by Anne Logston
There was other business, far more routine, to be discussed, but between her grief over Ynea’s death and her joy at the prospect of seeing her family again, Kayli had no interest in such matters. She was glad when they all adjourned for dinner, and Randon was easily persuaded that there was no need for further work that afternoon. After stopping by the kitchen to order a private dinner, however, when they returned to their quarters, Kayli and Randon found Terralt standing awkwardly at their door.
“I can’t hide in my rooms forever,” he said, not meeting their eyes. “So I thought I’d see if you needed help.”
“Yes, come in and dine with us,” Randon said a little awkwardly. “We’ve ordered our meal sent up. It’d be good to have the chance to—to talk.”
Terralt hesitated, glancing from Kayli to Randon, but followed them into the rooms. Over rich venison stew, soft buns, and wine, he listened to the news of the two messages more calmly than Kayli would have expected.
“So your plans are going well, little brother,” he said rather indifferently when Randon had finished. “A midsummer festival at the border. I’d never have imagined the like. Your caravan idea, that’s a good one. So. Do you want me to go?”
Randon’s eyebrows shot up.
“I didn’t think you’d want anything to do with it,” he said.
“I don’t.” Terralt sighed. “But at the moment I can’t manage to care very much. So if you want me to go, I’ll go.”
“As it happens, it’s probably best that you stay here,” Randon admitted. “If the citizens react to this festival the way they reacted to the border garrison, I’d rather leave you here to see to things while we’re gone.”
Kayli carefully schooled her expression to impassivity despite her astonishment at Randon’s words. Trust Terralt with the throne of Agrond while Randon was so far away, when Terralt might well have been the one to poison Kayli? At the very least he openly contested Randon’s claim to the throne. There was no doubt that in Randon’s absence, Terralt’s ruler-ship of the city would lead only to renewed controversy when Randon returned.
Terralt gazed narrowly at Randon.
“What game are you playing now, little brother?” he asked slowly. “I’m not up to it today. I tell you, I’m not.”
Randon squeezed Kayli’s hand under the table.
“Rein in your gut for a moment, Terralt,” he said. “What else am I going to do? There’s no one else qualified to keep the country running while I’m gone. And with me at the border of Bregond, sitting at table with the High Lord of Bregond himself, this city’s going to boil like a kettle of tea over a hot fire. What if there’s another riot? I need somebody here to keep my people from killing each other. Besides, you need something to occupy your time and attention. This once, I think our interests coincide. Is that a game?”
Terralt stared at Randon a moment longer, then shook his head wearily.
“Whatever you say,” he said. “I’ll nursemaid your throne while you consort with our enemies. But I’m damned if I have any notion what you think you’re doing.”
“Well, you’ll have nearly a month to puzzle it out,” Randon said patiently. “In the meantime we should discuss Ynea’s funeral.”
Once again, Kayli was appalled. How could Randon even think of discussing Terralt’s wife’s funeral at the table as a casual follow-up to political maneuvering? To her surprise, however, Terralt seemed untroubled, even pleased by Randon’s arrangements.
“That was kind of you,” he said, and his voice had lost some of its distance. “Ynea’s family will be honored, too.” He smiled a little. “You should’ve told me this first.”
Randon made a little apologetic gesture.
“I didn’t want it to seem like a bribe,” he said. “You’ve already done more than I’ve had a right to expect.”
“Hmmm. I won’t dispute that,” Terralt said with a hint of his old insolence. “All right, then.” He rose and bowed. “By the way, I’ve told Ynea’s maids that they’re to serve Kayli now. Ynea left a letter about it. And her books. I’ll have them sent over.” His voice roughened on the last words, and he hurried out the door, closing it a little too hard behind him.
“Oh, Randon, what will I ever do with more maids?” Kayli said unhappily. “Mine already sit idle more often than not.”
“Well, then they’ll all have a little more idle time for the present, anyway,” Randon said resignedly. “We have a duty for the welfare of our servants. Anyway, you might find the extra girls useful when you grow larger, and especially when the baby’s born. The Bright Ones know you work too hard already. But is that really what’s bothering you? I can’t imagine a few extra maids occasioning the scowl you gave me.”
Kayli sighed.
“I had no wish to protest in Terralt’s presence,” she said quietly. “But how can you entrust him with your throne as matters stand? Can you be certain that when you return, your seat will still await you?”
Randon waved his hand negligently.
“Terralt wouldn’t have the seat if the only way he could get it was to usurp it from me,” he said. “I agree that the notion of Terralt taking my place, for however short a time, will only incite more uproar in the city—some hoping he will simply keep the throne, others afraid that he will, still others simply outraged that I’m meeting with your father. But there’s no avoiding it if we’re to go, and I don’t see how we can miss this opportunity. What do you think?”
Kayli could not quite dismiss the feeling that indeed Randon was playing another of his political games—not only with Terralt, but with her, his advisers, and even the very people of his country.
“I think this meeting is important,” she agreed cautiously. “Of course I wish to see my family, but even more importantly, they should meet you. My father always said he could not wholly trust a man until he had looked into his eyes.”
“Well, if we’re going to do it, midsummer’s the time,” Randon told her. “Once the harvest starts, I don’t see how we could leave the city, and the weather’s unpredictable after that. Next spring there’s planting season and spring floods, and besides, you’ll be getting unwieldy yourself by that time. No, if we can’t make midsummer, I don’t see how we can arrange it until after the baby’s born, and we’d lose a whole year.”
“Then we will go, and worry no more about it,” Kayli said with a sigh. Her father would be subject to the same problems, though for different reasons—in autumn, the herds were brought in for culling, and that was the season in which the clans were most likely to fall to squabbling. No sizable caravan could cross Bregond in winter, and in spring, foaling season for the horses and fawning season for the ikada, the clans would once again need close supervision. No, Randon was right; there really was no alternative.
“Then before we go, best you make your peace with Master Weaver Odric,” Kayli told him. “You will need the support of all your friends at home.”
“And how do you suggest I do that?” Randon asked wryly.
Kayli smiled.
“I have a thought,” she said.
****
Master Weaver Odric’s normally ruddy face was pale when he stepped out of the barracks.
“I had no idea,” he mumbled. Then he turned to Randon and met his eyes squarely. “I tell you, I had no idea.”
“The slaves who came from the Weavers’ Guild weren’t as bad as that,” Randon said kindly. “But Kayli and I wanted you to see a little of what these people had been through. Remember that they’re not prisoners of a war, nor condemned criminals; these were free people stolen from their homes, their families either killed or sold.”
Odric sighed and shook his head.
“I never thought much about it,” he said. “All I knew was that I was sparing the lungs of our own people. And then when you demanded they be freed, it seemed like you cared more for the welfare of outlanders than our own folk. That draught didn’t go down easy.”
“Well, the next dose may taste a litt
le sweeter,” Randon told him. “Have you seen the cloth samples I gave Lidian?”
Odric grimaced.
“You call that sweeter?” he said. “The fibers are good—better than some of our domestic stuff—but that weave’s going to push my guild out of the market in time. Our looms won’t produce anything like it, and I have no idea how to build one that will.”
“Then you’re in luck,” Randon said, grinning. “Because I happen to have three freed slaves who used to be weavers, and they’re sorely in need of board and employment. Under a properly appreciative guildmaster, I don’t doubt that they have a lot to offer. And maybe a few things to teach, too.”
In fact, fewer slaves appeared at the castle now. Randon believed that many owners were now placing their former slaves as apprentices in the guilds, or simply mollifying them with a fat purse. Kayli wondered how slaves in other parts of Agrond fared, but Randon waved aside her concern.
“Tarkesh is the largest city near enough to the border to make the slave trade profitable,” he said. “This is the guild seat, too, so most of the merchants would bring their slaves here. Whatever slaves may be scattered around Agrond, where Tarkesh goes, the smaller cities and villages will follow.”
Kayli hoped that was true in many senses. In the few days since she and Randon had decided to accept High Lord Elaasar’s invitation to meet at midsummer, word had somehow swept through the city; she wondered whether one of Randon’s advisers had spread the rumors. Now every merchant in Tarkesh congregated on the castle steps, each convinced that he or she must accompany the High Lord to the border.
Preparation for midsummer had filled Kayli’s days. Besides sitting with Randon in audience and in council, she was soon pressed into the role of tutor to Randon and his advisers, who were suddenly all a-hunger to learn proper Bregondish language and manners. Kayli found this sudden change ironic; certainly they’d had no interest in learning Bregondish customs to accommodate her.
And certainly some Agrondish customs mystified her. In the week that the city had mourned Ynea’s death, no musicians could sing or play; all dancing and gambling was forbidden; no whore could ply her trade, and, strangest of all, every man and woman of the city was expected to wear a cap or scarf on their heads and refrain from strong liquor. Kayli understood none of it. What mattered it to Ynea now?
Kayli herself made time to mourn Ynea properly, burning the bedding from her deathbed in lieu of Ynea’s body in the forge and meditating on the life of her friend while the fire consumed the cloth. Later she rode to the open fields where Ynea’s beloved wildflowers bloomed, and scattered the ashes on the wind, bidding Ynea’s spirit farewell as the flakes drifted away.
Meanwhile plans for the usual midsummer festival in Tarkesh proceeded apace. The festival would take place, as customary in Agrond, on the day and night of the new moon, ten days after the meeting at the border. Fortunately, in Bregond, midsummer was celebrated at the full of the moon instead. That would leave Randon and Kayli time to return to Tarkesh, even at the pace of a large caravan, in time for Agrond’s festival.
“It’ll be the first time I’ve ever celebrated midsummer twice in one year,” Randon told Kayli, chuckling. “But tell me, do you think I could have outfits like yours made by then?”
He was commenting, of course, on the Bregondish riding clothes which Kayli had taken to wearing whenever she was not at an official function. She’d had several such outfits made, although of Agrondish fabrics. Even at formal occasions she wore her Bregondish-style gowns. If Randon was offended at this small act of defiance, he never said so.
When he made his request, however, Kayli shook her head.
“I will have Bregondish riding clothes made for you if you wish,” she said gently, “but I would advise against wearing them when meeting my father. He would deem it presumptuous at best, a mockery at worst. You are not a Bregond, and pretending to be one will not impress him.”
Sometimes Kayli wondered, too, what impression she would make on her father and mother and whatever priests or priestesses might accompany them. She had disgraced her teachings, indulged in the most undisciplined and selfish behavior, disobeyed her High Priestess—of course they didn’t know this, but she knew, and she wondered if they could see it in her eyes.
Every few days Kayli would make the long walk down to the forge. She would look at the bed of coals laid ready, her books, her tools; she would draw her thari and finger the sharp edge of the blade. Then she would put her thari away and walk back upstairs again, with the sour taste of cowardice in her mouth. A hundred times she pulled out her speaking crystal, only to put it away again. What could she say to Brisi or even to Kairi, her own sister? That she, an Initiate of the Temple of Inner Flame, had grown afraid of her own magic? That she no longer dared so much as set a candle alight by her own power, that she fled from the hearth fire out of fear that her caressing awareness of the flame would dissolve what little control she had left? And what could they say in return?
Only a sevenday before her planned departure with Randon to the border, Kayli woke and slid out of bed, walking over to the basin as usual to wash her face and hands. This morning, however, she took only a step or two before sudden nausea seized her, and she barely made it to the washbasin before she vomited wretchedly into it. Unfortunately the sound woke Randon, and then nothing would do but that he carry Kayli back to bed and summon Endra and Stevann to attend her.
Stevann politely stifled his amusement at Randon’s concern; Endra, however, made no effort to hide her laughter.
“Best keep the basin by your bed, lady, for you may spew every morning for weeks.” The midwife chuckled, grinning sideways at Randon. “It’s only the babe, High Lord, playing hob with the lady’s vitals.”
“But should she travel now?” Randon asked anxiously. “It’ll be a long trip, and uncomfortable.”
This time it was Stevann who chuckled.
“There’s no need to compare Kayli to Ynea,” he said kindly. “Kayli’s healthy and strong, and the journey won’t be all that rough, either.”
“In the horse clans, ladies with child ride till their birth spasms begin,” Endra added. “I myself don’t encourage such a thing, but there’ll be no reining in my lady until her belly becomes a misery to her. Don’t worry, High Lord, I’ll tend the lady as carefully as if she was my own daughter. So don’t start troubling yourself now, else you’ll have a worrisome few months ahead of you both.”
But if Randon had his way, Kayli would have lain in bed, cosseted like Ynea. He ordered all their meals brought to their quarters, and if she so much as reached for a goblet, he would dash to place it in her hand. At first Kayli found this amusing, then irritating, and finally intolerable; at last she fled Randon’s company whenever she could, slipping out to the yard to exercise the horses with Seba, chatting with Endra and her maids, or merely brooding in the forge. But she did not go near the barracks where the freed slaves lived, nor the wing of the castle where Terralt had resumed his residence with his children.
On the night before she left, however, Kayli could not resist the temptation to see Kalendra once more before beginning her journey. She told herself she would only visit the baby briefly and go, but Kalendra was awake and cooing, her rags fresh and her stomach full, and Kayli could not keep from holding the tiny new life, admiring the miniature fingernails and the whorls of one pink ear.
“She’s beautiful, all right.” To Kayli’s dismay, Terralt stood in the doorway, leaning against the door frame.
“I beg your pardon,” Kayli said uncomfortably. “I should have asked your permission—”
“What, to hold my daughter?” Terralt chuckled. “What manner of fool would deny you? As long as you don’t steal her entirely, you’re welcome. More than welcome.” He gave her a lingering glance that brought a flush to her cheeks. “You look good with a baby in your arms.”
“Well, soon enough I will have one of my own.” She laid Kalendra back in her cradle, using the opportunit
y to put it between Terralt and herself. “I only pray that I will bear children as fine and healthy as yours.”
Terralt reached over the cradle and laid his hand over Kayli’s; a surge of flame raced up her arm and straight to her loins.
“I’m sure they’ll be as beautiful as their mother,” he said
Kayli snatched her hand away too quickly for politeness, but thankfully Terralt did not pursue her around the cradle.
“I must go,” she murmured. “Randon must be looking for me.”
A shadow of irritation passed swiftly across Terralt’s face, followed by a sort of shame.
“Yes, you’d best go,” he said, his expression closed once more. “And good journey to you both.”
Kayli retreated down the hall, only to collide with her husband. Randon stopped, gazing at her rather doubtfully.
“There you are!” he said. “What in the world are you doing here?”
“I was visiting Kalendra,” Kayli said, aware that she was still flushed and, to her disgust, her hands were shaking. “It will be many days before I see her again.”
Randon glanced down the way she had come, and his expression darkened. Kayli heard a door close and knew without looking that Terralt had stepped out into the hall; surely he was standing there with that mocking expression she so hated, daring Randon to think what he would.
“Go on back and finish packing,” Randon said, his voice cool now. “I need to give Terralt some final instructions before we leave.”
Kayli almost ran back to her room, burying her confusion in activity as she supervised her maids packing her trunks. The supervision was absolutely necessary; since Ynea’s maids had begun serving her, she’d found to her dismay that more servants meant more work, not less. The six Bregondish maids resented the newcomers and their lack of acquaintance with Bregondish dress, hairstyles, and customs; the ten Agrondish maids, who had been longer in the castle and were now in the majority anyway, fancied themselves the more knowledgeable and experienced and forever attempted to “civilize” the others. The two groups could agree on nothing, it seemed, and Kayli was aghast at the amount of time she spent mediating squabbles between them. At last in despair she’d run to Endra, and once again the sturdy midwife had proven equal to the challenge. Now the girls sorted and packed the clothing, exchanging nothing more barbed than sullen glances, although once Kayli caught one of the Agrondish girls trying to substitute lace petticoats for the breech like Bregondish smallclothes.