The High King's Tomb
Page 70

Estora did not know whether to leave or remain, and while she stood there trapped in indecision, Zachary emerged from the back chamber bearing heavy tomes in his arms, followed by his Weapon, Fastion, who was likewise burdened. It was too late to leave now, for the king had seen her.
Master Fogg leaped off his stool. “Sire! You should have told me—I could have retrieved those books for you!”
“No need; Fastion and I are quite capable of carrying them.”
Master Fogg bowed and returned to his desk.
After Zachary set down his load on the table, he nodded to Estora. “My lady.”
“Sire,” she said with a curtsy. “I didn’t expect to see you here. I should leave.”
“Nonsense.” He rounded the table and approached her. He was dressed formally in black and she guessed he must have just returned from meeting with the Eletians. “I hope my presence won’t deter you from enjoying the library. In fact, I was just thinking of taking my tea here. Would you join me?”
Estora hesitated, taken aback. Hadn’t she complained that the two of them were so often mobbed they never had a moment for a quiet word? Though they were not precisely alone with the librarian and two Weapons present, this was as close to it they would ever get. Until they were married.
“Thank you, sire, I would enjoy some tea.”
The tea was sent for and Zachary scooped up the terrier from its chair and placed it gently on the hearth rug.
“There you go, Brex,” he said. The dog licked its paw and flopped back to sleep.
Zachary and Estora settled into their chairs and awaited the tea.
“You are doing some research?” Estora asked.
“I’m looking over what some of the old histories have to say about Eletians—even the legends. I’ve read most of it before, but I thought I’d go over it again.”
“They are a mysterious people.”
“And I’m afraid the books do not tell me much. Once there was more openness between our races.”
“Did your meeting not go well?” Estora asked.
A slow smile grew on his face. “I am under the impression they have preconceived notions of whom and what they are dealing with, and they know very well their ability to inspire awe in others. When the proper amount of awe is not exhibited?” He shrugged. “I do not fear them, though perhaps I should. It will take time for us to come to understand one another.”
Then to Estora’s astonishment, he told her in detail of his meeting with Prince Jametari. It was more than she ever hoped to hear about it, for her father would never tell her, and it seemed right that Zachary would. This was to be her role when they married, was it not? To listen and offer support?
Entranced by his descriptions of the Eletians and the world they created within their tent, Estora barely noticed when servants arrived bearing trays of tea and cakes. Zachary called Fastion over to confirm his recollection of events. Most astounding of all to Estora was the ultimatum Zachary had given the Eletian prince to join Sacoridia against Mornhavon, or to consider themselves enemies of the realm.
“Is that not dangerous?” Estora asked. “Will we not have enemies on two fronts?”
“The prince already stated that the Eletian people were ardent enemies of Mornhavon.” Zachary paused to sip his tea. “At worst, I think, we can expect no aid from them, but I don’t imagine they would have traveled all this way if they had nothing to offer. I believe the prince is caught between factions among his own people, and perhaps came here hoping to find a clearer path to support us. Or not. In the meantime, I shall not give them the pleasure of judging themselves as masters and lords over the will of the Sacoridian people or their king.”
Estora had not touched her tea. It no longer steamed and must be lukewarm by now. She had always held esteem for Zachary as her king, and never more so when just over two years ago he stood up to his brother, the would-be usurper of the throne, willing to die for the good of Sacoridia. He put his people and land before himself, and that said much for him as a monarch. And again, in his interaction with the Eletians he showed himself to be made of steel.
He sat there comfortable and at ease, slipping his dog a bit of tea cake. It was simple, she thought, for one to underestimate him, to find him soft and too kind, but it was the sort of mistake one made at one’s peril.
“It has been brought to my attention,” he said suddenly, “that you may be rather overwhelmed with relatives and wedding preparations.”
Estora could not hide her surprise. Who told him? Who had even noticed?
“Soon the gardens will be too cold an escape,” he said, “and I see there is no single place you have to call your own and attain true privacy.”
She could only stare at him, still unable to overcome her surprise.
“I’m afraid I have a sense of what it’s like,” he continued, giving her a wry smile. “But at least I have places where others dare not follow, and I have found one for you.”
She half rose from her chair, filled suddenly with an impulse to hug him, but her training as a lady tamed it and she sank back into her seat.
“Such a place I would find of great value,” she said instead.
He nodded. “I want you to feel at ease here, for this is to be your home. I want it to start feeling like home to you, that you have a proprietary sense about it. Shall we go see?”
“Go see?”
He stood. “Your sanctuary.” And he held out his arm for her.