possibility of treason.”
“Have you lost your mind?” Filfaeril screeched. “Treason? From Tanalasta?”
“That won’t happen,” Vangerdahast assured her. “As I said, matters are well under control. Tanalasta will develop into a splendid queen.”
“Like bloody hell she will!” Azoun said. “I suppose the next thing you’ll tell me is that I should let her have this Royal Temple of Chauntea?”
“Of course not. I didn’t expect that.” Vangerdahast was struggling to keep hold of his own patience. “But I’ll have to be the one to deal with it. If you start trying to deny her at this stage-“
“I am the king!” Azoun roared. “I’ll do what’s best for Cormyr, and if that means telling the crown princess she can’t have a royal temple to play with, then I will!”
“To ‘play with?’” Vangerdahast rolled his eyes. “That’s what I’m talking about. She’s not a little girl, Majesty. She’s a thirty-six year old princess who needs a suitable husband-and fast.”
“I don’t like this, Azoun.” Filfaeril turned from the fireplace and started across the room, toward the door that led to their suite of rooms. “What does a wizard know about raising children? I understand my daughter. She doesn’t want to be queen, and I say we don’t make her. Alusair is a year younger anyway.”
“Alusair?” Vangerdahast gasped, finally losing control of himself. “And who is going to make her be queen? She doesn’t want it at all, and I couldn’t even begin to address her problems.”
“Vangerdahast’s right about that, I’m afraid.” Azoun was speaking to his wife’s departing back. “If we don’t want to make Tanalasta do it, it’s hardly fair to make Alusair do it either.”
“Then perhaps you will have to father another heir, my husband, one that Vangerdahast can mold into a proper monarch.” Filfaeril’s voice was as icy as her glare. “But I fear you will need a younger queen for that. One a decade the junior of your daughters, so you can be certain of the matter.”
Filfaeril turned and pulled the door shut behind her.
Azoun sighed and sank into the chair she had vacated, then tossed his crown onto the floor and began to rub his forehead.
“Vangerdahast, please tell me that you have some idea what you’re doing here.”
“Of course, Sire. You may recall that I helped guide you through-“
The wizard was interrupted by nervous rapping at the door, then Alaphondar Emmarask poked his head into the chamber. His long white hair was more disheveled than usual, and the expression on his face was atypically frazzled.
“Pray excuse my interruption, Sire, but a rather spontaneous flood of high priests seems to be, well, appearing in the Marliir courtyard.”
“No doubt offering to establish Royal Temples of their own,” Azoun surmised.
The Sage Most Learned glanced at the floor. “I would say they are doing rather more than offering.”
“And so it starts.” The king exhaled heavily, then snatched his crown off the floor. “Is there anything else?”
“Yes, sire. Merula the Marvelous begs leave to consult with Vangerdahast regarding the hazard that will be caused by a subversion of the War Wizards in favor of a religious-“
“Tell Merula I will speak with him later,” interrupted Vangerdahast, “and assure him the War Wizards’ influence is not threatened.”
Azoun glanced at Vangerdahast from the corner of his eye. “Quite sure of ourselves, aren’t we?”
“Quite,” the wizard replied, voicing more conviction than he felt.
The Sage Most Learned still did not leave.
“Something else?” Azoun asked.
“I’m afraid so, Majesty. Duke Marliir is demanding an audience,” said Alaphondar. “He’s angry about being asked to host a party so Princess Tanalasta could announce she would not be marrying his son.”
“Of course. Show him in.” Azoun sighed heavily, twirling the crown on his fingers, then looked up at Vangerdahast. “Lord Magician, by the time we finish today, I am sure you will have a plan for untangling this brilliant mess you’ve made.”
“Of course, Sire.” Vangerdahast took the crown, then placed it on Azoun’s head at an angle just jaunty enough to make it appear the king had been celebrating his birthday a little too hard. “Whatever you command.”
The stables smelled of straw and leather and predawn dew, and of the many other joys of honest labor that had remained so carefully hidden from Tanalasta throughout much of her life. She would miss the odor of toil when she returned to Suzail, but at least she would know where to find it again when the palace’s bouquet of perfume and prevarication grew overwhelming. Tanalasta slipped the breast collar over the mule’s neck, then buckled it into place and passed the reins to Harvestmaster Foley, sitting above her on the driver’s bench. The rest of the priests were kneeling in the wagon cargo bed with their tools and gear, eager for the day’s work to begin.
The crunch of approaching feet sounded from the stable yard outside. Tanalasta turned to see her parents advancing through the early morning gloom, Vangerdahast and the usual entourage of guards in tow. Though the sun would he up in less than half an hour their eyelids remained heavy with sleep and their hair uncombed.
“The king and queen,” Owden gasped, “and they don’t look happy.”
“I wouldn’t read much into their appearance,” Tanalasta said. “It’s not the palace’s custom to rise before the sun.” Not so long ago, Tanalasta too would have regarded a predawn rising as an interruption of the choicest pillow time. “I’m sure Vangerdahast spent the night bending their ears about the royal temple.”
A distressed look came to Owden’s face, but Tanalasta gave him a reassuring smile and went outside to meet her parents.
“Your Majesties, I did not expect to see you up so early.”
“No? Then you were hoping to sneak out under cover of darkness?”
The king made his query sound like a joke, but there was a bitter edge to the question, and Tanalasta could sense the schism between her parents and the royal magician. Though the trio was normally close-knit, Azoun and Vangey barely looked at each other, and her mother stood a little apart from both of them. Tanalasta curtsied, acknowledging the irritation in her father’s tone.
“It is the custom of Chauntea’s folk to start early.” As Tanalasta spoke, the royal guards formed a small circle around the group, lest any of the Marliir stable boys scurrying through the gray morning pause to eavesdrop. “We have had disturbing news from Tyrluk. The blight has broken out in ten places around the village, and the crop was already half lost before the messenger left town.”
Owden Foley stepped gingerly past a guard to come up beside Tanalasta. “At that rate, Majesty, every field between the High Road and the Storm Horns will be a total loss within the tenday.”
“That is why we keep the royal granaries full.” Azoun ignored the Harvestmaster and continued to focus on Tanalasta. “We have not seen the princess in over a year. I would really rather she didn’t run off-“
“Within a tenday, you say?” Vangerdahast interrupted, stepping past Azoun toward Owden. “That is exceedingly fast, is it not?”
Owden nodded grimly. “The fastest I have ever seen. If we do not move quickly, the whole of Cormyr could lose its crop.”
“Truly?” Vangerdahast ran his fingers through his long beard, then turned to the royal couple. “Majesties, we may have a situation here worthy of our closest attention.”
Azoun frowned in confusion. “Just yesterday, you told me that Merula the Marvelous-“
“I fear Tanalasta may have been right about him,” Vangerdahast said, again interrupting. “Unless you want a dragon blasted apart or a company of orcs put to sleep, Merula the Marvelous is a bit of a wand waver.”
The king and queen exchanged perplexed glances, then Filfaeril asked, “I beg your pardon?”
“Merula wouldn’t know a blight from a blotch,” said Vangerdahast. “He assured me the disease would never escape the mountains, and the next day here it is in Tyrluk. When it comes to plants, we might be better to put our faith in the judgment of the good Harvestmaster.”
Tanalasta wondered what trick Vangerdahast was working now, then frowned as the old pettifogger turned to address Owden.
“Harvestmaster Foley, what would you say is the origin of this blight?”
“It appeared first in the mountains, and it molds the roots just below the surface.” Owden rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then said, “It may very well be some sort of cave fungus-carried by orcs, I imagine. The filthy
