Chapter Twenty-Two
“The invitation said nothing of this,” Orval stared at the young woman who’d come through the door into the kitchen, catching them all off guard. She’d brought cold evening air—and four warriors—into their warmth. The shiver down his spine had nothing to do with the loss of heat and everything to do with the expression on her face: stern, almost angry.
The invitation had said that a carriage would be sent to bring them to their presentation at the Royal Court and that they were not expected to appear until the babes had been fed and settled for the evening.
The invitation had not mentioned one of the Queen’s Bondmaidens being sent to tend the babes.
Orval hadn’t caught her name, he was so furious. “We’ve made arrangements,” he said firmly, nodding to Winter, who had retreated to stand behind Amari’s chair. The younger woman was nursing Dalan.
“‘Tis the Queen’s command,” the Bondmaiden said, with apology in her tone but none in her eyes. “I am to stay with the twins until you return. To see to their safety.”
Orval sputtered at her. “Hardly appropriate, bursting in with no warning.”
Winter’s face was a blank mask, as if she was trying to warn him to obey.
Amari stood, putting Dalan on her shoulder. “Husband,” she said calmly, “the Queen honors us by sending Bondmaiden Nora to care for our twins. I am sure Winter will welcome another pair of hands if both wake at the same time. Lara is already sleeping. Just let me put Dalan down and finish dressing.” She moved smoothly to the doorway. “I will need help with my lacings.”
“I still don’t see…” Orval let his voice trail off as he followed her down the hall. Once inside their bedroom, with the door closed, Amari’s face collapsed.
“Orval, we can’t leave them with her,” her voice shook as she tightened her hold on her son.
“We can’t afford not to,” Orval said quietly. “We can’t take them with us. Winter will be a witness and will watch over them.” He shook his head, resigned, and put his hands on Amari’s shoulders, then drew her close, the babe between them. “The best we can do is go quickly and come back as soon as possible. The King and Queen will greet us, then surely he’ll quickly dismiss his minor relations, a poor, impoverished scholar and his shamed wife, and we will return to change diapers and feed our babes and try to get everyone back to sleep.”
Dalan erupted with a burp twice his size. Amari laughed nervously and lowered him into his basket. Lara was already fast asleep in hers. “You’re right. I’m just—” She shrugged and went to the wardrobe for her red dress.
Orval averted his eyes, studying the babes as cloth rustled behind him. “This will be over by the next feeding. We will go and mingle briefly with those powerful, nasty, terrible people, endure their poisonous whispers, bow to the king and queen, and leave. We will come back to our warm kitchen and kavage and our stacks of books.”
“And fussy, hungry babes.” Amari came into view. “Would you mind?” She turned her back, holding the front of her dress to her breasts.
Orval swallowed hard. The skin of her back was so warm and smooth. It seemed a shame to conceal it under fabric. He focused on his task, taking care to not pull the laces too tight.
Amari took a breath, then turned to him. “Let us be about this.”
Orval nodded and shifted to put his lips close to her ear. “You have the token?”
“Here,” she whispered, putting her hand to her breast. “Marriage contract?”
“By your kitchen shrine.” Orval scowled. “She best not rummage through my books.”
That brought out a true smile. “Orval, you are the only one who can find anything in those stacks.”
He snorted, then smiled back. “Ready?”
“No.” Amari said. “But I am not going to let that stop us.”
“Together, then.”
“Together.”
At least the carriage was well cushioned, though it was easy to see where the airion carvings on the doors had been burned off and painted over. With a warrior escort on horseback, they moved quickly through the town, through the gates of the palace, and up to the doors. Too fast, really.
Orval took a deep breath as the door opened, then climbed out slowly. He could feel the impatience of the guards, but he knew not to rush the leg and fall on his face. Once he was down, he turned and offered his hand to Amari.
She emerged with a grace he’d never had and a beauty all her own. The torchlight danced on her warm brown skin, giving gold tones to the bronze.
She stepped out lightly to the ground and arranged her skirts.
Usually Captain Roth was at the door when carriages arrived. But tonight there were only guards in the Wyvern colors and a courtier to greet them.
“Master Scribe Orval of the House Airion, be welcome.” The courtier bowed low. “I am instructed to bring you unto the presence of their majesties for an audience immediately upon your arrival.”
“My thanks,” Orval said.
“This way, if you will, Master Scribe.” The courtier plunged into the crowd of those seeking audience. “Make way,” he called out, heading the couple through the doors of the castle. “Make way for Master Scribe Orval and his wife, Amari of Uyole.”
Orval huffed. Amari raised a questioning eyebrow as she placed her hand on his.
“Not an honor I am usually afforded,” Orval said under his breath as they started to follow. The stiffness in his leg eased a bit as they walked. “Not sure if it’s an honor or a way to track the prey.”
Amari tilted her head slightly, her face fixed in a warm smile as she looked ahead.
The halls were crowded, filled with the murmur of voices and the sound of music coming from the throne room. The courtier had slowed to allow them to catch up, apparently realizing that Orval wasn’t up to trotting along. That was fine, it let Orval look at the changes.
And there were changes.
The blue and white of the Airion Crown were gone, stripped away. The red and gold of Wyvern House had replaced them where possible. The ancient tapestries had all been taken down and the bare stone walls made the palace seem shabby and cold. Hopefully the tapestries had been placed in storage, but Orval wouldn’t put it past the Wyverns to have burned them. But there was something else, something—
“So different from when I was here last,” Amari whispered. “There is so much tension in the air. So much…fear.”
She was right.
Orval had walked these halls, though before the civil conflict had broken into open warfare. He’d greeted friends and avoided the more obnoxious cousins and Aunt Xydell. There had been an ease about the place, then. Now, everyone seemed to be avoiding his gaze, but this wasn’t the usual disdain for a poor, crippled man outside the currents of power. Somehow, he and Amari were the center of attention, and not in a good way. Orval hoped that the buzz that arose after they passed was normal, spiteful gossip.
There was a slight wait at the door to the throne room. The courtier tried to attract the attention of the Royal Herald, who controlled access.
Orval caught a movement out of the corner of his eye; it was the Royal Master Librarian.
“Jacoben,” Orval called out, pleased to see a welcome face. “Have you fixed your translation of Moravek’s Philosophies yet? I sent you those corrections months ago.”
The man jumped liked a startled deer. He hesitated, then bolted, disappearing into the crowd.
“Odd,” Orval muttered. “He hadn’t made that many mistakes.”
“Did you offend him?” Amari kept her voice low.
“Oh, we always argue,” Orval said. “Usually over cataloging or translations. Still, that was odd.” Odder still that he hadn’t heard Aunt Xydell’s shrill tones yet or been greeted by the Royal Housekeeper, Rosalind.
The door opened and the Royal Herald struck his staff on the floor. His deep voice rolled over the room, silencing the music and chatter.
“Your Majesties, may I present Master Scribe Orval and his wife, Amari of Uyole.”
Orval and Amari stepped within.
The throne room seemed to stretch for miles, as it always had. Orval was pleased that he did not grimace at the length of red carpet between them and the thrones. Amari’s fingers pressed ever so slightly between his as they walked forward together.
It would all be over by the next feeding.
The silence was unsettling as the court watched them draw close to the thrones. When they stopped, Orval managed a steady bow. Amari sank down in a graceful curtsey.
“ Cousin! ” King Xyrath sprang up from his throne and strode forward, his face open and honest in a wide grin. He looked the same as he always had, a picture of energy and vitality. Bold and brash and full of life, his golden hair was more of a crown than the crown itself. Xyrath stood tall and tanned and strong, making Orval feel all his inadequacies. Orval had known Xyrath when they’d fostered together, and while that had been many years earlier, Xyrath would always be Xyrath.
The King wrapped Orval in a huge bear hug, then grabbed him by the shoulders when he staggered a bit. “Orval, it is good to see you. And this must be your charming wife?” Xyrath turned his winsome smile on Amari.
“Your Majesty,” Amari said, and curtsied again.
“Charming, charming,” Xyrath purred. “Let me make you known to my Queen.” Xyrath extended a hand. Amari took it and allowed Xyrath to walk her closer to the throne. Orval followed.
“Satia, beloved, this is Amari, Orval’s wife, if you can believe it.”
Orval gritted his teeth.
“Welcome, Amari.” Queen Satia did not seem pleased. There was something in her eyes that told Orval something was not quite right. Three Bondmaidens stood behind the throne and there was a faint scent of ginger in the air.
“We must congratulate you,” the Queen continued, “on the birth of your twins.” Satia’s gaze dropped to Amari’s hand, still in the King’s grasp.
The King dropped her hand and sauntered back to sit on his throne. “Twins,” he roared. “Didn’t know you had it in you, Orval.” He started clapping and the entire court joined in.
Orval stepped up to stand next to Amari. “Our thanks, Your Majesties,” he said.
“Did you have an easy time of it?” Satia asked, plucking idly at a thread on her skirt.
“I did, Your Majesty,” Amari said. “A bit of nausea for the first few weeks, but that faded quickly.”
Satia’s face didn’t change but it was as if the very air had grown colder. The Bondmaidens stirred as if fearing something.
Orval reached for Amari’s hand, finding her fingers shaking and cold. But his touch seemed to aid her to gather herself. “We offer our congratulations to you, as well as our blessings and well-wishes,” Amari said. “We have heard that you are expecting.”
“We are, we are,” Xyrath proclaimed. “An heir around the Summer Solstice, to add to the family and strengthen the Blood of Xy.” He rose to his feet again and the crowd stomped their feet and gave a hearty cheer.
“Speaking of which,” Satia suggested, glancing at Xyrath.
“Yes,” Xyrath settled back on his throne. “All of the Blood should be honored. It’s not right that one of your learning should be wasted on books, Orval, and not be honored with a title and position.”
“Your Majesty, I—” Orval started.
“Save your thanks until you hear our decree,” Xyrath grinned. He struck a pose, looking around the room and commanding all attention before he raised his voice with a flourish.
“Orval of Xy, this day do I appoint and declare to you, your Lady, and the heirs of your body, the rights and title of the Lord High Barony of the Black Hills.”