“Forgotten, my dear?”
Tanalasta felt something wet and warm rolling down her cheeks, then realized she was crying. The fact surprised her, for she had considered herself long past tears-and far, far above the station where such luxuries could be permitted. She used the edge of a silk blanket to wipe the drops away, but they reappeared instantly, running down her face in such a torrent that they cascaded from her jaw and soaked the blanket.
A muted clanking drew Tanalasta’s attention to her anteroom door, where Korvarr Rallyhorn and one other guard stood watching their crown princess sob like some delicate little girl who’d skinned her knees. Tanalasta wiped her eyes again and willed herself to stop crying, but her tears flowed all the more, unleashed by her embarrassment and a sudden appreciation of the risks she had been taking with the life of her unborn child.
Seeing that the princess’s eye had fallen on him, Korvarr bowed cautiously. “The princess called?”
Tanalasta started to order him away, then realized that doing so would only compound Korvarr’s concern and send a flurry of concerned whispers fluttering through the castle halls. She started to blubber an excuse about a bad dream but made it only as far as “I was having…” before she realized that reacting so strongly to a nightmare would make her appear even weaker. Tanalasta let the sentence trail off unfinished.
Korvarr’s dark brows came together. “Yes, Highness?”
When Tanalasta could think of nothing to say, Owden came to her rescue by furling her blanket back and proudly pointing to her swollen stomach.
“The princess’s child is quickening,” Owden explained happily.
Korvarr looked rather confused and did a quick scan of the room, no doubt trying to fathom whether there was some secret meaning to the priest’s words. When he found nothing amiss, he gave Tanalasta an uncomfortable smile.
“That is very good news, I’m sure.” His gaze shifted to Owden. “Thank you for informing me.”
This drew a snort of amusement from the priest. “Relax, Korvarr. No one’s saying you’re the father.”
“Of course not! I would never do such a thing to the princess.”
Owden cocked his brow. “Truly?” He looked to Tanalasta, then drew the blanket back over her. “I don’t know how you should feel about that, Princess.”
Korvarr’s face reddened. He began to stammer an apology, then seemed to lose his way and settled for simply clamping his jaw. The lionar’s embarrassment drew a deep chuckle from Owden, and the humor proved catching. Tanalasta found herself laughing and crying at the same time, then crying with laughter, then finally just laughing. She motioned the lionar over and took him by the hand.
“Don’t be embarrassed, Korvarr. I may be your princess, but I’m also just a woman,” she said. “A woman and a friend. Never forget that.”
This seemed to put the lionar a little more at ease. He smiled stiffly, then bowed. “Thank you, Highness.”
Owden rolled his eyes, then said, “Korvarr, perhaps you should inform Queen Filfaeril that her daughter has awakened. As I recall, she can be touchy about that.”
“She did leave instructions to be notified,” said Korvarr. Despite his acknowledgment, he made no move to leave. “But it may be some time before she is available.”
“Really?” Owden looked doubtful. “I would want to be certain of that, were I you. The last time, Queen Filfaeril seemed most eager-“
“As she is this time, I assure you,” interrupted Korvarr, “but she is occupied with a matter of state.”
The slight furrow in the lionar’s brow did not escape Tanalasta’s notice. “What matter of state?” she asked.
The lionar glanced in Owden’s direction, clearly appealing for help and receiving none.
“Lionar, I asked you a question,” Tanalasta said. “Where, exactly, is the queen?”
Korvarr arched his dark brow at Owden one more time, then sighed and said, “She is in the Audience Hall with the Lords Goldsword and Silverswords, and some others.”
Tanalasta threw her covers back and swung her legs out of bed. “Discussing what?”
This time, Korvarr knew better than to hesitate. “You, Highness, and what should be done.”
“Done?” Tanalasta stood, then nearly fell again when her head grew light and her vision blackened.
Owden caught her by the arm and braced her up. “I know you’re concerned, Princess, but you must not rush. You have been in bed for days. Go slowly.”
Tanalasta paused long enough to let her vision clear, then looked back to Korvarr. “Done about what?”
“About Sembia’s offer, Highness,” said Korvarr. “Ambassador Hovanay has repeated it, and Emlar Goldsword has been working hard to convince the more conservative nobles that the, uh, uncertain paternity of your child-“
“Uncertain!” Tanalasta fumed. Practically dragging Owden along, she started across the room toward her wardrobe. “Didn’t anyone tell them?”
“I’m afraid not,” said Owden. “Given your previous discretion, the queen thought it best to keep the matter secret.”
Korvarr scowled in confusion, but was too much the soldier to ask the question on the tip of his tongue.
Tanalasta answered it anyway. “There is nothing uncertain about the parentage of my child, and I think it’s time we made that clear to Lord Goldsword and his ilk.”
Korvarr mustered the courage to follow her toward the wardrobe. “I beg the princess’s pardon, but I may have put the matter too delicately. It is the child’s legitimacy they are complaining about. That your first born should be misbegotten-“
“It is not ‘misbegotten,’ Korvarr.” Tanalasta could sense the disapproval in the lionar’s voice, and it was all she could do not to whirl on him. “It was ‘gotten’ by my husband.”
Korvarr stumbled over his own feet and nearly fell. “Husband?”
“Rowen Cormaeril,” Tanalasta said. “And I think it is time the realm knows it-before Lord Goldsword and his cronies sell our kingdom to the Sembians.”
22
The King of all Cormyr took a cautious step forward on the damp forest moss, then froze. Overhead, through the dappling of many green fingers of leaves, the light had changed. Azoun Obarskyr knew all too well what that meant.
The source of the stolen sun flashed past overhead, beating dark wings. The dragon-a red dragon as large, or larger, than any he’d ever seen-was heading south in a hurry. Azoun grimly watched it go.
Something fell in its wake, something that had spun out of its jaws to hurtle to the ground forgotten.
Something that was plummeting down so close to Azoun that the dragon’s forgetting it was a very good thing.
Azoun stood as still as any tree as the something crashed into the damp leaves, bounced once, then fell still. A little dust trailed away from where it had landed, but not enough to conceal from intent royal eyes what the forgotten detritus was. It was the bloody remnant of a human leg, still encased in a boot-a boot of the sort well-to-do Cormyrean courtiers wear when they must take to the country.
The king wondered which of his subjects this grim remnant had belonged to-and if a swift, but brutal death now was going to turn out to be a fortunate thing for a Cormyrean. An instant later, he was very glad he’d kept still and silent. Hoots and hissing chuckles-goblin mirth, without a doubt-arose from just ahead of him. The sound came from at least three sides, mingled with cries of “Nalavara!” and “Ardrak!” That last word, he knew, was “dragon” in some goblin tongues.
No lad or lass of Cormyr over about four winters of age thinks of the deep green forests as empty, private places. The tales they’re told leave them in no doubt that the woods are more alive than even barley fields with no hawks or owls about to keep the mice down. They also know that if one is not to become hunted on any woodland journey, one must have stealth, wary alertness, and ready weapons. Yet in all but the most northerly reaches of the Forest Kingdom, goblins were a woodland rarity. Azoun allowed himself a soundless curse of astonishment. A sizeable band of the scuttling vermin must be just in front of him, very close by. They could only be in the woods on some sort of stealthy business… and that business, of course, could only be an intended ambush of the king’s army.