“But-but-yes, of course, Highness,” he husked, then fell silent as if the threatened blade had slid home when the princess laid a finger across his lips, then drew the other slowly across his throat.
Without warning, she kissed him.
Kortyl Rowanmantle was still grinning in startled amazement when something suddenly fell across the dappled sunlight ahead.
Alusair looked up and screamed.
“The dragon!” she howled, in a voice so loud and harsh it was scarcely her own. “Scatter!”
The words had barely left her throat when the tops of two duskwood trees ahead of her exploded like kindling snapped across a forester’s knee.
Nalavarauthatoryl the Red burst through them like an eager fox plunging over a wall into a henhouse pen, diving down heedless of branches and another possible impalement.
Dark drippings were still coming from the dragon’s belly, but it looked not nearly as wounded as the Cormyreans had hoped. Its talons were spread wide to clutch and rake, and its jaws were agape-the jaws from whence the flames would come.
As she hurled herself desperately aside, away from much shouting, Alusair could have sworn the dragon was grinning.
All Faerun exploded into flames around her.
33
The rain fell in sheets, pounding down on the iron canopy with such a roar Vangerdahast could hardly hear himself think. Peals of thunder rolled sporadically across the low ceiling, loosening tiny flakes of ancient Grodd fresco and sending them fluttering to the watery floor. Another lightning bolt lanced across the room and shattered a stubby little pillar. Chips of marble sprayed out like shrapnel, shredding the faces of half a dozen goblin courtiers and compelling them to run for the door, lest they insult their king by bleeding in his presence.
Vangerdahast sat at the edge of the Iron Throne, peering up at Rowen from the shelter of its small canopy. “You are making me reluctant to give you any more magic.”
“You know I can’t stop it,” Rowen said. He seemed a mere silhouette of man-shaped darkness against a torrent of gray rain. “And I am upset. Tanalasta saw me.”
“But only for an instant.” Vangerdahast had to shout to make himself heard above the storm. “And she didn’t know it was you.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Had she thought you were standing here beside me, do you think I could have changed the subject?”
The thunder did not rumble quite so loudly. “Good. How did she seem?”
“Surprised.” Vangerdahast kept his answer short and tried to sound irritated. He had actually come to like Rowen-perhaps even admire him-and the last thing the wizard wanted was to discuss the telltale shadow on the princess’s lip. Queen Filfaeril’s lip had grown similarly dark during all three of her pregnancies. “She was expecting to reach you.”
“And she did, but how?”
Vangerdahast barely heard the question, for it had just occurred to him he finally had at least a vague time reference. Tanalasta’s face had seemed weary and tired, but also much rounder than he remembered, with a certain heaviness below the jawline that bespoke a considerable weight gain. She had to be near the end of her pregnancy. For her to have met an eligible young noble, been properly courted, wed, and now be close to childbirth… it had to have been at least a year-and that only if she had given up the silly notion of marrying for love.
“What’s wrong?” asked Rowen. “Why do you look so pale?”
The wizard waved the questions off, pretending to be preoccupied until he could think of a plausible answer, but his preoccupation was no act. His thoughts returned to Tanalasta at once. She had seemed very firm in her decision to marry for love (Vangerdahast recalled something about a vision from Chauntea), so the time had to be closer to two years-at a minimum. She would have needed time to forget Rowen, then there were the mere odds of meeting and falling in love with someone else. The process had taken twenty years the first time.
Then Vangerdahast understood. Had the princess fallen in love with somebody else, she would not have been looking for Rowen several years later. He glared up the ghazneth.
“Did you sleep with the princess?”
Rowen’s pearly eyes brightened, then he looked away. “That is hardly any business of yours.”
“Of course it is!” Vangerdahast snapped. “Do you not think it the business of the Royal Magician of Cormyr when a low-born, scurrilous dog takes advantage of the crown princess?”
“Takes advantage?” Rowen echoed. The room erupted into a tempest of crackling lightning, compelling the goblin courtiers to withdraw to the corners of the room. “If the princess must tell you everything, I am sure she also told you she was as eager as I was-though I still fail to see how what a wife does with her husband is any business of the royal magician’s.”
“Husband?” Vangerdahast’s head began to feel like it was filled with wool. “I thought you two never left the Stonelands. When did you have time for a wedding? How did you get the king’s approval?”
“A marriage is between two people,” Rowen said. The lightning ceased. “We had Chauntea’s blessing, and that was enough. Tanalasta did not tell you?”
“No.” Vangerdahast sank back in his throne and shook his head, trying to work through the ramifications and guess how the news had been received in Cormyr. “Actually, she didn’t need to tell me anything. I saw it for myself.”
“Saw it? How could you…” Rowen let the question trail off, then his jaw dropped and the throne room grew very still. “I’m going to be a father?”
Even after the dead and wounded had been removed to the kitchen, the Crownsilver dining room looked more like a charnel house than the banquet hall of a great manor. Spattered crescents of crimson arced across the silken draperies and masterful wall murals. Claw marks and blade gouges furrowed the rosewood table. Glittering shards of crystal chandelier lay strewn across the floor, and the stench of blood and sickness hung in the air like smoke over a fire.
A fresh company of warriors, this one composed of the finest knights from the loyal noble houses, stood between the high windows along the exterior wall. They held their weapons high and ready but seemed unable to take their eyes off the chair where Tanalasta sat, still oozing blood from the gashes in her face. The tale of how she had grabbed a halberd and split open Melineth Turcasson’s chest had spread across the estate like wildfire, growing in the telling as it passed from one building to the next. By the time the account reached the stables where the knights were waiting as a mounted reserve, the story had her destroying the ghazneth single-handedly, hacking him apart piecemeal as she chased him across the chamber. It was not an account any sensible man would believe when he saw how hugely pregnant she was, but the princess let the tale stand without comment. Having won fame for her ruthlessness, she thought it wise to earn a reputation for bravery as well.
Seeing that all was ready, Tanalasta nodded to Owden.
The harvestmaster removed Chauntea’s sacred amulet from around his neck, then asked, “Are you sure you’re ready to do this again so soon?”
Tanalasta nodded. “The king must hear what Vangerdahast said. I am ready.” She looked across the room to the company of knights she would be relying upon. “Are you?”
“We are,” answered Korvarr Rallyhorn.
It had taken seven priests of three different faiths nearly four days to put Korvarr together again after the battle with Luthax. As soon as he could stand again he rejoined his family retainers and promptly found himself elected captain of a company mustered from several loyal households. Few of those who had chosen him knew of his loose tongue with Orvendel, but Tanalasta doubted he would make such an error again and had gladly asked to have him assigned to her in reserve.
Owden gave the knights a few moments to prepare themselves, then kissed Chauntea’s amulet and stooped down to touch it to the inflamed gashes Melineth had opened across Tanalasta’s cheek. He spoke a prayer asking the goddess’s blessing, then intoned the words of his spell. Chauntea’s healing magic flowed into Tanalasta’s face, and she felt the inflammation and poison leaving her.