The Sapphire Rose. David Eddings

      ‘That’s hardly the proper way to speak of your father, Ehlana.’

      ‘He wasn’t much of a father, Sparhawk, and his intellect wasn’t exactly what you’d call towering. The efforts he expended entertaining his sister must have softened his brains.’

      ‘Ehlana!’

      ‘Don’t be such a prude, Sparhawk. The whole palace knew about it – the whole city, probably.’

      Sparhawk decided that it was time to find a husband for his queen. ‘How did you find out so much about Princess Arissa?’ he asked her. ‘She was sent to that cloister near Demos before you were born.’

      ‘Gossip lingers, Sparhawk, and Arissa was hardly what you’d call discreet.’

      Sparhawk cast about for a way to change the subject. Although Ehlana seemed to be aware of the basic implications of what she was saying, he could not bring himself to give credence to the notion that she could be so worldly. Some part of his mind stubbornly clung to the notion that beneath her evident maturity, she was still the same innocent child he had left ten years before. ‘Hold out your left hand,’ he told her. ‘I have something for you.’ The tone of their relationship was still indistinct. They both felt that keenly, and it made them uncomfortable. Sparhawk swung back and forth between a stiffly correct formality and an abrupt, almost military manner of command. Ehlana seemed to fluctuate, at one moment the coltish, knobbly-kneed girl he had trained and moulded, and in the next a full-fledged queen. At a somewhat deeper level, they were both extremely aware of the changes a short decade had brought to Ehlana. The process known as ‘filling out’ had done some very significant things to the Queen of Elenia. Since Sparhawk had not been present to grow gradually accustomed to them, they were thrust upon his awareness in full flower. He tried as best he could to avoid looking at her without giving offence. For her part, Ehlana seemed quite self-conscious about her recently-acquired attributes. She seemed to waver between a desire to show them off – even to flaunt them – and an embarrassed wish to conceal them behind anything that lay at hand. It was a difficult time for them both.

      At this point something should be clarified in Sparhawk’s defence. Ehlana’s almost overpowering femininity, coupled with her queenly manner and disconcerting candour had distracted him, and the rings looked so much alike that he should be forgiven for taking his own off by mistake. He slipped it on her finger without giving any thought to the implications.

      Despite the similarity of the two rings, there were a few minuscule differences, and women are notoriously adept at recognizing such tiny variations. Ehlana gave the ruby ring he had just placed on her finger what appeared to be no more than a cursory glance, then with a squeal of delight, she threw her arms about his neck, nearly pulling him off-balance in the process, and glued her lips to his.

      It is unfortunate, perhaps, that Vanion and the Earl of Lenda chose that moment to enter the room. The old earl coughed politely, and Sparhawk, flushing to the roots of his hair, gently but firmly disengaged the queen’s arms from about his neck.

      The Earl of Lenda was smiling knowingly, and one of Vanion’s eyebrows was curiously raised. ‘Sorry to interrupt, My Queen,’ Lenda said diplomatically, ‘but since your recovery appears to be progressing so well, Lord Vanion and I thought it might be a suitable time to bring you up to date on certain matters of state.’

      ‘Of course, Lenda,’ she replied, brushing aside the implied question of just exactly what she and Sparhawk had been doing when the pair had entered the room.

      ‘There are some friends outside, Your Majesty,’ Vanion said. ‘They will be able to brief you on some events in greater detail than the earl and I would be able to.’

      ‘Then show them in, by all means.’

      Sparhawk stepped to a sideboard and poured himself a glass of water; his mouth was very dry for some reason.

      Vanion went outside for a moment and returned with Sparhawk’s friends. ‘I believe you know Sephrenia, Kurik and Sir Kalten, Your Majesty,’ he said. He then introduced the others, judiciously omitting references to Talen’s professional activities.

      ‘I’m so pleased to meet you all,’ Ehlana said graciously. ‘Now, before we begin, I have an announcement to make. Sir Sparhawk here has just proposed marriage to me. Wasn’t that nice of him?’

      Sparhawk had the glass to his lips at that point, and he went into an extended fit of choking.

      ‘Why, whatever is the matter, dear?’ Ehlana asked innocently.

      He pointed at his throat, making strangling noises.

      When Sparhawk had somewhat regained his breath and a few shreds of his composure, the Earl of Lenda looked at his queen. ‘I gather then that Your Majesty has accepted your champion’s proposal?’

      ‘Of course I have. That’s what I was doing when you came in.’

      ‘Oh,’ the old man said. ‘I see.’ Lenda was a consummate politician, and he was able to make statements like that without cracking a smile.

      ‘Congratulations, My Lord,’ Kurik said gruffly, seizing Sparhawk’s hand in a grip of iron and shaking it vigorously.

      Kalten was staring at Ehlana. ‘Sparhawk?’ he demanded incredulously.

      ‘Isn’t it odd how your closest friends never fully understand your greatness, my dear?’ she said to Sparhawk. ‘Sir Kalten,’ she said then, ‘your boyhood friend is the paramount knight in the world. Any woman would be honoured to have him as her husband.’ She smiled smugly. ‘I’m the one who got him, however. All right, friends, please be seated and tell me what’s been happening to my kingdom while I’ve been ill. I trust you’ll be brief. My betrothed and I have many plans to make.’

      Vanion had remained standing. He looked around at the others. ‘If I leave out anything important, don’t hesitate to step in and correct me,’ he said. He looked up at the ceiling. ‘Where to begin?’ he mused.

      ‘You might start by telling me what it was that made me so ill, Lord Vanion,’ Ehlana suggested.

      ‘You were poisoned, Your Majesty.’

      ‘What?’

      ‘A very rare poison from Rendor – the same one that killed your father.’

      ‘Who was responsible?’

      ‘In your father’s case, it was his sister. In yours, it was the Primate Annias. You knew that he’s had his eyes on the throne of the Archprelate in Chyrellos, didn’t you?’

      ‘Of course. I was doing what I could to stand in his way. If he reaches that throne, I think I’ll convert to Eshandism – or maybe even become Styric. Would your God accept me, Sephrenia?’

      ‘Goddess, Your Majesty,’ Sephrenia corrected. ‘I serve a Goddess.’

      ‘What an extraordinarily practical notion. Would I have to cut off my hair and sacrifice a few Elene children to her?’

      ‘Don’t be absurd, Ehlana.’

      ‘I’m only teasing, Sephrenia,’ Ehlana laughed, ‘but isn’t that what the Elene commons say about Styrics? How did you find out about the poisonings, Lord Vanion?’

      Vanion quickly described Sparhawk’s meeting with the ghost of King Aldreas and the recovery of the ring which now – mistakenly – decorated the champion’s hand. He then moved on, covering the de facto rule of Annias and the elevation of the queen’s cousin to the Prince Regency.

      ‘Lycheas?’ she exclaimed at that point. ‘Ridiculous. He can’t even dress himself.’ She frowned. ‘If I was poisoned and it was the same poison that killed my father, how is it that I’m still alive?’

      ‘We used magic to sustain you, Queen Ehlana,’ Sephrenia told her.

      Vanion then spoke of Sparhawk’s return from Rendor and their growing conviction