“Did you?”
“No,” she said fiercely. “No.”
Maddek believed her. But he made no reply, downing the rest of his mead, trying to wash away the sour doubt that crawled up his throat.
Kelir was frowning at her, too—but in confusion rather than suspicion. “What purpose did she have?”
“To teach me,” Yvenne said hotly, as if her fury at Maddek still burned. “So I would know something of the world beyond the chamber walls and be prepared to lead my people.”
Maddek believed that, too. From what he had seen, her mother had taught her well. Yvenne had been guided as Maddek’s parents had guided him.
“What did she tell you of Goge, then?” Toric asked, though Maddek did not think the young warrior cared much about Goge—only what sort of things her mother’s blessed gaze had looked at that he might look at now, too. “Did she tell you of this village?”
“Unless there is some marker, it is difficult to know. I recall no specific mention of the village nearest the bridge ruins.” Her gaze slipped around the common room. “It seems much like other Gogean villages she described.”
“And how did a warrior-queen describe them?” Maddek tore free another roasted joint from the platter. “Did she see what I do—a land ripe for conquering, because beyond the Gogean city walls there are too few soldiers guarding its roads and borders? Did she see a people reluctant to take up arms, because they must join a queen’s guard instead of knowing the pride of defending their own homes? A people who will forever rely upon the alliance to protect them from the Farian savages, and yet whose council minister begrudges every speck of grain the army consumes?”
Nods and low grunts of agreement came from the other warriors. Of course they had observed what Maddek had. Any fine warrior would, and his Dragon were among the finest.
Yet Yvenne did not look upon him as if she thought so. Instead her clear gaze searched his face as if looking for something more from him . . . and did not find it.
Quietly she said, “So it is not only me.”
Maddek frowned. That was disappointment in her tone, and he disliked the effect it had on him—heaviness within his stomach, tightness in his chest.
“What is not only you?”
For a long breath she gave no answer. Then she said, “Bid your Dragon to leave us alone, for you will not wish them to witness my response.”
“Why?” Did she intend to slap him? With a short laugh, Maddek glanced at his warriors and saw the same surprise and amusement there. “They might like to watch.”
She merely looked at him. Waiting.
Was this repayment, then? Earlier in the stable, to spare her any humiliation, Maddek had also made certain his warriors would not witness what was done and spoken. “Are they words best left unsaid?”
“No. These words need to be said.”
“There is nothing you can say that they cannot hear.”
Her answer was firm, her gaze unwavering. “They cannot hear this.”
Curiosity warred with irritation. Finally he nodded.
Without argument his warriors rose, each clutching their mead in one hand and their plate in the other as they sought new seats. Among the villagers, there was no hesitation before room was made on their benches and the warriors were welcomed at different tables. Yvenne’s gaze followed them, and then she turned to Maddek, who was downing the rest of his drink.
“You are not a king,” she said gravely.
A fact well known, as he had not yet been named Ran. And perhaps he would never be, if the Parsatheans choose another to speak for them.
“I am not,” Maddek agreed.
“You misunderstand me. Even if you are named Ran when you return to the Burning Plains, you have neither the heart nor the mind of a king. You recognize no strength except that of a sword. You are only a warrior.”
So it was not a slap. Instead she ran him through with a judgment as sharp as a blade.
Struggling to draw breath, slowly Maddek set down his drink. He ought not to care for her opinion. But he saw in Yvenne what she did not see in him. She was a queen—and she had deemed that he lacked not only a king’s title but the character.
Maddek could not even claim with true conviction that she was wrong. For he had thought many times he was only a warrior.
But he also believed he would serve his people well. Yet she did not think so? The woman who would be his queen, his bride?
Never had he been eviscerated so efficiently.
Relentlessly she continued. “I thought you resented protecting me because you despise me for my treachery. But now I hear the same disdain when you speak of the Gogeans. Do you always resent those you have promised to help and protect? Do you only offer your sword grudgingly—or do you only resent them when they are not Parsathean?”
Anger welled through the ruptures she had torn in his pride. Maddek had offered his sword in full allegiance to the alliance. That allegiance had not been returned. “It is not I who am reluctant to fulfill my duties to the alliance. The Gogeans rely on Parsathean might to protect them, yet every bushel of grain sent to the Lave must be pried from Kintus’s fingers.”
Unflinching even in the face of his quiet fury, she simply asked, “How do you feed yourselves on the Burning Plains?”
“We all hunt.” As her mother had likely told her, if Queen Vyssen had truly spied upon the alliance. “We all sow the fields and reap the harvest. And when we are threatened, we all fight.”
“On the Lave, you did not sow the fields and reap the harvest. You depended upon Gogean grain.”
His jaw tightened. An army could not function without food. Was she suggesting they should have grown their own around the camp? “That was the alliance agreement.”
“So it was.” She reached for her mead and said easily, “What would happen at home if you could not harvest or hunt enough?”
“All would go hungry.”
“Even the children and the elderly?”
“They would be the last.” Maddek and every warrior he knew would fill a child’s plate before his own.
“Have they gone hungry since the alliance was formed?”
“No.”
“The Gogeans have,” she said, holding his gaze. “Young, old. Farmers, millers, innkeepers, merchants. All have gone hungry but the queen—and the king before her—and their guard.”
Maddek frowned. How could that be? “This is Temra’s most fertile land. Never do Gogean crops fail. Always they produce more than their people can eat.”