Each king had, of course, claimed a side.
To the east Ullo of Burgun waited surrounded by his own retainers in bright maroon and gold, jeweled sheaths for long knives hung from leather belts. They clustered in a friendly group, and though a few eyed the Aremores, most chatted with each other and Ullo. Just as Lear and Elia entered, the king laughed, tossing back a head of thick brown hair so his teeth glinted whitely and well. He clapped a pale hand on the chest of the Burgundian lord beside him. Sweat glistened at the temples of both Ullo and this man, laden as they were with velvet and fur-lined finery. But Ullo was pretty, and his beard seemed soft around his full, smiling mouth.
Across from him, only six Aremores presented, each of them in quilted orange gambesons, with pauldrons fixed to their shield shoulders by a red leather strap diagonal across the chest. The steel pauldrons were round as a moon reflecting sunlight. One Aremore man stood out at the fore, though he held himself exactly as the soldiers did and his costume was the same but for a heavy ring of garnet and pearls on his thumb and a simple crown etched into the surface of his pauldron. This king’s head was shorn nearly bare, and a perfectly trimmed brown beard to match it spread over his hard jaw. He had blue eyes, and their long dark lashes were the only promise ofsoftness from the king of Aremoria. And he had no love for Burgun; that was obvious from the analytic stare he cast toward the more relaxed Ullo.
With a pleased start, Elia recognized the final man in the courtyard, lounging in a chair with his leg tossed up over the arm, wearing a striped coat of several bright colors: Aefa’s father, Lear’s Fool. She smiled and nearly broke Lear’s game by calling out to him. But she remembered that this was a volatile moment, and she needed to maintain poised calm for her father’s sake—and for her own. Her smile stopped at slight.
The moment king and daughter entered, Ullo snapped to attention, and Morimaros of Aremoria bowed his head respectfully.
“Your Majesty of Innis Lear,” said Burgun, stepping forward. “What a charming garden this is, and a surprise on this cold, sharp cliff. It seems roses are a perfect flower for your island, as beautiful and hearty as they are.”
“And tangled,” Lear said, amused. “And sharp and treacherous.”
Ullo blinked, then smiled as if it were the only reaction he could think to have.
“Lear,” the king of Aremoria said only.
“Aremoria,” Lear returned.
Retaking attention, Ullo swept his hand toward the Fool. “Your Fool has kept us well entertained, sir, as we awaited you.”
“And you”—the Fool stood to offer an elaborate bow—“entertained me beyond well, king, verging toward ill, if all things are circles.” Taller and lankier than the king had ever been, he kept his hair short and spiky, dyed henna red, and dots of red painted the outer corners of his eyes and bottom lip, like a woman.
Lear embraced his Fool fondly, saying, “Your wit rarely comes full circle, friend.”
“More of a spiral, I’d say, beginning and ending only in your ability to comprehend.”
Lear laughed, and so did his Fool, their heads knocking together as if they were alone in all the world. Though Elia understood the joking, or so she thought, there seemed something still she could not catch.
“You’ve brought a star priest with you,” said the king of Aremoria lightly.
Elia met his gaze: Morimaros watched her dispassionately.
“Ah, no.” Ullo of Burgun bounded forward, his hand out to Elia. “This is the princess Elia of Lear. My lady, only a dullard could mistake your unique beauty for anyone else.”
Morimaros’s lips pulled into a line Elia could not read. She gave the charts over to one of Lear’s retainers and allowed Ullo her hand, saying, “But I am a star priest, my lord, and so it was no mistake.”
Ullo touched her fingers to his lips and smiled. “I am rather overwhelmed at meeting you, and apologize for any misspeaking.”
She squeezed his fingers, and he released her. His eyes trailed down her neck and across her breasts with open intimacy. As her flesh went cold, she turned her face to Morimaros. “My father did bring a star priest with him. You wished your birth chart analyzed.”
“We are to be honored by your very own prophecies?” Ullo said, hand over his heart.
The king of Aremoria did not react but to flick his eyes at Ullo. Elia hid another smile, believing Morimaros had stronger feelings for Burgun than for her. That should make remaining detached easier.
It was Lear who said, one arm about his Fool, the other waving at the retainers, “Here are the charts, if my dearest daughter obliges, and perhaps in your stars she’ll find some preference for her favors.”
“I would petition the jewels of heaven to tilt in their courses toward me,” Ullo said prettily.
Elia wished Morimaros would say,I need rely on no such petitioning,or some such, that might put the king of Burgun down, but Morimaros was silent.
She gestured for the charts to be placed upon the well’s tabletop and glanced between the two kings. “I must begin with knowing your times of birth, so we might choose the correct charts.”
Morimaros paused in consideration.
“Do you know it?” she prompted gently.
“I do, lady,” he said just as gently. “I only would not want to remove from Ullo the chance to be first.”
