Royal Assassin

"I am pleased," Kettricken replied. She turned and stooped slightly to whisper to Rosemary. The little maid gave a quick nod and turned and fled like a rabbit. All marked her exit. In but moments she was back, this time at the head of a procession of serving folk. A table was claimed and moved down before the Great Hearth. A snowy cloth was spread, and then one of Kettricken's bowl gardens set to grace the center of it. A parade of kitchen folk trooped past, each to deposit platters, or cups of wine or sweetmeats or late-fall apples in a wooden bowl. So wonderfully was it orchestrated that it seemed almost magical. In moments the table was set, the guests were seated, and Mellow appeared with his lute, already singing as he entered the Great Hall. Kettricken beckoned her ladies to join them, and then espying me as well, summoned me with a nod. She chose others from the other hearths at random; not by their nobility or wealth, but folk I knew she considered interesting. Fletch with his hunting stories, and Shells, a friendly girl of an age with Brawndy's daughters were among those summoned. Kettricken seated herself at Brawndy's right hand, and again I do not think she realized all the honor she did him to arrange it so.

When some bit of food and talk had been enjoyed, she signaled Mellow to soften his strumming. She turned to Brawndy and said simply, "We have heard only the bare bones of your news. Will you share with us what has befallen Ferry?"

He hesitated briefly. He had brought his complaint for the King to hear and act on. But how could he refuse a Queen-in-Waiting who had treated him so graciously? He lowered his eyes a moment, and when he spoke, his voice was husky with unfeigned emotion. "My lady queen, we have taken grievous hurt," he began. Every voice at the table was quickly stilled. All eyes turned to him. I perceived that all of those chosen by the Queen were attentive listeners as well. From the time he launched into his tale, there was not a sound at the table, save soft exclamations of sympathy or mutters of anger at what the Raiders had done. He paused once in his tale, then visibly made a decision, and went on to tell how they had sent forth their summons for aid, and waited in vain for any response. The Queen heard him out, with no objections or denials. When his tale of woe was done, his burden had visibly lifted simply in the telling of it. For a few long moments all were silent.

"Much of what you tell me is new to my ears," Kettricken said quietly at last. "And none of it is good. I do not know what our king will say of all this. You will have to wait for him to hear his words. But for myself, for now, I will say that my heart is full of grief for my people. And anger. I promise you that, for myself, these wrongs shall not go unredressed. Nor shall my folk be left shelterless in winter's bite."

Duke Brawndy of Bearns looked down at his plate and toyed with the edge of the tablecloth. He looked up, and there was fire in his eyes, but also regret. When he spoke, his voice was firm. "Words. These are but words, my lady queen. The folk of Ferry cannot eat words, nor shelter beneath them at nightfall."

Kettricken met his eyes squarely. Something seemed to tighten inside her. "Well do I know the truth of what you say. But words are all I have to offer you just now. When the King is well enough to see you, we shall see what can be done for Ferry."

Brawndy leaned toward her. "I have questions, my queen. My need for answers is almost as great as my need for money and men. Why did our summons for help go unheeded? Why did the ship that should have come to our aid instead set sail for home port?"

Kettricken's voice trembled very slightly. "To these questions, I have no answers, sir. And that is a shameful thing for me to admit. No word of your situation reached my ears until your young messenger arrived on horseback."

Strong misgivings arose in me as she spoke. Should the Queen have admitted these things to Brawndy? Perhaps not, for the sake of political wisdom. But Kettricken, I knew, served truth before politics. Brawndy looked long into her face, and the lines around his mouth deepened. Boldly, he asked, but softly, "Are not you queen-in-waiting?"

Kettricken's eyes went sword gray as she met his gaze. "I am. Do you ask me if I lie to you?"

It was Brawndy's turn to look aside. "No. No, my queen, that thought was never in my mind."

The silence stretched overlong. I do not know if there was some subtle signal from Kettricken, or if it was simply Mellow's instincts that swept his fingers more vigorously across the strings. In a moment his voice took up a winter song, full of blowing notes and skirling choruses.