Behind her, Connar turned back as Quill took himself off. Connar gazed down at the place where Lineas had been standing.
It was the first sight he’d had of her in close to two years. She never had been beautiful, but those two years of very hard riding had left her looking somehow...more like herself.
What was that look she gave him? Not fear. Nor pity, at least. Something else—anything else but the welcome that had met him all those years on coming home, that smile that was not lust, nor possession, nor expectation— for he still did not comprehend the concept of tenderness. All he knew was, he had taken it for granted until it was gone.
He turned away again, throat thick with disgust. She wore a ring now. They both did. Sentiment, he told himself, was worthless, and he occupied himself with endless tasks until the nightwatch, when he found a professional who could match him in roughness—and then had the sense to steal away, leaving him sitting among the wreckage of the room with his head in his hands.
TWELVE
The first glimpse Iaeth had of Quill, she didn’t recognize the polite, appealing young traveler named Senrid she’d met many years ago in that dashing figure galloping like a bolt from a crossbow toward the village where the Nyidris holed up.
Was he familiar? She’d turned her head, weary and giddy from hunger, but only saw his back, and the unfamiliar dark blue robe flapping in the wind, before he was lost among the armed warriors at his back.
She had been sent by Seonrei to find the Nyidris and stop violence if she could—and if she couldn’t, to witness. “Whatever happens to them,” Seonrei had said, “it’s important that someone impartial see the truth. Even if they themselves have been living lies, that’s no reason to stand by while the unthinkable is made everyday.”
The second time she saw Quill was a short time later, when she got to the village, which was preternaturally still after the roaming, angry crowds of recent days. She no longer had to use stealth. Just as well, as her strength was about gone.
She was in a fugue when she reached that inn; later she could not recollect arriving, nor did she remember how she got back, but she did remember entering that chamber of death to find Quill kneeling over a prone figure, clearly dead: Ryu. He looked up sharply, and she blinked in surprise.
At first she thought he’d killed Ryu, but she saw in that stiffened body that Ryu had been dead for some time.
She looked away from Ryu to.... “Senrid?” She recognized him then.
“Iaeth?” he said on a rising note of incredulity, recognizing her from his visit to Sartor what sometimes seemed a lifetime ago. Two lifetimes.
“Why are you here? Aren’t you a scribe?”
He straightened up, one hand touching that dark blue robe he wore over a white shirt and riding trousers. “I’m a royal runner. People seldom use my given name. Permit me to re-introduce myself,” he said, remembering that he’d let her believe he was a scribe student during his visit to Sartor’s capital. Scribes could go most anywhere—including to the magic library, if sent by whoever they worked for. “I’m Quill Montredavan-An,” he said, and to keep her mind off the exact circumstances of their first meeting so long ago, “Why are you here? Dressed like that?”
Iaeth had glanced down at herself from what seemed a remote height, remembering she had pinched a laundry attendant’s shapeless, undyed clothes in order to disguise herself, but she was far too tired to explain.
But by then he’d put it together. “You’re with the princess?”
“Yes. I accompanied her to this kingdom as her personal herald, to protect, of course, but also to investigate. Where are the rest of the Nyidri faction?”
“Under guard. I found Ryu Nyidri here, already cold.”
She sank down onto a bench as they tried to piece together how Ryu had been killed from the scarce evidence before them.
The third encounter occurred late the night after her conversation with Seonrei. Following a heavy rain, she walked the outer wall of the winter palace, breathing in the chilly air as she looked out over the muddy expanse, here and there shallow pools reflecting the starry sky. Barely visible in the clear moonlight, patches of fuzz broke the dreariness of receding winter, though dirty snow churned up by many horses’ hooves lay in the shadows of buildings.
And here came Quill, bearing a tray. “I was sent to find you.” He spoke Sartoran in that intriguing accent. “Your princess commanded me to see that you ate this midnight snack.”
Iaeth looked away, embarrassed when she recollected blacking out that first night, after they’d finished cataloguing Ryu’s wounds. But so had many people, and more frequently.
He must have seen the wince she tried to hide for he said with cheerful sympathy, “I received roughly the same orders from Commander Noth. I thought I’d save us both a trip. And a fairly tense atmosphere.” He tipped his chin back toward what she and Seonrei had termed the inquisitorial chambers.
“What’s going on?”
“Just finished up the last of today’s interrogations. Korskei, this time.” She recognized the family name of the last of Demeos and Ryu’s inner circle. “Insisted he thought he was protecting Feravayir.”
“Of course he’d say that.” She sat down right where she had been standing. He squatted down as well, heedless of the wet red stone, and set the tray between them: hot rolls, still steaming, a dish that smelled like pepper-cabbage over rice, and a little pot of some sort of preserve. Her stomach woke up as she broke open a roll.
“He might have been lying, as Areth clearly was, except that out came the most devastating testimony, every lie Lavais had been telling them. Beginning with the king’s quadrupled taxes. All written out, plain as day. That, plus the fact that Jaya Vinn and Lemekith had abandoned Ryu and Artolei entirely, make it fairly clear—if the king decides to pursue it—what she and Ryu were really doing.”
“Will he?”
Quill paused in the act of spreading jam on a roll. “He? Who, Ryu?”
“The king.”
Quill laughed. “I can’t speak for him. But I strongly suspect he’ll leave it to Noth to deal with. He hates the mess of what could be called treason trials. That was made manifest during the Yvanavayir disaster.”
“What was that?”
He told her, briefly. While she listened to the inside story of that northern war she’d heard references to, it occurred to her that this conversation was in her own language—that is, he spoke it as easily, as naturally, as she did.
He finished up, “Noth has already sent people to seize all Lavais Nyidri’s holdings, and those of her pet guild leaders. All those warehoused goods under the pretext of kings’ taxes will either go to the king, or else back into the trade towns, Noth is telling them. Watching him dismantle the Perideth myth is a pleasure.”
“Perideth was a kingdom once,” she observed mildly.
“True.” Quill shot her a speculative glance, then returned to spooning up pepper cabbage. “But the Perideth Lavais Nyidri was building threatened to beggar the countryside so she could live like your royal Sartorans, with ten times the land and wealth.”
Lay a criticism behind those words? Yes or no, the conversation had strayed in an unsettling parallel to that earlier discussion she’d had with Seonrei.
She flicked a glance to find Quill gazing off into the distance, as if leaving the implied question to her to address or not.
She was not about to defend Sartor’s centuries of social structure to an ignorant Marlovan...so she shifted the subject. “I’ve scarcely seen Lineas since her return with Commander Noth. Only the once, when I told her how much I admired her for what must have been a rough ride. But she said it wasn’t half the ride you made. What part did you serve in this—if you can say?”
“There’s no secret,” he responded. “I was sent here and there by those who do the sending. Briefly met the leader of the Tax Gang. He put me as bait for Ryu’s initial trap at the beginning, after which I rode to Parayid, from which I was sent no
rth again.”
She shut her eyes, calling up a general sense of the map, then realized he had crossed the entire length of Feravayir—while no doubt dodging Ryu’s assassins—and then back again.
He glanced skyward, took a bite, then added, “I reached Hesea Garrison just as Mouse Noth was facing what looked like a mutiny, with nearly everyone there trying to get leave on the flimsiest of excuses in order to ride with the Faral Noths, who had been summoned by Lineas as runner for Rat Noth. That’s when I learned what was going on here.”
He smiled briefly, his gaze so steady she could see the twin flickers from the Marlovans’ torches in his eyes. Why torches, she wondered, when lanterns were less dangerous and gave just as much light?
The question vanished as he went on, “But my orders made their volunteer ride legal, so most of the garrison came down, leaving the rawest recruits behind to defend the walls. Though at their backs lies Darchelde,” he finished cheerfully. “Our Darchelde Riders might not be able to leave the territory, but anyone coming from the south would have to ride through them to get to the royal city, which was probably Ryu’s next grand plan. They’d have regretted it.”
Iaeth finished off a roll, appreciating that Quill had delivered his strategic summary in Sartoran. Challenge? As she dusted crumbs off her fingers, her mind conjured up a similar situation in Sartor. Say, the province of Tandarei revolting, and neighboring Yostos desperate to take advantage, with the great duchy of Chandos defending...then she gave herself a mental shake. The entire point was that such a terrible uprising would never happen in civilized Sartor.
A challenge was ludicrous when all the advantages lay on one side.
He clearly saw something in her face, for he said, with raised brows, “Speaking of. If the princess and the rest of you don’t carry transfer tokens on you, I’ll eat this tray. Why did you stay?”
There was nothing accusatory in his wide smile or direct gaze, but she still felt stung, as if she and Seonrei had remained in order to witness the expected bloody spectacle. And his easy reference to transfer tokens made it clear he was acquainted with magic, at the least. “Her highness offered to let us return, but we came to serve and protect her. As for her highness, she stayed to do precisely what she is doing.”
“A diplomatic witness,” he said appreciatively, then looked up, and his face transformed. His smile had been friendly in a neutral way, but now his gaze softened to warmth as Lineas appeared, with the careful step of someone carrying hot liquid.
“Scalded coffee for all,” she said.
She stooped. Both Quill and Iaeth reached up to steady the tray, as the welcome aroma of coffee reached them.
“Where have you been, wife?” Quill said in Marlovan. which Iaeth understood much better now. She glanced at his hand, and noticed the plain gold ring.
“Helping in the kitchens, husband,” Lineas responded—and yes, she too wore a gold ring. “Keeping busy.”
Lineas turned to Iaeth as she plopped down next to her. “I think having Princess Seonrei there is very good for everyone,” she said in Sartoran. “I think...I think having her there was something the Nyidris needed to see.”
Iaeth said, “They know that everything they say will be reported by the princess to the queen.”
But neither Quill nor Lineas reacted to that, as if the Queen of Sartor were as removed as the stars.
Lineas continued, “He’s also letting that one guild chief listen in, and he hasn’t chased Korskei out.”
“Witnesses,” Quill said appreciatively. “Most effective way to end Lavais’s lies, by having as many witnesses as possible, not only listening but seeing each other there. It’s especially important for the guilds to learn that everything they were told by Lavais Nyidri was a distortion, if not an outright lie. And yet some seem not to believe it. Probably won’t believe anything Noth says until the guilds are actually able to choose their new chiefs, and those chiefs survive traveling to the royal city and back, after brangling with—ah, interviewing—the king at Convocation. Heh.”
Lineas said soberly, “I wonder how many of those who don’t believe Commander Noth were benefitting in some way from the jarlan’s corruption.”
“Oh, most,” Quill said. “But not all. Human nature being ridiculous more often than not.”
Iaeth said, “Then you don’t believe there is a very real fear about sanguinary reprisal from your king?”
Quill had been stacking his dishes. He sat back, the shadows in his face deepening the shadows under his cheekbones, and in the long dimples at either side of his mouth, turning his smile sardonic. “Marlovans,” he said, “would know that sanguinary reprisal is the fate of those who gave the orders. And yes, I can see you about to ask if that happens. It does. A couple of generations ago, a lot. Though eventually the violence caught up with that king. I certainly don’t advocate execution unless in extreme situations. But there are problems with every form of what’s called justice. Your Gardens of Silence merely put off problems for another generation to handle—those who aren’t harvested by Norsunder and taken beyond time, to be sent against us all.”
Lineas said pacifically, “We’re taught that the Sartorans also practice restitution, just as we do.”
Quill looked up at her, and uttered a soft laugh. “I’m done. I’m done.”
“Good,” Lineas said in a quiet voice that Iaeth could scarcely heard. “I have to ride come morning watch....” She left the sentence hanging.
But Quill obviously understood the implication. He got to his feet, picked up the combined trays, and he and Lineas walked away.
Iaeth retreated inside, where she found Seonrei folding a letter into her notecase. “I think,” she said, “I’ve been put in my place by someone I thought of as a charming puppy.”
“Puppy?” Seonrei repeated. “Where?”
“Oh, I met the royal runner Quill some years ago. Maybe ten? Anyway, he was not far from the voice-breaking stage. So polite. I thought him a visiting scribe, and took him around. He was so grateful....” Another thought occurred, but flitted away—and here was Seonrei waiting for explanation, so Iaeth repeated the conversation succinctly.
At the end, Seonrei set her pen carefully down. “You might laugh, but you know, I find that quite disturbing.”
“The fact that I still see people ten years younger than myself as puppies? Blame our system of putting herald-apprentices in charge of the new students. Anyone that much younger than I seems a perennial student.”
“No.” Seonrei negated that with a forefinger. “Do you know what the royal runners do? Aside from run messages, and act as bodyguards.”
“Not really.”
“I found out today. They are the ones who restore the water spells and the like. Marlovans seem to use very little magic for everyday use, but that which is used is maintained by these royal runners.”
Iaeth thought back to her first meeting with young Quill—outside a magic library. Scribes often came and went, fetching texts for mage students, who in turn performed small spells in turn for copy services from scribes, whose scribal hand was very fast. She shook that thought away, as Seonrei went on, “What he said about Gardens of Shame, that is a debate at high levels.”
“I know,” Iaeth said. “No one wants the general public aware that Gardens of Shame can be breached by Norsundrians, for one thing. Are you saying that you think the Marlovans are...what? Spying? And we’ve never caught them with all our wards and tracers?”
“Not at all. Something far more serious. I wonder if they are somehow gaining access to magic—specifically what kind of magic—despite the guild recommending that Marlovans not be permitted to study the higher magics. They could be learning magic from anybody. Even dark magic. Yet, even that doesn’t bother me as much as the idea of this young puppy of yours having mastered our language, and our history, and possibly some level of magic, as well as talking comfortably about state strategies—”
“—and choosing to remain a barbarian,
is that what you’re saying?”
“I don’t know that I want to use that term. It doesn’t seem useful anymore, as it so often implies ignorance, if not stupidity. Dangerous is more like it. I think your Quill is dangerous, he and his people. I have failed to reach a diplomatic accord, but this journey was not useless. I will at the end of my report recommend to the queen that we continue to keep the Marlovans at a guarded distance, because though I don’t like to call them barbarians, I do think they are far from what we consider civilized.”
Marlovan weddings were not known for extravagant preparations. The banquet was a little rougher than usual, but everyone accepted that the cooks had done their best so very late in winter, with scarce supplies.
There was plenty of good dark ale and beer, at least. The winter palace glowed with torches inside and out, and banners were hung up, along with fragrant cedar boughs. Everyone who had a drum brought it out, and the chief entertainment was dancing, spirits high on the part of rescuers and rescued. The few locals present forced a semblance of cheer, relieved the worst seemed to be over.
Connar led the men’s first dance in place of Demeos, who didn’t know it, then gave way for Starliss Cassad leading the women. After that it was dance as always, men trading off with women. Men did the sword dance in all its variations, and Starliss, who was very good at the Odni, brought out the old knife dance, which is lethally graceful; gradually the heat from the torches, good drink, and vigorous dancing warmed everyone to a cheer unknown in that place all winter.
Demeos sat isolated in the center of the festivities, wearing his fine silk and staring at the plaster-and-paint climbing roses on the wall as it sank in that Perideth, and a royal crown, had died with Ryu. His new household, all appointed by Noth, enjoyed themselves around him. He drank steadily, until the firelight gleamed in his unblinking eyes as he watched the whirling, stamping, and leaping dancers, steel flashing. So far he’d had little speech with his comely new wife. She’d said earlier that as a man grieving the death of a family member, no one would expect him to dance, and the prince would honor him by taking his place.
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