He kept his thoughts on that subject to himself. All right, granted he wasn’t the most competent when it came to matters of the heart and particularly of romance, but there were some things that were obvious. He hadn’t set eyes on this Prince himself, but he’d heard from plenty of people that the boy was absurdly good-looking. When you took a young woman like Selenay, who surely cherished her own dreams of romance even though she knew very well she was unlikely to fulfill them—and you presented her with a handsome young man of the proper birth and with all of the advantages that a foreign minister could ask for—well, what did you expect to happen? The only reason that he, Alberich, had been blind-sided was because the young man himself had given no outward signs—that Alberich knew of—that he was interested in a marriage alliance with Selenay and Valdemar.
Clearly both he and Selenay had played these cards very close to the chest, if even Caryo had thought it would all blow over.
:So what does anyone know about this prince?: he demanded.
The way cleared; they were in among the manors of the highborn now. And the highborn were all still at the masquerade, so the way was clear. Kantor broke into a gallop.
:I don’t know anything more than you do,: Kantor replied. :But you’ll shortly find out.:
Alberich cut his questions short. But behind his silence, they were piling up, like stones before an avalanche.
***
“—and that is all any of us know,” Myste concluded. Since she was the Chronicler, she had elected to be the one to collect all of the information there was about the Prince, and all of the information there was concerning the Prince and concerning the reaction this unique declaration was going to have on the Council.
Myste sat down on a bale of hay. They were meeting in the stables—the Companions’ stables. The building had the advantage of being big enough to hold all of them, and away from prying eyes and eavesdropping ears.
No one seemed particularly ready to break the silence that followed Myste’s words. Finally, someone coughed.
“And Caryo doesn’t like him, but can’t say why. . . .” said the Herald who taught some of the law classes. “I am reluctant to place too much weight on this. Not even all of the Companions get along all the time; there are Companions that dislike anyone who isn’t a Herald, including their Chosen’s own relatives. I would even hate to speculate.”
“It could just be his natural arrogance that gets her back up,” Talamir suggested. “The boy is arrogant. It’s to be expected, in someone with that much rank and privilege, who is also that confoundedly good-looking.”
“It could be jealousy,” said someone else, in what sounded like the voice of experience. “Just as Peled said. We’re not perfect, and neither are they. I know the first time I flirted with an outsider, my Jandal got as jealous as anything.”
Someone sighed. “I don’t suppose it would do any good to reason with her about it—”
“Not if you don’t want her to call for a priest and wed the boy on the spot,” Keren said flatly. “For those of you who don’t happen to have experience with first love—”
“Infatuation, Keren, surely!” exclaimed someone else.
“First love, first infatuation, it doesn’t matter because it’s a strong emotion either way,” Keren snapped back. “She’s young, she just lost her father, and we can guess that he’s been playing all the parts she needs right now in a single package—part comforter, part protector, part lover. And, may I add, her Council has been putting pressure on her to make some kind of marriage. With all of that going on, not only won’t she hear anything bad about the boy, she’ll turn on the one who tries to criticize him. I’ve seen that, time and time again, in my village. The fastest way to get a girl to marry someone is to tell her you don’t want her to.”
She nodded with an air of finality. Alberich saw her looking at him, and just shrugged. If anyone thought he had any insights on what would work with Selenay, they were going to be sadly disappointed.
“So what are we going to do?” asked someone in a small voice that sounded very bewildered in the darkness.
Now Talamir cleared his throat—and rose to the occasion.
“We will support her, and her choice,” he said firmly. “No matter how hasty or ill-thought we believe it to be. Think! The worst, the very worst, he can do is to make her unhappy—at which point, since Valdemar law supports divorcement, he may well find himself packed back to Rethwellan with his tail between his legs!”
There were some chuckles at that. Weak, but laughter, nonetheless. And at least in Alberich’s case, a sigh of profound relief. This was the old Talamir, seeing the larger picture and finding the cleanest path through what could turn out to be a quagmire.
“The best that he can do is to make her happy, and if he does that, even if we still do not care for him, who are we to object?” Talamir went on, the shadows cast by the lantern beside him making him look as ancient as a Grove oak. “Remember, unless he is Chosen by a Companion and becomes a Herald, he will never be more than the Queen’s Consort, who will have only as much power, or as little, as she grants him—and all of it behind the throne.” Talamir looked around, managing to meet the eyes of every Herald there. “So let us determine to put a good face on things,” he continued. “Offer her our congratulations, singly, and as a group. Support her choice. Make sure that she knows that we are there, as we always have been, for Herald Selenay as well as the Queen.”
And that seemed to be about all that anyone could offer.
Alberich went back to the salle, feeling very uneasy. He hoped that would be enough.
He was afraid that it wouldn’t be.
But the game had been played out before any of them even knew it was in play at all. Now they could only ride along with it, and wait.
16
The game was played. . . .
Something about that phrase nagged Alberich as he fell into an uneasy sleep, but it wasn’t until he woke the next morning that he realized where he had heard it last.
And it was only after the recollection jolted him that he realized that there might be a connection between where he had heard it first, and Selenay.
He had the flash of memory as he moved into wakefulness, and it brought him alert all at once, his mind moving from a standing start into a full gallop.
The game is about to play—It had been that stranger talking to Norris last night. He could hear the voice clearly in his mind. It had been a well-educated voice, and if there was one thing that it was hard for the well-educated to do, it was to counterfeit being a member of a lower class than their own.
The similarity of phrases was what had given him that shock to the system. What if the girl they had been talking about, the one Alberich had assumed was simply wealthy and plain, had actually been Selenay? And that the young man being tutored in seduction had been the Prince of Rethwellan?