Asea, was in a position to change his life. She could grant him rewards beyond the wildest imaginings of a street boy from Sorrow.
He ran his mind over the rituals Asea's Master of Etiquette had taught him. He knew exactly how close he should come to the royal presence and exactly how deeply he should bow. He knew he was not to raise his face until the Queen-to-be told him he could look upon her countenance. He was certain he knew what he was doing. He had a good memory for such things. He had been told he could keep wearing his sword. It was a mark of special favour for a half-breed like him. He supposed the future Queen must trust him. After all, if he had wanted her dead, he could have killed her at any time during their long trek back to Morven after their escape from the Serpent Tower.
'You look very handsome,' said Asea. He ought to. She had spent a fortune on the clothes he wore. He could sell this gold-braided dark red tunic for enough money to feed a family outside for months. He stroked the trim on the folded cuff with the fingers of his right hand.
'You are going to have to stop doing that,' she said.
'Doing what?'
'Thinking about how much the clothes cost. A Terrarch Aristal never does.'
'Are you reading my thoughts, Milady? I thought you said the Elder Signs you provided me with would prevent such a thing.' He smiled so that she would know he was joking.
'No, Rik. It's just I have come to know you quite well over the past few months.' For a man as secretive as he was, it was terrifying to contemplate that someone could read him so well, but if anyone ought to be able to do so, it was Asea. She had centuries of experience of the moods and body language of mortals. How much of her apparently magical divinatory abilities were simply the result of those ages of experience, he wondered?
'Are we so transparent to you?' he asked.
'You are anything but transparent, Rik. There is as much guesswork as certainty in my observations.' He wondered whether that was true or if she was just flattering him to put him off guard. He wondered whether she could read those thoughts in his face too. If she could she gave no sign.
'I was thinking about the cost of the clothes,' he said, not quite sure why he was letting her confirm the accuracy of her observations.
'Don't.'
'I am not a Terrarch Aristal.'
'You will be soon. You will be adopted into my house. I have already written to Queen Arielle asking for the patent.' Despite himself he was surprised. It must have shown on his face.
'I told you I would,' she said. 'I always keep my promises. For good or ill.'
That was true, too. She paid all her debts, of honour as well as blood. Rik decided that now was as good a time as any to ask her what was on his mind.
“Why has Kathea not been crowned? If it were up to me, she would have been made Queen as soon as we took the city?”
Asea smiled. “There are two reasons.”
“And the first is?”
“That Terrarch coronations always occur on the Feast of Saint Balthazar. It is auspicious and we are a very conservative people.”
“I suspect that is not the main reason.”
“And your suspicions are correct. Invitations have been sent to every Aristal family in Kharadrea. There must be time for all of them to receive and acknowledge those invitations. Those who do not attend will be known as traitors to the crown. Their properties will be forfeit. A number of our Talorean noble families are looking forward to increasing their estates in Kharadrea. Such things must always be done according to correct legal procedure.”
“You expect that some families will not attend.”
“I am certain of it.”
The blare of golden trumpets announced their arrival. They passed through the great archway into the inner court of the Royal Palace. A moment later the destriers pulling the coach came to a stop and liveried footmen put the wooden steps into place that would allow them to get down from the interior with ease.
Rik got down first and then helped Asea to descend. The flowing, belled skirts of her billowing gown were not exactly practical for such purposes. They strode along the crimson hued carpet and under the arched doorway. A Palace servant greeted them fawningly and began to lead them through the maze of corridors.
Rik took his cue from Asea, keeping his face bland and blank and letting a slight smile quirk his lips. He tried to look as if he had grown up surrounded by such wealth and saw it every day when, in reality, the only time he had ever seen its like before was when he was burgling mansions in Sorrow.
Yet again he found himself valuing things as he walked along. The paintings, by Scorelle, were worth thousands each. The gold leaved frames could probably buy his clothes. These were mostly famous scenes from history — great battles and conflicts, the surrenders of rebel Generals to King Orodruine. Given the fractious and factional nature of Kharadrean politics, there was no shortage of such scenes in the nation's history, although the number of dragon-winged angels who beamed down on the King's victories rather punctured any pretensions to realism. If truth had been told, the impression given was entirely misleading. Orodruine had not been a warrior king, or a successful general. For a good deal of his long reign his realm had been a battleground on which the warring armies of Talorea and Sardea had clashed. For the rest of its history he had mostly been in thrall to coalitions of his over-mighty nobles. There was something about all the martial valour depicted here that made Rik think of the boasting of a drunken coward.
'Stop doing that,' murmured Asea.
'Doing what?' he replied equally quietly.
'Assessing the value of the paintings if you were going to sell them to a fence.' He suppressed a smile, knowing that this time her guesswork had only been partially correct.
'I'll try.'
'Best try to do so before we come before the Queen. I doubt she will appreciate your appraising of her property.'
'Judging by the length of this corridor I have a few more minutes to bring my cupidity under control.'
As he said it he noticed one picture, showing a human being raised up by the King, and ennobled with a golden sash. The man wore a General’s gold-braided hat and was missing an arm and an eye. Rik knew this could only be Armand Koth, the legendary General who had finally expelled both Taloreans and Sardeans from Kharadrea. He had practically rewritten the manuals of military tactics too. For a brief dazzling moment it struck Rik that Koth had most likely walked these very corridors in the days of his glory before his sad death.
He was still dwelling on the thought as they entered the huge antechamber to Kathea's chambers. The servant swept them past the mass of courtiers and hangers-on waiting there and presented them to a tall, long- nosed Terrarch who bowed deeply and then banged on the door. As they waited for it to open Rik was all too aware of the number of eyes upon them. Once more he found himself uncomfortable under so much public scrutiny.
The doors opened from within. Rik caught a glance of a slightly smaller chamber, lit by a sorcerous chandelier, walls lined by paintings. Beneath each painting stood a tall Terrarch cavalryman in the dark green and black uniform of the Kharadrean Household Guard. On a throne on the dais at the far end of the room sat Queen Kathea. Her gorgeous green robes and the diadem on her head made her look far more regal than the somewhat bedraggled figure Rik had rescued from the Serpent Tower.
Slightly behind her on and her right sat Lord Azaar. In consideration of his illness, he was allowed to rest on a small, carved stool. His head cocked sardonically to one side as he saw Asea. She and Rik strode in, presented themselves as formalities required and servants slid the doors shut behind them.
As he looked up at the Queen, Rik was once more aware that she seemed uncomfortable with his presence. That made him wary. Kathea was to be numbered among the most powerful people in this land now, and soon she would be ruler of it. If he made her feel uneasy, she would soon be able to remove the uneasiness along with his head. At the moment, there was not a lot he could do about that. He could only stand there, his mouth dry and his stomach churning, and resist the urge to fiddle with the tight collar of his dress tunic.
