Lioness Rampant (24 page)

“There's nothing to forgive,” she insisted. “You did me a favor. Now I can talk with him. I can see for myself if I made a mistake when I—you know. If he could've redeemed himself, somehow.”

“Nice try,” he scoffed in his old way. “I think you could've lived with it if he'd stayed in his tomb.”

“But it's true,” she protested.

“Go back to bed, all right?” He began to fade. “Get some rest.” He vanished.

She stared at the spot where he'd been. Did anyone else know Thom was dying? Couldn't they have warned her? But what was there to warn about—besides the fact that he glowed in the dark?

Her eyes blurred; she sniffed. Was Myles still up? Slipping barefoot out of the room, Alanna made for the library, Myles's favorite room. The library door was open. She froze on the landing, not wanting to intrude on any private reunions.

“I couldn't get away sooner.” The deep voice was Jonathan's. “We don't have
parties
because we're in mourning, but these ‘quiet get-togethers' take hours, all the same.”

“You should've waited.” Alanna recognized George's lilt. “She fell asleep in her chair, poor thing. She's weary. They all are.”

“And there's little rest for my lady knight here,” Jonathan sighed.

“Does he know she's back?”

“He knows. I just don't—what?”

George came out and bowed to Alanna, indicating she should go into the library. Pushing her inside, he closed the door, leaving her alone with Jon.

He stood before the hearth, cradling Faithful. She'd forgotten he was a head taller than she. His black clothes emphasized his sapphire eyes; his mustache and hair were darker than his velvet tunic. She looked at his elegantly carved mouth and straight nose, thinking,
Jon's still the most handsome man I've ever seen—and that includes Roger!
He'd changed since their angry parting; his face had stubborn lines, and there was a seriousness about him she liked.

Deeply moved, she knelt and bowed her head. “My liege. I am yours to command.”

He put his hands on her hair. “You're sure, Alanna?”

She met his eyes. “Until death and after, Jonathan.”

He swallowed. “I accept your fealty, Sir Alanna. I accept, and I vow to return fealty with fealty, honor with honor, until death and beyond it.” Lifting her to her feet, he kissed each cheek. The kingliness faded. “You don't know what it means to have you home.” His eyes filled suddenly. “He killed himself, Alanna. He made it look like a hunting accident, but it wasn't.
Oh, gods! Why did I have to lose both of them?” He covered his face with his hands and cried. Alanna held him, shushing him and weeping herself.

When he was calm again and she had dried her tears, Alanna said, “We may not have another chance to be alone for a while. What do you want me to do with the Jewel?”

Jonathan drew a deep breath. “You really have it?”

“I'll get it, if you like.” She tried to pull away, and Jonathan tightened his arms.

“Not yet, all right? This is so comfortable. It's been almost a year since I held you, remember?” He sighed and released her. “Keep it safe, for now. I need to think of a way to present you—and it—suitably.” He smiled briefly. “You don't know how much it means to be able to tell people we have the Dominion Jewel. Perhaps it will even stop the rumors of a curse.”

A short time later, George rejoined them. “All's well, then?” Alanna and Jonathan smiled at each other. “At last,” George sighed. “I never felt right when you two were on the outs with each other. We were havin' tea,” he told Alanna. “Will you join us?” At her nod, he got a third cup and filled it from a kettle on the hearth, refreshing Jonathan's cup and his own. “It's Copper Isle Red Griffin,” he explained to
Alanna, who squinted at the scarlet liquid. “The taste grows on you.”

Jonathan raised his in a toast. “To old friends, the best friends.”

“So mote it be,” Alanna replied.

“Hear, hear,” George added.

“Oh, I'm sorry!” a low female voice exclaimed.

Jon turned to the door and froze, eyes widening in awe. “Great Merciful Mother!” he breathed.

A tousled Thayet stood there, clutching a dressing gown at her throat. “Faithful woke me up, and then I couldn't sleep.” The cat jumped into Alanna's lap, startling her. She hadn't even seen him leave. Thayet, flustered, avoided Jon's eyes as she tried to tuck her bare feet under the hem of her robe. Alanna concealed a grin with her hand.

George drew the princess into the room. “We're havin' a bit of tea,” he told her, closing the door. “There's a seat by the fire—over next to Jon.”

The king-to-be stood and raised Thayet's hand to his lips. Their eyes met; Thayet's puzzled, his searching. Quickly the princess drew her hand away, saying dryly, “We haven't been introduced.”

Alanna couldn't speak until she could master her amusement. Already Thayet had Jon off balance, and
already they seemed attracted to each other.
I knew it!
she told herself triumphantly.
I knew I was right to bring her!

“Thayet
jian
Wilima,” George said, eyeing Alanna, “may I present Jonathan of Conté? Are you officially ‘king' now, Jon, or does that wait till the coronation?”

Jonathan was not listening. “Does the introduction meet your standards, your Highness?” His voice matched Thayet's for dryness.

The Warlord's daughter curtsied to just the degree proper for a princess to greet a king—not an inch more. Instead of modestly looking down, she kept her eyes on Jon's. “I am ‘Highness' no longer, your Majesty. My father is dead, and I am an exile. I hope to become your Majesty's loyal, low-born subject.” She inclined her head graciously, her curtsey not wobbling an iota.

Alanna sighed wistfully. She could never match Thayet's skill at courtly female behavior. Thayet glanced at her, knowing the reason for the sigh, and her gravity gave way. She began to giggle, then to laugh. A fourth cup of tea was poured, for her, and she took the seat beside Jon.

The next morning Alanna and Liam met for their dawn workout. Buri and Thayet, half awake, joined
them shortly after they began. The four worked silently and hard for an hour before splitting up for the day. Alanna bathed, deciding to pass up a morning meal. Her nerves were wound too tightly for sleep or food. Despite a short night and excitement the day before, she was wide awake and ready for something she'd wanted to do for weeks.

Duke Roger was on the wall overlooking the City Gate as she rode into one of the many palace courtyards. Alanna stared up at him for a long moment, then glanced at the four Bazhir who had accompanied her this far. How far would their unasked-for protection extend?

Their leader bowed, interpreting her look correctly. “We await you here, Woman Who Rides Like a Man.” Glancing up at Roger, he added, “As long as we may see you plainly.”

She nodded. Leaving her mare to the hostlers and draping Faithful over a shoulder, she climbed the stairs up to the wall.

Roger leaned against the battlement, waiting. Alanna was surprised to see his hair was too long and there were foodstains on his robe—he used to be vain of his appearance. Drawing a deep breath, she put her cat down. “Behave yourself,” she told him firmly.
She approached to within arm's reach and stopped; the cat, his tail dancing with badly contained hatred, crouched at her feet.

“So,” Roger said, his light voice poisonous, “you survived. What a pity.”

Alanna grinned with relief. She didn't have to pretend everything was fine and she liked this man. Open war was declared. “Hello, Roger. You look pale. Not enough time in the sun?”

His eyes, lighter than Jon's, narrowed. “You're cocky, aren't you? Killed anyone recently?”

“No. It's so depressing to come back and find one's work reversed.” Her nerves hummed as if she were in combat.

A cruel smile curled his lips. “You know who to thank.”

Alanna shrugged. “I know. Tell me something, will you? You meant to kill her—the queen? And the king, and Jon?”

Roger tugged his beard. “If you ask about the days before you killed me, yes, I did. You doubted it? Or did you persuade yourself a court trial would have absolved you from complicity in my death?” She flinched and looked aside. “You aren't absolved. If not for you, I would have been king. Those were
my plans. Now, of course, it's different. I had nothing to do with their deaths. I have promised to behave. Not that I can
mis
behave, since my Gift stayed behind when I came back to the living.” He grinned wolfishly. “It keeps my tomb warm for me, against my return.” Alanna shuddered. “Don't you want to assure yourself my fangs are drawn? Use your keepsake.” He pointed at the ember. “I know all about it from Thom.”

Alanna did not like that Thom had seen fit to tell Roger that bit of news. Still, she touched the ember and saw only him, not even a tinge of orange fire. Disquieted, she released the ember. “You're still a dangerous man, Roger. Your Gift just made things easier for you.”

He reached out and gripped her wrist, searching her eyes. “You've changed, Squire Alan. You're very much the experienced knight, aren't you? And you don't fear me anymore—not as you did once.” He let her go.

Alanna tucked her hands into her pockets to warm them. Thinking about what he'd said, she replied slowly, “You know something? There are sandstorms that strip man and horse and bury them—I've seen them. I saw bones piled higher than my head for the
folly of a bad king and those who wanted his throne. I lived through a blizzard that froze every other living creature solid. Against those things, you're only a man. I can deal with you.”

Delight played across his face and eyes. “I'm sure you can, my dear. But I won't give you the chance—not a second time.” He walked away, climbing to a higher level.

Alanna watched him go. At last, she sighed and picked up her enraged cat, warming her nose against his fur. “Calm down,” she whispered. “I'm not fooled, if that's what you're worried about.” She felt cold. “He's up to something. I'll stake my reputation on it.”

Raoul awaited her at the foot of the stairs. Instead of the rough shirt and breeches he'd worn aboard ship, he wore the royal blue and silver of the King's Own, with the silver star of the Commander on his chest. Alanna stopped to admire him.

“I know you told me you were commanding the Own,” she said as she joined him, “but hearing it and seeing it are two different things.” They started walking deeper into the palace grounds. “Did they run to seed while you were off fetching me?”

Raoul shook his head, grinning. “Mahoud ibn Shaham, my Second—he kept them on their toes. Still, I'm glad to be back. I worry when I'm not able to look after things. I saw who you were talking to, by the way.”

“And?”

“What do you make of him?”

“He's crazy,” Alanna said flatly. “I don't know if it's because he's above ground when he should be in his tomb, or if the spell that brought him back rearranged his mind, but it doesn't matter which. He's crazy, and he's dangerous.”

Raoul nodded. “I agree; Gary agrees; sometimes I think
Jon
agrees. But what could we do? King Roald—gods rest his passing—you remember how much he disliked a ruckus. He wanted to forgive and forget,
especially
forget. He restored Roger's estates, his titles—everything. So now we're stuck with a crazy royal Duke and all those people who think we're cursed for keeping him. Can we talk about something else? I'm getting depressed.”

Alanna smiled. “All right. Tell me how you like commanding the King's Own.”

“It's all right,” admitted Raoul. They walked through a passage to emerge in the training area for
knights, squires, and pages. “It's not like the border patrols. Commanding the Own means you have to sneak and spy, what with people conspiring to kill Jonathan—”