Page 38 of Valdemar

“There’s one thing to be said for the fact that everyone dresses alike right now.” He laughed. “We can make our way to the pasture without anyone realizing it’s the King and Crown Prince, and not some stablehand or groom off in the middle distance.”

“I cannot tell you how many times I have taken advantage of that.” Restil laughed. They did walk to avoid getting close to anyone, just to be sure. And it was a lovely—if hot and a bit humid—day. Well worth being out of doors.

Kordas kept the conversation to everything else that had gone on in the Council Chamber; there certainly was enough to talk about. Being a mere Baron had meant that he could instruct Restil on an informal basis, as his own father had instructed him. But the many obligations of being a King meant that everyone had to be aware that the Crown Prince was being suitably educated in everything going on in the Kingdom. That education had to be visible. So Restil was sitting in on every Council meeting and every decision, so that people would know that if something took the King from his duties, whether it be for a day or eternity, Restil was ready and primed to take over. So was Isla, for that matter.

Restil caught him up on the little the Koto had had to say about the potential curse-breaking. That brought them to the grove in question—and before Kordas could say anything, Restil stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the place.

“What—”

“My reaction entirely,” Kordas agreed.

Restil readily followed his father into the grove by the thread of a path, and nodded to his father as the path opened out into the clearing. It was cooler here, shaded by all the trees, and it was obvious that the horses liked coming here in the heat of the day, because the grass and wildflowers were barely ankle height, as opposed to waist high, as they would have been had there not been regular grazing. Kordas sniffed experimentally, and his nose confirmed it: there was definitely a scent of cut grass in here. And, fortunately, not of manure. Lurking horse-apples in the grass should not be a problem.

Kordas put his back against a tree trunk, folded his arms, and waited while Restil prowled around the clearing, using his own mage powers to test it. Restil was long past needing any instruction from his father—he was at the point now where Kordas couldn’t teach him anything, and his magical schooling was coming straight from the Old Men.

“This is perplexing,” Restil admitted. “When did this happen?”

“Sai thinks sometime in the last moon. Maybe even during the coronation. Goodness knows we wouldn’t have noticed it then.” Kordas waited patiently for Restil to digest that, then continued. “Sai gave Ivy enough energy to manifest, and she agreed that it’s probably the work of one or more deities, and that I shouldn’t ask too many questions.”

“Well, if it had been a specific deity, who specifically wanted a place of worship here to themselves, they’d have marked it in a way we wouldn’t be able to mistake,” Restil said, finally. “In studying all the lore from all the gods we know, both the ones that came with us and the Tayledras Star-Eyed, none of them are shy about making their wishes known when it comes to establishing places of worship, or branding places they want for their own.” He raised an eyebrow at his father. “We’re more apt to get talking burning bushes or visions three stories tall.”

“So, evidently, whichever one did this is willing to share. That’s a nice example for our people to follow.”

Restil smiled. “Yes. Yes, it is. Do we want to make this public information?”

Kordas thought about that for a while. “Well, we took it to the Council, so I think that horse has fled the barn. But we don’t have to announce where it is just yet.”

Restil stopped in the middle of the clearing and gave it a new kind of measuring look. “I think I know who to go to to build this chapel. Ever seen a stave church?”

Kordas was a little taken aback. “A what? A slave church?”

“No, a stave church. It’s a kind of construction, like a palisade that makes a whole building. Strong, airy, great acoustics. That little village of Nerdenlanders, the people the Tayledras wanted in charge of the heavy forests?” Restil prompted. “They built a stave church for their worship. We can lay down a stone foundation and build one here without disturbing any of these trees.”

Since that was precisely the main thing Kordas was worried about, he resolved to ride out to the Nerdenlandcroft and have a look at this building. I . . . actually haven’t been out there, because they never give me any problems—and they’ve brought their questions and needs directly to Haven rather than expecting me to send someone to them. He frowned to himself about that. It should be the calm, polite ones that get attention, not the brats and histrionic ones.

Well, and also because the Hawkbrothers had expressed themselves very satisfied as to how the Nerdenlanders were operating as custodians of the forest. If the Tayledras were pleased, who was he to argue?

“A stave church is the closest thing I’ve ever seen to a freestanding Hawkbrother building,” Restil continued.

“That settles it. Can you add this to your plate?” his father replied. Restil laughed.

“Gladly. I can’t imagine that they’ll say no, though.” Restil nodded at the path in, and Kordas led the way back out again.

“Sitting down to eat lunch in there just doesn’t seem-—right,” Kordas added, as they made their way out of the enormous pasture and across the river to the Palace grounds.

Restil just nodded, and suggested with a tip of his head that they take a seat in a rose arbor . . . covered with peas, not roses. It was still an arbor—one of several, in fact, made from bent branches, just as there was some very lovely furniture made from bent branches—and it was quite pretty. The pea flowers might not be as showy as roses, but they had their own grace, and the curling tendrils of the vines were lovely regardless. Once the initial need to get food crops in the ground had been satisfied, and the vegetables on the Palace grounds not only supported the Palace population but produced a surplus, the gardeners had begun to get creative. There were pleasant arbors containing wicker seats covered with peas, beans, hops, summer squashes—anything that produced a vine probably had at least one arbor, and the vegetables that provided the best combination of shade and produce would become permanent parts of the garden. Colored cabbages, red, green, and purple, some with frilly leaves, were planted in concentric beds the way flowers had been back in the Duchy. Patterned, slightly raised beds had been introduced for the perennials and herbs. Winter squashes were kings of small mounds that were further covered in herbs or edible flowers that repelled insects. Berry bushes and fruit trees got the ornamental treatment as well. From a distance it looked exactly like a well-planned formal garden. It was only until you got close that you realized everything here was edible or medicinal. Kordas was ridiculously fond of it all. After being surrounded by purely ornamental gardens most of his life, there was something hilarious about these pretty plants all being edible. And the alarmist in him, who wanted always, always, to have enough food stored and at hand to see them through any emergency, gloated and felt comforted at the sight of all this abundance.

“I am reliably informed that snacking on the peas is encouraged,” Restil replied, taking a seat, setting the basket down on the ground between them and breaking off a young pea pod. He slit the pod expertly with his thumbnail, and inhaled the young peas from inside. Then he tore up the pod and added it to the mulch at the foot of the vine.

His father sat down and removed the cloth covering the top of the basket. “I suppose we’ll have to hurry this,” he said with evident regret.

“We will,” Restil agreed. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy it, too. All we have to do is not talk about work while we hurry through our meal.”

He smiled as his father’s eyes lit up. “Have you seen how this year’s False Gold foals are measuring up?”

Restil replied with the same enthusiasm. It’s not often I can give Father a gift. I’m going to enjoy this one as much as he is.

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