Assassin's Edge

by Juliet E. McKenna

  Troanna surveyed the room. “Even allowing for the diligence of your servants, there’s no sign you’ve been throwing crocks. Judging by the usual plentiful array of wines and cordials, you’ve not been drowning your grief. You’re thinner in the face but I’ve seen you dining with your pupils so you’re hardly starving yourself into a decline.”

  “Your point?” Planir’s face was a chilly mask.

  “I’ve buried two husbands and three children, Planir.” Troanna folded her arms. “I won’t say I know what you’re feeling because every loss is different and cuts as deep as any gone before. What I do know is you must grieve or Larissa will remain as dead to you as those ashes in that urn.”

  Planir’s response was scathing. “You want me to picture her happily dwelling in the Otherworld, her virtues recognised by Saedrin as sufficient to save her from Poldrion’s demons?”

  “Don’t be a fool.” Troanna was unmoved. “You’ve no more use for priests and their superstitions than I have.”

  “Then what would you have me do?” snapped Planir.

  “Acknowledge your loss and the unfairness of it,” Troanna told him forcefully. “In whatever way gives you release. Go to the highest point on the island and scream your outrage at the wind, the gods or whatever uncaring destiny visited such untimely death on the poor girl. That’s what I’ve done before now. Look honestly at the path that led her there and spare yourself endless reproaches over what you did or didn’t do. We’re not Aldabreshin barbarians to believe every twist of fortune is foretold by uncanny portents, that every evil can be averted if only we have the skills to read the signs. She died and you are entitled to grieve, but not to endlessly castigate yourself over a fate that was none of your making.”

  “I set her on the path that led her to die,” said Planir harshly.

  “Horseshit.” Troanna shook her head. “You diminish her by thinking so. Larissa was young but she was an intelligent girl and she made her own choices. I never approved of your association but no one can accuse you of influencing her decisions.”

  “You’re too kind,” said Planir coldly. “Though that was because I loved her rather than out of any respect for your sensibilities. She is still dead.”

  “Until you grieve, she will remain so.” Troanna ran a finger over the swell of the brightly decorated urn, apparently not noticing how Planir tensed. “There’s one notion the Archipelagans hold that I’ve come to share. No one is dead as long as one person who knew them in life still remembers them as they were. Do Larissa that honour.” She got briskly to her feet with a nod of farewell. “You know where I am if you want to argue this further, as light relief from twisting Kalion’s tail. Talk to Shannet. She’s outlived nigh on her whole generation and knows all about loss. This is possibly the only thing we’ll ever agree on.”

  Planir said nothing as the Flood Mistress tossed that last comment over her shoulder. He sat motionless in his chair for a long while until finally, his expression still unchanged, tears coursed down his cheeks.

  Suthyfer, Fellaemion’s Landing,

  29th of For-Sutnmer

  For a stone mason’s son, you make a very good carpenter, but can’t you hang up your tool belt for one evening?” I was exaggerating; all Ryshad held was a small hammer.

  He held out an arm and I stepped into his embrace. “It looks good, doesn’t it?”

  I looked around the shrine. Stones chosen for even colour and smoothness gave a solid foundation to close-fitted wooden walls. The roof above was held firm by rafters finished with the same exquisite care. Around the base of the wall the rich scent of new timber breathed life into niches where the incongruously prosaic vessels holding the ashes of Suthyfer’s first dead stood. Charcoal marks and faint scores on the wood promised carving yet to come; I could see Saedrin’s keys, Drianon’s eagle, Halcarion’s crown and Raeponin’s scales. In the centre of the floor, the palest stones Ryshad and his fellow craftsmen could find raised a plinth waiting for whatever deity this place would be dedicated to. The wide doors stood open and a shaft of sunlight lit up the empty circle.

  I slid my arm around Ryshad’s waist to feel the reassuring strength and warmth of him. “Has Temar said anything about a statue yet?”

  Ryshad shook his head. “Guinalle suggested Larasion.”

  I could see the sense in that. “Sailors heading in both directions will always want to pray for fair weather.”

  “Dastennin’s the Lord of the Sea and four men out of five in Zyoutessela swear by him before any other.” Ryshad held me close with absent affection. “Guinalle changed her mind, anyway. Talking about this new hall she and ’Sar want to set up reminded her that Ostrin’s shrine held most of the aetheric lore in the Old Empire.”

  “Build a bigger plinth,” I suggested. “Let them share, like the temple in Relshaz.”

  Ryshad laughed. “It’ll be a while before Suthyfer can boast anything that splendid. You could fit this whole landing inside that place.”

  “It’ll be as fine as any Imperial fane when it’s finished.” I pulled Ryshad with me to look more closely at the faint designs on the inner face of the wall. “If Pered’s got anything to say about it. Is that Larissa beside Halcarion?”

  Ryshad nodded. “He’s trying to include as many of those lost as he can.”

  I studied the broad sweep of the mural Pered was planning for the first half of the circle. It followed the lie of the land outside so closely that, when it was finished, it would almost seem as if the shrine had windows not walls. Those coming for solace would see the gods and goddesses reassuringly engaged with the folk of the landing. Trimon sat with his harp, framed by dancing children. Larasion wove garlands for the girls who sat with Halcarion, all dressing their hair in the reflection of a still pool that, thinking about it, didn’t actually exist hereabouts. Never mind, Ryshad would doubtless dig one. Drianon wove reeds into baskets by the door of a solid little house, goodwives busy about her. Talagrin stood some way off with a group of men about to go hunting for something to fill the pots that Misaen was hammering at his forge.

  “I like it,” I said.

  “So do I.” Ryshad kissed my hair.

  An array of lidded pots surely too small to be serving as urns caught my eye. “What’s that?”

  “Shiv’s helping Pered with his pigments.” Ryshad grinned. “He says Flood Mistress Troanna would be appalled at such mundane use of his affinity but she’s not here to see.”

  “So it can’t hurt her.” I finished the sentence for him. Awkward silence hung between us.

  “Pered’s talking about studying Artifice,” Ryshad said with careful casualness.

  “He can have that song book.” I chose my words with equal care. “I won’t be needing it any more.”

  “No?” Ryshad looked down at me.

  “Forest riddles and charms hidden in songs, that was fun,” I told him. “Sheltya, Elietimm, Guinalle and her adepts, that’s all too serious for me.” An involuntary shudder surprised me. “Far too dangerous. They can keep their secrets and welcome.”

  “So what are you going to do?” Ryshad’s dark eyes searched my face.

  “Vithrancel’s boring.” I met his gaze unblinking. “But it’s got our house and that’s got walls, a roof and a decent privy so it’ll do for the moment. As soon as Suthyfer can offer as much and more besides, like taverns for sailors to spend their pay in and market halls for trading and barter, I want to come back here. I’ve already written to Charoleia to send me a cargo of wine on the first ship she can.” I grinned at him. “I’m going to try my hand at being a merchant. It’s just another way of gambling.”

  Ryshad nodded slowly. “Then I can take the job Temar’s been trying to thrust in my hands.”

  I felt a sudden qualm. “He’s offering you service with D’Alsennin? An oath?”

  “No, and I wouldn’t take it if he did,” said Ryshad firmly. “Temar knows that. He wants me to act as Suthyfer’s steward. Someone’s got to get things organised aroun
d here and he reckons I’m the man for it.”

  I couldn’t decide if Ryshad was flattered or embarrassed by this accolade. “You’ve served D’Olbriot, you know Zyoutessela inside out, you know more about Kellarin than anyone else. He couldn’t make a better choice.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Ryshad hugged me.

  “Of course I am.” I frowned. “But you’re not to be sworn to him?” I didn’t want any ties pulling Ryshad and me apart, not any more.

  “No.” Ryshad kissed my hair again. “It’s time to be my own man. Besides, the Emperor will be happier to see Suthyfer with a measure of independence from D’Alsennin. It’ll make it easier for him to sell to the Convocation of Princes.”

  The Sieur D’Olbriot would back Ryshad’s integrity and ability against anyone else’s arguments for one thing. “So who will you answer to?” I wondered just what possibilities this notion might present.

  “In due course, there’ll be merchant’s guilds and more shrine fraternities, craftsmen’s companies. They’ll all want their say. If ’Sar and Guinalle set up their hall, they’ll stick their spoon in the pot.” Ryshad looked down at me and grinned. “I’ll be needing to know just what’s being said over the ale tankards and round the trading halls if I’m to keep one move ahead of the game.”

  “Naturally,” I agreed, my own smile widening. Pride that Ryshad’s talents had finally won due recognition warmed me even more than the prospect of the fun ahead.

  “For the moment,” continued Ryshad, “I’ll be answering to myself first and foremost. Temar’s said as much. He’ll make his case when he wants something done, or send the captain of his cohort.” I felt a chuckle deep in Ryshad’s chest. “I should have made a bet with you, against us ever seeing Halice take a Tormalin Sieur’s oath.”

  “Halice?” I gaped. “She’s to be his captain, oaths given and received and the full ceremony?”

  “He asked her today and she said yes. She’ll be wearing D’Alsennin’s badge just as soon as he can find a silversmith to make it.” Ryshad’s approval was evident. “He reckons she’s proven herself five times over. She’s more than ready to take his amulet and earn some rights in the land she’s been fighting over for a change.”

  “Sorgrad and ’Gren won’t be impressed,” I said without thinking. “They want to see what the summer’s fighting’s turned up in Lescar.”

  I felt Ryshad stiffen. “You’re staying this side of the ocean though.”

  “I am,” I assured him. “I’m with Halice on this one. Sorgrad and ’Gren can go off with some hare-brained scheme to get rich quick and welcome. We reckon it’s time to play the long game.”

  “We’ll all make sure the rewards are worth the costs.” Ryshad let his arm fall from my shoulder and reached into the inner pocket of his jerkin. He brought out a bronze medallion. It wasn’t the one I’d seen him wear because he’d handed that back to Messire D’Olbriot along with his oath.

  “Aiten would have liked it here,” I said softly.

  “He would, him and Geris, wouldn’t you say?” Ryshad sorted through a handful of nails to find one for the loop where a leather thong had hung the medallion around his friend’s neck.

  I smiled. “He’d have been desperate to get involved with ’Sar and Guinalle’s studies.”

  Ryshad shifted the door so he could see the inner face. One day it would be invisible beneath tokens of vows made and boons sought from the gods but for the moment it was unblemished. “Have we settled that score with the Elietimm?”

  “I think so.” There was no incense here yet but I found a few fragrant curls of wood shavings and piled them on the plinth. Ryshad watched me take a sparkmaker out of my pocket. He struck the nail square on the head and Aiten’s amulet was fixed to the door. I lit the shavings and hoped the smoke would carry the sound to the Otherworld. Maybe somehow, somewhere, they’d know they were avenged.

  Ryshad slowly lowered his hammer, gazing out of the doorway. “Will you marry me?”

  It wasn’t a proposal, not with the weight of the question all on the first word nor yet one of those challenges that dares you to say no. He sounded merely curious but I knew my answer had to strike that same balance between lightness and significance. It wasn’t a question he was asking idly, not now we could see a life ahead of us that we might share on equal terms.

  “This mid-summer? No. My hair would be nowhere near long enough for a wedding plait and it’ll probably still be this horrible colour. Equinox? Winter Solstice? Unlikely. I can’t see me wanting to get caught up in such a fuss. Next year? The year after? Five years hence? I’ve no idea. I don’t know that I’ll ever want to wed.” My heart pounded as I gambled on complete honesty. “I can be certain I don’t want to be without you. I can’t imagine my life without you. I won’t be going anywhere without you at my side.”

  Ryshad nodded slowly but did not speak.

  “That’s the best answer I can give you.” I waited.

  Ryshad turned and tossed the hammer aside so he could fold me in his arms. “That’s more than enough for me. As long as I have you, I have everything I could ever want.”

  I kissed him and it was enough, more than enough, for that blissful moment and, as far as I could see, it always would be.

  —«»—«»—«»—

  [scanned anonymously in a galaxy far far away]

  [A Proofpack Release]

  [September 28, 2005- v1, html]

  Table of Contents

  The Assassin’s Edge

  Acknowledgements

  Contents

  Maps

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE