Kings of the North - Elizabeth Moon [45]
Chaya, shortly after Midsummer Feast
Even with the Midsummer Festival over, Kieri could not return to the ossuary immediately. He presided at the King’s Court; he had more meetings with his Council. In addition, he had already planned his next assault on human-elf rivalry: a joint hunt. Both races enjoyed the sport and surely—he hoped—could forget their animosity in the pleasure of a day in the field. He had found an auspicious day, according to advice from both Siers and Orlith; he could not change that now. His grandmother did not deign to answer his invitation, nor could he compel her, but his declaration of a Royal Hunt meant all others he invited must attend. The human and elven huntsmen did not quite glare at one another when he called them into his office together—a good sign, he hoped.
The night before the hunt, he was awakened by noises outside but went back to sleep when the Squires at his door did not alert him.
“What was that kerfluffle in the courtyard last night?” Kieri said as the breakfast dishes were removed and the little rolled pastries brought in.
“It is the Pargunese again, Sir King,” Sier Halveric said. “You would not believe—”
“What have they done this time?” Kieri asked, reaching out to the taig. No disturbance enough to signal danger to the realm … a few ripples here and there, travelers, but certainly not an army. Reports from traders on the river road and fisherfolk in Lyonya’s few river-side towns included mention of Pargunese troops seen across the river, but nothing too ominous. Yet.
“Sent a pledge of peace,” Halveric said, with the air of a man with a good tale he wants to tell. Around the table, growls of disbelief. “Indeed they have, though: she arrived last night, or rather hours before dawn this morning, on a lathered horse with only two exhausted attendants chasing after her. Their king’s daughter, they said. They want a wedding.”
They all looked at him; Kieri knew exactly what they were thinking. The King must marry, must get an heir. But not, Kieri thought bitterly, an enemy’s daughter, no doubt a pale frightened child forced to this—the King of Pargun had a certain reputation.
“I’m not marrying a Pargunese,” Kieri said. They looked at him. No one said anything, but it might as well have been scribed on their foreheads in silver and gold: the King must marry … someone. Perhaps marrying a traditional enemy would bring peace between the realms.
“And there is word,” Sier Halveric said, “that a delegation from Kostandan is within a day’s ride with the daughter of their king.”
Kieri felt his brows rise, wrinkling an old scar. “I thought they were allies, Pargun and Kostandan.”
“Against Tsaia, certainly. But in hope of influence here, perhaps rivals. We do not know whether Kostandan knew of Pargun’s plan, or vice versa.”
“The Pargunese knew,” Kieri said. “Or their princess would have made a grand entrance, not come hurrying along the road to throw herself at the gate in the dark.”
Two princesses! He felt a headache coming on. What was he supposed to do with two princesses, but bow over their hands and be polite? He had already met all those daughters of noble Lyonyan families, and one of Prince Mikeli’s letters revealed that Tsaian nobles would be more than willing to have the King of Lyonya consider their daughters, too. All the women had been beautiful; no doubt these princesses were beautiful. Those he had spoken to were all intelligent, or seemed so. All courteous, as pleasant to the ear as to the eye. But beauty and fine manners were not enough. He wanted a woman whose character he could trust.
Not the daughter of a devious, cruel king, whom he had long suspected of collusion with those who had killed Tammarion and their children, a king who had sent troops into Lyonya to kill him before he could even be crowned.
Before his Council could say anything, he went on. “Sier Belvarin, I trust you will locate suitable accommodation for the visitors. It would be discourteous to house the princesses