“Thank you, my lord,” the Seneschal said.
Kieri turned back to the palace, and went inside, flanked now by the King’s Squire. His stomach growled suddenly and he realized he had spent half the morning in the ossuary. Lunch should be ready …
The small dining room’s table was centered with flowers, and a nosegay of flowers and herbs lay beside every plate. Kieri looked at the steward, brows raised.
“The ceremony, my lord. Marks the end of the mourning period.”
Around the table, those he’d asked to come in for the afternoon’s work waited for him to begin, so he helped himself to cheese and bread and pickles. A jar of his favorite chutney sat beside his plate; none of his staff had yet acquired a taste for it, spiced as it was with southern peppers. When all had finished, the servants cleared the table.
“So now we have your coronation, my lord,” said Sier Halveric. “I brought the plans …” He handed over a sheet of parchment with the order of ceremony, the list of participants and invited guests, and another with the supplies, and finally the total cost.
Kieri read both carefully, while the others waited, chatting quietly among themselves. His mother’s mother, the elven Lady of the Ladysforest, from whom the humans of Lyonya held their rights to the land, and who ruled the elvenhome kingdom, would be a participant. Halveric had left spaces for the names of her attendants. The Captain-General of Falk, the members of the Council, all had roles in the ceremony. So did Paksenarrion, who had found and brought him. The main part of the ceremony would take place in the King’s Grove, not in the palace or its grounds—that did not surprise him, not after the time he’d spent here. Nor did the presentation of the new king to the bones below, including another visit to the previous king’s grave.
A procession through and around the city … a feast for all who came … that was the greatest cost to the Crown. Kieri had specified that no one else need wear new clothes, and the ceremonial banners of the previous king’s reign—used so seldom—could be reused. The cost lay well within the amount he had given Halveric.
“This is excellently done,” he said finally, looking up at Halveric. “I am surprised you managed the cost of so large a feast so well …”
Halveric flushed a little. “Your elven relatives, my lord, offered to share the cost and pledged half the feast.”
“Even so,” Kieri said. “It is excellently done and I appreciate your efforts. Now—have we heard from foreign guests?”
“I have heard from Tsaia—under the circumstances, they cannot risk the crown prince, but an envoy will come. Prealíth and Kostandan will send envoys as well. We have heard nothing from Pargun, as expected, since we did not invite them.”
“If they come in peace,” Kieri said, “we will be polite. If they sulk at home, so much the better.”
“If it were up to me, I’d build river forts against invasion, but most on the Council don’t agree.” Halveric kept his voice low.
“So … is it the elves who set the people against defense? Is it their enchantment?”
Halveric shrugged and spread his hands. “Truth be told, we don’t ask things like that. Aliam tells me war is brutal and he hopes there’s never another war this side of the mountains … and he makes his living by it, as did you. He says those of us who want to arm against Pargun don’t know what we’re asking for.” He looked at Kieri expectantly.
“He’s right that war destroys … can destroy everything.” The memory of that last campaign in Aarenis came to him again, barren fields sprouting bones, burning cities, once-prosperous villages sacked and their populations scattered, to beg along the roads. He wrenched his mind back to the present. “I profited by war, Sier Halveric, because it existed, not because I thought it good.” All but that one year, when a rage for vengeance had driven him past all reason. “Like Aliam, I would not see here what I saw in Aarenis—or for that matter in my own lands in Tsaia, when the Pargunese or the orcs attacked and good people died. And yet, unlike the elves, I am more willing to recognize the reality of intractable conflict, and use force when nothing else will serve. I would appreciate your assessment of any strategic dangers. Or those of anyone else who has studied these things.”
Halveric nodded sharply. “So I had hoped, my lord king. So I had hoped. I have no fear or hatred of the Sinyi, and indeed some Sinyi blood runs in our veins, but I worry about the security of the realm on several accounts. We cannot trust in elven powers alone—your mother’s death and your captivity prove that, if incursions from Tsaia, through Verrakai lands, and threats from Pargun, were not enough.”
“We will talk again in a few days,” Kieri said. “For now, we have my cohort of trained troops, should anything happen before the coronation. I would appreciate your assessment of what other defensive measures we could take.”
Halveric bowed, and took back his lists. The rest of that meeting, as the others discussed the coronation plans and which of their relatives were coming to Chaya, Kieri’s thoughts wandered to Tsaia and his stronghold. Arcolin should have been to Vérella by now. Would the Regency Council have taken his advice and given Arcolin the North Marches? Would he have taken a contract? He might be on the road to Aarenis. And why had no courier come from Vérella, to let him know what was happening? Surely they realized he needed to know how things stood with the Verrakaien.
As if in answer to that thought, Garris stepped into the room, escorting a man in Tsaian colors. “Sir King—a courier with urgent messages from Tsaia.”
Kieri’s glance cleared the room. The courier handed over a dispatch case. Kieri opened it and unrolled a scroll tied with rose and white ribbons and sealed with the royal seal.
To my Brother Sovereign, Kieri Phelan of Lyonya, with all hopes for Your health and welfare, from Mikeli Mahieran, Crown Prince and Ruler-elect of Tsaia, greetings …
Kieri read with growing alarm of the attempted assassinations, the deaths of Duke Verrakai and his brother, the Order of Attainder on the Verrakaien as a whole and those in the immediate family of Konhalt, the unsettled state of the eastern half of the realm.
For this reason, the Regency Council acceded to your request that Jandelir Arcolin be made lord of the North Marches, despite his foreign birth. He has gone south with a single cohort, leaving behind loyal troops on which We can call if it becomes necessary. We will also need those troops you now have in Lyonya and their captain, unless it is necessary for you to retain them. I am sending a courier to their captain, as well.
Kieri frowned. A single cohort in Aarenis—that would be hard to manage, unless Arcolin took along extra support staff. Had he thought to do that? Then he shook his head. Arcolin was no longer his concern. His concern was here and now: Lyonya’s west border and the Verrakai. They had recently lost a battle—how much had that degraded their ability to attack? Dorrin’s cohort was all he had—if he gave that up and sent her back to Tsaia, he’d have no real troops so far as he knew. He wondered if Aliam Halveric’s company had left for Aarenis yet. And how many forest rangers were there? Who commanded them?
He asked Garris to find Sier Halveric. Halveric came back into the room looking worried.
“Here’s the word from Tsaia,” Kieri said, handing him the letter. “I wanted to talk to you before telling the whole Council, since you seem to have more grasp of our defensive situation. What forces do we have, to oppose the kinds of trouble you think likely?”
Halveric ticked them off on his fingers. “Our forest rangers, to the number of perhaps a thousand. Not many, to cover the entire realm, but the greatest number are deployed along the western border. They operate in small groups—mostly a hand or so, rarely more than three hands unless one calls for help—”