by Emerson, Ru
“No good offering you a place here, and safety, in exchange for whatever you know or suspect?” Jennifer asked after a moment. He shook his head again.
“I know nothing, suspect nothing. And I’ve a life back there, and family.”
“Well, the offer stands, keep it in mind.” Jennifer got to her feet and the three foreigners rose; Henry needed both hands on the table to keep from falling. “Think about it, if you will.” Not likely, she decided sourly as the three inclined their heads and hurried from the room. “Wasn’t that a useful little exercise?” she demanded as the door closed behind the men.
“Eat something,” Dahven suggested, and set the bowl of bread between them. “You didn’t really expect him to say anything, did you?”
“Not—all right, probably not. I’d say he knows something, though.”
“Maybe. More likely he’s simply afraid you think he does.”
“Thank you so much,” Jennifer retorted sourly. She fished out a plain, dark roll and bit into it. “Bauxite foundry, huh? I think Chris does have something, this could be the connection between French Jamsuca and the Mer Khani, unless they’re getting their raw ore from someplace else.” She finished the roll, washed it down with water, and sorted through the contracts for a blank piece of paper. Dahven watched idly, still playing with his seed bread as she thought a moment, then began printing out a message.
“Afronsan?”
“I want a little more input before I send any of this to him. No, this is for Duke’s Fort and Cornekka, so someone can check though the paperwork there.”
THUKARA JENNIFER TO DUCHESS ROBYN: SUGGEST SOMEONE READ THROUGH ALL CONTRACTS, ESPECIALLY FOR ANY MER KHANI METAL PRODUCTS, AND RELAY SIGNATURE NAMES AND ANY OTHER NAMES TO ME. EVERYTHING OK IN FORT? LOVE, JEN.
DUCHESS ROBYN TO THUKARA JENNIFER: DAMNIT, YOU SEND SOMEONE YOU WANT THAT ANY TIME SOON, EVERYONE HERE TOO HASSLED TO MANAGE, ESPECIALLY ME. NEED YOU TO SEND ME DECENT HEALER; ALETTO CONSCIOUS BUT NOT HIMSELF, WORRYING. ROBYN.
The room Aletto and Robyn shared was brightly lit with late-afternoon sun, warm from a fire that had burned to a deep ruddy glow. Wind battered against heavy glass windows, and in one or two places where the seal was imperfect, billowed thick drapes flanking the glass. Robyn sat on the bed, a pile of pillows at her aching back and Aletto’s hand in hers. His fingers moved slightly and she turned her head to look at him; his eyes opened briefly and closed again. Robyn sighed very faintly: Nothing yet. Drat that old woman and her powders, they’re about as useful as sugar water.
If only Jennifer could find someone willing to come to Duke’s Fort… Maybe, Robyn thought, someone who’d do better around children than the old local woman. Who would no doubt be terribly offended. Well, let her be. I’m not chancing Aletto or my babies, just to keep an aging and hidebound healer happy.
She looked across the room. Iana sat cross-legged on a fat blue cushion, not far from the hearth, and blew bubbles for her brother, who watched them gravely. They looked normal enough—a little quiet, of course. But in all the days since she’d brought them home, neither child would let her out of their sight, not even for a moment. At night, they slept on the small beds Robyn had moved from the nursery, at the foot of their parents’ bed.
Well, she could scarcely blame them. I won’t go back in the nursery myself. Her own feeling was that time would mend matters, particularly if she was there for them, ready to talk if either one brought it up. Not pushing, though; I hated that when I was a kid, parents and other people prying, trying to find out how you felt about something so awful you couldn’t even think about it. Like her mother abandoning her, divorcing their dad back when such things weren’t done, then going off to hawk Watchtowers.
Iana brought up the wire wand her mother had made, blew iridescent soapy liquid, and watched as a steady stream of bubbles sailed toward the fire, veered in the opposite direction as hot air moved them, then slowly floated toward the floor. Amarni put out his hand and gravely broke one. Robyn worked her shoulders back and forth to settle the cushions a little more comfortably. At least these two had a mother to talk to, when they were ready. More than she’d had when things went sideways.
She glanced toward the large windows flanking the fireplace. The sun had just dipped below the outer wall, which would make it—nearly time to eat. Wonder what they’ll come up with tonight. She hadn’t been particularly hungry in days; too much to worry and too many of Aletto’s duties had dropped squarely onto her shoulders, even with Gyrdan willing to help, delegating his own usual part in the border-guard patrols to others. If Vuhlem’s men were still bringing Zero in via the Cornekka road, they must have it plenty easy, she decided gloomily. Some of the guards going out right now were younger than Chris and had little experience. Gyrdan must be half-mad, waiting for Aletto to snap out of it so he could get back to what he needed to do.
A tentative tap on the door: probably the kitchen. Iana jumped and clutched her bubble wand; Amarni turned to gaze wide-eyed at his mother, who smiled and nodded. “It’s all right, son. It may be dinner. I’m hungry, aren’t you?” She raised her voice. “Come in!” But it was Lizelle, who cautiously peered around the edge of the door, who hesitated there, both hands on the latch. Cool air from the hallway came with her. “Come in,” Robyn repeated. “You’re getting it cold in here.”
Lizelle edged around the door, back to it, pressed it closed, and stayed there, one hand gripping the latch. “How—how is he?”
Robyn shrugged. “No different. No worse, anyway.”
“I—I just heard, Catra says you sent her away, that you’re having a healer brought from Sikkre.”
“That’s right.”
Lizelle’s chin came up and she took two steps into the room. “That’s hardly fair to Catra, do you think?”
“It’s less fair to Aletto,” Robyn said evenly. “Catra has plenty of other business in the market, and whatever good she’s done others, she hasn’t put my husband back on his feet.” Lizelle continued to stare at her, that stiff, down-the-nose look Robyn disliked so. “It’s no reflection on her if she doesn’t know how to deal with something like this; she seems to be fine for setting bones and curing fevers.”
“I’ve heard about Jubelo, in Cornekka.” Lizelle took two more steps and stopped; her hands were twisting at belt level, white knuckled. “He drank less than Aletto did, and he’s still ill. And—and Jubelo’s older but he’s whole bodied….” Her voice trailed away; Robyn set Aletto’s hand aside and got to her feet. A quick glance at the children; they’d seen Lizelle and gone back to play.
“Your son isn’t as crippled as you try to make him out to be, Lizelle. Or as helpless.”
“Yes, well, you have a son nearly die like Aletto did, and you’ll understand what it means to worry about a child.” Her eyes fell on the small beds pushed against the end of the Ducal bed; her lips twisted. “I at least never spoiled either of mine the way you—”
“Keep your voice low,” Robyn hissed angrily. Lizelle stared at her, slack mouthed. “They’ve been through a lot recently, I won’t have you making them feel guilty on top of everything else. And another thing: I heard you out in the hall yesterday morning trying to push past Aletto’s man. I absolutely will not have you talking around those two children about how ill their father is, and what that stuff might have done to him. They have enough to deal with, without being afraid Daddy’s going to die.”
“You’re indulging them,” Lizelle snapped, though she kept her voice prudently low. “It’s been—it’s been days, they should have forgotten all that by now. If you’d let them.”
No wonder Lialla came out so weird; this woman hasn’t got the least idea what goes on in a kid’s head. She sighed. “Lizelle, think about it, will you? Think about walking into your nice, safe bedroom and having someone grab you. Their whole world was turned upside down, they get back to find nothing the same around here except the walls, their father’s in a coma, grandmother’s nice little maids are gone away, and gran
dmother’s tearing her hair and wailing about how daddy’s gonna die. It’s hard enough on me, and I’m old enough to realize bad shit happens that it isn’t somehow my fault, and that it probably won’t ever happen again.” Silence. Lizelle would no longer meet her eyes; her own gaze was fixed on her son. Robyn drove a hand through her hair. “Look, I realize your own world isn’t exactly on keel these days. I’m willing to give you a lot of slack because of the drug thing, your girls, your health—yes, your son, too. You want to blow fits, scream, yell, tear your hair, cuss me out—fine. Do it in your own rooms, with the doors closed, will you? Want to yell at me, send for me, I hate it but I can deal with that better than worrying about the additional load on those kids.”
Another tap at the door; Lizelle jumped and Iana got to her knees, bubble wand hanging forgotten from her fingers. “Come in!” Robyn said loudly; she went across the room to kneel beside Amarni, who sat so very still he didn’t seem to even breathe. “It’s okay, kiddo, just some soup for you. Bet you’re hungry, huh?”
“I’m hungry,” Iana announced. She dropped the wand in the dish of soap and water, scrubbed her hands down her loose britches and got to her feet.
Robyn stood, drawing Amarni up with her. “Lizelle, if you want to stay and eat with us,” she began, but when she turned, Lizelle was gone.
“Duchess?” Avran from the kitchens stood just inside the door, a small, high-piled tray in her hands. “She just—ran out.” She brought the tray in, set it on Robyn’s desk. “I could—if you want me to—go after her….”
“No, it’s all right.” Robyn swung Amarni onto his chair and watched Iana scramble onto hers. “We’ll just—we’ll make a small picnic of it, all right, kids? Just the three of us.” Wrong thing to say, perhaps; but Iana picked up her cup and Amarni got onto his knees so he could dip bread into his. Neither looked toward the door or the bed. Robyn sighed, then filled a mug for herself. At least their appetites were still good. Chicken again. Well, at least it’s not that awful thing they used to do with dried fish and cream, and it’s not red meat. She sipped. Chicken broth was boring, the way the kitchen did it when she wasn’t there to spice it up herself—but right now she didn’t have time to add that to all her other tasks. Eat the nice, boring soup, girlfriend. You’re gonna need all your strength before the week’s out, guaranteed.
3
Kepron swore and slammed both hands against the heavy stones of the fireplace, then swore again and shook them gingerly. “You simply do not listen to me! Like all—!”
“If you say ‘all women’ once again, I’ll remove your ears,” Ryselle hissed. He glared at her, sucked a bleeding fingertip. “If you’re looking for sympathy, look elsewhere,” she added flatly. “It’s your own fault if you’re bleeding.”
Lialla fed two small sticks to the fire, glanced at Sil, who rolled her eyes and minutely shook her head, then rose to her feet between the two glaring Holmaddi and held up a hand. My four-footed, donkey-brained problem, isn’t it? And I asked for it myself. Still—how nice of you, Sil. “This bores me,” she said crisply. “No,” she added as both strove to speak at once, “not a word. Ryselle, help Sil with the fire, will you? Kepron—you haven’t shown me anything new in two days, go down to the far hearth and practice access and exit.”
He glowered at her, shook out his bruised and scraped hand. “I cannot do such a thing during the day, however you manage—”
“Then learn how,” Lialla ordered. The exchange sounded unfortunately all too familiar. Bah. Thanks to you, too, Jen. She fished in her pocket, drew out a wad of red string. “If you aren’t going to bother trying, take this and work the seventh pattern until you can do it with your eyes closed. And calm yourself; I want to talk with you when I come down there, I don’t want to be yelled at while I try to offer you some sense.” He hesitated, snatched the string, and stalked the length of the room. Lialla watched him go, then folded her arms and turned what she hoped was a mildly inquiring look in Ryselle’s direction.
Ryselle glowered back. “I’m sorry,” she growled.
“Oh, no, you’re not,” Lialla said. “But I doubt I would be, in your shoes. All the same, you can’t let the boy push you to anger: It’s hard on everyone around you, and it keeps you from being able to Shape.”
“I can—”
Lialla shook her head. “No. I know from my own experience how much temper gets in the way of magic—Light and Thread both. And when was the last time you were able to hold Light, let alone Shape it?” Ryselle sighed, shook her own head. “Three days ago.”
“I know when it was. And why! Because that young whelp wasn’t—”
“Wasn’t here.” Lialla sat cross-legged on the hearth, palms to the low fire. “Ryselle, listen to me, I’m not telling you anything I haven’t learned the hard way. You have reason to be rough tempered: your brothers, your mother, the boy saying something stupid about women every time he opens his mouth. I understand that. You can’t let it matter. You have to set it aside—all of it.”
“Oh. Just like that—”
“Yes,” Lialla said evenly. “Just—like—that.” Silence. Ryselle angrily shoved sticks into the heart of the fire. “Think of it as part of your training. In a sense it is; when Aletto and I fled Duke’s Fort, every single time I had to Wield was an emergency of some kind. If I hadn’t eventually learned how to block infuriating or frightening things out, I wouldn’t be here to teach you.” Another little silence. “Think of it this way, if you prefer: any time you let Kepron upset you with his stupid, cutting little remarks, he’s won something, and you’ve lost. Are you going to let a mere boy do that to you? He’s only parroting words he learned from the men around him.”
Ryselle’s shoulders sagged. “I know he is,” she said. “It’s simply that—”
“Irritating. You think I don’t know? But you don’t believe any of that nonsense, do you? All women this, every woman that, how stupid and typical of women—” She paused; Ryselle’s cheeks were very red and her eyes hot.
“I—well, of course I don’t!”
“Then why pay heed to it?” Sil asked. She got to her feet and dusted ash from her knees. “We need vegetables for that broth, if it’s to be soup tonight. Why don’t you come with me, Ryselle, and help me decide what to purchase?”
“Fine idea,” Lialla said, before Ryselle could object. “Take a little time, calm yourself. Think about what I said. Get a loaf of that rye bread from Emios, if you go that way.”
“If he has any left at such a late hour,” Sil said. “Come on, Ryselle.” The village woman sighed heavily, but got up and went with her, down the narrow stairs that led to the back gate. Lialla waited until she heard the muted thump of the lower door closing, then turned and went down the enormous, temporarily empty room. Her hands made hard little fists. This time I swear I will put such a fright into that boy—! One more snotty remark and I’ll—I will send word to his captain where to find him! She wouldn’t do that, of course. Not really. But at that moment, it made a very satisfying picture, and it ought to make a good threat. If I need threats, after I shake him until his teeth rattle. He was as tall as she, but all long bones and, boylike, no real muscle; yelling at him hadn’t gotten her anywhere, maybe he’d understand a good, hard thump. He’d understand that; it’s all he’s ever known. Blows and abuse—Lialla forced that aside hastily.
She tugged the lightweight red wool scarves around her shoulders and shivered down into them. They’d had the compound to themselves for three chilly fall days, herself, Sil, the boy, and Ryselle; the air was cool at this end and damp, since they hadn’t bothered to keep a fire burning in the far hearth. Lialla’s nose wrinkled; large and open as the chamber was, she could still smell mildew. It reminded her of the lower halls of Duke’s Fort during the neglect of Jadek’s years and for one brief moment, her stomach tightened painfully. That’s past, years past, like Jadek’s slap; leave it, she ordered herself angrily. Easier said than done, of course. She was as much proof of that as Ry
selle—or this wretched boy.
She paused, glared at the back of the boy’s head, but the anger was already gone. No, she wasn’t going to murder him, or even smack him one; she understood all too well what his problem was. Like that helps anyone, including Kepron, she thought gloomily, but the Chris-like twist to the words brought up a brief, mood-lightening grin.
Kepron stood with his back to her, eyes fixed on something outside the tall window nearest the stairs down to the stable; a half-finished pattern hung between his fingers. To all appearances, he was concentrating on something so hard, he hadn’t even heard or sensed her presence. She folded her arms, studied what she could see of his profile, his hands. He had good fingers, she decided—long and tapering, and ordinarily very deft at string maneuvers she had to fight to accomplish. His face—well, at the moment, it was almost attractive, a boy’s unfinished, vulnerable face. Something glittered on his lashes, or so she thought; but a blink and it was gone. If I didn’t know better, I would say he’d been weeping. Had she ever seen him so much as smile? Like Aletto, those last long years under Jadek…
She bit her lip. It wasn’t the same thing at all! She didn’t have the same ties to this boy as to her only brother, and Kepron hadn’t been through even a portion of what Aletto had endured. Still, the boy’d saved her life. Yes. And you saved his in return; you’re matched. Don’t you dare coddle this wretched brat because of your brother and all he’s been through. Still, she owed him. He’d learned things she wouldn’t ever have, in Vuhlem’s provinces: She’d overheard Vuhlem’s men talking about shipments of Zero to Dro Pent but the boy had found the bottles of Zero-drugged liquor in crates marked for Vuhlem and risked his skin to bring her one. He’d told her about the secret companies Vuhlem had, outside the city—all right, she decided in exasperation, most of what he knew came because he was a Holmaddi male, attached to a soldier’s company, because he could go places no woman could. But he’d put his life on the line more than once. Male ego, most likely, what Chris would call a “bullet-proof” attitude—still, Lialla thought, dead’s dead, however you come by it. And it still incurred the debt.