They made their preparations for travel as the camp was dismantled around them.
"Is the whole group coming?" asked Ironfoot.
"No," said Je Wen. "It's time to move camp. There will be a quake today. This valley will split open like a wound."
The tents were loaded up into the goat carts, but all of the furniture, and most of the bric-a-brac that had been inside the tents, was left on the ground.
"To feed the bound gods," said Je Wen with a knowing smile.
They were ready to go, but Lin Vo's tent was still standing, and she had yet to appear.
"Won't we see her again?" asked Sela, distraught.
"She has said all she has to say," said Je Wen, shrugging. "Let's go."
A pregnant woman approached Je Wen and handed him a shoulder bag stuffed with what appeared to be provisions.
"My wife," said Je Wen. He patted her stomach gently. "And my son," he said, smiling.
Je Wen kissed his wife gently on the cheek. She said something in Arami, clearly an admonition, and he put his hand on her cheek. She turned and went back to her tent, unsmiling.
"I imagine she's not thrilled with your leaving," said Silverdun.
"I'll be back in plenty of time to see the child born," said Je Wen.
He led them through the emptying camp, opposite the direction of the carts.
"We won't be taking one of those?" said Timha, despondent, pointing at the carts.
"Not where we're going," said Je Wen. "I hope you all know how to climb."
They set off. When they reached the far rim of the valley, Ironfoot looked back. Lin Vo was standing in front of the line of fully packed carts, facing them. She seemed to be looking directly at Ironfoot. Then she turned around and walked past the carts, until Ironfoot could no longer see her.
Then the goat and the bear were married and lived together all their days. And whether it was that the goat became mad or the bear became sane, no one will ever know.
from 'The Goat and the Bear,'' Seelie fable
he first day they did little but walk through endless fields of wild grain and across windswept rocks. They stopped a few times to eat the food that Je Wen had packed, but spoke little.
Silverdun and Ironfoot had boundless energy and were able to keep up with Je Wen easily, but Sela was still exhausted, and had refused to be spellrested. Timha had spellrested himself but was still miserable. He was clearly unused to exercising any part of him other than his mind, and his boots were unsuited for hiking. He spent most of the morning gasping for breath and asking constantly to stop for rest.
Silverdun was growing sick of Timha. When Timha wasn't complaining about his feet or his exhaustion or the meager nourishment, he was feeling sorry for himself. A small but growing part of Silverdun felt like slitting Timha's throat and putting them all out of their misery. As he pondered this, it occurred to him that a year ago the thought would never have come to mind. His experience as a Shadow was changing him, had already changed him.
They continued south, following the course of a river for a time.
"How far to Elenth?" Silverdun asked Je Wen when they crested a small rise only to see endless mountains before them.
"Two days," said Je Wen, pointing southwest. He looked back at Timha, who was straggling up the hill. "Three with him along."
Silverdun sighed. "And from there two days' ride to the border," he said. "Three days lost without our speedy yacht. I suppose it could be worse."
"It can always be worse," said Je Wen.
"Well said."
"We could shave off a few hours if you were willing to cut through the Contested Lands," said Je Wen. "I've traversed them before."
Silverdun had crossed the Contested Lands with Mauritane a year previously, and had no intention of ever returning. He told Je Wen so in no uncertain terms.
They continued in silence for the rest of the first day. Aside from the occasional rumble of a quake and the wind hissing through the stalks of grain, there was little sound. The few animals they saw fled quietly on sight. As they progressed, the ground grew ever steeper, and Timha's complaints increased in frequency and volume.
Night fell, and Silverdun and Ironfoot helped Je Wen gather wood for a fire while the others rested. Sela and Ironfoot had both been lost in thought for most of the day. Sela, particularly, was more withdrawn than Ironfoot had ever seen her.
When the fire was lit, and the rations passed around, a torpor settled around the camp. Je Wen stared into the fire, singing softly to himself in the Arami tongue. Ironfoot sat with Timha's satchel, poring through one of the books that Timha had packed. Timha passed out as soon as he'd finished eating.
"Would you like to go for a walk?" Silverdun asked Sela.
She looked up at him and smiled weakly. "Only if it's a very brief one," she said.
They walked slowly from the camp up to a ridge that overlooked a wide plain and the mountains beyond. The mountains were black in the moonlight.
Silverdun's feelings for Sela were as complicated as they'd ever been. His attraction to her had only grown over time as he'd gotten to know her. She was thoughtful, insightful, and she was strong in a way that he'd never expe rienced. But there was that deep darkness in her that lingered behind her eyes. The night they'd met, she'd looked into him with Empathy, and he'd pushed her out again. There had been something desperate in the connection and it had, frankly, frightened him.
"You seem strange tonight," Silverdun said softly.
"It's been a strange couple of days," she sighed.
"Agreed."
Silence.
"You spent a while alone with that Lin Vo woman," he finally said. "What did she tell you that's got you so pensive?"
"I'm not sure how to explain it," she said after a moment. "I could tell you the words, but I'm not sure it would make any sense to you. The words were the least of it. And some of what she said-well, I'm not sure I'd want you to know. She was very wise, Silverdun."
"She's a Premonitive," said Silverdun. "They always seem wise, but rarely does anything they say actually help anyone."
"No," said Sela. "She knew things. And she spoke to me in a way that no one has ever done. In a way that I believed only I knew how to speak."
There it was. The darkness. Whatever it was that had happened in Sela's childhood, which she never discussed, whatever it was that had landed her in Copperine House, it was there in her eyes.
"Who are you?" said Silverdun.
Sela leaned over and kissed his lips. She closed her eyes. Silverdun stiffened at first, then relaxed into her, kissing back. She opened her mouth, her lips going soft. But there was something hesitant in her kiss, something confused.
"Open yourself up to me, Perrin Alt," she said. "Let me feel you."
Silverdun felt uneasy and strangely guilty. But she was so close and felt so good. He relaxed the binding that protected him from her Gift of Empathy, and felt himself flowing into her and her into him. There was lust, and love, and a desperate longing. But whose emotions were whose very quickly became inseparable. She pressed against him and he held her tightly. She moaned quietly, drew her fingernails across his back as if trying to pull him into her.
He ran his fingers down her arm and touched the filigreed silver band around her arm. It was hot to the touch.
"Why do you still wear that thing?" he whispered. "I thought it was only for the guests at places like Copperine House."
"Shh," she said, moving his hand to her breast.
They sank to the ground, falling into one another. It felt so very good.
He reached to unlace her gown and she put up her hands to stop him.
"No," she said, pulling away. "I can't."
"It's easy," he said. "People do it every day."
"Not me," she whispered. "I've never kissed a man. I've never been touched like this."
The Empathy wavered between them and Silverdun put his arms around her, kissing her neck, trying to restore it. But it was too lat
e.
"I can never be that way with you," she said.
"Why not?" asked Silverdun, his insides constricting.
"Because I love you," she said. "And you don't love me."
She stood up and hurried off, back to camp, leaving Silverdun on the ground, stunned.
Perrin Alt, now Lord Silverdun, is engaged to be married. Gleia isn't clever. Or interesting. But she's gorgeous, and popular at court. And everyone approves of the union. Silverdun isn't in love with Gleia, nor she with him. But such unions have little to do with love, and everything to do with status and propriety.
Truth be told, Silverdun would prefer not to get married at all. But his friends at court have pressured him into it; an unmarried lord above a certain age raises questions. Better to get it over with and settle into a life of torrid and illicit affairs-which, his married friends assure him, are more exciting than the unmarried sort anyway.
Gleia insists on a massive, extravagant wedding. Silverdun has no objections; any excuse for a party, after all. He sends a message to Uncle Bresun asking for a rather large sum of money, and to be prepared for Gleia's assault on Oarsbridge Manor, with her lavish plans for decorations and accommodations and musicians and all that.
Instead of a lump sum and well-wishes, however, Silverdun receives a terse note demanding his presence at Oarsbridge. Alone.
Silverdun notices upon his arrival that his uncle has redecorated the manor house in a style more lavish by half than any his mother would approve of. Bresun himself, however, is nowhere to be found. He's in the village on business.
"Where is my mother?" Silverdun asks a maid, deciding that the time has come to see her. He's surprised by the maid's answer.
The servants' quarters are unadorned, but spotless. He finds his mother in a room at the end of the hall on the first floor. The room contains only the barest essentials, along with a few small portraits and likenesses of Silverdun and his father.
"Perrin," says Mother, putting aside a book of Arcadian poetry and embracing him. "It's so lovely to see you."
Silverdun hasn't seen his mother in over a year. Has, in fact, been scrupulously avoiding her since the debacle following his father's death. Clearly she's gone mad in the interim.
"Mother, you do realize that these are the servants' quarters, don't you?"
"I don't care for what your uncle has done in the manor house," says Mother, shrugging. "And I have everything I need here."
Silverdun sighs and sits on the bed. "You're really intent on carrying this Arcadian business as far as possible, aren't you?"
"Tell me about yourself," she says, sitting next to him, ignoring his remark. "I haven't seen you in so long."
"I know I should write more often," he says weakly.
"How are you?" she asks, waving away his half-apology. "Are you in love?"
"It's funny you ask," he says. "I'm getting married. I thought I should tell you in person."
"But are you in love?"
"Her name is Gleia. She's all the rage at court."
"Oh, Perrin."
"Now, Mother, don't be so sentimental. Were you in love with Father when you married him?"
"No," she admits. "But I wanted better for you. I tried so hard to ..." She trails off, starting to cry.
"Mother," says Silverdun, touching her arm. "You don't have to weep over me."
"I tried so hard to show you another way of living. A better way. I knew early on that you might not accept Aba, but I hoped that you would see that there is more to life than drinking and carrying on at court."
"Don't fret, Mother," says Silverdun, smiling. "I can assure you that I'm perfectly happy."
"And the fact that you are, or think you are, is the saddest thing of all. You were such a bright boy, Perrin. So sweet and so innocent. So good. How did I lose you? What did I do wrong?" She is openly crying now. Silverdun has never wanted to leave a room more.
"You didn't do anything. I'm prodigal by nature. If I was more decent as a child it was only from the nearness of you."
"There's still time for you," she says. "There's still time for you to decide what kind of man you want to be. You're very young yet."
"I'm old enough to be married," he says, a bit petulantly.
"Don't do it, Perrin. Don't marry that woman."
Silverdun is annoyed now. "You don't even know her," he says.
Mother laughs bitterly. "You don't think so? You don't think that I knew a hundred women just like her when I was at court myself? You think me naive, Perrin, but I can assure you that I've seen everything you have and more.
"I'm going to marry her, Mother. It's the smart choice."
"No," she says. "It's the easy choice. There's a difference."
"I shouldn't have come," he says.
"I'm sorry," she says, sitting up straight, wiping her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Perrin. I didn't want it to be like this. I'm just an old widow, sorting through my regrets and praying for forgiveness here in my tiny room."
"Will you come to the wedding?"
Mother sighs. "There isn't going to be any wedding, Perrin. You don't get that?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Talk to your uncle," says Mother. "And you think me naive."
"Well, this is all very mysterious," says Silverdun. "I'm going to go wait in the house-you know, where the family is supposed to live-and straighten this all out."
"I'm sorry, Perrin," she says.
"For what?"
She only smiles sadly and waits for him to go.
He finds Bresun waiting in his father's study, which Bresun clearly now thinks of as his own, from the framed Nyelcu degree to the hideous stuffed boar's head mounted on the wall.
"We have a problem," says Bresun.
"What's that?" asked Silverdun.
"I was under the impression that you had no intention of ever marrying, Perrin. 'A bachelor unto death,' isn't that what you told me?"
"Things change," says Silverdun. "It seems the thing to do."
"I'm afraid I can't allow it," says Bresun.
"I wasn't aware that you were in any position to allow or disallow me anything. I'm the lord here; you merely manage my estate."
Bresun strokes his mustache and sighs. "You are an immature fool. Did you really think that? Here all this time I was under the impression that you'd figured out what was going on here and had meekly accepted your lot in life."
"And what lot would that be?" asks Silverdun, thinking back to Mother's comment about naivete.
"I am Lord Silverdun, in all but name," says Bresun. "That you carry the title is but a formality. Over the past several years I've transferred all of the leases, all of the deeds, and all of the tax documents into my name. You have nothing except what I give you.
"But if you marry, then an awkward situation is created. Your lady love will no doubt wish to take up residence here at Oarsbridge, which I cannot allow. She will want to squeeze out little baby Silverduns, which does not conform to my plans at all."
"You cannot divest me of my title," says Silverdun. "I want you out of here."
Bresun laughs. "Did you hear what I said? All of those boring documents you've signed for me over the years assigned the ownership of everything you see around you to me. Your title is all you have left. And whatever monies I choose to send you. Which I will continue to send, so long as you call off this wedding."
"I can petition to have the lordship nullified," says Silverdun. "Yield everything to the Crown. You'd end up with nothing."
"And you'd be a commoner, with no money, no skills, and no friends. Do you think your companions at court will so much as look your way if you do such a thing?"
Bresun leans forward at his desk, looks Silverdun in the eye. "Don't try to bluff me, brat. I will destroy you."
"This isn't over," says Silverdun.
Back in the City Emerald, Silverdun sits in his sumptuous townhouse and weighs his options. Is everything Bresun told him true? He imagines it was. Bres
un is a clever, careful man.
Is he truly willing to yield his title? One look around the townhouse answers that question.
He sends a message sprite to Gleia canceling the wedding, and avoids her usual haunts, and in a few months the whole thing is all but forgotten.
Honestly? He's relieved. He never wanted to get married in the first place.
Midwinter 02: The Office of Shadow Page 32