Alanna’s heart skipped a beat. The Dragon did not have to wear dark colors or pale grays or lavenders of mourning for Lianne and Roald. He was magnificent in blue-violet satin over silvery shirt and hose. His hair flamed in contrast.
“It isn’t fair of you to look so good!” she hissed.
“I could say the same about you. You think I don’t have regrets about us breaking it off?” His eyes were the bright aqua he seemed to reserve just for her. “When you’re queen of Tortall, you’ll thank me.”
She was opening her mouth to say, “I’m not going to be queen,” when Gary joined them. “Liam Ironarm? I’m Gareth—Gary—the Younger of Naxen. My father’s Prime Minister. Can you tell me about Shang?” He put his arm through Liam’s and walked him away, calling, “I’ll talk to you later, Alanna.”
Timon, once Duke Gareth’s personal manservant, now chief of the palace footmen, arrived looking harassed. Gary bade a swift farewell and went to stand by the throne. Timon nodded to Myles, who took Eleni’s arm. “You’re worth any of them, Mistress Cooper,” Alanna heard him whisper. The chief herald bowed and opened half of the great door, admitting the couple.
“Am I all in one piece?” Buri wanted to know. She wore a deerskin jacket richly beaded in red and silver, tight deerskin breeches, and soft boots. She bristled with silver and black daggers; both the short and long sword were thrust in her sash. Her thick hair was tightly braided and coiled; the pins securing it were silver. She slapped black gauntlets nervously against her arm as Alanna looked her over.
The knight smiled. “You look splendid. Your mother and brother will be proud.”
“We are proud,” Liam added. The herald beckoned to him. He drew a breath. “Shang Masters, I hate this kind of thing.” Leaving the two women staring in astonishment, he went through the open door.
Buri poked Alanna’s arm. Thayet had emerged from the robing room. Alanna’s voice caught in her throat as the princess tried to smile. “Do I look all right?”
Her hair was a mass of ringlets cascading from crown to shoulders. Her hazel eyes were big against her creamy skin, her lips crimson. Her flame-red gown left shoulders and an expanse of bosom glowing against the muslin, then blossomed into a wide skirt. Rubies set in lacy gold shimmered in her hair and against her neck.
The chief herald stared at Thayet too, stunned. “Don’t ask me,” Alanna grinned. “He’s seen all the beauties come and go. He told me they didn’t impress him anymore.”
Thayet looked curiously at the chief herald; he bowed to her, as deeply as he would to a king. “Princess, may you always grace our halls,” he said with feeling.
Both doors at the head of the stair swung open. The silence in the crowded ballroom was abrupt: Both doors were used only for visiting royalty. The herald walked to the head of the stair; he struck his iron-shod staff three times on the floor.
“Her most Royal Highness, Princess Thayet jian Wilima of Sarain, Duchess of Camau and Thanhyien.” Alanna walked forward with Thayet on her arm. “Sir Alanna of Trebond and Olau, Knight of the Realm of Tortall. Buriram Tourakom of the K’miri Hau Ma.”
Jonathan rose, watching them. The awestruck look on his face was all Alanna needed to see. She gave herself a pat on the back for an idea well conceived. Thayet descended the stair as if she were floating, her face impassive. Only her tight, somewhat damp grip on Alanna’s arm revealed the state of her nerves. Jonathan walked down the scarlet runner between door and throne, to meet them in the ballroom’s center.
Alanna gently withdrew her arm from Thayet’s clutch, letting the princess walk the few steps to Jon alone. The king-to-be embraced Thayet gently and kissed her on both cheeks. “Cousin, welcome,” he said, using the form of address common to royalty. “We regret the sad event that drove you from your home.”
“Thank you, your Majesty.” Thayet’s gaze was stern; plainly—to Alanna—she was trying to remind Jon of her wish to become a private subject.
Jonathan ignored the hint. “Until such time as peace returns to Sarain, know that Tortall is your home.” Offering Thayet his arm, he led her to the chair placed for her just below his own. She sat gracefully, her skirts settling around her feet in a perfect fan. Buri took up her station at her side. No one knew who began it, but a patter of applause turned into a roar of enthusiasm. In Sarain she was the female who should have been a male heir; the Tortallan courtiers accepted Thayet for herself.
George also enjoyed Thayet’s entrance, but he was not blind to her companions. He nodded his approval to Buri. And he was acutely aware of Alanna from the moment she appeared. In her dark gray and black, she was elegant and somber; her hair and eyes blazed. No one could miss the sword belted at her waist. Beneath one arm she carried a box not much bigger than her fist.
Remembering his disguise as a stern-faced Bazhir, George defeated the urge to beam like a proud lover. She’s done it, he thought. My darlin’s made them pay attention and dance to her tune. And I thought only common-born knew how to do that.
Waiting for the applause to quiet, Alanna looked around. Even in his disguise she knew George. She bit back a grin—she should’ve known he’d come!—and winked at him, enjoying the approval in his eyes.
Behave, Faithful scolded. You have business to take care of!
The noise was finally dying. Jonathan nodded. “Sir Alanna, come forward.”
She continued down the carpet, hand on sword hilt, Faithful beside her. Thayet smiled encouragingly as Alanna knelt before Jonathan.
“Your Majesty.” She drew Lightning and laid it on the step at his feet, in token of her allegiance. “This I swear: to serve you and your heirs with all I possess, in the Mother’s name.” Taking the box in both hands, she flipped it open. The Jewel lay on a black velvet bed. She held it up to him. “I bring you the fruit of my traveling, Majesty—the Dominion Jewel.”
Jonathan reached for it as total silence fell. The moment his fingers touched the Jewel, it flared into life, blazing like a small sun in his hand. Jonathan held it aloft, and first one courtier, then another, knelt, until everyone but Jonathan and Thayet was kneeling.
“We thank you, Sir Alanna.” His voice was audible in every corner of the room. “And we praise the gods for sending us this Jewel—and our Lioness—in this time of need.”
7
PERIOD OF MOURNING
THE NEXT MORNING JONATHAN CALLED A MEETING of his most trusted advisors: Myles, Gary, the Provost, Duke Gareth, Duke Baird, Raoul, and Alanna. Feeling uneasy, Alanna went. In the last year she’d grown more used to taking action than to sitting in meetings. Also, she was unsure of her place in such a gathering. She was a knight; all the others had great responsibilities or wisdom, like Myles. She didn’t even hold a large fief.
Arriving early, she found the king-to-be in his small council chamber. He rose and kissed her cheek. “Thank you for coming,” he said. “I hate to plunge into things just when you’ve come home, but we have a great deal to do.” As she took a seat a little way down the table from him, he asked, “Have you given some thought to the place you’ll hold in my reign?”
Alanna was startled by the question. “What place—? I never thought that I’d hold any place, not really. Although it would be nice to have something to do,” she admitted. “I like roaming around, but I like it far better when I have a purpose. Maybe Liam is happy wandering from country to country like the wind. I feel as if I’m a sort of weapon, but a weapon must have someone to wield it, or it just lies around rusting.” She grinned, suddenly embarrassed. “Listen to me. Next thing you know I’ll start sounding like our old philosophy master.”