Kings of the North - Elizabeth Moon [169]
He went on to detail Kieri’s appearance during the healing itself, the way the elf-made dagger flashed light, and the wound closing. “Then our king appeared unsteady; I expect it was the power he had used, drained from him.” He went on, detail by detail, including the reactions of the Pargunese lords, the Pargunese soldiers, and what he had heard from the Halverics when he interviewed them later.
“You talked to the soldiers?” Kieri said. “I did not know that.”
“You were exhausted,” the Knight-Commander said. “I wanted to know what others had seen, to be sure I had not missed anything. You are as near as can be to a Knight of Falk, Sir King. Your deeds must be reported in our archives as well as those of the kingdom. I am of a mind that this is proof of Falk’s favor, and you should have your ruby, vows or no.”
The Council stared at him.
“If the Council needed proof that you were not just a soldier, not one to bring the waste of war here, this is more than enough,” the Knight-Commander went on. “You risked everything to bring the king of Pargun here—to try to convince him of the need for peace between these two kingdoms—to give him a chance to make such peace—and spent your own strength to save his life.” He looked directly at two elves, who for once seemed abashed. “I wish you had seen it. He is the king we hoped for.”
“Now all he has to do is marry and get an heir,” old Sier Hammarrin said, all too audibly. After a startled moment, a nervous chuckle spread around the table.
“As to that,” Kieri said, “I have been, as you all know, busy learning this kingdom. I assure you, I have not forgotten its need for an heir.”
“You’re not going to marry that Pargunese girl just to keep the peace, are you?”
“No,” Kieri said. “It is not fair to the young to marry old men. Though I am not yet old, and thanks to my mother’s blood will live long, I have seen too much of life to be a good husband to a young girl. Young women should marry young men, and build their dreams together.”
“That’s a new idea,” the old Sier said, shaking his head. “So you will marry an old woman, and by your magery she will bear children? Will she live to see them grown?”
His fellow Councilmen were trying to shush him, but once in full flow, nothing stopped Hammarrin.
“Or maybe you’ll marry an elf and she’ll outlive you. If she doesn’t take it into her head to go get killed somewhere.”
The elves around the table stirred and looked at Kieri.
“Whoever I marry,” Kieri said, in a tone that silenced the old man for the moment, “it will be someone willing, someone old enough to know her own mind, someone who cares for this kingdom as much as I do. And,” he said, looking around, “it will be my choice and hers. Not yours. Not yours to make, and not yours to criticize.”
“Well said,” Sier Halveric said. “Falk’s blessings on your courting, Sir King, and I will keep my granddaughters home, then.” He grinned; the others chuckled. Several daughters, Kieri thought, might be going home for Midwinter Feast.
When Kieri went up to his room that night and his attendants had left him alone, he went to the window, pushed aside the curtains, and leaned his head on the cold stone. Winter stars glittered in the cold sky. His memories of Tammarion rose, bright as ever, as clear as Torre’s Necklace. He had never intended to cloud her memory with another woman in his bed, in his life.
“Tamar … help me,” he said softly, to the night and the stars. “I’m sorry …”
As if she were in the room, he heard her laugh and the merest whisper of that loved voice—he had not heard it before, in all the years since her death. You cannot dishonor me, love, by doing your duty—and your duty to your queen is love. Whom else could you love but a woman with a sword? Light on his brow, the touch of her lips; faint in his nostrils, her scent. Then a curl of cold air took it away; and his eyes filled with hot tears. Silently, he wept, until the tears ended without his awareness and the cold air