It has come to my attention that I can only communicate with the Gifted . . . and animals. So you are either one or the other. You know my opinion on which it is.
Tiras wasted no time. The announcement was made the very night we returned to Jeru. Bells rang all over the city, and the royal crier stood on the wall and read the bans for two solid hours, repeating himself as people gathered and scattered, then gathered again, eager to spread the news.
“Lady Lark of Corvyn, daughter of the noble Lord Craig of Corvyn, will wed King Tiras of Degn. So it is written, so it will be done on the first day of Priapus, the month of fertility. May the God of Words and Creation seal their union for the good of Jeru,” the crier shouted into the night, singing the words into my mind and heart and into the consciousness of every citizen of Jeru.
I stood on the balcony of my room, listening to the bans being read, still half shocked that it was the truth. In response, the cry went up again and again, “Hail, Queen of Jeru, Lady Degn,” and I welcomed it, even as the words hung in the air like childish taunts and teasing truths.
I would be Queen of Jeru, Lady Degn. No longer Lark of Corvyn. No longer a daughter of a lord, but wife of a king. But only on the outside. On the inside I would still be little Lark, brittle bones and sharp feelings, certain that I would never be able to fulfill the duties before me. When the people learned I couldn’t speak, they would talk, they would say all the words I couldn’t say, and their words would follow me, mocking me, reminding me every day that I was not up to the task.
A message had been delivered to my father, conveyed by three members of the royal guard who’d gone directly from Kilmorda to my father’s keep in Corvyn. A royal invitation would be sent to all the members of the Council of Lords in the days to come. I was not so foolish as to believe I’d been chosen for love, but I’d been chosen, and I reveled in that, even as I trembled in fear at what was to come.
When Tiras attempted to lock me in my tower upon our return, I warned him that I would not be a captive any longer, and he began to argue that it was for my safety. I reminded him that I could move haystacks and scale walls, not to mention open locks and control the minds of beasts.
He actually grinned at me, as if my abilities thrilled him, and promised I could come and go freely, as long as I had a member of the guard with me at all times. I found, for the most part, it was easier to stay in my room.
Tiras made sure I had books on Jeru’s history, Jeru’s laws, as well as Jeru’s yearly crop yield and rainfall, and I read each tome with the commitment of the truly terrified. When Tiras could, he would read with me, allowing me to follow along with his hand over mine, tracing the words he was saying as I tried to take everything in. I was desperate to learn, and Tiras seemed desperate as well, spending long hours answering my questions and quizzing me on a thousand details that past queens of Jeru couldn’t possibly have known.
My only reprieve was when he Changed, disappearing for a day or two or three. Then I would miss him—though his presence and attention always came with a price—and the respite would feel more like a punishment than a reward.
When I complained about the endless instruction, he grew stern and quiet, making me more nervous than I would have otherwise been. He showed little affection, beyond an occasional smile and a peck to my hand, and I grew stiffer and colder as the day of our marriage approached, wondering if the kisses he’d given me that night in Kilmorda were the last kisses I would receive, wondering for the umpteenth time why he seemed so intent on making me queen.
It was on one such afternoon, Tiras instructing me on Jeruvian trade laws, making me follow along as he droned on about the art of negotiation, when the late summer heat and the tedium of our studies threatened to drive me mad.
This book is a waste of parchment. I slapped it shut, narrowly missing Tiras’s fingers and dropped it beside my chair. A burst of satisfaction echoed in my chest when it clapped heavily against the floor, followed by immediate remorse when a page fluttered free.
I can fix that, I offered meekly, but made no move to do so. Tiras sighed heavily, but rose to his feet, signaling we were through.
“Come,” he said, surprising me, and took my hand in his, pulling me from my chair.
Where are we going?
“You need a break from words.”
I practically skipped down the corridor from the library, and Tiras seemed equally as eager to escape.
“You’ve seen the watch tower, the siege tower, the arsenal tower, and the upper, middle and lower baileys. We’ve walked along the perimeter of the wall, inspected the ramparts and the parapets, and of course you’ve seen the dungeon,” he listed, smirking slightly.
You’ve still not taught me to fence or joust.
“If the day comes when Jeru’s survival hangs on her queen’s ability to joust, we will already be doomed,” he retorted dryly. “But if you’d like to spend some time in the yard, I can certainly arrange it.”
I think I would rather visit Shindoh.
“Wise choice. We’ll see the stables and the mews today.”
We visited the stables first, the enormous enclosure housing hundreds of horses at a time. The royal horses included mounts for the guard and the city constables, though they were quartered in separate sections. The king’s personal stables were connected to the main, providing easy access for trainers and breeders and stable hands. The scent of straw and earth and animal’s well-cared for permeated the air, and the knot of disquiet in my chest eased considerably.
I walked along the rows, greeting the horses with words they could sense and handfuls of oats, and Tiras trailed behind me, giving me names and pedigrees, until we halted in front of Shindoh’s stall.