your head. It's another to know it in your heart. And so I came for Viata's sake to see you and to meet King Martris. I had to know for myself whether he was a man of honor. My seers talk of storms and darkness. I believe it's time for Eastmark to forge the alliances Father would not consider. Donelan and I have become allies. Staden and I are just beginning to talk. I hope that Margolan and Eastmark can sign an accord." He looked earnestly into her eyes. "For your sake, as well as Vi's. It's time to let go of the old ways."
"Mother never spoke clearly of the real reasons for the rift—now I see why. I don't know what to think—but I'm glad you're here."
"I wish Viata could know that I've never forgotten her—and that she's done more to shape Eastmark's future than she could have ever-realized."
"I know someone who can arrange for you to tell her."
Kalcen caught his breath. "Then it's really true—your young man is a Summoner?"
Despite herself, Kiara laughed. "You know, that's exactly what Mother said when Tris met her—'is this your young man?'" She dried her tears on her sleeve. "Let me ask Tris to call her." Kiara stood and walked to the door. A whispered word to one of the guards sent a servant running to bring the king.
Tris came more quickly than Kiara expected. There was disappointment in his eyes when he realized she wasn't alone.
"I know you've met formally," Kiara said, taking Tris's hand and bringing him into the room. "But I'd like you to meet as family." Kalcen and Tris both made a nod of acknowledgement toward the other. "And I was hoping that you would call for Mother," Kiara said. "It would mean a lot to me."
Tris glanced from Kiara to Kalcen and back again, and then nodded. Kiara let go of his hand and Tris closed his eyes, stretching out his mage sense on the Plains of Spirit. He reached out with one hand, extending the invitation. The air in the room grew cold, as if someone had flung open a window to the snowy night. A fine mist gradually solidified into a shape, and then into an image of Viata. Kiara smiled. Behind her, she heard Kalcen gasp.
"I was with Donelan when you called me," the spirit said. "It's good that we're all together once more."
"Viata!" Kalcen gave a strangled cry and stepped forward. Viata moved to embrace her brother, gliding toward him and wrapping her insubstantial arms around him. "I never thought I'd see you again. I've missed you more than you can imagine."
Viata looked at Kalcen with great fondness. Now that they stood together, the resemblance between the two was unmistakable. "My little brother is now the King of East-mark," Viata said, reaching out as if to clasp Kalcen's hand.
"The day I took the throne I struck down the law that kept you from coming home," Kalcen said, seeking forgiveness in the ghost's eyes. "It was too late for you. But it will never'tear another family apart. And now, because of you, because of Kiara, Eastmark is looking outward, taking a role among equals in the Winter Kingdoms. I believe it was the Lady's hand that brought you to Isencroft," Kalcen said. "I only wish She.had allowed you to see what good became of it."
"I'm only dead—not truly absent," Viata said, reaching out to touch Kalcen's face. "I've watched you grow to be a man—and a king. I am very proud of what you've done. I wish I were among the living. But you'll always have my love."
The ghost faded from view and Tris relaxed, letting out a deep breath as he lowered his arm and opened his eyes. Kalcen stared at him. "So it is true. The mage heir of Bava K'aa. Even in Eastmark, we knew of her power. I'd heard the stories about your magic, but I didn't dare believe—until now."
Tris smiled.. Kiara moved next to him and slipped an arm around his waist. "Nothing I conjure up surprises Kiara anymore," Tris said. "She's gotten used to it by now."
"Thank you." Kiara gave him a squeeze. "I didn't mean to pull you away from more important things."
"You got me out of that interminable receiving line—that was good enough for me."
"If you're not anxious to go back immediately, I have another favor to ask," said Kalcen.
"Glad to do it—we still have half a candle-mark before the ball, and I think I've shaken every hand in the kingdom."
"Donelan has asked me to forgive an old death warrant, one my father wrote during the Troubled Times. I'm willing to do so, but first, I would look on the man before I pardon him."
Kiara and Tris exchanged glances. "How can I help?"
"I would appreciate your introduction to Jonmarc Vahanian."
"I'll be glad to take you to him. Probably best that way—Jonmarc's reflexes are pretty fast, and I'd hate for him to guess wrong about your intentions." Tris kissed Kiara's hand in parting, wishing for a more private goodbye, then he led the way to the corridor. Guards fell into step behind them—both his own bodyguards and Kalcen's. The hallway was crowded as servants bustled with last minute preparations and guests hurried to their destinations. Tris hoped that Jonmarc hadn't already gone to the ballroom, and was pleased to hear a response to his knock at the door. Tris positioned himself so that he would be the first thing Jonmarc saw as the door opened.
"Every time I open my door tonight, there's a king outside," Jonmarc grumbled good-naturedly. "Hello, Tris." Jonmarc was dressed for the evening's ball in the black doublet and pants he preferred for court occasions, and a claret waistcoat that Tris bet matched Carina's gown. His sword hung at his belt. Tris was sure that it was not the only weapon hidden under Jonmarc's coat.
"I have a visitor for you," Tris said. He stepped aside, and saw Jonmarc's eyes widen as he recognized Eastmark's king.
"Your majesty," Jonmarc said tightly, with a quick glance toward Tris. "Is this a friendly visit, or am I under arrest?"
"May we step inside?" Tris asked.
"Sure. Why not."
Jonmarc stepped aside warily, and Tris saw that while he did not reach for his sword, his hand never strayed far from its pommel. Probably best if I stay for this, Tris thought. I'd bate to see Jonmarc lose bis pardon by running Kalcen through.
Kalcen gave Jonmarc a look of appraisal. "So you're the hero of Chauvrenne," he said in Markian.
"I was there," Jonmarc replied in the same language, with a heavy Margolense accent.
"Foor Arontala tried to destroy you at Chauvrenne. You knew him for what he was—and you knew his power. Yet you returned with Martris Drayke to face him again. Why?"
Jonmarc was silent for a moment, his gaze locked with Kalcen's. Once more, Tris felt the tingle of magic that told him Kalcen was truth-sensing. For a mortal, Jonmarc was exceptionally resistant to mind magic, but he hoped Jonmarc had the good sense to permit Kalcen's touch. "Arontala killed my wife. He hanged my men. I had a score to settle."
Kalcen's gaze fell to the scar that ran from below Jonmarc's ear down under the collar of his shirt, and lingered on the two faint parallel scars that were the mark of a Nargi fighting slave collar. "In Eastmark, we have great regard for warriors," Kalcen said. "And although we have no love for the Nargi, your skill in combat against their champions is legendary. Istra has chosen you as Lord of Dark Haven, and you have become an ally of kings.
"My father was slow to recognize General Alcion's treachery. He didn't know that Arontala was behind the General's rise, nor did he realize Alcion had set his sights on the throne of Eastmark—until the revolt at Chau-vrenne. When the army learned what Alcion had done, there was an uprising. It was the beginning of Alcion's fall—and it may have prevented a civil war."
Jonmarc's eyes were hard. "My men were hanged for refusing to murder civilians. Alcion burned the village anyhow. If you're so bloody grateful, why keep my death warrant on the books for ten years?"
"Nothing can change their sacrifice—that's true. As for the death warrant—Father believed you dead at the hands of the Nargi. I only recently learned otherwise. The warrant has been struck from the books. You're pardoned."
Tris saw a mixture of anger and old pain in Jonmarc's dark eyes. No one spoke. Finally, Jonmarc drew a deep breath and nodded. "Thank you."
Kalcen grinned with unexpected humor, his white teeth a contrast against his dark skin. "Donelan tells me that you plan to marry his ward. That would make you kin to both him and to Martris Drayke. You're already liegeman to Staden. I suspect there would be protest if I tried to clap you in irons. Although I would relish a go in the salle—they say your skill is the best in a generation."
"If you're as good as Kiara, you might give me a run for my money. But I still won most of my matches with her."
Kalcen laughed. "Eastmark is open to you now. When you return North, come to visit. We'll see about that time in the salle."
Outside, the bells tolled the tenth hour. "We're all due in the ballroom," Tris said, moving for the door. "And as the host, I'm late. We'll see you—and Carina—later?"
Jonmarc nodded. "We'll be there."
Shekerishet's great room sparkled with mirrors and candlelight. Carroway's musicians played tunes that kept the guests on their feet, twirling in finely-clothed pairs to more sedate numbers, or dancing in boisterous groups to more lively songs. Although Carina was seated between Cam and Jonmarc at the table, the press of people and the obligations of court prevented any real conversation. Jonmarc chafed at the delay. Everyone assumed that Carina would accept his proposal, but he had yet to have the opportunity to have any kind of private discussion.
Remembering the assassin in the Winterstide crowd, Jonmarc wore a shirt of fine gauge mail beneath his court clothes. It had been Gabriel's suggestion. The shirt, made by vayash moru craftsmen, was lighter and stronger than anything he had ever worn in combat. If Carina guessed, she said nothing, although her choice of gown harked back to her observation that red would be less likely to show blood.
Near the front of the great room, Tris and Kiara greeted well-wishers. "When they took to the dance floor, Jonmarc noted that Soterius's guards made sure that a circle of floor was clear around them. Ban's not taking any chances on a repeat of Winterstide. Can't say I blame him.
Gabriel and Mikhail stood near the back, talking with Riqua and Rafe. Astasia and Uri were notably absent. Jonmarc let the conversation buzz around him as he scanned the room for danger. As the time wore on without incident, he relaxed, just a little. After meeting Donelan and Kalcen, he felt as if he'd already run a dangerous gauntlet. But the nervousness he felt in the pit of his stomach had nothing to do with kings. Until he'd had the chance to talk privately with Carina, he doubted he could truly relax.
That opportunity finally came after the eleventh bells. Carina excused herself claiming exhaustion from the long trip, and asked Jonmarc to accompany her back to her rooms. Two guards fell into step behind them, but kept back a respectful distance. They said little until they reached Carina's door, and she-invited him into the sitting room. The door closed behind them, and Carina breathed a sigh of relief.
"Finally! I didn't think we would ever be free of the crowd."
Jonmarc drew her into his arms. She stretched up on tiptoe to kiss him, wrapping her arms around his neck. For a moment, he was lost in the scent of her dark hair, the press of her body against his. "I missed you."
She took his hand in both of hers and held it close to her chest, bending down to kiss his fingers. "I missed you, too."
"You've brought what you need to winter at Dark Haven?"
"Enough that Kiara joked that I hadn't left anything in the palace," Carina laughed, her green eyes bright. "You said there hadn't been a real healer in Dark Haven for years. I packed everything I could, assuming I'd be busy."
Jonmarc pulled her close once more. "Oh, you'll be busy," he murmured, bending to kiss her again. She leaned into him and he tangled his fingers in her short, dark hair. This time, her kiss brought a warmth that carried with it a tingle of magic. When she stepped back, her eyes searched his.
"You're worried. What's wrong?"
"You never told me healers could read minds," he joked, trying to change the subject.
"We can't read minds—we read bodies. Bodies don't lie. What's the matter?"
Long ago, when he was a soldier, he'd heard rumors about what it meant to fall in love with a healer. The men he'd camped with were as much in fear of healers' supposed abilities to read minds as they were desirous of the ways a healer could turn his or her gift to other, more seductive uses. He'd dismissed it, especially the men who swore that taking a healer as a lover could ensnare a man's soul. Since none of the healers who traveled with the army made personal attachments, he'd assumed they weren't free to do so. Now he wondered whether the rumors had a grain of truth to them, and whether the healers who had remained alone did so out of choice.
"Afraid you'd changed your mind, I guess. About coming to Dark Haven."
Carina reached up to touch the back of his neck, letting the warmth of her magic loosen his knotted muscles. "I love you, Jonmarc. That hasn't changed."
"I have something for you." He reached inside his vest and withdrew the small velvet pouch. "Go on. Open it."
When the delicate silver bracelet fell into her palm, she gasped, her green eyes wide. "It's beautiful."
He took the bracelet from her hand and slipped it onto her left wrist. ."It's a shevir, a blood oath that I'll always come for you. I love you, Carina. Marry me. Dark Haven needs a lady and so does its lord." Riding into pitched battle didn't seem to require as much courage as the next few seconds.
"Yes." Her green eyes glistened with tears. "Yes."
He kissed her again, finding that her answer did more than any magic to release the worry that had gnawed at him these past few months. Nothing else mattered, not the royal wedding celebrations or the long journey back to Dark Haven, or even the feuding of the Blood Council. Nothing mattered at all right now, except her answer. A knock startled them both. Reluctantly, Carina stepped back and opened the door. A page stood outside. "Lady Carina, sorry to bother you, but one of the ladies has taken sick and Healer Cerise is with King Donelan."
She glanced back at Jonmarc with a look of resignation. "Go ahead," he said. "It's late. Just make sure those guards go wherever you go." He kissed her on the forehead.
"Where are your guards?" she teased.
Jonmarc patted the pommel of his sword. "King's Sword, remember? Be careful, Carina. Even here. Don't take any chances."
She gave him a kiss on the cheek and the guards moved forward to escort her and the page down the corridor. "I promise. Stay out of trouble."
He grinned. "That's one promise I can't make."
When the bells tolled three, the castle was quiet. Even the hardiest of the party-goers had retired to their rooms, and the corridors were empty of servants. Kiara slipped through the outer door of Cerise's chamber, managing to elude the guards who dutifully watched her door. She had changed from her elaborate gown into a shift, and her hair was back in a simple braid. She padded down the back corridor usually reserved for servants. Tightly held in her palm was the slip of paper Tris had passed to her. Meet me after the third bells by the hearth in the kitchen.
In the stairwell, she listened for a moment to make sure the kitchen was empty. The large cooking fires had been banked, and the kitchen was warm from the glowing embers. Pots, pans, and serving trays all awaited a resumption of festivities the following morning. Pies and cakes stood ready on a side table, and a fresh batch of apples, cabbages, and potatoes sat in bins awaiting the arrival of the morning servants.
"Hungry, dearie?"
Kiara wheeled to see a stooped old woman whose grin showed her mottled teeth. "Looking for a bite of bread or some cheese and sausage?"
"No thank you," Kiara said. "I'm supposed to meet someone—"
"King Martris will be coming down those back stairs any minute now, I wager. Been doing it since he was a boy—sneaking down to get some food, or to patch up what damage that demon Jared would do. I'm Bian. Looked after the king since he was born. Do the same for your young'uns too, when they come." She laughed. "Oh yes, dearie, I recognize you without your pretty gown. S'bout time our boy found a bride for himself. Can't tell you how glad I am that he's picked a girl with some spunk. But you'd best be careful wandering alone at night. Always some rats afoot in a castle this size, if you take my meaning." Bian limped toward the other side of the kitchen. The old woman turned a corner and disappeared from sight.
Just then, Kiara heard footsteps on the stairs. Tris stepped into the dim light of the kitchen. He was dressed in a tunic and trews, looking much more like the outlaw tent rigger she had met on the road to Westmarch. "I see you read my note."
"I shudder to think what Zachar would have thought," Kiara said as Tris stepped nearer and wrapped his arms around her.
"I couldn't wait to see you alone." He smoothed her hair back from her face. She reached up to touch the white blond hair that fell loose to his shoulders, playfully twisting it around her fingers. "Do you think it's too late to elope?"
Kiara sighed. "Goddess True! I wish we could. I can't breathe or move in those gowns. I'd rather wear armor! What I wouldn't give to slip out the back, steal a couple of horses and ride off to some little hamlet where we could get a hedge witch to marry us."
"I've been thinking the same thing myself all day. You haven't had to shake hands with every noble in the Winter Kingdoms. I've talked myself hoarse and said absolutely nothing." He took her hands in his. "As for eloping, I've come as close as we can. It's tradition for us to spend tomorrow night here in Shekerishet. But after that, since the guests will all be leaving, I've arranged for us to slip out of the castle to father's lodge. Just us and a few dozen guards."
"At least the guards are on our side this time. And for once, we'll have a room to ourselves!"
He kissed her again, and Kiara let herself enjoy the moment. It seemed like it had been forever since she'd felt his touch. They drew apart after a long while, and she turned, leaning back against him as he wrapped his arms around her. They watched the fire, content to be together.
"Is it true, that you'll have to go to war?"
"Lord Curane's holed up in his castle on the Southern Plains. He's got men with him who backed Jared—nobles, mages and generals. I can't afford to let them stay there."
"So—more pressure than usual for an heir."
Tris turned her to face him. "I'm sorry Kiara. I never wanted the crown to intrude like this."
Kiara reached up to touch his cheek. She could see how the weight of kingship wore on Tris. He looked worn, and there was worry in his green eyes. "You don't have to carry the burdens of the crown yourself. Whatever comes, I want to share it with you. As for the heir... Carina used her gift to make sure things are as... favorable... as possible. Said that's something healers are good at—and that out in the villages, half of their work is helping people have babies, and the other half is keeping them from having too many!"
Tris tipped her chin up. "All that matters is that .you're here now. We're together. Let's take things one day at a time. Today's all we've really got anyway, isn't it?" He kissed her then, and whatever she might have responded went unsaid.