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The gleam in Eleni’s eye made Alanna uncomfortable. George’s mother was looking her over, inch by inch, leaving no part of Alanna unscrutinized. The knight hurriedly began to dress.
“Earrings!” the older woman exclaimed.
Alanna forgot her trepidation and looked at Eleni, hardly believing her ears. “Could I?” she whispered. All her life she’d envied the court beauties their eardrops, to the point that she’d refused to get the single earring a man could wear—it just wasn’t the same.
In a twinkling Eleni and Thayet had her in a chair while Rispah heated a needle. “This shouldn’t be any trouble at all,” the redhead grinned, “bein’s how you’re a blooded knight. Hold still!”
Alanna gritted her teeth as the needle punched into a lobe; the bottom dropped out of her stomach, and her ears roared. “I’ll tell you what the Daughters told me when I had mine done,” Thayet said as Rispah replaced the needle with a bit of silk. “’Beauty is pain.’”
“Is that supposed to be a consolation?” Alanna gasped. She closed her eyes against the next punch of the needle. This time the bottom of her stomach continued to drop, and the roar was deafening. She opened her eyes onto more blackness.
Someone was waving aromatic salts under her nose. Alanna sneezed and sneezed again. “What happened?” she asked, struggling to keep her stomach in place. Rispah stopped trying to fight laughter; Eleni wiped teary eyes with a handkerchief. Even the seamstress showed signs of amusement. Alanna fixed Thayet with a darkling look. “Thayet?”
“You fainted,” the Princess gasped, and surrendered to whoops of mirth.
Rispah and Eleni told the travelers what had been going on in the palace and city, while the seamstresses worked nearby. The picture drawn for Alanna was grim, grimmer than she had thought from the recital in the stable. Jonathan’s future subjects wondered if he was cursed. Duke Gareth had taken the deaths of his sister and brother-in-law hard; he was in retirement, and Gary was virtually Prime Minister. No one questioned Gary’s ability, but everyone had known and respected his father, and few people outside the palace had ever met the younger Naxen. Many of the older nobles, who normally could be relied upon to support the King, had withheld support from Jon without giving reasons. Their excuse was that they waited for the coronation, which was the proper time and place; but Myles and Duke Gareth told Jonathan that the same lords had pledged to support Roald before his coronation. Claw appeared to have vanished, but Alanna knew from Stefan that his followers still made trouble for George. A wet spring and cool summer this far meant sickly crops, a bad omen in a king’s first year on the throne.
“Everyone’s waitin’ to see which way the cat will jump,” Rispah said as Alanna submitted to fittings. “With no reason at all. They’re hopin’ for another claimant to the throne, but who’s it to be? The Conté Duke’s givin’ them no encouragement, for certain.”
“With some, all it took was the Bazhir coming here in great numbers,” Eleni explained. “Plenty of northerners hate them, and any King liked by the desert men will find he has trouble.”
“Some folks say Duke Roger’s older and more experienced than Jonathan,” Rispah added. “They say what happened two Midwinters ago—” she nodded to Alanna, “was Jon’s plot to get Roger out of the way.”
“Easy, child,” Eleni cautioned, putting a hand on Alanna’s arm. “It’s just talk. No one’s doing anything, not even speaking out publicly. But Jonathan could do with a miracle.”
To her surprise, Alanna smiled. “Then we’ll give him one.”
She found Myles in his study late that afternoon, napping. Once he was awake, Alanna sat down to discuss the events of the past year with him. He could fill in the blank spots because he knew better than anyone else why nobles behaved as they did, and his merchant friends were always honest with him. “They don’t think Jonathan can hold the throne,” he told Alanna bluntly. “Until they see proof that he can, they’re going to hold back. It isn’t that many of them expect Roger to try for the throne. Well, those who live at court don’t expect it. But Tortall’s a big kingdom, and it’s hard to keep it knit together in the best of times. If Jonathan can’t rule, the fiefs on the borders will start to break away and form their own kingdoms. Tusaine, Galla, and Scanra will nibble at the edges. That’s what people fear. Roald let them be, and twenty-odd years of that kind of beneficent neglect is bearing fruit now. Does that answer your question?” Alanna nodded. “The Jewel will help. After that, it’s up to Jonathan and the use he makes of you bright young people.”
Alanna laughed. “Don’t forget, he’s got you on his side, too.”
Myles chuckled. “By the way, I have something for you. Eleni told me you’d had an ordeal this afternoon. I bought these to make you feel better.” He dug in a pocket and handed Alanna a small box. “Don’t open it in here. Expressions of gratitude embarrass me.” He leaned back in his chair, putting up his feet. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to finish my nap.”
Outside his study, Alanna opened the box. Inside was a pair of black pearl earbobs.
Every Tortallan girl dreamed of descending the Great Stair in the Queen’s ballroom with all eyes fixed on her, the knight of her dreams singling her out and bearing her away to a life of bliss. Minstrels made their living off tales of common-born girls presented at court by mysterious—wealthy—guardians for just that fate. Now it was Alanna’s turn to descend; she felt a degree of panic she was unaccustomed to as an old palace hand. She had seen hundreds descend the Great Stair to cross the long room and kneel before sovereigns. In the ballroom she’d met girls who came to court to make good marriages, foreign diplomats and their ladies, merchants, visiting warriors—the list was endless. If they had been as terrified as she was that night, they didn’t show it.
They stood in the chambers outside the ballroom’s great doors: Thayet, Buri, Eleni, and Liam for official presentation; Myles to bolster their confidence; and Alanna to be—Reintroduced? That can’t be right, she told herself. The Jewel, snug in its box, seemed to have caught her case of nerves; she could feel it humming through her black kid gloves. “Jump up,” she told Faithful, wriggling her shoulder. “I need the reassurance.”
No, the cat replied, shaking his head. I’ll muss your pretty clothes. Startled, she pulled away. He’d actually sounded serious!
Eleni Cooper fussed with the gold lace at her throat. “I wish I hadn’t agreed to do this, Myles.” She wa
s elegant in mahogany-colored silk, her grey-streaked hair in a heavy knot at the back of her head. “I am suitably entertained in the Lower City.”
Hazel eyes met hazel eyes, with a depth of love that made Alanna wistful as Myles raised Eleni’s hand to his lips. “This will be just as entertaining, my dear. Perhaps more so.”
Strong fingers brushed Alanna’s new earbobs. “Pretty,” Liam approved. “A nice touch.”
Alanna’s heart skipped a beat. The Dragon did not have to wear dark colors or pale greys or lavenders of mourning for Lianne and Roald. He was magnificent in blue-violet satin over silvery shirt and hose. His hair flamed in contrast.
“It isn’t fair of you to look so good!” she hissed.
“I could say the same about you. You think I don’t have regrets about us breaking it off?” His eyes were the bright aqua he seemed to reserve just for her. “When you’re Queen of Tortall, you’ll thank me.”
She was opening her mouth to say, “I’m not going to be Queen,” when Gary joined them. “Liam Ironarm? I’m Gareth—Gary—the Younger of Naxen. My father’s Prime Minister. Can you tell me about Shang?” He put his arm through Liam’s and walked him away, calling, “I’ll talk to you later, Alanna.”
Timon, once Duke Gareth’s personal manservant, now chief of the palace footmen, arrived looking harassed. Gary bade a swift farewell and went to stand by the throne. Timon nodded to Myles, who took Eleni’s arm. “You’re worth any of them, Mistress Cooper,” Alanna heard him whisper. The chief herald bowed and opened half of the great door, admitting the couple.
“Am I all in one piece?” Buri wanted to know. She wore a deerskin jacket richly beaded in red and silver, tight deerskin breeches, and soft boots. She bristled with silver and black daggers; both the short and long sword were thrust in her sash. Her thick hair was tightly braided and coiled; the pins securing it were silver. She slapped black gauntlets nervously against her arm as Alanna looked her over.
