Exile's Valor

crocuses were already pushing their way up through the flower beds, the last of the snow was gone, the really wretched end-of-winter rains had begun, and now the days were long enough to make you believe that winter might actually end, after all. The air still felt raw, and other than the optimistic crocuses there was no sign of anything growing, but there were moments when the sun felt warm as a hand on the cheek, and when there was a hint of green-scent in the wind. Winter would end. Spring would come, and after it, summer, and a year would have gone by without her father. Time, they said, was a great healer. Some of her depression eased a little more with the lengthening days, certainly. Maybe it was due to the season, maybe she was just getting used to Sendar not being there anymore; there was no longer the blow to the heart when she entered the Throne Room and did not see him there, nor quite the feeling of emptiness when she took what had been his chair at the Council meetings. Not all of it—oh, by no means. But enough that she was sleeping the night through, and not waking up to weep in the darkness.

Sometimes she even slept until her maids woke her, and it was a deep and thankfully dreamless sleep.

Orthallen was as good as his word. At the next meeting of the Full Council, before it was called officially into session, he asked for a moment to address the group personally. “This is not Council business, precisely,” he said. “But it is something that I would like the Council to hear.”

They all looked at Selenay; she nodded. The Seneschal called the meeting to order, and gestured to Orthallen. And when he had the silent regard of everyone around the table, he cleared his throat awkwardly, which was not like him at all. That alone got him the full and alert attention of everyone sitting there.

“My lords, my ladies, I believe that we have been pressing the Queen on an issue that really has no urgency at all,” he said, looking embarrassed. “And by that, I mean the issue of her choosing a spouse immediately. After due consideration, and more thought, I believe we have been overly hasty.”

Selenay inclined her head, accepting what he had said without saying a word herself. This was not the time to add her own thoughts. She wanted Orthallen to explain it all to the rest of the Council in his own words. Though there was one thing that struck her as odd, and that was the phrasing Orthallen had used. Spouse was a peculiar choice of word, when it came to the Queen of Valdemar. Why not say Consort, which was the traditional title if the ruler was the Queen, and the husband was not a Herald?

Perhaps it was because she had shown no real interest in any of the Heralds, but Orthallen did not want to make that too obvious. Now if she’d had a candidate among the Heralds, she’d have made her choice known immediately. It was a given that unless her husband was also a Herald, he could never be King and co-ruler. But still—given that none of the candidates were Heralds, why not just say ’Consort?’

Maybe it was just that Orthallen was keeping the options open in their minds, eliminating neither the possibility of Consort nor King. It’s been a long time since Valdemar had a Queen. Maybe it’s just slipped their mind that no husband of mine can rule unless he’s a Herald. It might be just as well not to remind those of the Council who had forgotten that fact.

“It should be obvious to all of us by this time, that while the Queen is a young woman, she is not only capable, she is wise enough to know when she needs advice and guidance. She could lawfully have replaced all of us, and has not, because she trusts us as her father trusted us, and believes that we, who were her father’s advisers, are capable in ourselves.” He coughed, as a murmur went around the table. “We may be flailing about in the wake of our loss and casting for solutions to situations that are not actually problems.”

Selenay exchanged looks with the other Heralds on the Council; Kyril, the Seneschal’s Herald, Elcarth, and Talamir. Although Orthallen had included the rest of the Councilors in this “admission,” it was a signal departure for him to admit to making a mistake.

And they had been flailing about, as if she herself was a problem, before there had been any evidence of anything of the sort!

Orthallen cleared his throat again, and continued, reluctantly. She held her breath. Was he? Was he going to admit it? “Furthermore, by seeming to cast about frantically for a suitable candidate, we may be giving an impression of weakness to those who do not wish us well. As if we do not trust our Queen and our own ability to carry on in the absence of her father. We could be giving the same impression as a herd of sheep, milling about anxiously without a shepherd, and I do not need to tell you that there are wolves about.”

Another murmur, and Selenay stifled a smile, hearing Orthallen borrowing so heavily from her own argument. He did. He admitted I’m right. I may only get apologies from him in private, but at least he’s admitting that I’m right in public. It was a triumph, but she was not going to gloat over it.

“I know that I was the one pressing most eagerly for such a wedding—or betrothal, at least—but I should like to urge that we drop the subject for now.” He shrugged, and no few of the other Councilors looked as embarrassed as he did.

“If you recommend so, Orthallen,” Lord Gartheser said hesitantly. “You know more about foreign affairs than the rest of us do.”

“I think it would be the wisest course.” And in that moment, Orthallen all but said, I was wrong. But he went on quickly, making an attempt to regain the face he had lost. “In all events, having the Queen so blatantly unattached can also work to our benefit. There are a number of young men of rank, of valuable connection—princes, even—in other lands, who are also unattached. No doubt, their rulers will soon see that there is a way to bring Valdemar into close alliance by the closest of ties. So let us table this search for now, and get on with the business of the realm.”

Nods all around the table, a few reluctant—well, not surprising that the oldest Councilors were less than comfortable about a Queen, and a young one at that, and the oldest men were the ones least inclined to trust her to rule alone. Only time will cure that, she decided.