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“I’m sure you have,” Alanna drawled, remembering how the women of the Tortallan Court always flocked around her prince.
For a while they were silent in the dark, thinking, and being content just to hold each other. Then Alanna ventured, “Jon?”
“I intend to become the Voice of the Tribes.” He stroked her hair.
Alanna sat up. “How did you know that was what I wanted to ask?”
She could feel his shrug. “I just did.”
Slowly she lay back down. “Ali Mukhtab said the ceremony is dangerous.”
“I need the power I can get from it. The Bazhir are incredible people, Alanna. Their history is as old as ours—older. And we lose too many men to the Bazhir. It will be better for everyone if they take part in Tortall, instead of tying up our armies within our own borders.”
“I’ve been happy among them,” she admitted. “I’ll be glad when they aren’t at war with our soldiers.”
“Have you been so content that you won’t consider leaving?”
Alanna stiffened, feeling wary. “I have to bring Kara and Kourrem through the Rite of Shamans before I can go. Why?”
“Once that’s done, I had hoped you would come home.”
“I doubt that the scandal over my fight with Duke Roger has died down,” she reminded him.
He silenced her with a hand over her lips. “Come as my betrothed.”
The word lay between them, growing larger and larger. Finally Alanna gasped, “Jon, I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m a scandal. I killed your cousin. For six years I was disguised as a boy—”
“I knew what you were, for most of that time.”
“You should marry a princess who’ll bring you power and gold,” she went on. “That’s your duty. And you should marry a virgin.”
“You were a virgin when we first made love.”
“No one else knows that!” she cried, frustrated. Remembering the tent’s thin walls, she lowered her voice. “They’ll say I was in bed with a whole regiment, behind your back.”
“Do you think your friends will permit that kind of talk? You have more friends at Court than you know. As to my marrying someone who will bring me power—what of you? You’re a woman knight and a Bazhir shaman. I could marry the daughter of a Bazhir chief, and not gain as much stature as I will if I marry you. Besides,” he went on, his voice suddenly hard, “I’m tired of worrying about such things. I want what I want, not just what’s good for Tortall. I’ve spent my entire life watching what I say and do, for fear of upsetting the merchants, or the Gallans, or the priests, or anyone. They should worry about upsetting me—not the other way around!”
“Is that why you’re asking me to marry you?” she whispered. “Because you want to prove to everyone you don’t care?”
For a long moment he didn’t reply. When he spoke, his voice was very low. “I thought you loved me, Alanna.”
“I do!” she whispered fiercely. “I do! But—” What he had said—the resentment in his voice—worried her. And how could she explain that it was wonderful not to have to trouble herself over Court plots and plotters? Not to have to watch how she acted or what she said, apart from not offending her new tribe? For the first time she could be fully and completely Alanna; she was still learning just who “Alanna” was.
“Marry me, sweet one,” he whispered. “I love you. I want you for my wife.”
It was too much, all at once. “Let me think about it,” she begged. “I do love you, Jon. I just need time.”
“All right.” His voice sounded amused. As they went to sleep, Alanna wondered, Just what is so funny?
As usual, she rose with the dawn. Jon continued to sleep. She dressed quietly and went into the temple portion of her tent. Myles was already there, looking as fresh as he ever did in the morning. Alanna hugged her old friend tightly, and together they walked out into the sunlight. She showed him the village, even taking him up to the hill where she had faced the hillmen with her apprentices, and where Ishak had met his doom. She said nothing about Jonathan’s proposal, half-hoping that if no one mentioned it, Jon might reconsider.
“Why did you come?” she asked as they climbed down the hill.
“I thought it might be better for Jonathan if someone bore him company.”
“You’re always so sensible.” Alanna grinned. She waved to Mari, who was opening the sides of her tent to the morning air. “Mari Fahrar,” she explained to Myles. “She’s the best weaver in the tribe. She’s teaching me.”
Myles chuckled, his green-brown eyes dancing with amusement. “Women’s work, Sir Knight?”
Alanna blushed deeply. “I don’t want to be ignorant.”
Myles hugged her around the shoulders. “You’re brave, to admit you don’t know everything and then do something about it.”
“That’s all very well, but I’m a terrible weaver.”
“I am told practice helps,” he said, his eyes still amused. “Alanna, I actually came here for two reasons.”
“Oh? You’re keeping Jon company—what’s the second one?”
Myles tugged his beard thoughtfully. “I’ve been thinking about your situation, now that Thom is at Court and you are roaming.” He put his hand on her shoulders. “I believe you know I have always been very fond of you.”
She smiled. “You’re the only one I know who’s forgiven me for lying about what I really am.”
“I knew long before you told me, remember. Listen to me now. Thom lives well at Court—”
“He’s entitled,” Alanna pointed out, bristling in her brother’s defense. “He is the Lord of Trebond. He lived like a priest for years.”
“I don’t question his right to do so. I am concerned about you. If you continue to travel, you will need funds, to stay at inns, to give bribes—don’t frown. Some nations use the bribe to support the national treasury. Now, consider my problem: I’m not getting any younger; I’m unwed and unsociable. It’s not likely that I shall marry and have children. You’ve been like a daughter to me—sometimes even like a son.” His eyes twinkled. “I want to make you my heir.”
Alanna opened her mouth to reply, but no sound emerged. Her throat felt tight and closed; her eyes burned with tears. He clapped her on the shoulders and let her go. “No need to answer right away.”
“I can’t refuse,” she whispered, hugging him fiercely. “Myles, how do I thank you?”
He tousled her hair. “Nonsense. I get an heir who knows how to manage an estate, after all the time you ran Trebond for your brother.”
“With Coram’s help,” she reminded him.
“With Coram’s help, but you made the big decisions. And I know you’ll care for Barony Olau as I do.” He rubbed his hands together. “Now that’s decided, what about some food?”
Alanna was washing up after breakfast when Farda sought her out. “I wish to speak with you privately, and I believe you will be needed elsewhere when I am finished.”
Alanna told Umar Komm, the oldest and most respected of the shamans, who now ran their “school.” He nodded, and she left her tent, which was filled with visiting shamans, apprentices, Jonathan, and Myles. Farda took her to her own home, pressing a cup of tea on the knight.
“It is the Voice of the Tribes,” she said abruptly, her plain face worried. “He is ill. My knowledge is not great enough that I can tell what is wrong, but he is sick, I know. He had made me promise to say nothing to you before, but I cannot remain silent.”
Alanna frowned. She thought Ali Mukhtab had looked pale when she encountered him lately, but such meetings had always occurred at night: She had been blaming flickering torch- and firelight. “I’ll need my healer’s bag,” she murmured. Farda handed it to her silently; she must have gotten it from one of the girls. “Why did you come to me? Surely one of the visiting shamans—”
Farda drew herself up, insulted. “You are the shaman for the Bloody Hawk. Do I tell all those guests that our shaman is not goo
d enough for the Voice of the Tribes?”
Alanna grinned. “Sorry I asked.”
Ali Mukhtab grimaced as she entered his tent. “No woman, not even Farda, can keep silent,” he grumbled. He was pale and sweating as he reclined on his bed.
Alanna knelt beside him and opened the cloth bag in which she kept her healing materials. “Farda did the right thing. Hush.”
