"Why?" the burly, blond man asked, scooping up the fletcher's unfinished drink. "The wizards'll make sure Azoun's voice carries over the city. We're just going to go outside."
The woman Mal had called Kiri stood up and attempted to pull the big man from his seat. "Let's go with John," she said between tugs. "I don't think I've ever seen His Highness in person before."
Mal sighed, shrugged out of Kiri's grasp irritably, and downed the rest of the ale in one, long gulp. "All right, all right. We'd best get moving."
So Razor John, Mal, and Kiri made their way out of the Black Rat and started off in the direction of the palace.
"Pawn to king's four."
Queen Filfaeril smiled warmly and scanned the chessboard with her ice-blue eyes. "Your game has become rather predictable, husband," she said, moving her hand to the board. She lifted a knight of purest ivory. "Knight takes pawn."
Consternation crossed King Azoun's face. "You know that I'll take that knight with my queen," he said. "Losing it for a pawn seems rather pointless." The king slid an onyx queen across the board and picked up the white knight in one smooth motion. "Queen takes knight."
Filfaeril studied the board for a moment, then moved her bishop. "Bishop takes queen." Azoun cursed softly. "In three moves I'll have you in checkmate," his wife added.
Azoun lifted a rook, then moved it closer to his king.
The queen's smile faded. "Are you sure you want to play this out?"
"Of course. I never quit before the game's over."
Positioning her queen to place Azoun in check, Filfaeril prepared to finish the game. As she had guessed, it lasted only three more moves.
The king and queen set the pieces up for a future game. When the board was reorganized, Azoun asked, "Am I really that predictable?"
The queen considered her answer for a moment, then nodded. "There are certain things I can count on you to do, and others I can count on you never to do."
"Such as?"
Filfaeril picked up a pawn. "You don't trade pieces well, my husband. That's why you didn't see my logic in sacrificing the knight."
Azoun took the pawn from his wife's hand and replaced it on the board. "There should be some way to win that doesn't involve losing one piece for another."
"As I said," the queen repeated as she smiled and took her husband's hand, "there are certain things I can count on you never to do."
The king laughed, patted Filfaeril's white, slender fingers, and stood up. "I guess I'm still mulling over what Vangerdahast said the other day after the meeting. I don't really think of myself as inflexible, predictable." Azoun paused and looked into his wife's eyes. "Still, what he said about Alusair…"
Filfaeril saw the pain in her husband's face when he mentioned their daughter's name. What had happened with Alusair pained her, too, though she knew that Azoun considered himself directly responsible for driving the girl from home. "Alusair was willful, my husband," she said after a moment. "Much like her father."
The queen rose and moved to Azoun's side. She embraced him tightly. "If you're looking for proof that you're a good father, Tanalasta should stand as example enough."
Azoun nodded, though the furrow in his brow did not lessen. He certainly loved Tanalasta, his eldest daughter, and she had given him plenty of reasons to be immensely proud of her. Still, she lacked the spirit, the fire her younger sister possessed. No, Tanalasta's devotion could never cover the rift between the king and Alusair.
Filfaeril knew this, but had hoped her words would pull Azoun from the dark mood into which he had fallen. She caressed her husband's cheek and turned his eyes toward hers. "And you have me. You are not so unbearably rigid that I cannot love you."
That last comment brought out Azoun's smile again. Looking at his queen, he noted that she was as lovely now as the day they'd married. Many around the court said that Filfaeril was classically beautiful, and Azoun agreed. The queen's delicate features seemed to have been smoothed out of the purest alabaster. And fifty years of life-thirty in the court-had done little to dull this loveliness. Even the wrinkles that pulled at the corners of Filfaeril's startlingly blue eyes seemed intentionally carved there by some artist.
But it wasn't simply for her beauty that Azoun had first fallen in love with his queen. Filfaeril was far more than a nobleman's statuesque daughter; she was a bright and insightful woman, as well. In fact, she had won Prince Azoun's love more by her refusal to surround herself with flattering courtiers than by her slender figure and flowing blond hair. Filfaeril's ice-blue eyes were lovely to behold, but the young Azoun had quickly learned that they saw through illusion and idealism, down to harsh reality.
Finally Azoun mocked a sigh and said, "Yes, at least I have you." Filfaeril wrinkled her brow in feigned anger, and Azoun kissed her, long and tenderly.
After a moment, the king heard Vangerdahast clear his throat noisily. He glanced at the study's door to see his advisor standing there, red-faced and fidgeting, staring at the ceiling. "Come in, Vangy," Azoun sighed. "I suppose it's time for the ceremony and my speech."
Filfaeril leaned close to the king and whispered, "We'll continue our discussion later, Your Highness." The queen gently pushed herself from Azoun's arms and moved toward the door. "I'll be waiting for you both in the throne room," she announced as she left the room.
Vangerdahast waited until the queen closed the door behind her before he spoke. "Yes, it's almost highsun. I've already cast the necessary wards on the platform. Are you ready to begin the procession?"
The king looked down at his ceremonial uniform. The purple surcoat was embroidered with thread spun from platinum and gold, and the hose were woven from the finest imported silk from Shou Lung. Azoun didn't like the outfit much; he considered it gaudy. It was, however, necessary for him to wear it in the formal crowning ceremony that was to precede his public address.
Straightening an epaulet, Azoun said, "I suppose I'm ready to begin. I just wish we didn't have to make such a production out of this."
"If you wish to-"
Azoun quickly held up a hand. "I know, Vangy. An emphasis on pageant today will help to convey the crusade's importance." He moved to the window and looked out on the inner bailey. Servants and messengers rushed from the castle to the gate, their hurried pace an indication of the day's importance.
"We should go, Your Highness."
Azoun watched a page, who wore the royal purple, rush from the keep and hurry past the gatehouses. The sight reminded him of an errand he had assigned to the royal wizard earlier that morning. "Any news from Zhentil Keep?" the king asked as he turned to his advisor.
The wizard spun about abruptly and headed through the door in an effort to move Azoun toward the throne room.
"Actually, I did receive a message from the Zhentish hierarchy just before I came to get you," the wizard noted quietly. He bowed in response to a guard's salute as he and the king entered the drafty stone corridor, then added, "They're sending someone to talk to you about the Tuigan tomorrow."
Azoun stopped short. The wizard took a step or two past the king, then wheeled about. "So soon?" Azoun exclaimed. "That doesn't give us much time to prepare."
Vangerdahast hooked an arm around the king's elbow and started walking again. "I believe that's the whole idea, Your Highness."
Queen Filfaeril was waiting in the throne room when Azoun and Vangerdahast got there. Crowds of musicians and nobles filled the long, sumptuously appointed hall, waiting for the king to arrive. Handmaidens straightened the queen's long dress of lavender silk as the royal steward ran to the king and announced that his crown, scepter, and medallion-the trappings of his heritage-were ready. Vangerdahast left the king's side without any leave-taking and went to find the other royal wizards who were to participate in the ceremony.