Yet if such mercenary thoughts crossed the Duke’s mind, they did not show. For almost immediately he raised his golden goblet in salute to Gaborn, and a broad smile creased his face. He called, “And, milady, what say you?”

Iome clenched Gaborn’s hand tightly, raised it higher. She turned to Gaborn now, and looked up at him, the starlight shining in her eyes. “For Sylvarresta’s part, I accept . . . gladly.”

Duke Mardon shouted and raised his goblet high. “It seems our King Sylvarresta celebrates Hostenfest this year with a hunt after all! Let us rejoice for him . . . and for his daughter. We double our cause for celebration!” He drained the cup quickly, and tossed it far into the night, into the camps of his troops, to be the prize of some poor soldier.

That action more than any other finally brought a cheer from the camp, and endeared Mardon to Gaborn forever after.

BOOK 5

DAY 23 IN THE MONTH OF HARVEST

ADVENT OF THE EARTH KING

AFTERWORD

The earth powers racked Iome on the evening she became engaged to Gaborn, making her desire him more than ever before. Perhaps it was because Gaborn and Binnesman both had come together, flanking her, so that she felt herself sandwiched between the two, buffeted by their creative energies. Or maybe her fatigue left her more open to his magic than normally.

Or perhaps it was because she could feel the earth power growing in Gaborn, quietly transforming him.

In any event, she felt grateful that her people accepted their betrothal. For when he touched her that evening and raised her hand, she felt more than a human touch. His fingers twined together with hers, like two vines espaliered together. She did not believe any longer that she could remain separated from him. She did not believe she could have separated again, not and lived, not and have been truly alive. If anyone had tried to tear her from him, Iome believed wholeheartedly that she’d simply have withered and died.

That night, she called Sir Borenson to her to bestow her judgment.

To his credit, Borenson came the three miles without complaint, knelt at her feet on hands and knees, ready once again to offer his neck, should she desire it. All around them had gathered thousands of knights and warriors. Feelings among them were mixed, Iome could tell from their faces. Some would have rent the man alive. Others frowned thoughtfully, fearing that someday, under similar circumstances, they might find themselves in his position.

She could have outlawed him, stripped him of rank and protection. She could have executed him on the spot.

“Sir Borenson,” Iome said, “you have grievously injured House Sylvarresta. Do you have anything to say in your own behalf?”

Borenson just shook his head, his great red beard swaying above the dirt. No.