Martin said, ‘From the moment we escaped from Krondor, your fate was sealed, Arutha. She’s had you in her bow mark from the first, like a hunter drawing down on a deer. Even before we reached Crydee, when we were hiding out, she’d look at you in a certain way. No, she’s waiting for you, have no doubt.’
‘Besides,’ added Lyam, ‘you’ve told her how you feel.’
‘Well, not in so many words. But I have stated my fondest affection.’
Lyam and Martin exchanged glances. ‘Arutha,’ said Lyam, ‘you write with all the passion of a scribe doing year-end tax tallies.’
All three laughed. The months of travel had allowed a redefinition of their relationship. Martin had been both tutor and friend to the other two as boys, teaching hunting and woodcraft. But he had also been a commoner, though as Huntmaster he stood as a highly placed member of Duke Borric’s staff. With the revelation that he was their father’s bastard, an elder half brother, all three had passed through a time of adjustment. Since then they had endured the false camaraderie of those seeking advantage, the hollow promises of friendship and loyalty from those seeking gain, and during this time they had discovered something more. In the others, each had found two men who could be trusted, who could be confided in, who understood what this sudden rise to preeminence meant, and who shared the pressures of newly inflicted responsibilities. In the other two, each had found friends.
Arutha shook his head, laughing at himself. ‘I guess I have known from the first as well, though I had doubts. She’s so young.’
Lyam said, ‘About our mother’s age when she wed Father, you mean?’
Arutha fixed Lyam with a sceptical look. ‘Do you have an answer for everything?’
Martin clapped Lyam on the back. ‘Of course,’ he said. Then softly he added, ‘That’s why he’s the King.’ As Lyam turned a mock frown upon Martin, the eldest brother continued. ‘So when we return, ask her to wed, dear brother. Then we can wake old Father Tully from before his fireplace and we can all be off to Krondor and have a merry wedding. And I can stop all this bloody travel and return to Crydee.’
A voice from above cried out, ‘Land ho!’
‘Where away?’ shouted the captain.
‘Dead ahead.’
Gazing into the distance, Martin’s practised hunter’s eye was the first to perceive the distant shores. Quietly he placed his hands upon his brothers’ shoulders. After a time all three could see the distant outline of tall towers against an azure sky.
Softly Arutha said, ‘Rillanon.’
The sounds of the light tapping of footfalls and the rustle of a full skirt held above hurrying feet accompanied the sight of a slender figure marching purposefully down a long hallway. The lovely features of the lady rightly acknowledged the reigning beauty of the court were set in an expression of less than pleasant aspect. The guards posted along the hall stood face front, but eyes followed her passage. More than one guard considered the likely target of the lady’s well-known temper and smiled inwardly. The singer was in for a rude awakening, literally.
In a most unladylike fashion, Princess Carline, sister to the King, swept past a startled servant who tried to jump aside and bow to her at the same time, a feat that landed him on his backside as Carline vanished into the guest wing of the palace.
Coming to a door, she paused. Patting her loose dark hair into place, she raised her hand to knock, then halted. Her blue eyes narrowed as she became irritated by the thought of waiting for the door to open, so she simply pushed it open without announcing herself.
The chamber was dark, as the night curtains were still drawn. The large bed was occupied by a large lump beneath the blankets that groaned as Carline slammed the door behind her. Picking her way across the clothing-strewn floor, she yanked aside the curtains, admitting the brilliant midmorning light. Another groan emitted from the lump as a head with two red-rimmed eyes peeked out over the bedcovers. ‘Carline,’ came the dry croak, ‘are you trying to wither me to death?’
Coming to stand over the bed, she snapped, ‘If you hadn’t been carousing all night, and had been to breakfast as expected, you might have heard that my brothers’ ship had been sighted. They’ll be at the dock within two hours.’
Laurie of Tyr-Sog, troubadour, traveller, former hero of the Riftwar, and lately court minstrel and constant companion to the Princess, sat up, rubbing at tired eyes. ‘I was not carousing. The Earl of Dolth insisted on hearing every song in my repertoire. I sang until near dawn.’ He blinked and smiled up at Carline. Scratching at his neatly trimmed blond beard, he said, ‘The man has inexhaustible endurance, but also excellent taste in music.’
Carline sat on the edge of the bed, leaned over, and kissed him briefly. She deftly disengaged herself from arms that sought to entangle her. Holding him at bay with her hand upon his chest, she said, ‘Listen, you amorous nightingale, Lyam, Martin, and Arutha will be here soon, and the minute Lyam holds court and gets all the formalities done with, I’m talking to him about our marriage.’
Laurie looked around as if seeking a corner in which to disappear. Over the last year their relationship had developed in depth and passion, but Laurie had a near-reflexive avoidance of the topic of marriage. ‘Now, Carline –’ he began.
‘ “Now, Carline,” indeed!’ she interrupted with a jab of her finger into his bare chest. ‘You buffoon, I’ve had eastern princes, sons of half the dukes in the Kingdom, and who knows how many others simply begging for permission to pay court to me. And I’ve always ignored them. And for what? So some witless musician can trifle with my affections? Well, we shall have an accounting.’
Laurie grinned, pushing his tousled blond hair back. He sat up and, before she could move, kissed her deeply. When he pulled away, he said, ‘Carline, love of my being, please. We’ve covered this ground.’
Her eyes, which had been half-closed during the kiss, instantly widened. ‘Oh! We’ve covered this ground before?’ she said, infuriated. ‘We will be married. That is final.’ She stood up to avoid his embrace again. ‘It has become the scandal of the court, the Princess and her minstrel lover. It’s not even an original tale. I am becoming a laughing-stock. Damn it all, Laurie, I’m nearly twenty-six. Most women my age are eight, nine years married. Would you have me die a spinster?’
‘Never that, my love,’ he answered, still amused. Besides the fact of her beauty, and the slim chance of anyone’s calling her an old maid, she was ten years his junior and he regarded her as young, a perception constantly furthered by her outbursts of childish temper. He sat up fully and spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness as he stifled his mirth. ‘I am what I am, darling, no more or less. I’ve been here longer than I’ve been anywhere when I was a free man. I’ll admit, though, this is a far more pleasant captivity than the last.’ He was speaking of the years he had been a slave on Kelewan, the Tsurani homeworld. ‘But you’ll never know when I’ll want to roam once more.’ He could see her temper rising as he spoke, and was forced to admit to himself that he was often what brought out the worst in her nature. He rapidly changed tack. ‘Besides, I don’t know if I’d make a good … whatever the husband of the King’s sister is called.’
‘Well, you’d better get used to it. Now get up and get dressed.’
Laurie grabbed the trousers she tossed to him and quickly put them on. When he was finished dressing he stood before her and put his arms around her waist. ‘Since the day we met I have been your adoring subject, Carline. I have never loved, nor will I love, anyone as I love you, but –’
‘I know. I have had months of the same excuses.’ She jabbed him in the chest again. ‘You’ve always been a traveller,’ she mocked. ‘You’ve always been free. You don’t know