The wet, murmuring sounds that were coming to his ears now meant that they were kissing. Long, hungry, tightly embraced kisses of the sort that made ladies-in-waiting swoon and old crones go all bright-eyed with nostalgia. Vangerdahast almost tore the closet door open and growled at them to get on with it.
Then Aunadar spoke again. “I must leave you now, my sweet. The wizard’s plots and schemes are relentless and spread even as we speak. My friends and I must work against them tirelessly, or not a noble house in the land may be truly loyal to the new crowned Queen Tanalasta!”
“Aunadar, don’t say that!” the princess protested. “Father’s going to get well, and-“
“Of course,” the young nobleman said quietly. “And when he does, you’ll be able to show him a decisive, evenhanded, masterful stewardship of the realm-your work of devotion during his infirmity. I know you will. Fare thee well, Tana, until next our lips meet!”
“Oh, Aunadar, do take care! The wizard’s folk are everywhere! Keep safe, will you?”
“Princess, I will,” the young Bleth’s voice came distantly, and a door closed. Tanalasta erupted into sobs.
Vangerdahast listened to her for a time, pity on his frowning face, and then shrugged. So she wanted to be a true Obarskyr? Then ‘twas time, and past time, that she showed her mettle. Rule over a realm was not something to be played at.
He opened the door soundlessly and walked to the low divan where she sat bent over, her face in her hands. It seemed to be her favorite place, and no doubt had seen much use over the last few months, what with the young Bleth sitting sideways on it holding her hands between every court meal!
Vangerdahast sighed loudly and sat down with a thump beside the princess. Tanalasta’s head jerked up. Her face was as white as a statue except where two silvery trails of tears ran down her cheeks from red-rimmed eyes.
“You!” She said in horror. “How did you get in here?”
Vangerdahast gave her a merry smile. “Magic, Lady Highness. You know-waggle the fingers and… It’s what keeps Cormyr strong!”
Tanalasta drew herself up, then rose to stand facing him, eyes glittering with hatred. “Are you threatening me, wizard?”
The Royal Magician met her daggerlike gaze calmly and said, “Child, I never threaten. I promise.”
Tanalasta’s lips drew together in a tight line. “I ought to have you thrown in irons, whipped, and then beheaded for bursting into a woman’s chambers unbidden! You might be here to get a heir for yourself!”
Vangerdahast rolled his eyes. “Nothing so energetic, Lady Princess. No, I’m here for another reason.” He reached into the breast of his robes and drew forth a folded parchment. Tanalasta’s eyes widened when she saw the royal seals. Then they narrowed.
“No, this is not the forged writ that young Aunadar has been going around telling people I was making with magic,” the wizard said testily. “If you care to examine it yourself, you’ll see that the seals are unbroken and that none of them are Azoun’s.”
He held out the parchment, and after a swaying moment of indecision wherein she obviously feared some sort of magical trap, the princess snatched it from him and stared at the seals. The state seal, the old court seal-which was in the keeping of her mother, the queen-and Filfaeril’s own seal, with the two small Obarskyr pendants she always added.
Impatiently Tanalasta broke them, froze for a moment for fear that she might have ignited some waiting magical trap, and then-when nothing happened-unfolded the parchment.
“As you can see,” Vangerdahast said almost wearily, “it is a fresh writ of regency, signed by your mother, Queen Filfaeril. Since both you and your young Bleth seemed so contemptuous of King Azoun’s own authority on an earlier document, and that of his father Rhigaerd, I took the precaution of procuring yet another authorization for my authority. As you can also see, it awaits your signature. My first concern, as always, is the safety of the realm, but I have no interest in ruling over the strident objections of the Obarskyr heir if I can possibly avoid doing so.”
“You expect me to sign this?” the princess snapped, nostrils flaring.
“I expect you to consider the implications of everything you do, with the greater good of the realm, and not what you may personally want, always foremost in your mind. It’s what your ancestors-and the wizards who have served them, from Baerauble the Wise to, well, myself-have always done. It’s what sitting on the Dragon Throne has always been about.”
“You just want to force me into giving you the crown,” Tanalasta whispered, her voice trembling with rage.
“No, lass, I don’t,” the wizard said flatly. “If wearing the crown were all that mattered to me, I could take it in an instant. You know that. As Aunadar never tires of reminding you, I do have all those spells.”
“Then why haven’t you taken it? Or named yourself regent?” Tanalasta almost screamed. “What is your game, wizard?”
“Life is my only game, Tanalasta-the life of the realm, and of every last scheming noble, tame dog, and silly princess in it. I work to make Cormyr ever stronger-not larger, not more decadent, but always a better place to live. It’s a long, long game, but then, I’ve never been a short-bet man, myself.”
Tanalasta frowned, and with her eyes steady on the wizard’s, slowly started to crumple the parchment. There was a flash, a soft numbing movement through her fingertips, and she was holding empty air.
Vangerdahast was holding the parchment himself. In fact, he was waving it at her. He raised his eyebrows and asked, “I take it you’ll not sign this?”
“Never!” Tanalasta spat. “I don’t know what vile magic you used on my mother to get her to sign it, but you’ll never get me to give in to you and your schemes! What have you done with her?”
Vangerdahast blinked. “Done with her? Nothing, child. You read too many hot romances.”
“Get out!” Tanalasta shrieked, pointing an imperious arm at the door. “Just get out!”
The wizard rose. “You can’t run away from problems forever, you know. If you don’t bother to rule the kingdom, someone else will step in and do it for you.”
“Such as you, perhaps?” the crown princess said with a sneer.
The Royal Magician shrugged. “Or anyone… if you don’t care who does it, literally anyone could take the throne. A grasping Sembian merchant, perhaps. Or a Zhentarim. A priestess of Loviatar, who might find it fitting that royalty feel pain every night. Who knows? Deciding to rule, or not to rule, and what to do if you do wear the crown is a decision you must make-and, Princess, it is best for the realm if you make it alone. Not with Aunadar. Not with your ladies-in-waiting. Not with Alaphondar or Dimswart or even me. Otherwise, it won’t truly be your decision.”
“The door still awaits you,” Tanalasta said coldly.
Vangerdahast bowed his head, then sketched a bent-knee court bow. “Until next we meet, Princess.”
“I hope that’s never!” she cried, the fury building in her voice.
“Shall I say until you make a decision, then?” he asked mildly, his hand on the door. A moment later he was through it and striding away, listening to the shattering of expensive glass and china as the weeping princess hurled perfume bottle after cordial decanter at the closed door.
“It’s always so tiring,” the Lord High Wizard told no one in particular as he wearily walked the halls back to his own apartments, “when one has to deal with children. There is such a thing as sheltering little girls too much from the world.” Then he thought of Alusair as he’d once farscryed her, hacking through a band of brigands, her hair flying around her, and her half-naked body drenched with blood, and said wryly, “And then, of course, there’s the other way.”
When the radiance faded this time, Vangerdahast was a safe few paces outside whatever wards the magess Cat might have set to protect Redstone Castle. The front gate stood ajar, of course. He stepped inside, glancing critically at the gardens, and noted approvingly that Lady Wyvernspur seemed to have taken things strongly in hand. Wearily-was a wizard’s work ever done?-he strode up to the hall.