Arrow’s Flight Read Online Free PDF Page B

enhanced by having been Chosen, Elspeth could dimly feel Talia as a solid, comforting presence, like a deply-rooted tree in a wild windstorm. There would be shelter for her beneath those branches, and as she repeated the last words of her Oath, she suddenly realized how vital that shelter would be to one, who as ruler, must inevitably face the gales; and more often than not alone. There was also, distinctly, though distantly, the sense that Talia loved her for herself, and as a true friend. And that in itself was a comfort. As she finished the last words and her mother placed the silver circlet on her head, she tried to put all her gratitude to her friend in the smile she gave her.
    As the Queen placed the coronet on her daughter’s hair, a spontaneous cheer rose that gladdened Talia’s heart. Perhaps now the Brat could be forgotten.
    But as they resumed their seats and the serving began, the unaccustomed dainties of the Queen’s table suddenly lost their appeal as Talia realized that there was yet another ceremony to be endured, one about which she knew nothing. As soon as the powers of the Kingdom could be gathered there must be a great ceremony of fealty in which the Queen’s Own would play a significant role. Talia reached blindly for her goblet to moisten a mouth gone dry with panic.
    Then she took herself firmly in hand; Kyril and Elcarth, as Seneschal’s Herald and Dean of the Collegium, would surely know everything about this occasion—and just as surely would be aware that Talia didn’t. There was no need to panic. Not yet, anyway.
    The meal seemed to be progressing with ponderous slowness. This was Talia’s first High Feast—and it seemed incredibly dull. She sighed, and the Queen caught the sound.
    “Bored?” she whispered out of the corner of her mouth.
    “Oh, no!” Talia replied with a forced smile.
    “Liar,” the Queen replied with a twinkle. “No one but a moron could avoid being bored by all this. You sit and sit, and smile and smile, till your face and backside are both stiff. Then you sit and smile some more.”
    “How do you manage this day after day?” Talia asked, trying not to laugh.
    “Father taught me a game; Elspeth and I play it now. What are we doing this time, catling?”
    “We’re back to animals,” Elspeth replied, as her mother nodded to an elderly duke in response to some comment he’d mumbled. “You try and decide what animal the courtiers most remind you of. We change each time. Sometimes it’s flowers, trees, rocks, landmarks—even weather. This time it’s animals, and he’s a badger.”
    “Well if he’s a badger, his lady’s a watchdog. Look how she raises her hackles whenever he smiles at that pretty serving girl,” Talia said.
    “Oh, I’d never have thought of that one!” Elspeth exclaimed. “You’re going to be good at this game!”
    They managed to keep straight faces, but it wasn’t easy.
    Talia sought out Kyril the next day before the thrice-weekly Council meeting to learn that she had three weeks in which to prepare for Elspeth’s formal investiture. He and Elcarth pledged to drill her in all she needed to know, from protocol to politics, every day.
    The Council meeting in itself was something of an ordeal. She and Elspeth had seats on the far end of the horseshoe-shaped Council table, almost opposite Selenay and the empty place beside her. That empty chair was the seat of the Queen’s Own, but Talia could not, under law, assume that place until she had passed her own internship. She and Elspeth had voice on the Council, but no vote. Elspeth’s own voting rights were in abeyance until she passed internship. The Councilors tended to ignore them because of that lack of voting rights—but not today.
    No, today they interrogated both Talia and Elspeth with an ill-concealed eagerness that bordered on greed. How soon did Talia think she’d be out in the field—could the internship be cut back to a year? Or given the importance of her position, and