9780981988238

by Leona Wisoker

  “Indeed you did,” Lady Arnil said stiffly, and stood. “You may go, young lady. Wian will stay here, and stay within the house walls for a while; that may teach her a lesson about wandering about without permission.”

  “But, my lady—”

  “You may go.”

  Seeing no point in further arguing, Alyea grimaced and turned to leave. She paused to embrace Wian on her way out, and whispered: “I'll find a way to get you out of the city, if you want.”

  “It's all right,” Wian murmured. “I'm honored by your care, my lady, but I'll do as Lady Arnil says. I'm sure she's right. I'll be safe here.”

  Alyea shook her head, but under Lady Arnil’s fierce glare had no room for protest. “Take care of yourself,” she said at normal volume, and left feeling that she had betrayed Wian's trust.

  By the time she got back to the palace, the hallways had grown relatively quiet with the advancing night hours. She paused at the passage leading to her rooms. She badly wanted a long, hot soak in a lavenderscented tub, and a light platter of fruit. Her stomach rumbled and her legs ached from the long walk, but the desire to talk to Oruen about the gross injustice of Pieas's behavior being protected by diplomatic immunity was too strong. She hurried onward.

  Rounding a corner, she almost ran into a servant; he reached to tug anxiously at her sleeve as she detoured around him.

  “Lady,” he said. “Lady Alyea? The King calls you to attend him. A conference, he said, and for you to hurry.”

  Alyea stopped on the spot, staring at the servant: he was buck-toothed and gangly, his face heavily scarred with adolescent acne. He showed only relief at having found her.

  “A conference?”

  “That's what he said, Lady, and for you to hurry.”

  Conferences involved more than two people. “Do you know who else is with him?”

  “The lords Sessin, I think.”

  “Thank you,” she said, dismissing him. He scurried away, and she paused for a moment's thought before continuing. Pieas must have run straight to Oruen to complain, no doubt twisting the matter to her disadvantage. Her step quickened along with her temper. She vowed that by the time she was done, Pieas would be lucky to walk out unbruised himself.

  The guards at the small grey door nodded silently and opened the door without even the flicker of a smile. The room beyond was quiet as she stepped through; she heard the door snick softly shut behind her. She paused a moment, studying the two Sessins—who were, as she'd expected, sitting stiff and grim on padded chairs across from the king.

  With a few long strides, she covered more than half the distance to Oruen's chair. “My lord King Oruen,” she said, dropped to one knee, then rose. She kept her gaze directly on his face, her expression carefully inquiring. “You sent for me?”

  His dark eyes narrowed. She could see him considering both her formal address in what he referred to as his “casual room” and her ostentatious indifference to Pieas and Eredion.

  Offended anger nearly steamed from the two to her left. Sessin Family always had been rigid sticklers for propriety, and her refusal to greet them directly qualified as insulting by even the loosest standard.

  “I did,” Oruen said at last, and pointed to a chair. “Sit, please, Alyea.”

  She held back a smile at having gotten away with the insult and sank into a chair, keeping Eredion between herself and Pieas.

  “Pieas and Eredion Sessin, Alyea Peysimun,” Oruen said, making the introductions with a sweeping gesture.

  Alyea looked to the two Sessins and inclined her head graciously. Pieas's smile was strained and his glare murderous, while to her surprise Eredion actually seemed amused. Could a Sessin have a true sense of humor, to the extent of laughing at himself and his own kin? The sea, Alyea thought, may be about to swallow us all.

  The king settled into the wide, thick-armed chair he favored, and studied them all for a moment. “Alyea,” he said finally, “you've heard of Cafad Scratha?”

  She blinked at him, caught off guard. Then she remembered the earlier court audience and cursed herself for a fool; this meeting had nothing to do with herself or Wian. “Of course.”

  Eredion's smile faded. “Lord Oruen, I don't understand the need for her presence.”

  “You will in a moment,” Oruen said, relaxed and sure of himself now. “Alyea, as you may have heard by now, Pieas brought up a formal complaint against Scratha in my court this afternoon.”

  Alyea nodded without speaking, tilting her head, expression politely curious.

  “And if you heard of the complaint, you likely heard the cause,” the king prompted.

  “Scratha offered insult of some sort to Pieas's sister, Nissa,” Alyea said.

  “This is a desert family matter,” Pieas said sharply. Eredion's hand clamped down on the young man's arm, warning; the younger Sessin now wore a thin bracelet of gold and green beads on his left arm, arranged asymmetrically on fine silver wire. She squinted at the pattern, unsure what it meant.

  “As is my right,” Pieas continued as if his uncle hadn't moved, “I ask that she be removed as having no bearing on the matter at hand. Whatever you called her to . . . discuss. . . . ”

  Eredion removed his hand as abruptly as he had moved it before, expression suddenly stony. Alyea's ears burned at the crude implication.

  “—Can surely be done later, after our business is concluded.”

  Eredion reached out, not even looking, and flicked Pieas's thin bracelet hard, as though to draw attention to it. Glass beads clicked and bumped against each other. Pieas turned a hard glare on Eredion; his elder ignored him, while the king's eyes narrowed briefly.

  “Lord Eredion?” Oruen said, apparently choosing to ignore the insult himself. “You're a full desert lord, and the right he refers to is your prerogative, not his.”

  Pieas's scowl deepened. He covered the bracelet with his other hand and sat back into his chair, chin to chest, glaring sideways at his uncle.

  “I have no objection to the girl staying,” Eredion said. “I trust your word that she's important to this discussion.”

  “Thank you,” Oruen said, not looking at Pieas. “The incident between Lady Nissa of Sessin and Lord Cafad Scratha was serious, differences in telling aside. But in the end, Nissa chose not to press charges against Scratha. She considered it an unfortunate mix-up of identity and communication.”

  “In other words,” Lord Eredion said, “she damn well should have told him who she was. She knew he hated our family.”

  Oruen nodded. “She admitted that herself, yes. All she wanted was her apology conveyed, and she hoped for a similar response from Scratha. But Scratha refused his part. Since I had to do something, I gave him a choice of punishments.” He stared at his linked hands for a moment, brooding, then went on: “He chose temporary banishment to the Stone Islands, and voluntarily gave me control of his lands—”

  Pieas was abruptly on his feet. Eredion made no move to stop him; his own mouth hung slightly open in astonishment.

  “—in order to be sure, under desert law, that he will have them when he returns. Alyea will be leading my embassy to hold Scratha Fortress until I release Cafad Scratha from his penance.”

  “You cannot banish a properly named desert lord!” Pieas snapped. “Or take his lands under your hand!”

  “He chose both,” Oruen said. “He offered his lands, and chose his banishment, freely, rather than offer apology to Nissa. I found it a suitable and legal arrangement.”

  Alyea drew a long breath, rapidly fitting together implications. In essence, she'd just been handed control of a desert fortress, as representative of the king. Depending on how this fell out, she could find herself ranked as a desert lord, with the king's backing: an absolutely unheard-of situation—

  Which also might just place her above Pieas Sessin in rank. She fought against a wide grin.

  “Under desert law,” Eredion said slowly, “the lord of a fortress has the right to abdicate his lands in a manner of
his choosing, but that has not been done in hundreds of years, and never to a northern king. The last case was of Wiyric of Tehay Family, who gave over his lands to F'Heing in payment of a monstrous gambling debt, went with his entire family to the deep sands in shame, and never returned. The Stone Islands is not the place of shame for the desert families. It is not the right place to have sent Lord Scratha.”

  “If you like,” Oruen said amiably, “I will certainly summon Scratha back, and send him to the deep sands to die; but his offer of stewardship was voluntary and unprompted in any way—and so, under desert law, holds regardless of Lord Scratha's punishment. If he dies, then the crown will hold his lands: not only for a short time, but forever. I thought this the better way, given the relatively small offense involved.”

  Eredion let out a harsh breath, clearly startled. “You are right, Lord Oruen.”

  “Right?” Pieas blazed. “Right? How can you say that? No desert Family has ever handed authority to any king!”

  “We have no choice,” Eredion said. “Lord Scratha is within his rights, and Lord Oruen is entitled to accept the freely made offer.”

  “We can call for a Conclave,” Pieas said.

  “Feel free,” Oruen said calmly.

  “Pieas,” Eredion said, sounding exasperated, “a Conclave isn't a simple matter—”

  “But the decision of a Conclave is binding even on a king, isn't it? I demand a Conclave!”

  Oruen smiled, unruffled. “You can't make that demand, Pieas,” he said. “Even Eredion can’t. Only the head of a desert Family can call for a Conclave. You'll have to travel back to Sessin Fortress and convince Lord Antouin Sessin yourself.”

  Eredion snapped, “Pieas, sit down. Stay down. And shut up.”

  His nephew, mouth folding into sulky lines, sank back to perch tautly on the edge of the plush chair. Alyea rubbed at her nose to hide a grin at Pieas's discomfort; a stern eyebrow quirk from Oruen settled her down.

  The elder Sessin drew a long breath and said, more quietly, “This situation requires a good amount of thought. May we have a day to consider, and gain audience to discuss this further tomorrow evening?”

  “Certainly,” Oruen said. “We would all be the better for some rest.”

  Alyea made a quick decision; whatever might happen tomorrow, she didn't want to lose the chance she had right now. It was too good to let go. She stood.

  “My lord King,” she said, hands clasped tightly behind her back, “I have a complaint of my own to press, one of a sensitive nature best discussed in the privacy of this room.”

  By the look he gave her, he'd desperately wanted to retire to sleep and wasn't at all pleased at the delay. “It has bearing on Sessin Family?” he asked warily.

  “It has bearing on Pieas Sessin,” she said.

  “Lies!” Pieas cried, coming up out of his chair again; this time Eredion reached out and hauled him back down. “Lord Oruen, she offers only lies!”

  “Without even knowing what she has to say?” the king inquired. “Let her speak before you cast doubt on her word, Pieas.”

  Alyea took a deep breath. “I think you know my maid, Wian; you recommended her to my service some years ago,” she said, a blatant lie that Oruen had the wisdom not to challenge openly, although his expression warned her not to push further. She explained about the encounter, careful to stick to absolute truth from that point on. “I am dismayed, sire,” she finished, “that desert immunity is being so abused as to allow rape in the very palace halls.”

  Eredion's expression bore the dark ferocity of a thundercloud now; his stare at Pieas made the young man squirm in deep discomfort.

  “It's a lie,” Pieas said, sounding much less confident now. “The servant girl is just a whore. She insisted on dragging me into a deserted hallway.”

  “I will speak for her honor,” Alyea said. “The king knows her and will speak for her honor as well. Are you calling us both liars, then?”

  One of Oruen's eyebrows cocked, just a little, signaling strong displeasure at that maneuver.

  Stuck, Pieas looked to Eredion. “I swear to you, I never asked for more than the girl was willing to give. Any marks are those of passion, not struggle.”

  “I would have an easier time believing you,” Eredion rumbled, “if this was the first such complaint, Pieas.”

  “No complaint of rape has ever been proven against me,” Pieas said. A shadow of panic lurked beneath the bluster.

  “You've never had noble accusers before,” Eredion said. “It's far easier to believe a commoner or servant is out to wrench a handful of gold from us; but if Lord Oruen himself can speak to this girl's character. . . .”

  Oruen's eyes narrowed. Afraid he was about to choose sides—and not hers—Alyea took a deep breath and, for Wian's sake, broke her promise to herself.

  “I'll do more than speak to Wian's character. I present my own. Some years ago, Pieas took me by surprise as I walked in the town, and the bruises he left took days to fade.” And before the bruises had faded, Ethu had begun training her to make sure that such a thing never happened again; but she left that part silent.

  The king's eyebrows came down into a sharp frown.

  “I do recall those bruises,” Oruen said. “You wouldn't tell me where they came from.”

  She tried not to flinch from his stare. “There was nothing you could do. He was in Ninnic's favor, and my family wasn't.”

  There might have been the faintest flicker in his eyes, a hint of something she'd thought long gone; her heart turned over in her chest. A moment later Oruen's expression flattened again, and she looked away, jaw tight, and cursed herself for hoping.

  “Are you claiming that Pieas raped you, Lady?” Eredion demanded.

  “I am,” she said clearly, then took a gamble. “And I also ask for bloodright, which I will stand to myself.” It sounded impressive, and she was fairly sure that blood-right was just a first-blood duel; but as soon as she'd said it a bad feeling began to churn in her stomach.

  Eredion studied her with narrowed eyes, calculating; and Pieas's grey face slowly regained its color and creased into an arrogant smile. “Bloodright under kingdom law, or under desert law?” Eredion said at last, cautiously.

  “Kingdom,” Oruen said before Alyea could even open her mouth. Just as well; she hadn't been sure of the difference. “I'm sure Alyea wants no part of a desert holding beyond what she's already being granted.”

  She nodded, agreeing fervently, glad he'd answered for her.

  Eredion visibly relaxed. Pieas sneered.

  “You have nothing to worry about, s'a-ketan,” the younger Sessin said. “She has no skill at arms.”

  Eredion turned a black glare on his sister's son. “And how would you know that?”

  Pieas scrambled to repair his mistake; before he managed two words, Eredion lifted a hand to cut him off.

  “Lord Oruen,“ the elder Sessin said, directing a sober glance to the king, “if you're minded to allow this challenge, I'll stand on my authority as a lord of Sessin Family and permit it as well. I have to warn you both, in fairness, that I know Pieas as a skilled fighter with an unfortunate lack of scruples. I have little doubt as to the outcome.”

  “I can't refuse her choice,” Oruen said dryly. “She knows what she's doing.”

  “What about your placement of her as embassy head to Scratha fortress?” Eredion said suddenly. “That's a binding she'd be abandoning if she fell in challenge. That makes her choice illegal; she has to call a champion to represent her.” He looked deeply relieved at the thought.

  Alyea kept her expression still with an effort. Fall in challenge? That didn't sound like a first-blood duel. Her hands tightened into fists.

  “Unfortunately,” Oruen said, “she hasn't been sworn to that yet; you yourself asked for a delay.” He rubbed wearily at his eyes, and shot a sharp glance at Alyea.

  The elder Sessin turned a bleak stare on Pieas. “You've been a concern to me for years, Pieas,” he said. “I've
seen you get away with more than your due, and walk proud in the company of madmen and murderers your father would have shunned. I'm at the end of my tolerance for you. If she falls, I will claim my own right as lord of Sessin, and challenge you myself.”

  Pieas stared at his uncle as if he couldn't believe his ears. “You would betray me like that?”

  “You've already betrayed Sessin,” Eredion said roughly. “From Water's End to Bright Bay, good people turn away to avoid your path, while disgraceful men steer straight for you. You're putting a reputation to our name that we don't want and can't afford. I've tried to warn you, and you've refused to listen, so you have three choices. Kill Lady Alyea, and face me after. Submit yourself to Lord Oruen's punishment instead of taking up the challenge. Or run disowned into the deep desert, to make your own way as you will.”