Princeps

7

The next few days were far warmer, enough to melt the snow near dark stone and uncovered ground-except at night-and that meant that in the morning ice covered much of the stone pavement of the lane down to the lower gates.

On Mardi morning, Quaeryt walked to the private dining chamber, thinking that Vaelora would be along in moments. She wasn’t. After half a quint, he turned and headed back to the dressing chamber.

When he appeared, she stepped forward, shuddering, and put her arms around him.

“What is it?”

“Those shields … the ones you created for battle … can you still do that?”

“Yes … I haven’t seen much need, not here in the palace…”

“Please … whenever you leave the palace … or even here when there are people you don’t know … please use them…”

“Why … What did you see?”

“It was a hall … a long one, and you were standing by a doorway, and a man in dark clothes had a crossbow, and I saw the quarrel go toward you…”

Quaeryt stiffened. “Did you see any faces … anything else?”

Vaelora looked at him, and he saw the streaks of tears running down her cheeks. “It was so real … so very real.” Her voice strengthened. “You must use those shields.”

“But…” He knew better than to protest, but it seemed so unreal. So far as he knew, anyone who had a personal grudge against him was dead.

“Dearest … you are seen as a man of influence and power, and you have already changed much. You have done so quietly. Most people see the governor and the commanders as the ones who made the changes, but there are still those who know you were behind those changes.”

“I’m just a scholar who…”

“Just? If the Sisters all know what you did, who else does as well?”

Quaeryt smiled ruefully. “You’re right. I will.”

“Promise me. Starting today.”

“I promise.”

She blotted her cheeks and eyes, delicately. “I’m sorry. It was so real that I wanted to scream and warn you. Then it was gone.”

“Are these foresights always like that?”

“Farsight,” she corrected him. “I told you. I don’t have many. This is the first one in more than a year, but they all have felt so real when I see them.”

“I’ll go back to using shields,” Quaeryt said, trying to reassure her once more.

“I know it sounds silly … in a fashion, anyway…”

“If you’re right, then it will save my life or health, and if not … there’s certainly no harm done.” He shook his head and added quickly, “You’re right in any case. It’s just hard for me to believe that anyone would want to kill me. In a battle, yes, but as a regional princeps?”

“Who’s married to Lord Bhayar’s sister and who has come to power over so many younger sons of holders and High Holders,” added Vaelora.

“I wouldn’t even have been considered in a region like Ryntar or Montagne, or even Ruilan, would I?”

“I’d have considered you anyway,” she replied with a smile.

“That might have been, but I have my doubts your brother would have been so accommodating.”

“I’d have found a way.”

The matter-of-fact certainty in her voice reminded Quaeryt of one thing-Bhayar hadn’t needed to tell Quaeryt to respect Vaelora. Not at all.

“We should eat breakfast,” he said gently.

“Oh … I almost forgot.”

The inadvertent innocence in her voice reminded him of something else-and that was what a mixture of experience and inexperience lay beneath her determination. He embraced her once more. “I do love you.”

“I know.” Her arms went around him for a moment before releasing him. “We do need to eat.”

He didn’t mention that he’d just said almost the same thing.

They walked to the private dining chamber hand in hand.

After breakfast, Quaeryt made his way down the private staircase and to his study. He was early enough that he arrived before Vhorym. He didn’t settle behind the desk, but walked to the center window and pulled back the hangings and opened the shutters, ignoring the chill off the glass as he stood there looking out to the north. The first snows had begun to fall near the end of Feuillyt, and by mid-Finitas snowstorms were regularly bombarding Tilbor, and that had been weeks before winter began. Spring was less than two weeks away, and everything was still covered in snow, so much that when he rode out the east gates he could barely see over what was piled on each side of the access lane to the palace.

His thoughts went back to what Vaelora had said-and seen. Who would want him dead, and what would he be doing in a long dark hallway?

He laughed, quietly.

How would you ever have believed you-a mere scholar-would become princeps of Tilbor and be married to Bhayar’s daughter?

Then he turned to face the remainder of the day.