But then he focused on her, tall and russet-haired, looking at him from sober eyes rimmed dark with weariness.
She had imagined coming home many times in ten years. At first she had pictured her father picking her up and tossing her over his head in joy, laughing and teasing and telling her it was all a horrible mistake and he was so glad to see her safe. Later, she had imagined herself telling him scornfully what she thought of a man who would let his own daughter go to the court of the enemy, perhaps to be cherished but more likely to be made into the lowest kitchen slut. But she had not expected the hall to be more familiar to her than her father.
The very stones of the wall seemed to rush at her like the faeys, laughing with delight to see her again. When she turned to the man who was too short and too old truly to be her father, she had to force herself from beginning her greeting by saying, “You’ve moved the high throne to the other side of the hall.”
Instead she bowed formally to him and offered him her hand. He was wearing black, mourning that contrasted with her own jewelry and brightly embroidered garments.
“I am- I am glad to see you again, Karin,” he said. His voice came out half-choked. “By the Wanderers, you look like your mother.” He paused for a moment, then found his voice again. “We have put your brother-your brothers-into the same burial mound as your mother. Before you leave again, we can go there together if you wish to burn an offering.”
“I have brought her home, Kardan,” King Hadros said behind her. “You will find her as pure a maiden as when you first sent her to me.” She stiffened for a second, consciously trying to keep any expression from her face. “After more than ten years of peace between our kingdoms, our warriors have forgotten how to make war.” He held up a piece of parchment, dangling with seals, then crushed it and threw it into the hearth. “I remit you the tribute from this year forth, and I send you back your hostage.”
And suddenly it was as she had imagined ten years ago it would be, crushed in her father’s arms while he laughed with joy and kissed her. She kissed him back enthusiastically, feeling tears at the corners of her eyes. All at once, beyond expectation, she was home and safe.
But if she was not going back to Hadros’s castle, who would direct his household, whom would the faeys try to tame in her place, and what would Roric think when he came back again?
“So- You mean I am to stay here?” she asked King Hadros, turning in her father’s embrace. As she turned she realized that he had not said one word of regret or apology for sending her away.
“That is what I said, little princess,” Hadros said with a smile. “Acquaint yourself with your kingdom before you come to rule it. And that other matter-the matter of which we spoke-there is no haste for you to decide. Your dower chest will be safe for now in my castle. But accompany your father to the All-Gemot next year, and I shall bring Valmar with me again, and perhaps then we can reach an agreement.”
King Kardan lifted one eyebrow at her, but she shook her head. Valmar, she was quite sure, had no idea of any of this. For a second she wondered wildly if the rider with no back had been summoned by Hadros himself, to take Roric away permanently, and if he hoped that here, away from his castle with all its associations, she would quickly forget him.
Well, he might hope she would forget Roric, but she did not think any mortal king could make the Wanderers do his will. She gave Hadros a long look, not wanting to insult him and certainly not wanting to agree. “I shall consider,” she said gravely, “but I fear my answer will remain the same.”
They had not realized here any more than she had that Hadros intended to bring her home for good. The maids ran about madly preparing a suitable place, finally putting a bed for her in her mother’s old private parlor, off the royal bedchamber.
Karin lay between linen sheets, under a green brocade coverlet, her eyes open in the dark. She thought that they all acted as though treating her with the respect due the heiress to the kingdom would make up for the last ten years.
Here were no cupboard beds, and she could hear the sound of no one else’s breathing. The horsehair mattress felt hard and awkward to someone who had slept for years on rye straw. Her pillow was small, not the large pillow stuffed with goose down she had plucked herself. Though one wall of the room backed up to the fireplace in the royal chamber, she had no fire, no coals to wink at her in the dark.
She thought over what Queen Arane had said that afternoon, and as she considered it King Hadros’s castle seemed simple, comfortable, even welcoming. The faeys, she remembered, had told her that queens had to deal with upsetting things every day.
And without the fogged perception through which she had gone the last ten days, she could also think about Roric clearly. She had not been able to ask him-and now perhaps never would-if he knew why the Wanderers wanted him. Hadros had spoken truly that the Wanderers did not appear to mortals except in the oldest tales. Even if the faeys were right, the housecarls’ story-which had taken on additional wild embellishments each time it was told-was not the story of a Wanderer.
What could a mortal do against beings like that, armed only with his own strength and a little bone charm? And where could he possibly be now? But Roric was indubitably gone, and since he had been gone for days already without a word, he might well be gone forever.
Suppose she was carrying his child? She had not really considered the matter before-first they had assumed they would soon be wed, and then she had been too worried for his safety, even before her life had passed into a fevered dream. But she had thought of it when Hadros told her father she was coming home a pure maiden. Would her father reopen the war himself if her waist began to thicken?
She put her hands on her stomach. It felt the same as it always did, except perhaps a little uneasy. But even worse might be to lose Roric and not even have his child.
And in the meantime, what could she possibly do with herself tomorrow morning? She could not relieve her tension with weaving, would not have the milking and churning and brewing and sewing to keep her stepping. She put an arm across her eyes and gritted her teeth, homesick as she had not been since she left this very castle.
3
Valmar slipped away from the All-Gemot.
He had often attended the royal Gemot back home, held four times a year, but he had expected the conclave of the Fifty Kings to be different. To his disappointment, the proceedings within the cords that marked the Gemot-field were very similar, whether accusations were made, sworn testimony given, or evidence-a bloodstained cloak or a sealed agreement-handed around.
The only markedly different aspect had come at the very beginning, when the two kings new since the last All-Gemot stood forward and announced their rule, and those kings who had brought their heirs with them for the first time introduced them to the rest. King Hadros introduced Valmar, and Karin’s father showed her to all the other kings. Several of the younger ones, and several of the older ones whose heirs were reaching marriageable age, made low and appreciative comments that made Valmar frown as though they had been insults. She wore a heavy gold brocade gown slightly too big for her, and she seemed not to see him or anyone else. Once introduced, she returned to the castle with the maids and warriors who accompanied her.
But after that the All-Gemot was very much like the quarterly Gemots Valmar knew. Karin’s father, King Kardan, presided, as Valmar’s father presided at home. Even though the Gemot began at dawn, when everyone was sober and most men still sluggish, there was the normal arguing and shouting. Men leaped at each other, reaching where their swords should be except that no one was allowed weapons within the cords, and were pulled back by their friends. The most exciting part was when the conclave voted to outlaw a king who had not even attended, for killing a man secretly in a fit of jealousy according to the testimony, and then hiding the body.