“The prince’s quarters are not far from here; if you would follow me ...”
They passed rooms with tapestries that covered whole walls, and murals and frescos as colorful as a summer meadow. Clerks and courtiers and the occasional noble passed them, their heads nodding a silent greeting. They came across a section of wall made up of nothing but glass, and for a breathtaking moment the visitors could see Kestrel Bay and the lands beyond, and great Kendra sweeping out from the foreground, framed like a living painting.
Eventually the clerk stopped at a hall bisecting the corridor at right angles, turned left, and stopped again before two large double doors. He knocked and opened them, then stood aside for Marin and his party to enter.
Sendarus was surrounded by servants helping him dress; he looked like a fruit tree being attacked by a flock of birds. The prince’s back was to the door. Orkid stood at the other end of the room, gazing fixedly out a window
“Who is it?” Sendarus asked.
None of the servants recognized Marin, but quickly guessed who he must have been. They stood away from the prince so he could turn and see for himself. His face broke into a wide smile when he saw his father, but Marin put a finger to his lips, and Sendarus, puzzled, said nothing. Marin walked over to stand behind Orkid and looked over his shoulder. In the far distance he could see the highest mountains in Aman, dim and dark against the horizon.
“You miss your home?” Marin said.
Orkid nodded. “More and more.” Orkid frowned. The voice had sounded like Sendarus‘, but was deeper, richer. He looked over his shoulder and saw Marin. His jaw dropped.
“Hello, brother,” Marin said and held out his arms.
Orkid gave a cry of joy and embraced his brother, pounding him on the back. “Lord of the Mountain!” he cried. “Lord of the Mountain! I knew you would make it!”
Marin hugged back as fiercely. They separated, but still stood holding each other’s arms. “Our ship docked less than an hour ago. A storm slowed us four days out of Kendra.”
“I thought we were going to drown,” said a voice from Marin’s party.
“Amemun!” Sendarus and Orkid cried together.
The old Amanite bowed to them, sweeping back his mane of silver-white hair as he straightened. “In the flesh, no thanks to the gods of the sea.”
“Amemun exaggerates,” Marin said. “The storm was over in a day.”
“Two days,” Amemun retorted. “And I was not exaggerating.”
The two brothers still held on to each other, almost as if they were afraid if they let go they would not see each other again for another twenty years. Sendarus joined them and put a hand on his father’s shoulder.
“Well, you are safely here now.”
“Not even the gods of the sea would keep me away from your wedding,” Marin told him. Orkid let him go so he could embrace his son. “So what is she like?”
“Areava?”
“Who else, boy! Amemun has been giving me these glowing reports about her. I don’t believe any of them, of course.”
“She is glorious, father. She is the most beautiful woman in Theare. She is—”
“Enough!” Marin cried, holding up a hand. “Now you are sounding like Amemun, and one of those is quite enough, thank you.”
“This is the respect I get after decades of toiling in your father’s service,” Amemun said to the prince.
“Amemun and Sendarus speak the truth about Areava,” Orkid said. “She is exceptional.”
Marin nodded. “You, I believe,” he said. “You are so somber and level about everything that if you say this Kendran queen is exceptional, then indeed she must be someone unique.”
“You will see for yourself at the wedding this afternoon,” Sendarus said.
Marin nodded. “It will be a great culmination.”
Sendarus looked at him quizzically. “Culmination?”
“Of the love between you and Areava,” Orkid said quickly.
Marin coughed behind his hand. “Yes.”
“Where are we lodged?” Amemun asked to change the subject.
“Right here!” Sendarus said brightly. “I’ll not need these chambers after the wedding, after all. What do you think of the palace?”
“It is very spacious,” Marin said carefully.
“It is overwhelming,” Sendarus said. “I am still not used to living here.”
“Do you miss the mountains?” Marin asked.
“Yes. And the forests.” He fell quiet for a moment and then added: “The Lord of the Mountain seems very far away.”
“He is still in Aman, and still hears your prayers,” Amemun said kindly.
“He has certainly smiled on me,” Sendarus agreed, his eyes looking far away. Marin smiled with sudden pride for his son. He was slender for an Amanite, especially an Aman-ite from the royal Gravespear family, but he was young and keen and handsome and bright.
The prince shook his head impatiently. “You must want to refresh yourself after your long journey.” He turned to one of his servants and asked for hot water and perfume. The servant beetled off. “I have a large tub in the room next to this one. Where are your bags?”
“Not far behind us,” Amemun said.
“I will see they are sent in.”
Marin laughed. He turned to Orkid. “Are we being dismissed?”
“The groom has much to do before the wedding,” Orkid replied diplomatically.
Sendarus kissed his father on the cheek. “I can never dismiss you, father. You are always in my thoughts.”
Marin patted Sendarus’ cheek. “Not tonight, I think. But thank you.” He turned to his entourage. “Well, come on. We must stink like great bears before a rutting.”
Another servant led the visitors to the next room, leaving Sendarus and Orkid behind. The two men beamed at each other for a moment.
“I did not realize how much I missed him,” Orkid said.
“I know he missed you as well,” Sendarus said kindly. “You were never far from his thoughts.”
Nor the plan, Orkid thought. And now at last we both have done what we can for Aman. All else is fate.
Areava, still cold, sat on her throne wishing she was somewhere else. She felt Olio’s hand rest on her shoulder, and she turned her head to look up into his eyes. She saw they were filled with love for her and her heart lightened. She glanced to her right, where Orkid stood, and was surprised to see his face less than stern. A first for him, she thought. Did she detect a hint of a smile on the chancellor’s lips? If so, she would never tell him; he would be horrified to learn he could be as human as the rest of the court.
Before her the throne room was filled with people, most of them commoners, and as she looked at them, she could not help feeling proud to be their queen. These are my people. I serve them as they serve me. They understand. Then she glanced at the representatives of the Twenty Houses, between the throne and the throng, and could see through their forced smiles. Oh, how they wished the people did not understand. They cannot break our bond, no matter what they do.
The great doors at the end of the room reverberated with a deep boom; the sound echoed through the high space. Some of the people jumped. There was another boom, a pause, and then a third. Two guards opened the doors, and there stood Dejanus, Constable of the Royal Guard, a great oak spear in one hand. Behind him stood another ten of the Royal Guard and then the groom’s party; ten more Royal Guards brought up the rear. With a slow and measured step, Dejanus led the procession into the throne room. All eyes watched Sendarus as he came in; even his enemies admired the figure he cut in his wedding finery of dyed linen pants and a coat made from the tanned hide of a great bear. Except for a fine gold coronet inlaid with small rubies, the prince was bare-headed. As the line approached the throne itself, the guards peeled away to form a line on either side of the causeway. Dejanus stood before the queen, with Sendarus and his followers still behind.