“Other than the obvious; that the King waited to see if I’d survive six months on the throne on my own before sending a formal envoy,” she said, with a feeling of resignation. All of the envoys had been like this; it was disheartening to think that there were probably bets being placed on how long she would remain Queen and sole ruler of Valdemar.
“Well, you could have wedded immediately,” Talamir pointed out. “From his point of view there was no harm in waiting to see if you did before sending the Ambassador.”
“Or I could have been toppled by one of my own nobles, or assassinated by a leftover Tedrel.” She did not add after all, I’m only a woman, but the unspoken words hung in the air between them.
“Well, you weren’t,” Talamir replied unexpectedly. “And those of us who knew you also knew you wouldn’t be. And if some foreign monarch is foolish enough to think that your youth and sex means that you are weak or foolish, well, I pity him. He’ll take a beating at the negotiation tables.”
She flushed, feeling suddenly warm with pleasure. “Thank you for that, Talamir,” she replied. So Talamir really did think she was capable! It was a welcome surprise; she would not have been at all surprised if he had still been thinking of her as “little” Selenay, who needed a firm hand on the rein and a great deal of looking after.
He gave a little bow, and smiled; he still had a charming smile. “Credit where credit is due,” he said simply. “And by this point, I’m sure the Throne Room is filled with impatient petitioners—”
“So on to the next chore.” She thought longingly of the fresh snow outside, and ruthlessly pushed away the longing. Queens did not desert their Court to frolic carelessly when there were duties to be done. Queens had responsibilities. “Time to get to it; the sooner we clear the work out, the less likely it is I’ll incur the wrath of the cooks by delaying luncheon.” She rose, and shook out her skirts, still startled, even after all this time, to note the trimming of black on her Royal Whites where the silver of the Heir or the gold of the Monarch should be. “Speaking of wrath,” she continued, as Talamir went to hold the doors of the chamber open for her, “What’s the outcome of that little disaster down at the salle?”
Talamir coughed, to hide a smile, she thought. “Alberich escorted the two miscreants down to the glassworks just after breakfast,” he told her. “They will be spending from now until—we’re thinking—Vernal Equinox pumping the glassworks’ bellows every free moment that they have. We’re loath to keep them down there once the weather begins to get significantly warmer, because work switches to the nighttime once it becomes hellish to keep the furnaces going at full heat in the hottest part of the day. But we also want them to feel they’re really being punished when the weather turns and all their friends are enjoying themselves outdoors again.”
“Poor things!” she said, feeling rather sorry for them, seeing as she was in a similar situation with no hope for a reprieve.
Talamir coughed again; this time it sounded a bit disapproving. “Selenay, do you have any notion how much the Crown’s treasury is going to have to pay the glassworkers for a new mirror? You could replace every horse in the Royal Guard with Ashkevron war stallions for less than the cost of that mirror. Personally, I think they’re getting off lightly.”
“If those mirrors cost so much, how on earth did the Crown manage to pay for all of them when they were first installed?” she asked, as the two of them, flanked by a couple of guards, made their way down the gallery that overlooked the snow-covered gardens.
“If the legends are correct, no one paid for them at all,” Talamir replied. “The Herald-Mages made them, supposedly. Just as whenever one was broken, the Herald-Mages fixed them.”
“How very convenient,” she said dryly. “Did the Herald-Mages fix plumbing, too? I’ve had an Artificer in my bathing room twice now, and that drip still isn’t fixed. When I was trying to sleep last night, that was all I could hear.”
“Sendar used to say he found it soothing,” Talamir said quietly.
I am not my father, Selenay thought, and felt a surge of resentment as well as sadness. But she was not going to say it. “Just have someone send a different Artificer, please,” she replied instead. “If I have to move into my old rooms for a few days until it’s fixed, I’ve no objections. If I have to listen to that drip for many more nights, I’m going to go mad.”
***
With classes canceled for the day, Alberich found himself with unexpected free time on his hands. In light of the frustration of pursuing inquiries to dead ends recently, he decided he had a good idea of how to fill some of it. At this point, all of his usual sources of information had run dry. It was time to find some new ones, but to do that, he would have to create new identities.
What I am looking for is not going to be found around Exile’s Gate, he decided.
It was with a distinct feeling of pleasure that he noted that Kantor had followed his thought, and had altered his course, heading, not for the Collegia, but for the Companion’s Bell. This was a prosperous tavern that played host to Heralds quite regularly—and to Alberich quite a bit more often than to most, although, if you had asked the staff, they would have said, truthfully, that they didn’t see him there very often.
There was a secret room in the back of the stables where Herald Alberich would retire, and someone else would emerge, by way of a door that no more than a handful of people knew existed. In that room was a chest of disguises, which were apparently tended to by someone in the Bell, for no matter what state they were in when Alberich left them there, the next time he returned they would be clean—or at any rate, cleaner, since the apparent dirt and real stains were an integral and important part of some of them. Furthermore, any damage he’d done to them would be repaired, and the clothing neatly put away, back in the chest.
He’d inherited that room and that chest from Herald Dethor, his predecessor as Weaponsmaster, and he’d put quite a bit of wear on the disguises he’d found there. Enough that it was time to do something about the situation, before he found himself literally without anything to wear.
He’d have to do it in disguise, though. Even though he flatly refused to wear Herald’s Whites, his own gray leathers were distinctive enough to mark him as the Collegium Weaponsmaster. If the Weaponsmaster was noted visiting the used-clothing merchants, it would be a short step for anyone keeping an eye on him to determine that he was purchasing disguises. Why else would he be making a great many purchases of used clothing?
So, after leaving Kantor tucked into an out-of-the-way stall in the section of the stables reserved for Companions, Herald Alberich retired into that room, and a persona he had never used until now emerged into the alley behind the inn.
His clothing was well-made, of good materials, but a little out of style, as befitting a prosperous merchant or craftsman from one of the farther or more rustic reaches of the kingdom. Good thick boots with a significant amount of scuffing and wear to the tops suggested that he was used to doing a great deal of walking in rough country. Leather breeches with little wear on the seat but a great deal to the legs and knees added to that impression. His heavy wool cape with an attached hood was significantly old-fashioned, though the material was very good, and it was lined with lambswool plush, which was quite a luxurious fabric. Beneath the cape was a knit woolen tunic that went down to his calves—also significantly out of fashion, for it should have been (but was not) worn with a sleeveless leather or cord-ware jerkin if he’d been living in Haven for any length of time. All of this gear looked home-made rather than tailor-made, and every bit of it made him look rustic.