Time of Daughters II

by Sherwood Smith

  But when the last of that chord died away, his eyes as well as those of the rest of the company turned her way. She snapped her fan open with a practiced flick of thumb and wrist, holding the gilt side up, the highest sign of approbation.

  Snick! The boys’ fans opened, almost fast enough to seem genuine. Was she supposed to be flattered? Probably. How depressing. No, better to be amused.

  Anyway, approbation accomplished. But that opened a new problem. Seonrei wondered if Lavais Nyidri would force those poor musicians to play until their fingers bled and their tongues dried to sticks. They had come with their company on the ship from Sartor. Was it possible that the Nyidris knew nothing of etiquette concerning hired musicians, especially those who had won accolade at the Music Festival?

  With the speed of a lifetime of practice, Seonrei assessed the room from behind her fan just as Lavais shot a significant glance toward Demeos lounging nearby, as if to remind him to do his duty—and Seonrei knew that flattering was coming next. Her stomach tightened in disgust, the stronger because she had let herself think, for a while there back in Sartor, that his smiles were really for her and not for what he wanted from her. The disgust was self-directed at how stupid she’d been.

  She could not bear another fake semblance of courtship. She rose. “Superlative music,” she said toward the musicians, fan sweeping in the art knows no rank arc. Then she turned to Lavais. “I do hope we shall hear more. But tonight, I find myself fatigued. The dry air before a freeze always has that effect.” She touched her head.

  The company perforce rose, bowed, and she withdrew to the guest suite, where she found Iaeth waiting. It was still a shock seeing her second-cousin wearing the cream and gray of a body servant. “How is Donais?” Seonrei asked.

  Iaeth, forty-two to Seonrei’s thirty-nine, small and vivid, flashed a grin that took Seonrei back to their childhood. “He makes a very imposing herald-scribe. And they have him simply surrounded with spies.”

  Seonrei laughed. “I trust he will not be bored?”

  “I can’t promise anything for the future, but I believe he’s enjoying himself now, ordering around people who would have sent him scurrying without a thought, if they knew he was a tailor.”

  “Good. The more the better, and that includes going about. I want them worrying about where he is going and what he might be seeing, which will grant you freedom. But I trust he can maintain the guise.”

  Iaeth’s smile vanished, her small mouth tightening. “Oh, have no fear. I don’t think you know how clever Donais is. It’s just that he has no ambition outside of style, fabric, and what they say through symbol. He told me that he intends to create an entirely new fashion to present in Sartor on his return, once he is able to see real Marlovans, how they move, how they live.”

  Seonrei had been a fool to believe that the beautiful young Demeos could be interested in her, but the queen had said to be hospitable as she was curious about the mysterious Marlovans, who were one of those rare kingdoms that showed no interest in diplomatic exchange with Sartor.

  Seonrei had her own reasons for accepting Lavais’s invitation to visit her kingdom.

  Kingdom. Heh.

  Seonrei turned to Iaeth. “I’ve heard enough about this kingdom within a kingdom from Lavais Nyidri. She’s told me what she wishes me to believe. I want you to discover how the people view it.”

  Iaeth perched on the arm of an imposing wingchair. It was huge, with a spreading back carved to resemble actual wings, the arms and legs fashioned into a stylized semblance of raptor claws. It was impossibly barbaric, but caught the eye. “Why?” she asked. “Even if you were to marry one of those spoilt sons, that woman would never let you do anything but preside over wine in your diamonds.”

  Seonrei dropped her fan onto a side table. “If I could bring the Marlovans into diplomatic accord with us, would it not be a crown merit?”

  Iaeth regarded her cousin fondly. Seonrei had always been a fascinating combination of shrewd and idealistic. Which was why the Sartoran queen trusted her so much. She considered telling Seonrei what the highest level heralds knew: that the queen was considering a return to the old rules from the Days of Austerity a century previous, when no one carried royal titles except the immediate offspring of a monarch. During that time, four generations of Landises either having had only one child, and one, none, had diminished the family line so badly that when the fourth generation had produced three children, and those three had children, the royal titles had carried in order to strengthen the line.

  But now the royal children of the previous generation had produced a clutch of lively cousins. Iaeth was more aware than most of what it meant to have royal relatives all down one side, but to be one step away from that rank oneself.

  She liked being a herald. She had more freedom than courtiers, and more chance of real influence. Witness the fact that she knew this aspect of the queen’s thinking, whereas Cousin Seonrei, much valued by the queen, didn’t.

  And yet Seonrei no doubt knew things the queen had not vouchsafed to anyone else. No, the queen had kept silent on the subject for a reason. Iaeth would do what she had been ordered, by both Seonrei and the queen, and see how events unfolded.

  FOUR

  A day or so later, up north, Connar and Rat Noth reached Hesea Garrison. Connar bade Rat Noth farewell, and turned east.

  Rat and his company started south. A few days into their journey, they encountered a split in the road, and to everyone’s surprise, Rat indicated for the outriders to take the west branch.

  His chosen captains, knowing that they had the freedom to speak when not under orders before impending action, looked surprised, and lanky Plum, one of Rat’s distant cousins from the Cassad jarlate, spoke up. “Doesn’t that road go into Darchelde?”

  “So it does,” Rat said. “I’ve a purpose. And the king doesn’t care.”

  They knew that. It was habit that kept them on the road skirting Darchelde, though it took them a week, or even two in winter, out of their way. Habit and stories about history, containing dire warnings about Darchelde’s inhabitants coming out, or anyone going in.

  They turned their horses aside and began cutting through the once-forbidden jarlate, so old it had its own name, rather than sharing its name with the family governing it. Only the even more legendary Choreid Elgaer shared that distinction, though it had been cut into pieces over the last century, the name now mere memory.

  Everyone looked around with interest.

  After a time, Plum, who carried the banner directly behind Rat, said, “I don’t know if it’s weirder that nobody is stopping us or that it looks the same as what we see on the border road. I guess I half-expected Darchelde to look different.”

  “Different like what, covered in spider webs and ruins?”

  “Something like that,” Plum said unrepentantly.

  Rat shrugged, squinting against the glare off the snow, which was fierce even under a thin layer of cloud. “Runners have been cutting through Darchelde ever since the king lifted the border patrol. I guess you reached the academy after me n’ Mouse left, but we always rode through here on our way to the academy. Stayed with Cousin Flax in the guardhouse.”

  Plum gazed out at the white-crowned hills, the woody areas of winter-bare trees, the frozen streams, and snickered. “You know what’s really weird.”

  Rat glanced back at Plum, whose nose was dull red in the cold, his generous mouth twisted in his I know-a-joke grin. Unasked, he went on, “Really funny, if you think about it, we all learned that the Darchelde people got confined inside because of dirty doings by one of the earliest kings. Meant to keep Montredavan-Ans in, but the only ones who go out are the Montredavan-Ans.”

  “I don’t know what’s funny about that,” Rat said. “They were forced out of Darchelde to train as royal runners a few kings ago. That king wanted ‘em right under his eye.”

  Plum squinted against the glare, wiped his eyes with a mittened hand, and gave out a voiceless laugh, his br
eath clouding. “ Just think it’s funny that they’re supposed to be tucked up tight, but they actually live right on top of the king.”

  Rat snorted. “Because the royal family doesn’t want to sweat up three flights of stairs. They could if they wanted it. The Montredavan-Ans still don’t go to the academy, or command in the army, or marry out their sons.”

  “D’you think all that will change?”

  “Dunno. Don’t care. Leave that kind of thing to the kings. No good ever comes of anyone else blabbing about royal doings,” Rat stated.

  Plum shrugged, and the talk turned to other matters.

  A week of bad weather later, Rat remembered his thoughts when he saw the intent looks on the faces of his column as they rode upward from the river valley, catching glimpses of the Montredavan-An castle between the trees at bends in the road.

  Then the forest cleared, revealing a magnificent castle, built of the familiar sand-colored stone—but in a very old style, with columned archways that none of them recognized as Sartoran in influence. They saw only that these arches, and the way the buildings connected, drew the eye upward in a way that the familiar square castles didn’t. Built across the broadest hill, the Montredavan-An castle conveyed the impression of wide-spread wings swooping over the river valley below.

  That had to be deliberate, Rat thought. This had once been the royal castle, under that black and gold screaming eagle banner, waving high at all eight towers. A banner never seen anywhere in the kingdom but here.

  The sentries, women and men mixed, looked out at them expectantly. Of course Rat’s company had been spotted by scouts when they’d crossed the border, though the Darchelde scouts hadn’t revealed themselves. But neither had they challenged Rat; he expected that one of his kin rode with them.

  So they crossed the bridge toward the open main gate, as inside, Camerend sent a runner to fetch Quill to greet the visitors. Camerend had been surprised when the border scouts sent word of Rat’s arrival, not alone as he’d done during his academy days, but with a company. He and Quill were there at the stable door to welcome them when they dismounted.

  As greetings were exchanged, he became aware that Rat Noth—whom he found to be an honest, uncomplicated sort of person—had something on his mind. Rat, in his turn, took in father and son, seen so rarely together. They looked a lot alike. Both with marriage rings glinting on their hands

  Rat’s gaze caught on that, and he wondered who Quill could possibly have married as Quill said, “Rat, this is a surprise! Come in and drink something warm.”

  Quill led Rat inside. Camerend stepped aside to say to his chief steward, “I think we’ll eat in the alcove.”

  Quill turned his head, his brows lifting. Then he veered away from the sunny mess hall shared by stable and castle denizens alike during the winter months, with its back wall against the baking ovens.

  Rat barely got a glimpse of that broad, warm space before he was taken deeper into a part of the castle he’d never seen before. He’d always stayed in the guardhouse with his Noth relatives.

  Quill led him to a small, warm room. Camerend and Quill sat side by side at a beautifully carved table, and Camerend said, “Are there private orders from the king or queen?”

  “No.” Rat quickly outlined the general orders, then said, “Connar-Laef is in command, of course. But Quill, I keep remembering that you were the one to uncover the conspiracy that blindsided my father.”

  Quill held up a hand. “Only because Elsarion was overheard bragging about an expected attack from the south. Lnand gets her full share of credit for helping me sift for clues down in Feravayir. We never would have known to look but for that piece of information.”

  “My father is still very angry about that. Not at you,” Rat added hastily, the tremor of his stutter threatening to return. He drew a breath and worked his jaw before continuing more slowly, “I wanted to ask you, if you aren’t under orders, to come as my runner. Someone said Lineas is down here as well. I want her, too.”

  “I’ll go fetch her while you eat.” Quill rose from his mat as servants came in with spiced cabbage, hot coffee, and rice rolls with fish braised in wine. Rat was about to demur when the aromas reached him, and his stomach growled noisily.

  “Right,” he said, and picked up a biscuit.

  Quill found Lineas where he expected to find her at this time of day, in the big barn where the chickens lived during winter. He paused a moment to watch Lineas, the weak wintry light from between the slats in the upper walls turning her hair to a dark rust.

  She stood by as Blossom tossed withered scraps of greens and laughed as the chickens darted about, pecking at them. Lineas looked up, saw him coming, and her heartbeat sped up. He wouldn’t be here without cause. Fearing that the arrivals had brought bad news, she said, “You know what to do now?”

  Blossom bridled, and said self-importantly, “Strew the feed. Then collect the eggs. I can do that myself.”

  “All right, then the job is now yours,” Lineas said.

  Blossom looked gratified, and reached for the feed bucket as Lineas met Quill, her anxiety plain in her eyes.

  “It’s Rat Noth. He wants us for something.” Quill took her hands, and felt some of her tension ease at the mention of Rat.

  They walked together up into the castle, dropping their hands outside the alcove. Both adopted the royal runner impassive countenance, too well-drilled to be conscious, as they entered. But there was that ring on her finger, which Rat noted. He was glad to see it. He’d always liked Lineas, the few, brief times he’d spoken to her, but he’d come to respect her after her hard run at Ku Halir.

  “Connar and I are going south,” he said. “The king’s orders are for inspection, but he knows my stepbrothers are probably back at plotting. You two know the language, and I trust you both—what?” This last was addressed to Lineas, whose head dropped, her fingers tight.

  Lineas looked up at that. “I—it’s just that I failed the Senelaecs at Ku Halir.”

  “What?” Rat exclaimed in astonishment. “No!” he said forcefully. “I spent an entire week doing nothing but reading the reports, talking to Braids and Neit, and looking at the map. Nobody could have come in hotter than you did. You got to me in time.”

  “We’ve all tried to tell her that,” Quill said, reaching for her hand.

  Lineas’s eyes gleamed with unshed tears. She looked away, then back, holding tightly to Quill’s fingers as she confessed, “But the truth is, I was too late. Senelaec rode straight into ambush, and I will never not have nightmares about what I saw.” Her voice trembled.

  And Rat understood. “Look, why do you think I spent a week with the maps, after the cleanup? Every death I could have prevented, or saved, they all get at me in the night.” He scowled at a last bite of rice roll on his plate. “Only way I can see to live with it is to learn from it. Next time, maybe we’ll be better. That’s why I’m here now.”

  “What can we do?” Quill asked.

  Rat hunched toward them, big, scarred fists on his knees. “Well, it’s like this. Two days before I rode out, Jugears, my second runner, came back from the south. I’d given him leave to go home with the news of his cousin dying at Ku Halir with Cub Senelaec. Jugears came back saying my stepmother and stepbrothers were expected to arrive in Feravayir by New Year’s Week. If they’re back, I know they’ll be up to trouble.”

  “We heard that as well,” Quill said. “Lnand has been on the watch, and she and I still communicate. They brought back a princess from Sartor, and the rumor is, she’s choosing between one of the brothers.”

  One of Rat’s knees bounced under his hand. “Maybe that’s good news. If Ryu is busy trying to flatter some princess into marrying him, he won’t be back to his ‘festival,’ right?”

  Camerend, silent all this while, exchanged glances with Quill. “If,” Camerend said, “he isn’t promising her a kingdom.”

  “Shit,” Rat breathed. “You’re right. That’s just what he’d do. We’d better
ride out come morning.”

  Which is what he did, carrying fresh supplies from Darchelde’s castle steward, and with Quill and Lineas added to the column.

  When Rat called for a halt as the light began to fade behind the low clouds, Quill edged his horse over. “Where are Lineas and I in your chain of command?”

  Rat understood immediately. He beckoned to lanky Digger, his first runner, and said, “The two royal runners are attached directly to me.”

  Digger tapped his chest and went about dividing the camp chores among the other runners. As royal runners always took care of themselves, there his responsibility ended—though not his curiosity.

  When the runners had pitched Rat’s tent, Digger said, “Better put two extra mats in. My guess is, captain wants a planning huddle.”

  Sure enough. After everyone had eaten hot, pan-fried biscuits and rice-and-cheese rolled in crisped cabbage, Rat called for Quill and Lineas. The cook had ground and singed coffee beans, pouring boiling water through his cloth filter. Quill and Lineas each carried a thick clay mug, Lineas more grateful for the heat than for the bitter liquid, which she forced down only to warm herself from within.

  Rat waved the two to mats. “I’ve been thinking all day about what you said yesterday. What exactly did you tell the king in that report about the festival conspiracy two years ago?”

  Despite all that had happened between that report and this day, Quill recollected it accurately. His report was even shorter because invariably Rat would wave off explanations of who this or that person was in relation to the Nyidris.

  At the end, Rat said, “Pretty much what I learned. Areth, Korskei, Lemekith, Jaya Vinn—They’re all Demeos and Ryu’s riding mates, except for that old Holder Nireid. Her family were duchas when Feravayir was the Kingdom of Perideth. Their rank dropped to the regular ‘holder’ when we Marlovans came in, but they still live like the duchas rankers over the mountains.” He sighed, fists propped on his knees. “My idea was to send the two of you ahead to get the latest word from my father. I’ll give you a note to take with him,” he added. “He’ll know where to put you. My stepmother and stepbrothers don’t know either of you, am I right?”