He swung up into the saddle. The stallion arched its neck and took a few quick steps. In spite of the long trip to Yurt which had left the other horses lathered, the stallion seemed nearly fresh. Paul brought him around, the horse answering instantly to the reins. Then, reluctantly, the prince slid back to the ground. “You’ve just been riding him rapidly, and I don’t want to push him, even though I can tell he’s ready to go again. Thank you!” It was going to be hard after all for the young chaplain to incorporate Paul into his “conspiracy.”
“I thank you too,” said the queen to Vincent, her emerald eyes dancing with delight although she managed to keep her manner sober. “You have done my son a signal honor. Now, would you enter my castle?”
I watched jealously to make sure they weren’t holding hands, but they walked side-by-side in perfect dignity across the drawbridge and through the castle gates. Stable boys came to take the horses, although Paul took charge of the stallion himself, and the constable directed our new guests to their quarters. I lingered outside the castle for a moment, looking across the green hills of Yurt, wondering if the queen had secretly loved Vincent for years as I was sure he must always have loved her, or if her feelings were only a product of a few short weeks of courtship while I was not there to stop it.
When I looked into the great hall a few minutes later, to see Vincent and the queen finishing arranging vases of roses, she motioned me over, smiling with a tenderness I knew was not meant for me. “Vincent, I’m sure you remember our Royal Wizard.”
“Of course, though it’s been several years,” he said. “You performed some really spectacular illusions after dinner.” Flattery was not about to win me, but I nodded my head. For the queen’s sake I had to be polite. At least if he thought all wizards were plotting to take over the western kingdoms, he was too well-bred to say so.
“You’ve been in the City, I understand?” he went on. “You missed what I gather has been the talk of Yurt, our whirlwind courtship!”
“Don’t make it sound too rapid,” said the queen with a laugh. “We had after all known each other for years, and it was scarcely my fault when I invited you to stay for a week that you stayed for eight!”
“And even so, when I left three weeks ago you still wouldn’t say you’d marry me.”
The queen laughed again. “I waited a week before I telephoned him to say Yes, and I still told him he couldn’t come back right away. Do you think me very heartless, Wizard?”
“Entirely heartless,” I agreed. I was sure the fact of their eight-week courtship was accurate; they wouldn’t tell me something anyone might contradict. But I wondered why they should go out of their way to tell me, when it was none of my business, that the queen had initially hesitated to accept Vincent’s proposal, and why they should do so in a manner so ostentatiously cheerful, affectionate, and in perfect dignity.
Were they trying to distract me from why Vincent had left and why he had come back now? Was it accidental that the queen had invited Vincent to visit shortly after I had left for the City? Had something happened during those eight weeks he was here, something they hoped was hidden from everyone else and they didn’t want me to look for? Then I had to smile at myself. Now I was developing an “impure mind.”
“We want you to know,” the queen continued, “that you’ll continue to be a valuable part of Yurt even after Paul becomes king and Vincent and I are married. We wouldn’t dream of getting rid of our Royal Wizard.”
This came as a serious shock. I had certainly never dreamed of this. That she would even bring it up meant that they had indeed considered it.
Though my first reaction was horror at realizing how close I had come to having to leave Yurt and join the Romneys, my second thought was to wonder why Vincent-he must be responsible-wanted to get rid of me. Was their cheerful unanimity a mask for severe disagreements, of which the question of whether to fire the wizard was only one? If so, the queen had apparently won this round, but might she lose the next?
“I thank you, my lady, my lord,” I managed to say and retreated before they could spring any more devastating surprises.
The decorations were for the dance the queen had planned in Vincent’s honor, and in the late afternoon I could hear from my study the brass choir being tuned. Reluctantly I was drawn back to the hall; I had always liked the royal musicians’ playing.
In spite of several suggestions from the ladies of the court, most playful, some even serious, that I join in, I sat obstinately in the balcony and watched. Even Paul was dancing, leading around women his mother’s age with charming grace.
The queen and Vincent led every dance. The last of the sunlight, the flickering fire, and the glow from the magic lamps made the room bright as though the dancers themselves were filled with light. Vincent really was younger than the queen, maybe ten years younger rather than the five that Paul had guessed.
But there was nothing about him to support Paul’s suspicion that he wanted the queen’s kingdom rather than her person. He had his eyes on her constantly as she turned in the intricate steps of the dance, with an open affection that was almost too personal to watch. Even though for the most part her own expression was amused or even mocking, he several times said something in her ear that turned her laugh into a smile of undisguised pleasure.
They were only a couple in love, I told myself, and their unanimity, their cheerful picking up of each other’s lines, did not show any plotting or planning but only how closely their minds and spirits were intertwined. I only wished I believed it.
IV
In the morning I heard from my chambers the clatter of horses being brought from the stables. A surreptitious glance out the window confirmed that the queen and Vincent were going hawking. I would stay in my study, I decided, until they were gone.
I was leafing through the third volume of the Arcana, looking for spells that might help the cathedral keep fairy lights off their new tower, when there was a knock on the door. “Come in!” I called, assuming it was the kitchen maid come to get my breakfast tray.
But the door burst open with a bang that the kitchen maid would never dare. I swung around to see my doorway blocked by a dark form, silhouetted beyond recognition by sunlight outside. But unmistakable was the naked sword it held.
I didn’t even think. Two words in the Hidden Language and the figure staggered; three more and the sword clattered to the flagstones while the figure dropped as though hit with a plank. I strode across the room to retrieve the sword, then turned to see who had unwisely tried to attack a wizard.
It was Vincent. He sat up and tenderly felt his ribs. “I guess there’s nothing broken,” he said and gave me a rueful smile. “Help me up?”
I took the proffered hand and pulled him to his feet, but I held onto his sword.
“I’m sorry!” he said with apparently real penitence. “I was going to ask if you wanted to come hunting, and I thought it would be fun to pretend to attack you-just a joke, you realize, just to show you a trained warrior’s power! I had no idea you’d react like that.”
“Wizards always react rapidly,” I told him sternly. “Suppose a trained warrior burst into your room. Wouldn’t you draw your sword first and inquire who it might be afterwards?”
“I guess I’m lucky you didn’t kill me, in that case,” he said cheerfully, brushing himself off. “After my brother’s experiences, I should have known better! Let me have my sword back, and I’ll certainly never try a joke like that on a wizard again. Now that I’m here, do you want to go hunting?”
I handed him his sword since I could think of no excuse to keep it. “Thank you for the offer,” I said, more sternly than ever, “but I need to spend the day in the perusal of my magic spells.” What could Vincent mean by his brother’s experiences?