Shifting Loyalties

by Melissa McShane

  “I wish the damn rain would give up and go drown someone else,” Alaric griped. “This is ridiculous. It’s like the sky is begging for attention.”

  “You’re just impatient because we’re so close to home,” Dianthe said.

  Alaric glanced at Sienne. “Nothing wrong with that.”

  Sienne blushed. It had been far too long since they’d made love, and she’d felt the need for the reassurance of sex ever since that long, hungry night. Alaric’s intent gaze told her he was thinking the same thing.

  “How long before we can see the king?” Swift said. He was once again dressed in ordinary Rafellish clothing instead of a shapeless tunic, courtesy of the men at the settlement, and looked perfectly human, if a trifle dark-skinned for a Rafellish and too pale for an Omeiran.

  “I’ll make my request as soon as we reach Fioretti,” Sienne said. “After that, I don’t know. Either the festivities mean he’s too busy to see anyone, or he’ll have plenty of time because no one dares approach him during the festivities.”

  “I can’t believe they’re still going on,” Alaric muttered. “You’d think two weeks was enough of a celebration for anyone, but no, they have to go on nearly a full month.”

  “You’re in a mood,” Dianthe said. “You’ve been nothing but irritated ever since we headed west.”

  “Have I?” His brow furrowed. “I don’t know. I suppose I’m just ready for this to be over.”

  “I’m glad the celebration is still going on,” Sienne declared. “We still haven’t gone dancing.”

  Alaric’s frown deepened. “I was hoping you’d forgotten about that.”

  It stung. “Oh,” she said. “We don’t have to, you know.”

  “We—” Alaric closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. You know I don’t mind dancing with you.”

  Sienne managed a smile, but the hurt didn’t fade. It was always a joke between them, Alaric putting up resistance to going dancing, but still a joke. That hadn’t felt like joking. She wished she had him alone to figure out what was really troubling him.

  Perrin stood and walked to the window. “The rain is letting up. I believe we might continue, if we do not mind becoming slightly damp.”

  Alaric stood, shoving back his chair with unnecessary force. “We’ll dry. Let’s go.”

  Fioretti after a hard rain looked bright and new, the smells of thousands of people and animals in one relatively small space swept away, replaced by fresh, damp air mingled with the briny ocean breezes. Sienne patted Spark’s mane. “Ready for home?” she said. “I know they took good care of you at the outpost, but it’s not the same as your own stall.” Spark nodded agreement, making Sienne laugh.

  The rain had cleared away much of the traffic, but men and women were once again taking to the streets, and Sienne found herself caught up into an impromptu parade by a string of revelers in costumes topped by elaborate animal heads. Worshippers of Lisiel, probably, the avatar who loved guile and trickery in the cause of justice. She let them sweep her along toward the stables, then fought her way free, laughing at the broad-shouldered men who turned cartwheels and handsprings around her, begging her to stay. How they kept their ungainly deer or cat heads on while they were upside down, she had no idea. Maybe it was a blessing that did it.

  She passed the men and women who loitered at the stable yard gate, chatting and watching the passersby, and dismounted beside Dianthe. “That was fun,” she said. “It must be exciting, worshipping Lisiel. All those parties.”

  “All that deception, you mean,” Dianthe said. “I don’t think I could stand it, keeping track of the stories I’d told people.”

  “I didn’t know Lisiel encouraged lying.”

  “Not lying. Not to your friends and family. But Lisiel likes a good story well told, and if you do it in the service of justice, she likes it even more. Though I’ve heard her priests and divines never turn away a dedication, even if they suspect it was stolen.” Dianthe shook her head. “I’ve never really understood how Lisiel’s worshippers think.”

  Sienne privately thought Dianthe, with her less-than-legal skill set, ought to be a prime candidate for a worshipper of Lisiel. “I think it’s interesting, how the avatars are all different faces of God,” she said as she led Spark to her stall and handed her reins to a stable hand. “And how they can seem to be at odds with each other.”

  “To enhance our understanding of God, no doubt,” Perrin said, coming up behind them. “Though I will leave such contemplation to the priests of Delanie, who say the search for knowledge is of paramount importance. I have enough to do divining the will of one avatar, let alone several.”

  Alaric and Kalanath approached from the far side of the stables. “Sienne,” Alaric said, “what next?”

  “Why are you asking me?”

  “Because the next step is down to you. Do you want to go immediately to the palace to request an interview? Or home, to clean up? And I suppose you should at least send word to your parents that you’ve returned.” Alaric’s tone of voice told her clearly which of those options he preferred.

  “I think we should all get cleaned up, and talk to Master Tersus about renting Swift—I mean, Lucan—a room,” she said. “Because there’s the very slim possibility the king will be able to see us at once, and I’d rather not show up looking disheveled.”

  “I do not think he will mind,” Kalanath said. “He is not usual.”

  “No, but I’d mind,” Sienne said. “It probably won’t matter. It’s more likely we’ll have to wait a few days. But cleaning up…oh, how I want a bath!”

  The cluster of people around the gate was heavier than usual. The Lizzorno stables were a Fiorettan landmark, being large and easily noticed from a distance, and people frequently gathered there to meet friends or listen to the latest gossip. Sienne followed Alaric, who as usual broke the crowds with no effort, and gasped as someone laid a hand on her arm. Rance, again? She jerked away reflexively and turned on her would-be assailant. But the stranger, dressed in her parents’ livery of green and gold, quickly withdrew his hand and bowed. “Lady Sienne?” he said. “Your parents wish you to wait upon them immediately.”

  “How long have you been waiting here?” Sienne asked. Surely her parents wouldn’t have set someone to watching the stable for weeks, waiting for her return.

  The servant bowed again. “Master Macchari had an augury indicating that you would return on this day, at this hour.”

  “Sienne, what’s wrong?” Alaric said. Sienne turned away from the servant to find her friends gathered around her. They were all blocking the entrance, which Sienne was sure the stable master wouldn’t like.

  “My parents want to see me,” she said, moving away from the gate and drawing the rest of them, including the servant, with her. “I have to get cleaned up,” she told the servant. “I’ll be there in a couple of hours.”

  “My lady, I’m afraid my instructions are to bring you immediately,” the servant said.

  Alaric laughed. “How were you planning to do that? Carry her away?”

  The servant, who was short and slight, bowed to Alaric. “I would not lay hands on Lady Sienne. I was instructed to remind her of the duty she owes her parents, and inform her that they are unconcerned about her state of attire. You have been gone nearly three weeks, my lady, and the duke and duchess are naturally concerned.”

  Sienne closed her eyes and mentally bid farewell to her hot bath and comfortable bed with Alaric. “Did they say why they wanted me to come?”

  “I was not privy to that information, my lady.”

  “Of course not.” She sighed. “All right. I’ll come.”

  “Should we come with you?” Dianthe asked.

  “No, it’s all right. This won’t take long.” She kissed Alaric, whose brow looked like thunder. “Save some hot water for me?”

  To her surprise, the servant had a carriage waiting down the street. Sienne hadn’t ridden in a carriag
e in…she counted back the months. Well over a year. She tried not to come into too much contact with the satin upholstery, in her trousers that hadn’t been washed in three weeks and her boots still mucky from the damp stable yard.

  Fioretti looked different from this height, and not just because she had a better vantage than when she was walking. It was that everyone stared at her, or maybe it was just the carriage, painted in vivid dark green and gold with the Beneddo coat of arms on the door. The roof wasn’t raised, and the cushions weren’t so much as damp, so they’d trundled it out after the storm was over, which meant someone really had known exactly when she would return. The knowledge made her uncomfortable. She couldn’t imagine what was so urgent that her parents needed to see her immediately.

  The carriage drove up to the door of number 4, Plaza of Sighs, and the servant hopped down to help her out. She accepted his hand even though she hardly needed it, not wearing a gown. The servant then trotted ahead of her to knock on the door. Pagani opened it so quickly Sienne was sure he’d been standing there for an hour, waiting. “My lady,” he said, bowing, “welcome. May I show you to the drawing room?”

  Sienne, now thoroughly unnerved, let him lead the way even though she knew which door it was. To her relief, the room was empty. If her parents had been seated inside, that would have been too much for her to handle. She sat on an uncomfortable chair after Pagani closed the door and twiddled her thumbs in her lap to stop her hands shaking. She was being stupid. Her parents were probably just concerned that she’d been gone so long, even though she’d told them how long the journey was likely to take. And her mother consulted Lorne Macchari on everything, so asking him for an augury about Sienne’s return wasn’t unusual.

  The door opened. “Sienne, you’re safe,” her father said, coming to embrace her. “We were worried.”

  “You shouldn’t have,” Sienne said, suppressing memories of a gnawing hunger. “I was fine. The job is almost over and—”

  “Almost over?” her mother said. “Why ‘almost’?”

  “We just have one or two things to do here in the city. It’s really nothing.”

  “Well, you’re not leaving again,” Papa said.

  His tone of voice, so certain, irritated her. “Not any time soon, certainly.”

  “Sit,” Papa said, and took a seat opposite her. Sienne sat, still irritated. “We’ve discussed the matter with our law-speakers, and they’re in agreement. As the patriarch of this family, I have the right to forbid activities I deem detrimental to our family’s well-being.”

  “‘Forbid’? ‘Detrimental’? Did they teach you that line?”

  Papa didn’t rise to the bait. “You’re our heir, Sienne. The decree disinheriting Felice came through last week. It’s official. And as our heir, you have obligations, one of which is to abstain from activities that might jeopardize your life. Which, according to law, includes scrapping.”

  Sienne shot to her feet. “You can’t do that. I’m not a child anymore!”

  “This has nothing to do with your age,” Mother said. “You owe it to us not to risk your life in the wilderness. Lorne scryed you out—”

  “You spied on me? How dare you!”

  “We were worried, Sienne. And we wanted to reassure ourselves that you were well.” Papa shook his head. “You were in the middle of a fight—attacked by werebears, and by that thing that nearly tore your Alaric apart—Sienne, you lied to us!”

  “I did not. I told you scrapping was dangerous.” Fortunately, they hadn’t spied on her when she was in the throes of the howler’s madness, or they would be far more distraught.

  “But not that that danger included combat! We thought it was just the danger of the wilds, or the Empty Lands.”

  “I’m sorry you didn’t understand what ‘dangerous’ meant.” She sat down and tried to rein in her anger before she said something truly offensive. They meant well, even if they were going about it all wrong. “But I’ve survived every danger scrapping has thrown at me because I’m sensible and have reliable friends and I’m powerful. Did you see that part? I destroyed that monster with my magic. Me, Sienne Verannus. Yes, scrapping is dangerous, but it’s not impossibly so. And it’s certainly not something you need to worry about.”

  “I’ll decide that, Sienne.” Papa’s voice was cold and not at all reassuring. “You’ve had your fun, and it’s time for you to take up your responsibilities. I want you to move in here for the last week before we return to Beneddo. It’s better you give up this life at once rather than drag it out.”

  For a moment, Sienne forgot how to breathe. Give up this life? “What?” she managed finally. “You can’t be serious.”

  “What did you think was going to happen, Sienne?” Mother said. “That you could go on as you have been? You’re not a scrapper. You’re a lady, heir to a dukedom. It’s time for you to settle down.” She pursed her lips. “And get married. Not to your Ansorjan lover.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with Alaric!”

  “Except for the small matter of his being sterile.” Mother met Sienne’s eyes directly. “Lorne scryed out your future children. Your liaison with Alaric doesn’t lead there. We know he can’t have children.”

  Her vision was fogging over again because she’d once more forgotten to breathe. She had no idea what Lorne had seen, except that if he’d seen Alaric’s true race, Mother and Papa would have gone at this differently. He’d seen children in her future? Impossible.

  “You have to produce your own heir, Sienne,” Papa said. He looked profoundly uncomfortable, probably because the idea of his daughter having sex was something he’d rather not entertain. “I’m truly sorry. We know you’re attached to him. But—”

  Sienne found herself on her feet without knowing how she got there. “I’m leaving,” she said. “And I won’t come back until you’ve come to your senses. You can’t order me to give up Alaric and you can’t order me to give up my life. I’m going to petition to see King Derekian and ask him to disinherit me. I don’t care if that makes your lives difficult. I’d be a terrible duchess and I’ll be an even worse mother to whatever brats I’d spawn from whoever you order me to marry, and I guarantee you would have to make it an order.”

  Her parents continued to regard her dispassionately. “We thought you’d say that,” Papa said. “You won’t be allowed to leave.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Lorne invoked a blessing on this house to prevent you leaving by magic. No transport spell will work within ten feet of it, in all directions. Including ten feet above the roof.”

  Sienne’s jaw dropped. “You what?”

  “We underestimated your abilities the last time you ran away. Not again.” Papa’s voice was calm, not at all as if he’d just aimed a knife at her throat.

  “That won’t stop me walking out of here.”

  “Our servants have orders to prevent you leaving,” Mother said, “and we have guards posted at the doors to do the same. Not forever. Just until you come to your senses.”

  Sienne snapped her spellbook open. “How, exactly, did you expect to stop me force-blasting my way out? You should have taken my spellbook the second I stepped through the door. Not that I’d have made it easy on you.”

  Her parents looked at each other, then back at her. “You’d attack innocents just to get your way?” Papa said. “How far do you think you’ll get after we set the law on you for illegal use of magic within city limits?”

  Sienne opened her mouth to reply, then snapped it closed again. She could make a case for kidnapping, but they’d arrest her anyway while they sorted it out. And she had a sinking feeling that her father’s words about his rights as patriarch might mean the law didn’t consider it kidnapping at all. “Damn you,” she said. “And don’t you dare yap at me about my language.”

  “We’ve had a room readied for you,” Mother said, “and someone will draw you a bath. You look as if you need it.”

  “I don’t want a bath. I don’t want any of
this.” A thought occurred to her. “They’ll come looking for me. Alaric will break down that door and fight every one of your people if you don’t let me go.”

  “He’ll be arrested for assault,” Papa said. “Is that what you want?”

  “Then you should let me go to him. It’s not fair to them for me to simply disappear. I have to explain.”

  “You can send a message.”

  “They deserve more than a stupid letter, Mother.”

  Mother pursed her lips. “Forgive me, but we don’t trust you not to disappear again. You did it once with, I imagine, less provocation. A letter will have to do.” She gestured in the direction of a writing desk. “There is paper and ink in the desk. I promise your message will be delivered immediately.”

  “And you’ll read over my shoulder so I don’t plan a daring escape.”

  “Sienne, this is for your own good,” Papa said.

  Sienne laughed bitterly. “It was for my own good when you wouldn’t let me marry Rance, and that turned out all right, so this will too, is that it? At what point do I get to choose for my own good?”

  “When you understand what that is,” Papa said. “And when you stop thinking of your own selfish whims and start thinking of the good of the dukedom.”

  Sienne strode to the desk and slammed it open. “The dukedom,” she said with finality, “would be better served by having a duke who wants to be there. Not a duchess whose heart is elsewhere.”

  Her parents said nothing. Sienne fumbled with the ink pot and pen and managed to irreparably blotch the first page. Swearing under her breath, she crumpled it, threw it aside, and started again. Her parents didn’t join her, which relieved her mind, because the way she was feeling, if they tried to read her message, if they dared display such blatant mistrust, she’d take a swing at one or both of them. She’d never punched anyone in her life, but she was ready to learn now.