Time of Daughters II

by Sherwood Smith

  “No,” Noddy said, sharply.

  Connar tipped his head. “You’d put him up against the post, but not her?”

  “I wouldn’t do that to anybody.” Noddy spoke slowly, painstakingly, as he always did when upset. “Unless it was someone who tried to kill Da. This is different.”

  “Have you talked to her?” Connar asked.

  “No. But night before last, I read the testimonies. You know. I got in the habit up at Larkadhe, catching up on the judgment table, before I go to sleep.”

  Connar dismissed that. “What’s unclear about the fact that it was her big mouth, describing, in detail, Tlen’s defenses and weaknesses, that got them all killed?”

  Noddy said, “Because she didn’t sell it. She didn’t know she was talking to an enemy. She was swanking. I thought treason is something you do on purpose.”

  “That’s what your mother thinks,” Arrow said. “Go talk to her. She’ll explain better. Connar, I suggest you read the testimonies. Noddy, if you want to interview Fareas Yvanavayir, she’s down there in the lockup. The little girl witness, what’s her name, Jelly, no, Berry, well, something like that, anyway, the scribes have taken her in.”

  Noddy and Connar left. They walked in silence, then Connar said, “Look, you’re the one who handled this shit in Larkadhe. Why don’t you do that here. I’ll go along with anything you say. My only thought is, we can’t do nothing. The jarls—not to mention the entire army, every single garrison—won’t stand for that.”

  “So you’d execute her?”

  Connar was already sick of the subject. He saw no reason to read pages of details about what he already knew. And the last person he wanted to talk to was Pony Yvanavayir, who had been annoying ten years ago when he first met her. He couldn’t imagine she was any more bearable now. The truth was, if making her dead ended the subject, he was fine with that. “The jarls, and the army, will want us to do something,” he repeated.

  Noddy walked in silence. They parted outside his suite, Connar going on to the garrison drill court.

  Noddy opened his door. Vanadei wasn’t there. He sat down on his mat, staring at the floor in silence. He was still sitting there when Noren passed by, on her way back from the baths. She hesitated, then remembered that she was about to marry him in a few days. Maybe it was time to start getting reacquainted.

  She walked into his line of sight and asked in Hand, “Is something troubling you?”

  He signed slowly, “I don’t really understand what treason is.”

  Noren made the signs for Fareas Yvanavayir.

  Noddy assented, then painstakingly signed the entire sorry affair. She already knew everything—for a time she and Danet had talked about little else—but she had learned that Noddy needed to state the obvious when unknotting problems.

  So she waited patiently until he reached the end, then he added, “Is Lineas around? She always helped me when we had to sit in judgment at Larkadhe.”

  “I can sent Holly for her,” Noren offered. And at the easing of his expression, did.

  Within a day of her arrival, Lineas had been put to work by Mnar Milnari teaching up on the third floor. Lineas saw at once that the royal runners were extended in a way they never had been before—so many out running messages, instructing at the queen’s training, and of course teaching the fledges who would be promoted into duty the moment they were ready.

  Busy as they all were, it was understood by all that an order from the royal family took precedence. Lineas handed off her class to self-study, and a short time later, the four sat together, Vanadei having appeared with Noddy’s midday meal, and been bidden by Noddy to join them.

  Noren’s expressive hands somehow conveyed Danet’s dry tone as she signed, “I can tell you what the queen will say: she hates executions, and thinks them useless except entertaining the sort of people who love the sight of blood. She doesn’t think Fareas Yvanavayir committed treason as she understands the word.”

  “What else is there?” Noddy signed unhappily. “Connar is right about the army. And the jarls. They won’t accept letting her go. I don’t think they’d accept restitution—how could they even make restitution, with two jarl families wiped out, and Tlen burned.”

  Lineas said slowly, “Who was it who said there are two ways of maintaining tradition.... I can see the page it was written on, but not the text. Anyway, my point is, you exiled the Bar Regren,” she said to Noddy, who looked up with a hopeful expression. “And the king approved. What if she were exiled?”

  Noddy said, “I don’t think they’ll accept just sending her away. They’ll say it’s not traditional. The Bar Regren were enemies attacking us, not one of us letting an enemy....” He stopped, looking down at his hands.

  When it was clear he was not going to say anything further, Vanadei shut his eyes and recited, “‘We Marlovans regard tradition as secondary only to law. From our beginnings we’ve preserved our traditions from the effect of evil influence by exile and by death.’” He opened his eyes, then said, “Kethedrend Montreivayir, after the death of Anderle Montreivayir. He went on to say that the Convocation, in order to keep tradition strong, will have to define ‘evil’ each time, treason, cowardice, and disobeying orders at the head of the list.”

  Noren studied each face, then signed, “Put the idea to the king and queen. What can it hurt?”

  Noddy spent the rest of the day mulling the problem, then at dinner with the family, he brought it up.

  “Exile?” Arrow flattened his palm down. “Too easy.”

  “Does someone really need to die in that disgusting way?” Danet demanded. “What’s so easy about putting her on a ship the way Noddy and Connar did those mountain brigands up north?”

  Arrow sighed. “You don’t understand what a treason trial means.”

  “Then use another tradition! Exile her on her own land. Ironic, considering in the ordinary way she would never have left Yvanavayir if she had stayed single, or married a Rider captain. And we are agreed that Eaglebeak and Chelis Cassad are also at fault. So you exile all of them on their own land, the way the first Anderle did the Montredavan-Ans. Not for ten generations—ridiculous—but for ten years, say.”

  “Isolate the Yvanavayirs on their own land?” Arrow asked. “Then we’re back having to guard them, an expense that’s useless. Yvanavayir is so large that it would take half the army to watch their border. And don’t bring up volunteers. I’d have old Gannan slavering to lead the pack in order to slip in to execute justice his own way.”

  Noddy’s head bowed. Connar frowned. Memory flickered, standing in the Ku Halir stableyard, Lineas covered with ash. He said, “Manther doesn’t deserve any of this. He was on duty at Ku Halir garrison the entire time she was yapping Tlen’s defenses.”

  Noddy’s head came up. “True. He fought hard at Tlennen Field.”

  Connar went on, “Since Eaglebeak claims responsibility in some way, let him. But that can’t be said for Manther.”

  “Technically it can,” Arrow said heavily. “If you’re going by Eaglebeak’s reasoning, tying everything up in family honor. Manther’s the one who escorted Fareas to Tlen, on his way to his duty at Ku Halir. Here’s the truth. As soon as anyone drags in the word honor, wits fly out the window. It’s not as if Eaglebeak or his brother knew what was in her head when she left. She didn’t know, until Elsarion gave her the hot-eye in Ku Halir.”

  Noddy said carefully, “I choose exile. Like we did the Bar Regren. For Eaglebeak, too, if he says he has to share in her judgment.”

  Arrow said, “You mean exile the entire family?” He whistled as the ramifications set in. “Oh, that would hurt. Much as I loathe executions, I’ve read the reasoning behind ‘em. The watchers are supposed to think, that could be me if I did something similar.”

  “If a quarter of them get that message I’d be surprised,” Danet snapped, then raised serious eyes. “Exile means giving up their land. Really, giving up their name. That is, they can take it elsewhere, but it won’t
mean anything. I’ll wager nobody beyond our border has ever heard Yvana Ride Thunder, though we’ve sung it for generations.”

  Connar gazed into the distance, vivid memories of Hauth’s ranting about the dolphin clan crowding his mind. Images of Hije, sitting with her hands shaking as she talked over her porcelain cup. Names meant something. He knew the pain of discovering that he’d nearly never had a name.

  He looked up. “Exile from the kingdom, losing everything but their lives, that should impress the jarls. Except, I think you should give Yvanavayir to Manther. He doesn’t have jarl responsibilities, and he fought hard for us. That’s fair.”

  Danet turned Arrow’s way, her expression shuttered. She had never been all that expressive, and had become less so over the years, but Arrow was tolerably good at reading her. He slapped his knees. “I’ll ride it from here.”

  The younger generation took that as their signal to leave.

  As soon as they were alone, Arrow turned to Danet. “Is it the exile plan you don’t like, or....”

  “There is nothing,” she said with a snap to her words, “here to like. What pleased me is Connar thinking of Manther Yvanavayir, who isn’t part of his favored circle of young captains. But that suggestion to give Yvanavayir to him, well, he’s young, and it’s meant well.”

  “Right.” Arrow opened his hands. “Manther’s young, too. He might see it as generous, rather than profiting by his brother’s downfall. Which some brothers might even relish. Though those two sound like our two. Never mind guessing. We’ll send an experienced runner to sound him out. Quietly. As for Connar thinking of him, he’s shaping up to be an excellent shield-arm to Noddy.”

  Danet accepted that. She crossed the corridor to her room, where she knew Jarid Noth was waiting.

  “You look pensive,” Noth said when she walked into his arms.

  “I’m thinking about Connar,” she said against his chest. Generosity, Arrow had said. She wanted that to be it. Out loud, she said, “How much he’s improved.” Then in a rush, the thought she’d meant never to share, “It has galled me for years, what you said about him not having a conscience.”

  “Me? I never said that!”

  “Yes you did. Surely you haven’t forgotten that hateful business over the academy game.”

  “I’ve haven’t forgotten that. I just don’t remember anything I said. But that was years ago. They were boys. Better to make your stupid mistakes when you’re young.”

  Danet lifted her face. “I remember what you said. And saw, or thought I saw, certain other signs.... I forced Mnar Milnari to send that little redheaded runner Connar likes so much to Larkadhe with the boys, in hopes she would be his conscience. I think it’s working.”

  Noth smiled back at her. He doubted very much that a hot young stallion with Connar’s reputation for burning through lovers would listen to lectures from a runner, lover or not. “Or he grew up, the way boys do,” he said indulgently.

  The double wedding, everyone agreed, fit their idea of splendid, from the brisk, sunny day to the banquet that had been in preparation for weeks.

  The princes and the two new princesses wore their new House tunics of deep royal blue, with golden eagles worked in beautiful stitching across the chest for the princes, and twined gracefully down either arm for the princesses, as their robes were usually worn open over snowy white linen shirts and riding trousers. On the front panels, Ranet had chosen small, highly stylized hunting cats, the Senelaec symbol, and Noren had small owls on hers, aware that this would be the last Algaravayir formal garment ever.

  The only one propelled to the giddy heights of happiness was Ranet. At last she stood beside the handsome prince she’d adored since she first laid eyes on him. He was even more devastating close up, the blue of his tunic no more intense than the blue of his eyes. She knew he was not in love with her, but she had hopes he would be some day. It was enough that she could stand beside him, and share the wedding cup, and when he smiled at her, her breath stuttered in her chest.

  That night, when all was over, he asked if she would like him to come to her bed. Sex with her handsome prince was everything she had wished for. He seemed to like her being on top, which she actually preferred; by then she had enough experience to see to it that they both reached ecstasy together.

  But when their passion was spent, he wished her a good sleep and went back to his own suite. And the second night, as she loitered in the hallway, she glimpsed him with Lineas before they vanished into his room, and she went to bed alone.

  She had told herself all along that it would be that way. The next morning she went about her work at the queen’s training as if there was nothing on her mind but shooting well, and horse training, but she chatted and smiled, rode and drilled with an invisible boulder behind her ribs.

  At the end of the day, before the girls clattered off to their mess hall as the last reverberations of the bells echoed along the stone walls, she spotted Lineas alone in the tack room, without any idea that Lineas had been expecting her.

  Ranet came up to her, glanced behind, then in Hand, so their voices wouldn’t carry (and hers wouldn’t tremble) she asked abruptly, “Is it a love match with you and Connar?”

  “No. It’s more habit, I think,” Lineas signed back, her glance lowered. “He has other lovers—many—but he’s comfortable with me. I’m the oldest.”

  Ranet had made it her business to know that there were many, but Lineas was the only one he came back to. “How are you the oldest? What can I do?”

  Since Lineas had no idea what it was that drew Connar to her, she made some suggestions, which Ranet could see were honest and sincere. Then they parted, each thoughtful: Lineas hoping that Connar would see what he had waiting for him right here in the royal castle, and Ranet sensing that something was missing, though she could not define what it might be.

  Arrow and Danet waited to hold the trial, ostensibly for the jarls to arrive, but in reality until the royal runner Ivandred made it to Ku Halir then Yvanavayir and back.

  “Manther Yvanavayir refused,” Ivandred said.

  “He did?” Arrow repeated. “What did he say?”

  Ivandred hesitated, thrown back to that overheated room under the roof that smelled of sweat and despair. If my brother has to give up title, land, and name, then I will too. Send me into exile, he’d cried, starting up, one of his bandages tearing.

  As blood welled up, dyeing the linen with horrible crimson, he’d fumbled at the side of the bed for a knife, yelling, Better dead, better dead, until Ghost Fath grabbed his wrists and pressed him flat onto the bed. Then held him as Manther lay tight-lipped, tears leaking from his eyes, their gazes locked in a fierce communication that everyone watching could feel.

  Ventdor had stood by looking sick. He’d drawn Ivandred out, shutting the door before saying, I know Arrow means well. None better. But can’t you see that boy takes that offer as a complete betrayal? Fath’s been sitting with him day and night, just got him to start eating. I’m afraid it’s.... He flat-handed the subject away. Better ride back to Arrow. Get this trial over with as quick as you can, or I’m afraid he will cut his own throat.

  Ivandred blinked away the memory. “He was delirious,” Ivandred said heavily. “But it’s definite. Commander Ventdor recommended you make it quick.”

  Arrow grimaced and dismissed Ivandred, who trod heavily upstairs, pausing halfway to lean against the wall as he tried to shake that memory.

  Alone in his chamber, Arrow was thinking that he was too old for this. It was time to retire. Only kings didn’t get to retire, did they?

  The days slipped by, falling back into their usual patterns. But it wasn’t the same after all. Noddy, of his own accord, spent his free time over at the state wing when his father held interviews. He never spoke, but sat like an enormous statue, only his eyes moving as he listened.

  Connar was everywhere at the garrison, leading the drills of a handpicked elite, and at night studying the detailed maps that Arrow had orde
red made. Lnand had drawn detailed renditions of every castle in the southern pass, which led directly to Elsarion on the other side of the mountains.

  The trial loomed, then the day dawned. Pony Yvanavayir had not believed anything could happen to her until the days turned into weeks. After that, Pony couldn’t eat, and slept badly. It didn’t matter how right she believed she was, because nobody else did, and unless a miracle happened, she was going to experience the worst of deaths.

  The trial was held in the throne room, with three jarls and the Jarlan of Tlen, who had lost her entire family, present besides Eaglebeak Yvanavayir, other jarls represented by trusted Rider captains or commanders.

  Poor little Jam had finally found out what might happen because of her words. The scribes had kept quiet, as ordered, but no one had thought to warn off the garrison children, a couple of whom gleefully described in bloodthirsty detail what happened to traitors. Jam came when summoned, but she got sick to her stomach outside the hall, too fast for the Waste Spell.

  But she stuck to her testimony.

  Danet watched with her fingernails dug into her palms as Pony, gaunt from not eating, tried to justify herself, but her voice seemed lost in that vast room, with the straight swords taken from the enemy commanders at Tlennen Plain crossed over the ruined banners of Tlen and Halivayir on the walls. She glanced up once or twice; that smoke-stained Tlen banner was a silent accusation she could not argue with, and her voice faded to a monotone that even she heard as unconvincing.

  Danet and Arrow let the jarls argue back and forth. The division was roughly half and half between traitor and criminal, but the heat had gone out of the voices. By then everyone at least understood one thing, even if it remained unspoken, that the woman standing before them had been guilty of no more than cupidity that had turned lethal without her knowledge. Mathias Elsarion, who should be on trial, had escaped.

  But the Jarl of Gannan led those who demanded that someone had to pay.