“I’m doomed to be an old maid,” she told Faithful mournfully, surveying her image in a looking-glass the morning of the festival.
There was a time when you wanted to be a spinster, he reminded her as he washed his glossy fur. A warrior maiden, with no one to tie her down—
“Oh, shut up,” she said crossly. “Must I have everything I said as a girl thrown back in my face?”
You seemed positive, the cat taunted her wickedly.
A serving girl peered in. “Excuse me, your ladyship, but the king says, if you’re awake, will you come down? He’s in his lordship’s library.”
Alanna tugged on one of the new gowns, listening with enjoyment to the rustle of lilac silk as she tugged a brush through her waving hair. She put on slippers as she went downstairs, nearly killing herself by hopping first on one foot, then the other. While she knew Jon rose quite early, it was rare for him to leave the palace at this hour: He must have an important errand.
“Hello,” he greeted her as she rushed into the library. “That’s a pretty dress. Are you wearing it for anyone in particular?”
“Yes,” she snapped. “Myself.”
“Ouch. You should be nicer to your king, my Champion.”
“No I shouldn’t,” retorted Alanna. “Duke Gareth says the Champion must always be honest, even when others lack the courage.”
Jon smiled ruefully. “Lacking the courage to speak out has never been one of your problems, I admit.”
She looked him over with some concern. “Are you taking proper care of yourself—eating right, getting your sleep? It won’t do for you to fall ill for your own coronation.”
“I’ll be fine. I’ve been up late the last week or so, working with the Jewel.”
“How is that going?”
Jonathan smiled. “Very well. Thom has been a great help, finding spells and writing new ones for the Jewel. Its power can be limitless, if you know how to use it.” He sighed. “That’s a temptation I’ll always have to fight. The minute I start relying on the Jewel to rule is the minute I court disaster. There’s no substitute for a human touch.”
“Do you always think like this?” she wanted to know. “Or do you rest sometimes and think about ordinary things with the rest of us?” She couldn’t tell him that she was in awe of him when he spoke of such things. If ever a man was born to be king, it’s Jon, she thought.
“Of course I do,” he replied tartly. “There are plenty of ordinary things for me to think about—the future, and love, and—” He stopped, turning red.
“How are things with you and Thayet?” Alanna inquired, interested.
Jonathan scrubbed his face with his hands. “Baffling.” He sighed. “I don’t know if she goes riding with me to be polite, or because she likes my company—”
“Good,” his Champion said. “You’re too sure of yourself with women. It won’t hurt for you to have to struggle a little.”
Jon picked up Faithful and smoothed the cat’s fur. “Thank you, dearest Alanna. I knew I could depend on you to salve my wounded pride.”
“You always take care of your own pride,” she reminded him. “You’ve never needed me for that. By the way, what do you need me for this morning? Or are you here for the conversation?”
He shook his head. “I’m here for a talk with George—who is late. I thought your presence might smooth things.”
“You aren’t angry with George, are you?” she asked, concerned.
“Quite the opposite.”
The subject of their conversation strolled in, mussed and sweat-streaked. “Sorry I’m late,” he told Jonathan, collapsing into a big armchair. “I had a bit of a scuffle with some hotheads. Nothing serious, but it delayed me.” Alanna poured George a cup of the fruit juice left on Myles’s desk by the servants. He accepted it with a murmured word of thanks, and drained it. She poured him another, checking him for wounds from beneath lowered lashes.
He still knew what she was doing. “I’m all in one piece, lass,” he grinned. “Never tell me you were worried.”
Alanna scowled, prodded by his mocking tone. “I wasn’t,” she retorted.
George winked at her. “That’s my girl!”
Jonathan opened a manuscript case that lay on the desk before him and drew out two scrolls, both adorned with heavy seals and tied up with royal blue ribbons. “Enough squabbling, you two.” He passed the first to George. Alanna noted the flowing writing was a court scribe’s and not Jonathan’s precise hand.
George read for only a moment before he stood and tossed the parchment on the desk. His mouth was tight with anger, his face white. “A royal pardon! What d’you take me for, Majesty?” His big hands were clenched. “You’ve had fun with the lowborn, and now you’ll throw me a bauble as a reward? I want no charity, Jonathan!”
Alanna forced herself to sit, gritting her teeth. She could not interfere.
Jonathan refused to be provoked. “I’m not charitable,” he said coolly. “My father was. Now the results of … certain of his charities threaten this kingdom. I wish he had been more just and less kind.”
He leaned back. “You were the best teacher I had. Must I list what you made me learn? The reaches of men’s trickery. Making even those who mistrust me follow where I lead. The extent of human greed. The things that can’t be bought. The need for ruthlessness. The ability to recognize—and trust—loyalty.” Jon smiled grimly. “I’ve often wondered—would I have survived the Ordeal of the Voice, if you hadn’t taken me under your wing?”
He tapped the pardon. “‘The teacher earns his wage,’” he quoted. “But it’s more than that. This is to prevent the day when I have to sign a writ for your execution.”
George went to the bookshelves, staring at them. “You needn’t go so far. I’ve lost my taste for the Rogue. I’ll leave Tortall, settle elsewhere.”
When Alanna would have started forward, Jon gripped her arm, keeping her beside him. “Must you desert me when I need you?” he asked the thief. “Never again will I have any freedom. And our hero is easily recognized, which limits her movements.” He smiled at Alanna and let her go. She stayed where she was, tense.
Jon continued, “I need someone unusual to serve as my confidential agent. I’d trust such an agent implicitly. He must be clever and unorthodox, someone who could venture among all classes without trouble.”
George looked at Jon, his face unreadable. “What’s t’other writ, then?”
“A grant of nobility and the title of baron. The deeds go to the lands and incomes traditionally belonging to the lord of Pirate’s Swoop, a day’s ride south of Port Caynn.”
“I know where the Swoop is,” George snapped. “Why? Why must you go and make me respectable?”
“A confidential agent needs a home and income,” was the simple reply. “His comings and goings, particularly at court, cannot be remarked upon, which means he must be a noble.”
“I want to travel, Jon. Before I’m old and know nothin’ but the Rogue.”
Jonathan smiled dryly. “Is life here so dull that you two think of nothing but roaming? Never mind. I need you to travel. I have to know what’s outside my borders, too.” He let George think for a few moments before adding softly, “I can’t do this alone. Say you will.” Both Alanna and George heard the real pleading in his voice when he added, “Please.”