by Melanie Rawn
When all were settled around the great trestle table, Cailet turned to Lilen. “Kellos Wentrin said Geria was to blame for Ostinhold.”
“Are you surprised?” Tevis snapped. “She betrayed us.”
“Hush,” said her mother. “I’ll tell it.”
Geria had fled Ostinhold, hiding among a few hundred Ostins heading for Tillinshir. She’d found the Ryka Legion and made a bargain: her life, the lives of her husband and children, and possession of the intact Ostin Web in exchange for specifics about Ostinhold’s defenses.
“She expected me to die, of course,” Lilen said calmly. “I wasn’t disposed to oblige her.”
Tevis, unable to stay silent, added acidly, “Geria stood there outside the gates like she was posing for a statue of Gelenis First Daughter, bragging that she’d saved Ostinhold and the Web!”
“She told us to surrender,” Lilen went on. “She knew full well I never would.” Her lips curved in a fierce little smile. “But she didn’t expect that I’d set fire to Ostinhold myself before I’d let her set foot in it again.”
“Then—you—” Cailet could hardly speak.
“Yes. Oh, they finished the job, the Ryka Legion. They’re very thorough. But I began it. I thought I wouldn’t survive, you see. Little did I know that this old fool had stayed behind with a Ward ready and waiting to whisk me out as invisible as a Wraith!”
Kanto Solingirt cleared his throat. “One hardly ‘whisks’ a woman who kicks you every step of the way. Don’t think I got this—” He lifted his injured arm. “—from anything the Legion did!”
“A hero’s wounding all the same,” Imilial told him, with a wry look.
“Where’s the Legion gone?” Cailet asked.
“Back to Renig.” Lady Sefana grinned. “They’re in for a hell of a shock.”
“Did—did the Trayos children escape?”
Lilen nodded. “North to the mountains. Once things are safe again, everyone will come back. Venkelos the Provider have mercy on me, I don’t know where I’m going to put them all.”
Tevis shrugged slender shoulders. “They can make themselves useful for a change and help rebuild Ostinhold.”
“Well, I suppose so. As for Geria—she’s at the Combel house, I should think. Which reminds me, I must go in to Longriding and file some documents soon. I can’t disinherit her completely, but I can give most of it to my other daughters while I live. Lenna will have the Renig house. She’s the only really civilized Ostin I know of—and a lawyer. She’ll do herself and us the most good in the capital. I hope Geria does take me to court, actually.”
Cailet bit back a smile. Lilen Ostin was in her element; one would think that with Sarra’s like talent for taking charge, she and not Cailet had been raised by this Lady.
“Tevis, the house in Longriding will be yours.”
“Thank you, Mother. But I won’t go near that cactus of yours.”
“Oh, I’ll take care of it, dear, don’t worry. I intend to make a frequent burden of myself at all my daughters’ homes. Miram—”
“Ostinhold.”
“Are you sure?” Lilen frowned. “It’ll be years before we break even there, let alone turn a profit.”
“Ostinhold. Please, Mother.”
“Better you than me, Mirri,” Lindren said frankly. “If you’ve nothing else in mind for me, Mother, then may I have the Renig office block? I can turn some of it into living space and run the merchant fleet from there.”
“If that’s your wish, of course. This brings me to the Web. Now, Miram, I know how it bores you, but find a husband who enjoys business. All these places come with trade contracts attached. Things may be difficult for a while, but—”
“Lady Lilen,” said Kanto Solingirt, “forgive the intrusion, but I may have a useful word. Domna Lindren mentioned offices. Within offices are papers—records that presumably are also within the houses mentioned. Would your First Daughter be able to run the parts of the Web you cannot by law take from her without access to records of the rest?”
Granon Bekke let out an involuntary whoop. “Oh, that’s luscious!”
Sefana regarded Imi across the table. “My dear, although I only met your charming father recently, would you consider my suit for his hand?”
“Mother!” scolded Riena. “Lady Lilen saw him first!”
The old Scholar was blushing. Interestingly, so was Lady Lilen.
“Additionally,” he soldiered bravely on, “such records will enable you to . . . adjust . . . the larger Web.”
Lindren gave a sharp laugh. “I’ll ‘adjust’ Geria right out of business!”
“Enjoy yourself, dear,” said her mother. “I must have a long, legal talk with Lenna very soon. If only I could divert some money to Terrill’s dowry. . . .”
“You can, if Sarra Liwellan has her way,” Lusira observed, “and I’ve noted that she usually does. She’s already abolished slavery—or at least started us down that road. Marriage and dower customs are high on her list.”
“Are they? How very subversive of her!” Lady Sefana pushed herself to her feet. “But it’s getting late. Cailet—forgive me, Captal—”
“Cailet. I’m having a law of my own passed. Any of my friends who call me ‘Captal’ to my face must pay a fine!”
They were escorted upstairs by Riena and Jennis. Elomar stayed behind to inquire about the back trouble Sefana had consulted him about in Longriding—several weeks ago, or maybe several years. Cailet had lost track.
First Daughter Riena was more than a year Cailet’s senior; they’d known each other slightly at school. Now, solemn and sincere, Riena termed it a privilege to give her own room to the Captal. Cailet had thought she’d made her point a few minutes ago; evidently not. She almost asked if this meant she and Riena weren’t friends, but kept her mouth shut. Her duty as a guest was to accept graciously—and hide a wince.
She had barely looked around the cheerful little room with its blue walls and brown-and-blue plaid bedspread when a knock sounded on the half-open door. Lilen stepped over the threshold, then hesitated.
“Please come in,” Cailet said. “Truly told, I’m too tired to sleep.” She tried a smile and almost succeeded. “There’s something about working a lot of magic in one day. . . .”
“Gorsha used to say the same thing.”
They sat on Riena’s little couch, Cailet hugging a plaid pillow to her stomach. “I don’t know where to begin.”
“You needn’t tell me everything now, darling. I only want to know if you’re all right.”
She pretended startlement. “Do I look that awful?”
“Are you trying to fool me, Cailet Ambrai?”
This time the surprise was real, but over in an instant. Of course Lilen knew who she really was. “I’m sorry.”
“One day, sweeting, when it’s not so new and painful, I’ll tell you all about your dear mother.” Sliding a comforting arm around Cailet’s shoulders, Lilen went on, “I learned about Alin and Val—and Gorsha—from Kanto. But I need to hear about Taig . . . almost as much as you need to tell me.”
Haltingly, Cailet did. Trying not to relive it. Failing.
“He saved my life,” she finished at last. “If not for him, I’d be dead.”
“He loved you very much.”
Wordlessly, Cailet rose and went to the foot of the bed, where her journeypack leaned against the iron rails. Taking from it a small wooden box, she returned to Lilen.
“I promised Taig I’d take him back to Ostinhold. But I can’t go back there, Lilen, I just can’t.”
Pressing the box to her breast, Taig’s mother replied, “I understand, dear. Ostinhold is the past. Come back when Miram and I have built it anew, and there are no memories.”
“There are always memories.” Mine, Gorsha’s, Alin’s—
Lilen sighed briefly and stood. “Thank you for telling me about Taig.”
And it would be her own fault.
She knew it. She couldn’t speak. And the moment was lost. Lilen kissed her cheek before silently leaving the room.
Cailet paced to the window, then to the bed, then to the nightstand to wash her face with cool water from the basin. Drops cascading down her cheeks and clinging to her lashes, she met her own eyes in the mirror.
“Coward.”
She needed these people, these friends who’d always known her. She didn’t want her title to get in the way. Yet her pleas to be called by her name all made reference to her authority. A law she wanted passed, an order—
Captal would keep most people at a distance; making her name a privilege guaranteed that everyone so privileged would recognize it as such every time they spoke it. That was distance, too.
And she craved it. Wanted space and words—and Wards, too—between her and other people. She pressed her left arm against her injured side. In the mirror, the black tunic slid along the natural contour of a breast. She let the Ward dissolve, and saw the ugly difference.
“So that’s what you’ve been hiding.”
She spun at the sound of Elomar’s stern voice. Part of her wanted to rework the magic, a child frantic to hide evidence of a misdeed.
“Did you think I wouldn’t feel the Ward?” he went on, not quite slamming the door behind him. “You’re good, I’ll give you that. At first I thought it was a personal Ward, and congratulated myself that you’d followed my advice to be cautious. But there was something odd about it, something not quite right.”
More words in a row than she’d ever heard him speak; anger and worry spurred him out of taciturn silence. And Cailet herself couldn’t think of a single word to say.
“Why didn’t you come to me with this? How could you be so foolish? Take that shirt off and let me see.”
She stood there, frozen. No one must see the ugliness, the maiming. No one must know how it was physical evidence of—of mental rape.
“Damn it, Cailet, do as I say!”
Moving woodenly, she unbuttoned tunic and shirt with clumsy fingers. His lips thinned as the injury was revealed, but he said nothing as he examined it. She fixed her gaze on the middle distance and tried not to shiver at his careful, impersonal touch.
He asked her to rotate her shoulder, bend to each side, circle her arm. At last he handed her Riena’s lace-trimmed nightgown. She yanked it down over her head while he paced angrily, shucked off trousers and boots while he muttered to himself. Then he swung around.
“Someone attempted to Heal this. Amateurishly. You?”
The nightgown fit well; she and Riena were much of a size, and the blue silk clung to her body. “My father,” she said.
“Your—” He choked on it.
“My father! Auvry Feiran!” In defiance, as Elomar watched, she called up the Ward. “With the last bit of his magic he tried to heal what Glenin did to me with her magic!”
A spasm of pain crossed his long face. Then he bent his head humbly. “Please forgive me,” he murmured. “I had not expected—generosity—of him.”
“You’ll just have to rethink your opinion of the Butcher of Ambrai, then, won’t you?”
“Forgive me,” he repeated.
“If he hadn’t tried, I might have bled to death.”
“No. But you would have been crippled for life, the use of the muscles forever impaired. His . . . work . . . prevented that.”
She half-turned from him, hiding relief. Without looking at him again, she said, “Not a word of this to anyone, Elo. Especially not Sarra. Your promise, Healer Mage.”
“My promise,” he said colorlessly.
“I’m going to bed. Close the door behind you.” She said it coolly, knowing that here was another friend being driven away. Distanced.
He left, and she was alone.
And that was the way she wanted it. Didn’t she?
11
Cailet woke before dawn, fully rested for the first time in weeks. Most of Maurgen Hundred was still abed. The kitchen was the usual controlled chaos of preparations for breakfast; Cailet was able to sneak a cup of coffee and a plate of cooling apple fritters before walking out to the stables.
She relaxed on a hay bale, listening to the drowsy snufflings of the horses. The Maurgens had always made the most beautiful and comfortable saddles in North Lenfell; six Generations ago they’d diversified and started to breed the animals the gear was meant for. Between 803 and 837, eight Maurgen women took Tillinshir Wentrins to husband. The dowry was horses. Rejected as too dark to breed back into the famous line of Tillinshir grays, the mares and studs were the ancestors of the Maurgen dapple-backs. There were two basic types: night and coal (Cailet could never tell the difference—something to do with skin color), but all bore distinctive white markings from withers to tail. Over the years, the bloodlines had been fixed in several varieties, among them Salty, Flyspeck, and Cutpiece. Lady Sefana’s favorites were the Lace coals, with tiny irregular patches of snowy hairs spreading like shawls. Maurgen dapple-backs were beautiful horses: tall, long-limbed, smooth of gait, placid of character. Margit and Taig had taught Cailet to ride on a venerable Starry Sky mare that had looked as if she wore a blanket of stars across her back.
When she finished her breakfast, she meandered around to each of the stalls, counting new foals and greeting a few old friends. She’d last been at Maurgen Hundred back in Neversun for Lady Sefana’s Birthingday. Then Taig had taken her to Longriding. . . .
“You’re up early! Either you slept well enough not to need more, or you didn’t sleep at all.”
Cailet turned to smile at Jennis Maurgen. Whereas Biron and Val had looked like twins despite their differences, Jennis and Riena hardly seemed to belong to the same family. Some ancestral quirk of fair skin and light eyes had come out in Jennis, along with a small frame that made her look the changeling in Sefana’s long-boned, black-haired, dark-eyed brood. But she had the Maurgen chin, square and stubborn.
“I slept very well indeed. What’re you doing up?”
“I’ve got a little lady who just foaled.” Jennis hooked her elbow loosely with Cailet’s and drew her down the aisle of stalls. “Looks like a new variation, too. Her second by the same stud, and they both came out solid white from withers to tailbone.” She opened the upper half of a door and said, “What d’you think of him?”
“Beautiful! Like a cloud settled on his back!”
“That’s what we’ll call ’em—Cloudbank coals. If we can get a few more and breed true, it’ll be the first new type in fifty years.”
They leaned on the stall door and admired the mare and foal. The little one tottered around on the longest legs Cailet had ever seen on a horse, seeking breakfast. He nursed enthusiastically, then emerged with his forelock scrunched and crinkled.
Cailet laughed; Jennis moaned. “Geridon help us, I hope that silly forelock doesn’t breed down the line. His sister’s is just the same. Look at it, sticking straight up in the air! Like Biron when he gets up in the morning.”
“Once it grows longer, it’ll droop of its own weight.”
“Damn well better. I don’t fancy slathering pomade on it every time he’s seen in public!”
After a time, Cai became aware that fingers were stroking her wrist. Light, soft, the caress demanded nothing but asked much. Embarrassed, she thought about pulling her arm away, decided that would be even more embarrassing, and stayed as she was. But her body began to tense, and something began to tremble deep inside her. Something she feared.
Jennis said, “Come on
, I’m starving. And Mother’s strict about being on time for meals. She says it’s the only time she ever gets to see any of us anymore.” She slung an arm around Cailet’s shoulders.
Cailet pulled away blindly. The something caught at her with a fire-flash in her breasts and between her thighs that was painful and pleasurable and terrified her with its hollow aching need to be filled—
“Cai?”
“I—I left my plate and cup back there—you go ahead”—She was babbling and couldn’t stop herself. “Lady Sefana will be angry if you’re late—”
“Cai, what’s the matter?”
“Nothing, nothing at all, I just—”
“Come sit down. Come on.”
She moved awkwardly to a hay bale, perched on its edge with her clasped hands pressed between her knees. She felt cold all over, as if her skin was sheened in ice—but the something inside was a knot of fire. When Jennis stepped closer as if to sit beside her, she flinched.
“All right,” the other girl soothed, and kept a careful distance. “It’s all right. I asked, you turned me down. That’s all there is to it, as far as I’m concerned. No problem. But the look on your face—Cai, I know you’re a virgin, and I figured you’d be scared or nervous, or worried about offending me when you refused. But that isn’t it at all, is it?”
She shook her head, mute and ashamed.
“Want to tell me?”
“I—I can’t.”
“Well, I’ll tell you about me for a minute, then,” Jennis said with a frank smile. “I’m as much a puzzle as my brother Val. He loved making love to women—I’m surprised there aren’t more of his get scattered across Lenfell. He was an energetic lad! And too handsome for his own good.”
Startled out of her misery, Cailet asked, “Val fathered children?”