‘I know you’re there, Sparhawk,’ she said without even opening her eyes. There was a slight edge to her voice.
‘I was admiring the view.’ A light tone might head off the incipient unpleasantness, though he didn’t really have much hope of that.
She opened her grey eyes. ‘Come over here,’ she commanded, holding her arms out to him.
‘I was ever your Majesty’s most obedient servant.’ He grinned at her, going to the side of the bed.
‘Oh, really?’ she replied, wrapping her arms about his neck and kissing him. He kissed her back, and that went on for quite some time.
‘Do you suppose we could save the scolding until tomorrow morning, love?’ he asked. ‘I’m a little tired tonight. Why don’t we do the kissing and making up now, and you can scold me later?’
‘And lose my edge? Don’t be silly. I’ve been saving up all sorts of things to say to you.’
‘I can imagine. Dolmant sent me to Lamorkand to look into something. It took me a little longer than I expected.’
‘That’s not fair, Sparhawk,’ she accused.
‘I didn’t follow that.’
‘You weren’t supposed to say that yet. You’re supposed to wait until after I’ve demanded an explanation before you give me one. Now you’ve gone and spoiled it.’
‘Can you ever forgive me?’ He assumed an expression of exaggerated contrition and kissed her on the neck. His wife, he had discovered, loved these little games.
She laughed. ‘I’ll think about it.’ She kissed him back. The women of his family were a very demonstrative little group, he decided. ‘All right then,’ she said. ‘You’ve gone and spoiled it anyway, so you might as well tell me what you were doing, and why you didn’t send word that you’d be delayed.’
‘Politics, love. You know Dolmant. Lamorkand is right on the verge of exploding. Sarathi wanted a professional assessment, but he didn’t want it generally known that I was going there at his instruction. He didn’t want any messages explaining things floating around.’
‘I think it’s time for me to have a little talk with our revered Archprelate,’ Ehlana said. ‘He seems to have a little trouble remembering just who I am.’
‘I don’t recommend it, Ehlana.’
‘I’m not going to start a fight with him, my love. I’m just going to point out to him that he’s ignoring the customary courtesies. He’s supposed to ask before he commandeers my husband. I’m getting just a little weary of his imperial Archprelacy, so I’m going to teach him some manners.’
‘Can I watch? That might just be a very interesting conversation.’
‘Sparhawk,’ she said, giving him a smouldering look, ‘if you want to avoid an official reprimand, you’re going to have to start taking some significant steps to soften my displeasure.’
‘I was just getting to that,’ he told her, enfolding her in a tighter embrace.
‘What took you so long?’ she breathed.
It was quite a bit later, and the displeasure of the Queen of Elenia seemed to be definitely softening. ‘What did you find out in Lamorkand, Sparhawk?’ she asked, stretching languorously. Politics were never really very far from the queen’s mind.
‘Western Lamorkand’s in turmoil right now. There’s a count up there – Gerrich, his name is. We ran across him when we were searching for Bhelliom. He was involved with Martel in one of those elaborate schemes devised to keep the Militant Orders out of Chyrellos during the election.’
‘That speaks volumes about this count’s character.’
‘Perhaps, but Martel was very good at manipulating people. He stirred up a small war between Gerrich and Patriarch Ortzel’s brother. Anyway, the campaign appears to have broadened the count’s horizons a bit. He’s begun to have some thoughts about the throne.’
‘Poor Freddie,’ Ehlana sighed. King Friedahl of Lamorkand was her distant cousin. ‘You couldn’t give me that throne of his. Why should the Church be concerned, though? Freddie’s got a large enough army to deal with one ambitious count.’
‘It’s not quite so simple, love. Gerrich has been concluding alliances with other nobles in western Lamorkand. He’s amassed an army nearly as big as the king’s, and he’s been talking with the Pelosian barons around Lake Venne.’
‘Those bandits,’ she said with a certain contempt. ‘Anybody can buy them.’
‘You’re well-versed in the politics of the region, Ehlana.’
‘I almost have to be, Sparhawk. Pelosia fronts my northeastern border. Does this current disturbance threaten us in any way?’
‘Not at the moment. Gerrich has his eyes turned eastward – toward the capital.’
‘Maybe I should offer Freddie an alliance,’ she mused. ‘If general war breaks out in the region, I could snip off a nice piece of southwestern Pelosia.’
‘Are we developing territorial ambitions, your Majesty?’
‘Not tonight, Sparhawk,’ she replied. ‘I’ve got other things on my mind tonight.’ And she reached out to him again.
It was quite a bit later, almost dawn. Ehlana’s regular breathing told Sparhawk that she was asleep. He slipped from the bed and went to the window. His years of military training made it automatic for him to take a look at the weather just before daybreak.
The rain had abated, but the wind had picked up. It was early spring now, and there was little hope for decent weather for weeks. He was glad that he had reached home when he had, since the approaching day looked unpromising. He stared out at the torches flaring and tossing in the windy courtyard.
As they always did when the weather was bad, Sparhawk’s thoughts drifted back to the years he had spent in the sun-blasted city of Jiroch on the arid north coast of Rendor where the women, all veiled and robed in black, went to the well in the steely first light of day and where the woman named Lillas had consumed his nights with what she chose to call love. He did not, however, remember that night in Cippria when Martel’s assassins had quite nearly spilled out his life. He had settled that score with Martel in the Temple of Azash in Zemoch, so there was no real purpose in remembering the stockyard of Cippria nor the sound of the monastery bells which had called to him out of the darkness.
That momentary sense of being watched, the sense that had come over him in the narrow street while he had been on his way to the palace still nagged at him. Something he did not understand was going on, and he fervently wished that he could talk with Sephrenia about it.
‘Your Majesty,’ the Earl of Lenda protested, ‘you can’t address this kind of language to the Archprelate.’ Lenda was staring with chagrin at the piece of paper the queen had just handed him. ‘You’ve done everything but accuse him of being a thief and a scoundrel.’
‘Oh, did I leave those out?’ she asked. ‘How careless of me.’ They were meeting in the blue-carpeted council chamber as they usually did at this time of the morning.
‘Can’t