Lioness Rampant

6 HOMECOMING

THE TRAVELERS SET OUT FROM PORT CAYNN immediately after landing, eager to reach their destination. Riding slowly, to reaccustom themselves after several weeks out of the saddle, they would be in Corus before nightfall. They halted shortly after midday at an inn Alanna and Raoul remembered, where the squires had often stopped on trips to Caynn. The food was good, the place so quiet that a rest seemed in order. Buri and Thayet napped; the men played chess. Alanna took Faithful to sit under a courtyard tree, scratching his ears and enjoying the sun. She was half drowsing when she heard an approaching rider.

Someone in a hurry, the sleepy Faithful remarked. Alanna nodded, refusing to open her eyes. The buzz of summer crickets was soothing after days of waves and gulls. Never would she board a water vessel again!

Curious, she peeped through her lashes; the rider entered the yard. With a yell she leaped up, dumping Faithful to the ground. “George!”

The thief grinned and grabbed her. His brawny arms closed tight; she was lifted, spun, then well kissed. Alanna looked up into dancing hazel eyes. “How did you know we were here?” she asked, wiping teary eyes on his sleeve.

“Stop that, lass,” he whispered. “Messenger birds, remember? You’re thin. Haven’t you been eatin’, my hero?”

“I was seasick.” She grinned. “It was the only way to get home in time. Are you all right? You look worn.”

George kissed her again, taking his time to convince her of his health. He released her, a wicked twinkle in his eyes. “Now your Dragon can kill me—I’ll die happy.”

“You know about Liam?”

He chuckled. “Sweet, everyone knows the Lioness and the Dragon were prowlin’ Sarain. I heard two songs about you this week.”

“Have you counted her fingers yet, Cooper?” Liam walked toward them, his eyes pale crystal.

George smiled. “I never thought you wouldn’t take care of her, Dragon.” He held out a hand, keeping a grip on Alanna. “I assume you’re used to bein’ sung about.”

Liam’s eyes darkened to blue-gray; he shook the offered hand with a smile. “They’ll have more to sing about, I guarantee.”

George stared past Liam, eyes wide. “Bless me, Crooked God,” he whispered.

Thayet and Buri emerged from the inn, still yawning. Alanna knew what had caught George’s attention: The afternoon sun sank into Thayet’s midnight hair while it turned her skin a deep cream. Thayet would look good anywhere, Alanna thought, with only a touch of envy. “Princess Thayet jian Wilima, may I present George Cooper? George, this is Princess Thayet of Sarain, and her guard Buriram Tourakom.”

“Don’t bother,” muttered Buri. George released Alanna to bow and kiss Thayet’s hand. “He won’t remember anyway.”

George straightened and winked at the K’mir. “I’m awed, Buriram Tourakom, but I’m rarely that awed.”

Charmed in spite of herself, Buri smiled. “Alanna told us about you,” she said gruffly. “We’ve been warned. It’s Buri, anyway.”

“I told you I’d bring them back,” Raoul said.

George looked at Alanna and gave her a squeeze. “I’ll never doubt you again, lad.”

“Ye would be the first,” Coram announced. He and Raoul had brought the horses around.

George laughed. “Were I you, I’d treat my wife-to-be’s cousin and king better than that.” The two men gripped each other’s arms in greeting.

George exchanged his tired horse for a fresh one, joining them for the ride to Corus. His presence made the journey pass quickly. He refused to relay the news, but had no trouble wheedling tales of their adventures from Buri and Thayet. Alanna was not fooled. The past months had taken a toll on George: He was thinner, small lines fanned out from his eyes and framed his broad mouth. She wondered precisely what had been going on. Where was his court—Scholar, Solom, Marek, Rispah, and the others? If she asked now, she knew he would laugh and ask the questions she didn’t want to answer.

“Has he always been this obstinate?” she asked Faithful.

The cat sniffed. You’re a fine one to talk.

She grinned. “If I don’t know obstinacy when I see it, who does?”

At the crest of the hills between seaport and capital, Buri drew up her pony. “Mountain gods,” she whispered, her black eyes huge with awe. The others stopped beside her.

Corus lay on the southern bank of the Oloron River, towers glinting in the sun. The homes of wealthy men lined the river to the north; tanners, smiths, wainwrights, carpenters, and the poor clustered on the bank to the south. The city was a richly colored tapestry: the Great Gate on Kingsbridge, the maze of the Lower City, the marketplace, the tall houses in the Merchants’ and the Gentry’s quarters, the gardens of the Temple district, the palace. This last was the city’s crown and southern border. Beyond it, the royal forest stretched for leagues. It was not as lovely as Berat nor as colorful as Udayapur, but it was Alanna’s place.

“Glad to be home?” George asked.

“Yes.”

He reached to wipe a tear from her cheek. “It’s been that long a journey, has it?” he whispered.

Alanna met his eyes. In their hazel depths she saw a degree of love that frightened her as it warmed her.

Inside the City Gate waited a small company of Bazhir, Hakim Fahrar at its head. They bowed to Alanna from their saddles. She bowed in reply. Hakim fell in with Coram; the others formed a loose circle around the travelers.

“Is this necessary?” Alanna asked. “We wanted to be inconspicuous.” She and Thayet exchanged rueful glances.

“It is,” George said. “You wouldn’t’ve been able to do it, anyway—not with yon big, brawny lad amongst you.” He nodded toward Liam, who talked with a Bazhir rider. “Things’ve changed somewhat, and all Corus knows you’re Jonathan’s knight. You’d do worse than ride with a guard.”

The gate at House Olau was open. The hostlers greeted Alanna cheerfully, showing no surprise at the size of her party. It was Thayet who hesitated, a worried frown on her face. “Buri and I should find an inn somewhere,” she pointed out. “If you can direct us—”

“I know one,” Liam said. “We can stay together—”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Alanna interrupted. “Why should we split up?”

“He’s expectin’ you,” George told them.

“Oh?” commented Thayet. “Where’d he learn about Buri and Liam and me?”

“The Voice?” Alanna asked Coram.

The burly man chuckled. “Ye have to admit, Lioness, the Voice is a useful man.” Turning to the others, he explained, “I’ve been in contact with the Voice of the Tribes since we entered Marenite waters. We’re expected, all of us.”

“You’ll hurt Myles’s feelin’s if you go elsewhere,” George said. “He’s that hospitable. He puts up my mother and cousin also. The man shouldn’t be a bachelor, not with a fine, big house like this.”

Thayet smiled ruefully. “If you’re certain …”

George bowed. “I can’t lie to a pretty lady.”

Alanna dismounted, giving her reins to a hostler. Faithful leaped down to vanish into the shadows as Eleni Cooper and Rispah came out to the courtyard. Alanna rushed to hug them, trying not to cry anymore. How could she have forgotten what being home was like? She introduced Thayet, Buri, and Liam. She didn’t know what George’s mother and cousin were doing in Myles’s home, but she was glad to see them.

Glancing to her left, in the shadows she saw Coram taking Rispah in his arms. Smiling, she looked away.

George nudged Alanna, pointing to the wide-open front door. “Go say hello to him. He’s been up since dawn.”

Alanna ran to Myles and hugged him. Neither of them required words, which was just as well, since both were unable to speak. Myles wept unashamedly, soaking his beard as he beamed at her with delight. He too looked older and worn, with bits of gray in his hair. He doesn’t think Roger isn’t dangerous, Alanna realized. She had to find out what was going on.

“Come in, come in,” Myles told the others. “Welcome, all of you!”

After dinner they gathered in the library. The others talked, but for the most part Alanna listened, happy to be there. Grim subjects and the Jewel were left for the next day. Thayet, Buri, and Liam were never given a chance to feel left out; once they were introduced to Myles, the knight made them welcome. Thayet’s offer to find somewhere else to stay was brushed off by their host, as Alanna had known it would be. Coram stayed close to Rispah, and Alanna realized with a twinge of sadness that his days as her mentor-companion were done. It surprised and delighted her to see Myles take Eleni’s hand; George saw her looking and winked. Later she accused him of matchmaking, and he made no attempt to deny it.

Finally Alanna dozed off in her chair, waking slightly as Liam carried her to bed. Kissing her forehead, he whispered, “Sleep well, Lioness.”

“I don’t like being ‘Lioness’ to you.” He didn’t seem to hear. Gently Liam closed the door, and she slept again.

She woke instantly some time later. What had roused her? She listened, but the house was silent. Looking around, she saw a blot of brownish light by the window. Lightning hung nearby; she lunged and unsheathed it as the blot gained size and substance.

“Put that thing down,” a familiar voice snapped. “I haven’t hurt you.”

“Thom?”

Even before he finished materializing, he glowed enough for her to see his features. Crossing his arms on his chest, he lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t you have any nightshirts?” Liam had removed only her boots and stockings.

Alanna jumped up and grabbed her twin, holding him tightly. Thom’s embrace was as hard as her own. He buried his too-hot face in her shoulder.

“Thom, what’s wrong? D’you have a fever?” Her voice faltered. “You’re … glowing…”

He gripped her shoulders. “Calm down! The heat’s part of it, so just—calm down.” He touched the crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes, traced the hard line of a cheekbone, smoothed over the thin crease that edged her mouth. He too had lines that weren’t his before, and he was even thinner than she. He looked tired—mortally tired. On impulse she touched the ember-stone at her throat.

With the talisman’s aid she saw that Thom shone with a rust-red fire, the color of old blood. “How do I look?” he whispered, knowing the ember’s properties.

She tried to smile. “You don’t want to know.” Swallowing, she added, “It’s as if you have another Gift, or your own is—”

“Corrupted,” Thom finished. “Enough. We’ll trade stories later. You look half dead.” He smoothed her hair with a shaking hand. “I just wanted to look at you, and see if … if you forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” she insisted. “You did me a favor. Now I can talk with him. I can see for myself if I made a mistake when I—you know. If he could’ve redeemed himself, somehow.”

“Nice try,” he scoffed in his old way. “I think you could’ve lived with it if he’d stayed in his tomb.”

“But it’s true,” she protested.

“Go back to bed, all right?” He began to fade. “Get some rest.” He vanished.

She stared at the spot where he’d been. Did anyone else know Thom was dying? Couldn’t they have warned her? But what was there to warn about—besides the fact that he glowed in the dark?

Her eyes blurred; she sniffed. Was Myles still up? Slipping barefoot out of the room, Alanna made for the library, Myles’s favorite room. The library door was open. She froze on the landing, not wanting to intrude on any private reunions.

“I couldn’t get away sooner.” The deep voice was Jonathan’s. “We don’t have parties because we’re in mourning, but these ‘quiet get-togethers’ take hours, all the same.”

“You should’ve waited.” Alanna recognized George’s lilt. “She fell asleep in her chair, poor thing. She’s weary. They all are.”

“And there’s little rest for my lady knight here,” Jonathan sighed.

“Does he know she’s back?”

“He knows. I just don’t—what?”

George came out and bowed to Alanna, indicating she should go into the library. Pushing her inside, he closed the door, leaving her alone with Jon.

He stood before the hearth, cradling Faithful. She’d forgotten he was a head taller than she. His black clothes emphasized his sapphire eyes; his mustache and hair were darker than his velvet tunic. She looked at his elegantly carved mouth and straight nose, thinking, Jon’s still the most handsome man I’ve ever seen—and that includes Roger! He’d changed since their angry parting; his face had stubborn lines, and there was a seriousness about him she liked.

Deeply moved, she knelt and bowed her head. “My liege. I am yours to command.”

He put his hands on her hair. “You’re sure, Alanna?”

She met his eyes. “Until death and after, Jonathan.”

He swallowed. “I accept your fealty, Sir Alanna. I accept, and I vow to return fealty with fealty, honor with honor, until death and beyond it.” Lifting her to her feet, he kissed each cheek. The kingliness faded. “You don’t know what it means to have you home.” His eyes filled suddenly. “He killed himself, Alanna. He made it look like a hunting accident, but it wasn’t. Oh, gods! Why did I have to lose both of them?” He covered his face with his hands and cried. Alanna held him, shushing him and weeping herself.

When he was calm again and she had dried her tears, Alanna said, “We may not have another chance to be alone for a while. What do you want me to do with the Jewel?”

Jonathan drew a deep breath. “You really have it?”

“I’ll get it, if you like.” She tried to pull away, and Jonathan tightened his arms.

“Not yet, all right? This is so comfortable. It’s been almost a year since I held you, remember?” He sighed and released her. “Keep it safe, for now. I need to think of a way to present you—and it—suitably.” He smiled briefly. “You don’t know how much it means to be able to tell people we have the Dominion Jewel. Perhaps it will even stop the rumors of a curse.”

A short time later, George rejoined them. “All’s well, then?” Alanna and Jonathan smiled at each other. “At last,” George sighed. “I never felt right when you two were on the outs with each other. We were havin’ tea,” he told Alanna. “Will you join us?” At her nod, he got a third cup and filled it from a kettle on the hearth, refreshing Jonathan’s cup and his own. “It’s Copper Isle Red Griffin,” he explained to Alanna, who squinted at the scarlet liquid. “The taste grows on you.”

Jonathan raised his in a toast. “To old friends, the best friends.”

“So mote it be,” Alanna replied.

“Hear, hear,” George added.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” a low female voice exclaimed.

Jon turned to the door and froze, eyes widening in awe. “Great Merciful Mother!” he breathed.

A tousled Thayet stood there, clutching a dressing gown at her throat. “Faithful woke me up, and then I couldn’t sleep.” The cat jumped into Alanna’s lap, startling her. She hadn’t even seen him leave. Thayet, flustered, avoided Jon’s eyes as she tried to tuck her bare feet under the hem of her robe. Alanna concealed a grin with her hand.

George drew the princess into the room. “We’re havin’ a bit of tea,” he told her, closing the door. “There’s a seat by the fire—over next to Jon.”

The king-to-be stood and raised Thayet’s hand to his lips. Their eyes met; Thayet’s puzzled, his searching. Quickly the princess drew her hand away, saying dryly, “We haven’t been introduced.”

Alanna couldn’t speak until she could master her amusement. Already Thayet had Jon off balance, and already they seemed attracted to each other. I knew it! she told herself triumphantly. I knew I was right to bring her!

“Thayet jian Wilima,” George said, eyeing Alanna, “may I present Jonathan of Conté? Are you officially ‘king’ now, Jon, or does that wait till the coronation?”

Jonathan was not listening. “Does the introduction meet your standards, your Highness?” His voice matched Thayet’s for dryness.

The Warlord’s daughter curtsied to just the degree proper for a princess to greet a king—not an inch more. Instead of modestly looking down, she kept her eyes on Jon’s. “I am ‘Highness’ no longer, your Majesty. My father is dead, and I am an exile. I hope to become your Majesty’s loyal, low-born subject.” She inclined her head graciously, her curtsey not wobbling an iota.

Alanna sighed wistfully. She could never match Thayet’s skill at courtly female behavior. Thayet glanced at her, knowing the reason for the sigh, and her gravity gave way. She began to giggle, then to laugh. A fourth cup of tea was poured, for her, and she took the seat beside Jon.

The next morning Alanna and Liam met for their dawn workout. Buri and Thayet, half awake, joined them shortly after they began. The four worked silently and hard for an hour before splitting up for the day. Alanna bathed, deciding to pass up a morning meal. Her nerves were wound too tightly for sleep or food. Despite a short night and excitement the day before, she was wide awake and ready for something she’d wanted to do for weeks.

Duke Roger was on the wall overlooking the City Gate as she rode into one of the many palace courtyards. Alanna stared up at him for a long moment, then glanced at the four Bazhir who had accompanied her this far. How far would their unasked-for protection extend?

Their leader bowed, interpreting her look correctly. “We await you here, Woman Who Rides Like a Man.” Glancing up at Roger, he added, “As long as we may see you plainly.”

She nodded. Leaving her mare to the hostlers and draping Faithful over a shoulder, she climbed the stairs up to the wall.

Roger leaned against the battlement, waiting. Alanna was surprised to see his hair was too long and there were foodstains on his robe—he used to be vain of his appearance. Drawing a deep breath, she put her cat down. “Behave yourself,” she told him firmly. She approached to within arm’s reach and stopped; the cat, his tail dancing with badly contained hatred, crouched at her feet.

“So,” Roger said, his light voice poisonous, “you survived. What a pity.”

Alanna grinned with relief. She didn’t have to pretend everything was fine and she liked this man. Open war was declared. “Hello, Roger. You look pale. Not enough time in the sun?”

His eyes, lighter than Jon’s, narrowed. “You’re cocky, aren’t you? Killed anyone recently?”

“No. It’s so depressing to come back and find one’s work reversed.” Her nerves hummed as if she were in combat.

A cruel smile curled his lips. “You know who to thank.”

Alanna shrugged. “I know. Tell me something, will you? You meant to kill her—the queen? And the king, and Jon?”

Roger tugged his beard. “If you ask about the days before you killed me, yes, I did. You doubted it? Or did you persuade yourself a court trial would have absolved you from complicity in my death?” She flinched and looked aside. “You aren’t absolved. If not for you, I would have been king. Those were my plans. Now, of course, it’s different. I had nothing to do with their deaths. I have promised to behave. Not that I can misbehave, since my Gift stayed behind when I came back to the living.” He grinned wolfishly. “It keeps my tomb warm for me, against my return.” Alanna shuddered. “Don’t you want to assure yourself my fangs are drawn? Use your keepsake.” He pointed at the ember. “I know all about it from Thom.”

Alanna did not like that Thom had seen fit to tell Roger that bit of news. Still, she touched the ember and saw only him, not even a tinge of orange fire. Disquieted, she released the ember. “You’re still a dangerous man, Roger. Your Gift just made things easier for you.”

He reached out and gripped her wrist, searching her eyes. “You’ve changed, Squire Alan. You’re very much the experienced knight, aren’t you? And you don’t fear me anymore—not as you did once.” He let her go.

Alanna tucked her hands into her pockets to warm them. Thinking about what he’d said, she replied slowly, “You know something? There are sandstorms that strip man and horse and bury them—I’ve seen them. I saw bones piled higher than my head for the folly of a bad king and those who wanted his throne. I lived through a blizzard that froze every other living creature solid. Against those things, you’re only a man. I can deal with you.”

Delight played across his face and eyes. “I’m sure you can, my dear. But I won’t give you the chance—not a second time.” He walked away, climbing to a higher level.

Alanna watched him go. At last, she sighed and picked up her enraged cat, warming her nose against his fur. “Calm down,” she whispered. “I’m not fooled, if that’s what you’re worried about.” She felt cold. “He’s up to something. I’ll stake my reputation on it.”

Raoul awaited her at the foot of the stairs. Instead of the rough shirt and breeches he’d worn aboard ship, he wore the royal blue and silver of the King’s Own, with the silver star of the Commander on his chest. Alanna stopped to admire him.

“I know you told me you were commanding the Own,” she said as she joined him, “but hearing it and seeing it are two different things.” They started walking deeper into the palace grounds. “Did they run to seed while you were off fetching me?”

Raoul shook his head, grinning. “Mahoud ibn Shaham, my Second—he kept them on their toes. Still, I’m glad to be back. I worry when I’m not able to look after things. I saw who you were talking to, by the way.”

“And?”

“What do you make of him?”

“He’s crazy,” Alanna said flatly. “I don’t know if it’s because he’s above ground when he should be in his tomb, or if the spell that brought him back rearranged his mind, but it doesn’t matter which. He’s crazy, and he’s dangerous.”

Raoul nodded. “I agree; Gary agrees; sometimes I think Jon agrees. But what could we do? King Roald—gods rest his passing—you remember how much he disliked a ruckus. He wanted to forgive and forget, especially forget. He restored Roger’s estates, his titles—everything. So now we’re stuck with a crazy royal Duke and all those people who think we’re cursed for keeping him. Can we talk about something else? I’m getting depressed.”

Alanna smiled. “All right. Tell me how you like commanding the King’s Own.”

“It’s all right,” admitted Raoul. They walked through a passage to emerge in the training area for knights, squires, and pages. “It’s not like the border patrols. Commanding the Own means you have to sneak and spy, what with people conspiring to kill Jonathan—”

“What?” she whispered.

Raoul turned red. “Forget I said that. It’s taken care of—ask Jon. Listen, I don’t want to talk about me. What’ve you been doing? What’s the Dragon like? And why in the name of Mithros did you go to the Roof of the World?”

“It’s a long story.” Alanna looked around at the open-air courts, the racks of wooden swords and staffs, the practice dummies, the targets. At this early hour only a few knights were out—Gary, Alex, Geoffrey of Meron. They gathered around, clapping her on the back and demanding to hear all of her adventures. Laughing, she refused, telling them she’d have plenty of time to spin tales.

As they talked, she examined each face. Alex’s was as closed as ever, although he seemed pleased about something. Gary stopped to think before he spoke, so he wasn’t as sarcastic as he used to be. Myles had said Gary had taken up Duke Gareth’s duties; Alanna thought the responsibility was good for her friend. Even Geoffrey seemed sharper, more honed. He told Alanna Scanran raiders kept him hopping all winter on the northern borders.

“Come on, Alan—Alanna,” he corrected himself as the others laughed. “Let’s see if you’re still in shape.” He tossed her a wooden practice sword.

“Of course she’s in shape,” Gary said tartly.

“I doubt she did much fencing with the Shang Dragon,” Alex commented. When Alanna looked at him to see if he meant something nasty, he explained, “I know Ironarm prefers hand-to-hand techniques over weapons.”

Alanna hefted the practice sword, testing its weight. “That doesn’t mean he avoids weapons.”

Gary, Raoul, and Alex sat on the railings to watch. “Is it true Sarain’s a shambles?” Gary called as Alanna and Geoffrey squared off.

“Yes.” Alanna sidestepped Geoffrey’s lunge and engaged his blade, twisting down and up. He freed his sword and darted back, looking at her with respect. Alanna concentrated, knowing she was being tested to see if she’d changed. From what people had said the night before, she knew Jonathan needed her as a knight, to point out to skeptics that his vassals were loyal and strong. That she was female was a source of trouble, but she could balance that by proving—here and now—her abilities were the same.

Geoffrey came in with a series of chopping blows, trying to limit her to defense. She slid away and kept him turning. He faltered and she darted in, her sword coming to rest at the base of his throat. Geoff lowered his blade.

“I’d forgotten how gods-cursed fast you are.” He grinned.

Gary climbed down. “My turn.”

Alanna got into position. Part of her was aware that servants and nobles were coming into the yard to watch. With a grim smile she went to work, forcing Gary to attack. She beat him with a disarm like the one she’d tried on Geoff, hooking his sword out of his hands. Raoul didn’t last as long as Gary; he wasn’t really trying, and she told him so.

“I’m used to you beating me,” he told her with a grin. “It’s hard to change an old habit. From the evidence, I needn’t bother. You’re still best, except maybe for Alex.” He nodded at the dark young man, who was seated on the railing. “Come on, Alex. Give the Lioness a try.”

The hair on the back of her neck stood up. It was weird to hear her warname on an old friend’s lips. It told her—more than anything else she’d seen or heard—how much she’d grown away from her fellow knights.

Alex shook his head. “I want to catch the lady knight when she’s fresh.” His eyes met Alanna’s with an expression she couldn’t read. “Some other time, I promise.”

Others volunteered, eager to try a pass or two. Alanna had another five practice bouts before she bowed out—she was getting hot. The men and boys protested her departure, but she noticed they began to fill the courts as soon as she stepped out of hers. I should be flattered they held off practicing to watch me, she thought, accepting a towel.

Gary walked her to the stables, an arm around her shoulders. “Were the last two even Tortallan?” Alanna panted, wiping her face.

“No.” The big man was pleased. “One was Gallan, and the black was Carthaki. They’re here for the coronation.”

“A little early, aren’t they?”

“Everyone wants to know what Jonathan’s like. They particularly want to know if he’ll be king for long. That’s why it’s good to have you at home. Most of us younger knights aren’t known outside Tortall. The Lioness is known and respected. A king who commands your loyalty is worth paying attention to.” They’d reached the stable doors.

Beet red, Alanna muttered, “Hogwash.”

“To you it’s hogwash,” Gary agreed. “To foreigners it’s important. They’ll keep their fingers out of our business until they know more about Jon.” With a cheerful salute he left her to return to the palace and his new duties.

Entering the stables, Alanna found them deserted. Most of the hostlers were in the courtyards or the paddocks, which suited her. Putting fingers to her lips, she gave an ear-splitting whistle. A stocky man slipped down from the haymow above, not bothering to pick dried grass from his strawlike hair.

“So there you are,” Stefan commented, bowing and tugging a forelock. “It’s that good t’see you. Mayhap now his Majesty’ll perk up. It’s been that gloomsome, Mistress Alanna.”

The knight leaned against a post. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on to make things so ‘gloomsome.’”

Stefan looked around, wary. “Come up,” he invited, climbing a ladder to the mow. “And keep your voice low.”

On her return to House Olau, Alanna found the premises occupied by seamstresses. “It was Eleni’s idea,” Buri explained. “She says you and Thayet need clothes. Good luck!” Faithful saw the welter of fabrics and earnest-looking women and fled with Buri; the men had already vanished.

“I know you’d rather do other things today,” Eleni explained as she hauled Alanna into the fitting room. “But his Majesty wants you to bring Thayet to court tonight. He left you this.” She handed over a sealed parchment.

Breaking the seal, Alanna read Jon’s note while George’s mother divested her of sword belt, tunic, and boots.

Lady Knight, Tonight would be a good time to present you officially at court, and to formally introduce Princess Thayet. The longer more conservative souls have to get used to you, the more productive your presence will be. This will also be an excellent opportunity—with so many there to witness—for you to present me with the object we spoke of.

She nodded in approval of Jonathan’s strategy as she threw the note onto the fire. A formal introduction was a grand occasion; foreign diplomats and Tortallan nobles alike would be present. By virtue of her rank, Thayet was due such a reception, even though the court was in mourning. While Alanna preferred an informal welcome, she knew life would be easier if Jonathan gave her public approval. Also, giving him the Jewel would help—both her and him. No one would wish to unthrone a king who held the Jewel. And once presented, word would get around. The sooner the better, after all the news she’d heard that day!

With a sigh, she removed her shirt and breeches as an assistant came to take her measurements with a knotted cord. Grimly, she looked at the ceiling while the cord snaked around her body.

The fitting, however, was almost over before it began, when the chief seamstress showed Alanna dress designs. “I won’t wear a gown, not tonight,” the knight said firmly. “They’ll think I’m crawling back with my tail between my legs.”

“Ye can’t show your legs to the whole court and his Majesty that’s to be,” the seamstress replied. “It’s indecent and disrespectful, and all the nobles will talk about ye.”

“They do that already,” Alanna retorted.

The woman shook her head stubbornly. “The only ladies as wears hose are them that’s no better than they ought to be.” Rispah turned a laugh into a cough when the seamstress glared at her.

“I’m not a lady—I’m a knight,” Alanna growled. “And I’m making my bow to the court as one. Dresses are fine sometimes, but not tonight.”

“Sir Alanna is right, and you’re right,” Thayet put in diplomatically. She held up a sketch she’d been working on. “Is this a suitable compromise?”

“With a bit of gold or silver stripe along the seam?” Eleni suggested gently as the seamstress frowned.

Alanna peered at it. It was a shirt and tunic, with soft, full breeches instead of hose. The tunic was longer than usual, coming to the knee, yet splits in the sides to the waist ensured the wearer’s freedom of movement.

“All right?” Thayet asked.

“I like it,” replied Alanna.

“Hmm,” the seamstress commented, still skeptical.

Rispah put a friendly arm around the woman’s shoulders. “The dark gray silk, with—oh, of course, I can see where it might be too much trouble, with Princess Thayet’s and Mistress Cooper’s ballgowns besides. Perhaps Mistress Weaver, as has a shop over in—”

“It’s no trouble,” snapped the seamstress, pulling out of Rispah’s hold. “No trouble at all, for a shop of the first cut, like mine. Weaver! She sells inferior cloth and stitchin’ that comes undone in the first bow—” Rispah winked at Alanna; the skirmish was settled with honor to both sides.

The gleam in Eleni’s eye made Alanna uncomfortable. George’s mother was looking her over, inch by inch, leaving no part of Alanna unscrutinized. The knight hurriedly began to dress.

“Earrings!” the older woman exclaimed.

Alanna forgot her trepidation and looked at Eleni, hardly believing her ears. “Could I?” she whispered. All her life she’d envied the court beauties their eardrops, to the point that she’d refused to get the single earring a man could wear—it just wasn’t the same.

In a twinkling Eleni and Thayet had her in a chair while Rispah heated a needle. “This shouldn’t be any trouble at all,” the redhead grinned, “bein’s how you’re a blooded knight. Hold still!”

Alanna gritted her teeth as the needle punched into a lobe; the bottom dropped out of her stomach, and her ears roared. “I’ll tell you what the Daughters told me when I had mine done,” Thayet said as Rispah replaced the needle with a bit of silk. “‘Beauty is pain.’”

“Is that supposed to be a consolation?” Alanna gasped. She closed her eyes against the next punch of the needle. This time the bottom of her stomach continued to drop, and the roar was deafening. She opened her eyes onto more blackness.

Someone was waving aromatic salts under her nose. Alanna sneezed and sneezed again. “What happened?” she asked, struggling to keep her stomach in place. Rispah stopped trying to fight laughter; Eleni wiped teary eyes with a handkerchief. Even the seamstress showed signs of amusement. Alanna fixed Thayet with a darkling look. “Thayet?”

“You fainted,” the princess gasped, and surrendered to whoops of mirth.

Rispah and Eleni told the travelers what had been going on in the palace and city, while the seamstresses worked nearby. The picture drawn for Alanna was grim, grimmer than she had thought from the recital in the stable. Jonathan’s future subjects wondered if he was cursed. Duke Gareth had taken the deaths of his sister and brother-in-law hard; he was in retirement, and Gary was virtually Prime Minister. No one questioned Gary’s ability, but everyone had known and respected his father, and few people outside the palace had ever met the younger Naxen. Many of the older nobles, who normally could be relied upon to support the king, had withheld support from Jon without giving reasons. Their excuse was that they waited for the coronation, which was the proper time and place; but Myles and Duke Gareth told Jonathan that the same lords had pledged to support Roald before his coronation. Claw appeared to have vanished, but Alanna knew from Stefan that his followers still made trouble for George. A wet spring and cool summer this far meant sickly crops, a bad omen in a king’s first year on the throne.

“Everyone’s waitin’ to see which way the cat will jump,” Rispah said as Alanna submitted to fittings. “With no reason at all. They’re hopin’ for another claimant to the throne, but who’s it to be? The Conté Duke’s givin’ them no encouragement, for certain.”

“With some, all it took was the Bazhir coming here in great numbers,” Eleni explained. “Plenty of northerners hate them, and any king liked by the desert men will find he has trouble.”

“Some folks say Duke Roger’s older and more experienced than Jonathan,” Rispah added. “They say what happened two Midwinters ago—” she nodded to Alanna, “was Jon’s plot to get Roger out of the way.”

“Easy, child,” Eleni cautioned, putting a hand on Alanna’s arm. “It’s just talk. No one’s doing anything, not even speaking out publicly. But Jonathan could do with a miracle.”

To her surprise, Alanna smiled. “Then we’ll give him one.”

She found Myles in his study late that afternoon, napping. Once he was awake, Alanna sat down to discuss the events of the past year with him. He could fill in the blank spots because he knew better than anyone else why nobles behaved as they did, and his merchant friends were always honest with him. “They don’t think Jonathan can hold the throne,” he told Alanna bluntly. “Until they see proof that he can, they’re going to hold back. It isn’t that many of them expect Roger to try for the throne. Well, those who live at court don’t expect it. But Tortall’s a big kingdom, and it’s hard to keep it knit together in the best of times. If Jonathan can’t rule, the fiefs on the borders will start to break away and form their own kingdoms. Tusaine, Galla, and Scanra will nibble at the edges. That’s what people fear. Roald let them be, and twenty-odd years of that kind of beneficent neglect is bearing fruit now. Does that answer your question?” Alanna nodded. “The Jewel will help. After that, it’s up to Jonathan and the use he makes of you bright young people.”

Alanna laughed. “Don’t forget, he’s got you on his side, too.”

Myles chuckled. “By the way, I have something for you. Eleni told me you’d had an ordeal this afternoon. I bought these to make you feel better.” He dug in a pocket and handed Alanna a small box. “Don’t open it here. Expressions of gratitude embarrass me.” He leaned back in his chair, putting up his feet. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to finish my nap.”

Outside his study, Alanna opened the box. Inside was a pair of black pearl earbobs.

Every Tortallan girl dreamed of descending the Great Stair in the queen’s ballroom with all eyes fixed on her, the knight of her dreams singling her out and bearing her away to a life of bliss. Minstrels made their living off tales of common-born girls presented at court by mysterious—wealthy—guardians for just that fate. Now it was Alanna’s turn to descend; she felt a degree of panic she was unaccustomed to as an old palace hand. She had seen hundreds descend the Great Stair to cross the long room and kneel before sovereigns. In the ballroom she’d met girls who came to court to make good marriages, foreign diplomats and their ladies, merchants, visiting warriors—the list was endless. If they had been as terrified as she was that night, they didn’t show it.

They stood in the chambers outside the ballroom’s great doors: Thayet, Buri, Eleni, and Liam for official presentation; Myles to bolster their confidence; and Alanna to be—Reintroduced? That can’t be right, she told herself. The Jewel, snug in its box, seemed to have caught her case of nerves; she could feel it humming through her black kid gloves. “Jump up,” she told Faithful, wriggling her shoulder. “I need the reassurance.”

No, the cat replied, shaking his head. I’ll muss your pretty clothes. Startled, she pulled away. He’d actually sounded serious!

Eleni Cooper fussed with the gold lace at her throat. “I wish I hadn’t agreed to do this, Myles.” She was elegant in mahogany-colored silk, her gray-streaked hair in a heavy knot at the back of her head. “I am suitably entertained in the Lower City.”

Hazel eyes met hazel eyes, with a depth of love that made Alanna wistful as Myles raised Eleni’s hand to his lips. “This will be just as entertaining, my dear. Perhaps more so.”

Strong fingers brushed Alanna’s new ear bobs. “Pretty,” Liam approved. “A nice touch.”

Alanna’s heart skipped a beat. The Dragon did not have to wear dark colors or pale grays or lavenders of mourning for Lianne and Roald. He was magnificent in blue-violet satin over silvery shirt and hose. His hair flamed in contrast.

“It isn’t fair of you to look so good!” she hissed.

“I could say the same about you. You think I don’t have regrets about us breaking it off?” His eyes were the bright aqua he seemed to reserve just for her. “When you’re queen of Tortall, you’ll thank me.”

She was opening her mouth to say, “I’m not going to be queen,” when Gary joined them. “Liam Ironarm? I’m Gareth—Gary—the Younger of Naxen. My father’s Prime Minister. Can you tell me about Shang?” He put his arm through Liam’s and walked him away, calling, “I’ll talk to you later, Alanna.”

Timon, once Duke Gareth’s personal manservant, now chief of the palace footmen, arrived looking harassed. Gary bade a swift farewell and went to stand by the throne. Timon nodded to Myles, who took Eleni’s arm. “You’re worth any of them, Mistress Cooper,” Alanna heard him whisper. The chief herald bowed and opened half of the great door, admitting the couple.

“Am I all in one piece?” Buri wanted to know. She wore a deerskin jacket richly beaded in red and silver, tight deerskin breeches, and soft boots. She bristled with silver and black daggers; both the short and long sword were thrust in her sash. Her thick hair was tightly braided and coiled; the pins securing it were silver. She slapped black gauntlets nervously against her arm as Alanna looked her over.

The knight smiled. “You look splendid. Your mother and brother will be proud.”

“We are proud,” Liam added. The herald beckoned to him. He drew a breath. “Shang Masters, I hate this kind of thing.” Leaving the two women staring in astonishment, he went through the open door.

Buri poked Alanna’s arm. Thayet had emerged from the robing room. Alanna’s voice caught in her throat as the princess tried to smile. “Do I look all right?”

Her hair was a mass of ringlets cascading from crown to shoulders. Her hazel eyes were big against her creamy skin, her lips crimson. Her flame-red gown left shoulders and an expanse of bosom glowing against the muslin, then blossomed into a wide skirt. Rubies set in lacy gold shimmered in her hair and against her neck.

The chief herald stared at Thayet too, stunned. “Don’t ask me,” Alanna grinned. “He’s seen all the beauties come and go. He told me they didn’t impress him anymore.”

Thayet looked curiously at the chief herald; he bowed to her, as deeply as he would to a king. “Princess, may you always grace our halls,” he said with feeling.

Both doors at the head of the stair swung open. The silence in the crowded ballroom was abrupt: Both doors were used only for visiting royalty. The herald walked to the head of the stair; he struck his iron-shod staff three times on the floor.

“Her most Royal Highness, Princess Thayet jian Wilima of Sarain, Duchess of Camau and Thanhyien.” Alanna walked forward with Thayet on her arm. “Sir Alanna of Trebond and Olau, Knight of the Realm of Tortall. Buriram Tourakom of the K’miri Hau Ma.”

Jonathan rose, watching them. The awestruck look on his face was all Alanna needed to see. She gave herself a pat on the back for an idea well conceived. Thayet descended the stair as if she were floating, her face impassive. Only her tight, somewhat damp grip on Alanna’s arm revealed the state of her nerves. Jonathan walked down the scarlet runner between door and throne, to meet them in the ballroom’s center.

Alanna gently withdrew her arm from Thayet’s clutch, letting the princess walk the few steps to Jon alone. The king-to-be embraced Thayet gently and kissed her on both cheeks. “Cousin, welcome,” he said, using the form of address common to royalty. “We regret the sad event that drove you from your home.”

“Thank you, your Majesty.” Thayet’s gaze was stern; plainly—to Alanna—she was trying to remind Jon of her wish to become a private subject.

Jonathan ignored the hint. “Until such time as peace returns to Sarain, know that Tortall is your home.” Offering Thayet his arm, he led her to the chair placed for her just below his own. She sat gracefully, her skirts settling around her feet in a perfect fan. Buri took up her station at her side. No one knew who began it, but a patter of applause turned into a roar of enthusiasm. In Sarain she was the female who should have been a male heir; the Tortallan courtiers accepted Thayet for herself.

George also enjoyed Thayet’s entrance, but he was not blind to her companions. He nodded his approval to Buri. And he was acutely aware of Alanna from the moment she appeared. In her dark gray and black, she was elegant and somber; her hair and eyes blazed. No one could miss the sword belted at her waist. Beneath one arm she carried a box not much bigger than her fist.

Remembering his disguise as a stern-faced Bazhir, George defeated the urge to beam like a proud lover. She’s done it, he thought. My darlin’s made them pay attention and dance to her tune. And I thought only common-born knew how to do that.

Waiting for the applause to quiet, Alanna looked around. Even in his disguise she knew George. She bit back a grin—she should’ve known he’d come!—and winked at him, enjoying the approval in his eyes.

Behave, Faithful scolded. You have business to take care of!

The noise was finally dying. Jonathan nodded. “Sir Alanna, come forward.”

She continued down the carpet, hand on sword hilt, Faithful beside her. Thayet smiled encouragingly as Alanna knelt before Jonathan.

“Your Majesty.” She drew Lightning and laid it on the step at his feet, in token of her allegiance. “This I swear: to serve you and your heirs with all I possess, in the Mother’s name.” Taking the box in both hands, she flipped it open. The Jewel lay on a black velvet bed. She held it up to him. “I bring you the fruit of my traveling, Majesty—the Dominion Jewel.”

Jonathan reached for it as total silence fell. The moment his fingers touched the Jewel, it flared into life, blazing like a small sun in his hand. Jonathan held it aloft, and first one courtier, then another, knelt, until everyone but Jonathan and Thayet was kneeling.

“We thank you, Sir Alanna.” His voice was audible in every corner of the room. “And we praise the gods for sending us this Jewel—and our Lioness—in this time of need.”