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Author’s Note: Let me start out by saying that nobody is obligated to read this. It wants to be and should be a book, but obviously I didn’t have time for that this month. It’s rough, and choppy, and extremely long. My only consolation is that Stormie’s is just as long--I’m not the only one with an epic problem! Anyway, feel free to skip this if you don’t think you’ll have the time to read almost 14,000 words of my madness.
If you do bother to read this, you should know it’s all Motoko’s fault, for it was she who sent me this link: http(colonslashslash)www(dot)youtube(dot)com(slash)watch?v-FC0By2chdE&NR.
Princess Peahen
By Myriad
Once upon a time…
Her Royal Highness, Princess Claressa of Merim looked up in surprise as her older brother stormed into her chambers. “Eron, what—”
“It’s ridiculous!” Crown Prince Eron, heir to the throne of Merim, fumed, stalking to the window and shoving aside the curtains. “It’s ridiculous, and demeaning, and—and—obscene!” he declared, glaring at the rolling hills before him as if they were somehow to blame.
“What’s ridiculous, demeaning, and obscene?” Claressa asked. “Eron, you aren’t making any sense.”
“All of it! I’ve spent the last week having tea with frilly princesses, the last month racing horses and making a general nuisance of myself. Tonight we’re having a ball. A ball. And I’m not even allowed to dance properly! No, no, I’ve got to pretend to be clumsy.”
“Eron, you know it’s only subterfuge. When you’re King—”
“When I’m King I won’t be able to do anything besides drink tea and dance clumsily because I won’t know how to do anything else! I’m never in meetings with Father, never consulted on treaties or troop movements, never allowed to actually do anything. How do they expect me to learn how to rule when all of my time is spent playing Prince Pretty?” Eron demanded.
“It’s necessary,” Claressa said primly, re-arranging her full skirts. “Merim is smaller than any other country except for Shala, and Shala has no male heir. If the princess of Shala were to marry the heirs to one of the larger countries, Shala would be absorbed and we would be alone and weak. Merim would not last a full month after the marriage. But when you marry the Princess Alisabet and unite the two lands, the new country will be strong enough to resist any of the others. Until then—”
“Until then both Merim and Shala must act as though the heirs are foolish and weak,” Eron snapped. He’d heard the same lecture often enough in the seventeen years since his birth. “I know, and I don’t care. I’m tired of being so utterly useless.”
“I would think you’re being very useful,” Claressa replied. Though she was three years her brother’s junior, she often displayed a sensibility far above his. “You’re playing your part in a plan that will eventually lead Merim and our people to prosperity. Just because the results aren’t tangible yet—”
“They’re never going to be,” Eron said desperately. “Clare, I’m going crazy. I can’t live like this anymore. I can’t—I just can’t.”
“I don’t think you have a choice.” Claressa crossed to her brother and laid a hand on his arm. “You’re just going to have to be patient.”
“I’m not doing this anymore,” Eron shouted, slapping her hand away. “I’m not. I’ll leave, I’ll—the Rovers. I’ll join the Rovers.”
“What? Eron, you can’t be serious.”
“No, I’ve never been more serious.” Calmer now, he began to pace. “They’d take me in, I know they would. Baron Jaims knows what it’s like.”
“Eron,” Claressa said desperately. “Be reasonable.”
“I am. The Rovers do things, Clare. They’re helping people, making things better for them. Fighting for justice.”
“Stealing? Killing innocent men? That’s not justice, Eron, and you know it. Please,” she begged, taking his arm again. “You have to know this is ridiculous.”
“What’s ridiculous is the idea of staying here. I’m leaving, Clare. And I’m not coming back.”
13 Mead Moon 983
The palace
The Kingdom of Sortesh
“Wilem,” Her Royal Highness, Princess Alisabet of Shala, replied cheerfully, offering her hand for him to kiss. “We don’t have to be so formal, do we?” she asked with a teasing smile, even as she contrived a way to get her fingers out of his grasp without being rude.
“Very well, my l—Alisabet,” Crown Prince Wilem of Sortesh replied with a gracious inclination of his head. “You are lovely as always, my dear.”
“You’re too kind, Wilem. I don’t hold a candle to the beauties of Sortesh.” Ali disengaged her hand from his, gesturing to the decorated ladies around them.
Though the summer ball was no major affair of state and status, the ballroom of Sortesh’s palace was filled beautiful, eligible young ladies like fancy cakes with their frills and bows and crinolines. Ali, in a simple, dark orange gown that did not look well with her pale skin and dark brown hair, could not have looked more out of place. But the effect was deliberate, necessary.
“Your simplicity only accentuates your natural beauty, Alisabet,” Wilem replied. “You do not need such fripperies to draw attention.”
“Now you’ve made me blush,” Ali replied, turning away in maidenly embarrassment. Idiot. You and I both know I look like an ugly duckling in a nest of peacocks.
“Wilem, you old rascal, stop monopolizing the beautiful women!”
“I saw her first, Endrew,” Wilem replied with a grin. “Find your own.”
“But I like Alisabet,” Crown Prince Endrew of Alendar protested, seizing Ali’s hand. “You like me better, don’t you?”
Ali laughed at his puppy-dog expression and gently pulled her hand free. “I think I’ll wait to answer that,” she said, “as an answer either way would only serve to put your countries at odds.”
“Playing King again, Alisabet?” Endrew asked with a knowing grin.
“Practicing,” Ali replied cheerfully, clasping her hands to resist from wiping the condescension from their faces with a kick her Shuqi master had taught her. This was neither the time nor the place for such a demonstration.
“You still intend to rule Shala when your father dies?” Wilem asked, exchanging a pitying look with Endrew.
“Of course! I know there haven’t been any women rulers in centuries, but I think I can do it,” Ali said, tilting her head to one side and blinking in her best impression of a foolish female. “And there isn’t anybody else to do it, so that leaves me.”
“But if you marry, your husband will take care of such things. Surely you’d be happier without the responsibility of a kingdom on your shoulders?” prodded Wilem.
“Shala’s a small country,” Ali replied innocently. “But I see you don’t believe me. Well, I’ll just have to prove you wrong, won’t I?”
“But, really, Alisabet—” Endrew began, oblivious to the teeth behind her naïve words.
“No, I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I’ll leave you and Wilem to discuss my failure.” Ali stalked off, the picture of an offended lady.
Her steps slowed once she was out of their sight, but she kept going, navigating her way through the crowded ballroom and salons. She managed to find privacy by climbing a tiny set of stairs that lead to a balcony overlooking the ballroom.
Idiots, she thought scathingly, impatiently twitching her long, dark braid over her shoulder. Poor little princess, thinks she can rule a country—Gods, I want to—
But of course she couldn’t. Two years, Ali reminded herself, taking a calming breath as she studied the partygoers below. Less than that. Just twenty-five moons, and I’ll be eighteen. Eron and I will marry and unite Shala and Merim. I just have to be patient until then.
Patience was not a quality she had in any large amounts; she’d inherited her father’s temper along with his straight, dark hair and hazel eyes. Her slim build and pale skin came from her mother, Allesin, who had come from Vornir in the north.
Ali stuck a hand in the pocket of her plain, ugly gown and touched the small portrait of her mother that she had carried with her since Allesin’s death three years before. I don’t like this, Mama, she thought, and in her mind she was a child again on her mother’s knee. I don’t want to be Alisabet, ugly, stupid fool who thinks she’s going to change the world. I want to be Ali, smart and pretty and strong. I want to be down there, with them. I want to primp and prepare and wear a pretty dress. I want to be a peacock. I want—
A thousand and one things, none of which are going to happen, she told herself sternly as she heard footsteps on the stairs behind her.
“Alisabet?” Wilem asked as he stepped onto the balcony. “What are you doing up here?”
“Oh—I just needed a little air, Wilem,” Ali lied, forcing a smile back on her face. “It gets quite crowded in the ballroom.”
“Of course. Would a walk in the garden help?”
She smiled cheerfully up into Wilem’s blue eyes. “I believe it would.”
19 Mead Moon 983
Rovers’ camp
The forests of Sortesh
“Is this really necessary? I mean, the ropes are a bit excessive, don’t you think?” Eron said as he stumbled along behind his captors.
“Hey, Salis,” the larger of the two called to his partner. “I got a story for you. I’m sitting alone in camp, waiting for you to get back with the meat, and this scrawny little guy stumbles in, claiming to be the Crown Prince of Merim. So, me being the worshipful fellow that I am, I make him tea in our very best china and offer him crumpets. Then I carry him on a litter to see our benevolent leader. The Bear commends me for showing such respect to our honored guest and promotes me to captain. What do you think?”
“I think your sarcasm has confused the young’n,” Salis replied, peering over his shoulder at Eron.
“I understood it,” Eron protested, offended. “But I am the Crown Prince of Merim. Baron Jaims can confirm it.”
“We’ll soon see, won’t we,” said the first. He motioned for Eron and Salis to stop, then gave a trilling sort of whistle.
Another trill sounded from the forest in front of them and a third man appeared. “What’s this, then?”
“Found him sneaking around. Thinks he’s the Crown Prince of Merim.”
“But I am the Crown Prince of—” Eron began.
“If and when we want you to talk, we’ll tell you,” Salis said shortly, nudging him forward.
Eron stumbled through the trees and into a large clearing. There was a cave off to one side and a tent-like construction draped between two trees. Roughly two dozen men sprawled on the ground around several fire pits.
“Whatcha got there, Borin?” they called. “Who’s the boy, Salis?” “What’s with the shrimp?” “Didn’t know you went for boys!”
Before Eron could properly respond to the last, Salis had nudged him across the clearing and into the tent. “Bear, we’ve got something you should look at.”
“Jaims, would you tell these people who I am?” Eron demanded, glaring at Borin and Salis.
“Gladly,” Jaims replied. It was easy to see why they called him the Bear; he was easily six and a half feet tall, and bulky, with a wild thatch of brown hair and an even wilder beard. “Who are you?”
Eron gaped at the Baron. “But—Jaims, it’s me. Eron. Prince Eron. We visited your holding in Sortesh just before you left and formed the Rovers.”
Jaims raised one wooly eyebrow, considering. “I do remember you,” he said at last. “Little Eron. Gods, that was years ago. You couldn’t have been more than, what, eight?”
“I was eleven,” Eron replied, offended.
“Sure you were,” Jaims replied. “Boy, you can’t be more than fourteen now.”
“I’m almost seventeen!” Eron protested. “I just haven’t filled out yet, that’s all.”
“Whatever you say, boy,” Jaims said, exchanging grins with Borin and Salis as Eron stewed. “Regardless, what brings you to our corner of the world? I’d think the Crown Prince of Merim would have better things to do than go traipsing through the woods in search of the disreputable Baron Jaims.”
“I want to join the Rovers.”
There was silence for a moment. Then all three men burst into laughter.
“It’s not funny!” Eron said, doing his best to glare at them. “I’m serious!” he added when they continued to guffaw.
Jaims finally managed to tame his laughter. “Are you really?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow again as he appraised the slightly scrawny youth before him. “Yes, I think you are. But what possible reason could you have for leaving the comfort of your father’s house to join a bunch of ruffians like us?”
“I’m not a child,” Eron said, shooting Borin another glare when the big man started to chuckle. “And I’m sick of being treated like I’m not good for anything. I want to do something, to help people. That’s why you started the Rovers, isn’t it? You know what it’s like, to be trapped into a noble life where you can’t do a damn thing because of politics. You know what it’s like to play a part for so long you start to get scared you’ll become the foolish front you’ve put on. You know what it’s like to be trapped.”
“I do,” Jaims said at last, a faint note of surprise in his voice. “I do, indeed. The world of politics and court intrigue can be—stifling. It’s so much easier to accomplish things when you work…”
“Separately?” Eron suggested.
Jaims laughed. “Delicately put, princeling. I believe most would call the work we do illegal. Nobles don’t generally take kindly to thieving, particularly not the thieving of their baubles.”
“They’ve got more than enough,” Eron said. “Taxes outside of Shala and Merim are ridiculous. It’s only fair to…redistribute the wealth.”
“Spoken like a true Rover,” Jaims said with a grin. “Welcome to the woods.”
15 Barley Moon 983
The palace
The Kingdom of Shala
I’m not sure how to tell you this, my dear, so I suppose I will simply say it. Eron is missing.
We discovered he was gone several weeks ago. We feared kidnapping, and sent out parties to search for him, but found nothing. He had left no note, you see, and sworn Claressa to secrecy. But she is a good child, and she soon told us what had happened. He was not kidnapped. He has—I do not want to write it, it is so ridiculous, and embarrassing. But you must know the truth.
Eron has run away. According to Claressa, he is tired of the duties of being a prince and of being, as he puts it, “utterly useless.” He has always chafed against the bonds of duty, as you know, my dear. But I had thought he understood why all of that was necessary.
Apparently he has joined the Rovers; at least, that is what he told Claressa he would do. We hoped he would realize his mistake, grow weary of the coarser life, use up his rebellion and return. That is why we did not contact you sooner. But he has been gone for seven weeks now, and we have begun to fear that he will not return.
I am sure I do not need to tell you what this means for both of our countries. We still have men searching the forests where the Rovers are said to lurk, but they have not found him. We are doing everything in our power to find him and bring him home, but I am beginning to lose hope.
I do not understand how he can be so irresponsible, so careless of his duties to Merim and to you. I am deeply ashamed, and Karles and I can only beg your forgiveness. We had thought we had raised him to act better than this. I wish I could give you some comfort, but all I have to offer are my sincerest apologies.
Her Majesty, Queen Morgen of Merim
Ali read the letter twice, then again to be sure she had understood.
Eron was gone.
It was ridiculous. Beyond ridiculous. He couldn’t. Prince Eron, a Rover! It was laughable. Laughable. She was not going to cry. She was going to laugh. She was going to laugh, because it was ridiculous. Because if she didn’t laugh, she really would cry, and she couldn’t let herself do that.
Can’t let myself! Ali tossed the letter on the bed and began to pace. Eron can run off and join a bunch of renegades, but I can’t indulge myself enough to cry because he has.
“I’m going to kill him,” she muttered, tossing her hair back over her shoulder and straightening her spine. “I’m going to kill him very, very dead.”
But of course that wouldn’t work; he wouldn’t be much use to Shala or Merim if he was dead. So I’ll drag him back by his hair, marry him, unite the kingdoms, get an heir, and then kill him. Slowly and painfully.
“My lady?”
Ali turned at the voice, relaxing as she recognized Kristena, the lady’s maid she’d gained upon her sixteenth birthday three moons before. “Yes, Kristena.”
“The King wishes to speak with you.”
Ali sighed. Her father was not going to be pleased. “Thank you, Kristena.”
‘Not pleased’ was an understatement, Ali thought later, alone in her rooms again. Her father’s temper had not disappointed.
“‘Spineless, brainless, witless idiot,’” she murmured to herself, recalling the King’s words. “‘Too stupid to think beyond the next week—too cowardly to stand for his country—’”
All of which is entirely true, she thought grumpily, sinking into her desk chair. Idiot. What am I supposed to do now?
It’s still twenty-three moons until I turn eighteen, Ali reminded herself. Surely Eron will tire of this foolishness by then and return. Until then, I just have to continue the charade, as I would have done.
Claressa’s the problem. With Eron gone, the throne of Merim falls to her, and she hasn’t prepared for this. I need to write to her, advise her. She’ll have to pretend she wants to rule alone, like me. She set down the vase she’d be fiddling with, a pale blue stem painted with a fanciful peacock that had belonged to her mother, and reached for parchment and quill.
It needs flowers, she thought absently as she began to write. Lilies, maybe, or cowslip, or marigolds. Mama always liked marigolds…
17 Oak Moon 983
Rovers’ camp
The forests of Sortesh
“You wanted to see me, sir?” Eron asked, stepping into Jaims’ tent.
“Yes indeed,” Jaims said, his breath making a little cloud of white in the chill winter air. “We’ve got word that Prince Wilem and his sister are to be traveling through our little corner of the woods on their way to visit your former betrothed in Shala. And knowing Wilem, he’ll be carrying with him all manner of fanciful things to try to win over the fair princess.”
“Ali won’t be won,” Eron replied. “Shala means too much to her.”
“More than Merim means to you,” Jaims murmured under his breath. “At all events, they won’t be too well guarded—Wilem’s too proud for that—so they should be an easy mark. They’ll be passing about a mile south of here at some time this afternoon. Take nine men.”
Eron gaped at him. “But—do you mean—”
“You’ve been with us for seven moons now, Eron. It’s time you lead a raid.” Jaims turned back to his work, shuffling through a stack of maps.
“I—thank you, sir,” Eron said, a tad overcome. “I’ll just…go gather the others.” Still a little shocked, he left the tent and went to sit by the fire.
“So, what’d Bear want?” asked Salis, brushing snow from his shoulders as he sat beside Eron.
“We’ve got a raid this afternoon. The prince and princess of Sortesh. The baron says ten men,” Eron told him, staring at the flames.
“You’re to lead?” Salis asked knowingly.
Eron nodded. “Baron Jaims thinks I’m ready.”
“Bear’s usually right about those things. ’Sides, you’ve been with us, six, seven moons? Time and past you had your own raid. Bear just want to see how well you can lead,” Salis said comfortably, warming his hands over the fire. “So, who’re we bringing with?”
Elsewhere in the forests of Sortesh
“A fine day for a ride, don’t you think, sister?” Wilem of Sortesh commented, nudging his stallion closer to his sister’s mare. “The snow is lovely.”
“It’s all right,” twelve-year-old Lera replied grumpily. “I hate riding when I’ve got my flux.”
“Lera!” Gratta, her nursemaid said sharply. “That is not fitting conversation for a princess.”
“I’ll get my flux whether I talk about it or not,” Lera retorted. “Complaining makes me feel better.”
“Princesses don’t complain,” Gratta said severely.
“This one does!” Lera replied cheerfully, much happier now that Gratta was nettled.
High above them in the bare trees, Eron shifted in anticipation. He glanced at Salis, Borin, and the seven other men clinging to tree limbs. He held up a fist, eyes following the royal train below. A little closer…a little closer…
He opened his hand and the ten men dropped out of their hiding places. Eron landed behind Wilem and wrapped one arm around the Sortesian prince’s throat, the other grappling to restrain his hands as they wrestled to the ground. They rolled over the snow-covered ground, dodging horse hooves as each fought to best the other.
Wilem bucked madly, throwing Eron off. Eron twisted as he flew, landing on all fours like a cat, and sprang up after the Sortesian again. Wilem threw a punch at his nose, but Eron dodged, seizing Wilem’s arm and throwing him over his hip into a tree. While the Sortesian was still addled, Eron bound him hand and foot, then looked up to see how the others were doing.
Borin and a harper known as Semule stood over a group of bound and gagged royal guards, while a youth named Jahn held the reins of Lera’s mare. Salis had Wilem’s stallion, and the rest of the men were rifling through saddlebags and the cart Gratta had ridden in.
“What took you so long, boy?” Salis called with a grin. “Rest of us have had our turkeys bound for ages.”
“Rest of you didn’t have to fight one of the best fighters in the world,” Eron retorted, keeping an eye on Wilem. “It’s a good thing he didn’t get his sword out, or none of us would be standing around talking.”
“As flattered as I am,” Wilem groused from the ground by Eron’s feet. “Who the hell are you, and what do you want?”
“Who the—oh, right.” Eron tugged at his hood and the cloth tied across his nose and mouth, but didn’t remove them. Wilem would recognize Eron just as easily as Eron had recognized him. “Prince Wilem of Sortesh, meet the men of the Rovers. Well, about a quarter of them. There’s Borin, and Salis, the fellow with the harp is Semule, Jahn’s got your sister there, Petr and Eler are the twins looking through your saddlebags, Mikal’s the one—”
“Rovers,” Wilem spat. “I should have known. Cowards and traitors, the lot of you.”
“That’s us!” Salis said cheerfully. “So, Eron, we leave ’em here or take ’em back to Bear?”
“Eron!” Lera said, and the men started; they’d almost forgotten she was there. “Prince Eron of Merim?”
“There are many Erons,” he said evasively.
“But only one roving Eron. I’d heard rumors that you’d run off to join the Rovers, but Wilem said they weren’t true. I told you so,” she said to her brother, grinning.
“I obviously underestimated his idiocy,” Wilem replied. “And I’d think you’d be a little less cheerful, seeing as we’re being robbed!”
“It ain’t robbing!” called Jahns, grinning up at Lera. “It’s liberating.”
Lera giggled. “Are you going to take us back to Baron Jaims?”
“Ah—” Eron began, without any real idea of what he was going to say. Normally they didn’t take hostages—though Lera would probably enjoy herself too much to be properly called a hostage. But Wilem and Lera had identified him, and that could mean trouble later, both for the Rovers and for Merim and Shala. “We’ll take them to the Bear. He can decide what to do from there.”
The palace
The Kingdom of Shala
Ali paced quickly down the corridor, barely pausing to smile at the royal guards outside her father’s door. “How is he?” she asked as she entered the king’s bedchamber.
An elderly man in a healer’s pale green robes looked up at her and shook his head gently. “Not well, your highness. Not well at all. It is his heart. It is—tired. He will not live much longer.”
Ali tucked the flash of grief away behind her princess mask. “How much longer?”
“I cannot say for sure,” the healer said. “If we are lucky, days. If we are not so lucky…”
“Tell me,” Ali prompted when he fell silent.
“I do not think he will last the night,” the healer said quietly, not meeting her eyes. “He is very weak.” He shifted so Ali could sit on the bed beside her father.
He’s old, Ali realized, watching the king sleep. I always thought he’d live forever, but he was in his thirties when I was born. Not many men live past fifty. I’m lucky I’ve had him as long as I have. She fisted her hands in her ugly orange skirts, willing herself not to cry.
“You highness?”
Ali looked up to see an orange-and-brown liveried page by her elbow.
“We’ve received a message from Prulat, your highness,” the boy said with a bow. “Your presence is requested in the red room.”
Ali took a deep breath and stood. “Thank you. Tell me if there is any change,” she ordered the healer, and followed the page from the room.
Rover’s camp
The forests of Sortesh
The men cheered when Eron and the other men returned to camp. It was their reaction any time someone returned from a raid, but Eron couldn’t help grinning foolishly.
“What’s with the blonds?” called one of them, a big Shalan named Lors.
“I need to see the baron,” Eron said, thinking it was better not to give an answer. “Is he—What?” he demanded as Lors began to laugh.
“Bear’s got a visitor,” Lors told him, and the rest of Eron’s raiding party began to grin. “But go on in. She’ll hear the news, same as Bear.”
“She…?” Eron muttered to Salis as they led Wilem and Lera to Jaims’ tent.
“Surely you knew Jaims was married?” Salis said.
Eron gaped at him as the entered the tent. “Married?” he hissed under his breath.
“Eron!” Jaims called cheerfully. “Welcome back. I trust things went well?”
“Yes, sir,” Eron said, glancing from Jaims to his companion—his wife. She was as small as Jaims was big, barely an inch over five feet, with the pale skin and curling red hair that was common among the people of Vornir in the north.
“Prince Eron of Merim, may I introduce the Baroness Imelda?” Jaims said with a grin, sweeping a flamboyant bow at the both of them. “My wife.”
“It’s an honor to meet you, my lady,” Eron said a little dazedly. “Sir, I thought Rovers weren’t allowed to marry.”
“I didn’t exactly give him much choice in the matter,” Imelda said, hazel eyes dancing. Her voice was low and musical. “He ran off three days before our wedding. I had no choice but to track him down and force him to marry me.”
“And she’s been with the Rovers ever since!” Jaims finished, wrapping an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “So, Eron, what have you brought me?”
Eron shook his head. He’d never seen Jaims like this before. Like a youth in love, he thought to himself. “Baron Jaims, Baroness Imelda, may I present Crown Prince Wilem of Sortesh, and his sister, Princess Lera.”
Jaims raised a shaggy eyebrow. “Rovers don’t normally take hostages, Eron.”
“No, sir, I know that. But they’ve identified me. I thought it was best, for Merim and Shala and Ali, to bring them here.”
“Fine time for you to begin thinking about what’s best for Merim and Shala and Ali,” Jaims muttered.
“Sir—” Eron began to protest.
“Don’t get upset, boy. You’ve made your choice and I’m not going to argue with you. But bringing them here…” Jaims shook his head. “Remove their gags.”
“Traitors,” Wilem spat as soon as he could speak. “I demand to be released this instant!”
“I’ve got two score armed men with me who don’t give a damn what you demand,” Jaims informed him sweetly. “Not to mention my wife, here, who’s worse than the rest of ’em put together. If we let you go, what do you plan to do?”
“Bring you to the King’s justice!”
“Wilem,” Lera protested. “They’re the Rovers. You can’t drag the Rovers before the courts!”
Imelda raised an eyebrow, and despite the difference in size, she looked so much like her husband that Eron was forced to smother a laugh. “What we do is, I believe, illegal in every country in the world,” she pointed out.
“Well, yes, I know that, but it’s not—you’re not bad people, are you?” Lera asked. “You don’t kill unless you have to, you never take hostages, and you only take from those who can afford it. It may not be legal, exactly, but it’s not entirely wrong.”
Jaims and Imelda traded glances. “You have an interesting sense of the world for one so young,” Jaims said at last. “I was not aware that Sortesh encouraged such…unconventional thinking in its princesses.”
“Oh, they don’t,” Lera said cheerfully. “Gratta’s always grumbling at me about it. But conventional thinking is so boring.”
The baron and his wife shared another look before Jaims spoke. “We will release you and your horses at sundown,” he said. “Our men will escort you to the Shalan border. Once there, you will continue alone into Shala. Do not think of turning back—we will move the camp as soon as you are gone, and you will have no hope of finding us.”
“Eron, please look after Prince Wilem until then,” Imelda added. “We would like to speak with Lera alone.”
Eron gestured for Salis to gag Wilem and lead them from the tent.
“So where’s the baroness been the last seven moons?” he asked as they settled with Semule beside the fire. “Isn’t she a Rover?”
“She’s been in Shuqi, trying to organize a group of Rovers there,” Semule explained, tuning the strings of his harp and watching as Petr and Eler sorted the goods from Gratta’s cart. “It’s the largest country on the continent, you know, and their taxes are some of the worst. We’re hoping we can get enough support from the Shuqi nobles to set up a second chapter. But the Shuqi nobles are being stubborn. They give us vague promises to help ‘when the time is best’ and send us on our way. Our hope was that with Imelda there for an extended period of time, they would give us more than vague promises.”
“Did it work?” Eron asked, interested.
“You’ll have to ask Imelda that,” Semule said with a shrug, running his finger over the harp strings. “Though you might want to wait a day or two, until she and the Bear have stopped acting like love struck youths.”
“That’s rich, coming from someone who made his living singing to and about lovestruck youths,” Salis snorted. “Play us a love song, music man.”
“I see no love struck youths,” Semule replied calmly. “It would be wasted.”
“Jahns looked pretty thrilled with the princess,” Eron said, grinning across the fire at the youth, who flushed and tried to glare. “I think you could play one for him.”
“I do have a ballad about a noble maid who fell in love with a clever young thief,” Semule agreed, hiding a smile. “Our story begins on a warm summer night, when the princess of Sortesh was singing. She offered a song to the sun’s fading light, and the moon that the darkness was bringing…”
The palace
The Kingdom of Shala
“Your highness?”
Ali looked up from the papers she was discussing with her minister of state. Prulat and Ermbrei, two countries that shared borders with Shala and each other, had been at war for over a year, and there had been word that Prulat was trying to draw Shala into the conflict by sneaking Prulaten soldiers through into Shala and then across the Shala-Ermbrei border. “Yes?” she asked, irritated at the interruption. While the war meant that Prulat and Ermbrei were not competing for Shala the way Sortesh and Alendar were, it caused headaches enough of its own.
“Your highness, the healer says—the King, he—” the page stammered.
“What is it?” Ali demanded.
He dropped his eyes to the floor. “King Rager is dead.”
24 Oak Moon 983
The palace
The Kingdom of Shala
“Wilem, Lera, welcome to Shala,” Ali said graciously, gesturing for them to remove their furred capes. “I trust your journey was a pleasant one?”
“It most certainly was not!” Wilem fumed, throwing his cloak to a waiting page. “We were kidnapped!”
“It wasn’t kidnapping, not really,” protested Lera, removing her own cape. “At least, I wanted to go with them.”
“Kidnapped?” Ali asked, alarmed. “By whom?”
“The prince of Merim!” Wilem declared, throwing himself into a chair by the fire. “Idiot’s gone and joined the Rovers.”
“Eron?” Ali asked, fighting to keep her voice steady. “You saw Eron.”
“He dropped out of the trees and wrestled with Wilem. And won. That’s why he’s so grumpy,” Lera told her. “He’s got no sense of adventure.”
“Being kidnapped and robbed by a bunch of traitors is not an adventure,” Wilem said quelling.
“Well, I had fun,” Lera replied. “How are you, Alisabet?”
“Ah—” Ali said, a little dazed. They had seen Eron! “Where did this happen?”
“In Sortesh, maybe a day’s ride from the border. But they said they’d be moving the camp once we left. I think Prince Eron broke a rule when he brought us to their camp,” Lera said.
“I see,” Ali replied.
“I always knew he was an idiot,” Wilem declared. “Can’t even follow the rules of a bunch of lawless brigands!”
“Yes,” Ali murmured, her mind working furiously. She’d have to write to Claressa in Merim, tell her the news so she could move the search parties.
“Are you all right?” Lera asked.
“Ah—my apologies,” Ali said hastily. “My father died last week, and I am still a little upset.” She said it casually, watching them closely for their reactions.
Wilem’s face lit up, though he quickly arranged his features into a mask of sympathy. Lera, on the other hand, looked truly sad. “We are sorry for your loss,” she said, reaching for Ali’s hand.
Ali gripped Lera’s fingers and smiled sadly at her. The princess of Sortesh was a good girl, even if her brother was a slimy toad. “I keep thinking I’ll turn around and see him,” she said, her allowing her sorrow to creep into her voice. “It is very strange to think that he is no longer there.”
“It must be very hard on you,” Wilem said with false sympathy. “To lose a father, and then to rule in his stead. You must be weary of so many worries.”
Not weary enough to marry you, she thought. “It is trying, yes,” she replied. “But I do what I must. Now, if you’re hungry, our cooks have been working all day to prepare a feast in your honor.”
“I’m staving,” Lera said, cheerfully accepting the shift in topic. “Let’s eat!”
14 Chaste Moon 984
The palace
The Kingdom of Sortesh
Ali all but ran to the rooms Wilem had given her for the duration of her stay in Sortesh. She slammed the door behind her, dragged her fingers through her hair, and fought the urge to scream.
I can’t do this, mama, she thought desperately, leaning back against the door. I can’t. I can’t stand another meal, another ball, another midnight walk. I’ll break. I’ll slap him, I’ll bite him, I’ll use that kick Master Daiko had me practice so much. I’ll kill him! She nearly said the words aloud as, fuming, she paced to the other side of the room.
‘Come, Alisabet, surely you realize the strain of ruling a country is too much for a lady?’ Ali sneered, remembering Wilem’s tone. It wouldn’t be too much if you would leave me the hell alone! I can handle war, I can handle spies, I can handle taxes and tithes and tournaments—
She forced herself to take a deep breath. And I can handle him, she told herself, fisting her hands at her sides. I can handle the slimy Sortesian. I’ll handle him so well he won’t know what hit him—gods, that doesn’t even make sense.
Ali threw herself into her desk chair and saw there was a letter waiting for her. Noting Merim’s royal seal, she pulled it towards her and broke the wax.
To her Royal Highness, Crown Princess Alisabet of Shala:
I’m not sure what to say, Ali, Claressa’s handwriting began. I still can’t believe it’s true. But I believe I will need your help more than ever now.
We still haven’t found Eron. We had word that the Rovers’ camp was in Sortesh, near the Shalan border, but we’ve had soldiers comb the woods a dozen times and there’s no sign of them. Now there are rumors the Rovers have moved to Prulat, to take advantage of the fact that most of the soldiers are busy fighting Ermbrei. We were hoping you would be able to send men to search there, as Shala is much closer to Prulat than Merim.
‘We.’ I still use we, though there is no reason now. It is habit, I suppose, or wishful thinking. There is no ‘we’ anymore, only ‘I.’
I regret to inform you that their Royal Highnesses, King Karles and Queen Morgen of Merim, are dead.
Oh, gods, it looks so stark to write it like that. They…they went peacefully, Ali. In their sleep, together. I suppose that’s supposed to be some kind of comfort, but how can it be? How can anything be?
Today is my birthday, Ali, and the first gift I received was the news that my parents had died in the night. Now I must rule Merim.
It is foolish to complain to you of this, when you have been ruling Shala already for two moons. But you are nearly seventeen, just over a year away from adulthood. I am fifteen.
Ali, I don’t know what to do. It’s wrong of me to ask this, but I need your help. I’m afraid Eron won’t come back. Now that mother and father are dead, I will be a target for unmarried princes just as much as you are. Perhaps more, for I have not spent years forming a persona to keep them at bay. I’m not sure I will be able to put them off as you have done.
Please help me.
Her Highness, Princess Claressa of Merim
The letter was dated the last day of Storm moon—Clare’s birthday. Ali let out a breath slowly. The king and queen of Merim, dead, barely two moons after her father.
She would have to write Clare immediately. Ali fumbled for parchment and ink, trying to compose a letter in her head. She’ll have to start dressing like me, she thought as she sharpened a quill. Endrew of Alendar will be the first; she can practice with him, before all the others arrive. She’ll need the details of the Prulat-Ermbrei war, and—
A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. “Ali?”
Ali relaxed as she recognized the voice. “Come in, Lera.”
“Wilem wants to know if you would like to go riding with him,” Lera said as she entered. She crossed to Ali’s side and frowned. “Ali, what’s wrong? You look upset.”
Ali fiddled with an ink bottle, debating. They would learn of Karles and Morgen’s deaths eventually, but it might help Clare if she let them find out later. Still, the royal courier with the official notice would no doubt arrive in only a day or two. “The king and queen of Merim are dead,” she said quietly. “Princess Claressa just wrote to tell me.”
“Oh.” Lera’s eyes widened. “But that means Claressa is now the ruler of Merim!”
“Yes,” Ali sighed. “She is.”
Lera bit her lip, wrestling with something in her mind. She seemed to come to a decision, though, for she seized Ali’s free hand and demanded, “Can you keep a secret?”
Ali frowned and nodded.
“Swear it,” Lera persisted.
“I swear on my honor as Princess of Shala, I will not tell anyone what you are about to tell me,” Ali said, bewildered. “Lera, what is it?”
“You remember when Wilem and I came to visit you two moons ago?” Lera asked. Without waiting for a reply, she continued, “We met the Rovers. I—I liked them, and said as much to Baron Jaims and his wife.”
“The baron is married?” Ali interrupted. “I thought the Rovers were all men.”
“Yes, so did I. But she’s a wonderful lady. She talked to me privately, about the Rovers’ mission, and about what it was like to be a woman, forced to follow the wishes of our male relatives.” Lera made a face. “She said they would be moving the camp, but if I ever needed anything, I should write to the Quail’s Egg Inn in Maruven—that’s in Alendar—and someone there would get word to the Rovers.”
“And they could tell Eron,” Ali said. “But must the letter come from you? Could I write them?”
“They’d probably turn it away,” Lera said. “And they’d start using another inn to correspond with the rest of the world. They have to be careful to stay hidden.”
“I see,” Ali said. “If I write to Eron, will you send the letter for me? I must tell him of his parent’s death.”
“Of course. I won’t even read it,” Lera said with a grin.
Ali smiled at her. “I like you, Lera.”
Lera’s grin widened. “I like you, too, Ali. I’ll leave you to your letter—just bring it to me when you’ve finished.”
She left quietly and Ali turned back to her desk to draft a letter to the wayward prince of Merim.
19 Seed Moon 984
Rovers’ camp
The forests of Alendar
“Eron!”
Eron looked up from the bag of coins he and Jahn were carefully sorting for distribution in the villages.
“Bear wants to see you,” Salis called, jerking his thumb at Jaims’ tent as he left it.
“Keep working,” Eron told Jahn, rising and brushing the dirt from his trousers. “What do you need, sir?” he asked as he pushed aside the tent flap.
It was Imelda, sitting on the edge of the table Jaims used as a desk, who answered. “You remember four moons ago, when you brought us the prince and princess of Sortesh?”
“Of course,” Eron said, surprised. A man wasn’t likely to forget his first command.
“Before they left, I told Princess Lera how to contact us through the Quail’s Egg. I didn’t think she’d have any reason to write us.”
“I take it she has?”
“Indeed. And it’s addressed to you,” Jaims said, tossing him the letter.
“To me?” Eron asked, frowning at the Sortesian royal seal. He’d only met Princess Lera twice, and one of those times he’d been robbing her. What possible reason could she have to write him?
He broke the seal and opened the envelope, pulling out a second envelope bearing the royal seal of Shala. His frown deepened as he broke the second seal and removed the letter.
To his Royal Highness, Crown Prince Eron of Merim:
I hope this finds you well, and soon. It is urgent that you return to Merim at once.
There is no way for me to soften the news; I must simply say it. Your parents are dead. Claressa tells me they went peacefully, together, and that may be some comfort to you.
You see why you must return. Your desertion was tolerable while Merim still had a king and queen. But now Claressa is the only thing standing between Merim and Alendar, and she is but fifteen. She has not spent her life preparing to rule.
Your country needs you, Eron, as does your sister. As do I. My own father passed away two moons before your parents, and I have felt the strain of ruling a kingdom as a woman. I do not know if Claressa is capable of it; at times I wonder if I am.
Please return soon.
Her Highness, Crown Princess Alisabet of Shala
Eron looked up from the letter, ashen-faced. “My parents are dead,” he said softly. “Ali—her father is dead, too.”
Imelda slid off the table to wrap her arms around him. Eron leaned against her, staring over her shoulder. “Why didn’t we know? Surely our spies would have told us.”
Jaims shifted guiltily. “We knew of King Rager’s passing,” he admitted. “But you seemed determined to forget your royal life, so with thought it better if you didn’t know. Of your parents’ death, however, we had no knowledge. We have no spies in Merim or Shala.”
“No doubt Alisabet and Claressa deemed it wisest to keep the news to themselves as long as possible,” added Imelda, easing away to look up into Eron’s face. “Your sister will have a difficult task before her if you do not return to Merim.”
“I—yes, but—”
“We won’t judge you,” Jaims said quietly. “Whatever path you choose, we will accept it.”
“Thank you,” Eron said. “I—I will need to borrow a horse. I don’t know if I’m ready to go back, not yet, but—I have to see her.”
“Of course. Take one of the ones we captured from Gerth of Prulat; Prulaten horses are the swiftest,” Jaims said.
“Yes, thank you. Thank you.” Bowing distractedly, Eron left to find a horse.
20 Hare Moon 984
The palace
The Kingdom of Shala
Ali’s seventeenth birthday found her alone in her rooms, flat on her back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Wilem had wanted to hold a grand ball in her honor, but she’d managed to put him off, telling him she had far too much work to do to travel two weeks to the capital of Sortesh for a birthday celebration.
I may have to put up with him the other 376 days of the year, but I’m not going to do it on my birthday, she thought.
The palace staff had wanted to hold a party, too, but she’d put them off as well. A birthday wasn’t a birthday when you had to spend every minute of it pretending to be someone else.
There was a scraping noise and a yelp. Ali sat up suddenly, looking around wildly. There was another yelp, and she placed the noise as coming from outside her window.
Rising from her bed, Ali seized a candlestick from her table and crept to the window. “Who’s there?” she called, leaning out, makeshift weapon at the ready.
“Ali?” a voice called from below.
Ali gasped and dropped the candlestick. “Eron?”
“Ow!” Eron exclaimed as the candlestick hit his shoulder. “Yes, it’s me. Give me a hand, will you?” He thrust up a hand, the other scrabbling across the stone of the castle walls to keep him from falling.
Ali seized his hand and pulled. Together they managed to get him up to the window and over the sill, ending up in an undignified tangle on the floor.
“That is a lot harder than it looks,” Eron announced, disentangling himself and standing.
“I—I would imagine,” stammered Ali from the floor. “Eron, what are you doing here? And why are you climbing up walls instead of using the door like a normal person?”
Eron shifted from foot to foot guiltily. “Well, you see…”
Ali pulled herself to her feet, dusting off the brown dress she’d donned in honor of her birthday. The russet color was only marginally better against her pale skin and dark hair than the orange had been, but any improvement was good, as far as she was concerned. “Why aren’t you in Merim?”
He sighed. “I was going to go. I left the camp as soon as I read your letter, and I was riding towards the capital. But somehow, along the way, I just…I’m not ready for it, I suppose. And I couldn’t face Clare. So I came here instead.”
“But what could that possibly accomplish?” Ali asked. “Don’t you see, we need you in Merim! You need to retake power before Claressa breaks.”
“I can’t,” Eron said, not meeting her eyes.
“What?” Ali demanded. “Of course you can!”
“Look, Ali, you don’t understand,” he said. “I’m not ready to be a prince. I don’t know if I’ll ever be. Out there, with the Rovers—that’s where I belong. I’m doing things, helping people. You should see the things we do; five villages have new wells because of us, and we’ve taken twelve tax collections in the last four months. Twelve, Ali! It’s the most amazing thing. We’re greeted as heroes in the villages. It’s wonderful,” he said happily.
“Wonderful,” Ali echoed dimly. “Wonderful. Of course. And while you’re off on all these wonderful adventures, your sister and I are left to care for the countries you abandoned! I spend half my waking hours finding ways to tell Wilem I can’t marry him, and the other half helping Claressa to find ways to tell Endrew the same thing! I’m almost glad Prulat and Ermbrei are at war; at least it means they aren’t coming after us, too. But then I’ve got to deal with Prulaten soldiers sneaking across our borders, and Ermbrein soldiers wearing Shalan colors to try to draw us into the war. I can think of several words to describe the situation, and none of them are even close to wonderful.” Fuming, she stalked away, tossing her hair back over her shoulder.
“I know it must be difficult,” Eron began, “but you’re doing well. And you’re good at it, aren’t you? I mean, Rager must have taught you everything he knew, and he was the slipperiest diplomat on the continent.”
Ali gaped at him. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? A little pat on the back, well done, Ali, and I’m supposed to let you go gallivanting off again? Never mind that I’m trapped her doing the work of three people, just so long as Eron is having fun!” She spun away again.
“Ali—” he began.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she cut him off. “Unless you’re coming back to do your duty, I don’t want to talk to you at all.”
She turned to face him, hands clenched at her waist. “Please leave.”
“Ali, I just wanted to talk to you,” he said desperately. “I’ve missed you.”
“Eron, you barely saw me when you were still in Merim,” Ali sighed. “How could you possibly miss me when you barely knew me?”
“Well, I had your letters, and—I don’t know,” he confessed. “I just…missed you.”
And how am I supposed to turn him away when he says a thing like that? “I’ve missed you, too,” she told him. “The generals don’t seem to like taking orders from a woman.”
Eron winced at the jab. “Look, Ali, I’m not doing this to hurt you. I just—I need to do this. I need some freedom.”
“And when do I get to be free? When do I get out of my cage? No, don’t answer that,” she said. “There’s no answer you can give that won’t lead to more argument.”
“I suppose there’s not much point in my staying if all we’re going to do is argue,” Eron said after a pause.
“No,” she quietly agreed. “I think it’s best if you leave.”
“Yes,” he said, as softly as she. “I’ll—I’ll come back, eventually. I don’t know how long I’ll stay, but—”
“Just leave, please,” Ali interrupted, biting her lip. She didn’t want his promises, promises she knew he wouldn’t keep.
“All right,” Eron said, swinging a leg over the sill. “Goodbye, then. And—happy birthday.”
Ali waited until she was sure he was clear of the wall before she crossed to the window. Lying on the sill was a small brooch in the shape of a peacock.
3 Barley Moon 984
The palace
The Kingdom of Shala
To her Royal Highness Princess Claressa of Merim:
I hope this finds you well. Your last letter was quite anxious; have things quieted any?
Regarding the situation you described, I have several possible solutions. Pirate attacks were common on both our countries during the Great Wars of seventy years ago, but that is so long that most have forgotten the precautions to take.
The pirates most likely come from Ermbrei, as the war with Prulat is rapidly consuming both their resources and their treasury. High taxes, both of money and of crops, leave the lower classes starving and desperate.
Ali suddenly found herself thinking of Eron, and of the joy on his face when he spoke of the nobles they’d robbed and the villages they’d helped. She’d heard that the Rovers had relocated again to Prulat to try to help the people there, and though Prulat was landlocked, and thus could produce no pirates, there had been very few Prulaten raiding parties crossing over into Shala. Perhaps he was doing some good, after all.
Doing some good? Ali thought, disgusted with herself. He leaves his fifteen-year-old sister to deal with Ermbrein pirates! She stabbed her quill into the inkwell to refill it and returned to her letter.
The most pressing issue for you, of course, will be the defense of your citizens. If they have not done so already, have the people of the costal villages retreat inland to the nearest lord’s castle; the costal fortresses were built to keep pirates out. They must bring their livestock and any valuables they can carry with them.
The next step is to send soldiers to the coast to supplement the defenses of the costal lords. Be careful about how many you send. Remember, you may need them if Sortesh or Alendar try to force a marriage by declaring war. They think you will be a weak opponent and can capture you easily—do not prove them right.
As to dealing with Wilem and Endrew themselves, I can tell you little that I have not already said. Wilem does seem to be concentrating his attentions on me, which is a small comfort for you. For Endrew…I know that you are fond of him, Clare, but I think in this case brusqueness would be best. He is not such a bad man as Wilem, for all he seems to think that you and I are idiots, and I would hate to see either of you get hurt. The easiest way to avoid this is to not form any attachment at all. Be distant with him; polite, certainly, but distant. Until Eron returns, he is just another man.
Ali paused, turning that last sentence over in her head. Until Eron returns. She wondered yet again if she should tell Clare that he had come to visit her. Perhaps it would do her some good to know—
To know that her brother is a coward? To know that he came to see an almost-stranger rather than his sister? To know that he has no intentions of returning any time soon?
Eron’s eighteenth birthday had come and gone nearly a moon before. Ali had hoped that his coming-of-age would prompt him to return to his duties as prince, but she had been disappointed.
We are fortunate that you are so young, she wrote, returning to her letter, and that continental law forbids the heir to marry until he or she has come of age. We still have two and a half years until your eighteenth birthday, and no doubt Eron will have returned to by then.
I hope, she added in her mind as she signed and sealed the letter.
11 Mead Moon 985
The palace
The Kingdom of Shala
Eleven moons passed. Claressa turned sixteen. Both princesses received intelligence that the Rovers had left Prulat, bound for Vornir, or Ermbrei, or Alendar—each message told of a different country. Lera of Sortesh wrote at the end of Blood Moon to say that Imelda and Jaims had moved the entire group to Shuqi for the winter. Winter came, roared fiercely for three moons, then melted quickly into spring. Ali turned eighteen, and spent the entire day turning down proposals from Wilem of Sortesh, Endrew of Alendar, and minor princes from throughout the continent.
One night in early summer Ali returned to her rooms late, having spent the afternoon and most of the night arguing with her general about how many troops to station along the Prulaten border.
I do know what I’m doing, she thought grumpily, closing the door behind her. I’m not an idiot. A hundred troops isn’t nearly enough; we’ll need at least three times that—
All thoughts of generals and troops flew out of her head as a figure hauled itself over the window sill.
“Don’t come any closer!” Ali shouted as the figure stood. “I’m—I’m armed!”
“No you’re not,” Eron’s voice replied. “Ali, I can see you perfectly.” He moved into the circle of light shed by the pair of candles on her table, and she could see him, too.
He looks like a man, she thought before she could help herself. His once-shaggy auburn hair, cut short in the fashion of the lower class, was neatly trimmed, as was the mustache on his upper lip. He’d grown into his height, finally, though he would always be rangy. The simple green and brown of his shirt and wide-legged trousers, and the dagger strapped to his hip, only magnified the difference.
“What are you doing here?” Ali demanded, more to stop her thoughts from wandering into dangerous territory than anything else.
“Visiting?” he suggested, slipping off the small pack he wore on his back. “I brought you something.”
“What? Eron, why are you here?” Ali repeated, pulling at his arm.
“I wanted to see you,” he replied, pulling his arm away to open his pack. “I would have come back sooner, but we were so busy in Prulat, and Shuqi is so far away. We’re back in Sortesh, now, though, so I can come more often.”
“Come more often? Eron, you’re not supposed to be here at all! You’re supposed to be in Merim. You know, that country you left in the care of your sister. The one you were supposed to unite with Shala when you married me two moons ago,” Ali said, poking him.
Eron brushed her hand away absently as he rummaged in his pack. “I know I put it—ah! Here!” He shoved a wooden box proudly into her hands.
“Eron—” Ali began.
“Open it!” he said.
Letting out an irritated breath, she flipped open the lid. There was a strange humming sound, and then the box began to play a quiet, soulful melody.
“How does it do that?” she asked, interested in spite of herself.
“No idea,” Eron replied cheerfully. “Got it from a mage in Shuqi. ’Least, I think he was a mage—I thought it was just a box, but went I went to pay him for it he did some funny finger-twiddling and it started to play that song. And he put in that bit of paper.”
Ali reached in the box and pulled out a thin sheet of parchment. On it was a short poem written in Shuqi.
“Not really sure what it says, but he seemed to think it was important,” Eron said.
“It’s a haiku,” Ali told him, frowning at the characters. She’d learned both written and spoken Shuqi from Master Daiko, who also trained her in the martial arts, but it had been a while since she’d had to use her skills. “I think it says something like,
“The peahen’s plainness
Serves her better than the cock’s
Outlandish feathers
“That’s not a very good translation, but it’s the best I can do.”
Eron frowned. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“They don’t, usually, not at first glance,” Ali said, replacing the poem and closing the lid, noticing the feathered peacock on the lid. Eron seemed to be making a theme of his gifts. “But it makes sense to me, just a little.”
“Oh? What’s it mean?” Eron asked curiously.
“I don’t believe I’m going to tell you that,” Ali said briskly, placing the music box on her desk next to her mother’s vase and the brooch he’d given her the year before. “And now that we’ve dispensed with the frivolities, maybe we could get to down to some serious business?”
“Business?” Eron asked lightly.
Ali glared at him; he knew perfectly well what she meant. “Business, Eron. Your return to take your place as King of Merim. The unification of your country with Shala. Our marriage.”
“Look, Ali—”
“Why did you even bother to come here?” Ali demanded before he could give her an excuse. “What could you possibly hope to accomplish?”
“I gave you a birthday present,” he pointed out.
“A box. A singing box. Yes, Eron, it’s lovely, thanks. I’ll just go marry it, shall I?” she suggested, glaring at him.
Eron exhaled slowly. “All right. You’re right. I shouldn’t have come.”
“No,” she agreed, surprised and a little hurt that he’d given in so quickly.
“It’ll be light soon, anyway,” he said, swinging his pack up over one shoulder. “I should go.”
“Yes,” Ali agreed again, and wondered why she suddenly didn’t want him to go.
“Farewell,” he said, throwing a leg over the window sill.
“Farewell,” she said quietly as he swung out of sight. To herself she added, I didn’t want him to stay.
9 Seed Moon 986
The palace
The Kingdom of Shala
Ali was at her desk, fighting a loosing battle with anger, depression, and exhaustion, when she heard a scraping sound outside her window.
He wouldn’t, she thought, pushing back her chair and rising quickly. He wouldn’t come here, not with Prulat practically invading Shala and Ermbrein pirates parading through the southern half of Merim. He wouldn’t dare, Ali thought as he swung into her room.
“Leave,” she said before he could speak. “I don’t want to talk to you.” She turned away and gripped the back of her chair to keep her fingers from shaking.
“Okay,” he said slowly, and her back stiffened at the very masculine mixture of confusion and condescension in his voice. “So I’ll talk. You listen.”
“I’m not interested in what you have to say,” Ali told him, forcing herself to face him. “I’ve too many things to deal with—things, by the way, that you should be helping me with.”
“Ali, don’t start that again,” Eron said. “That’s not what I came to talk to you about.”
“I don’t care,” she said, biting off the words. “Go away. I’ve—things to do.”
“Look, I just want to talk to you a little. I’ve risen in the Rovers—Jaims made me his second-in-command. We’ve been spreading out, expanding—I lead a group in Alendar, and we’ve a division in Shuqi, and we’re setting up one in Vornir. Jaims is in Prulat with the main camp, of course. But we want to set up a camp in Shala, too. The need isn’t so great, of course, but—”
“No,” Ali said, her voice shaking with incredulity and anger and the thousand other emotions roaring through her thin frame. “No. You are such an—Bad enough that you leave your country, leave your sister, leave me, but now you want to steal from my people? Corrupt as the rest of the world may be, Shalan nobles are good people, and I will not have you take from them.”
“We don’t want to take from them,” Eron said, rolling his eyes as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “We want to take from the foreign nobles who cross through Shala and Merim to avoid us.”
“Oh, well, that makes it all better,” Ali snapped. “You’re only going to be selectively mauling people.”
“I don’t maul people!” Eron retorted. “I help people. The people of Prulat and Ermbrei are more loyal to the Rovers than they are to their own Kings. I’m doing good things.”
“Good things. Good things. Wonderful, splendid, happy, special things!” Ali shouted. “Excuse me for being angry that you’re gone! Excuse me for not being thrilled you’re having so much fun! Excuse me for trying to do the work of three people! Excuse me for needing you! Excuse me for not being perfect!” she yelled.
“That is absolutely ridiculous!” Eron yelled back. “It is not my fault that you can’t run a country!” As soon as he said it he wished he could take it back.
Ali went still. “Well,” she said shakily. “Well. You too. I should have guessed. Every other man I know thinks I can’t do it. Why should you be any different?” She turned away, gripping the chair back so hard her knuckles went white.
“Ali, I didn’t mean—” Eron began, reaching for her.
“Don’t touch me!” Ali flared, spinning back to face him. Her right arm was raised in a block, left fist curled at her hip, prepared to strike.
Eron stepped back, recognizing the stance from the brand of martial arts practiced by the people of Shuqi in the east. “Ali—”
“Stay back,” she ordered, and though her voice shook so she could barely get the words out, her body remained rock solid.
“Ali, I didn’t mean that,” he said carefully. “I was—frustrated. I want you to understand why I’m doing this. Why I have to do this.”
She opened her mouth to yell at him again, then snapped it close and turned her head away. “Leave.”
“Ali—”
“Leave! I want you out. And unless you’re coming back to propose marriage and reclaim your throne, I don’t want you to come back. Ever.”
“Ali—”
“Ever.”
Eron’s mouth opened and closed as he tried to think of a way to reason with her. “Fine,” he said at last, furious with her and with himself. “Fine. I’ll go. And I’m not coming back. Ever,” he said, sneering as he mocked her. He crossed deliberately to the window and jumped lightly over the sill.
Behind him, alone again, Ali gave in to tears.
24 Seed Moon 986
Rover’s main camp
The Kingdom of Prulat
“The last time I saw a man look like you do, his betrothed had just thrown him in the river in front of an entire regiment of Alendar’s army,” Imelda said conversationally, pulling herself up to sit beside Eron on a wide branch thirty feet above the ground. “There really should be a word for it, but I can’t think of one. The combination of anger, embarrassment, hurt, fear, and pride is unmistakable, if rare. Maybe Semule knows.”
“I don’t want to talk about it, Imelda,” Eron said.
“Men never ‘want to talk about it,’” Imelda replied, ignoring the vaguely threatening undertones in his words. “But when you’re the mother figure for two score of them, you learn that they actually do.”
“I’ve got nothing to say.”
“Ooh, growling now, are we? I’m shaking in my pretty little boots,” Imelda said, glancing down at the soft lady’s riding boots she’d ‘liberated’ in that morning’s raid. “You’ve been gone almost a moon, so I’ll have to assume it’s got something to do with your abandoned princess.”
“Oh, not you too!” Eron cried, flinging his arms in the air and very nearly falling of the branch. “It’s not funny,” he said as he regained his balance. “I haven’t abandoned anybody.”
Imelda stopped laughing and sighed. “Eron, we both know you’re not that stupid. That’s exactly what you did. You abandoned your parents, your sister, your country, and, yes, Alisabet. Perhaps her more than the others. It is a hard thing, to be a woman in a position of power. Men refuse to see beyond the dress. I wonder, sometimes, that it is so hard for them to understand that our minds and hearts are just as strong theirs.”
“Why do all women say that?” Eron demanded. “Ali said it, too. I know she can do it; she’s been doing it! She’s been doing just fine, and so has Clare. They want me to think they can do it on their own, but they need me to return. How is that supposed to work?”
“You really know nothing about people,” Imelda told him. “Women or otherwise. People like Alisabet have spent their whole lives under pressure to be perfect. You know that—you lived it. Unfortunately, nobody is perfect, and she’s all too aware of that fact. She’s been trained to need approval, especially male approval, and she doesn’t get nearly enough of it. Though I think no women would ever say she gets enough of that,” she admitted with a wry smile.
“So she wants me to think she’s capable. Fine. I think that,” said Eron.
“But you didn’t tell her that, did you. Knowing you, you probably got mad and yelled the opposite. Idiot,” she said fondly, reading the truth in his face. “Alisabet has been alone for all these years, and the one person she’s been told she needs tells her she isn’t worth his time. Men are such a stupid species.”
Eron squirmed. “I tried to apologize. She wouldn’t listen.”
“Defenses,” Imelda said. “She’s had to build up a lot of them over the years. And it seems you’re one of the few people who can get through them. She does need you, Eron. To rule, yes. It’s time you stopped kidding yourself about the mess that you’ve left, the people you’ve let down. But she needs more than that. She needs someone to be strong when she can’t.”
“And who’s supposed to be strong when I can’t be?” Eron demanded.
“What’re you two chatting about up there?” called Jaims from below.
Imelda looked down at him and smiled. “That’s what marriage is,” she told Eron before she leapt down into Jaims’ waiting arms.
23 Snow Moon 986
The palace
The Kingdom of Shala
“Alisabet,” Wilem called, following her as she slipped out of the salon.
Ali cursed in her head—she’d been trying to avoid him—and turned. “Yes, Wilem?” she asked, plastering a smile across her face.
“I wanted to talk to you.” He caught up to her and gestured for her to keep walking.
“What about?” she asked, though she had a feeling she knew the answer.
“About marriage. I know you’ve put me off before,” he said before she could protest. “But this is getting ridiculous, Alisabet. You’re nearly twenty now—you should have been married years ago! We all see the shadows under your eyes, the way you don’t eat. You need a husband to rule this country for you.”
Like you care how I am. “I’m managing just fine on my own. I have a duty to Shala,” she said primly.
Wilem seized her shoulders and turned her to face him. “A duty to Shala. A duty to Shala. You have a duty to breed. Shala will be nothing without an heir.”
“Let go of me,” Ali said, jerking ineffectually in his grasp. “I have a duty to rule my country.”
“You have a duty to leave such things to those who know best. I know best. Marry me,” Wilem demanded, shaking her.
“Let me go,” Ali cried. “I’m not going to marry you!”
Wilem growled and seized her by the throat. “Marry me,” he growled, leaning in close.
Ali clawed frantically at his hands, searching for something, anything, any way to hurt him. She managed to jam her fingernail into the soft flesh at his wrist, between the bones.
Wilem yelled and jerked his hands away. Ali ran as soon as she could, not stopping until she was sure he was no longer behind her.
She forced herself to walk back to her rooms slowly. She was the Queen of Shala in everything but name, and she would not be intimidated. Her hands didn’t shake as she reached for the doorknob. She didn’t throw the door open and dart inside, slamming and locking it behind her. She was calm and she would remain—
“Ali!”
Ali yelled and started, only to collapse against the table as she saw it was Eron. She pressed a hand to her chest, forcing herself to breathe deeply and evenly. “Eron. You—you startled me.”
Concerned, he drew nearer. “Ali, are you all right?”
“I—” Her breath caught in her throat and she coughed to clear it. “Yes, I’m—I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine,” he insisted, pressing closer. “Did something happen?”
“No,” she denied, rubbing her throat self-consciously.
Frowning, Eron pulled her fingers away. There were shadows on her skin, like dirt—or bruises. “Ali, what happened?”
“I—it was Wilem,” she said, not meeting his eyes. “He’s been pushing for an engagement since before you left, and—” Her breath caught again, and she swallowed hard to keep the tears at bay.
“He threatened you,” Eron said flatly, surprised by the flare of anger that came with it.
Reluctantly Ali nodded. “I—I should have fought him. Master Daiko will be upset. He was just so—so big—” She bit her lip, shaking with the effort of holding back the tears.
Eron did the only thing he could think of and wrapped his arms around her shoulders the way he had seen Jaims do with Imelda. She struggled briefly, and his arms tightened automatically, his mind racing as he assimilated the new information.
So Sortesh had gotten impatient, and Wilem was trying to force a union. No doubt he was working with Endrew of Alendar, who would be pressuring Claressa. She was safe for the time being, but her eighteenth birthday was less than three moons away.
Guiltily he realized Ali was sobbing into his collar. “Hey, hey, what’s this?” Eron said, pulling her back so he could look at her. “Surely the Queen of Shala isn’t afraid of pretty Prince Wilem?” he teased.
Ali shook her head, gesturing feebly until she was calm enough to speak. “It’s not—not him, not really. It’s—everything. Sortesh is marshalling troops along our border. Alendar hasn’t officially started placing soldiers along its border with Merim, but our spies say they’ve started sneaking men into towns along the border. Endrew’s been in Merim for the last two moons, trying to get Clare to be his bride, and I just don’t know that she can hold up much longer. She likes him, Eron, and I think he genuinely likes her. But she can’t let Alendar swallow Merim. Prulat and Ermbrei have signed a peace treaty, and without each other to fight, I can only think that they’ll be turning their eyes to Shala. Our border with Prulat is twice as long as that with Sortesh, and Prince Hamlut is as yet unwed…” she trailed off unhappily, contemplating the political mess she’d been living the past three and a half years. “And I’m tired of wearing orange,” she added as an afterthought, a miserable little smile on her face.
Eron laughed at that, glad she wasn’t crying anymore. “I think Shala’s orange and brown suit you as well as Merim’s red and white suit me,” he told her. “We should think of better colors for the flag of our new country.”
Ali froze. “What?”
“Our new country,” he repeated. “I—I did some thinking, about all of this, and it’s time I came back. Past time. I should have—” Eron stopped abruptly when Ali threw her arms around his neck. Surprised and pleased, he wrapped his arms around her again. “I should have come back sooner—”
“It doesn’t matter,” she cut him off. “I mean, of course it does, but if you’re really coming back—”
“I really am.” He eased her back, lifting her chin so she looked up at him. He needed to see her for this. “I’m not going to apologize for leaving. However wrong it might have been, it was something I needed to do for myself, and I’m not sorry I did it.”
Ali bit the inside of her cheek but didn’t reply, so he continued:
“I am sorry, though, that I left you so long. I shouldn’t have. I put myself before our people, and that was wrong.” He could see that she wanted to agree and was thankful she didn’t. “I’m not going to do it again.”
Ali pulled away carefully. “You’ll need to go to Merim right away,” she said, crossing to her desk to rifle through a stack of papers. “Take control of things there, and take the burden off Claressa. As soon as you’re remotely settled, we’ll announce the union. But we’ll need to move quickly; Wilem won’t wait long once we do. If he gets even a hint—”
“He won’t come near you again,” Eron vowed, and Ali felt a little thrill run down her spine.
“It’s not me I’m worried about,” she said, secretly pleased, “but our people. The troops are just waiting over the border.”
“I’ll talk to Jaims,” Eron said. “See if the Rovers can hassle the troops, or at least provide a distraction. With the Prulaten-Ermbrein war finished, they’re more or less out of relief work.”
“Good,” Ali nodded. “We’ll need to keep in contact—a middle man on the border will do. There are so many lists to consolidate; generals, soldiers, tithes…”
“I know. I do have a little practice in this,” he said with a self-deprecating smile. “And I should go. The sooner I make it to Merim, the better.”
“Yes,” she agreed, and cursed the part of her that wanted him to stay. “I’ll write soon with the lists.”
“I look forward to it,” Eron said ironically as he swung over the window.
1 Seed Moon 987
Shalan palace
The Kingdom of Sharim
Four moons and a few days more passed, during which Ali worked hard and Eron even harder, changing laws, issuing orders, and dealing with the legal and political hassle of uniting Shala and Merim. Claressa’s eighteenth birthday came and went with little pressure; Eron’s reappearance had driven away most of her suitors, though Endrew of Alendar had been invited to the small family gathering they’d held in lieu of a royal ball. Ali and Eron saw little of one another, separated as they were by six hundred miles and the soon-to-be-obsolete border between their two countries.
But the day of the unification had arrived at last.
Eron fidgeted in the hallway where he had been tucked away until it was time to make his grand entrance with Ali. The door several feet to his left lead to the sweeping stairs that descended into the grand ballroom of the Shalan palace—now the capital of their new country, as Claressa had claimed the Merimite palace for a school—where he would wed Ali and they would officially take the throne of Sharim.
A burst of trumpets echoed up from the ballroom and Eron jumped several feet in the air.
“A little edgy, are we?” asked a familiar female voice from behind him.
“I thought Clare was going to fit you out like a queen,” Eron said, turning as Ali joined him in the hallway.
“Yes, well,” Ali said, looking down at herself, “we tried. But I just felt so silly with all those layers and laces and skirts, not to mention the fact that I’ve never learned how to walk in the darn things. Clare was trying to teach me, but I kept forgetting I was five times as wide and knocking things over.”
“I suppose that could be a problem,” Eron said with a grin. “How do they get those things to stay out, anyway?”
“Hoops. Giant, metal hoops. It’s like being in a cage. A rather frivolous cage.”
“Well, you look nice anyway,” he said off-handedly, turning away so he wouldn’t see her blush.
Well, I do look nice, Ali thought to herself. It’s only polite of him to notice. Her gown was of the same simple style she had been wearing her entire life, but the ugly orange wool had been exchanged for vivid blue silk. A lacy gold crown, twin to the one upon Eron’s head, sat atop her hair, which hung free down her back, and the peacock brooch Eron had given her nearly three years before held a cloth-of-gold girdle about her waist.
“Stop that.” A hand reached out to cover her fingers and Ali realized she’d been fiddling unconsciously with the brooch.
“You’re making me nervous,” Eron continued, pulling her hand away. He kept his fingers linked with hers, and Ali could tell from the way his slippered toes tapped on the floor that he was nervous enough on his own.
“Sorry,” she told him, suppressing a smile.
The trumpets sounded again and his grip on her fingers tightened briefly. He grinned weakly at her.
“You know, you’re supposed to be a noble, solid rock of support for your delicate wife,” Ali told him, and she couldn’t quite keep the smile hidden. “At least, that’s what Kristena says.”
“I don’t think kings are supposed to go to their queens’ ladies for marital advice,” Eron replied. “From the stories I’ve heard, that sort of ‘consulting’ only makes things worse.”
Ali made a face, though her heart was pounding just a little. They’d talked about the marriage, but only loosely, in abstract, general terms as he did now. How were they going to—
Her mind went entirely blank for one dizzying minute as Eron leaned over and pressed his lips to hers.
“What was that?” she asked him when she could breath again.
“I was thinking, earlier,” he said lightly, not quite meeting her eyes, “that the Prince of Merim had asked the Princess of Shala to marry him, but we never bothered to stop and ask Eron and Ali how they felt about the arrangement.”
“Oh,” Ali replied softly, and wished she could think of something better. “Well—”
He kissed her again, this time with heat, and pulled away reluctantly only when the trumpets sounded again.
“I could learn to hate those things. Seriously!” he protested when Ali giggled. “Everyone says I left to join the Rovers because I was bored, or felt trapped, or was too weak to handle it. The truth of the matter is I couldn’t stand another minute of those endless trumpets.” He tried to say it seriously, but couldn’t keep himself from laughing with her.
“Shh,” she said, flapping her free hand at him as the trumpets sounded yet again. “They’re going to announce us soon.”
Eron took a in a calming breath and let it out slowly as Ali shifted her fingers from his hand to his arm.
“Their royal Majesties, King Eron and Queen Alisabet of Sharim!”
Eron and Ali smiled at one another and stepped out to greet their new kingdom.
And, despite all odds, they all lived happily ever after.