Mienthe, too, rose to her feet, not very gracefully from her place on the floor. She wondered what her cousin wanted her to say. That she liked his friend? But she couldn’t say she did. That she appreciated what the griffin mage had done for him? But she had no clear idea what that had been. She said at last, “He is very… very… He frightened me. But his shadow is beautiful.”
Bertaud smiled at her, the weariness she saw in him seeming to lighten a little. “Did you think so? He frightened you, that’s reasonable. But he didn’t terrify you. Good.”
Mienthe nodded uncertainly. “But what will you do now?”
“Now?” He paused, seeming to consider. Then he said, with evident reluctance, “I suppose now I had better speak to Iaor. I suppose we will ride north.”
Mienthe felt very young and ignorant. She wanted to ask her cousin about the Wall, about the griffins. She wanted very badly to ask again, But what was it that you did? And she wanted to ask again, What will you do now? But it was very clear he was evading all questions like those. To protect her? Or because, as Mienthe suspected, he did not know the answers himself? She said instead, humbly, “May I come with you to see the king? I would like—I would like to know what you will do.”
Bertaud looked distractedly down at her, half his attention already turning toward what he would tell the king. Or maybe to memories of the past: memories of fire and the Casmantian Wall. But after a moment he nodded. “Yes. Come. If I go north, Mie, you’ll stand in my place as the Lady of the Delta.”
Mienthe stared at him.
“So you must certainly hear what Iaor and I decide to do,” finished her cousin, and touched her shoulder to urge her toward the door.
* * *
Niethe daughter of Jereien, known since her marriage as Niethe Jereien Safiad Nataviad in the most formal, old-fashioned style, was a lovely and charming woman who was much younger than King Iaor. Indeed, she was not so very much older than Mienthe. Queen Niethe enjoyed being queen, loved her royal husband, doted on her little daughters, and loathed travel with a deep passion. She detested the mud of winter and the dusty summer, she hated rain, and she said the bright sun gave her headaches and made her skin freckle. She insisted on wearing unsuitable clothing and then complained of wrinkles and stains. She would not ride a horse, but then found fault with the closeness of her carriage.
But Niethe, who accompanied her husband on his annual progress only because she hated being parted from him even more than she hated travel, clearly had not expected to arrive in Tiefenauer only to have the king bid her an almost immediate farewell. This taxed even the queen’s good humor, though normally she accepted the broad demands on her husband’s attention with perfect amiability.
“It can’t be helped,” King Iaor told her apologetically. “I’m certain you will be perfectly safe here, and far more comfortable than possible on a fast ride north.”
Even though the queen smiled and nodded, she somehow gave the impression she had turned her back on him. With a flounce.
Mienthe tried not to laugh. Really it was nothing to laugh at. If Bertaud and King Iaor thought the breaking of the Wall was so dangerous they would not even wait for dawn, but would ride for Tihannad this very night, then there was nothing at all to laugh at. Niethe knew it, too, or she would really be angry rather than merely teasing Iaor in order to make him think she was not frightened.
What was really odd was that Mienthe felt no desire at all to go north herself. It was just as well, since Bertaud would never have allowed her to come—no more than Iaor would allow Niethe to come—but she was surprised she had no urge to ask for permission whether her cousin would grant it or not.
Erich, of course, was going with the king. He came over to Mienthe, leaned his hip against the low table near her, and said lightly, “So now I have at last a chance for swift journeys and brave exploits. I’ll cover myself with glory and when next we meet, I will tell you all my tales of bright valor, do you think so?”
“Of course.” Mienthe smiled up at him. “I’ll expect that of you—brave exploits and bright valor, and only very little exaggeration.”
“I never exaggerate!” Erich informed her in lofty tones. “Well, only a very little.” He hesitated, lowered his deep voice—it was easier for him to boom than whisper, now—and asked, “You know? Why we—why your lord cousin is going north?”
“The griffins,” said Mienthe, deliberately vague. “And the Wall.”
“Yes,” agreed Erich. He frowned at Mienthe. “My father said—this was years ago, but I remember, Mie. He said your country would regret the alliance it made with the griffins. Creatures of earth should not make common cause with creatures of fire. We are too much… ah. Too much opposed. He said nothing good would come of it.”