And that was why there had been a fire and food and dry blankets waiting for the exhausted traveler. And until the tide allowed him to go to Inos, Rap had nothing better to do than enjoy them.
As his eyelids began to droop, he realized that he was free of pain at last; he was actually going to sleep, for the first time since before Winterfest.
He would never taste his mother’s chicken dumplings again.
Hononin had undoubtedly saved Rap’s life by being at the cottages in the night; in the morning Rap returned the favor. A full winter blizzard howled over Krasnegar, and only his farsight let the two men find their way across the causeway. Rap’s mastery kept the horses under control, but as soon as the travelers reached the dock, Rap left his companion and rode hard to the castle.
The first person he met in the stable was Lin. He had grown taller, but mostly plumper. Behind a misty mustache, Lin was a very typical imp.
“Rap!” He stared as if seeing a ghost.
Rap sprang from Evil’s saddle. “Where’s Inos?”
“She’s not well. But, Rap, where in the world—” Rap took him by the throat. “Where’s Inos?”
“In the P-p-presence Chamber,” Lin stuttered, eyes bulging.
“Look after my horse!” Rap roared, and sprinted out the door.
Now he dared not even try to cross the bailey on foot; he raced around the long way, staying indoors. He met dozens of people, in twos and threes. They backed out of his way with startling eyes. Shouts of “Rap!” pursued him. One or two tried to stop him, and he pushed them aside and kept on running.
He crossed the Great Hall while many of the staff were sitting down to their lunch. Snow had coated the windows, the fires burned bright in the gloom, fogging the air with a haze of fragrant peat smoke. Nevertheless he was recognized, for he had been the only faun in the kingdom. Cheerful chatter died away, and heads turned. He ran to the Throne Room, heading for the stair. And there his way was blocked by Kratharkran, just descending. Tall and barley-haired, he was so like the young raider Vurjuk that Rap recoiled.
“Krath!”
“Rap!”
Krath, Rap recalled, had been appointed a member of the Council—Inos had told him. “How is Inos?” A dark frown came over the big man’s boyish face. ”Not good. Where did you come from, Rap?”
“Never mind! I must see Inos!”
The smith shifted his feet so that he blocked the doorway—all of the doorway. He folded his arms. Yesterday Rap could have blasted him to Zark. Today he could not force his way past Krath with a sledgehammer.
“She’s resting!” the jotunn said, regarding the stranger with deep suspicion.
“But is she conscious?”
“No, she’s not. The doctors are planning to bleed her, if you must know.”
“Bleed her?” God of Fools! Krasnegar had never been renowned for the quality of its medicine. Holindarn had sent to Hub for a doctor when he fell sick. There would be much better doctors in Kinvale.
Rap took a deep breath and forced his wits to work. Guile was what was needed here. Fortunately, Krath had always been a trusting sort of fellow.
“Krath,” he said, “she’s my wife.”
9
“He says he’s her husband,” Krath squeaked.
Inos lay on a makeshift bed in the Presence Chamber, one floor above the Throne Room. Her face was pale, her eyes closed, her hair a flood of golden honey on the snowdrift pillow. Tall candelabra had been gathered around the bed to give light, and the medics were hunched around her like vultures. Six or eight others stood around watching, making the room dark and crowded, and the only one Rap recognized was Foronod—the strangely aged Foronod with the eyepatch, leaning stoop-shouldered on his cane.
The covers were up to Inos’s chin, so the leeches had not started yet. Kinvale was beyond the magic portal, six floors higher up the tower.
Foronod made a scoffing noise. “That’s the first I’ve heard of a husband. Can you prove it?”
“Yes,” Rap said brashly, and strode forward with all the swagger and confidence he could muster. Why, oh, why had Inos not settled for nullifying three words and left him an adept?
A portly black-clad doctor backed away reluctantly, and Rap went down on his knees by the bed. “Inos! It’s me, Rap!”
No reaction.
“We are waiting for your evidence, Master Rap,” Foronod snapped.
Wits churning, Rap rose to his feet and glanced around. “If you will ask the others to leave for a moment, Factor, I shall be happy to explain.”
The old man’s lip curled in a faint smile of contempt. “I don’t see why a certificate of marriage need be so private. Produce it.”
“I liked you better in the blue doublet you wore at the Harvesthome Dance, Factor.” Rap turned to Krath. “You drink a lot for a member of council, lad. You were the one who threw up behind the awards table.”
He had not made any friends with those remarks, but he had obviously sown some doubts. Their faces were infuriatingly opaque to him now, but even without insight he could see the hesitation and the old fear of sorcery. He had transformed Andor into Darad, he had guided wagons, he had mysteriously vanished from a locked room—now he had mysteriously reappeared. He had an uncanny reputation.
A sudden odor of scorched hair caused him to move away from the nearest candlestick. He would not be a very convincing sorcerer if he set himself on fire.
“The last time we met, you were all marked up as a goblin,” Foronod said, his one eye glinting angrily. He thumped his cane on the floor.
“And you accused me of stealing horses. I made some improbable statements on that occasion also, did I not? And I delivered my evidence. I showed you what Andor really was.” Rap put on the most stubborn expression he could manage.
Foronod glanced around the group, but he evidently decided that there was no one there he wished to consult. “Very well, I shall humor you.” He limped to the stair that led up to the Robing Room and opened the door. ”Come with me and I shall listen to whatever weird tale you have to recount this time. Mastersmith, you had better accompany—”
“I am staying here,” Rap said stolidly, “with my wife. You and Krath may remain. Everybody else—out!”
“You have no authority—”
“I have every authority. I am the queen’s husband!”
“A clerk? A herdboy?”
“Krath,” Rap said without turning, “who was Inos’s closest friend?”
A pause, and then Krath’s high voice said, “You were, Rap. Always.”
“Close friend does not mean king!” Foronod snarled.
“It does now.”
For a moment the issue swung like a weathercock. Perhaps it was because the factor had only one eye to glare with, or perhaps Rap still retained traces of a sorcerer’s self-confidence, but he won the confrontation.
“Excuse us a moment, ladies and gentlemen, please,” the old man said, scowling mightily.
The doctors scowled back, then trooped obediently to the door. The others reluctantly followed—most of them. One plump lady folded her arms and set her chins obstinately.
“I do not leave her Majesty unchaperoned!” she proclaimed.
“Mistress Meolorne,” Rap said, gripping her elbow. “You did a splendid job up here on the night Inos returned to claim her kingdom. I saw how you comforted all those unfortunate girls, finding clothes and—”
“You saw?” The haberdasher reluctantly moved her feet as Rap urged her to the door.
“I saw. Now allow us a moment here and everything will be explained, I promise.”
She stopped and would budge no farther. “I shall not leave her Majesty with three men!”
“Even when one of them is her husband?”
“Prove it!” The flabby face stiffened, the deep-set eyes glowered at him.
It would have to do, but he hoped she would not join in the violence. ”All right,” he said. He closed the door, surreptitiously sliding the bolt. “Now, come and see this, gentlemen.”
He moved back to the bed and lifted candelabra aside to make room. He bent over Inos, as if looking for something. Foronod hobbled forward on his cane, Krath lurched over with long strides, coming close.
To fight any jotunn was foolhardy, and a jotunn blacksmith was a nightmare opponent. The matter must be settled with the first blow, for there would be no second. It was a despicable thing to do to a friend.
“I love her, Krath,” Rap said sadly. “I wouldn’t do this for anyone else.”
“Do what, Rap?”
Rap swung around and put his fist with all the strength he could muster into the young giant’s most vulnerable spot. Doubled over, Krath hit the floor with a howl of agony and a clamor of many candlesticks, even as Rap turned the other way and slammed a blow on the factor’s jaw, pulling the punch more than he had intended—to strike a cripple was even worse. Foronod went down over a table, in a shattering of glasses. Mistress Meolorne’s scream shattered others. Rap ripped the bedclothes away from Inos and stooped.