Chapter 2

By the time she had reached the West Gate the next morning, Riyan wasn’t sure how she had survived the night. Getting home had been one thing – her feet had done that on their own. But figuring out what to do with herself? That was quite another.

She had spent an hour or so muttering about the presumption of a certain prince while her cats watched her from their favourite spot on top of the cooler. Their tails flicked idly back and forth as she telephoned her mother and her friend Maddy, and her cousins Alena, Rendi and Serena in succession, then agitatedly as she began to tear her apartment apart, searching for something appropriate to wear before Mendel’s father.

Their incessant meowing drew her away from her from her closet and she patted them thoughtfully as they devoured their dinner. Mendel had always liked her cats, which was more than could be said for most men she had brought home for a nightcap. In the short hand, she knew Mendel was an ideal husband – handsome, thoughtful, intelligent, wealthy, loyal, funny, influential and strong willed. Perhaps if he had been a lesser man - a son of a seneschal or a council member perhaps - or hell, even a Speaker! – it may have occurred to her to think of him in those more banal terms, especially considering her father’s anti-monarchist views. But this was not something she had thought of. Not something that she had dared consider. ‘Princess Riyan’ did not suit her and an academic wife wouldn’t suit Mendel, no matter what her mother said.

She wasn’t looking forward to telling him this.

Smoothing down her aodai - The blue silk one, at her mother’s recommendation, along with her rank scarves – she stepped towards the guards manning the closed gate. Purple suited and straight-faced, Riyan didn’t recognize them, but she could sense the tall one reading her as she approached, little branches of aether reaching out, brushing the edges of her defenses. She stood out among the crowd of tourists, dressed as she was and slightly taller than most.

“Um… Good Morning,” Digging into her purse for her ident card, she held it out to the tall guard. “I’m here for an appointment with Prince Amendelivan.”

The guard glanced at her card, then at her face. Unseen to those not trained and difficult to pinpoint for those of lesser power, Riyan felt him reading her from head to toe, subtly prodding for hidden spells and weapons. She had to admire his finesse – most readings felt like one was being poked with several blunt tipped sticks. The other guard, a shorter, dark-haired fellow with a small writing board in hand, waited for him to finish.

“Clear for preliminary,” said the tall guard, handing her ident card to the shorter one. The dark-haired fellow made a notation on the clipboard.

“You are Teacher Riyan, of the Mitali family?” he asked, businesslike.

“That’s me”

“Lunch appointment with his Majesty and the Prince?” He glanced up, a hint of smirk crinkling his eyes. Riyan nodded, wondering if there was something she didn’t know.

“You don’t look nervous enough,” he said, looking amused. “Most girls are shaking in their pretty little shoes.”

Riyan glanced down at her feet, crammed into some heeled slippers that she had borrowed from her neighbour. “I don’t know if they’re shaking. To be honest, they’re sort of numb.”

The guard chuckled. “Well, get used to it, lass.”

He turned to the tall guard and nodded, and Riyan saw a summons streak off through the gate. She looked at the two guards, puzzled.

“Is that it? A reading and asking my name?” she asked. She imagined that security would have been more thorough; though it was not exactly something she and Mendel had ever talked about.

“Of course not,” said a new voice, as the gates swung open. Riyan wheeled around, startled. A thin man in traditional aogam was standing there, his face calm. One of the palace’s attendants, perhaps.

“That was fast, sir,” said the tall guard, looking startled.

“I was waiting for Miss Riyan, on the Prince’s orders,” said the man, smiling to her. “Come with me.”

Riyan left the guards, following the man. He wasn’t much taller than her, but had a far longer stride and Riyan hurried to keep up with him, trying not to trip over her skirts as they strode down a long, richly carpeted, but otherwise quite plain corridor.

“Who are you?” she asked, curiousity getting the better of her.

The man’s blue eyes widened, and he looked thoroughly startled, but kept walking. “I am Eldern Lowyn, miss. I manage Amendelivan’s affairs and apartments.”

Riyan’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? Are you new?”

If possible, Eldern Lowyn looked more startled and he halted in midstride. Turning to look at her, he fixed her with a searching look. “I’ve been in his Highness’ employ for nearly four years. Do you mean to say he’s never once mentioned me or my services?”

Riyan felt the heat rise in her neck. “Um…no. I don’t think so…. I’m sorry.”

“It isn’t something you must feel apologetic for,” he said, his lips thinning. Shaking his head, he turned and kept walking. Riyan wasn’t so sure, but couldn’t quite muster the courage to say anything. She turned her memory over several times, trying to remember if Mendel had actually mentioned Eldern (or any other staff that she now realized he must have), but came up blank. Feeling suddenly disturbed, she remained silent for the three corridors (still quite plain) and a set of stairs (slightly more elaborate) before Eldern spoke again.

“You’ve never been in the palace before, His Highness tells me,” said Eldern, leading her through a pair of doors into a long wide hallway, extravagantly decorated with mirrors and sculptures. Riyan could feel the aether emanating from all of them, humming with energy like a distant machine. Each mirror seemed to reflect off the others and the skylights above.

“No…” said Riyan. “What is this?”

“The Mirrored Hall, designed by His Majesty’s grandfather, one of the most eminent, though not necessarily the most creative, magicians to grace our land.”

“Seize it utterly, you mean,” said Riyan wryly, remembering her school textbooks.

“Something like that. It is also the center of the city’s defences,” said Eldern.

Riyan frowned, staring at the carpet, feeling the currents beneath it. She remembered Mendel once explaining that the palace was circular, and now she understood why. “Not this hall? Surely lower?”

“You are correct. This hall is merely the amplifier.”

“Pretty fancy amplifier.”

“Doubles as a corridor, even,” said Eldern, smiling. “Come along.”

He led her down the Mirrored Hall and Riyan wondered what it would look like when put into use. She remembered the Shield rising several times in her teens, when Kaigande had been buffeted by some particularly severe typhoons, but hadn’t thought to how exactly they had been controlled. Mendel had once told her the Shield wasn’t something run by the King, but by Magicians in the Council’s employ. So what was this Hall defending?

She turned to ask Eldern, but the thought was interrupted as he led her through another door and down another corridor, his stride quickening. Riyan stumbled over the hem of her aodai, but managed to keep her footing.

“Nearly there,” he said, knocking on a door.

“Enter,” called Shemon’s voice and Riyan felt her insides contract as the nervousness that had been so curiously absent suddenly overwhelmed her. Shaking and feeling her hands turn slick, she followed Eldern into a richly decorated sitting room shaded predominantly in gold, green and brown. Mendel was standing up from a table near the windows where he was sitting with a stocky, salt-and-pepper haired version of himself.

“Your Majesty, Highness,” said Eldern. “I present -”

“Riyan!” said Mendel, dismissing Eldern with a wave as he came forward to hug her. Enveloped in Mendel’s arms – since when did he do this in front of anyone else? – Riyan found that the nervous sweat had spread to the back of her neck and began to worry whether it stain the back of her aodai. Letting her go, Mendel steered her towards his father, grinning.

“Here she is, Father,” he said, squeezing her shoulder.

Riyan froze. All the courtesy talk her mother had given her last night slid out of her ears and she felt the blood drain from her head. Shemon looked her up and down with a neutral expression. Riyan noticed that he didn’t look quite as much like Mendel close up. His face was longer and more lined, and his eyes were brown.

“You have a strange taste in women, Son,” he said after a moment. “This one doesn’t appear to talk.”

Riyan blinked as Mendel burst out laughing.

“I talk,” she protested, her voice sounding much smaller and shakier than normal. “Er… Your Majesty.”

“So you do,” said Shemon, sounding distinctly unimpressed.

“I – er…” for lack of a better idea of what to say, Riyan bowed. “I’m honoured to be in your presence.”

There was a minute’s awkward silence and Riyan’s back began to hurt, before she heard Shemon say: “She doesn’t get a joke when she hears one, does she?”

“Not normally, no,” said Mendel. Riyan glanced up and saw they were both grinning ear-to-ear. Flushing, she hastily straightened up.

“I’m sorry,” she said, wringing her hands. “I – uh – didn’t realize that -”

“Sit down, Teacher Riyan,” said Shemon, indicating the chair across the table from him. “It’s alright.”

“I was going to warn you about him,” said Mendel, sitting down to his father’s right. “But he turned up early.”

“Oh,” said Riyan in a small voice, sinking down into the chair’s cushion.

“I assure you that this is not the norm,” said Shemon. Riyan bit her lip, wondering if he was joking again. He and Mendel were still grinning.

“Normally he’s dreadfully late,” said Mendel, nodding.

“It’s my prerogative. I’m a busy man,” said Shemon.

“Which is why I’m grateful,” added Mendel, a distinct note of diffidence entering his voice as he inclined his head. “Father, I formally introduce you to my intended bride, Teacher Riyan of the Mitali family. Riyan, this is my Father, His Majesty, King Shemon, Lord of the Shining Azure waters of the Langara River and Kingdom.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said Shemon. “‘Your Majesty’ will do when addressing me. The rest of it rather ties my tongue, considering that the river is neither Shining, nor Azure from my vantage point. In fact, it looks rather brown from here.”

He squinted out the window, no longer looking at her. “Did one of the purification plants stop working?”

“Er, I don’t know, Your Majesty,” said Riyan, following his gaze. The river was much easier to see from here than from her apartment. A great stretch of water two miles wide to the north dotted with a variety of boats, its delta had been built over by the city, tamed by canals and locks. It did look a bit more brown than usual though.

Shemon frowned, then shook his head. “No doubt I’ll hear about it as soon as I finish my lunch. I’ve given orders not to be disturbed.”

Riyan didn’t know whether to feel honoured or embarrassed that she was taking up so much of the King’s attention when he obviously had more important things to do. Mendel must have noticed her face, because he cleared his throat.

“Father, I think we should tell her. Quickly.”

Riyan felt her eyebrows raise. “Tell me what, Mendel?”

Shemon and Mendel exchanged dark looks, then Shemon spoke.

“Your return from Shamin has come in the middle of a very delicate situation. A few very delicate situations. Normally, considering your background and your father’s political views, you would be a most unsuitable bride for my son.”

Riyan stared at them, befuddled. “Then what suddenly makes me suitable?”

Shemon’s lips tightened. “You will not speak of any of the following outside this room, unless spoken to about it by myself or my son.” There was a crackle of energy and Riyan could suddenly feel the beginnings of a Vow. Without thinking, she threw up her shields and the Vow fizzed against them, useless.

“Father!” said Mendel in an outraged voice.

“I won’t take a Vow that I don’t fully understand, your Majesty,” said Riyan, heart hammering from the sudden exchange of energy. Her voice shook. The Vow had been a strong one and Riyan didn’t doubt it was a serious one. She didn’t understand why she was here, but the aether was something she did understand and she wasn’t about to allow it to be used against her. Shemon met her eyes with an inscrutable expression.

“You are skilled,” he said at last.

“Which is why I’m here, or so I was led to assume,” said Riyan, frowning as she tried to steady her voice.

“Exactly,” said Mendel, nodding meaningfully at his father.

Shemon inclined his head in reply. “Very well. You were right to warn me, Amendelivan.”

Riyan looked between the two of them, feeling her sweating hands ball into fists. “Why am I here, Mendel? I’m foggy on politics and you know it. To be honest, I think that what you told me yesterday was a rather flimsy reason to marry me and I’m under no pretences to the fact that I’m a pretty damn unsuitable bride for a Heir Apparent and in fact have no desire to become one. So, it’d be nice if someone told me the real reason that I’ve been dragged in here, Your Majest-

“Silence,” said Shemon, cutting her off in mid word. Riyan bit her lip and glared at him.

“As mentioned before, you are a most unsuitable bride. This is actually an advantage to us at this point, Teacher Riyan,” said Shemon. “At the moment, all of the current offers of marriage for my son have come from Ishtal and Ozandil. The former is an unpopular choice, for obvious reasons, and the latter comes with a distinctly awkward trade agreement involving use of the north arm of the river which I would rather avoid, due to the fact that it would strain relations with Manjing.”

“Because of the Izori Crisis1, right?” asked Riyan, remembering the incident from her school days.

“That and other more complex reasons,” replied Shemon, nodding. “If we were to agree to Lord del Curilo’s proposal, the consequences would be most unfortunate for us in the long run, not to mention a sharp decline in my approval ratings should Chancellor Zhuang and his cohorts declare war and burn us from north to south.”

Riyan blinked. “We wouldn’t want that,” she said faintly.

Shemon nodded, his eyes twinkling. “That we wouldn’t.”

“So you want me to marry Mendel to take him out of the running for these marriage proposals?” asked Riyan tentatively.

“Publicly, yes,” replied Mendel.

“What about privately, then?” said Riyan.

Both Shemon and Mendel exchanged another look.

“You are of a lower class, Riyan Mitali, and normally, this would completely erase any chance of Amendelivan’s proposal going through,” said Shemon. Riyan cringed. It was the third time he had said something along these lines. Why the hell wasn’t he forbidding the idea out right?

Shemon, seeming to sense her irritation, cleared his throat meaningfully. “However, Teacher Riyan, there are three qualities that you do possess that make us propose this union.”

Riyan felt a start of surprise. “Only three?” she managed to squeak out. Shemon remained stern-faced, but she saw Mendel’s mouth twitch upwards for a moment.

“Yes,” continued Shemon. “Three qualities. The first and most important being that you are loyal to my son, the second being that you lack connections within the political sphere and the third, as I have just witnessed, you are a powerful Magician.”

“Why does this all matter?” said Riyan, feeling mystified. “I’m not diplomatic or particularly good at leading people and I don’t know anything about-.”

Shemon held up a hand to silence her. “Three months ago, my brother Renol’s wife, the Princess Sofia, attempted to have him, myself and Amendelivan assassinated. Renol is still recovering from his injuries and I must say it was a close call for the two of us as well.”

“What?!” Riyan felt herself go cold as horror swept through her. Compulsively, she reached out and took Mendel’s hand. The distinct possibility that it could have been cold and lifeless, rather than warm and returning her squeeze was making her heart thud from fear. She could already see the reasoning. Eliminate Mendel, his father and Prince Renol and the line of succession would pass onto Prince Beryn, who, at fourteen, was too young. Someone would have to rule in his stead, and the best candidate, in light of the equality laws, would be his mother, or possibly Morrigan.

The she realized something. “Why hasn’t Sofia been charged? Wouldn’t it have been all over the papers?”

Mendel cleared his throat. Riyan glanced at him, puzzled.

“Princess Sofia,” said Shemon pointedly. “Has been confined to her apartments under a twenty four hour guard. However, we have reason to believe that the attacks, while engineered by the Princess, were done under mental and magical duress. We cannot be sure though, as she dissolved into complete madness on the night in question and is no more fit to stand trial than the chair I’m sitting on.”

Riyan stared at him as the pieces fell into place. “You want me because you can trust me.”

“Precisely,” said Shemon. He pulled out his pocket watch and frowned at it. “I have urgent business elsewhere.”

With little more than a nod at the two of them, he rose and swept out of the room. Riyan watched him go, feeling strangely disembodied.

Mendel squeezed her hand again. “It’s a shock, I know,” he said softly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Riyan heard herself ask. “Nothing in your letters….”

“Father forbade it,” he said. “It was too great a risk.”

“So you’ve basically just been pretending nothing’s happened?” said Riyan, her voice rising. Mendel nodded, giving her another comforting squeeze and Riyan felt tears smart at her eyes. He could have been dead. He could have been dead. But he was here, alive.

“I came here to tell you I wouldn’t do it,” she said, sniffing. “I wouldn’t marry you…. But now…”

Mendel’s expression did not change, but Riyan felt him stiffen. “But now…” he said.

“I don’t know, Mendel. I really don’t.”

She rose to her feet and felt her stomach emit a low growl. “Wasn’t there supposed to be lunch or something?”

Mendel shrugged. “Neither Father nor myself really felt hungry, and I figured you wouldn’t have an appetite either after this.”

Riyan smiled weakly. “You would have been right, only I didn’t eat breakfast.”

“Do you want me to send for something?”

“No…no… It wouldn’t sit well, no doubt,” she said. Thinking of Sofia being as mad as the chair that Shemon had left empty, she added: “Poor Beryn. This must be horrible for him.”

“He’s been sent south to the summer palace with two chums of his from the academy,” said Mendel, nodding. “Father hoped the climate would help him, and perhaps his friends would distract him from his brooding. I asked Tuyan to go with him, to watch over them.”

“Too bad you can’t marry Tuyan,” said Riyan, with a small chuckle. “You could trust him too.”

“Not much gets past his ghost things,” agreed Mendel. “But unfortunately, he’s more unsuitable than you.”

Riyan met his eyes, feeling an uncomfortable lump in her throat, then looked at her feet. “I’m going to go, Mendel. I – I need to think.”

Mendel inclined his head. “Very well,” he said. “I’ll call Eldern to find an escort to take you home.”

Riyan grimaced. “I don’t really -”

“Please Riyan, I insist. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

Riyan was about to protest, but something in his expression made her quash the notion.

“All right,” she said softly.

1 - During spring flooding, the Langara River passes often passes over the border into Ozandil at its most northerly point and on this particular year, several enterprising Izori merchants hired ten boats to transport goods to the Twin Cities, claiming that since the River had cross into Ozan territory, they could legally use it for transport and not pay the tariff fees charged at the Twin Cities border crossing. The officials in Manjing, the Capital of Seresi, were undeniably miffed about this, noisily sending war ships down river to patrol the floodwaters to ensure the exclusivity of their treaty and sending many aggrieved delegations to Kaigande to harass His Majesty. A most prodigal headache for all – Longdrigan, p 190, Modern History of Langara.

Many Thanks to Cookie Jar, Michelle Habibi and TinuvielDork for reviews, and to Sarah for reading the bits and pieces. Please review!