Feelings moved in Ce’Nedra that she had never felt before. Without knowing why, she was happier than she had ever been in her life. She held the child close against her, her arms protectively about him and her cheek laid snugly against his pale blond curls. She felt an impulse to rock him and perhaps to croon a very soft lullaby to him.
“We’ll have to hurry,” Belgarath was saying to the Gorim. “Even with Relg’s help, it will take a week or more to reach the Sendarian border. Then we’ll have to cross the whole country, and the snow in Sendaria can pile up in a hurry this time of year. To make things even worse, this is the season for storms in the Sea of the Winds, and it’s a long way over open water from Sendar to Riva.”
The word “Riva” jerked Ce’Nedra out of her reverie. From the very moment that she and Jeebers had crept from the Imperial Palace at Tol Honeth, one single thought had dominated her thinking. She was not going to Riva. Though she might have seemed on occasion to have surrendered on that point, her acquiescence had always been a subterfuge. Now, however, she would have to take a stand. The reasons for her adamant refusal to obey the provisions of the Accords of Vo Mimbre were no longer entirely clear to her. So much had happened that she was not even the same person, but one thing was absolutely certain no matter who she was. She was not going to Riva. It was a matter of principle.
“I’m sure that once we reach Sendaria, I’ll be able to make my way to an Imperial garrison,” she said as casually as if the matter had already been decided.
“And why would you want to do that, dear?” Lady Polgara asked her.
“As I said earlier, I’m not going to Riva,” Ce’Nedra replied. “The legionnaires will be able to make arrangements to return me to Tol Honeth.”
“Perhaps you should visit your father,” Polgara said quite calmly.
“You mean you’re just going to let me go?”
“I didn’t say that. I’m sure we’ll be able to find a ship bound for Tol Honeth sometime in the late spring or early summer. Rivan commerce with the Empire is extensive.”
“I don’t think you fully understand me, Lady Polgara. I said that I’m not going to go to Riva—under any circumstances.”
“I heard you, Ce’Nedra. You’re wrong, however. You are going to Riva. You have an appointment there, remember?”
“I won’t go!” Ce’Nedra’s voice went up an octave or two.
“Yes, you will.” Polgara’s voice was deceptively calm, but there was a hint of steel in it.
“I absolutely refuse,” the princess declared. She was about to say more, but a small finger gently brushed her lips. The sleepy child in her arms raised his hand to touch her mouth. She moved her head irritably. “I’ve told you all before that I will not submit to—” The child touched her lips again. His eyes were drowsy as he looked up at her, but his gaze was calm and reassuring. Ce’Nedra forgot what she had been saying. “I am not going to the Isle of the Winds,” she concluded rather lamely, “and that’s final.” The trouble was that it didn’t sound all that final.
“It seems that we’ve had this discussion once or twice before,” Polgara observed.
“You have no right to—” Ce’Nedra’s words trailed off again as her thoughts went astray once more. The child’s eyes were so blue—so very blue. She found herself unable to look away from them and seemed to be sinking into that incredible color. She shook her head. It was so completely unlike her to keep losing track of an argument this way. She tried to concentrate. “I refuse to be publicly humiliated,” she declared. “I will not stand in the Hall of the Rivan King like a beggar while all the Alorns snicker up their sleeves at me.” That was better. Her momentary distraction seemed to be fading. Inadvertently she glanced down at the child and it all went out the window again. “I don’t even have the right kind of dress,” she added plaintively low what had made her say that?
Polgara said nothing, but her eyes seemed very wise as she watched the princess flounder. Ce’Nedra stumbled along, her objections growing less and less relevant. Even as she argued, she realized that there was no real reason for her not going to Riva. Her refusal seemed frivolous—even childish. Why on earth had she made such a fuss about it? The little boy in her arms smiled encouragingly at her, and, unable to help herself, she smiled back at him, her defenses crumbling. She made one last try. “It’s only some silly old formality anyway, Lady Polgara,” she said. “There won’t be anyone waiting for me in the Hall of the Rivan King—there never has been. The Rivan line is extinct.” She tore her eyes away from the child’s face. “Do I really have to go?”
Lady Polgara nodded gravely.
Ce’Nedra heaved a great sigh. All this bickering seemed so unnecessary. What was the point of making such an issue of a simple trip? It was not as if there was any danger involved. If it would make people happy, why be stubborn about it? “Oh, all right,” she surrendered. “If it’s so important to everyone, I suppose I can go to Riva.” For some reason, saying it made her feel much better. The child in her arms smiled again, gently patted her cheek and went back to sleep. Lost in a sudden inexplicable happiness, the princess nestled her cheek against his curls again and began to rock back and forth gently, crooning very softly.
Part Two
Riva
9
Once more Relg led them through the dark, silent world of the caves, and once more Garion hated every moment of it. It seemed an eternity ago that they had left Prolgu, where Ce’Nedra’s farewells to the frail old Gorim had been long and tearful. The princess rather balled Garion, and he gave himself over to some speculation about her as he stumbled along in the musty-smelling darkness. Something had happened at Prolgu. In some very subtle ways, Ce’Nedra was different—and the differences made Garion jumpy for some reason.
When at last, after uncountable days in the dark, twisting galleries, they emerged once again into the world of light and air, it was through an irregular, brush-choked opening in the wall of a steep ravine. It was snowing heavily outside with large flakes settling softly down through the windless air.
“Are you sure this is Sendaria?” Barak asked Relg as he bulled his way through the obstructing brush at the cave mouth.
Relg shrugged, once more binding a veil across his face to protect his eyes from the light. “We’re no longer in Ulgo.”
“There are a lot of places that aren’t in Ulgo, Relg,” Barak reminded him sourly.
“It sort of looks like Sendaria,” King Cho-Hag observed, leaning over in his saddle to stare out of the cave at the softly falling snow. “Can anybody make a guess at the time of day?”
“It’s really very hard to say when it’s snowing this hard, father,” Hettar told him. “The horses think it’s about noon, but their idea of time is a bit imprecise.”
“Wonderful,” Silk noted sardonically. “We don’t know where we are or what time it is. Things are getting off to a splendid start.”
“It’s not really that important, Silk,” Belgarath said wearily. “All we have to do is go north. We’re bound to run into the Great North Road eventually.”
“Fine,” Silk replied. “But which way is north?”
Garion looked closely at his grandfather as the old man squeezed out into the snowy ravine. The old man’s face was etched with lines of weariness, and the hollows under his eyes were dark again. Despite the two weeks or more of convalescence at the Stronghold and Aunt Pol’s considered opinion that he was fit to travel, Belgarath had obviously not yet fully recovered from his collapse.
As they emerged from the cave, they pulled on their heavy cloaks and tightened the cinches on their saddles in preparation to move out.