These two, in truth, love each other dearly. A marriage of convenience, planted in the muck of years of hatred, has blossomed into mutual respect and affection. But each knows that the flower will wither and die untimely, unless they can keep control of their followers.
Thus each pretends to hate what each most dearly values—the other. They quarrel loudly in public, cling to each other most fondly in private. Thinking the marriage and therefore the alliance is crumbling, the members of each opposing faction whisper their intrigues to king and queen openly, not realizing that these two are—in reality—one. Thus Stephen and Anne have been able to control and put out blazes that might have consumed their kingdom. But now there is a new problem—Bane. And what we are to do about him is beyond me to figure out. I am afraid for the mensch, though. Afraid for them all. The problem had been solved.[47] Bane had disappeared, purportedly carried off to a faraway realm by a man with blue skin—at least such had been the vague report given King Stephen by Bane’s real mother, Iridal of the High Realms.
Queen Anne became pregnant again, and was safely delivered of a baby girl. The child was princess of Ulyndia and, though the crown of Volkaran could not now, by law, be given into female hands, laws had a way of changing over the years, especially if Stephen did not father any sons. King and queen both adored their daughter. Magi of the Third House were hired to stand guard day and night to make certain that this time no strange, fey changeling appeared in the cradle.
Also, during this momentous year, the rebellion of the Gegs of the Lower Realms further weakened the elves, depleted their forces. Stephen’s armies had managed to push the elves from their last toehold on the outlying islands of Volkaran.
An elven dragonship loaded with water had just fallen into human hands. The water harvest had been good this year. Stephen had been able to call off water rationing, which pleased the people. The quarreling factions—for the most part—thought well of each other, and the fights that broke out among them now were of the good-natured variety, resulting in bloody noses, not bloody knives.
“I am even beginning to think seriously, my dear, of telling the world that I love you,” said Stephen, leaning over his wife’s shoulder to make faces at the baby.
“Don’t go too far,” said Anne. “I’ve rather come to enjoy our public bickering. I think it’s good for us. Whenever I do get truly mad at you, I put all my anger into the next mock battle, and I feel much better. Oh, Stephen, what a dreadful face! You’ll frighten her.”
The baby, however, laughed in delight and reached out a hand to try to grab the king’s graying beard.
“So, all these years, you’ve actually meant those terrible things you said to me!” Stephen teased.
“I hope your face freezes like that. It would serve you right! Isn’t he an ugly papa?” Anne said to the baby. “Why don’t you fly up and attack such an ugly papa. There, my little dragon. Fly to Papa.”
Lifting the baby, Anne “flew” the child at Stephen, who caught hold of his daughter and tossed her lightly in the air. The baby laughed and crowed and tried again to grasp hold of the man’s beard.
The three were in the nursery, enjoying a brief and precious time together. Such moments were all too rare for the royal family, and the man who stood in the doorway stopped to watch, a sad and regretful smile on his lips. The moment would end. He, himself, would end it. But he paused to enjoy the extra few seconds of unclouded happiness that he must snatch away. Perhaps Stephen felt the shadow of the cloud pass over him. The visitor had made no sound, but the king was aware of his presence. Trian—king’s magus—and Trian alone had permission to open doors without knocking, without being announced. Stephen looked up, saw the wizard standing in the doorway. The king smiled at the sight and started to make some jest, but the expression on Trian’s face was more frightening than those Stephen had been making to entertain his tiny daughter. The king’s smile faded and grew cold. Anne, who had been fondly watching her husband and child play together, saw his brow darken, glanced over her shoulder in alarm. At the sight of Trian, the queen rose to her feet.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
Trian cast a swift glance from beneath lowered lashes back into the hallway, made a slight gesture with his hand to indicate that people were in earshot.
“A messenger has arrived from Baron Fitzwarren, Your Majesty,” the magus said loudly. “A minor skirmish with the elves at Kurinandistai, I believe, I am truly sorry to draw Your Majesties away from more pleasant pursuits, but you both know the baron.”
They both did indeed know the baron, having received a report from him only that morning stating that he hadn’t seen an elf for weeks, complaining bitterly about the inaction—which was bad for discipline—and asking for permission to go chasing elven dragonships.
“Fitzwarren is a hothead,” said Stephen, taking his cue. He handed his daughter to the nursemaid, who had entered at a summons from Trian. “One of your cousins, my Queen. A Ulyndian.” This said with a sneer.
“He’s a man who won’t run away from a fight, which is more than I can say for the men of Volkaran,” answered Anne with spirit, though her face was pale. Trian gave the gentle and long-suffering sigh of one who would like to administer a good caning to spoiled children, but who is not permitted to do so. “If Your Majesties would both be so good as to hear the messenger’s report. He is in my study. Fitzwarren has asked for a charm to protect against frostbite. I will prepare it, while Your Majesties interview the messenger. That will save time.”
A meeting in Trian’s study. The king and queen exchanged unhappy glances. Anne pressed her lips together tightly, placed chill fingers in her husband’s hand. Stephen frowned, escorted his wife down the hallway.
Trian’s study was the only room in the castle where the three could meet in private, be certain that their conversation would not be overheard. The castle was a breeding ground for intrigue and gossip. Half the servants were in the pay of one baron or another. The other half passed on their information for free.
Located in a light and airy turret room, the wizard’s study was far removed from the noise and rowdiness of the boisterous castle life. Trian was fond of revels himself. His youthful good looks and charming manner ensured that, though unmarried, he rarely spent a night in bed alone, unless he wanted. No one in the kingdom could dance with such grace, and many a noble would have given untold sums to know the magus’s secret for imbibing large quantities of wine and never showing the slightest ill effect.
But though Trian might revel through the night, he was serious and intent on the business of assisting to run the kingdom during the day. He was completely, totally, devotedly loyal to his king and queen, loved them both as friends, respected them as his rulers. He knew their every secret and could have made his fortune ten times over by selling out one or the other. He would have as soon jumped into the Maelstrom. And though he was twenty years younger than Stephen, Trian was councillor, adviser, minister, and mentor to the older man.
Entering the wizard’s study, king and queen discovered two people waiting for them there. One—a man—they did not know, though he seemed vaguely familiar. The other—a woman—they knew by sight, and, at the sight of her, the cloud that had covered them grew thicker and darker.
The woman rose and made respectful reverence to Their Majesties. Stephen and Anne returned the bow with respect on their side, for though the woman and her followers had acknowledged the two as king and queen, the bond forged was an uneasy one. It is difficult ruling those who are far more powerful than oneself and who could, with a whispered word, bring one’s castle tumbling down about one’s ears.
“You know the Lady Iridal, I believe, Your Majesty,” said Trian unnecessarily, gently endeavoring to set everyone at ease before he let loose the blast that would shatter their lives.
47
Bane’s story is told in full in