The cold of the dirt had pressed through the roughspun and chilled her thighs. It felt good. Óraithe looked up at the walls around her.
This game, at least, she could use. This game could help her win another.
R
Rianaire
Rianaire had decided that carriages must be a special sort of punishment that had been handed down disguised as a luxury by someone bitter and angry. The beginnings of the ride had been pleasant enough, when they were all amorous and Rianaire, at least, had been drunk. There was even a certain comedy to attempting to put her mouth to Inney’s crotch on a bumpy dirt road. Those joys had long since faded into the same silence that made Rianaire want to chew off her own arm simply for something to do.
Daingean was only minutes away. Slow minutes full of arrhythmic swaying, but at least the throbbing in her head had subsided in the hours before. And in truth the roads had become smoother at the outskirts of the city.
Síocháin sat silently, looking out the carriage at the passing landscape. Inney had her arms crossed and her eyes closed. A part of their silent struggle to drive Rianaire mad. Perhaps Síocháin was attempting a sort of very round about coup. It all made sense. Síocháin had fallen madly in love with Inney and they meant to take Spéirbaile for themselves. They would be as utterly boring as they could manage until Rianaire threw herself under the wheels of the carriage and died in the mud, the driver not even having noticed for the pitiable condition of the roads.
Rianaire slammed her hand against the wall. “I ought to have the both of you flogged.”
Inney’s eyes shot open and looked to Rianaire. Síocháin did the same, though more slowly, and spoke.
“And what is our crime?”
Rianaire sighed. “It hardly matters. I intend to scold both of you when we have privacy.”
Silence fell again over the cabin and it remained unbroken until the driver’s assistant called that Daingean was in sight. Rianaire grumbled a relieved complaint and adjusted herself. The carriage stopped briefly as the driver asked after Méid. They had made the outskirts more quickly than Rianaire had expected. When she looked from the window, she saw why. The city had begun to sprawl. Small houses had cropped up along the roadside and trees had been cleared away nearly as far as she could see. There were small farms and shops billowing smoke. Méid’s reputation had grown in the season since the ugliness with Spárálaí had been settled. If anything, the Regent seemed unable to keep the city from growing.
Rianaire kept her eyes on the streets as they passed by. Méid’s house came and went without so much as a pause. Was the woman finally out of her humble lodgings? Perhaps she’d finally grown into a Regent.
The carriage came to a stop at the edge of a lawn, one which spread toward a large stone building that Rianaire had almost forgotten. Daingean had never had a keep or anything so much as resembling one. What it had, she remembered, was a shrine to Spéir built some five generations past. It saw little use, save the occasional prayers from locals who had need of consolation. It looked nothing like it had just a season ago. Where before there had been rotted doors and tumbled stone, there was now a beautiful, simple building. Twenty feet of pure stone with polished redwood doors.
Guards stood to either side of the entrance. A marked change from how things had been on her previous visit.
Rianaire could hardly contain herself when the driver opened the door to the carriage. She practically leapt down onto the dry brown lawn and sucked in a breath of air. She let out the breath and turned to Síocháin who was exiting the carriage.
“She’s made a city of this place, hasn’t she?”
Síocháin considered the structure. “She has. Though I doubt she would recognize her own worth in it.”
“Likely not. But then that is why I exist. To see the value in others so that I might raise them up.” Rianaire laughed.
“That you might sleep until lunch.”
She nodded. “That too. What good is a talent wasted, my darling Síocháin?”
Inney joined them in the middle of the conversation and saw her way to Rianaire’s side. The driver stood waiting near the door.
“We will make our own way to the inn. Have our things there.”
She turned without waiting for a reply and headed for the polished doors. Inney and Síocháin followed her closely. The guards watched her as she approached and bowed when she came near.
“Treorai, we of Daingean are honored by your presence.”
They had said it in unison, which tickled Rianaire to her very core. It was precious, like a child’s first steps or the mewling of a kitten. The guards then turned to address the doors but before they could move to open them, there was sound from the other side. After a brief moment, the doors pushed open revealing Méid walking ahead of a small group of elves she did not know, but who seemed familiar.
Rianaire rang out a greeting. “Méid!”
The well-muscled woman had already stopped wide-eyed. “Treorai, what? How long have you waited? Your marmar arrived, but we hadn’t an idea of when to prepare for you.”
“Méid, I assure you it is fine. I have come to discuss things with you. Though I wonder if the time is wrong.”
The elves behind Méid were quiet and still, not sure what to do with themselves.
“I am interrupting.” Rianaire turned. “It’s just as well. We should talk over something warm and delicious. I’ve come to name you my Binse of Quarter.”
Méid’s mouth fell open. “I… I… Treorai, I’m not sure…”
Rianaire began walking toward the road. “We will discuss things at dinner. At your home, if you still use it.”
“I do. It would… be… I am always glad to host you, Treorai.”
She turned at the road and looped her arm through Síocháin’s. The city was still far too quiet for Rianaire’s taste, but there was the music of life in the air where before there was nothing.
“Do you think she will come?” Inney sounded neither concerned nor curious.
“She will. But she will protest and she will insist that she is incapable and a dozen other things.”
Rianaire became distracted by a stand selling sweet rolls and bought herself one. The thin boy running the stand clearly did not know her face, but spoke unnaturally enough to make it clear he suspected she was important. Her clothes always made that much plain.
She bit into the sweet roll and looked at the boy.
“Where are the brothels?”
The boy looked up at her and around, not convinced she could possibly be asking him.
“Beg pardon?”
“The brothels. For sex.” She took another bite of the sweet roll. The bread was dry for her tastes, but it was made well enough. “Where in the city are they?”
Síocháin spoke and the boy looked at her, not sure what to make of the conversation.
“You know you don’t intend on visiting a brothel. At least share the roll.”
Rianaire frowned and handed the roll to Inney. “This is how I live, boy.” She sighed. “Can’t even enjoy a sweet roll I buy with my own money.”
They continued toward the hotel. The walk was pleasant though the air was cold. Cold enough that Rianaire was glad to be out of it by the time they’d arrived at the hotel.
The owner came toward them as soon as the door had opened, making large, unnecessary motions with his arms and repeating himself.
“Treorai, Treorai! Oh! Welcome, welcome! It’s so wonderful to have you, yes. Simply wonderful to have you here again. There are, uh…” He looked past Rianaire. “Will anyone else be joining you?”
Any horsefolk, he meant. “There will not.”
“Ha, of course. Good. Very good. HA!” He turned and walked back to the counter and began fumbling with keys. “The room has been prepared and your things have already been taken up.”
<
br /> He clapped and a bellboy came to show them to the room. Rianaire held up a hand.
“No need. I have encountered both stairs and doors before. Unless there are some other pitfalls I should know of?”
“Ah, no. Ha-ha-ha. You… you jest, Treorai. Of course there’s nothing of the sort.”
She took her leave of the lobby, handing the keys to Inney, who took them with eyes shut and went ahead to see to the door.
“What do you think of her, Síocháin? After this time.”
There was silence after that as stairs passed them by.
“I have come to care for her deeply,” the stoic elf finally said. “But she scares me.”
“Scares you?”
“You surround yourself with people so freely. Drow, satyr. What if they mean you harm?”
Rianaire stopped and looked at Síocháin. Her hair had grown long. It was beautiful and soft, as it had always been. Brown like leaves just before the cold and thick.
“You mean to say that I scare you.”
Síocháin’s light eyes met her own for only a second. She would not look Rianaire in the face.
“If they mean me harm, then so be it. The last hand that meant to murder me looked the same as my own. And the next may not. There is no greater tragedy if I die by one hand or another.” She paused and put a hand to Síocháin’s cheek. “And I will die. Hopefully warm and comfortable in your arms.” She sighed and slid her hand down to Síocháin’s heart. “I couldn’t bear to outlive you. But I have no say in it. And neither do you. Fear has no use for me, my love. It would only keep me on a seat of my mother’s making.”
Síocháin took Rianaire’s hand in her own. She said nothing, but continued up the stairs, still holding Rianaire’s hand.
The door to the room was open and they entered to find Inney sitting on the bed, her mask smiling.
Síocháin moved to her and put her arms around the half-elf. Rianaire closed the door.
“The beds,” Inney said. “They’ve changed them. They’re more comfortable.”
Rianaire considered the lodgings. “And larger. A shame we won’t have much chance to enjoy it.”
The sun outside had dimmed and the purple-orange light in the room meant they would soon need to make for Méid’s house and begin the real work of the trip. There was yet time to enjoy the wine and Bais fruit. Bais meant red currants, persimmons, and pears. There would likely be little from the south, Rianaire thought, considering the plate.
“There is no news of the horsefolk.” Inney said the words plainly, almost bored. She had been seeing to a stack of sealed letters left on the oaken desk in the corner of the room.
“Curious.” Rianaire picked a few grapes from a bunch on the plate. She ate one and continued. “Though, the cold is unkind to them. The snows should begin soon. If they meant to undo us, they chose a poor time for it.”
She did not think that was the intention of the hippocamps, which was to her advantage. Still, there was little time to arrange a working structure to her Binse regardless.
“What say we abandon the province and go live near a hot spring?” Rianaire clapped her hands together as she said it. “A small one. We could run it together. Síocháin, you would cook.”
“And you would clean?”
“Sisters, no. Inney would do that. And security. And hunting.”
Inney scoffed.
“Well, already complaining. I can see this idea’s going nowhere.” Rianaire feigned a sigh. “Very well. Treorai it is.”
The sun had set and the three had changed into dinner clothes. Simpler than normal. There would be no ease in convincing Méid, especially not if the gulf between her lifestyle and that of Spéirbaile were written on their very clothes.
Rianaire took it upon herself to wear a simple grey dress. Loose, understated, but warm. Síocháin dressed in a faded purple, tight through the bodice, with covered shoulders and a high neck. Inney could not be convinced to go without a cloak, though it was a deep blue at least, with a simple black dress beneath and tights beneath that.
The walk itself was uneventful, and though Rianaire had enjoyed the quaintness earlier, she found herself already bored of it.
Méid opened the door quickly after they knocked. The smell that rolled out from the door was inviting, though the nervous smile on Méid’s face proved less so.
“Welcome. Come in. I’m sorry it’s not more—”
Rianaire placed a hand on her shoulder as she stepped in.
“We’ve been here before, Méid. There is no need to apologize for your home.”
There was a clinking noise from the dining room and Méid’s eyes shot over at the sound.
“Another guest?” Rianaire asked.
“Ah, um…”
“No… A man?”
Méid flushed red. Rianaire walked briskly toward the dining room.
“Méid, you are a proper minx. Not telling me.”
Méid was so flustered she left the door with Inney and Síocháin not yet inside.
“Please, Treorai. He is a humble man.”
Rianaire was nearly jogging when she reached the dining room. He was a rugged man, short ears, full beard, tall, but with a gut. His hair was jet black flecked with grey and white, though he did not look so old.
“Ha ha! Welcome, Treorai. You’ll forgive Méid, I hope. She’s been in a full tizzy since the marmar landed. There’s no helpin’ her. Reckon she’d worry for lack of problems if we ever saw the day.”
Rianaire laughed. “She would, indeed.”
Méid had caught up now. She went straight to her man and slapped at his arms. “Olla, you can’t be so familiar.”
“Nonsense, he can’t. And you shouldn’t call me so distant a name. Rianaire will be fine. For you as well, Olla.”
“M’honored, though most I’ve done is trick this’n into lettin’ me in her bed.”
He laughed raucously and Rianaire joined. Méid flushed a deep red and punched him hard in the arm, so much so that he nearly fell over, having to brace himself against the wall, still laughing.
“Olla, I swear you’ll be the ruin of me. What kind of manners is this? With the leader of our people in?”
Rianaire moved to one of the seats at the round table and sat as Inney and Síocháin came to the dining room.
“Méid, the poor man is like to lose an arm if you keep up this way. Come, sit.”
Olla rubbed his arm, and moved for the doorway. “There’s a few bits left in the kitchen. I’ll be back with ‘em directly.”
Méid sat herself down across from Rianaire, who was flanked by Inney and Síocháin. It was the first that Rianaire had noticed the food on the table, but the spread was stunning for what must have been available. Roast duck, potatoes roasted in duck fat, glazed carrots, long beans with garlic and butter. Olla returned carrying a plate with venison and parsnips, roasted as well. And fresh bread. He placed them on the table and sat beside Méid a second before hopping back to his feet.
“The wine!” He said. And rushed back out.
Rianaire looked at Méid as the sounds of Olla tromping around the kitchen filled the room. She cocked her head to the side, smiling, and Méid blushed again. And with that Olla was back, sitting beside Méid with an arm around her shoulder.
Rianaire reached to begin filling her plate and Méid shook her hands, starting up from her seat.
“Oh no, I should…”
“Nonsense, Méid. Stop making such a fuss. I can fill a plate. I can tie shoes and bows as well. And I’ve even wiped myself a time or two.”
Olla let go a large laugh, and patted Méid. “Her pa was the sort to make sure she was proper. I knew ‘im. Apprenticed under ‘im.”
“Ah,” Rianaire said, “so you are a blacksmith as well?”
“Haha, Sisters no. Couldn’t work the
steel to save my life. Not got the timing for it.”
“He’s not skilled enough with his hands,” Méid said bluntly, huffing in annoyance as she filled a plate.
“Not good with his hands? A woman could go mad hearing that sort of thing.”
Olla laughed again. “She’s given no complaint. To me anyway. Not unless nail tracks down the back count.”
Rianaire pointed her head at Inney and took a bite of duck. “If they are, this one must simply be sick to death of me.”
“Back to it, I’m no blacksmith, no. Handy in a kitchen. A bit in the garden, and I can hunt and fish well enough.”
“Filling so many holes as she can handle, is it?”
“Seems to’ve worked!” He slapped the table, laughing.
Méid punched him again, taking a bite of bread and looking at the table.
“I’ll die of embarrassment at this. Please, can’t we talk about something besides my holes?”
Rianaire put on a pouty frown for half a second.
“Oh, it’s just as well. The business before us is fairly serious, I suppose. I trust you’ve had time to think on my offer.”
Olla’s face turned serious and he looked at Méid. She spoke.
“While I very much appreciate your faith in me, Tre… Rianaire, I cannot leave my place here.”
“And why not?”
Her eyes shot to Olla, who was quick to put his hands up. “I’ve no place in it, no. I cook and I sleep. Méid does as she pleases and I’ll follow where she likes.”
Méid continued. “I am needed here.”
“I see. To help the people?”
“Yes.”
“Is that what you wish? To help the people?”
“I do. So much as I am able.”
“Then,” Rianaire said before sipping some wine, “what of the people beyond Daingean?”
“I cannot help so many.” Méid looked up from her plate. “Even here, I am pulled so many ways I can barely keep my wits. And there are so few people here.”
“And so few to help you,” Rianaire interrupted. “Or is that by your own design? How many have you appointed to positions of meaning? What have you delegated?”
One's Own Shadow (The Siúil Book 2) Page 12