“My lady,” he said, voice too smooth. “May I give you the tour?”
She smiled and slung the pack across her shoulder. “Thank you, sian,” she said, and crossed the salon to join him. Iminor looked like a gathering storm.
“Remember your role,” I said quietly in the Tanaan language. “Be as jealous and suspicious as you like, but do it as her brother.”
He turned a murderous look on me. “Is this your moment to cut in?”
“I doubt it,” I said, much more mildly than I felt. “Even the mummers remarked that the lady and I have little enough use for one another. Ours is a political marriage, after all. And the Ballarona ferry is usually full of fetching women…”
The Tan scowled so fiercely that Amien finally waved him off.
“Welcome to the Ruillin,” the wizard said. “The one thing you cannot buy here is the truth. Does a lady not complain on a ferry, everyone’s honor is assumed to be intact when they disembark. Let’s go see if the Tellnemed ferry sailed.”
Brilliant blue skies and white-tipped water greeted us as we stepped onto the deck above. Gulls wheeled and dove in the ship’s wake, hunting; wind snapped and barked in the sails. I raised a hand to shade my eyes and scanned the waters around us, spotting the Tellnemed ferry and a brace of smaller traders’ vessels. Up at the ship’s prow, Letitia stood with the captain, looking fascinated as he pointed out things in which I had no interest. Her golden hair whipped behind her like a pennant, dazzling.
“Well done Letitia,” Amien said quietly.
“Well done, indeed,” I replied. I looked around to find the knights and relieve them of all duties but watchfulness; but they had already spotted the ships and moved on to more compelling things, so I glanced around for some way to pass the time.
“We shouldn’t all watch her at once,” I observed. The wizard nodded. “I can see there’s no calling Iminor off, but I’m going to wander for a bit.”
“I think I like the view from right here,” Amien said with studied casualness.
I nodded. “Just so. I’ll check in with you in a while.”
I strolled about the deck. The Rhian was built in the same way as all the Ruillin ferries: there was little to explore. Down the east-facing side of the deck I went, mentally tallying the day’s passengers, glancing periodically across the water to the shore. From here the high dome of the temple to Lady Tella at Tellnemed was just visible, stunning blue-and-gold in the brilliant sunlight. The crowd on deck looked essentially the same as they ever do, except for the fact that the uniformly-directed gazes of certain clusters made it easy to spot the places where the Tanaan passed the time.
Glancing inside the covered part of the deck, I spotted the mummers who had dogged our steps yesterday. Though, in fairness, I supposed we had dogged theirs. They had already been at the Ship and Anchor when we arrived. Today’s performance seemed to be the same as yesterday’s, except that Sainrith and Corro had switched roles: yesterday’s Damsel was today’s Druid, and vice versa. If they were going to perform the same routine for days on end, I supposed, they must switch roles periodically or go mad.
I circled behind the covered deck, glancing up at the sailing deck above. Atop the roof—doubtless there was some other, nautical word I didn’t know—over the area in which the mummers performed sat a small, squat box of a room that I imagined must be the captain’s. A ladder fixed to its side led up to the highest spot save the masts, where a windcaller sat in the high seat. To his right stood a crewman who periodically touched the ship’s yoke to adjust the course. I surmised the captain performed that task when he didn’t have Tana to seduce.
I glanced again at the little room beneath the windcaller’s seat. The captain must not be allowed to take Letitia into that place, even if she didn’t object. A glance down the deck at Iminor suggested the man would die in his tracks did he so much as try. I had never seen the Tan throw a knife, but every skill I had seen him employ was exemplary. I had little doubt he could manage a knife, too.
As I came back up the other side of the deck, I spotted Letitia and the captain on their way down the stairs again. She laid a hand on his arm as if for balance, which I knew was unnecessary; he leaned in closer than needed. Iminor began striding straight across the deck towards the stair; Amien intercepted him, drew him to the opposite rail. After a moment I followed Letitia and the captain below. From the base of the stairs I heard the typical hum of the cards-room; the clank of tankards in the floating tavern; Letitia in courtly mode, asking the captain so many questions that I didn’t doubt she’d be ready to command or at least competently purchase such a vessel by day’s end. I climbed back up into daylight.
Amien caught my gaze and crossed the deck to meet me, Iminor in tow.
“You left her down there?” Iminor said, outraged.
I glanced at Amien, then met the Tan’s gaze. “It occurs to me, ouirr, that no one is going anyplace for a few hours, and the lady is armed.”
Amien nodded thoughtfully.
“She sounds perfectly comfortable,” I continued. “By end of day she’ll have enough information to offer him a fair price for the ship.”
Amien chuckled.
Iminor scowled. “I don’t see—”
“I know,” I said. “But it is every Beallan’s dream to take a run at a Danaan woman. And she knows her own will. There is a fine line between our appearing concerned for our lady’s well-being and the sort of obsessive guarding one would expect of the crew protecting—” Even in the Tanaan language, I had to choose the next words carefully. There is no such thing as privacy on the deck of a ferry, and names sound much the same in any language. “—certain ladies under death-vendettas. We need to be sure of remaining on the safe side of the line.”
Iminor gave me a long look. “Your definition of safe leaves something to be desired.”
I sighed. “As usual, ouirr, we are in a situation in which there are no clear-cut answers. I think we need to maintain a watch over her—loosely. The man doesn’t want to kill her.”
“No,” Iminor growled—then flushed and spun away.
“Bealtan,” Amien groused, watching him stalk across the deck. “You think it’s bad with just nine of ’em.”
“I still hope to see the real thing one day.”
Amien’s mouth curved into an unwilling smile; he glanced away into memory.
*Letitia?* Iminor’s voice skipped across the aether. It took everything I had to avoid startling at the broadcast.
*Im?*
*Are you all right?*
Letitia’s broadcast crackled with irritation. *I’m on the same boat you are! Don’t distract me!*
*I just—* Iminor began, defensive.
*Let me work!* Letitia snapped, and the aether went quiet again. I crossed to the rail and busied myself with the view of Tellnemed, determined not to meet Iminor’s gaze.
The afternoon dragged on; periodically we spotted Letitia, ever cheerful, meeting our glances with swift reassuring looks and returning always to the captain. I wondered why she thought it necessary to keep him on the hook all day, but knew with uneasy certainty that she must be right. She’d taken accurate measure of every human thus far. Including me.
Meanwhile the Tanaan entertained themselves and a significant portion of the passengers with the sort of flirtation one usually sees only in soldiers too long from home. Which, I realized, was exactly what they were. Their behavior fit perfectly into the licentious atmosphere of a ferry, but the loss of military decorum in women struck me so strange I couldn’t help but watch. When Letitia and the captain returned to the spot in which Iminor and Amien stood at the rail, I seized on the distraction and followed. She unbuckled her sword belt, unslung her pack, and handed both to Iminor.
“We’re going to climb up in the rigging!” she said, green eyes shining.
“What?” we all said.
“You can’t wear a sword up there; it’ll tangle. So I need you to take my things—”
“Annu, are you sure?”
Amien said. The captain shot him a look, which he ignored.
“Imagine the view!” Letitia said. “We’ll be back in a while; I’ll wave to you.”
“Keep both hands on the ropes,” Iminor growled.
“It’s fine,” Letitia said, and followed the captain across the deck.
“It’s not fine,” Iminor muttered.
“She’s surefooted, and well-balanced, and—” Amien said.
“It’s not fine!” Iminor repeated. “None of this is fine!”
I sighed. “Do you trust her?”
The Tan cast me a look of astonishment. For a moment he was silent.
“What choice do I have?” he said finally, an ache in his voice that made something uncomfortable happen inside my chest.
“Then trust her,” I sighed. “And keep an eye out.”
We stood on the deck and watched as Letitia trailed the captain up the wide nets of the rigging, a cat following a bear up a tree. Westering sunlight made her hair glow in a dozen shades of gold and white, skipped shimmering from the spidersilk of her mail. She appeared not at all nervous, but something that felt like my heart was blocking my throat. Gradually I realized everyone on deck stared, as absorbed by the climb as I. I shaded my eyes with a hand, acutely aware of my utter helplessness.
Trust her. What fool had said that?
Finally, much too high, they stopped. She seemed to ride the shifting mass of rope as unconcernedly as he, and after a brief lively wave in our direction looked eagerly outward: pointing as they talked, twisting around so blithely that I was certain she’d fall.
But she didn’t, and eventually they climbed back down.
“Sian,” said someone at my elbow.
I turned and looked: Sainrith the mummer, yesterday’s Damsel and today’s Druid, looked up at me. His right hand grasped a wooden sword of the type mummers use for mock battles.
“Could you help me with a bit of fun?” he said.
I manufactured a smile. Anything that would get the crowd’s attention off Letitia was a good thing. “It’s what I live for.”
Sainrith grinned. “Thanks. Come be my translator.” He beckoned, and I followed him across the deck to the place in which Easca lounged with Nuad against the rail. They watched us come, amusement written in their angular faces.
“Sian,” Sainrith said. “Please tell the lady I wish to issue a challenge.”
I chuckled and relayed the message. Her mouth twisted in an unsuccessful attempt to hide a grin.
“We duel,” Sainrith continued. “The prize is a kiss.”
This time I didn’t try to restrain the laugh. Once I’d translated, Easca grinned and unsheathed her weapon, then assumed a formal dueling posture. By the time Sainrith had copied her maneuver, they were completely surrounded by spectators.
“First blow goes to the challenger,” I reminded him, and he waded in. She trounced him soundly, of course, grinning the while, then pulled him close and kissed him yet more vigorously, to cheers from the assembled crowd. I could see his knees wobble. Finally she pushed back and released him. The sudden, deep red of her lips sang against her luminous skin, emphasizing the translucence of her teeth.
“Tell him we duel again for the next one,” she said to me, mischief and lust warring in her amber eyes. “Location of the kiss to be chosen by the victor.”
I laughed and translated again, then wandered across the deck to see what was happening under the roof. I paused just inside the doorway for a moment, letting my eyes adjust to the dimmer space; at the front of the room, Loeg packed the mummers’ last few props while a dark-haired harpist sat on a stool in the middle of the platform, retuning a cittern. They both glanced at me; Loeg smiled, grin dangerous behind black-and-white paint.
“Ellion!” he said.
Now the harpist was staring at me. “Lord?”
Oh, holy fouzhir hell. For all the time and energy we spent protecting Letitia’s identity, it would be Amien’s or mine that blew the game in the end. Loeg turned a look of profound interest on me.
“Lord?” he echoed, something darker than mischief in his tone. I waved dismissively; Loeg turned his penetrating gaze on the harpist, who flushed.
“Am I mistaken, Lo—sian?” the harpist temporized. “Lord Harpist Ellion?”
“And here I thought I was the one with a tale to tell,” the mummer pursued.
I sighed. If only I had been ready for the danger of recognition, I might have sidestepped it. In hindsight, as usual, the error was glaringly obvious.
“Could you not repeat that, please?” I said to the harpist.
But the damage was done, of course: at the very least, word would get back to the Harpist Gorsedd Hall that I had been seen on a Ruillin ferry this twelvenight—in the company of a group of Tanaan. Oh, who did I imagine I deceived? Surely everyone was making the connection: in the company of the Lady of Finias. Cold gathered inside me.
“You have a tale, sian?” I said to Loeg, in vain hope of distracting him.
His dangerous smile deepened. “Oh, indeed I do!” he chortled. “Here is today’s meal: the Lady of Finias came to Dromineer on a magical fog—and is on the Ballarona ferry.”
I swallowed a long string of profanity while Loeg watched, satisfaction in his dark eyes.
“Really,” I said finally, in the calmest voice I could muster. “Is that the plot of your next performance?”
“Perhaps you’ll write a song about it,” he rejoined.
“Oh, no doubt,” I answered, in a tone that made it into a blatant lie. “Right after the ship takes flight and sails us all the way to Teamair for the Fair.”
“Wait, I only booked passage to Ballarona,” the harpist said, trying helpfully to build the jest. We both glanced at him. Silence stretched among us, an odd contrast to the merriment out on the deck.
“Of course you realize,” Loeg said after a long moment, in full Fool style. “I must reconsider everything you ever told me.”
“I suppose this means the marriage is off,” I retorted.
“Ours?” he said, still in Fool mode. “Or the nuptials of the Lady of Finias? Assuming she lives that long.”
No man with an ounce of sense will argue in public with the Fool, even if he knows the player’s name; but I couldn’t help staring at him, and I knew my gaze was too intense for a man who hopes others won’t think past the designation harpist. A moment of crystalline calculation flickered in Loeg’s eyes; his gaze slipped past me, to something out on the deck.
“Let’s just say it has been a day for shocking revelations,” he said finally. “And it’s not even dinnertime.” He performed an ironic bow and brushed past me on his way outside. I sighed and sank onto a bench in the back row, leaning my forehead on the heels of my hands.
“Lord?” the harpist said after a moment.
“Yes?” I sighed.
“I don’t want to—I recognize this may not be—Where have you been, Lord? Ilnemedon’s talked of little else.”
“Oh, really?” I groused. “Surely they’ve got more important things to think about. The war, for example, or the election of the ard-righ…”
He just stared at me, and finally I really looked at him. He was younger than I by almost a decade, with the black hair and pale eyes of Nagnata. Or Tellan. And like most young gorsedd members, he heard about things after they happened, and just tried to keep up with the news and the songs.
I sighed. “If I’m still alive after Bealtan, you can come and ask me then.”
“Do… Do you expect to be, Lord?”
I shrugged. “Like all men, I hope to be.” I didn’t want to contemplate the tales of this conversation that would travel the chambers of the gorsedd hall; I changed the subject. “Listen, as you observe, I’ve been—otherwise occupied of late. I need news.”
The young harpist nodded, visibly gathering his thoughts. “Well, Lord, you know about the ard-righ, and the Moot.”
I nodded.
“You—” He hesitated. “—kn
ow the Bard of Arcadia has set a price on the neck of the Lady of Finias.”
I just raised an eyebrow, regarding him steadily.
He cleared his throat. “Had Regia fallen to the kharr by the time you… left?”
“Yes.”
He nodded. “And Esunertos?”
It took everything I had to avoid reacting physically: the ruined city of Esunertos, once the capital of fallen Esusdia, has stood deserted since Lady Tella’s final battle with the last holdouts for the old god Esus—in Whose name the Bard of Arcadia now crusaded. The place could be of no significant strategic value—except to a wizard who didn’t fear tapping black energies. For the Bard’s Wizard, it would be almost as important as Uisneach and Teamair. The assaults both arcane and mundane he could stage with that power at his disposal would have spurred the righthe to collective action even before the Moot, had anyone understood. I suspected we’d already experienced a foretaste of what he might do, in the operations he accomplished in the Four Realms.
“There wasn’t even a battle, was there?” I said.
The young harpist cast me a creditably analytical look. “No, Lord; why?”
I shook my head. “Go on.”
“Taillte in Granniu.”
Taillte had looked to the one-time nation of Esusdia, before Lady Tella’s war against Esus. So total had been the warfare that the entire nation crumbled: the people of Esusdia scattered, and where once the righthe of Esusdia ruled, now only wilderness and bog-land remain. The few remaining border cities and towns, Taillte among them, now look to the surrounding nations; and over the centuries people shortened the region’s name to Usdia. Few even among harpists remember Esusdia anymore. Even their language is lost.
Esunertos had been Esusdia’s capital, and from there the Esusdians had controlled the river Riga, the primary watercourse from Teamair to the sea. Taillte had been Esusdia’s most important outpost on the river Aerona. Was the Bard trying to control the routes to the Moot at Uisneach and the Fair at Teamair—or to resurrect Esusdia from the cold ashes of its pyre?
“And,” I said, because the harpist’s inflection suggested the list was not complete.
The Shadow of the Sun (The Way of the Gods) Page 40