by Martha Wells
“He was better as the warleader,” Ilias put in.
“Oh.” Tremaine rubbed her brow, wondering if it was too late to run screaming. “That’s good to know.”
Giliead led the way along the portico to a large double doorway. Tremaine darted a look past him to see a short hallway leading into a round high-ceilinged room that seemed to be completely crammed with people. Tiers of benches circled the room all the way up to the mosaic ceiling, where little square windows let in light and air. From her earlier briefing, Tremaine knew the lower levels were occupied by the male heads of household and the younger sons and daughters. The female heads of the household sat up on the top tier. Men, even the male heads of household, couldn’t speak without the female head of household’s presence. Giliead, as Chosen Vessel, was the only one exempt from the rules.
As they entered the room, everyone stopped talking and stared at Tremaine. Somehow she hadn’t quite expected that. Ilias nudged her with his arm, not trying to get her attention, but in a Syprian way of showing support. She saw Karima, seated on the top tier and wrapped in an azure stole, wave at them.
Tremaine followed them to the only empty space left, a couple of tiers up where Halian was already seated. She shuffled into a spot next to him as Giliead elbowed room for himself and Ilias on the bench just above. People started to talk among themselves again, but more softly. Then, across the room, Nicanor got to his feet.
He spoke well, making the events of the past two days into a story for his rapt listeners. Listening to him describe Vienne and Port Rel through Ilias’s eyes almost distracted Tremaine from the nervous clenching in her stomach. But hearing herself depicted as some sort of hero made her deeply uncomfortable.
The moment when he revealed the fact that Ixion was still alive distracted her from her own concerns. The room went deadly still, the horrified silence seeming to stretch forever. Wincing in sympathy, Tremaine sneaked a look over her shoulder. Giliead’s expression was as revealing as a brick wall, but Ilias looked angry and defensive enough for both of them.
When Nicanor finished, Tremaine tensed, her stomach cramping with stage fright, knowing she would be called on next. Then at least ten people leapt to their feet, each clamoring to express an opinion.
“This is impossible. They are wizards.”
“They’re like the Chaeans, their wizards aren’t mad.”
“That’s no recommendation, we’ve fought with the Chaeans for decades!”
“The light-keepers saw that giant thing, run by curses!”
“They saw it destroy our enemies!”
Repeat until blind with boredom, Tremaine thought sometime later. Visolela and Karima had both answered some serious questions posed by a few of the female heads of household, all the while warily eyeing each other. Nicanor only occasionally interrupted the confusion on the lower floor, to correct a point of fact or to slap down a particularly outrageous statement, but mostly he kept his seat with a politely interested expression. Tremaine’s respect for him as a politician increased; this was taking forever, but nobody would be able to claim afterward that they hadn’t gotten a chance to have their say. Halian, on the other hand, looked bored and annoyed and made an irritated huffing noise whenever anyone said anything too stupid. Giliead was wearing his closed, impossible-to-read face; it would have looked more daunting if Ilias hadn’t nodded off and slumped over against his arm. The air in the room was warm, and Tremaine was starting to drift a little herself.
Then across the room a tall spare man with the lean face of an ascetic stood up. Several of the others standing and waiting to speak immediately sat down.
Halian sat up, suddenly alert, and leaned over to whisper, “That’s Pella.” Giliead didn’t react as far as she could tell, but he must have tensed, because Ilias sat up abruptly, blearily awake.
The real opposition, Tremaine thought, eyeing Pella.
He surveyed the room thoughtfully, waiting until he had everyone’s attention. Finally, he said, “What guarantee do we have that these wizards will deal with us as equals?”
“We don’t.” Nicanor got to his feet, unhurriedly but without implying that he was stalling for time. “There are no guarantees in any alliance, any agreement, between strangers.”
Pella lifted a brow, managing to give the impression that he was reluctant to correct the lawgiver. “Between strangers, yes.” His expression hardened. “But all here know that those who make themselves wizards don’t think of us as strangers, but as cattle.”
Tremaine was on her feet, saying, “Excuse me,” before her wits caught up to her. The room was deathly quiet, and everyone stared at her expectantly. She realized she had inadvertently taken the floor from Pella, something only a woman could do in this council. Having the entire room’s suddenly riveted attention was not a pleasant experience, but instinct told her she should field this question. Nicanor couldn’t argue in abstracts forever, no matter how good a rhetorical speaker he was, Visolela was disinclined to argue at all, and Karima knew nothing about Ile-Rien except the little she had been told.
Tremaine cleared her throat. “Most of our people aren’t wizards. I’m not. The captain of the giant ship is not. Our Queen—” She realized she had used the Rienish word; there was no Syrnaic equivalent. She substituted hurriedly, “—Matriarch and her heirs and the members of her council are not. There is nothing in our law anywhere that says a sorcerer’s interest takes precedence over that of any other person.” Finding herself unable to sustain the formal tone, she added with a shrug and a wry smile, “We’re more likely to cheat you because we have politicians than because we have wizards.”
A faint murmur rose as everyone talked that over. Pella eyed her for a moment, something she was beginning to recognize as a rhetorical device. He said, “If you truly mean to accept us as equals, then prove it. Prove it with a marriage alliance. Let her align herself with—” He hesitated, but it was a calculated pause, a tactical moment to sweep the room with a glance and make sure he had his audience’s attention. “With the Andrien House. With Ilias.”
Tremaine blinked. Did he just say what I think he said? She looked at the others for help. They were staring at Pella. Ilias was struggling to keep his expression blank, but the flush of red under his tanned skin laid bare his feelings. Giliead’s face had suffused with anger, Halian’s lip curled with contempt. A glance up at the top tier of seats showed her Karima, sitting up stiffly, her hands knotted in her stole.
Baffled, Tremaine turned back to Pella, who waited with lifted brows, inviting her opinion. Then realization hit. Oh, I get it. She smiled at him through gritted teeth. Ilias’s curse mark made him almost a nonperson in the cities of the Syrnai; a Syprian woman would never have accepted this offer. The fact that it meant humiliating Ilias in front of the council and his family was obviously just an added bonus. The only thing that made it bearable was the enormous satisfaction she was about to derive from knocking Pella right off his self-congratulatory little pedestal. “Is that a serious offer?”
Pella’s expression of calm confidence hardened just a little. Before he could reply, she continued, “It sounds like that would be the Andrien family’s business. But if they made the offer…” She hesitated for effect, mockingly copying Pella’s rhetorical pause. “I would be happy to accept it.” Oh. Wait. Suddenly uncertain, she leaned down to Ilias, asking in a whisper, “Is that all right with you?”
He looked startled. “What?”
Nicanor was on his feet now. “Is that your condition, Pella? A marriage alliance between Andrien and—” He looked inquiringly at Tremaine, who supplied automatically, “Valiarde.”
Pella’s lips thinned, but he obviously recognized that it was too late for anybody to back out, especially him. “Yes, that is my condition.”
Nicanor turned back to them. “Is it agreeable to Andrien?”
Giliead and Halian stared blankly at each other as if nobody had ever wanted to marry anyone in their family before, and they had no more i
dea how to handle it than Tremaine did. She knew Halian had been married at least twice; surely he remembered something of the details. Then she saw with relief that Karima had left her place on the top tier of benches and was determinedly making her way down, stepping on the people who weren’t fast enough to get out of her way. She stepped over the last bench, catching Halian’s hand to steady herself, and leaned over to Tremaine, asking softly, “You said Gerard can speak for your family?”
“He’s not my guardian anymore, but he’s a trustee of the estate, so, sure.” Stop babbling, she told herself urgently.
Some of those words had no equivalent in Syrnaic, but Karima must have gotten the drift of it. She nodded sharply. “Let’s go talk to him.” She took Tremaine’s hand, firmly leading her down the steps and away without a glance at anyone else.
Once they were out of the council chamber and into the corridor between the buildings, Karima released Tremaine so she could unwrap her stole and shake out her hair. Without looking at her, Karima said, “Is this just for an alliance?”
Tremaine felt sweat break out all over her body though it was cooler out here than in the council chamber. “No,” she found herself saying.
Karima stopped to face her, her expression intent, guarded but hopeful. “You would want to take him back to your land?”
“I don’t have a land anymore. Even if we drive the Gardier away—” Tremaine took a deep breath. She had the distinctly contrary sensation of her mind being blank but her thoughts racing. It was uncomfortable. “I’ll have to stay with the Ravenna until we find out one way or another if there’s a chance to go back. Unless they throw me off the ship, which is always a possibility.” You’re babbling again. “But one way or another—I wouldn’t ask him to go back,” she finished awkwardly.
Karima nodded seriously. She started toward the steps out into the plaza, saying, “If you decide to go back to your land, then he will still be better off. Men who have been married once aren’t subject to the family laws.”
Following her, Tremaine nodded, not sure she was taking it all in.
Gerard and Ander, sitting on the steps of the lawgiver’s house, stood up as they saw Tremaine. Gerard frowned in consternation, and Ander demanded, “It’s over? What’s happened?”
Tremaine stopped in front of them, looking expectantly at Karima, who lifted her brows slightly. Tremaine realized she needed to do the talking. She braced herself, giving them both what she hoped was a confident expression. First things first: get rid of Ander. “Karima and I need to speak to Gerard alone.”
Ander’s frown deepened, and he threw a sharp look at Gerard, but he retreated back out of earshot without further protest.
Gerard lifted his brows, puzzled. “Tremaine?”
She cleared her throat. Her teeth wanted to chatter from nerves, and she had to clamp her jaw to stop it, which made it difficult to talk. “It’s going well; well, there’s a lot of arguing, but—They want a marriage alliance, so I’m going to marry Ilias.”
Gerard blinked. “You…you what?”
“You have to give us something. A boat, land, cattle, something of value,” Karima put in, her voice a little concerned. “It doesn’t matter to me, but if it’s too little, then it seems as if you don’t value him.”
“I see.” Tremaine nodded, not sure she did see but willing to work with Karima. She did have land, a house and a lot of property not leased to the Viller Institute, but it was all on currently Gardier-occupied war-torn territory. She also had an art collection if the Gardier didn’t find or destroy the hidden vaults. Then she remembered the gold coins she had taken out of the family deposit box at the bank to pay the forger. “I’ve got gold, Rienish gold reals. They’re each four ounces of solid gold, or really about 90 percent gold with trace metals. You can melt them down, or you might like them just as they are. They have the royal seal on them, and they won’t be made anymore, so—” Stop it. She should tell Gerard she was hysterical and ask him to slap her. “I don’t have them with me, but they’re on the boat. The ship.”
Karima was nodding, smiling in relief. She drew her stole around her. “That will be perfect. We don’t use gold, but the merchants from Argot will trade a lot of grain for it.” She threw Gerard a look, obviously noting that he had something to say on the subject. “Come back when you’re ready.”
Tremaine watched Karima walk back to the council house, then turned reluctantly to Gerard. At least he looked more grim than incredulous. He said, “Are you actually seriously contemplating this?”
Tremaine gestured erratically. Maybe I am out of my mind. But then, didn’t I know that already? “Yes. It’s perfect. It’s what they want. Actually they don’t want it, but they’ve suggested it, and now they can’t get out of it. I’m in there too. I mean, I think it’s a good idea.”
Gerard rubbed his face, possibly trying to calm himself. “Tremaine, you can’t.”
She nodded rapidly. “I can, actually.”
He said tightly, “Your father entrusted me—”
She gestured, impatient. “Gerard, we both know if my father was alive, he wouldn’t give a damn—”
“I’m afraid we both do not know that—”
“And if he did, we wouldn’t know until it was too late. And by the way, I’m doing it anyway.”
Gerard let out a frustrated breath and looked away.
Tremaine waited uncomfortably. If it was a tactic, it was working. Unable to help herself, she said, “What are you thinking?”
Gerard regarded her. “I’m thinking it’s typical of you that you can’t explain how a steam engine works, but you can give the weight and metallurgic contents of a gold real.”
While she was trying to decide how to respond to that, Ander returned, his face dark with impatience. “Will you tell me what the hell the problem is?”
“I’ll explain,” Gerard said sharply.
“I’m getting married,” Tremaine told him, suddenly enjoying herself.
The incredulous expression on Ander’s face was classic. “What?”
“Tremaine—” Gerard began warningly.
“Wait, wait. Can I borrow your notebook?” As Gerard reluctantly handed it over, Tremaine told him, “We need to send for the coins.” She thought for a moment about whom she trusted to go through her things, then wrote a note to Florian, asking her to take the leather document case out of her bag and send it to her.
“What is this?” Ander demanded, looking at Gerard. “What is she talking about?”
“I don’t know, why don’t you ask her?” Tremaine said. She tore the page out, folded it, and handed it to an unwilling Gerard. “I’m going back in.” She made her escape before either man could object.
Halian and Nicanor had moved to the far side of the chamber, talking intently amid the babble of other conversations. Pella had not been invited to join them, and he stood watching, his face tight with tension and thwarted anger. To Ilias, he looked like a man who had realized he had made a fool of himself and was all the more determined to make somebody pay for it. He also noticed a lot of people were staring at him, and not for the usual reasons.
Giliead had gone off with Halian, but now came back to sit down on the step next to Ilias, asking quietly, “How do you feel about this?”
Good question, Ilias thought. He wished he had the answer. “We want an alliance,” he said to avoid it. He shrugged. “Even if it’s Pella’s idea, it’s the best way.”
Giliead’s lips thinned in irritation. “That wasn’t what I asked.”
Ilias rubbed his eyes. Everyone was still watching them, or at least it felt like everyone. Giliead, of course, wouldn’t care. The laws didn’t give the Chosen Vessel any special authority in marriage matters, but if Giliead decided to argue against it, there would be few who would oppose him.
Silk brushed his arm, and he looked up to see Visolela standing over them. She was trembling with anger, her lovely face flushed as she demanded, “Are you going to allow him to do this?”<
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Ilias stared at her. “Me?”
Giliead just looked at her. It was a badly timed question, since Giliead must be in the middle of deciding just that. He said, coldly, “Go away.”
She stared down at them, the flush deepening, then gathered her skirts and walked back down the tiers.
Giliead watched her go. “This could turn out badly.”
He wasn’t talking about Visolela; they already knew that was going to turn out badly. Ilias snapped, “And I just wouldn’t know what to do, since nothing bad’s ever happened to me before.”
Giliead’s jaw set, but his expression said he knew exactly how conflicted Ilias was. Ilias looked away.
Halian returned, taking the seat just below them. He looked up at Ilias seriously. “Well? Do you want to do this?”
People keep asking me that. “Will they really agree to the alliance if I do?”
Halian persisted, “If you’re just doing this for the alliance, tell Karima now.”
“If I’m not just doing it for the alliance, when do you want me to tell her?”
Halian swore in frustration. Giliead muttered something inaudible but obviously not complimentary. Ilias told him sharply, “You can stay out of this now.”
Karima returned, the muttered babble of conversations quieting as she crossed the room. They stood up as she reached them. Karima lowered her voice, reporting, “She said she wouldn’t expect you to go back to their land.”
Giliead let out his breath, and Ilias couldn’t help feeling gratified at the relief on his face. He was aware of the knot in his chest easing. He told them, “Yes, I’ll do it.”
Chapter 6
The story changed depending on who told it and when, but Giliead said most often that when Ilias was a young boy, his father told him they were going to town, but they took a horse and went the long way through the hills. He put Ilias down and told him he would come back for him later. It was windy but Ilias was more bored than cold, and he started to build a fort out of rocks. Enough time went by for the fort to get fairly elaborate. He went to look for sticks to make the boats, and that’s when he found the little bones and the skull.