For lunch, the noble entourage was escorted back to Castle Jacquey, where a long table had been set in a grand hall. Still there was no sign of Balthaar. It took Yasmyn’s approach, as Sofy sat to entree, to solve that mystery.
“He’s in the high study,” Yasmyn said over Sofy’s shoulder in Lenay, as others frowned at the intrusion. “There is a gathering of Bacosh lords there. I think they argue.”
“Over what?”
“These are men who love their tournaments. There is only one thing they love more.” And when Sofy frowned, Yasmyn added, “War,” clearly thinking her princess a little slow.
Sofy put her napkin on the table crossly, and stood up. “Sister dearest,” said Elora in surprise, “does something bother you?”
“Yes something bothers me,” Sofy declared. “I am a newly wedded woman, and I have not been attended by my husband all day. If he shall not attend to me, then I shall attend to him,” she said, and left.
Knights scrambled from the table to pursue her, as the ladies looked at each other, astonished at the ill-decorum of it all.
“And where have you been all morning?” Sofy asked Yasmyn.
“Saving a marriage,” Yasmyn said grimly. “It is not well that your husband should ignore you all day. If he were my husband, and he were in the wrong, I would strike him.”
“And if you were in the wrong?”
“Suck him.” Sofy blinked. “If you will not fuck him, you may consider it.”
“Good lords, Yasmyn,” Sofy muttered. “I’ve never had a friend quite so exasperating as you. Not even Sasha.”
“I say what needs to be said.”
The guards at the study doors did not prevent the princess regent from entering. Within, she found a room of tables, shelves and books, lit only by some narrow windows overlooking the tournament. There was nothing of calm discussion within, but rather a collection of lords in raiments and house colours, seated or standing in various small groups, arguing with animation. They barely looked at Sofy as she entered, Yasmyn at her side, and searched for her husband.
Balthaar sat at the table’s end, head in hands, as several lords shouted and pointed fingers across him. He saw Sofy, and straightened, astonished. He climbed to his feet.
“My sweet,” he said, taking her hands and kissing them. “You must forgive me, I have been a dreadful husband. Trust me that I should have rather been at your side than here, yet my duties have forbidden it.”
Balthaar loved to ride, hunt and tourney. The study was gloomy, and he had looked bored as sin when Sofy entered. Her heart softened. “And what is this?” she asked.
“We discuss the order of battle. There is so much history in this room, families and feuds and old wars. There is great honour to marching one’s standard at the vanguard of war. We contest for a place of prestige upon the field, and seek not to march upon the flank of some old foe. I fear it could take all day, and perhaps much of tomorrow.” He kissed her hand once more. “Go back to the tourney, my sweet. This is not a matter for you.”
“On the contrary,” Sofy insisted. “I have heard little else besides such matters on the ride to Larosa. Lenayin knows as much of petty bloodfeuds as the Bacosh, I fear, yet we have seen them all resolved to this point. I am certain I can help.”
“Your father and brother allowed your assistance to mediate between the Lenay provinces?”
“But of course,” said Sofy. Koenyg was not so hard headed as to ignore his youngest sister’s persuasive powers. He had coached her, of course, but where offers of possible marriages and royal gifts were concerned to seal an agreement, all knew that such things were far more readily accepted from her mouth than her brothers’ or father’s. And she recalled Myklas saying with affection, after she had persuaded Lord Iraskyn of Yethulyn to allow his son’s standing unit, the Silver Eagles, to hold a rather less glamorous position on the inside flank, that he had no idea how they would run the kingdom without her. “Please, Balthaar, let me help,” she continued. “It does not look good for the new princess regent to wander the tourney without her husband. I may not be able to wield a sword in our partnership, but I can certainly use my tongue.”
Balthaar smiled at her. “One notices. As you will, then. Here, I shall fill you in on the details.”
She had most of it resolved by midafternoon. Balthaar was not the only man impressed. All kissed her hand upon departing, and many bowed low. Sofy wondered how any of these fools, in the Bacosh or Lenayin, got anything done without her. Men blustered, made threats and were easily upset. She soothed their egos, made gentle flattery, and found the happy turn of every dark assignment. When that did not work, she bribed, but not crudely. Whatever the worst opinions of commonfolk and gossips, most noblemen in her experience did not desire simply wealth and power-it was rather status, and respect, that drove their craving for gold.
Following the night’s banquet, Balthaar joined Sofy in their chambers, and dismissed the maids. He clasped her hands as they stood warm before the crackling fireplace, and Sofy’s heart beat faster.
“You are not certain of this war,” he said to her, softly. “Why then did you help today?”
For a long moment, Sofy did not know what to say. “The Bacosh is a grand place,” she said at last. “I am the princess regent. I should try to do good while I have the opportunity. I see Lenays and Larosans sharing each other’s cultures, forging friendships. Surely it cannot be a bad thing.”
She said it firmly enough that she nearly believed it. Her instinct had always been to bring people together. She had never liked conflict. Peace between peoples was always good. She could make something good come of it, she was increasingly certain.
“I would like for many other things to be closer too,” said Balthaar. He kissed her. Sofy thought it rather nice, and let him. He took her to the bed, and began removing her clothes. They made love, and Sofy thought that rather nice too. He seemed rather taken with her, and was ever so gentle. Too gentle, almost, when her own passion took her. As Yasmyn had said, he was a handsome man, and if this were her heaviest royal burden, then it was not a hard one to bear.
Later, she lay in his arms, and gazed at the fireplace. Now she felt different, as though married life had truly begun. Yasmyn would be pleased, she thought, and found herself smiling. And she’d only thought of Jaryd three or four times.
Or maybe five.
Elesther Road was in chaos. The Steel made formations across some alley exits, and cavalry clattered along the cobbles, but the riot continued. Bodies lay unclaimed in the street. Others hung from windows, tied at the neck with rope. The Civid Sein had been this way, and the revenge was spreading.
Lieutenant Raine rode at Rhillian’s side, in full armour. Country folk watched them pass, roughly dressed and bearing all kind of rustic weapons. They roamed Elesther, near the Tol’rhen, and were working toward the Justiciary, while the Steel tried to keep armed mobs apart, with limited success.
“There’s too many of them,” Lieutenant Raine said darkly. “Hundreds more are pouring in every day. They make camp in the courtyards, and the homes of fled or murdered nobility. I need only a word, and I shall drive them back to the farms and villages from which they came.”