“I need assurance she and her son will be provided for.” Vaelin forced himself to keep his eyes locked on the King’s. “If I’m to be part of your crusade.”
“I’m sure Tower Lord Al Myrna can find room for another exile or two. The distinction between Faithful and Denier means little in the Northern Reaches.” The King turned back to his desk, lifting his quill and smoothing a blank parchment out before him. “You will receive your orders in the next few days.” He began to write again, his quill scratching its path across the page.
It took a moment for Vaelin to realise he had been dismissed. He got to his feet, finding himself slightly dizzy, whether with anger or sorrow he couldn’t tell. “My thanks for your time, Highness,” he forced the words out and moved to the door.
“Remember, young hawk,” the King said, not looking up from his parchment. “This is not the whole of my plan for you. Merely the beginning. I command, you follow. That is the bargain you made this night.” He glanced up, meeting Vaelin’s eyes again. “You understand?”
“I understand perfectly, Highness.”
The King held his gaze a moment longer, then returned to his writing, saying nothing as Vaelin left.
Captain Smolen was waiting for him when he emerged from the wall. “Your visit is concluded, brother?”
Vaelin nodded and collected his weapons from the table, re-equipping himself quickly, possessed by a strong desire to be away from this place. He needed time alone to think. The enormity of his bargain with the king had stirred his thoughts into a confused jumble. He followed Smolen back along the myriad corridors lined with forgotten gifts, his mind continually repeating the King’s final words. This is not the whole of my plan for you. Merely the beginning.
“You’ll forgive me if I leave you here,” Smolen said at the corner to what Vaelin recognised as the corridor leading to the east gate. “I have pressing duties elsewhere.”
Vaelin peered at the shadowy end of the corridor then turned back to Smolen seeing a faint discomfort in the set of the man’s face. “Pressing duties, captain?”
“Yes.” Smolen coughed. “Very pressing.” He took a step backwards, nodded formally then turned and strode back the way they had come.
Vaelin took another look at the corridor ahead of him, a faint sensation of wrongness making his heart beat faster. Ambush, he decided. The King has untrustworthy servants. He considered going after the Captain and forcing him to walk ahead into whatever was waiting but found he couldn’t summon the will. It had been a very long night. Besides he could always find him later. He palmed a throwing knife from the folds of his cloak and started along the corridor.
He expected the attack to come at the darkest point, near the corridor’s end, but nothing happened. No black clad men with curved swords leaping out to challenge him. But there was a faint scent in the air, subtle, sweet, like flowers on a hot day…
“I’d heard you were handsome.”
He pivoted towards the sound of the voice, the knife half out of his hand before he saw her. A girl, standing half in shadow. He managed to move his hand at the last instant, sending the throw wide, the knife thudding into the wall an inch from her head. She glanced at it briefly before stepping forward into the light. Vaelin had seen beautiful women before, he had always thought Aspect Elera the most beautiful woman he was likely to meet, but this girl was different. Everything about her, from the flawless porcelain of her skin, the soft curve of her face and the lustrous red-gold of her hair, spoke of effortless perfection.
“You’re not,” she said, coming closer, head angled as she studied him with bright green eyes. “But your face is interesting.” She reached up, fingers extended into a caress.
Vaelin took a step back before her hand could touch his face. He dropped to one knee and bowed low. “Highness.”
“Please get up,” said Princess Lyrna Al Nieren. “We can’t talk properly if your face is constantly pointed at the floor.”
Vaelin rose. Waiting and trying not to stare.
“I’m sorry if I surprised you,” the Princess apologised. “Captain Smolen was kind enough to inform me of your visit. I thought we should talk.”
Vaelin said nothing, his sense of wrongness hadn’t faded. Something about this encounter was dangerous. He knew he should make an excuse and leave but found himself unable to find the words. He wanted her to talk to him, he wanted to be near her. It was a compulsion that provoked a sudden and deep resentment.
“I had intended to watch you fight today,” the Princess went on. “My father wouldn’t let me, of course. I was told it was a very stirring contest.”
Her smile was dazzling, performed with a precise affectation of sincerity that put Nortah to shame. She’s expects me to be flattered, he realised. “Is there something you wish of me, Highness? Like Captain Smolen I have pressing business elsewhere.”
“Oh don’t be angry with the Captain. He’s normally so correct in his duties. I’m afraid I may be corrupting him terribly.” She turned and went to the wall where his throwing knife was embedded, working it loose with difficulty. “I like trinkets,” she said, examining the blade, running her delicate fingers over the metal. “Young men give them to me all the time. None of them have yet given me a weapon though.”
“Keep it,” Vaelin told her. “If you’ll excuse me, Highness.” He bowed and turned to go.
“I won’t,” she said flatly. “We haven’t finished our talk. Come,” she beckoned to him with the knife, moving away from the wall. “We will talk together beneath the stars, you and I. It will be as if we are in a song.”
I could just leave, he realised. She couldn’t stop me… could she? After briefly considering the prospect of fighting off hordes of guardsmen summoned to prevent him leaving he followed her back along the corridor. She led him to a door in an unobtrusive alcove, pushing it open and gesturing for him to enter. The garden beyond was small but even in moonlight the beauty on display in its flower beds was remarkable. There seemed to be an endless variety of blooms, far more than in Aspect Elera’s garden.
“It should really be seen in daylight,” Princess Lyrna said, closing the door and stepping past him, pausing to examine a rose bush. “And it’s a little late in the year, many of my darlings are already shrinking in the cold.”
She walked to a low stone bench in the centre of the garden, her gown swaying gracefully. Vaelin distracted himself by searching the flower beds for something vaguely familiar, to his surprise he found it in the shape of a yellow buds nestling beneath a small maple tree. “Winterblooms.”
“You know flowers?” The princess sounded surprised. “I was told brothers of the Sixth Order knew nothing beyond the arts of war.”
“We are taught many things.”
She sat on the bench and raised her hands, gesturing at the flower beds. “Well, do you like my garden?”
“It’s very beautiful, Highness.”
“When I was little my father asked me what I wanted as a Winterfall gift. Growing up in the palace meant I was never alone, there were always guards or maids or tutors, so I said I wanted somewhere to be alone. He brought me here. It was just an old empty courtyard then, I made it a garden. No one else is allowed here and I have never shown this place to anyone, before now.” She was studying him intently, gauging his reaction.
“I am… honoured, Highness.”
“I’m glad. So, as I have honoured you with a confidence, perhaps you will honour me with one in return. What business did you have with my father?”
He was tempted to say nothing but knew he couldn’t simply ignore her. Various lies flicked through his mind but he had a sense that the princess had her father’s ear for untruth. “I don’t think King Janus would wish me to discuss it,” he said after a moment.
“Really? Then I am forced to guess. Please tell me if I guess well. You found out one of the men you killed today had been forced into the fight. You came here asking my father for justice. Am I correct?”
“You know much, Highness.”
“Yes. But sadly, I find that I never know enough. Did my father grant your request?”
“He was gracious enough to dispense justice.”
“Oh.” There was a faint note of pity in her voice. “Poor Lord Al Unsa. He always used to make me laugh at the Warding’s Night ball, the way he would stumble about the dance floor.”
“I’m sure your fond memories will be a great comfort to him on the gallows, Highness.”
Her smile faded. “You think me cold? Perhaps I am. I’ve known many lords over the years. Smiling, friendly men who gave me sweets and presents and told me how pretty I am, all seeking to win my father’s favour. Some he sent away, some he allowed to remain in his service and some he killed.”
He realised his own father must have been among the many lords she had met and wondered if she had aroused as much uncertainty in him. “Did my father give you presents?”
“All your father ever gave me was a hard stare. Though not as hard as the stare your mother gave me. My father’s plan for us made them wary of me I suppose.”
