He had never told her that he was a duelist—wonderful man! And no one had ever offered to commit a murder for her before. Just for a moment, she teetered on the brink of hysteria, then she recovered. “No, Andor! He has two thousand men here. You mustn’t!”
“This may be my only chance to get him alone, Inos.”
“No! I forbid it!”
“If you wish.” Looking disappointed, he sheathed his sword. ”He’s only the first, you know.”
“What?”
“The first one after your word of power. It’s common knowledge that the kings of Krasnegar inherited one of Inisso’s words. Everyone will assume that you have it, whether you do or not.”
She broke loose. “I don’t understand.” Why was the proconsul not already coming after her?
“It would take too long to explain.” Even in the darkness of the narrow stairwell, concern glowed on that handsome face. “You mustn’t tell the word to anyone!”
“No,” she said.
“No one!” he insisted. “They’re dangerous to know, but much more dangerous if you tell anyone.”
“Yes,” she said, not understanding. “I’ll remember.”
He studied her for a moment. “There’s no real defense, Inos, but there is one thing you could do that would help a little. It might make Yggingi hesitate a bit, and it would certainly cut off one line of attack.”
She was totally confused now. “What’s that, Andor?”
“Marry me. There’s a chaplain down there. She can marry us on the spot. Tonight. Now.”
“Andor!” Again she was at a total loss for words. Too marry things were happening too quickly. Finally she said, “Dear Andor, that’s a wonderful thought, but I can’t decide something like that right now. And it would put you in danger, also!”
“No!” he said excitedly. He took her hand and began to lead her down the narrow stairway, speaking rapidly as if he were working it all out. ”The factor says that Kalkor’s coming to claim the throne. He’ll be here as soon as the ice goes. Kalkor’s a terror. No matter what Yggingi thinks, he’ll wad up those imps and throw them away. But then he’ll want to marry you.”
“I thought he was married already?” she protested, before remembering what Aunt Kade had once told her about Nordlanders.
And Andor now confirmed it. They were already at the bottom of the stairs, outside the door of the withdrawing room, where everyone must still be waiting to hear the proconsul’s terms. “Thanes change wives like shirts. Probably more often. But he can’t marry you if you’re married to me.”
“He could solve that problem!”
“Only if he can find me!” Andor laughed. “I’m a good man at disappearing. Don’t you see, Inos? That’s your escape! Marry me, and I’ll stay out of sight-I promise you I can do that easily enough, but I haven’t got time to explain now. We’ll let the jotnar kill off the imps. Then we’ll go back to the Impire together in the spring!”
Again she wondered why Yggingi was not coming down the stairs after her. ”And lose my kingdom? No, darling, I have a duty.”
He smiled, and she heard it more than saw it in the dimness. “Good for you!” he said admiringly. “Inos, I love you! And if the kingdom is what you want, then we’ll have to save it for youand marrying me is still your best strategy!”
He was right, she thought. And then he had gone down on one knee before her. ”Queen Inosolon, will you marry me?”
Her first, insane, thought was that she was filthy and bedraggled and wearing riding clothes, shivering in an icy stairwell lighted by one spluttering candle. All those wonderful gowns she had worn at Kinvale, in ballrooms, on terraces under moonlightnone of them had provoked a proposal. And her father . . . Then she told her mind to stop evading the question. With Andor she could face all of them.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He jumped up and this time he did kiss her. Oh, Andor! Why had she not called him in to meet Father? Andor, Andor! Strong, and reliable, and—
“Quick, then!” He glanced up the stairs, so he also must be wondering what was keeping the soldier. “Now, my darling? Right now?”
“Yes!” She pushed open the door and marched in, holding Andor’s hand. All across the big circular chamber, the spectators started in surprise. Those who were sitting on those flimsy gold and rosewood chairs rose slowly to their feet.
“Your Highness, your Holiness, Mother Unonini, gentlemen,” Andor said. “Queen Inosolan has consented to become my wife.”
She tried to see everyone’s reaction at once, but they were too spread out. The imps, she thought, all looked pleased. Certainly Chancellor Yaltauri beamed. Bishop Havyili was asleep. Foronod frowned, but then he often did that. He did not speak. Aunt Kade . . . Aunt Kade was not smiling as she should be.
Queen or not, Aunt Kade was her guardian now, until she came of age. Or did that not apply to queens? How could she be a minor and reign as a queen at the same time? Inos led Andor over to her aunt.
“Well? Aren’t you going to congratulate us?”
Flustered, Aunt Kade glanced at Andor and then back to Inos. “You are quite sure, my dear? It just seems . . . so soon . . .”
“Quite sure!”
Her aunt managed a smile. “Well, then certainly I congratulate you. ” But she did not look certainly—she looked perhapsly. They hugged.
Still no Yggingi? Maybe they could manage what Andor had suggested-marry at once, before the proconsul came storming down to stop them. ”Chaplain?” Inos said. “Marry us!”
That provoked some reaction. Aunt Kade’s rosy complexion turned almost as pale as her silver gown, and Inos had never seen that before. Mother Unonini went as black as her robe. The men muttered.
“That seems even more, well, unseemly,” Aunt Kade said. “Your father is barely . . . It is very soon. Surely you could wait a while, my dear. ”
Inos glanced at the closed door. “I am sorry that it must be this way, but Andor and I think it would be advisable. Very quickly! A matter of state. Chaplain?”
Mother Unonini did not move from where she was standing. She pouted, bleaker than ever. “Inosolan, do you recall what the God told you? Remember love! Are you remembering love?”
Inos looked up at Andor. He looked down at her. They smiled. “Oh, yes!” she said.
“I think you should wait a—”
Inos did not let the chaplain finish. “No!” she shouted. ”Now! Before the proconsul comes back! Quickly!”
Mother Unonini flinched and sought support from Aunt Kade, who bit her lip and muttered, “It might be . . . a reasonable precaution.”
The chaplain shook her head vigorously. The men were mostly still frowning at this improper and irreverent haste. Inos wondered if she should be asking her council’s permission, but if they did not suggest it, then she certainly would not.
Of course! Inos did not need the horrid chaplain. Indeed, she had been making a serious error. Gripping Andor’s wrist, she dragged him across to Bishop Havyili, who was nodding peacefully on a sofa. The bishop was notorious for sleeping anywhereeven on horseback, her father had said.
“Your Holiness!”
“Mmm?” His Holiness opened his eyes. “Marry me!”
“What?” Bewildered, the bishop struggled to his feet-old and dumpy and pathetically unimpressive for a bishop.
“Marry us!” Inos shouted, stamping her foot. “A matter of state! It’s urgent! Now! At once!”
Blinking, but obedient, the bishop mumbled, “Dearly beloved friends—”
“Oh, never mind all that!” Inos stormed. Yggingi must be on his way now. “Get to the important part!”
The audience muttered again. The bishop spluttered and for a moment seemed about to argue. Then he changed his mind. “Are there any here among you present who know cause why this man and this woman should not be united in sacred matrimony?” Mercifully he did not pause for answers. “Then do you, er . . .”
“Andor.”
“Andor, take this . . .”
His voice trailed off. His gaze went past Inos. The door creaked, and she swung around in terror.
Slowly it swung open. In came . . . Impossible!
That was the second worst shock of that terrible day.
He bowed stiffly in her direction, across the whole width of the room. He swallowed, hesitated. “Sorry about your father, Inos your Majesty,” he said hoarsely. “Very sorry.” He was holding Yggingi’s sword of office.
3
Foronod said, “The horse thief!” and it was certainly Rap. He was no longer the filthy goblin of the forest. He was shaved and clean. His tangle of brown hair might have been cut with a saw, but it was as tidy as it could ever be. He wore an ancient, ill-fitting brown doublet and very patched gray wool hose. Only the sword he was holding and the ludicrous raccoon tattoos around his eyes marked him as anything other than some commonplace flunky in the quaintly rustic palace of Krasnegar. But he did have a nervous, rather sick expression on his very plain face.