CHAPTER ONE

A SACRIFICE FOR FRIENDSHIP (PART 1)

Midwinter, 457 H.E. (Human Era)

Buriram Tourakom watched the small white flakes slowly spiral down outside her window as she waited for her ride. When Keladry had come with a message from her knight-master Raoul of Goldenlake begging Buri's companionship for a dreaded family reunion, Buri had been unable to turn down her friend and comrade.

Buri shook her head and smirked in amusement. Over the years, she had learned of Raoul's strong dislike of parties and social gatherings. Add to that the greedy matchmaking mothers he was bound to encounter — he had mentioned such horrors other times they had been together — and Buri could see why he needed someone to go with him.

That was what Midwinter was for, anyway: celebration with close friends and family. Buri's only family had died years before protecting Thayet's mother, and the Queen was with King Jonathan and the royal family. So what else was a K'mir to do but help a friend in need?

Buri heard horses' hooves clopping along cobblestones; someone was coming. She opened the door to her suite of rooms and stood in the doorway to watch.

A carriage was rounding the hill, led by four chestnut horses with black manes. On the side of the carriage was the Goldenlake crest, the crest a deep forest green bordered by yellow.

Buri shook her head, a laugh brimming up inside her and almost escaping her lips. Raoul had really gone all-out for the occasion.

The Commander of the Queen's Riders stepped out into full view, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning casually against the doorframe; she looked rather comical, assuming a soldier's stance in a silk dress.

Raoul climbed out of the carriage and carefully made his way across slippery stones to the doorway. He bowed deeply and kissed Buri's hand with exaggerated charm. He straightened up and grinned as Buri covered her mouth with the hand he had kissed; her whole body shook with barely contained laughter.

"Buriram Tourakom, are you ready to depart?" Raoul inquired, somehow keeping a straight face. Buri managed to control herself and nodded, her expression again serious.

Raoul embraced her briefly. As he pulled back, he studied her outfit and nodded approvingly, a grin spreading over his face. Buri had taken advantage of the occasion to wear one of the few dresses she had purchased a few years ago. The silk gown was a royal blue — Thayet had picked it out — and the overcoat was an off-white color that contrasted nicely with her black hair, pinned and braided over her head. Buri owned less than a handful of dresses — she actually felt more comfortable in a dress tunic and hose — but for her friend and his stuffy family she had been willing to suffer one night laced up in an airless gown.

And the star-struck look her companion sent her wasn't bad either. "Buri -- I am rarely awed," Raoul proclaimed, "but at this moment I am very awed."

She rolled her eyes. "You're certainly odd, I'll give you that," Buri commented. "Besides, you shouldn't waste your breath. George Cooper already used a line like that, years ago."

Raoul's eyes danced. "I can't get anything past you. But, seriously -- You look great."

"Thanks," she replied. "So do you." Raoul wore a wine-colored tunic, made from velvet, that was bordered with gold thread. Under the tunic he wore a cream-colored shirt that matched her overcoat, and green hose. As always, his shoulders and chest filled out nicely in the fabric; although, Buri could tell that, like she, Raoul preferred the more comfortable, more forgiving clothes of the working and fighting classes.

Buri glanced around them; the snow was falling more thickly, gathering on their heads and shoulders, and both the horses and the footman were stamping their feet with impatience. "We should get going," she reminded Raoul.

He nodded sheepishly and gestured toward the carriage. "This way."

Raoul placed his hand on her back and led her to the huge carriage. He helped her inside, then he climbed up behind her and closed the door. The footman kicked the horses into a trot, and the carriage bounced along the streets.

Raoul leaned back against the cushioned seat; he sat across from Buri. "It's only a short distance to Great-aunt Sebila's house, but I figured with the snow, it'd be better to use a carriage. Also, knowing Aunt, she expects me to arrive bedecked in splendor, as befits my station."

"I thought we would ride horses there," Buri said.

"Gods, no!" Raoul burst out in laughter. "Great-aunt Sebila would have a heart attack if she saw such a thing . . ." He trailed off thoughtfully. "It would be quite entertaining — but I couldn't do that to her."

"Well, I would hate to kill your great-aunt at our first meeting," Buri remarked with mock sincerity.

Raoul looked down at his hands, then back up at her. "Buri, thank you for going to so much trouble for me. You probably have so many other things you want to do during the holidays, but you're suffering through a night with my family."

"What are friends for?" she answered with a shrug. "Really, I see it as an adventure."

Raoul leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. "That it will be, I can promise you. My family's tough, I'll warn you first off. They're not exactly happy with me because, though I'm Lord Sir Raoul, Knight Commander of the King's Own', blah blah blah, I'm still unmarried. My mother and father want a Lady of Goldenlake and little giants." He shuddered suddenly. "I'm sorry; the thought just caught up with me. Mithros help me stay a bachelor until I die," he muttered under his breath.

Buri shook her head amusedly; Raoul sounded just like a sulky child. Although she was an orphan, she didn't envy him his family. "What am I to do, then?"

Raoul considered for a few moments; the only sound was the clatter of the horses' hooves on stones and the occasional whuff of their breaths in the icy air. "Let's see. You're my lady companion, come to meet my family. It won't be that long," Raoul hastened to assure her. "I'll just have to make an appearance, talk about nothing with my relatives, and hopefully we can get out of there around midnight. Let's just pray they don't take it upon themselves to scrutinize you, or add their comments; they've driven many women away that way.

"Of course," Raoul cocked his head to the side and smiled thoughtfully, "most of the women I've brought to these gathering aren't warriors; most were airheads, I'm ashamed to admit. You're nothing of that."

"Thank the gods," Buri interjected.

Raoul smirked down at the K'mir woman; though they were closer in height when seated, he still stood almost a foot taller than her. "Of course, there is the height issue," he added, his tone teasing. "I have some rather tall relatives, you know."

She snorted and gave him an incredulous stare. "I'll have you know I'm average height for a human, not an immortal," she shot back, and Raoul grinned in spite of himself. Buri continued, "Not everyone is up to your standards, your highness'."

Raoul sniffed lightly in mock self-importance. "Well, that's to be expected. Not everyone can amount to me; why, I am the Giant Killer."

"Takes one to slay one," Buri retorted. This prompted a burst of laughter from him, and Buri leaned back in her seat, content with her victory.

Raoul's laughter died down a few moments later, and he glanced out the window worriedly. He was actually sweating, Buri noted; he wiped his hands on his hose continuously. "I've never seen you so edgy," Buri observed. "What's wrong?"

"Have you ever met my great-aunt?" Buri shook her head. "Then consider yourself lucky." Raoul sighed gloomily. "I mentioned how she's been trying for years to set me up with the right woman; that's only the beginning of my troubles." He muttered something under his breath.

"Speaking of that," Buri started. "What am I to be? Your wife, lover . . . concubine. . . ." She trailed off with a grimace. "I hope it's nothing worse than that."

Raoul shrugged his broad shoulders. "It doesn't have to be anything that drastic. If you could act as some sort of significant other to me, just for this night, it should pacify Aunt and keep her away from me — for the moment."

Buri grinned and clasped his large hand warmly. "No problem."

As Raoul had said, the trip to Sebila's home took only a short while. Raoul looked out the window for the umpteenth time and sighed resignedly. "We're here," he announced glumly. As the footman opened the carriage door for them, Raoul squared his shoulders and sucked in a deep breath as if he were about to face a terrifying immortal.

"Don't be such a baby," Buri scolded, giving him a playful shove out of the carriage.

Raoul turned to look at her as she ignored the footman's assistance and hopped out of the coach, skirts and all. "You must've had the perfect family," he muttered. He offered her his arm, and Buri linked her arm with his. Raoul plastered a false smile on his face — that much he had learned from his years in court balls — as they entered Sebila's home.

Two heavy doors opened onto a hall decorated with the wildflowers and candles that were present at Midwinter. The doors and walls were draped with garlands of ivy, and red- and green-dyed candles burned in sconces mounted on the stone walls. At the far corner of the room was a table laden with treats and refreshments; at the other corner was a huge hearth in which a large fire crackled merrily. Men and women whose ages ranged from teenage to their sixties milled about, nibbling on sweet marzipan figurines and chattering animatedly.

"Raoul, darling! Let me have a look at you." The voice that reached them from across the room held a regal air, and the remark seemed to be more of a command than anything else.

A woman of at least eighty years swept over to them, draped in layers of forest-green, gauzy material. Buri was at a loss for how a crone of that age could still manage her way over the floor as Raoul's great-aunt had.

There was no doubt that this woman was Raoul's great-aunt Sebila. She had the same dark eyes as Raoul; perhaps her hair had been black as well before it had whitened. Now the remaining wispy strands of white hair were gathered up in a golden hair net adorned by the same transparent material that was on her dress. Her skin was a dark golden-brown, and as tough and creased as a piece of leather. Her eyes were crinkled and narrowed, giving her a look of constant dismay. Permanent wrinkles had been etched into her mouth, giving a harsh look to her small, pursed lips. Buri had a feeling that, just by looking at her, Sebila could live to her nineties or even one hundred. Over her simple green gown, Sebila wore a black shawl etched in crimson thread.

Sebila was already inspecting Raoul as he gritted his teeth uncomfortably. "You're larger, if that's possible," Sebila remarked, tapping a gnarled finger against her chin thoughtfully. Her voice sounded like a dusty metal gate being dragged through gravel. "You've probably been on more of those outings for the king," she added disdainfully, "where you don't eat enough and fight for no good reason."

"Yes, Aunt," Raoul replied dutifully. It was cute, in some way, to see the brave knight fidgeting under his great-aunt's imperious glare.

"What did you say?" Sebila snapped. "Speak up, boy! You know I hate it when you murmur."

"Yes, Aunt," Raoul forced out, his voice louder than usual, between clenched teeth.

"Of course, we don't see each other frequently enough," Sebila went on. "Besides these gatherings and the occasional letter — When was your last letter? Half a year ago? — we never see one another."

"Yes, Aunt," Raoul sighed, making sure his voice was loud enough for Sebila to understand.

"What is with this Yes, Aunt' behavior?" Sebila snapped. "Some knight you are." Her gaze abruptly turned to his companion. "Your manners must be wearing away with these months of traveling with soldiers." Raoul knew from past experience that it was no use to speak back. "You haven't even introduced me to your guest." Sebila sighed and held a hand to her head. "Raoul, what are we to do with you?"

When Raoul's great-aunt turned her commanding glare on Buri, the K'mir was barely able to close her jaw, which had dropped a fraction of an inch in surprise. In the space of a scant two minutes, Sebila had delivered one of the quickest tongue-lashings Buri had seen.

Raoul breathed a sigh of relief, glad that the focus had been taken away from him, but also dreading Sebila's impression of his friend. "Buri, my Great-aunt Sebila of Disart, my sire's aunt. Aunt, Buriram Tourakom, Commander of the Queen's Riders."

Sebila didn't bat an eyelid, but her black gaze searched Buri carefully. "You are in charge of the Queen's fighters; you're one yourself," she finally said, and Buri was uncertain if Raoul's great-aunt approved or not. She nodded.

"Buri was Queen Thayet's closest guard in the years before she married Jon," Raoul added helpfully. "She's a skilled fighter and advisor."

Buri rolled her eyes — she was always edgy when it came to compliments — and nudged Raoul with her elbow. "And a general pain in your rump," she added.

"Always," Raoul returned with a grin.

Sebila watched the back-and-forth with a raised eyebrow. "Sounds like lovers' banter to me," she muttered.

Both stared hard at Sebila, then one another, shocked out of their teasing moods. Raoul coughed loudly, but before he could correct his great-aunt, he closed his mouth. The idea was to make Sebila think they were involved; let her draw her own conclusions, he decided.

"Well, Raoul, it's time to visit with some of your other relatives," Sebila ordered rather than said, towing him away by the sleeve. Raoul shot Buri a helpless look over his shoulder; she shook her head and waved him off. Raoul pursed his mouth and sighed, falling into step beside his great-aunt; he towered over her frail, gauzy figure.

Buri turned her attention to the members of Raoul's family who walked around the large hall or were engaged in conversation with others. Many of the men were large and dark, as Raoul was. Some women also shared his black hair and eyes. Buri wove her way through the crowd of people, brushing past Raoul's relatives to reach the refreshment table. There she poured herself a glass of juice and sipped it slowly.

"Excuse me?" a light voice asked. Buri turned around and came face-to-face with a tall woman half her age, with curly brown hair that fell around her shoulders. She was dressed in a velvety gown of black bordered with silver and pearls that reached to the floor.

"You're here with Raoul?" the brown-haired girl asked, and Buri nodded.

The young lady smiled, and she looked like Raoul. "I'm his niece, Emmalen. Emma for short."

"Buriram; you can call me Buri," the K'mir returned.

Emma laughed, a hearty, throaty sound. "Charming!" she gushed, and Buri swallowed hard to force back her sudden disgust. All resemblance vanished, and she faced another bubbly court lady. Thank the gods this girl was related and wouldn't be considered for marriage to Raoul.

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Raoul suffered through smiling and embracing his relatives, if only to keep Sebila happy as she led him through the hall. It seemed there would be no one who didn't know that Raoul was here. Raoul even began to relax, and he was glad to see some of the more pleasant members of his family.

"Come with me, Raoul," Sebila ordered; as if he had any choice! She led him to a group of gray- and white-haired ladies sitting by the large hearth in one corner of the room. Raoul vaguely recognized the women, but he couldn't place them at the moment.

As he and Sebila approached, huge identical grins appeared on the ladies' faces, reminding the suddenly uneasy Raoul of cats who have cornered the defenseless mouse. Then, he knew where he had seen these conniving women. They had been at almost all of these family gatherings, but he wasn't related to any one of them.

"Aunt," Raoul groaned, dragging the short word into three syllables. He should have known that Sebila wouldn't let him off the hook. Every year, every party, it was the same thing.

"Raoul," Sebila said, completely ignoring her great-nephew's discomfort, "you remember Lady Eva of Maren" — Raoul nodded distractedly — "and her daughter Odessa." A willowy woman of thirty with long, white-blond hair and chocolate brown eyes slipped out from behind her mother and smiled shyly at Raoul. The Knight Commander gulped.

Odessa curtsied low to the ground and murmured, without meeting Raoul's eyes, "My lord."

This was exactly the reason that Raoul was still unmarried. Sebila didn't seem to realize why he wasn't interested in her choices of women, so he kept getting matched up with ladies like this. They were all too shy, too afraid to say the wrong thing. Raoul preferred a strong-willed woman — or at least one with a will — with whom he could have a real conversation and see eye-to-eye with.

Someone like — Buri. Raoul blinked. He had never considered it, but his friend was the closest he had seen to a woman who was the perfect match for him — well, besides Anara, but she was long gone. The thought of Buri reminded him of what he had to do.

"A pleasure to meet you," he greeted Odessa halfheartedly. "Excuse me," he told the blond woman and her mother, as he hurriedly drew Sebila aside.

"Aunt," he began softly; he was polite enough to keep his voice low so Sebila's guests wouldn't hear. "I . . . appreciate the thought; really, I do. But Buri and I are already —"

Sebila shook her head impatiently. "Buri is a nice woman, but do you really expect a warrior maid" — she would have spat the words but for her noble upbringing — "to make a proper wife?"

"Well, I wasn't exactly thinking about marriage right now," Raoul replied. "Aunt, I'm involved with someone, and I don't need you to —"

"You are telling me that you just want to have a good time?" Sebila all but roared, her words reaching all of the guests sitting by the hearth. Raoul saw Odessa's eyes burn with rage, and he winced. He tried to mouth an apology to Odessa, but Sebila yanked his head back down to her.

"Don't ignore me! You can't expect to pick up wenches in bars and live the rest of your life alone, because that's how it will be."

Now it was Raoul's turn to be angry. "What are you implying about Buri?" he all but growled.

"I imply nothing," Sebila replied. "What I am implying is that you need to find a woman who will stay by your side and help you build a family, if it isn't too late for that. Here, I've gathered what will be your last hope for a wife. Odessa is a perfectly lovely girl. There are others, if you prefer older or younger maids. But Raoul, you must make a decision; this is the best you'll ever get."

Odessa turned on one heel and stomped off. Lady Eva hurried after her distraught daughter. At least, Raoul thought with relief, though he still wished he could apologize for his great-aunt, that's one choice taken care of.

He quickly returned his attention to Sebila, who was bellowing about the disgrace he threatened to bring to his clan. It was exactly as Raoul had told Kel. How had he known what would happen? Why, he'd been suffering through these matches since he had hit thirty years of age, once he was actually considered "aging." When he became thirty-five, Sebila had become even more panicked and had scheduled meetings with nearly every woman in Tortall. Raoul had a feeling that Sebila could and would call on ladies from foreign lands to be his bride if this party didn't find him one.

Sebila was turning purple, and Raoul worriedly clutched her shoulders. "Aunt, please calm down," he begged quietly. "Remember your blood pressure —"

Sebila took a deep breath and smoothed her hands in her skirt. She glared at the crowd that had gathered and barked, "Let us alone!" They bolted like spooked puppies.

Sebila turned her gaze on him again; when she spoke, her voice was so much quieter but just as hard. "Raoul, you must step aside and allow me to find you a suitable wife."

"Aunt, I am a grown man," Raoul protested.

"You're getting on in years," Sebila told him sternly. "If you don't get married, and soon, no woman will want you."

"Give me time to find the right woman; she'll want me no matter what," Raoul told her evenly. "Now, I have to get back to my companion." Without another word, he turned and swiftly began to walk back to where he had left Buri.

Sebila watched her great-nephew go, shaking her head at his foolishness. She tightened the black shawl around her shoulders and swept away to speak with some of the other women who had been interested in the prospect of marriage to Raoul.

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