Web of wind s-2

by J F Rivkin

  They both laughed. Then, with their arms about each other’s waists, they walked back to the house in silence.

  Nyctasia was dismayed to discover that there was no bar for the door to her room. Watchdogs guarded the yard, and of course the main gates and portals were barred at night, but there was no reason to sleep behind locked doors. No doubt a maid would come in at dawn to rekindle the fire, before Nyctasia was awake. In a great stone house like this, mornings would be chill all the year around.

  Nyctasia understood this well enough, but she was accustomed not only to a locked room, but to having armed guards on duty while she slept, to keep watch for her enemies. Though there was no danger here, she could not help feeling uneasy and vulnerable in this undefended chamber.

  But for her, as a guest, to request a bar for her door would be to imply mistrust of her hosts, and etiquette forbade that she commit such a breach of courtesy. The vahn knows I do trust them, Nyctasia thought, as she tossed restlessly about in the canopied feather-bed. This is absurd. I’ve nothing to fear here. But she could not bring herself to draw the curtains around the bed and hide the unguarded door from view. She slid her dagger under the pillows, feeling like a fool, but still she did not sleep.

  Would she ever feel secure enough, she wondered, to go about unarmed, as the Edonaris of Vale did? They carried knives, yes, but useful knives sharpened on one edge only-tools for cutting, not weapons for stabbing. A dagger, with its double edge, was highly impractical for anything but murder.

  Finally, Nyctasia rose and wrapped herself in the white pearl-silk robe-’Deisha’s, no doubt-that she’d found neatly folded on the bed. She would spend the night in Corson’s room, she decided. With Corson at hand she’d feel safe sleeping in an open field. Corson took up most of any bed, she pulled away the bedclothes, and she snored like a wild boar, but she was an exceptionally reliable bodyguard.

  But outside Corson’s door she hesitated. Had she heard voices within? If Corson was not alone, she’d hardly welcome another visitor. Nyctasia peered through a crack in the door and smiled at the genial firelit scene that greeted her.

  Corson, still in the golden gown, was sitting on the edge of a bed piled high with feather mattresses and colorful quilts. Raphistain knelt at her feet, unlacing her sandal, and both were laughing quietly.

  “I thought you said the north was the ideal starting place,” said Corson, lazily stretching out one bare foot to touch his hair.

  “Under a strange sky, one cannot steer by the stars, madame. North depends on how you lie. Is not this as good a point of departure as any other?” He kissed the arch of her foot, then her ankle, and lightly caressed the back of her calf.

  Corson lay back on the bed and said a little huskily, “Mind you don’t lose your way, friend-”

  “No fear,” whispered Raphe, sliding the silk dress up above her knees.

  Nyctasia stole away noiselessly and returned to her own room. Good breeding prevented her from spying any longer at Corson’s door.

  Back in her bed, she resolutely refused to lie staring at the unbolted door. She had nearly succeeded in falling asleep at last when a faint sound from the threshold suddenly woke her again. Heart racing, she groped under the pillows for her dagger. It was not merely her fancy this time-the door was being pushed softly open.

  13

  “nyc,” whispered ’deisha, “are you asleep? May I come in?”

  Nyctasia began to breathe again. “By all means,” she said shakily, “as long as you haven’t brought your dogs.”

  ’Deisha chuckled and crossed the room quickly on bare feet, to perch on Nyctasia’s bed. “I couldn’t sleep for thinking about you. I never had you to myself all day. You must keep that robe-it suits you far better than me. Aunt Mesthelde says it’s a waste to put fine clothes on me, and she’s quite right.”

  ’Deisha wore only a threadbare night-dress of what had once been delicate layers of lace. Her long hair was loose and wild, and she looked altogether enchanting.

  Brushing the shimmering silk at Nyctasia’s wrist, she went on dreamily, “But you’re like the Lady of the Moon in it… Your skin’s so fair and smooth I can hardly tell where the silk leaves off.” She stroked Nyctasia’s arm lightly.

  What a brazen flirt, thought Nyctasia, amused. Jenisorn had certainly been right. “I was thinking of you too,” she lied gallantly. “I’ve dreamed of having a twin all my life. There are always twins in the Edonaris line. My younger sister and brother are a pair.” There was no need to mention Thierran and Mescrisdan.

  “Like Raphe and me. I used to wish Raphe was a girl-four brothers, after all!

  But now I have you for a sister I’m quite satisfied,” ’Deisha said with a most winsome and alluring smile.

  Nyctasia refrained from asking, “And is it the custom in these parts to seduce one’s sisters?” and remarked instead, “It’s as well Raphe was a boy, perhaps.

  There might have been dreadful confusion over succession to the Jhaicery.”

  “I never thought of that. Nyc, the others say that you’re a Rhaicime-is it true?”

  “Alas, yes. If I weren’t of Rhaicime rank, I wouldn’t have so many enemies in Rhostshyl.”

  “Well, I’m glad of it, if it’s brought you here. Now I’ve found you I shan’t let you go back to Rhostshyl unless you take me with you. You know, you’ll simply have to marry Raphe. Father would give anything to have another title in the family.”

  “Doesn’t Raphe have a say in the matter? He might prefer to marry Corson.”

  “He’s much taken with Corson, who wouldn’t be? But it’s you he’ll pay court to, you’ll see. He doesn’t really mind that I’m to be Jhaice, and not he, but all the same I know he’d be pleased for a child of his to inherit the rank of Rhaicime. And you could do worse than Raphe,” she added loyally.

  “Do you promise he’ll not murder me in childbed to let his firstborn succeed at once to the title?”

  ’Deisha grinned evilly at her. “What’s your full formal title?” she demanded.

  “Oh, no, not formally…? That would be-let me think-Hlaven Nyctasia’v Teselesq Rhaicime AesTirre wys Gwethrad-Moir brenn Rhostshyl ar’n Edonaris, I believe.”

  She paused for breath. “I rarely need to use it all. For the usual business of the Rhaicimate the standard form of address is sufficient.”

  “You’ll have to teach me these things, Nyc, I thought I was to be Lady Frondescine Clairin Jhaice brenn Vale ar’n Edonaris. Isn’t that right?”

  “Yes, but Formal Address is different. For one thing, the Old Eswraine word is used-‘Hlaven,’ not ‘Lady.’ And since the title doesn’t descend from your mother-her name is Leclairin?”

  ’Deisha nodded, fascinated.

  “Then you’ll be Hlaven Frondescine Leclairina’v Mesthelde Jhaice brenn Vale ar’n Edonaris, do you see? Of course I’d have to study your family records to be certain. There may be further distinctions.”

  “Vahn, I hope not. It’s difficult enough as it is.”

  “Your aunt could style herself Lady Mesthelde now, if she liked, since she’s the heir apparent.”

  “I know, but you mustn’t call her that, it only annoys her. She says it’s all foolishness and won’t get the eggs to market.”

  Nyctasia smiled. “I’ve not heard that old saying for years. She’s a wise woman.”

  “Oh, the household would run to ruin without her. My mother and Uncle Aldrichas only want to travel and trade at the market fairs, and Father’s had to take on most of the duties of the vintnery since Great Aunt Heladis died. Raphe and Nesanye help, of course, and I-”

  “Look after the livestock,” Nyctasia supplied, wondering where she herself could fit into this design. She knew a good deal about farming, and the other responsibilities of an estate, but she had never thought to devote her life to such duties. Was there work for her here? And would she really be satisfied to abandon her scholarly pursuits and live as lady of a manor? She quite loved her new kin already, but could
she ever be one of them?

  “Well, no matter what Aunt Mesthelde says. I mean to learn a lady’s ways from you, Nyc. I’ll not have you shamed by my ignorance. We must seem like a clan of savages to you.”

  Nyctasia put aside her doubts as best she could, the better to enjoy ’Deisha’s sly game. “I think you’re a rogue and a flatterer, my girl,” she retorted.

  “That’s what I think, if you much want to know.”

  “Oh, but I-” wailed ’Deisha.

  “Nor shall I try to make a lady of you,” Nyctasia continued firmly. “I’d be better pleased if you could make a vintner of me. As for you. I think you’re quite perfect just as you are.”

  Even ’Deisha was speechless at this-but not for long. She plucked at the tatters of lace at her throat, blushing. “Nyc… is Corson… are you and she…? I mean, we could give you a large room together, if you’d rather.”

  “I thank you, but I’m very comfortable here indeed. And I’m sure that Corson has no complaints about her quarters. The hospitality of the house could not be faulted.”

  This was not what ’Deisha meant, and well Nyctasia knew it. ’Deisha looked down, at a loss, daunted by Nyctasia’s mockery. “My grandmother made this quilt,” she said at random.

  “Lady Nocharis?” asked Nyctasia, interested.

  ’Deisha nodded, still not meeting her eyes. “For my mother. Look.” She turned back a corner of the bedclothes to reveal the embroidered eye on the underside of the quilt, an old custom meant to protect the sleeper from evil spirits.

  “Nyc!” she gasped, “what do you want with this? Are you mad?” She had uncovered the dagger, which Nyctasia had hastily pushed out of sight at her entrance.

  It was Nyctasia’s turn to feel awkward and embarrassed. “It’s foolish of me, I know, but I’ve not slept in an unlocked room for so long that I was fearful.

  When you came in, for a moment I took you for one of my enemies.”

  ’Deisha leaped up from the bed, laughing. “Rogue I may be,” she cried, “but no assassin! See for yourself, I haven’t a weapon hidden anywhere about me-not so much as a pin.” She pulled off the night-dress and tossed it away, holding out her bare arms to Nyctasia coaxingly. “There, you see, I’m not dangerous.”

  Nyctasia gave in. ’Deisha’s brash charm was indeed irresistible. “I admit that you’re unarmed,” she said, “but I can’t allow that you’re not dangerous.” She seized ’Deisha’s strong, brown hands and pulled her back onto the bed.

  ’Deisha tumbled across Nyctasia’s lap and lay looking up into her face, suddenly serious. They gazed long and silently, lost in wonder at each other’s being.

  Their features were so similar that it was like looking into some mystical mirror that showed, not what one was, but what one might have been.

  What grace of bearing she has, thought ’Deisha wistfully. So elegant and refined, exquisite… am I too old to learn some polish, so I won’t bore her?

  How frank and free she is, Nyctasia mused, as I’ve never dared to be. Not afraid to be trusting and unwary… Is it too late, I wonder?

  ’Deisha drew Nyctasia’s face down to her own and lightly kissed her mouth and eyes. “I’m so very certain that you belong to me,” she whispered, “I can’t feel that I’m wronging Corson. Would she mind?”

  Nyctasia laughed softly, leaning over ’Deisha and tracing her lips with one finger. “I’m very fond of Corson, but she’s a wanderer. She’ll be on her way soon, and I daresay I’ll never see her again. And unless I much mistake, she has your handsome twin in her bed right now. I passed her door not long ago, and heard them laughing. That’s another reason to lock one’s room at night, you see-not only for protection but for privacy.”

  “You’ll not want for protection here, Nyc. My dogs guard the grounds all night, and I’ll watch over you while you sleep.” As she spoke, ’Deisha loosened the sash of Nyctasia’s robe and slid it from her shoulders, letting her hands glide down Nyctasia’s arms and over her white thighs. Pulling Nyctasia down beside her, she pressed against her and drew the bedclothes over them both, “And you know nothing can harm you under Mother ’Charis’s quilt.”

  ’Deisha did want to protect her delicate, gently bred cousin. Nyctasia had spoken little of her past, but ’Deisha knew that she’d been wounded by sorrows, and she longed to heal those wounds, to shield Nyctasia from all further suffering. She held her as tenderly as if she were some fragile spray of blossoms, liable to bruise. Her own work-hardened hands seemed to her unfit to touch Nyctasia’s milky skin. Lying naked side by side, they were more than ever like mirror images of one another-identical, yet opposite. ’Deisha kissed Nyctasia’s soft palms, and her smooth throat. “My polished, pale reflection,” she murmured.

  Nyctasia smiled to herself, in the darkness.

  “See in this enchanted mirror

  Images reversed, but clearer.

  Seek your nature and your kind,

  But beware of what you find,” she recited, nuzzling ’Deisha’s ear. She too felt protective toward her bewitching twin, who seemed sheltered and ingenuous to her. ’Deisha was trusting because she had never known betrayal, bold because she had never known despair.

  Nor would she ever know them, if Nyctasia could do anything to prevent it.

  Their kisses were soft and lingering at first, their caresses slow and dreamlike. They drifted in a haze of sweet, trembling contentment, then grew more ardent and playful, each knowing from her own pleasure what would please the other. ’Deisha pillowed Nyctasia’s head between her breasts and wrapped her arms and legs around her tightly. “Now do you feel safe, sweet cousin?” she teased.

  Nyctasia was seized with a sudden fit of giggles. “How could I not feel safe,” she gasped, “in the very bosom of my family?”

  ’Deisha yelped in outrage and began to pummel Nyctasia with a pillow. Nyctasia tickled her under the ribs, where she herself was most ticklish, and they rolled about the bed wrestling and swearing till they both lay spent and shaken with laughter. But then Nyctasia crushed ’Deisha to her in a fierce, hungry embrace, half-sobbing, “Yes, protect me, ’Deisha-protect me from myself! Don’t let me go back, don’t let me go on as I am!”

  ’Deisha cradled Nyctasia in her arms, astonished at her distress. She did not understand a word of her desperate plea, but she promised, nevertheless, not to let her go.

  14

  “where are you going?” Corson complained, as Raphe climbed out of her bed at dawn, waking her up. “Now the bed’s cold.”

  He was already pulling on his clothes, but he paused to bend over Corson and lift a long lock of her hair to his lips. “Good morrow, fair guest.”

  “Morrow yourself. It’s still night.”

  “Nothing of the sort. It’s nearly light, see for yourself.” He crossed to the window and pulled back the draperies and shutters to reveal the transparent darkness of early dawn.

  Corson groaned and pulled the bedclothes up around her ears. “Nearly light! Do you take me for a dairymaid? Close that window or I’ll throw you out of it. I’m half frozen as it is.”

  “Poor lamb. Never mind, there’ll be hot weather today, by the look of it, and a good thing too. The grapes need it.” He took a last, satisfied look at the clearing sky, then came back to sit on the bed and put his boots on.

  Corson toyed with the hair at the back of his neck, then let her fingers trail slowly down his bare spine. “If you were a good host, you’d stay here and help me get warm,” she chided him. “Surely your first duty is to the comfort of your guests.”

  “The duties of hospitality are sacred,” Raphe agreed, leaning back to kiss her arm. “In fact, I can think of no duty I would so willingly fulfill, if work did not call me away. I want to have half the pruning done before the sun’s high. By midday it will be too hot, I hope and trust. All that heavy rain’s had me worried, I can tell you. Too much water can make the fruit split and spoil, but if today’s fair all will be well.” As he finished dressing, he told Corson
a great deal more about the perils of rot and mold to the ripening grapes, but she fell asleep again before she learned much.

  Nyctasia had been lying awake for some time, trying to remember what it was that she’d dreamt that night. The words of a song echoed in her memory, just out of reach… had there been something about a tower…?

  ’Deisha rose, stretching, and slipped into her night-dress again, then sat on the edge of the bed, braiding her hair quickly and carelessly. When she bound the end of the thick plait and tossed it over her shoulder, Nyctasia snatched it and tugged gently, pulling ’Deisha back down and into her arms.

  “I didn’t mean to wake you, sweet cousin,” said ’Deisha, snuggling against her.

  Nyctasia kissed her invitingly. “I’ve been waiting for you to wake, my dear.”

  “Alas that I must go and see to the cows now.”

  “That is a pity. But we can wait, and cows can’t. I’ll go with you.”

  “Oh, no, stay here and rest, Nyc. I’d no right to keep you awake half the night, and you tired from your journey.”

  But Nyctasia pushed back the covers and reached for her robe. “I couldn’t sleep more. There’s so much I want to see. The kennels, for one, and the stables. And all the land-field and forest. I hope there’s good hunting.” She threw wide the window and drew a deep breath of the cool, grape-scented morning air.

  Before her stretched a splendid view of the surrounding hills, their crests still wreathed in mist. The distant foothills of the Spine Mountains had begun to show the golden and scarlet hues of autumn, while the nearby slopes were carpeted with vines. Small children were running up and down between the grape-rows, clattering wooden noisemakers and shouting, to keep the birds away.

  “Do you know what I’ve seen from my windows all my life?” Nyctasia asked quietly. “Walls. The walls of the palace, and beyond them the walls of the courtyard, and beyond those the city walls. But the mountains are your fortifications here. The valley is protected, but you are not the prisoners of your own barricades and bulwarks.”