she clasped her hands behind her. Only Kero was near enough to see that those hands were white-knuckled with tension. She’s scared to death, Kero realized with surprise. She’s nowhere near as casual as she seems about this; it’s a life-and-death situation, and she knows it. But she’s not going to give that away. She felt herself warming to the young woman, for no apparent reason other than a feeling that she was going to like this Talia.
“Ancar of Hardorn is friend to no man, and no nation,” Talia continued flatly, and there was something in her lack of expression that sent off vague feelings of alarm in Kero. After a moment she realized what it was. Severely traumatized veterans would speak in that flat, expressionless tone, about the battle experiences that had broken them.
What on earth could King Ancar have done to the Queen’s Own Herald? And how did he happen to get hold of her? And why? Something terrible had happened to this young woman at Ancar’s hands, she was as certain of that as she was of her own name.
And so was Need. For the first time in years, Kero felt the blade stirring.
“Ancar is guilty of regicide and patricide,” Talia continued. “He has visited terrors that no sane man would countenance on his own people, and he has turned to dark powers to grant him his desires. I have proofs of this with me, if you would care to see them.”
Faram shook his head, and indicated that she should go on.
“We stopped him once, we of Valdemar,” she said. “We held him at our Border and turned him back. Now he amasses a new army, one of men and steel rather than magic, and he marches again on our Border.”
“So what is it you want?” Faram asked, leaning back in his chair so that his face was in shadow and could not be read.
“Your aid,” Talia said simply. “We simply don’t have enough armed men to hold him back this time.”
As the Queen’s Own Herald continued to speak, Kero grew more and more puzzled. I don’t understand this. Grandmother must have told me the story of the way she and Tarma got rid of Leslac the Bard a dozen times—and every single time she told it, she mentioned the pledge King Stefansen gave to Herald-Prince Roald; that Rethwellan owed Valdemar a favor equal to that of putting a King on his rightful throne. And how Valdemar had never redeemed that favor. She watched as Talia’s hands clenched tighter and tighter behind her back, the only outward sign of the young woman’s increasing desperation. I know for a fact that Valdemar hasn’t cashed in the pledge since Grandmother told me the story. So why is she pleading for help when she could demand it?
She glanced back at King Faram—and saw that he was just as tense as the Herald, and a swift appraisal of Daren, whom she knew better than she knew his brother, convinced her that they were mentally torn—
For some reason, she decided at last, Queen Selenay purely and simply does not know about the pledge. Faram knows about it, though, and Daren—they’ve figured out that Selenay doesn’t know of the pledge, and as people, they want to help. But as the King, Faram has to be reluctant to get Rethwellan involved in a war with someone who isn’t even on his border, who isn’t any kind of a threat to him.
So he is not going to remind anyone about the pledge, if it’s been forgotten.
In a way, Kero could understand that kind of attitude—except that it was ruinously short-sighted. Half of their trade is with Valdemar, and that trade is going to vanish if Valdemar’s involved in a losing war. And if Ancar wins—he will be on the border, and he doesn’t sound to me like the kind of neighbor Id welcome. And if Faram can’t see that—
Thanks to Eldan, Kero knew a bit about Heralds and their country, and what she knew—even if only half of it were true—she liked.
And besides that, all through the young woman’s speech, Need had been rousing, putting a slowly increasing pressure on the back of her mind. It was pretty nebulous, confined to a vague feeling of help her!, but it was certainly getting stronger. By the time this Talia had come to the end of her speech, the sword was all but screaming in Kero’s ear.
She waited for a moment to see what Faram would do; it was always possible that he’d surprise her and offer Talia his help. But he didn’t; he spoke of the necessity of remaining neutral, of the problems with Karse and the need to guard his own border. He temporized, and said in polite, diplomatic terms that he wasn’t going to help, as the man’s face fell and the woman grew as rigid as a statue of ice. Kero felt their anguish as if it was her own. Clearly, this had been their last hope.
I can’t take this anymore. Kero sighed, hoped Daren would forgive her, and stood up.
All eyes in the room swung toward her, and even the King stopped in mid-sentence as her chair scraped across the amber marble of the floor.
“Majesty,” she said, slowly and distinctly, with every ounce of dignity and authority she could muster. “You said in this very hall as the feast began, that I could crave a boon of you in return for my actions at the hunt this
