Kalvan woke with the knowledge that siege bombards were going off beside one ear. He couldn't decide whether it was the left ear or the right ear.
Finally he decided it was both ears. He groaned and pulled the bearskin coverlet over his head. This movement made the bombards fire salvoes. It also made Kalvan realize that they were inside his ears.
A memory returned-he had been sitting on a bench, watching the All-mother Fires with a jug of wine (a whole jug, not a cup) in one hand and the other arm around a woman. He knew where the wine had gone. What had happened to the woman?
Half remembered fragments of a stage production of Midsummer Night's Dream that he saw on stage in Philadelphia ran through his mind; for a moment, he wondered if some confused here-and-now Puck had turned him into a donkey, because he sure felt like a jackass!
Meanwhile, if it didn't involve too much movement, he could do something about the hangover. Uncle Wolf Tharses had a poultice, which in combination with sassafras tea made a decent headache remedy. Closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, Kalvan reached for the bell pull.
Instead, his hand encountered proof that he wasn't alone in bed. Proof, what's more, that his companion was a woman!
Kalvan's gritted teeth couldn't stifle a groan, more of disgust than pain this time. Well, now he knew what had happened to the woman he'd been drinking with. He also knew what would happen to what was left of his marriage, the minute Rylla found out.
Rylla would have right on her side, too-not just her pride. Kings who shared beds with random women were likely to breed up bastards. To a precariously seated Great King, a flock of royal bastards would be more liability than asset. Few of them would be worthy of admiration, as was Harmakros' son, Aspasthar-
That's what started this nightmare, he remembered. Last night had been Aspasthar's adoption ceremony. Harmakros and Ptosphes had seemed determined to get him drunk on winter wine.
He heard a stifled groan from beneath the bed cover. Kalvan slowly pulled down the bearskin for a look. A thatch of golden blond hair that could only be Rylla's met his eyes. Dralm be praised! it wasn't that Greffan vixen from the Foundry-Eldra was her name, who'd been making eyes at him and a most immodest proposal-at the Founder's Celebration the other night at the University. But how had he ended up in his own bed?
It had been months since his return from Hos-Rathon, and many more besides when he'd fought in the Sastragath, since he and Rylla had shared a bed-or anything else for that matter. Yes, the adoption ceremony. Those rascals! Rylla had been there too! Harmakros had asked her to be Aspasthar's godmother-a custom he had accused Harmakros of inventing on the spot. Then Kalvan vaguely recalled apologizing-for what?-to Rylla, and then taking her weeping in his arms. Shortly afterwards they had both retired to the royal bedchambers…
Rylla had been as drunk as he was. Had to have been. Yes, he saw the hands of at least two meddlers in this stirring of the royal stew. Now what? Should he slip out the bedchamber before Rylla awakened, so they could both pretend this had never happened? Or should he stay and try to resolve this mess it appeared they had both helped to create?
Kalvan groaned as his head pounded again. Rylla stirred. One lovely arm groped out from under the blankets and pinned Kalvan's hand in place. Sometimes he forgot just how strong she was.
"Kalvan, are you made of iron?"
"Rylla?"
"Were you expecting somebody else?" Kalvan could hear ice tinkling in those words.
"I was praying it wouldn't be anyone else." He was too hung over to come up with any good lies.
"Are you trying to tell me that you've been faithful ever since your return?"
"Since it's the truth, why shouldn't I tell it?"
"All that time at the Foundry? I know about those Grefftscharrer girls."
"You weren't making our home a very pleasant place, Rylla."
Kalvan felt her arm go rigid as a steel bar. "Well, you made your homecoming something I'm still trying to forget."
"Maybe if you don't forget it, you won't do something like that Dralm-damned invasion of Phaxos again!" Kalvan took several deep breaths and sighed. "I'm sorry, darling. That was not only unnecessary, but unkind."
A long silence, a faint ghost of Rylla's usual hearty laughter. "I'll admit that last night you didn't behave like a man who's found other women." Rylla's head was now on the pillow, blond hair streaming every which way, eyes red and bleary, her face slowly turning the same color.
Royal dignity demanded that he make a peace offer sitting up. The royal hangover demanded that he stay down. Kalvan finally compromised by raising himself slightly higher on the pillows. Rylla did the same, so that the blankets slipped down from her freckled bare shoulders.
Kalvan had the chilling thought that last night he would have gone to bed with any willing woman, and thanked Dralm it had turned out to be Rylla. No, thank Ptosphes and Harmakros. His memories of their hauling him up the stairs after he was too drunk to climb them by himself returned; now it was his turn to flush.
Still, it had all worked out, if not for the best, at least, without doing any more harm.
"And besides, Rylla, you're the most beautiful woman in Hostigos, so what made you think I'd have the bad taste to be unfaithful?"
The smile, like the laugh, was a ghost of its usual self. But some of the old Rylla was still there. Time to see if a peace treaty could bring the rest of it back.
"Rylla, the damage done by your invasion of Phaxos won't be undone. I should have realized that when I came home and said-well, things I shouldn't have said. I went ahead and said them, and now our marriage is-was-- almost as dead as the Phaxosi Princely House.
"That's a gift to Styphon's House, our being divided. Will you join me in not making us separated anymore?"
The silence this time seemed to last long enough for a man to ride to Agrys City with a side trip to Balph on the way. Part of that was the hangover, but Kalvan wouldn't even contemplate servants in the chamber until he and Rylla were done. Or at least until he had his answer, whatever it might be…
"Yes." She gripped his hand more tightly. "I won't promise to always take your advice, Kalvan. But by Dralm, Galzar, and Yirtta Allmother, I promise to ask for it. And, I'll even admit, I shouldn't have gone against your wishes-not that I won't do it again-if necessary!"
That was as close to an apology that Kalvan would ever hear out of those lovely lips. Somehow he managed to find the strength to bend over and kiss her on the forehead, which left him so exhausted that it was Rylla who finally pulled the bell cord.
After tea and toast, they held one of their bedroom councils. Neither of them felt quite up to dressing and unfolding a map, but they'd both nearly memorized the Harphaxi frontier. There, clearly, the decisive battle of the next campaign would be fought.
"Well, you certainly took care of the Phaxosi problem for once and for all."
"I just couldn't stand by and let Araxes continue to defy our sovereignty any longer!"
Kalvan bit down on the groan that was about to escape from his lips. "I know, I know. At least, that's one subject we won't argue over again."
"And you did shut the back door against the Knights," Rylla hastily added. "Thank Dralm and Galzar for that. If the Order wants to come against us next year, they'll have to come through Harphax. And King Lysandros is no man to give Soton a free passage."
"Not the way he's grooming his Captain-General," Kalvan said. "Maybe Phidestros and Soton will be too busy quarreling to fight us."
"I'm not sure I'd count on that," Rylla answered. "From what Skranga has told me, King Lysandros has hocked his lands, his kingdom and his younger sister's trousseau to Styphon's House."
"I'll pray that they do quarrel. I'll even ask a few of Sargos' tame shamans to chant spells. But what I really think I ought to do is visit Agrys City and talk some sense into the League of Dralm. Duke Mnestros will stand behind me."
"Kalvan, no! The Kingdom needs you. Besides, what's to ensure your safety in Demistophon's lands?"
"Great King Demistophon isn't a fool. He knows such treachery would give the League a perfect excuse to turn against him. The ones who aren't against him already, that is. Remember all the Zygrosi and would-be Zygrosi in the League of Dralm."
"I haven't forgotten them, Kalvan. I also haven't forgotten that King Demistophon has the shortest temper of any Great King since Pytros the Iron King. Or that he sent an army twelve thousand strong to fight us the summer before last. If you entered his lands with enough men to keep you safe, he'd suspect it was an invasion. If you kept your guard small to reassure him, you couldn't protect yourself against the Styphoni. King Demistophon and the Archpriests of the Inner Circle wouldn't care who was angry with them, if you were dead. It wouldn't matter."
"I suppose not. But-does this mean you're not going to be risking your neck in the next battle?"
"The man who fought hand-to-hand with King Nestros in the Battle of Spirit Grove asks that question?" Rylla's laugh was practically back to normal. "An army needs inspiration. You can't give it to them by leading from the back. That silly bunch of old priests in Agrys City needs something that neither kings nor captains can give them."
Kalvan nodded. "I'd counted on Xentos supporting our position in Agrys City. But I underestimated his own ambitions-or, worse yet, his piety."
Rylla looked as if she were holding back tears. "Xentos is no longer the man I knew. He believes in his god, maybe too much-"
"Oh, he's sincere, I'll grant him that. But right now hypocrites like Skranga and Baron Zothnes are more useful."
This time Rylla laughed out loud. Kalvan's head still ached too much to let him do the same, but he smiled. There was still a distance between him and Rylla that hadn't been there before. Maybe now, for the first time since his return to Hos-Hostigos, it was no longer too great a distance to cross, with time and love.