C. Dale Brittain by Voima Page A

not quite trust those wise eyes.   The queen was ready to give advice, probably extremely good advice, but she would not help anyone else for a second if it stood in the way of her own plans.
    But here Karin did not think her affairs would collide with the queen’s.   “I need your counsel,” she said in low voice.   “I may be forced into a marriage for which I am not ready.”
    The queen lifted her eyebrows.   “Two days ago you told me you did not think to marry soon.”
    “And I still hope I shall not.   But yesterday Valmar, King Hadros’s heir, and I went up the valley for a picnic, and we did not come home last night.”
    “Who knows this?” asked Arane sharply.
    Karin glanced quickly across the room, but there was no one within earshot.   “No one knows.   Or no one here.   King Hadros does.”
    “This is not the story you want told around the Gemot of the Fifty Kings, Karin!” said the queen with a mocking smile.   “Could you not have been more discreet?   If your father and Hadros cannot come to an agreement, your lover will at the worst be declared an outlaw for raping a highborn woman, and you at the best will start your rule with a reputation for wantonness.   Not that you must always sleep alone!” raising a hand to forestall what she seemed to think was Karin’s objection.   “But leave it all a guess for slanderous tongues, never sure knowledge.”
    “You don’t understand,” said Karin, able to find a space for her own words at last.   “Valmar and I could not have had purer relations if we had slept with a sword between us.   We are to each other as brother and sister, and for all I know he is a virgin still.”
    “And you are not,” said Arane, as though pleased with this discovery.
    Karin had not meant to let that slip, but it was not important now.   “But I fear that no one will believe us.   My father and Hadros have only just concluded their hostilities toward each other.   I did, I think, persuade Hadros that his son had not taken me by force, but he still thinks he took me willingly.   And my father will not be concerned with such niceties.”
    “So what would you have me advise you?”
    “How to avoid marrying Valmar while keeping my honor intact.”
    Queen Arane shook her head as though hard put to believe Karin’s naïveté, then smiled and settled herself, preparing to map a battle strategy.   “Do you have any men you could trust?   Someone who could arrange for the boy to have a small accident?   You need not harm him permanently or even badly, but a certain kind of wound, you understand, would mean the wedding would at least be postponed …”
    “No!”   Karin started to jump up, then remembered herself and sank again to the cushions.   “I have no men of my own, none I could trust with a mission this delicate.   And also,” she added defiantly, “I would certainly not wish such a wound on Valmar.”
    “You need to acquire some trusty warriors as soon as you may,” said Arane thoughtfully.   “Or perhaps, if you are squeamish, you could arrange for Valmar merely to be threatened.   Does he have a rival for your affections, someone who would at a word from you make threats against the boy to frighten him away?   Then Hadros’s wrath would turn against his son rather than against you.   His temper is swift, as I know well, but he can also think clearly once his fury is past.   If Valmar himself shrank from the marriage, it would be in Hadros’s own self-interest to keep this matter quiet.”
    Karin shook her head.   “The only rival Valmar has for my affections is gone, and I do not know where he is.”   She was certainly not going to tell the queen that Roric had left with someone awe-inspiring and terrifying, who still was not, it seemed, one of the Wanderers.   But she did wonder if King Hadros would be content to hush this whole affair up if Valmar himself did not want to marry her, or if his rage against his heir would