by J F Rivkin
If any of those thieves tried to stop them they were probably trampled to death.
Thoroughbreds can be quite vicious.”
Corson smiled, cheered at the thought of the bandits’ undoing. “That bird smells good.”
Nyctasia had slit the skin and stuck in pieces of wild garlic, then stuffed the cavity around the spit with aromatic grasses. “When I took up the study of herb lore, I little thought of such homely arts as this,” she said, “but I’ve found it most useful for seasoning game.”
“I can guess why you studied such things, Lady,” Corson muttered. “You breed horses no one can steal, you heal wounds overnight, why can’t you use your powers to defend yourself?”
“Corson, it took me years to breed those horses. I had to lay spells on four generations of the bloodline before it produced the traits I wanted. Most magic requires long, painstaking preparation, like anything else-it’s of no use for felling one’s enemies at a moment’s notice. There isn’t time!”
“But you had time enough to lay spells on the Teiryn family.”
Nyctasia laughed. “I suppose I could breed a fatal disease into the Teiryn line, but, don’t you see, I’d need their complete cooperation to do it. The Teiryn may be stupid, but they’re not horses. Besides, I tried to tell you before-it’s far more difficult to kill with magic than to heal. The reason is perfectly plain if you consider the matter…” Nyctasia’s voice had taken on an ardent, lecturing tone which Corson was beginning to recognize.
“I knew I’d be sorry I asked for this explanation,” she said, yawning.
Nyctasia ignored her. “The body naturally desires to mend itself. A healing spell only has to enhance inclinations that are already present-there’s no resistance. Whereas, in order to afflict-”
“Enough! I see!” Corson interrupted. “And I’ll wager you could tell me the contrary and make it seem just as convincing.” Her opinion was more or less that if Lady Nyctasia were telling the whole truth, then she, Corson, was Empress of Liruvath. “What I want to know,” she continued, “is, were you lying about that money of yours in Chiastelm?”
For a moment. Nyctasia was profoundly shocked and outraged. To be accused of murder and sorcerous evildoing was unfortunate, but to be suspected of a vulgar and base deception was an insufferable affront to her honor. An Edonaris might poison an enemy, if it were expedient, but would never stoop to cheating on a debt. Nyctasia had fought duels over lesser insults, but there was no way to demand satisfaction from a professional swordswoman like Corson.
She gazed into the fire, silent, until she had mastered her indignation, then said reprovingly, “I am an Edonaris.”
“You are a liar! An excellent liar, if I remember rightly.”
“Not where my honor is concerned. You’ll be paid for your services, never fear.”
Corson bowed. “Pray forgive my offense, Your Ladyship, but I’ve never before served a noblewoman who played the minstrel in a tavern, or cursed by Asye, either. If you don’t respect your own rank, how should I?”
Despite herself, Nyctasia could not keep back a smile. “I’ve never before had a guard as ready with her tongue as with her sword. Consider yourself fortunate that a lady doesn’t lower herself to duel with a social inferior!”
“Oh, I do,” snorted Corson, “very fortunate. Let’s eat.”
***
They concluded their plans as they approached the port town of Chiastelm, “We’d best settle our accounts first,” said Nyctasia. “I know you’re anxious about your money. I do business with a reliable moneychanger on Market Street-we can go there straightaway,” She paused. “I want to take a cargo ship out of port tonight, but I’d rather the crew didn’t see me before we sail. Can you arrange passage for me?”
“Gladly. But how will I get word to you? Where will you be hiding?”
“I own property just outside of town, an old house overlooking the sea. It’s been closed up for years-it’s supposed to be haunted. I’d thought of going there.”
“I know the place, the old Smugglers’ House. But mightn’t your family look for you there?”
“I doubt they’re so determined to find me that they’ll search every town on the coast. They’ll think themselves well rid of me… still, perhaps I should just take a room in a cheap sailors’ inn-someplace out of the way where they don’t ask questions.”
“It’s The Crow’s Nest you want. No one there wishes to be recognized.”
“It sounds charming.”
“It will be a new experience for you, milady. I’ll meet you there after I’ve seen to your passage. Do you want to take the first ship out of port, wherever it’s bound?”
Nyctasia hesitated. She was not accustomed to revealing her plans to anyone, but she would have to trust Corson this far. “Get me passage to Lhestreq, if you can. What are your plans now?” she asked, turning the subject as she always did when questioned about her own affairs.
Corson smiled. “The first thing I mean to do is get flaming drunk at The Jugged Hare-the owner is an old friend of mine. He’s a darling man, big as a giant and handsome as they come… with green eyes and a bushy black beard,” she added dreamily.
Nyctasia shrugged. “I prefer them clean-shaven, myself. I like to be able to see their faces.”
“Have you got a pretty face waiting in Lhestreq?”
“Inland from Lhestreq,” Nyctasia admitted. “And very pretty indeed.”
“What does he look like?”
“Well, he’s very dark, all except for his eyes-sapphire blue eyes. And he has long, black hair. I like long hair,” she teased.
Corson looked away, blushing.
“He’s lean,” Nyctasia continued, “no taller than most, but he has long, muscled legs… hollowed hips…”
“Mmm,” said Corson appreciatively.
“… and a fine prominent collarbone, all ridge and shadow-I’ve missed that collarbone.”
“I can see why you didn’t marry your cousin.”
“There was no lack of reasons for refusing him.”
“Do you mean to marry the one with the collarbone?”
Nyctasia shook her head. Among families of the highest nobility, marriage was purely a matter of political convenience-a way of confirming an alliance or establishing a dynasty. As far as Nyctasia was concerned, love was a matter quite unrelated to wedlock. “I see no reason for it. Do you mean to marry that bearded giant of yours?”
“I don’t know-maybe someday. But I couldn’t spend all my life in Chiastelm. I get restless. And I’m dangerous when I’m bored,” she said, only half joking.
Nyctasia smiled. “Perhaps you’ll grow bored with wandering, someday.”
“That’s what Steifann says. He had his fill of traveling when he was a boy on the boats, and now he has his own place he means to stick to it.” Corson gazed absently into the distance. “He’s been right about most things,” she admitted.
They rode in silence for a time, each lost in her own thoughts.
When they were within a few miles of the city gates, Nyctasia turned the horses loose and drove them off. “I want to enter the city on foot. A poor student doesn’t own horses like these.”
Before she’d learned of their strange pedigree, Corson had hoped to have the fine horses in fee, but now she watched them trot off without much regret. “But won’t they come back to you again?”
“Not if I send them away myself. They’ll return to my stables, and I pity anyone who tries to stop them.” She looked down at her stained and bedraggled attire.
“I suppose I look as though I’ve been walking for days,” she said, scuffing her boots in the dust of the road. “I certainly feel like it.” She cut herself a stout branch for a staff and blunted one end against a rock to make it look travel-worn.
Corson watched her with distrust and a certain grudging admiration. “Lady, you have the cunning of a sneak-thief.”
“And that’s another thing-take care you don’t call me ‘Lady’ once
we’re in the city. Only one person in all Chiastelm knows who I am.”
“The moneychanger.”
“Well, no, in point of fact, I-”
“No?!” shouted Corson. She advanced on Nyctasia menacingly. “Was anything you told me the truth? What about my money? What about your rutting honor?”
“Now Corson, don’t be hasty-listen to me,” said Nyctasia quickly. “I can explain!”
9
nyctasia was well-known at the humble establishment of Vroehin the Moneychanger.
But she was known as an impertinent messenger-boy from the household of the Lord Heirond, an elderly, bedridden nobleman who had never laid eyes on her. He would have been most surprised to learn that large sums had been deposited in his name with one of the lesser-known banking houses on lower Market Street.
As they approached the entrance, Nyctasia held her shoulders straighter and put a jaunty swagger into her walk. Her grey eyes were bright with amusement as she surveyed the shop. It hadn’t changed. Thin, middle-aged Vroehin still bent over his table of measuring rods and scales, his young daughter perched on her tall stool behind the counter, ready to record the day’s transactions.
Nyctasia flashed them her cockiest grin. “Good luck to this house!” she said in a voice both louder and mellower than usual.
“Well, wait. Master Rastwin-we’ve not seen you here in some time. Mellis has been pining away for you.”
“Father!” chirped the girl, “I have not!”
“Why not?” Nyctasia demanded, drifting in the direction of the comely young bookkeeper. “Still hard-hearted as ever, and me dreaming of you by night and day?”
Vroehin snagged her by the belt and pulled her back. “Let’s hear your business, youngster.”
“My lord’s instructions are, you’re to pay this ruffian what she asks. Asye knows what she’s done to earn it. Cut someone’s throat, I shouldn’t wonder.” She winked at Mellis. “Nice company for a gentle lad like me!”
Corson gestured threateningly at her, “Keep a civil tongue in your head, boy, if you value that pretty face of yours!” She joined Vroehin at the counting table.
Nyctasia backed away, laughing insolently, and leaned over Mellis’s counter.
“Mellis wouldn’t let you touch me-she’d scratch your eyes out first, wouldn’t you, Song of my Heart?”
“Someone ought to give you a good beating, you pest. Maybe that would teach you some manners.” She surveyed Nyctasia critically. “And how did you lose your earrings? Gambling again?”
“Cards,” said Nyctasia promptly, “are my only weakness, aside from beautiful, cruel, passionate girls. But next time I’ll win, and buy you a gold locket, honeycomb.” She hoisted herself lightly up on the counter and tugged at one of Mellis’s yellow braids.
The girl tossed her head. “Oh, I’ve heard about you,”‘ she lied. “It’s not just for your insolence that Lord Heirond keeps you!”
“Well, and what’s the harm to you if I warm an old man’s bed for him now and then, you selfish wench? There’s plenty of me left for you.” She snatched the girl’s hand and kissed it. Mellis swatted her.
“Father!”
Without looking up from his counting, Vroehin snapped. “Get off of there!”
“Just as you say,” said Nyctasia, and leaped down on Mellis’s side of the counter.
Corson heard scuffling and Mellis giggling, “Behave!” She was torn between watching Nyctasia’s performance and watching the moneychanger count out her pay.
The money won.
“Quite the young rake,” she said, after Vroehin had collared Nyctasia and shown them both the door. They walked up Market Street. “What if that girl decides to marry you?”
Nyctasia smiled. “Oh, Mellis may flirt with a good-looking rascal, but she’s not fool enough to marry one. She’s engaged to a steady, hardworking apprentice at one of the best financial houses.” Her voice was warm with affection and respect. “That one’s sharp as a spur! Only fourteen, and she’s been keeping Vroehin’s accounts for two years.”
Corson walked on in moody silence. “Do you use magic to make them think you a boy?” she said at last.
“No need for that. I don’t make them think it, I let them think it. People see what they expect,” She threw back her head with a sudden boyish grin that made Corson want to cuff her. When she looked at Nyctasia now she could see the mocking youth who had been there all the time. She spat.
“No wonder everyone in Rhostshyl wants you dead!”
“Don’t be jealous, my sweeting,” Nyctasia said smugly, “why, the girl means nothing to me!” She dodged out of Corson’s reach, laughing, then suddenly resumed her usual stance and manner. They had come to the market square. “This is where we part company. You’ll get the rest of your money tonight.”
Corson stared at her, exasperated. This was like snatching at a gadfly. “I’m going this way,” she growled, pointing to the busy thoroughfare. “I’ll meet you tonight at The Crow’s Nest and take you to the docks. All I want is to see the last of you.”
Nyctasia bowed. “Until tonight, then. Don’t keep me waiting-I’ll be counting the moments till we meet!”
10
nyctasia took a roundabout route to the home of Maegor the Herbalist, circling back erratically through the tangled side streets till she was satisfied that no one followed. When she entered the apothecary’s shop, Maegor merely glanced up and waved her into the back room without a word. Then, when her customer had gone, she locked the front door and joined Nyctasia among the shelves of jars and mortars.
Maegor was a handsome, hill-bred woman, serene and thoughtful, and not much given to talk. She was one of the few people Nyctasia trusted.
“I love the way it smells in here, Maeg. It makes me feel calm, and that’s not easily done.”
Nyctasia had already fetched her belongings from their hiding place beneath a loose flagstone. She slid a chest back over the cache and perched on top of it.
The herbalist embraced her. “’Tasia, I thought you’d been killed! There were all sorts of rumors-”
“Good,” said Nyctasia. “Don’t let it be known that I’m alive. So many people would be disappointed.” She took some dried fruit from a bin and nibbled at it.
“You mean to leave for good, then. Is there no other way?”
“Maeg, my life isn’t worth a copper in Rhostshyl! It’s not only that my Great-Uncle Brethald tried to poison me-”
“Is he the one who died recently?”
Nyctasia did not seem to hear the question. “But,” she continued, “the Teiryns are howling for my blood, the stupid swine, and when I engaged a mercenary escort, I found she’d already been hired to kill me. By both Edonaris and Teiryn.”
“Nyctasia! You’re making that up.”
“You know me better than that, Maeg. As if I’d invent a story so improbable!”
Maegor sighed. “Yes, your lies are always more convincing than the truth. And what became of this mercenary?”
“Oh, I kept her, of course. She seemed to consider it a professional triumph to cheat two employers at once.” Nyctasia laughed. “I like her.”
“You would. A hired killer! Was there no one you could trust among your own guard?”
“I’d be long dead if there weren’t. But my people are Rhostshylid-how could I ask them to go into exile with me?” She began to pace about the narrow storeroom. “If they ever returned to the city after that they’d be condemned as traitors.” Nyctasia kept her doubts to herself. Her own people would have been a constant reminder to her of the duties she was abandoning, the responsibilities of her rank. Better to travel with someone like Corson, whose lack of respect for her was rather a relief. “At least a hired killer can be bribed,” she remarked to Maegor. “It’s the sort with a personal grievance that’s really dangerous.”
“’Tasia, I think I’d rather not hear these things.” She took Nyctasia’s hand, which was sticky from the dried fruit. “Come wash up, a
nd I’ll give you a meal.
You look scruffy as a vagabond student.”
“I can’t stay that long, Maeg,” Nyctasia said regretfully. There was nothing she would have preferred to a bath. “I’m supposed to look like a vagabond student, anyway. Maybe I should put a few more patches on this cloak.”
Maegor shook her head. “I’ll fetch you some scraps of cloth.”
Nyctasia looked through the valuables she’d left with Maegor, picked out those she wanted, and replaced the rest under the floorstone.
Maegor returned with the cloth. “What are you doing?”
“The rest of this is yours. I can’t take all of it with me.”
“I’ll keep it for you then. You may need it. You’ll be back one day.”
“I’d be crazy to come back!”
“You are crazy. All the Edonaris are crazy.”
Nyctasia smiled sadly. “Maeg-”
“If I need the money I’ll use it, ’Tasia,” Maegor said firmly. She held out needle and thread.
Nyctasia could sew neatly enough for a noblewoman who rarely did such things for herself. But now she added the extra patches with a student’s stitches, hasty-looking and irregular.
“How do I look?”
“Disreputable.”
“I’m ready, then,” She took out a letter sealed with plain, unstamped wax. It was an order for the release of certain prisoners, Rhavor’s young servant among them. “Will you see that this is sent, next week when I’m well away from here?
Give it to a traveler, someone who doesn’t know you, and if you’re asked-”
“I know, my dear. Say a stranger gave it me.”
“Yes, isn’t it exhausting? This sort of thing leaves me no time for my studies.
Imagine what it will mean to be someplace safe, where I needn’t constantly scheme to stay alive.”
Maegor appreciated the vagueness of Nyctasia’s “someplace.” Nyctasia never gave herself away. The vahn alone knew what this devious existence was making of her.