There were things she could do in her old world.
Mordant, on the other hand, was at peace. And likely to remain so for a long time.
She loved it anyway. She didn’t want to give it up.
Geraden, help me.
Even though she knew he didn’t want to answer, she asked, “What should I do?”
He had reached a point where he apparently found it impossible to meet her gaze. Looking away through the trees as if he were searching for the place where the callat had first shown themselves – a place hard to recognize in a scene full of leaves and grass and wildflowers – he murmured, “I get the impression Darsint is content to stay.”
“He might as well be,” she replied with more asperity than she intended. “He doesn’t have a way back. You can return him to the Image where you found him – to Pythas – but you can’t return him to his people. And his suit doesn’t have any power. He couldn’t defend himself.
“I don’t have that problem. You could send me back.”
Glumly, Geraden nodded.
Without warning, loneliness welled up inside her, and her eyes brimmed with tears. Oh, Geraden, love, can’t you help me? Softly, so that he wouldn’t hear how she felt, she asked, “What are my choices?”
He shrugged. “I can translate you home. Your father must have sold the apartment by now. You’ll have to start your life over again.” Almost at once, however, he added, “But it might not be so bad. I could visit you sometimes. You could visit me. We know how to do that.”
His voice faded into the rustle of leaves.
“Or?” she insisted.
“Or you can stay here.” For a moment longer, he held his face away, refused to look at her. But then, like a man who couldn’t stop himself, he turned toward her. “You can stay here and marry me.”
Through her tears, his eyes looked abashed and brave, accessible to joy or pain; troubled, sweet, and precious. And when he gazed at her like that, she heard the unmistakable sound of horns.
So they were married in high summer, in the great ballroom of Orison, the hollow hall which had seen no use for years until the Masters had turned it into a staging-area for supplies during the march to Esmerel.
As if regretting the neglect of those joyless years, King Joyse made the ballroom festive for the occasion: the walls were decked with banners and streamers; fragrant rushes were strewn upon the floor; fires in fine braziers gave the air a sheen of gold, while flames in the huge hearths took the old chill out of the stones; musicians arrayed themselves along the balconies, practicing flourishes and dances until every corner of the place seemed to sing and tremble.
All this was organized by the lady Torrent. She was still shy – the dangers and privations she had endured to help rescue her mother hadn’t changed that – but she had discovered in herself a reflection of her mother’s firm will, as well as the organizational skill to make people and objects come together at the right time. Like her sister Myste, she had rapidly become Terisa’s friend, and they had spent many happy hours planning the wedding, to Geraden’s alternating chagrin, amusement and delight.
Nonetheless she was still baffled by her new status: she hardly knew what to do with the fact that King Joyse had proclaimed her his heir and successor. Her talents, he declared, were the ones Mordant would need most when he was gone. Publicly, she demurred, claiming that she only wished he would live forever. Privately, however, she found that she had a number of ideas about how Orison and Mordant should be ruled.
But even more impressive than the color and music and celebration which Torrent produced was the list of personages who came to the wedding.
Naturally, King Joyse and Queen Madin presided. From time to time, they held hands; and the Queen seemed to dote on Terisa and Geraden as if one of her own children were getting married. According to rumor, however, their reunion had been a stormy one for a long time after her return to Orison. She was said to have been furious at his treatment of her, his refusal to share his secrets with her, to involve her in his plans; and all his protestations and explanations had just made her angrier. This was only rumor, of course. It was true, however, that he had sometimes emerged from their private rooms looking like a man who would have preferred almost any warfare to this peace.
Nevertheless by the time of the wedding they had resolved or accepted their differences, and had begun to enjoy each other’s company again. Perhaps he had aided their reconciliation by naming Torrent to succeed him. From their raised seats at one end of the ballroom, they smiled approval at the assembly, and at each other, and were satisfied.
First among the guests – not in nominal rank, but in actual status – were Prince Kragen, the High Regent of Cadwal, and his Consort, the lady Elega. As a couple, they were the basis on which King Joyse and the Alend Monarch had built their new alliance, their new peace. In an effort to insure that no new tyrant came to power in Cadwal, and that the three kingdoms would be held together by bonds of authority and family as well as of common interest, the Monarch’s son and the King’s daughter had been set on Festten’s former Seat in Carmag.
This arrangement had been Joyse’s idea, but Margonal had accepted it readily enough. He was learning to understand the way his old enemy thought. And he had ideas of his own—
Blind, weary, content – and unwilling to face the rigors of a second journey to Orison – the Alend Monarch had sent his new Contender to stand in his place at the wedding: a man who now could claim precedence over everyone in Orison except King Joyse and Queen Madin, because of his position as Margonal’s representative and potential successor.
The new Alend Contender was Nyle.
Arriving for the ceremony, he still appeared perplexed and a bit daunted by his circumstances. But when Kragen had been installed as High Regent in Carmag, Margonal had needed another Contender; and the Alend Monarch had sensed in Nyle a man with a newborn but almost ferocious instinct for caution. Caution, the Monarch had declared, was the fundamental requirement for anyone who meant to rule over Scarab and the Alend Lieges. Kragen had shown himself altogether too prone to risks, and Margonal wished to replace him with someone who lacked that flaw.
Nyle had refused the honor – or the responsibility – at first. He didn’t deserve it, he wasn’t worthy. Eventually, however, King Joyse had confronted him with a royal command, and he had felt himself forced to acquiesce.
The reports which King Joyse had since received from the Alend Monarch indicated that Nyle was proving to be exactly the Contender Margonal wanted, despite his self-distrust.
Behind the Alend Contender, and behind the High Regent and his Consort, stood Castellan Darsint and his new bride, the lady Myste.
King Joyse and Queen Madin would have gladly combined the marriage of Darsint and Myste with that of Terisa and Geraden; but Darsint had flatly declined a public ceremony. On the other hand, he hadn’t hesitated to accept the place of Castellan.
Chains of command, the procurement of supplies, the movement and housing of men and animals, discipline and defense: these were things the Congery’s champion understood in his bones. And his role in the battle of Esmerel gave him an enormous personal credibility which carried him past the uncertain days while he was learning his new job. In addition, he had Myste’s advice and support; and despite (or perhaps because of) her “romantic notions” she had a sense of practical ethics which tempered and guided his authoritarian instincts.
After the Castellan and his lady, the lords of the Cares were arranged in an order of precedence which depended solely on the parts they – or their predecessors – had played in the King’s war. First were the Tor, the Perdon, and the Termigan; next, the Fayle and the Domne; last, the Armigite.