beauty of a woman who will never tell a lie in all her life."
He could not have known, unless a god told him, that she had taken that most terrible of all vows when she was given to the sea at the age of five. She was bound to the truth, and though she had said not a word to him, though not even the Sea Mothers knew of her vow, he had looked at her and seen it.
"She is not a woman," said Born-among-Falling-Lilac-Petals. "She is only eleven years old."
"I will marry you," said Palicrovol. "When you are twenty years old, if I am King of Burland I will send for you and you will come to me, for I am the only king in all the world who can bear the beauty of a wife who will not lie."
She stood then, letting the flowers fall where they would, ignoring the gasps of her women. She reached out and touched his wrist, where he opened his hand to her. "Palicrovol, I will marry you then whether you are King or not."
Palicrovol answered, "My lady, if I am not King by then, I will be dead."
"I do not believe that you will ever die," she said.
Then her women wept, for she had now betrothed herself, and it could not be undone however her father might grieve or rage at her choice.
But Palicrovol cared nothing for their keening. "My lady," he said, "I do not even known your name."
She nodded to Bent-Back-from-Birth. She could not say her own name, for in those days her name was not true.
Bent-Back-from-Birth found her voice despite her weeping, and said the name of the Flower Princess. "Here-Is-the-Woman-with-the-Joy-of-All-Women-in-Her-Face. The-Pain-of-All-Women-in-Her-Heart."
Palicrovol repeated the name softly, looking at her lips. "Enziquelvinisensee Evelvenin," he said. She listened joyfully, for with his love she was sure that someday those words would be true, though she feared the path that would lead her to her name. "I will send for you," he said, "and you will be worth more to me than the Antler Crown."
He went away, and the Flower Princess waited for him. In all her life she has never regretted her betrothal, nor grudged the terrible price she paid for him, nor lied to Palicrovol, even when you wished her to lie, even when you commanded her, so cruelly, not to speak.
Chapter 1
Palicrovol Becomes a King in His Heart
This is the story of how God taught an unambitious man to seek a throne.
The Dream of Zymas
Zymas was the King's right arm, the King's right eye, and - so the irreverent said - the King's right cobble, too. Zymas was born to a stablehand, but first his strength, then his skill, and at last his wisdom brought him such fame that now he was general of all the King's armies, and the terror of Zymas spread throughout all of Burland.
Zymas had only five hundred soldiers, both horse and foot, but this was a day when a village had five families and a town had fifty, so that five hundred soldiers were quite enough to subdue whoever needed subduing. And if some group of barons or counts combined their petty forces so that they outnumbered Zymas, they were still foredoomed. If there were ten such barons, they could be sure that one had joined the rebellion as the King's agent, two had joined as Zymas's men, and the rest would hang before the month was out.
Zymas had known days of glory on the frontier, where wild tribes from the inner mountains destroyed themselves against the pikes of Zymas's army. And there were days of glory on the littoral, when the raiders from the east beached their craft and died by the hundreds before they could get beyond the tideline. Oh, Zymas was a mighty warrior! But now, with the King's outward enemies all broken and paying tribute, Zymas led his men from mountain to coastline, not to defend Burland from attack, but to protect the tax collectors, to punish the disobedient, to terrorize the weak and defenseless.
There were those who said that Zymas had no heart, that he killed for pleasure. There were those who said that Zymas had no mind of his own, that he never so much as questioned any order that the King gave him. But those who said such things were wrong.
Zymas camped for the night with his half a thousand men on the banks of Burring, high on the river, where the locals still called the