Ku Halir.
On the same road as Tlen, where Ma had come from.
While she was turning over ideas in her mind, elsewhere in the castle, Eaglebeak confronted his wife. “I know Pony is hard to live with, but at least she’s gone riding the borders most of the year.”
“When she feels like it,” Chelis said flatly.
“Well, yes....” Eaglebeak sighed.
“This place is a wreck,” Chelis stated, arms crossed. “In respect to your father I’ve kept silent for five years while she swanks around like a queen, chasing off the servants, though the place is rotting about our ears. She’s big and strong. Since we can’t get help to stay, she can work like the rest of us while she’s here. But I need your help to make her do it.”
Eaglebeak knew that Chelis had the high ground there. Manther had said privately right after his arrival that each time he came home on leave, that the smell of mildew always made him sneeze, until he got accustomed. And it was getting worse.
So Eaglebeak tried maneuvering. “Fact is, there is nobody in the world who can bicker longer and harder until she gets her way than my sister. I’ve got enough to do. Far as I’m concerned, she’s women’s business.”
He retreated to his own lair, and shut the door.
Husband and wife were not speaking when they all met at supper. Until Pony surprised them all by announcing, “I’ve decided to go visit my Tlen cousins. I can ride south with Manther.” And glared from her brothers to Chelis, clearly squaring up for a fight.
Eaglebeak sighed, looking away.
Chelis said in a good riddance tone, “I’ll help you pack.”
When Manther came down to the stable a week later, prepared to ride to Ku Halir, Pony was ready.
Mather eyed her as he eased his gloves over hands scraped from shifting stones in the now-mostly rebuilt bakehouse. He said, “I want to get there fast. Before the next blizzard. If you slow me down, you’re on your own.”
She snorted with contempt. “You bumbling lancers with your big horses are more likely to slow me down.”
He gave the sign to ride out. They and their escort—the Riders the Yvanavayirs owed the king for a season’s rotation—exited the gates into air so cold the hairs in their noses chilled. The world had turned into a thousand shades of greyish white, under a low sky the color of milk.
As soon as they were through the village, Pony began complaining about Chelis, the outsider who was changing everything just because she could, haloo laloo.
Manther was quiet by nature. He’d gone through his trouble-making stage as a teen, but had outgrown it, preferring to avoid exactly the sort of argument Pony always seemed to get into. So in recent years he’d tended to avoid her, arranging his liberty for when he knew she’d be out riding the southern border. He’d asked for New Year’s Week liberty only because Eaglebeak had sent a message along with a passing runner that Da was getting weaker.
Manther reflected on the long ride ahead, and cut into Pony’s tirade, which showed no signs of flagging. “She’s been here five, six years. And she’s right.”
“What?” Pony caught herself up. “Right about what?”
“Every time I come home on leave, the place looks shabbier. You at home never saw it because you don’t leave.”
“I leave for weeks at a time during the riding season,” Pony retorted. “It’s good to come home and find things exactly the same. Da said so, too.”
“Da did like everything the way it was when he was young, but he’s no longer here,” Manther said, distracted by how his breath froze and began to fall before vanishing. Weird, how a person could make their own snow. But it didn’t last. “You don’t like improving things because you don’t like her.”
“No. I don’t. And I don’t see why I should have to put up with—”
He cut in once more. “Eaglebeak,” he said, “does.”
And Eaglebeak was the new jarl. He let that sink in, and when she opened her mouth to complain about Eaglebeak, he added, “I don’t want to hear it.”
She scowled between her horse’s ears. This was going to be a dreary trip.
They traveled straight south, the sun always behind them. They made excellent time to Tlen, which Manther had stopped at often when he was under Sneeze Ventdor during the early days of the King’s Army’s patrol of the Nelkereth Plains.
Their aunt looked in surprise at Pony, who stared back equally surprised. Aunt Tdan looked so much like Ma! But her expression was unsettlingly different as she said, “Welcome. Your uncle is at the horse stud. You can meet him when he gets back. You’ll find Owlet at the back barn, and Hibern inside.”
Pony had two girl cousins her own age among the Tlens, Hibern and Chelis, the latter known as Owlet. Both earnest horse girls when young, and hardened by seasons of patrolling the east, these cousins were not much to look at, but they were first-rate archers and riders. They had competed hard against Pony at the Victory Day games; Pony thought them dull and homely.
But she forced a smile now, and said, “I’ll go find them.”
She had grown up in an enormous castle rebuilt almost two centuries ago to match the one in the royal city. To her eyes, Tlen looked like a paltry outpost, its four walls cluttered by a complication of scrub-wood and brick cottages thatched by sedge from the plains. These were built alongside the inner walls, crowding the center square, which could barely be called a stable yard much less a proper parade ground.
She walked into the main building, only two stories, and was greeted by the smell of boiled cabbage. It was very clear that the work rooms lay directly underneath the bedchambers, instead of in a different wing. Clearly all the smells and noise traveled up the stairs.
Goggle-eyed Owlet didn’t seem any gladder to see Pony than Pony was to see her, but she spoke words of welcome in her stuffed-nose whine, adding, “The guest rooms have the Halivayirs in them, after Thistle’s wedding to Garid. You can bunk in with either me or Hibern, or in the runner dorm out at West House, that is, the cottage directly adjacent the stable. There’s three extra beds right now, with three out riding.”
Pony hid a grimace, loathing the thought of sleeping in someone else’s bed. Even on the ride she had her own bedroll. But the alternative was to slink back to Yvanavayir and Chelis Cassad’s tyranny.
She forced a smile. “I can sleep anywhere,” she said. “So Garid is married now! What about you two?”
“We both wanted to wait for twenty-five,” Owlet said. With a sidelong look out of her big, round, watery blue eyes, “I don’t relish going all the way to Jayad Hesea. I’ll never get back for a visit, it’s so far.”
Already Owlet’s whiny voice irritated Pony, but she forced another smile. “Well, at least you’ve got a couple years. But Hibern is almost twenty-five, right?”
“Yes, and the Marlovayirs want her to come to them this spring.”
Owlet went on about how empty life would be without Hibern, they did everything together.... Pony stopped listening, glad she had never been burdened with a sister.
That lasted for a month.
Owlet did everything Cousin Hibern told her, and chicken-brained Thistle, though she’d be jarlan someday, fell right in behind. It would have been fine—so Pony told herself as she went to sleep at night—if Cousin Hibern’s orders had made sense. But when Pony ventured to give her hints about how they warmed up the horses at Yvanavayir, for example, Cousin Hibern looked at her with that heavy chin and those flat eyes as she said, “My mother likes it this way.”
Cousin Hibern was also a snitch. Later that night, Aunt Tdan cut Pony out after dinner, and with that same flat look, said, “Hibern knows how we do things here.”
“I just had a suggestion,” Pony said sweetly.
Too sweetly. The jarlan’s dark eyes narrowed. “Fareas, I’ve heard all about your antics. And I can imagine why you’re really here. We never turn away family, but if you live with us, you follow orders. You don’t give ‘em. Hear me?”
P
ony was forced to say, “Yes, Aunt Tdan,” as if she were twelve years old.
“There’s a reason we warm ‘em slow. These here are problem horses. Either they had a strain, or they’ve come in with bad training. Something. The rest of you keep your animals over winter, but remember, most of our herds are wintering out on the plains. We won’t go out to catch ‘em until second thaw, and until then, we’re slow and careful with these ones. Hear me?” she said again.
“Yes, Aunt Tdan,” Pony said submissively, hating this proof that she was at the bottom of the chain of command—exactly as she would have been if she’d married that dullard Rat Noth. That meant she got the scut jobs no one else wanted.
Manther was long gone by then, of course. Riders had been to Ku Halir and back several times in that month, and Pony got the impression of a castle town full of young men looking for fun as they waited out the winter.
Men who weren’t married.
As she exercised the young colts on the longe line one morning—the tedious, boring way—shivering in the bitter wind, she reflected on the fact that she was on her own as far as finding the right marriage was concerned. And it had to be marriage. Favorites could be found anywhere; most important was that as the daughter of a jarl, she should be marrying a future jarl. Right now she was the perfect age, but she needed to work fast, as all her peers were marrying.
And Ku Halir was full of young men.
While it was true that all the heirs were betrothed, and most her age and older were married, many of the younger ones weren’t. If she couldn’t seduce some silly youth of twenty or twenty-two into throwing off a betrothal to someone he hadn’t even met, then she deserved to dwindle into an old runner for hire, which was her only alternative to marriage, other than learning some dull trade. And she did not deserve that!
The disadvantage of a younger heir was that he was likelier to have a younger father, which meant some tough jarlan like Aunt Tdan still reigning—but that was a better future than having to hire herself out. It was ridiculous for a Yvanavayir to even consider such a fate, like some no-family drudge.
The next time the jarlan spoke of sending a runner to Ku Halir, Pony said sweetly, “I can run the message and save her a trip. I’d like to see my brother before spring riding.”
No one complained.
Pony packed her gear up and left.
When she arrived in Ku Halir, she looked past the fine new castle built of the honey-colored stone from the nearby hills, and the colorful Iascan town curving along the lakeshore, to the promising sight of young men everywhere.
She rode to the castle with the jarlan’s message, just to discover that there was nowhere here for her to bunk, except in the upper dormitory with the teenage stable prentices. Which would effectively make her a stable hand, unless she joined the bottom tier of runners.
She handed off the message at the scribe desk and left. Where to stay? She discounted Manther at the outset. He was a mere riding captain, which meant his quarters wouldn’t be much better than those stable dorms.
She rode to the biggest inn. “Have you rooms? My own room, no dorms.”
“Of course,” the woman behind the counter said. “That’ll cost ya three a day, including stabling for that big bay of yours. Five if you want meals, morning and evening watch bells.”
Three what? Pony understood the concept of money—her Da had given her coins to spend in the royal city when she attended the Victory Day Games—but otherwise, she had never dealt with coinage. All she understood was trade in work and in kind.
But she had heard Manther talking once, and said with calm assurance, “I am the only Yvanavayir daughter. You can send to them to be paid.”
The woman’s pursed mouth eased at the mention of Yvanavayir. She said in a much lighter voice, “Very well.”
Pony soon looked around a tiny chamber off the stair landing, not much bigger than the bed and trunk. But it had a window overlooking the frozen lake, and she had the room all to herself.
Best of all, Chelis would hate it when the inn people sent for the money—yet she’d feel honor bound to pay family debts. At least for a while. If Pony had to, she’d sell her bay, who was fast and beautifully trained. She hated the thought of that, and anyway, how long would that buy her?
“I just have to get what I want before that happens,” Pony said aloud as she opened her gear bag and shook out her second robe before hanging it on the clothes peg.
And so she set out that very night to survey the field of campaign.
At first glimpse, everyone was about her age, mostly male faces above gray winter coats. But there were plenty of Iascans around, wearing bright colors even in cloaks, capes, and coats.
Pony walked a short way through the mushy snow, a frigid wind chilling her ears, then retreated to the inn’s common room, which took up most of the ground floor.
A weed of a girl presented herself at the table. “I can help you. Everybody calls me Jam. Just ask for me.” Her pale frizz bobbed about her head as she spoke, and she proudly tugged at the shoulder ties of her new apron, entrusted to her when she turned thirteen. “There are three dishes to choose from if you want dinner: fish, of course, fresh-caught at our hole in the lake, long-rice and hot bean-mash, or corn-chowder with preserved peppers.”
Pony said, “I’ll have the fish. Is this an old town, then?”
“Oh, yes! It’s old Iascan,” Jam said proudly. “We’re a trade town on the crossroad, just as big as Hesea Spring. Some say bigger, because we get trade from over the mountain.” She waved eastward. “Everybody likes to stop here summers, because it’s nice and cool, and when it isn’t, you can boat on the lake, and swim, and buy things.” She said the last with a hopeful air. “Ever since they started building up the old post into that big castle, we’ve had great business.”
Pony nodded, too ignorant of Iascan ways to realize she was supposed to offer a tinklet or two for the information. When Jam waited, looking expectantly, Pony made a little whisking motion with her fingers, figuring the girl was slow. “Run along,” Pony said, pleasantly enough. “I’ve been in the saddle since sunup, and I’m hungry.”
Jam went away to get her order, came back, and dumped it down without another word.
Pony shrugged off the girl’s sudden rudeness. She was not here to chat with children. She ate, listening to the Iascan players on three instruments, two wind and one string. Occasionally people got up and danced, but she didn’t recognize any of the dances. Tired from the long ride, she retired early.
The next morning she walked out. Though winter was beginning to wane, the inner curve of the lake was still was frozen, and there were all kinds of winter games.
The sun rimmed the distant mountains still, casting long shadows. Everywhere colored lanterns hung, reflecting in the icicles hanging from eaves.
She spotted a clothier that had ready-made robes hanging in the windows, Iascan style as well as Marlovan. She was tempted by the lovely Iascan colors, but she did not want to be taken for one. She found a silken robe in Yvanavayir sun-yellow, edged with silver, and ordered it to be remade in Marlovan style—open front, and the sleeves tubes instead of voluminous and tied up with ribbons. Then she took a long walk, determined to discover where the captains and above went during their liberty time.
Pony had never been beautiful, but she carried herself as if she were, and she had thick, glossy wheat-gold hair with braid loops that reached her shoulder blades.
She walked like a Marlovan as she examined every shop, eatery, and inn. The only places she skipped were the pleasure houses without entertainment, as any fellow who went to one would be looking for sport, not a wife. The houses with music spilling out meant people went there to talk, flirt, dance. She walked through the two from which drums rumbled in counterpoint, and male voices rose in the galloping rhythm of ballads. Both of these houses were filled with mere Riders, none of them with captains’ flashes on their right sleeve, so she walked out again.
Her firs
t day she considered a scouting foray. Her second day, she picked up her remade Yvanavayir robe, which she could wear at nights over her best linen shirt and riding trousers, with her good sash tied round her waist. When she spotted Jam, she said, “I want my bedding straightened. My travel robe is on the hook. Get it laundered.”
And she walked out, leaving Jam staring after her, heart clanging, as she said later, like ten pails in a well.
Pony had already forgotten her as she began her hunt.
She was not the only hunter.
Long-time residents and travelers who noticed new arrivals and patterns of behavior spotted Pony. She made it easy—it never occurred to her to be anything but what she was, the only daughter of Yvanavayir House.
After about a week, during which she continued to issue orders to Jam whenever she saw her, thinking nothing of demanding extra services, word spread that Castle Inn was hosting a bonfire in celebration of the first real thaw of the year.
Jam’s two older brothers filled the square with torches on poles. The neighboring shops, knowing that the bonfire would draw extra custom, kept their doors open late and hung lanterns from their eaves. Servants from all the houses united in sweeping the brickwork clean. Fire sticks were brought out of every house and laid in the center to lay in the bonfire lattice.
Musicians showed up, and of course hand drums. Iascan songs traded off with Marlovan, people getting up to dance around the fire. Pony wore her yellow silk, prowling around looking for newly arrived captains, who were likeliest to be related to jarls.
When she paused to get a spiced wine to drink, she was startled by a voice, “Will you dance with me?”
The man said it in accented Marlovan. But no Marlovan man would ask that. She turned her head to say no, and paused, because the man who addressed her was very, very good-looking, about her age or maybe a year or two older. Even his fine, well-spaced eyes smiled. She had a weakness for cheek dimples—that wretch Ghost Fath had those—and here, they were very fine specimens, under defined cheekbones above an equally fine jawline.
Time of Daughters II Page 15