Kings of the North - Elizabeth Moon [5]
One who sought him out and begged him to sit with her for a time was—she had confided before—one of the youngest and formerly a friend of his own elven mother. Her crown of violets and tiny white mist-stars released a haunting fragrance. Though she looked younger than his Squires, he knew she must be older; his mother had died nearly five decades before.
“Guess my age,” she said, teasing.
Kieri had been wondering but without permission could not have asked. Asking an elf’s age was, for reasons he didn’t understand, as rude as a slap in the face. Younger than the others … age of his mother … he tried to calculate what that might have been.
“Eighty?” he ventured.
“No, no,” she said. “Your mother was older than that when she bore you. I am just over two hundred.” She smiled at his confusion, and he felt like a toddler beside her, his fifty years banished by her smile. “But you are as handsome as your father, and you also are a king. And I am accounted a mere child by most elves.” She twinkled at him. “Some of us younglings might even be interested in you, should you wish to have an elven queen, as your father did.” The look she gave him from wide eyes the color of the violets in her hair made it clear she was one of those.
The thought of having a wife more than two centuries old chilled his loins, beautiful as she was, for he knew she saw him as the flower of a season, soon to wither and blow away and be replaced by another. He glanced toward the Lady and saw that she was watching him and the young elf with both speculation and approval. That was worse—his ancient and ageless grandmother watching him with a woman as old as his mother would have been. He murmured what pleasantries came to mind and did not touch the hand that hovered for a moment over his. The elf-maid chatted on a moment more, then shrugged slightly and withdrew. Kieri glanced again at the Lady; now her expression was remote, and she seemed to be looking past him.
Before he could reach the Lady without discourtesy to those who delayed him, she had once more withdrawn herself and the elvenhome kingdom, leaving him alone with the new dawn. His anger flared; he felt alongside it, like a thread laid alongside a rope, what had the flavor of his sister’s anger and her warning. What had she known, that he needed to know?
Could she have meant the elves, all the elves? Or only the Lady?
Back in the palace, Kieri considered going directly to the ossuary, but he knew the armsmasters would expect him in the salle. For that matter, he welcomed the chance for open combat. Sure enough, both armsmasters were waiting for him with what looked like indecent glee.
“I hope you’re not too sleepy, Sir King,” Carlion said, tapping the blade of his wooden waster on his heart-hand.
“You do not intend to go easy on me, I take it.”
“It would be a disservice,” Siger said. He blew on his fingers. “Danger comes on its own terms. As the king knows.”
“You are terrible men,” Kieri said, grinning at them. He felt more awake already. “I shall have to do something about you.” He turned to the chest of bandas, lifted the lid, then glanced back. Siger was where he had been, but Carlion—Kieri snatched a banda from the chest, whirled just in time, and parried Carlion’s blade with the banda.
“I told you that wouldn’t work,” Siger said. He had his thumbs stuck in his belt now. “Always more awake than you think, the Fox is.”
Carlion shrugged as he backed away. “I’ve caught a lot of ’em with that. Worth trying.”
“You have no respect for your king,” Kieri said.
“Not so, Sir King. I have enough respect for my king to test him. With due respect for your predecessor, I dared not test