57 Peliton, Erietta Reach

After the queen and her party departed early from Erietta, Jenirod listened to the muttering amongst the staff and functionaries in his father's offices. At first, he assumed some government matter must have called Anjine back to Calay, but slowly it dawned on him that the all-important betrothal meeting must not have gone as well as he'd imagined. Puzzled, he relived that first day over and over again, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what he'd done wrong.

The horse cavalcade had been one of the finest in Erietta's history, his own performance impeccable. He knew he cut a handsome figure on his horse. All his life, women had swooned whenever he showed off; they would blush and giggle, making him feel giddy. Not so with Queen Anjine. He had never met a woman who made him feel so insignificant.

From his first glimpse of Anjine in the stands, he realized that she was a beautiful woman with a fine figure, smooth skin, lovely hair; she would certainly bear many strong children. He supposed she must be intelligent too, not to mention wealthy and powerful—more than acceptable as a bride. He had certainly been satisfied.

But he must have done something wrong. Jenirod grappled with the inexplicable idea that the queen apparently found him deficient in some way. Ever since she and her retinue had left Peliton, Destrar Unsul had moped about, avoiding him. It was such a fantastic turnabout to think that the bookish destrar might be disappointed in him. Jenirod knew he had to get to the bottom of this. Though he had never particularly understood his father's odd interests, he wished the man would just explain to him what had gone wrong.

Unsul met him out in the stables, an obvious, weary weight on his face and shoulders. “You should be at your instruction. The court tutors say you've left classes. Now, of all times, why can't you pay attention to what is important?”

Each day since Anjine's departure, Jenirod had been forced to endure hours of instruction from the cultural ministers she had left behind. He grudgingly studied courtly manners, learned how to hold delicate eating implements, memorized insipid phrases that supposedly demonstrated good breeding.

Unsul shook his head. For several years now, the man had withdrawn from his eldest son, concentrating instead on the younger three. “Your behavior was rude and embarrassing. The queen left those teachers here for you so you can learn to be a better husband.”

“A better husband?” Jenirod laughed. “Queen Anjine is not a wilting flower. Why should she care about such nonsense?” He couldn't imagine his own mother paying any heed to that when she chose a husband. Jenirod missed her very much; his mother had been the right kind of woman, a spectacular rider, someone who knew how to put on a show to please the people.

Jenirod saddled up a spirited young stallion that needed the extra energy run out of him. “I'm tired of that. I need to go for a ride.”

Unsul said, “No one questions your horsemanship. You need to improve your statesmanship. Understand your place, learn the politics, grasp the subtleties you will need at court in Calay.”

This wasn't at all what Jenirod wanted to hear. “With manners and dances and pretty phrases? Shall I write her poetry? Love letters scented with lavender? I can't accept that Anjine would want to turn a man like me into a… a gelding! There must be some other way to win her over.”

Jenirod swung into the saddle and went tearing off down the dirt roads and up into the hills, leaving his father standing at the stable door. At the top of a grassy hill, he pulled the horse to a halt and looked at the windmills that pumped water during the dry season. When he settled in Calay, it was going to be difficult for him to ride off his own energy, and unless the queen warmed up to him, he certainly wouldn't be riding off that energy in the bedchamber.

He dismounted near some bushes so he could take a piss, still pondering his situation. When he finished, he went back and scratched the horse's head, looking into the animal's large brown eyes. “What could she possibly want from me, eh, boy?”

Queen Anjine was a tough woman who had endured hardships and made difficult decisions. She had sent armies into war and recently lost many thousands of fighters in the disaster at Ishalem. But she had proven her mettle. Maybe she would let Jenirod lead a new offensive, so he could do it right.

No matter what his father said, he knew he was worth a lot more to her, and to Tierra, with his own skills. He had been born to lead, and people respected his presence, his panache.

A brisk wind rustled the drying grasses and shrub leaves. The horse snorted, jerking his head around, ears swiveling for danger. The answer suddenly occurred to Jenirod: yes, Queen Anjine was a woman of substance, of action. She was not the sort who would swoon at a fine uniform or a complicated trick in a horse cavalcade. Of course not! Queen Anjine needed real, concrete reasons to accept him.

In Calay, she was surrounded by hundreds of show-offs and flowery talkers, and in her eyes, Jenirod was probably just another such buffoon, a man who could fire arrows accurately at a gallop and vault on and off a horse's bare back without so much as a stumble. But such a man added nothing to the worth or defense of Tierra. Anjine would want more from her husband.

Jenirod needed to do something profound to change her impression, to make the queen appreciate his strength and bravery, his manliness, his military prowess. She must want him to make his mark and demonstrate how valuable he would be against the evil Urecari.

Why hadn't she just said so outright? Women often had trouble communicating what they really wanted.

He mounted again and let the stallion have his head, running freely back toward Peliton and the stables.

Brusquely informing his father that he was leaving, Jenirod gave no explanation other than, “You and Queen Anjine will both be proud of me when I return triumphant.” Her etiquette teachers would just have to find something else to do in the meantime, or go back to Calay.

Jenirod packed up his gear and rode off downriver. It was a two-day trip to the coastal town where Destrar Tavishel and his Soeland patrol ships regularly stopped to resupply. Jenirod passed herds of grazing cattle, spent his nights in small villages where he told stories to the ranchers. Their daughters flirted with him and he smiled at them, but because he was betrothed, he remained faithful to Anjine, no doubt disappointing all the young women.

At the seaside village, Jenirod boarded his horse at a livery, paying a stable boy to care for the animal while he was gone. He asked around until he learned that Destrar Tavishel's ships were due to return in four days' time.

When the sails were sighted, the town's bells rang and the shopkeepers prepared their wares. The Soeland destrar had a standing order, so that the necessary supplies were packed and piled at the docks, ready to be loaded as soon as his ships docked. While he was on patrol, Tavishel was not a man who liked to be delayed.

Jenirod greeted the gruff captain as he strode ashore, introducing himself as the future husband of Queen Anjine. Tavishel was a stern-looking man with a square-cut gray beard, shaved head, and leathery skin from time spent in the harsh winds of the open sea. He looked Jenirod up and down. “You rode a long way to greet me.”

“Not to greet you—I want to join you. I'd like to propose a mission in the name of the queen.”

“A mission?” Tavishel crossed his arms over a muscular chest, his skeptical gaze sizing up the younger man.

Jenirod drew a deep breath, sure he would not be found lacking by the Soelander. “You sail your patrol ships in a great circle from Calay up to Erietta, west to Soeland, and back south below the Edict Line. Let me suggest something more than a patrol. Before I marry the queen, I want to demonstrate my prowess to her—to give her a victory against the Curlies as my wedding present.”

Now Tavishel was interested. “Oh? Such a victory could be a wedding gift from Soeland Reach as well. What did you have in mind?”

“It's got to be meaningful and spectacular, a raid that destroys something of great importance to the Urecari, so they feel the hurt as much as they've hurt us.”

Tavishel nodded with a sly smile. “I know just the place. I've been eyeing it for a long time. I merely needed an excuse.”

“I hope I've given you one. I'd like to be off as soon as possible—time moves swiftly past us.”

The Soeland destrar stroked his beard, already formulating the plan. “After we reprovision, we can set off with tomorrow's tide.”