Time of Daughters II

by Sherwood Smith

  “They might anyway,” Connar muttered trying to grapple with the fact that the Noth captains were gone. But they had loyal followers. Relief—regret—then the gut punch of conviction that there would be consequences.

  Jethren, watching him carefully, said simply, “You’re the king.”

  That was reassuring until the day that the runners from Algaravayir, Darchelde, and Hesea Garrison showed up in an angry, aggrieved clump, most of them having straggled into the Hesea Plains outpost to hide from the latest storm. Then they rode together into the royal city, a solemn, even nervous bunch.

  And Connar arrived at supper to find the family regarding him with shocked eyes, Danet’s reddened from grief. “The Noths were assassinated. Did you know? All of them except Ivandred Noth. So far! Who knows what happened in Parayid?”

  Connar reflected that he should have known. Far as Parayid was, still Alca ought to have been back by this time.

  It was Noddy’s shocked gaze that cooled Connar’s roiling emotions to a knot of ice. He shifted his gaze away, and lied. “Assassins,” he said. “I believe it was the Bar Regren. Or even the Idegans.”

  “Idegans,” Danet repeated. “Why ever for?”

  “We know that they’re going after the Nob. They might want Larkadhe at the other end, or even Lindeth, and everyone in the kingdom is aware that Rat Noth was my best commander. Short of coming after me, which is very difficult, he’d be relatively easy.”

  He saw the expressions of shock furrowing to uncertainty. It was certainly plausible.

  “I’m sending scouts to investigate,” he added, and strangely enough, he added with the ring of truth, “I’m going to miss Rat. He was my right hand.”

  Ranet had seen that alone of the family, Connar was not shocked by news that she would have thought would render him incandescent with rage. But she said nothing.

  Later that night, she permitted Little Hliss to climb into her bed, something the child was always begging for, as she tended toward bad dreams, especially if she sensed tension around her. Ranet arranged words in her mind to avoid Connar if he came to her, but no one disturbed them.

  Two days later, Mouse’s long runner turned up—with Bunny, whom he’d found collapsed at an outpost, sick. Quill braced for mention of his presence in the south. This would be the worst time in recent history for the secret of royal runner transfer magic to be exposed. But as it turned out, his brief appearance had been utterly forgotten.

  Iris had been given Bunny’s rooms after Bunny left for Hesea Garrison. Even if they’d been empty, at first Bun only wanted to be with her mother.

  Danet was thrilled with the only good news she’d heard in weeks, but Bun’s pregnancy resulted in Danet’s anxious grandmotherly exhortations to take better care of herself and think of the baby. Bun did not want to think of the baby right now; all she could think about was Rat, and how she’d refused to let him into her room that horrible day.

  After a night with Danet, who had never been good with the kind of tenderness Bunny needed right now, Bun moved into Noren’s side room. “He’d still be alive,” she sobbed, over and over.

  Noren’s strong hands repeated firmly, “No, you would both be dead. All three.” Then returned to stroking Bunny’s hair until she finally slept.

  Ranet could not sleep.

  She tried for a worthless hour or two, then got up and stood in the weak light of a new moon, looking down at the sweet, pure curve of her daughter’s slumbering face. What kind of world was she growing up in?

  Grief and anger harrowed her as she paced around the chamber. Finally, an hour before dawn, she dressed and waited, her door open a sliver, and when she heard the king’s door down the hall open and close, she walked out and confronted Connar.

  He halted, Jethren and that weird Moonbeam at his heels. Connar gestured for them to move on, and Ranet said, “In here.”

  Connar stopped in her doorway.

  Ranet said, her tone sharp with disbelief, “Is it true, the Bar Regren assassinated the Noths?”

  Connar’s gaze shuttered. “It’s true if I say it is.” At her recoil, he grimaced. “Look, Ranet. Everything I do is for Marlovan Iasca. Everything. All you need to do is run the academy, and wait for everything to work out.” He said it softly, coaxingly.

  She wanted to believe him, but between that soft, musical voice and her belief was the image of Bunny’s ravaged face.

  He leaned down to kiss her; her head turned instinctively, so that his lips landed on her cheek. His breath caught as he stilled, then he stepped back and was gone.

  The morning watch bell rang.

  Little Hliss woke, and the minder appeared to get her bathed and dressed. Iris was already up, dancing around impatiently. Ranet, dry-eyed, collected her daughters and went to breakfast, where everyone did their best to cheer Bunny.

  When Lineas came down the hall, Ranet sent Iris into her room to get her writing tools, and faced Lineas. “Is there anything new I should know?”

  Lineas looked down at her hands, hating the situation. Hating what she had to say. Hating the tension she sensed in Ranet, who had always been so thoughtful, who had seemed from a distance to be happy. There was no vestige of that happiness now.

  But a promise was a promise. “The runner from Parayid reports that the single witness to Mouse Noth’s attack gave a description that fits Captain Alca of the honor guard. But no one has been able to corroborate it,” she added scrupulously.

  “Thank you for telling me,” Ranet said as Iris reappeared, impatient to get the lesson over so that Lineas could teach her more drawing.

  Ranet wrote a series of letters until the midday bells rang. She summoned her runner, and handed the letters to her. “Dannor, you are the only one I trust to ride straight to Henad Tlennen.”

  Dannor was flighty, and often silly, but she wasn’t stupid. Her round face sobered.

  “Henad can see to distributing the letters. Just take them to her. Over winters, she’s either at Tlennen or Sindan-An. So when you go downstairs, and anyone asks, just say you’re carrying another letter to my cousin Henad. All right?”

  Dannor blinked, gulped, and repeated, “Another letter to your cousin Henad.”

  And she departed.

  When the bell rang, and Ranet saw Lineas depart for the state wing, Ranet went to Iris’s room and held out her hand. “Want to learn to dance?”

  Iris’s sulky expression vanished, and there was her charming, dimpled smile. “Yes!”

  “Come on. Put on your practice jacket. No, not your good cloak. We’re going in practice clothes. See? I have my old gray riding coat on.”

  Iris flounced into her room, but didn’t argue.

  And hand in hand they walked out of the castle, into the main street.

  Between storms, Jethren’s scout Sleip slipped into the royal castle from that blind spot in the back that Connar had once shown Jethren. Sleip brought Jethren the welcome news that Prince Cama of Lorgi Idego was indeed mustering his army to ride up the peninsula at the first hint of spring. Fierce pleasure radiated through Jethren—there was no question now who would ride shield with the king. And at last, his captains would also be promoted to commander. As promised.

  But later that day, a scout belonging to the Nighthawk captain who’d killed Flax Noth reported word of a contingent of jarls intent on riding up in spring to demand a Convocation. These were being led by Adamas Totha, cousin to the Iofre Linden-Fareas Algaravayir and now Adaluin of Algaravayir, as the Iofre had laid down her title on the death of Aldren Noth.

  And that night, another scout reported word going through the local guilds that three brigands dressed in black had been found dead and left to rot on the outskirts of the forest of Telyer Hesea: murder with intent. “Cut up bad. But one of them matched Alca’s description,” the scout said, flicking his ear.

  “Give the order to muster,” Connar told Jethren, once they were alone.

  “There’s a blizzard out there.”

  “It�
��ll be gone by week’s end.” Connar turned up his palm. “I want to be well up the Pass before Adamas Totha turns up. He’s a veteran pirate fighter. He was defending the coast all during my father’s reign. No mere snow will stop him or his Iascans.”

  “I don’t care how strong they are,” Jethren stated. “We can take them.”

  “Then we’re attacking our own people,” Connar retorted. “They’re coming to demand justice for old Noth. How’s it going to look if our campaign begins with scything through our own people? They think the Noths were assassinated by Bar Regren, remember. We’ll ride. My brother can listen to them, and sympathize, and promise them peace. When we return with victory, it’ll give them a newer, bigger perspective on peace, all of Halia ours again.”

  Jethren bit down on protest. At last he had what he wanted. Camping in ice and snow would have to be endured.

  So he gave the long-expected orders.

  Connar kept himself busy, avoiding the family. But late one night, he found Ranet waiting outside his door when he returned from the garrison “I see a lot of preparation,” she said, and he was glad to see her smile again. “Are you riding out soon?”

  “Yes.”

  “When? I’d like to host a banquet to celebrate your campaign. I’ll even hire the dance troupe. I know how popular they are. Bring Commander Jethren and your entire honor guard. Even the runners. They work as hard as anyone.”

  Connar smiled back, taking her by the shoulders. If Ranet had accepted matters, the rest of the family would follow. “That would be excellent. Thank you. And when we return, let’s you and I try for an heir, shall we?”

  “Absolutely.” This time she kissed him back.

  The week sped by, everyone busy. Ranet, the meticulous planner, oversaw the furbishing up of the academy for another year, and at night, she attended to the plans for her banquet.

  When the day dawned, wet and cold, the banquet hall across from the throne room was as festive as possible with extra torches and lamps, and cedar boughs brought in to add their scent to the air. Many beeswax candles glowed around the perimeter.

  When it was time, Ranet kissed her girls as they slumbered peacefully in bed, and dressed in her best House tunic. She brushed out her hair and braided it up into shining golden ropes.

  Then she left the silent royal floor, nodded to the pair of guards on duty at the landing, and trod down to the banquet hall, where Jethren and the honor guard, from captains to Riders, plus their runners, began to drift in, wearing their best coats.

  Ranet stood by the door, greeting each warmly as she poured warm spiced wine and pressed it into his hands. Even the scouts found themselves treated like commanders by the king’s beautiful wife in her summer-blue and gold robe.

  The hall was soon packed, filled with laughter and bawdy jokes. The food was excellent, the drink plentiful, and as promised, here were the dancers, the women wearing skimpy outfits that sparked a roar of approval.

  Drums rumbled a slow, sensuous beat as the dancers began to perform, weaving their way seductively along the tables. On the dais, male dancers tossed flaming torches back and forth, and leaped, flipped, and tumbled.

  No one noticed that the royal family had not shown up after all, though they had certainly been invited. Up on the second floor, Danet had found herself yawning, heavy-lidded, over her afternoon coffee. Noren and Noddy had fallen asleep, she at her desk, arms cradling her head, and Noddy had lain down for a moment, and dropped into dreams.

  Only Bunny was awake, taking Maddar Sindan-An on a tour of the city, Maddar having ridden in with Henad Tlennen the day previous, along with Snow, her lifemate. “We’ve never been in the royal city before,” she’d said to Bunny. “You know it best of everyone.”

  Bunny still was in deep mourning, but Cabbage Gannan’s wife deserved her making the effort—and Snow’s constant stream of comments and jokes managed to make her smile, when Bunny had thought she never would again.

  It was a relief for Bunny to get away. She showed the two all over the stable, then at Maddar’s request, they rode through the empty academy, which was in the process of being furnished for spring. On the way back, they paused on a slight rise and Bunny looked up at the gold-lit clerestory windows on the west wall of the banquet hall, and breathed with relief that she didn’t have to be there at all. “The healer won’t let me have wine, and anyway it tastes bad right now. But I know the best place to get chocolate in the entire city.”

  Snow and Maddar exchanged glances, then Snow exclaimed, “I never get enough chocolate. Especially if it’s island stuff, with spices in. Lead on!”

  They rode into the city.

  In the banquet hall, Connar sat in the gilt-edged wingbacked chair reserved for the king, Jethren at his right. Ranet circulated the room, returning long enough to toast them, and to ask if they wanted anything more.

  The dancers’ wild gyrations got wilder. The drumbeats pounding as the wine flowed. One by one the dancers whirled out, to be replaced by pairs of new dancers in shrouding layers of filmy material, who floated along the perimeter. One was very tall, but what drew the eye was the swing of her generous hips as a coin belt slung low clinked and jingled. Another had swathed fabric around a very large, round belly; she was maybe a month or two from childbed. Their dancing left much to be desired compared to those in the flimsier garments, but the wine was flowing freely by then.

  Unnoticed, the men in the troupe withdrew, to find Kit Senelaec, Braids’ sister, waiting at the door with a hefty bag of gold.

  “I know the gunvaer already paid you,” Kit said as she handed the heavy bag to one of the four. “But this is extra. Your leader will explain.”

  And she did, when they got to the stable yard, shivering under their cloaks. “Get into the wagon,” the troupe leader said, as she nodded to the driver.

  “What? What’s going on?”

  “I’m afraid we’re done here,” she said in Dock Talk, which was the only language all the dancers had in common. “But we’ll travel nice up through the east pass, and try our hand at Shiovhan. They say the nobles there throw jewels on the stage if they like you.”

  They rolled out of the royal castle, unnoticed by Bunny as she, Maddar, and Snow returned, Bunny yawning and apologizing. “I don’t seem to be able to stay awake much after dark these days,” she admitted.

  “That’s all right,” Maddar said. “The chocolate was wonderful. Snow and I will walk you upstairs ourselves.”

  Watching them go was Quill, from the slit window of the tower adjacent to the stable yard. All his instincts hummed with danger, though on the surface the gunvaer’s party seemed like a festive occasion. But the second floor was suspiciously quiet, and Ranet had sent the kitchen staff back to their wing, which was unheard of during a banquet. Though the sounds coming from that direction were convivial, he was convinced that something was about to happen.

  He said to his picked team of royal runners, each armed with two wrist knives, “Surround all the doors to the banquet room, in case the gunvaer calls for help. Weapons only for self-defense, as a last resort, of course.”

  Vanadei said, “Are you sure we shouldn’t alert Commander Noth?”

  Quill thought of the commander sitting in his office devastated by the news of the Noth assassinations, the rumors whispering through the garrison, the ugly looks toward Jethren and his men, and flattened his hand. “I’d like to spare him if I can.”

  Vanadei’s mouth twisted; no need to remind anyone that Jethren and his men were now untouchable, whatever rumors were flying. And they knew it.

  Quill said, “There’s too much tension. Be too easy for an argument to turn into a bloodbath between the honor guard and the rest of the garrison.”

  “What you mean is, you don’t trust Jethren as far as you can spit into a wind,” Cama Tall muttered.

  Quill didn’t deny it. “But we’re civilians, and trained to moderate situations,” he reminded them. “And though Jethren’s men might like to mix it up with
the rest of the garrison, to them, we’re not worthy targets. So, if the gunvaer is planning some sort of confrontation after the entertainment, let’s let her have her say, and stay within call.”

  They slipped through the back way, and took up their stations as back in the banquet room, the masked dancers began moving among the tables, trailing gauzy, perfumed ribbons over shoulders and arms, but their eyes—hidden by veils—tracked Ranet unwaveringly as she made a last circuit of the room.

  Amatory jokes turned to outright invitation. Wine passed from hand to hand. The dancers’ musicians had slipped out with the men, leaving only drummers, which was fine with the Marlovans. A couple of raunchy ballads led into “Owl Jarend’s Last Charge,” that bawdy favorite.

  Ranet didn’t even hear it. She was watching the level of drink; they had just about reached the stage where they would notice there was no more food, wine, or bristic, and no servants around to fetch more.

  Enthusiastic if tuneless voices bellowed the line, He dropped his pants and whipped out his lance, as Ranet stepped three paces from Connar, and turned to face him.

  “My first true act as gunvaer,” Ranet said bitterly, took a miniature crossbow from her sleeve, and shot Connar in the heart.

  The women threw off the shrouding fabric they had bought from the dancers. Each closed with her target, pulled daggers from under their draperies, and struck.

  Men cursed and bellowed with rage. Some screamed. A few fought, but surprise and drink worked against them.

  Connar’s wide, startled blue eyes met Ranet’s. He jerked back against the chair, clutching at the bolt. His mouth filled with blood, and he choked, and slumped over the table, his beautiful black hair fanning over the ancient wood.

  Uttering a deep, wrenching sob, Ranet crashed to her knees beside his chair, and—still clutching the crossbow in one hand—threw her arms around his legs as the rest of the room erupted into chaos.