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Alanna grieves, and like always, she chooses to do it as far from her closest friends as she can.
It’s not that she doesn’t want Jon and Thayet and George to see her in the deepest throws of depression. It’s just… she knows that she can’t be what they will need right now, and so she cannot be an extra burden on them.
She cannot be anything but a woman who follows orders, not in those first weeks following the loss of both Faithful and Thom.
The worst is that she doesn’t know which grief hits her hardest. Thom’s should, she supposes; Thom is— was— her twin. The other half of her. The one who conspired with her all throughout their childhood, and who happily participated in their scheme of switching places. Even when they had been apart for years—for too long, the part of her that moans and shrieks as her five-year-old self would have at the thought of never seeing him again—he could still draw on her magic as his own. He still knew her, and trusted her, as he didn’t trust anyone else.
That was what killed him, in the end. That he didn’t ever learn to trust anyone else, while Alanna had Coram and Jon and George and so many others.
Others including Faithful.
He was just a cat. Well, not just a cat. But he was a true cat down to his bones, as much as he was the Goddess’, and so people will expect her to mourn Thom more than she mourns her cat. Even though Faithful was her constant companion, who saved her life time after time, who believed in her when no one else would…
She cries for Thom, and she cries for Faithful, and she feels the aching absence of her friends, but she knows that being in the Bloody Hawk is the best thing for her right now.
There are no deep responsibilities for her among the tribe. She helps, tasks given to her daily, but she is not the shaman. She is not the champion. She is not the lady knight who has changed the world and continues to change it.
She is just Alanna, one more warm and competent body to put out on sentinel duty.
It’s exactly what she needs. To be able to spend hours crying, and mourning what has been lost and what will never be, and then to spend hours in honest labor, surrounded by people who accept her but don’t depend on her. It’s the best chance of healing she could have made for herself, and if she feels a little guilty about pulling away from Jon when he likely could have used another friendly shoulder—if she considers time and again joining with the Voice only to violently reject the notion—well.
Alanna has come to know herself, and that can only be good for all of her relationships.
Except… perhaps she doesn’t know herself as well as she thought.
Kourrem and Kara keep strong company with Alanna, eager to show off all that they’ve learned, and to teach Alanna a few things she didn’t know about magic and a great deal that she didn’t know about weaving. They spend many long evenings in each other’s company, and Alanna enjoys her new relationship with the younger mages—a relationship of equals, all of them full members of the Bloody Hawk and comfortable in their respective positions.
Alanna doesn’t think anything of it when Kara returns to the shaman’s tent, yawning widely, while Kourrem stays behind. Though the two shamans usually retire together, sometimes one or the other will be more eager for company, and Alanna is always happy to host them in her small tent.
Kourrem shifts, moving to sit next to Alanna. She reaches out, guiding Alanna’s fingers on the small learning loom that Alanna has taken up while practicing a new pattern.
Alanna is so busy focusing on the pattern—so caught up in the familiarity and comfort of Kourrem’s presence—that she doesn’t notice the young woman leaning in until Kourrem’s lips are pressed against her cheek.
Alanna freezes, analyzing the situation, trying to think of some simple explanation for what’s happening. Perhaps this is a kiss of farewell? Is Kourrem leaving for the night, and being more dramatic about it that usual?
Except there would be no reason for that. No reason for Kourrem to shift her veil so, revealing the entirety of her face to Alanna’s scrutiny. No reason for Kourrem to have her lip between her teeth, her eyes fixed on Alanna, nervous and elated in equal measure.
Alanna lifts a hand to touch her cheek. “You kissed me.”
“I did. I thought…” Kourrem swallows. “You returned to us, for healing. And you’re beautiful, and clever, and I know that you like men, but I thought perhaps…”
“This is… common, among the Bazhir?” Alanna speaks carefully, not wanting to give insult.
Kourrem replaces her veil hastily, her eyes downcast. “It’s not unheard of. Women have their own world, and sometimes there are souls that belong together despite their bodies being of the same type. There is no harm in having a woman as a lover, provided you still care for your husband’s needs.”
“And that’s what you would want?” Alanna feels blood pooling in her cheeks, undoubtedly turning her complexion red and blotchy. “A woman lover?”
“I would want you , if you would have me.” Kourrem swallows thickly, and perhaps her eyes are downcast now because she’s trying to avoid crying. “I would have The Woman Who Rides Like A Man, except I suspect from your reaction that you would not be interested.”
Alanna draws a deep breath, and then does what’s needed. “I’m sorry, Kourrem. I care for you deeply, but as something between a sister and a student. I do not think I would be a fair lover for you.”
Kourrem nods, her face still averted, and hastily refastens her veil.
Placing a hand on Kourrem’s shoulder and another under her chin, Alanna turns the young woman’s tear-streaked face towards her. Gently shifting the veil, she takes in Kourrem’s wretched expression, then leans forward and presses a kiss to Kourrem’s forehead. “You are beautiful, my friend. Beautiful, and talented, and everything a woman could ask for in a lover or a friend or a shaman. I’m sorry I can’t be what you want, and I hope you find someone worthy of you soon.”
Kourrem bursts into more riotous tears, and falls forward into Alanna’s embrace. “Even when you’re turning me down, you’re so nice and diplomatic about it.”
Alanna rubs the younger woman’s back. “Not a single lie in what I said. Forgive me, Kourrem?”
“Nothing to forgive.” Kourrem sniffles, wiping her cheeks with her knuckles. “I just want you to be happy, Lioness. And if you can’t be happy with me, I hope you find the one you can be happy with.”
“I am happy with you.” Alanna holds her friend’s arms. “I’m so happy with the tribe. I don’t know if I’d have made it, if I needed to stay in Corus while dealing with… with everything. But…”
“But your heart is already spoken for several times over. I know.” Kourrem sniffles again, and smiles, patting Alanna’s hand. “Don’t worry. We’re still the best of friends, Woman Who Rides Like a Man.”
“Good.” Alanna releases her friend. “Then sleep well. You’ve given me much to think about.”
Kourrem takes her leave, and Alanna settles her few belongings before crawling into her own bed. She doesn’t sleep much, though, instead turning over possibilities in her mind. She’s known about homosexuality, of course. Myles has been accused of it more than once, usually by the same people who think his relationship with the Bazhir something to be looked on suspiciously. But she’s never considered homosexuality as something she could engage in, or her friends…
Her dreams that night are strange, filled with Thayet and Corus and a thousand snickering gossips decrying Alanna as even more unnatural than previously considered.
When she wakes, Alanna pushes all such thoughts from her mind.
She is the Lioness. The Woman Who Rides Like a Man. A member of Bloody Hawk, a twin in mourning, a champion who sacrificed much to save the kingdom.
She doesn’t need anything else.
***
Thayet rides off, and Alanna watches her go.
She’s glad that Thayet and Jon will be wed. It isn’t the marriage that Jon’s parents would have wanted, but given they’ve left Jon an orphan, they can go hang. Which is an uncharitable thought, particularly towards Lianne, but Alanna is feeling uncharitable right now.
Or perhaps has spent all her charity.
She’s glad, really and truly, that Jon and Thayet will be the rulers of Tortall. They’ll be good rulers, and Thayet sees Jon as Jon first and king second while understanding how much the ‘king’ part needs to matter.
Thayet will be a far better queen than Alanna could ever hope to be. She won’t lose her temper like Alanna would. She has the feminine graces and the beauty to manage being queen, especially in a court that will likely be hostile for the first few months if not years.
Thayet will make Jon and Tortall happy, and she will still be Alanna’s friend, and it’s foolish for Alanna to want anything else.
Foolish for Alanna to want more than what she already has, which is more than any reasonable person could hope the gods would grant.
So Alanna watches Thayet go, and she misses the beautiful woman, and she misses Jonathan. She stares at the fire that evening for long, long seconds as everyone else goes to commune with the Voice—stares at Coram as he shares a part of himself with Jonathan.
She can’t bring herself to do it, though, and so she returns to her tent, grief heavy around her shoulders once more despite no losses happening recently.
***
Jonathan exhales, his entire body relaxing as he releases the combined energy of the Bazhir back to them.
George watches his king, balancing on a chair that he’s tipped back onto two legs. He knows Jon prefers to commune as the Voice of the Tribes when he’s alone, but George’s report ran late, and Jon hadn’t wanted him to leave. So instead George watches, fascinated as always by the play of emotions across Jon’s face as he manages to hold and reassure thousands of disparate souls.
George couldn’t do it. George wouldn’t want to do it. His time as the Rogue has made him aware of the balancing act that Jon must always undertake with every single choice and action he takes, but this—this sharing of himself so openly—no, George could not be the Voice of the Tribes.
Perhaps that’s part of why he and Alanna mesh in ways that Alanna and Jon could not. Jon has always known that he owes his life and allegiance to people who have never met him—many who never will meet him. Though he spent some time stewing about that, being a right obnoxious brat, he never tried to shirk his duty. He never complained that he didn’t ask to be king one day and didn’t want it to be so. He just… accepted that this was his fate in life, and moved on to figuring out how to be the best king he could be.
Whereas George… they killed most of his people. The ones he cared about, the ones he trusted, were murdered by a noble and those too cowardly and pathetic to fight back. The Rogue stood for a society. Not what most people would consider a society, no, but a society nonetheless. A place forged by George’s predecessors, where the weakest and most undesirable could have a place and rules that kept them safe. But there will always be someone who doesn’t want to obey those rules, who will try to improve themself at the expense of others.
George will never forgive Claw, but more than that, he won’t forgive those who allowed Claw to do what he did. George will never sacrifice himself so that the undeserving can have a bit more safety. Instead he’ll take the survivors of his inner court, and he’ll forge his own path to safety and security.
“Thinking deep thoughts?” Jon’s rough voice brings George out of his bitter reverie, and he pours the king a glass of wine and slides it over to him.
Jon takes it with a grateful smile, and damn him, how does he manage to look both regal and like he could use a blanket draped over his shoulders at the same time?
“Just thinking that you’re a better man than me. What news?” That’s safer to say than pretty much anything else that’s going through George’s mind.
Jon’s right eyebrow arches up. “If I’m a better man than you, the world is in trouble.”
A little bark of laughter escapes George’s mouth. “ One thing I’ve learned: the world is always in trouble.”
Jon laughs in return, looking more like the young man George first met than he has since his parents died. “True enough. But you’re a good man, George Cooper, and I’ve made an honest one of you.”
“Oh? Going to put a ring on my finger, are you?” George holds out his decidedly ringless hands. He’s taken to dressing well but subtly since his introduction as a newly-minted noble of the Tortallan court. It doesn’t do to attract attention until he wants it, especially given the work Jon needs him to do.
“I’ll put as many rings on your fingers as you want.” Jon’s smile turns wolfish.
George crosses his legs one over the other, maintaining his chair’s balance. There’s a charge in the air that he likes, though he knows he can’t push things too far. Jon is spoken for, after all; he’ll likely be Thayet’s within the month, and if by some twist of fate Thayet turns him down, George knows Alanna will always come before him in the king’s heart. That doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy this, though; can’t like Jon focusing his attention solely on George for a little bit. “And if I want a gold ring, my dear king?”
Jon’s expression shifts through several rapid emotions, starting in surprise and ending in flaming shyness that George didn’t know Jon possessed. “Would that it were so simple. I’ve an heir to beget, after all, and I don’t think you would be a terribly good match for that, George.”
George manages to choke on his own spit. He should have expected Jon to give as good as he got, but somehow George had thought the suggestion of homosexuality would stop his tongue, not give it more barbs. “My understanding is that the Dominion Jewel makes many things possible.”
Jon’s expression shatters as he starts to laugh, a deep, rumbling chuckle that George has heard far too little of the last few months. “I’m pretty sure even the Dominion Jewel can’t make a man pregnant.”
“Who knows? Mythical artifacts and all that.” George flicks his fingers, feeling his face heating. “Though I was more meaning to imply we could ask it to spit a baby out of the ground or something.”
“I’m even less convinced that would be a viable option.” Jon wipes at his eyes, where tiny tears of mirth have gathered. “Sorry, George. I’m afraid I’ll have to give my wedding ring to my chosen bride. I’ll be happy to have you standing with me, though.”
“I’d be happy to stand with you, though if it’s by myself I don’t think that would be a good idea.” George shrugs at Jon’s baffled expression. “You want me to be your spymaster, right? I can’t be attracting all the gossip of the town by being repeatedly given special favor. Your giving me Pirate’s Swoop, but that could be seen as you enabling someone else’s power play. But if you give me a kingdom, and then you have me at your back day and night? Court gossip spreads fast, and it isn’t always kind. We jest about you taking me to your bed, and it is entertainment; in the wrong hands the accusation, even if false, could damage you greatly, and threaten your relationship with Thayet before it’s evenly properly begun.”
Jon flicks his fingers dismissively, though he sighs as he does, shoulders bowing under the weight of his kingship once more. “A part of me wishes I could still say I want you there. Let them talk. They will anyway. But you’re right, as you frequently are about these things. You will still attend, though?”
“I wouldn’t miss your wedding for the world, old friend. And I trust you will have an afterparty where I can properly toast both you and your bride.” George pours his own glass of wine, lifting it and declaiming, “To the fairest king and the smartest queen Tortall has seen in generations!”
Jon’s lips twist a bit in embarrassment, but he drinks anyway. “I’ll be sure to have that party. I trust you and the Lord Provost not to stab each other at it.”
George puts a hand to his chest. “You wound me! I am now an honest man, as you said.”
“You’re forever and always the Rogue, and I’m glad of it.” Jon sighs, closing his eyes for several seconds.
“I can wait to finish my report, you know. I’ve told you the most important tidbits.” George speaks quietly, not wanting to startle Jonathan.
“No, no, I want to finish tonight.” Jon opens his eyes again. “Especially because Thayet is on her way home.”
George nods. “Learned that from the Voice session?”
Jon nods in turn. “Alanna stayed with the Bloody Hawks.”
Drawing in a deep breath of his own, George holds it. He had half hoped that Alanna would return with Thayet, but he supposes that was foolish. There will be months before the wedding, after all, and given what she lost, Alanna doesn’t need the court prying at her wounds still.
“You could go to her, you know.” Jon’s words are so quiet George can barely hear.
George blinks at the king.
“You’ve done a fantastic job helping me get this mess half-sorted. You’ve earned a break. If you wanted to go to the Bloody Hawks, and see if Alanna will give you her hand…” Jon’s smile holds a bit of melancholy, but no sign of deception or forcing himself to say what he doesn’t wish. “She loves you. You don’t want to make her into something she would hate. I think you should at least make her the offer, George.”
“You don’t want to make her into something she’d hate, either.” George pitches his voice low, but leans towards his king, allowing the chair to settle down onto all four legs. “You can’t help that Tortall needs a queen, and I’m glad you’ve found someone that you can love that can fill that role. But it doesn’t make your love for Alanna something poison.”
“It doesn’t, but I did, a little bit.” Jon looks down at his hands. “I’ve learned a lot since I first courted her. Some of it was painful; some of it I earned; some of it I’ve been given, by the Bazhir, by their generosity in letting me be their Voice. But I’ve learned enough to say that when I asked Alanna to marry me, I was being cruel, a bit. She had honest hesitancies; honest grievances. I brushed them aside, assuming Alanna would fall in line like I assumed any woman of the court would. That was unfair to Alanna, and unfair to women in general. But then when she hurt my pride by telling me no, I lashed out in ways I knew would hurt her.”
George swirls his wine in his cup. “No one can hurt us quite as bad as those who know us best.”
Jon lifts his glass. “Truth to that.” He drains the rest of the alcohol and grimaces. “I will love Alanna forever. But she is not my queen, and she deserves joy and love and happiness. Go put a ring on her finger, George, if she wants you to do so.”
She would let you do so, if you told her what you just told me.
I would let you put a ring on my finger, too, Jonathan, if only you asked.
I think all of us are bound up in love for each other, and it’s stupid that nobility don’t allow that kind of thing. If we were in the Court of the Rogue—
But if they were in the Court of the Rogue, his friends might be dead, just like most of his inner court.
At least the nobles tend to stab you with words first and daggers second.
When you’re important enough to warrant a title and land and money, at least.
That means George can beat them to the stabbing part, if only he’s clever and careful enough.
Draining his own glass, George finishes his report, and then heads down to the stables to have them start preparing his horse for a desert journey.
He misses Alanna, and surely seeing her will help put all these complicated emotions into perspective.
***
The first wedding that Corus sees that season is a royal affair, attended by everyone who can possibly finagle an invitation or a relationship to one who has an invitation.
Alanna attends, of course. How could she not? She is the King’s Champion, and she has a role to play in the investiture of the Queen of Tortall. She will be the right hand of both Jonathan and Thayet, and she must show her support for the royal wedding.
That isn’t so terribly difficult. Alanna loves both Thayet and Jon, and she’s glad to see that they’ve turned into the amazing couple that she always knew they could be. Thayet doesn’t let Jon get turned around by sycophants, and for good or ill, her heritage and lack of political power in her homeland give her a hand up in sussing out the nobles who are fair and the ones who are only looking for political gain.
Alanna is the one who has a harder time handling the political games. She pushes through the door into the rooms that she and George are sharing, and grabs her fiance by the lapels, pulling him into a kiss. It’s either that or scream, and she knows the walls aren’t soundproof enough to make screaming a reasonable option.
George responds to her kiss easily, one hand burying itself in her hair—once more cut short—and one pressing into the small of her back, pulling her to him.
He doesn’t try to break off the kiss, but he also doesn’t hold her when she sighs and pulls away. “Thank you. I’m sorry—”
“For kissing me?” George grins. “I should hope not. I’ve dreams of being kissed that way many, many more times.”
“I know.” Alanna returns her husband-to-be’s smile. “I just… needed to let off some steam.”
“I’ll take being kissed over you punching someone, even if they deserved it.” George moves to the table where he’d been working, picking up a glass and holding it out to her.
Alanna sniffs the glass. Just cider, so she allows herself to take a long drink. “Sometimes I don’t know what I’m doing here.”
“Providing cover for me.” George trails his knuckles across her cheek. “Without you here, I wouldn’t have any solid reason to be around Jon and Thayet as much as I am, and that would be a shame .”
Alanna feels her face pulling up into a grimace and tries to stop it. She knows how to bite her tongue. She knows how to hide what she’s thinking; hide who she really is.
George clicks his tongue, sounding for a moment just like his mother as she scolded a younger Alanna. “Come on, lovely. You can’t really be bothered by what they say about me?”
“Of course I can be.” Alanna’s fingers tighten on her cup. “You couldn’t come up with a better story than that you’re some… some piece I picked up on my journeys?”
“But every great story has a grain of truth in it, and aren’t I someone you picked up on your way to becoming Alanna the Lioness?” George’s whole hand cups her cheek this time, focusing her eyes on him.
Alanna sighs. “I’m not sure I much like being Alanna the Lioness right now. I’m not sure I much like Corus or Tortall right now.”
“What have people been saying to make you think such?” George retreats back to his table, settling down and studying her, clearly prepared for a long talk if that’s what Alanna wants.
“They’ve been saying…” Alanna’s jaw works for a moment without producing sound. “That Thayet has no right to be queen. That she’s just a pretty face Jon is using because he thinks he’s too good for actual Tortallan nobility. That I— ” Alanna’s fists clench. “That I somehow ruined Jon for proper relationships. Made him only want women who aren’t womanly enough.”
“ And what is womanly, anyway?”
Alanna starts. She’d been so focused on George that she didn’t notice the soft, slippered steps of the woman she’d been disussing.
The woman whose honor she wants to defend, but can’t, because the King’s Champion calling out random gossips when the kingdom still reels from actual treason is not a good look.
Thayet shuts the door, and then takes two deliberate steps towards Alanna, her head held high. “What do they know about womanly behavior when they scheme and stab over the slightest divergence from a stuffy tradition they don’t even understand the purpose of?”
“I…” Alanna swallows, caught off guard once more by how absolutely stunning Thayet is. Have women always been this beautiful?
Yes, and no. There are beautiful woman among the Bloody Hawks. Kourrem herself is beautiful, in a lanky, youthful way. But none of them hold a candle to Thayet.
Thayet sighs, a smile turning up her mouth in a wry and long-suffering look. “I’m sorry. I can leave, if you’d prefer. I just thought you might need someone to speak to, with how you left, and I also thought I might interest you in a diversion or two.”
“What kind of diversion?” Alanna’s mind finally manages to connect to her tongue again.
“My lord Raoul, bless him, seems to be having just as much trouble handling the new court as you are. I think it’s something about the near-death experiences we’ve all encountered. After that, after looking true evil and the end of all that we love in the face, all of this posturing and abuse of power seems so… petty, does it not?”
“Yes.” Alanna latches onto the word, glad to have something descriptive she can share with other people. “So much of the court is petty . I would have thought all that’s happened, the sleeping sickness, the war, the fact that Roger wanted to destroy all of Tortall… all of it should have made people think, shouldn’t it? It should have made them look at what matters and what doesn’t, but it seems not to have.”
George’s hands wrap around her waist, his head resting on her shoulder.
Alanna leans back into the comfort.
“I think you’ve got it wrong, love.” George speaks his words quietly, but not so quietly Thayet can’t hear. “I don’t think there are many who have come through the last few years unchanged. I think the bigger problem is that we’ve lost so many, and so many of the lost have been the brave ones. The bold ones. The ones who stepped forward and tried to make decisions, to shoulder the troubles that needed shouldering. Those who ran, they’re doing just fine, and confused about how the world is now, and lashing out in their confusion.”
Thayet sighs again, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “True enough. Those who weren’t stupid enough to join Roger’s coup but weren’t true enough to fight for Jonathan have come through with far too much power. They now need to be won over and wrangled, while all of us who have to do the wrangling are tired of dealing with matters that seem so small.”
Alanna places her hand over George’s, pressing her body back against him. “And you think I can help by talking to Raoul?”
“I think if someone doesn’t give Raoul a diversion soon, he’s going to start testing the structural integrity of the new walls with people’s heads.” Thayet grins. “And it never hurts to remind people that the King’s Champion is a fighter to be feared.”
“Right.” Alanna bites down on her bottom lip, studying Thayet. “I wish I could help you more. I wish I knew what to say to get them to understand that you’re perfect. You are exactly the queen they need, far better than Josiane or any other foppish girl thrust at Jonathan through the years could have been.”
Thayet’s smile grows warmer. “Just knowing that you think so brings me joy, Lioness. Now go save our loyal knight from himself and those too foolish to understand that he’s not being ironic, he’s being blunt.”
Alanna turns to give George a kiss on the lips, and then heads for the door.
She passes Thayet on the way, and stops by her, hesitating for only a moment. Reaching out, she turns Thayet so that they’re face to face, and then leans in.
Thayet’s cheeks are lightly powdered, the subtlest traces of face paint used to enhance her natural beauty. The powder feels strange against Alanna’s lips, but the scent that lies beneath it—a subtle floral perfume and Thayet’s scent, familiar from the road—more than makes up for it.
As does the warmth of Thayet’s cheek, and the way her eyes widen in surprise and delight as Alanna pulls back. “Stay safe, my Queen to be,” Alanna murmurs.
Then Alanna marches back towards Jon and Raoul, determined to be as useful as she can be to those that she loves.
***
“Well that wasn’t what I expected.”
George grins at her as Thayet holds a hand to her cheek, caressing where Alanna kissed her. Turning from the door that Alanna exited through towards George, Thayet is grateful that she doesn’t blush easily, and that her face paint will hide what blush has broken through. “I’m sorry, what?”
“ I didn’t expect Alanna to kiss you when it wasn’t necessary—she knows her etiquette, but it always chafes her. And I didn’t expect you to enjoy the unnecessary kiss so much.” George waggles his eyebrows in a suggestive way.
Thayet laughs lightly, crossing the distance to where George has settled himself at a table and arranging herself on the chair opposite him. She doesn’t know this husband-to-be of Alanna’s very well yet, though she knows Jon and Alanna trust him dearly. She decides for the moment to play down the tender situation, to make it something soft and feminine rather than daring and blunt like Alanna would. “She has been a very dear friend to me. I’m glad of her support.”
“She’ll kill herself tryin’ to protect her friends.” George pours them both glasses from the pitcher on the table, handing one to Thayet. He lifts his in a quiet toast. “To Alanna, may she never try to give us more than she can spare.”
“To Alanna. May our friendships be a blessing rather than a burden.” Thayet takes a long sip from her drink, relishing the taste of the fruit that went into its making. Though some crops are shared between Saren and Tortall, not all are, and she’s had to learn to adapt her palate expectations. Sometimes that’s difficult; sometimes, like now, it’s incredibly easy.
George sets his drink down, shuffling the papers he’d been looking at together. Thayet considers trying to catch a glimpse, but doesn’t want to get off on the wrong foot with this man who cloisters himself with Jon on a regular basis. Instead she waits, patient and careful as ever she would be in court, until he says, “You’ve been really good for Jon.”
That wasn’t what Thayet expected, and she hides her startle behind another sip of her drink. “He’s been incredibly good to me. Without him I would be homeless, crownless… practically useless, unless I became less than useless.” Unless some of the people vying for her father’s crown managed to capture her and use her as a playing piece in the game she is good at but has never enjoyed for its own sake.
“You would have done just fine for yourself without Jon.” George waves a dismissive hand, as though being a foreign refugee would be easy.
Which… perhaps, with the money she could have gotten from her jewels and Alanna and Myles’ assistance, it would have been . Certainly she’d had dreams that were far grander than simple survival long before she met Jon. But she did meet him, and now she is incredibly lucky. Now she will have a marriage that will be for more than convenience. She will be more than a warm body for her husband to trot out when she’s not busy producing heirs. She will be queen , a true power in Tortall, and she will have love alongside power.
Did her mother dream of something similar? Did she think, at the start, that her relationship with the king would be something she could use? Certainly she’d refused to quietly accept the unacceptable. But did she want more ?
Alanna will never let Jonathan become a tyrant king. Thayet has been certain of that since her third day of travel with Alanna. If the Lioness supports the king, it is because the king deserves support.
And Thayet is glad to be able to give it.
“Do you need a few minutes of peace, my lady?” George shifts in his chair, clearly thinking of leaving her in peace.
In his rooms.
Well, Alanna’s rooms. But they are George’s too, for now, and Thayet is being very rude. She scrambles to cover her social mistakes. “I’m so sorry. I’ve completely forgotten my manners. Forgive me. It’s just been… a rather trying morning, and I allowed my wits to slip.”
“No need to apologize. Even if I didn’t like how good you’ve been for Jon, I’d know you were someone worthy of respect and friendship from the way Alanna speaks of and treats you.” George settles back down. “And I know how cruel the court has been to you.”
“They haven’t been all that terrible.” Thayet manages to keep her face neutral. “I would have faced far worse in the Saren court, without someone like Alanna to distract the gossips.”
George laughs. “Alanna is certainly good at that. Always one to just charge ahead, doing what’s right, no matter what anyone else has to say on the subject.”
“A good vice for a knight to have.” Thayet feels her cheeks warming again as their talk turns to Alanna once more, her cheek tingling where Alanna kissed her. “How did you come to meet her, if my lordship doesn’t mind my asking?”
George goes quiet, studying Thayet for just a second or two, though it seems much longer. Finally he gives a little nod. “I will answer your question, but if you’ll indulge my curiosity first… what have you heard of me?”
Thayet blinks. “That you’re common-born, raised to nobility by Jonathan at Alanna’s behest. That she… found you on the road, and brought you back to be her husband.”
The lopsided grin that takes over George’s face makes him look younger than usual, and he laughs. “Like a pup the lass decided to pick up and bring home. I should expect nothing less from our esteemed nobility, I suppose. Those who’re digging like Myles would dig are undoubtedly playing their cards close to their chests, but if there’s no sinister variation in the story going around, then I suppose I’m doing a right fine job keeping everything under control.”
Thayet allows some of her bewilderment to show on her face.
“I’m a thief, my lady. The king of thieves, some would’ve called me. I was the Rogue, when such was a thing that proper existed. The one that the underworld pledged itself to in return for safety and surety.” Bitterness leeches into George’s voice, and he takes a deep swallow of his drink, perhaps hoping for something more alcoholic, or perhaps only tasting the pain of old wounds. “Except too many decided greed was worth more than safety or honor. No honor among thieves has never been our words. Those were things the nobility said, but we went and made it true nonetheless. I was tired, after the latest round of horrors, and Jon didn’t want me to die a stupid death, not when Alanna loves me dearly.”
“Jon cares a great deal about you, too.” Thayet slips the words in, curious to see George’s reaction to them.
They cause him to pause, to blink, a softer smile than his usual playing across his lips. “I’m glad t’ hear it. But because I was more use to him a live spymaster than a dead Rogue who was hemorrhaging power along with his people’s blood, Jon made me legit. Gave me all I needed to properly court Alanna.”
“All you properly needed was a soul she could love, and the wisdom not to fear any part of her.” Thayet has been certain of that for a long time. If Liam could have gotten out of his own way, he and Alanna might have stayed more than friends, but at least they did retain their friendship.
“Aye.” George’s entire body relaxes, his smile becoming more dreamy. “True enough. But the title means less trouble for her, and more resources for me. Which I need, if I’m to keep Jon safe.”
“I pray that you’re able to. He’s already suffered so much more than anyone should have by his age.” Thayet hugs her shawl a little tighter around her shoulders. He doesn’t cry often, not where others can see, and Thayet feels privileged that she’s one of the people Jon has allowed to see the depths of his pain.
Not just for his parents, or for the calamities that have accompanied his rise to kingship. She held him once because a favorite painting, irreplaceable because the artist died over a decade ago, was crushed in the earthquakes.
The tears were only partly about the painting, but Thayet understood the rest without having to be told. Understood how piles of bodies in the coronation room; pyres of dead during the times of sickness; an empty tomb where a body should have been; how all of that can strike you after the tiniest of losses, and make everything else impossibly heavy.
Perhaps George has held him during times like that, too, because he quietly says, “You make him smile. Truly smile. The only other person I’ve ever seen make him both as happy and as frustrated as you manage is Alanna.”
Thayet brushes the praise aside. “I see him smile plenty with you, and Lord Raoul, and some of the other knights.”
“Perhaps.” George takes a drink.
“Well, no matter what anyone says, I trust Jon’s judgment, and am glad to have you on our side, spymaster.” Thayet leans a little closer to George, trying to form a connection with him.
“I pray I live up to your confidence.” George’s smile becomes burning determination as he leans in, as well. “I’m going to do my best to protect him. And you, of course.”
“Of course.” Thayet hesitates, then, since George has already made this personal by sharing his past, asks, “Do you love him?”
“Of course I do! He’s like a little brother to me.” George’s ears heat, though, a tinge of red against his hair.
Thayet offers him a grin and an arched eyebrow. “And Alanna is like a sister to me.”
George pauses, and then tentatively asks, “You’re certain? Because I don’t mind if—I know that Alanna’s been with Jon and Liam both, and that’s fine. Alanna is not the type of person to be tied against her will. She can take lovers as she wishes, though I’ll want to be informed, of course, and—”
Thayet laughs, the sound escaping against her will. “We haven’t slept together. Though I sometimes wondered, from the way she studies me… but she hasn’t made a move.”
“Oh.” George turns his cup around and around in his hands. “Perhaps she doesn’t like women in that way, then.”
“Or perhaps she’s afraid to be even more confusing for people. She doesn’t want to be seen as a man, not now that she’s the first female knight.”
“I’m not sure she really wants to be seen as a woman, either,” George muses. “I think she wants to just be seen as Alanna. I’m not sure being a man or a woman is something that’s really… of interest to her? She just wants to do what she’s good at, and she gets so furious that people think the shape of her body should influence what those things are.”
Thayet nods. “I think you read that accurately. She is Alanna, more than man or woman. But she’s also quite aware of what it means to be seen as a woman, doing the things that she’s doing. She wanted the Bhazir to see her as woman and shaman, not because she is woman and shaman, necessarily, but because Kourrem and Kara both were. And she must be Alanna the Lioness, female knight, because then she can be the first of many, whereas Alan the knight, no matter how good he was at the job, could not have changed what Alanna can change.”
George sighs, leaning back in his chair. “Sometimes I think all these rules we make strangle us as much as help.”
“And that’s why you’re going to free your lady from those rules before she even swears any oaths?” Thayet smiles, trying to make the question gentle and friendly rather than accusatory.
“I want Alanna to be happy. More than anything else.” The earnestness in George’s words shines from every line of face and body.
“And yourself? Have you ever… when you say Jon is your brother…”
“Oh, I’ve never dallied with the king, though if he wanted… if he were willing…” George watches her through lowered lashes, clearly wondering if she will be a more jealous lover than he .
Thayet considers. Would she share Jonathan with anyone? Certainly she doesn’t want him to have a harem or anything of the like. She will be queen, and she will love him, and he will love her.
But if there were more people he loved… people that she knew, and trusted…
If he and Alanna were to return to bed, and invite her along…
Or Alanna and George and Jon, all offering her a place alongside them, as Alanna has since first they met…
It’s a pretty fantasy, but it leads to too many complications. Thayet knows from talking to both of them that though Alanna and Jon were good together, they also had a bad tendency to hit each other’s sore spots. Surely that would only be a detriment to the relationship that a King must have with his Champion?
“We’re to be married soon, the both of us.” Thayet gives another soft laugh, trying to defuse the not-quite-tension in the room. Or—oh, yes, it is tension, but not of the violent kind. “Silly of us to speak of sharing our spouses before we’ve even properly claimed them, isn’t it?”
“Indeed.” George dons a cheerful smile, and the tension truly breaks.
Most of it, at least. Thayet can still feel potential lurking down below, but it’s not something they’re able to deal with right now. Later, maybe. When all’s settled a bit more. “Thank you. For giving me just a few minutes to recover myself.”
“Anytime, my lady. I know the court can be cruel to those that it sees as outsiders.” George grimaces. “And I am not even being given a position of power over them. Not that they can see, anyway.”
“I will win them over. They at least accept the base premise that I am entitled to some power, after all. This puts me a step above where I was in the Saren court.”
“You deserved so much better, my lady.” George reaches across the table, taking her hand and kissing the back of it.
The kiss burns just as much as Alanna’s had, and Thayet finds herself touching the area as she had her cheek. “All of us deserved more than life gave us, but we have all done well with what we salvaged from the ashes. Perhaps it just means we will have to give our children a better world than the one that we inherited.”
“So mote it be.” George intones the words with perfect solemnity, turning her tired and lonesome musing into a prayer for the future.
Thayet stands, knowing that the court will be waiting for her return—knowing that she can’t spend too much time alone with another woman’s husband, or there will be talk she doesn’t need. “Take care, George. I’m sure we’ll see much more of each other over the next few months.”
“I look forward to it, Thayet.”
His voice on her given name makes her heart flutter more than it should, and Thayet hurries back to the ballroom and Jon’s side.
He really does have the best of friends, and Thayet is glad to be included in their company now.
***
Jon enjoys his wedding more than he thought he would.
Not that he expected to dislike it, exactly. He loves Thayet, far more than he ever would have expected to love a good political match, and she is that as well. Though she doesn’t technically have power in Saren, the current instability and the love many of her people have for her mother will grant them some level of influence.
Beyond that, she’s trained from birth in a court that is somehow even more cutthroat than Tortall’s. Or perhaps just more cutthroat about certain things? Thayet has had to be the best and brightest, while simultaneously hiding that she is so as not to irritate old men who think they know best how the world is supposed to work.
Perhaps Jon just likes women who are willing to do what’s necessary no matter what old men think. Certainly he loves Thayet, and he still adores his Lioness, even if she was right that she would make a terrible queen.
The aspects of her that would not have made a good queen make her an incredible champion, though.
Jon is careful when he deploys Alanna. He doesn’t want to humiliate anyone to the point where he starts losing support, or where he starts being seen as cruel or cavalier or overbearing. But he is an incredibly young king, without the benefit of his father’s supervision that he should have had, and there are those who would take advantage of that fact.
He doesn’t give them the opportunity.
Alanna doesn’t lose a single battle that he sends her to. He wouldn’t blame her if she did—she’s only one person, even if she’s an incredible person. But between her training, her Gift, and her sheer stubborn determination, when he sends her to put someone in their place or stop them from doing something, he’s no more uttered the request than it’s done.
And now she stands behind him, preparing to seal his relationship with Thayet.
A sea of nobles stand before them. They elected to hold the wedding outside, after much debate. Jonathan doesn’t want to use the grand ballroom—there are still too many memories of death and destruction there, and if something happens again, he’s certain the rumors of curses will spread with three times the efficacy they already have. Raoul had looked glumly at the plans and nodded, deploying people where needed to provide protection, muttering that at least no ceilings will come falling down on them.
And he’s right about that, at least. They’re careful, so incredibly careful, and there is no one like Roger masterminding any kind of disaster this time. Thanks to George’s work, they manage to catch a few people who have taken Saren coin to try to stop the wedding and return Thayet to her home country, but they don’t uncover any further Tortallan plots.
Probably because a plot requires forethought and intelligence, and the young woman who throws herself at Jonathan with a dagger held too tightly and too high to be effective has neither.
“For Josiane!” The girl can’t be more than twenty… though perhaps it’s unfair to call her girl then, when Alanna was far more intelligent at fifteen. “For all of us who—”
Alanna steps forward, her new sword sliding from its scabbard. It’s not Lightning, but it works well enough, cutting through frilly layers of fabric and skin with equal efficacy. The sword sticks on the bones of the woman’s wrist, but enough damage has been done. The knife drops from mostly-lifeless fingers as blood flows in a torrent and the woman screams.
Jon should probably know her name. He should know her family and her reasons for falling in with Josiane. He probably does, if he forces his mind to think.
But he doesn’t want to care about that right now. He is getting married, and by all the gods, he’s going to finish getting married before something else stupid happens.
Turning to the priest and priestess who are officiating the ceremony, he lifts both eyebrows. “Where were we?”
“Ah… right.” The priest seems a bit distracted by the men of the King’s Own who are busy binding the incompetent assassin’s wrist while leading her away.
The priestess seems unperturbed. Does that mean she’s been in Corus for too long at this point? “Do you, King Jonathan, take Thayet of Saren to be your wife, and more importantly, your Queen? Do you entrust her with the welfare and prosperity of your kingdom?”
“I do.” Jon smiles at his almost-wife, who returns the expression.
“And do you, Thayet.” The priest manages to return his mind to the business at hand. “Do you wish to accept this responsibility? This privilege and burden? Do you swear to protect Tortall from any and all who would harm her? To bend all of yourself to the betterment of this kingdom?”
“I do.” Thayet keeps her head high, her voice ringing out clear.
“Then together with the gods above, we bless and recognize this union.” The priest and priestess intone the line together, holding out right and left hands respectively.
Magic begins to build, washing over Jonathan, and he shivers as he recognizes the feel of the country.
His country.
Tortall.
Such a beautiful land. So rich, teeming with people and plants and animals. Ever since he first touched the Dominion Jewel—ever since he held Tortall together against Roger’s bid at total annihilation—he has loved being able to slip into this mindset and feel the land.
And now the magic reaches out, wrapping Thayet in the same power.
Except—not just Thayet.
Alanna is still there, just behind them. Alanna is not his Queen, but she is Tortall’s champion, and he would have the land recognize her if it can.
He would offer Alanna a place at his side, and though it cannot be the exact same space Thayet holds—though she would not fill the space that Thayet can fill, just as Thayet cannot fill the space Alanna can fill—the space that she can fill—
She is the King’s Champion.
She is the protector of the kingdom, the sword that keeps them safe, the sharp tongue that refuses to let injustice stand.
She is his Lioness, and he needs her, just as he needs Thayet.
The magic caresses her, welcomes her—
And is rejected by her, just as communion with the Voice of the Tribes is rejected by her.
Jon tries not to let the rejection sting. Alanna is Alanna. She makes her own choices. She holds her own counsel. She does not want to be bound to him, not in that way, and he will not force it on her.
He will not let the magic try to force it on her, just as he won’t let the magic reach out and wrap around George.
He will let it resonate between himself and Thayet.
The priest smiles warmly. “And you may now kiss the bride.”
Jon doesn’t get a chance to kiss Thayet.
Thayet throws a glance back at Alanna, and then she grabs Jon, a hand on each of his cheeks, and pulls him in for a deep and lingering kiss.
He can’t help but smile stupidly at her for a few seconds afterwards, and then pull her in for a kiss of his own.
The crowd erupts in cheers, and Alanna claps louder than any of them, her joy obvious on her face.
And if Jon thinks he sees a hint of sorrow in her expression, well… they are both acutely aware of all the people who should be here and are not, and that is plenty of reason for either of them to be misty-eyed.
***
George expects his marriage ceremony to be boring.
He doesn’t know why he had the audacity to expect that. Nothing about his courtship with Alanna or his friendship with Jon has been normal or anything approaching boring. Why should his marriage be different?
Because it isn’t a royal affair, he supposes. Because it’s a political marriage, yes—the King’s Champion marrying can’t help but be a bit political—but it’s also the far less exciting of the two political marriages to happen that year.
He’d almost asked Alanna to simply elope with him. They could go down to the temples, and register their marriage, and not have to worry about anything else. It would have saved all of them stress.
But it also wouldn’t have given the court what they needed.
It wouldn’t have given Alanna what she needs, George doesn’t think, though he wonders if Alanna understands exactly what that is.
She looked absolutely gorgeous at Jon’s wedding. No one else with a woman’s body could have made the long tunic or the loose trousers or the short hair come together into a paragon of young beauty and virility like Alanna did.
But that also meant months of the court talking about how Alanna is not like other women. Alanna is a man trapped in a woman’s body. Alanna is someone—something—unnatural.
If they eloped, they would not have been able to prove all of those people wrong as easily as Alanna walking towards him in a long, trailing dress does.
Jon claps a hand to George’s back. “You are an incredibly lucky man.”
“Oh, I am very much aware.” George doesn’t look back at the king, who will be officiating the wedding.
He doesn’t look anywhere but at Alanna, because Alanna is everything he has ever wanted and ever will want.
Myles stands proud at the front of the crowd, looking between Alanna and George and Jon. George’s mother stands with Myles, her head resting lightly against his upper arm.
The people who love them. The parental figures who helped them figure out what they want to be—who they will trust and who they won’t.
A vast array of personal and political invitees stretch out around them. Many of Jon and Alanna’s old friends are present, but that still leaves a great many people who are here for political purposes rather than to wish them well.
That’s all right. Watching Alanna stalk talks him like she owns every place of ground she touches, George ducks his head.
Alanna reaches him in short order, her fingers sliding into his.
Jon starts speaking, reciting the vows that he and Alanna made together. It’s a good thing George has his portion of the ceremony memorized, because the first time Jon asks him a question, he knows what rote answer he should give.
Not that he doesn’t appreciate their vows. They’re beautiful vows.
Jon is staring at him, so it’s probably George’s turn to speak once more. Still clasping tight to Alanna’s hands, he murmurs, “I give myself to Alanna, which means giving myself to Tortall, and to the advancement and protection of King Jonathan and Queen Thayet.”
“Your allegiance is noted and appreciated.” Jon holds out an open box with two beautiful rings inside. “I bid you bind yourselves to each other and to Tortall, so that she may know that Her champion is in safe hands.”
George takes the ring in shaking fingers, and grasps Alanna’s hand. They’d been careful when choosing sizes, making sure Alanna’s callouses and scars from years of fighting and training won’t interfere.
Now the ring glides on smoothly, just as George’s does, and—
And—
And the world is made of color.
George walks on song and breathes in love as power wraps around him. He is familiar with Gift working, of course, but what he feels now is so much greater that it should have a different name.
Perhaps it does have a different name.
“Dominion Jewel,” George breathes out, knowing that this must be the source of the power.
Tortall, the power whispers back, and George understands. The Dominion Jewel may have granted power to the land, but now what lies awake and powerful beneath them is the country itself.
A country that yearns to be loved, that was almost murdered even as it stretched a tentative awareness of self, and George moves to soothe it like he would a spooked horse.
Before he can, purple fire wraps around him, holding him tight, cutting off that other, unfamiliar power.
“You are mine, George.” Alanna holds his hand tight, staring into his eyes with her flower-tinted ones. “You are mine, and I will have you forever.”
“For as long as I live.” George leans in, pressing a kiss to Alanna’s forehead. “And Tortall has us both, because neither of us will ever abandon Jonathan and Thayet.”
Alanna has no rejoinder for that, and so she stands on tiptoe and pulls him into another deep kiss, much to the laughing delight of those gathered for their wedding.
George joins in the laughter, happy to be the center of court attention for one—happily letting Alanna guide their movements as they finish the rest of the ceremony and begin circulating among their guests.
They will have to talk about the power, but since it isn’t hostile, unlike many things in their life, it can wait until a later time.
***
Alanna stands on the wall of Pirate’s Swoop, looking towards Corus.
They visit the capital on a regular basis, and they communicate even more regularly. They need to, after all. Alanna wouldn’t be much of a Champion and George wouldn’t be much of a spymaster if they didn’t communicate with their king.
With their queen.
With their monarchs, but also their friends, and also, possibly…
It felt so strange, during the wedding. As though the land itself were trying to tie them together, and Alanna had instantly lashed out, forcing the magic back. She will not be bound against her will.
...But if it were her will…
If she could close her eyes, and be with Jon, be with Thayet, be with George when he’s out collecting information for Jonathan and Thayet…
George’s arm wraps gently around her waist. “A beautiful sight, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Alanna leans against her husband. “George, I’ve been thinking… what happened during our wedding… what we both felt…”
George’s muscles all tighten, though his voice is gentle as he says, “Yes?”
“Would you… that is… do you feel…” Alanna growls, frustrated as she tries to get her thoughts in order. Tries to separate out the two, maybe three different questions she has for her husband. “You love Jon and Thayet, right?”
“Of course I do.” George shifts so that they’re facing one another. “Do you mean love them romantically, though?”
“I… guess I do, in a way. Because we both love them as our monarchs and as our friends, but… would you want them to be more than that? No, not more. Other than that. Something… in addition to what we already have.” Alanna holds tight to both George’s hands, afraid he’ll pull away from her—afraid she’ll hurt him with this truth. “I bound myself to you, and I don’t regret that. I love you, George. If you want me to stop there, to let that be our only truth—”
“I love them, too. I’ve loved Jon… not for as long as you, but for longer than you’d think. He’s a handsome and charismatic man, and once I was no longer Rogue… if things had been different, I probably would have bedded him. But they weren’t, and I haven’t.” George frees one of his hands, but only so he can use it to cup her cheek. “I will never be your cage or your net, Lioness. If you need something, or even if you just want something, tell me. And if it’s something we both want, well, then, all the better.”
“We’d have to see if they both want it.” Alanna swallows. “If they’d be willing… if they wanted… I wouldn’t want to ruin what we have. What we have is so very precious.” The words come out soft, stilted, all of her fear finally given voice.
“You’ve proven already that you can gracefully move from friend to lover and back if that’s what’s needed, but for us, for all four of us, I don’t that will be the case. I think we’ll balance each other in this, just as we have in other things.” George leans down, kissing her on the forehead. “But why don’t we talk to them about it?”
Alanna draws in a deep breath, and nods.
***
It’s easy to fall into bed with Jon and Thayet.
They’re already fast friends, and Alanna has enough experience with Jon that it papers over her hesitation about how to make a woman happy. There’s actually very little that changes with the introduction of kissing and flirting and fucking to the mix that is their relationship.
Jon is still Jon, all charm and rock hard determination, needing friends to both steer and hold him as he fights the raging waters of politics and entropy to keep his people and his country safe. Thayet is his political equal; Alanna is good at showing him his blind spots; and George reminds him constantly that Tortall is so much bigger than the court.
Thayet is still Thayet, the queen who has found power and friendship and is not willing to let either go. She sees Corus and Tortall more clearly, perhaps, than the rest of them, or at least from a larger perspective, though she’s eager to learn why they love it so.
And George is still George. Still smart and sharp, a fighter and a thinker, a king and a commoner all rolled into one.
They balance each other. They love each other. They know each other’s wounds, and they act as bandages for those that still weep.
But they aren’t together nearly as often as any of them would like. They spend days and weeks without each others’ company, only the voices in their own heads to remind them of those they love… and those who love them.
“It’s a simple ceremony. It’s based on what the Bhazir do, mixed with old magic from the first kings.” Jon keeps most of his attention focused on Alanna as they discuss the matter in his private chambers. “I think it’s what tried to happen at Alanna and George’s wedding.”
“A bond, between the four of us.” Alanna keeps her hands still in her lap.
Jon nods. “A connection. A tether. I don’t know if it would be as close as the one that belongs to the Voice of the Tribes, but I think we’d at least know how the others are feeling. If everyone wanted. If we set a time to reach for one another.”
Alanna bites down on her bottom lip before remembering that she’s trying to be still.
“We don’t have to.” Thayet reaches out, placing her hand over Alanna’s so she can give it a squeeze. “It’s just a thought, but we’re doing just fine as we are.”
They are. They’re thriving as they are, a quartet that uses their strength and power to create that better world for the children they’ve all been talking about having.
But could it be better?
Alanna forces herself to exhale, then inhale, and speak. “It frightens me. People seeing through me clearly. Perhaps understanding me better than I do myself.”
“That’s part of being loved, my lion.” George takes Alanna’s other hand.
“It’s good, when it’s from love. But it still frightens me.” Alanna huffs out a breath. “But less than being apart from you all for weeks at a time, like I’ll be called to be sometimes. Though Jon, if you could find a way that won’t leave another giant scar down my arm?”
“But I think they’re fetching.” Thayet’s fingers trace where Alanna’s scars run beneath the fabric of her shirt.
Alanna smiles, blushing, suddenly not hating them quite as much as she usually does. “I appreciate that. But still.”
“Just a drop of blood.” Jon pulls out a small dagger. “One drop from each of us, into my hand.”
Jon cuts himself first, squeezing a drop of crimson liquid from his fingertip into his left hand.
Then he passes the knife to George, and another drop joins the first.
Thayet doesn’t hesitate, sticking her finger in her mouth when she’s done.
Leaving just Alanna.
Who has still never once joined with the Voice of the Tribes.
But this won’t be the Voice. This will just be your friends. Your lovers.
This will just be a marriage, the voice of the land whispers to her. A marriage as true as any other seen by Tortall.
Alanna pricks her finger, and adds the fourth drop to the tiny collection.
Jon smiles, and closes his eyes.
It isn’t a wave this time. It’s a gentle tug. A quiet opening of Alanna’s awareness, a brightening of sounds and colors, a change in the warmth that she feels—an awareness that George is warm at one side, and Thayet at the other, and Jon across from her—
Settling into the bond is like dropping gently into a warm pool, and there are no rocks at the bottom. There are just the three people she loves most in the world, and they have held no secrets back from her.
They have not hidden their griefs or their guilts, their hopes or their horrors, and Alanna has not truly hidden hers, either.
They know she still grieves. They know she will always grieve, because once she and Thom were inseparable, and now he has gone where she cannot follow without sacrificing everything else that she loves.
Her grief mirrors Jon’s, a deep aching awareness of what has been taken from him: of counsel that should have been, and family ties that wounded instead of strengthening, and yet still he loves openly.
Just as George loved too openly, too freely. It was known where his loyal friends were, and now too many of them are dead, betrayed and buried.
Just as Thayet’s throne will forever be built on the last breaths of her mother. On the sacrifice that other women made to ensure she would not have to be a figurehead to men who did not respect her.
They all still bleed from their grief-wounds, but they have also all been stitched. George does not have to fear betrayal from this group, and he settles into that certainty like a duck into water.
Jon will never have to worry that one of them will fling themselves into a gorge to follow lost love. They will stand by him, help him, and if they make a wrong decision, it will not be for wont of trying.
Thayet will do most anything to keep another country from burning. Most anything, but not actually anything; she has her hard lines in the dirt, the things she will not sacrifice and the places she will not go. Will not ask others to go.
Just as Alanna does. She is King’s Champion. She is the heart of Tortall, carrying a part of Jon’s heart with her when she goes, and she will keep it safe.
She will keep them all safe, for so long as strength remains in her sword arm and life in her heart.
They sit revealed to each other, a symphony of stacked experiences, and nothing could be more right in the world.
When the bond fades, Alanna finds herself with an arm around Thayet and one around Jon. George has her and Jon pressed tight against him, leaving her sandwiched between the three people she loves most in all the world.
“So?” Jon clears his throat, his eyes bright with hope. “Should I figure out how to dissolve it?”
Alanna gives her head one firm, determined shake. “But I think we should retire to the bed, and take advantage of the fact that we’re all in one physical place for the moment.”
No one has any objections to that, and they tumble into Jon’s enormous bed together, taking advantage of their newly forged bond to make it a night to truly remember.
***
When Alanna rides out in two day’s time, she isn’t alone.
The others are just a vague awareness in the back of her mind, but they are there.
They have seen to the heart of her, to the grief that still burns, and they are not afraid. They are not embarrassed. They do not wish to change anything about her, or about how she is pursuing matters.
They will have trouble, Alanna knows. No one ever completely understands one another. But the four of them click together, one person’s strengths covering for another’s weakness, and Alanna thinks they have a good chance of achieving their goals.
Of making Tortall, at least, a better place.
After that… well, the world is an enormous burden to carry, and Alanna would not dare to even pretend to pick it up without knowing what she’s offering to carry.
Which means the only right thing to do is travel, something Alanna hasn’t done nearly enough of yet, and see what new wonders she can bring to her lovers for contemplation.