Somewhat to Talia’s surprise, Lord Marshal Randon shared Myrim’s mild dislike of Orthallen. Talia wondered, as she listened to that scarred and craggy warrior measuring out his words with the care and deliberation of a merchant measuring out grain, what could have happened while she’d been gone to so change him. For when she’d last sat at the Council board, Randon had been one of Orthallen’s foremost supporters. Now, however, though he favored the betrothal, he stroked his dark beard with something like concealed annoyance, as if it galled him, having to agree with Orthallen’s party.

Horselike Lady Kester, speaker for the West, was short and to the point. “I’m for it,” she said, and sat herself down. Plump and soft-spoken Lord Gildas for the South was equally brief.

“I can see nothing to cause any problems,” said Lady Cathan of the Guilds quietly. She was a quiet, gray, dovelike woman, of an outer softness that masked a stubborn inner core. “And much that would benefit every member of the Kingdom.”

“That, I think, is a good summation,” Lord Palinor, the Seneschal, concluded. “You know my feelings on the matter. Majesty?”

The Queen had held her peace, remaining calm and thoughtful, but totally noncommittal, until everyone had spoken except herself and her Herald.

Now she leaned forward slightly, and addressed them, a hint of command tingeing her voice.

“I have heard you all; you each favor the match, and all of your reasons are good ones. You even urge me to agree to the wedding and see it consummated within the next few months. Very well; I can agree with every one of your arguments, and I am more than willing to return Alessandar’s envoy with word that we will be considering his offer with all due gravity. But one thing I cannot and will not do—I will never agree to anything that will interrupt Elspeth’s training. That, above all other considerations, must be continued! Lady forbid it, but should I die, we cannot risk the throne of Valdemar in the keeping of an untrained Monarch! Therefore I will do no more than indicate to Alessandar that his suit is welcome—and inform him in no uncertain terms that serious negotiations cannot begin until the Heir has passed her internship.”

“Majesty!” Gartheser jumped to his feet as several more Councillors started speaking at once; one or two growing angry. Talia stood then, and rapped the table, and the babble ceased. The argumentive ones stared at her as though they had forgotten her presence.

“My lords, my ladies—forgive me, but any arguments you may have are moot. My vote goes with the Queen’s decision. I have so advised her.”