Law of the Broken Earth: The Griffin Mage Trilogy: Book Three

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Law of the Broken Earth: The Griffin Mage Trilogy: Book Three Page 6

by Neumeier, Rachel


  Tan leaned back against the pillows, looking faintly disturbed. “I see. How long, then?”

  Mienthe said anxiously, “You worked right through that whole day and collapsed well after dark. That was fifty hours ago, more or less.”

  “So a good morning to you, esteemed sir!” said Captain Geroen drily. “We were beginning to wonder whether you’d ever wake again or just sleep till you turned to stone, and the bed linens around you.”

  “Ah.” Tan seemed slightly stunned. “One would think I’d had to write out all eighteen copies myself. No wonder I’m so—” He turned his head toward the plate of rolls Mienthe still held and finished plaintively, “So close to collapsing a second time for want of sustenance. Lady Mienthe, are any of those, by chance, for me?”

  Mienthe laughed. “All of them, if you like! And we can send to the kitchens if you’d like something else.” She handed the tray to Captain Geroen to put on the bed table, where Tan could reach them. “We should go—I’m sure you want to eat and wash and dress, and I should tell my cousin you’re awake—”

  Tan waved a sweet roll at her. “Lady Mienthe, you are a jewel among women. Sit, please, and tell me all that has happened in the past two days—or at least, if anything important has happened, perhaps you might mention it to me? Any official protests from Linularinum? Alarms in the night? Has Istierinan presented himself to Iaor with a demand for my return?”

  Mienthe couldn’t help but laugh again. “No!”

  “Good,” said Tan, and bit with enthusiasm into the roll.

  “I’ll go,” Geroen said. “I should report.” He gave Erich a significant look.

  Erich gestured acknowledgment. “I’ll stay,” he assured the captain.

  “Good to have that settled,” Tan said cheerfully.

  He wasn’t at all as Mienthe had expected. Bertaud had told her that spywork was hard and dangerous, and that good spies saved a lot of soldiers and should be respected. And Erich had pointed out that everyone knew Linularinum had lots of spies in Feierabiand, so really it was only fair that Feierabiand have some in Linularinum.

  Mienthe supposed that spywork must be frightening and dangerous and difficult. It must be hard to find out secrets and sneak away with them—Mienthe had a vague idea that spies slipped through darkened rooms and found secret ledgers in locked desks, and thought she would die of fright if she tried to sneak around that way. But worse than that would be making somebody trust you when you knew all the time you were going to betray their trust. That would be hard. Unless you really didn’t like the person you were betraying, but then pretending you did would be worse still. She had wondered what the kind of man who would do that might be like. Tan wasn’t at all what she had imagined.

  “Tan…” Mienthe said curiously, wanting to hear him speak again, to see whether she could hear any deceit in his voice.

  “Esteemed lady?”

  Mienthe asked, “Do you never tell anybody the rest of your name?”

  “Not often,” Tan said mildly. He didn’t seem in the least offended or embarrassed, and there was nothing secretive or deceitful in his manner, even when he was explaining straight out that he kept secrets. He said, “I’ve offended people, you know. There are plenty of people I’d prefer not know my mother’s name.”

  “Oh. Of course.” Mienthe was embarrassed that he’d needed to explain that, and embarrassed again because he’d said he didn’t want to give his mother’s name. She guessed his father must have been careless. She didn’t know what to say.

  Erich said, rescuing her, “His Majesty said he doesn’t think he’s ever had a confidential agent bring him such a coup, and for all the difficulty it will cause him, he is glad to have a way to set the Fox of Linularinum at a disadvantage.”

  Tan gave Erich a thoughtful look. “I’m sure that’s so, Prince Erichstaben. Yes, I suppose now he has a considerable advantage over both his neighbors.”

  That was barbed, but Erich didn’t seem offended. He only said mildly, “I don’t mind. Anyway, I’m going back to Casmantium in two years.”

  “Are you?” Tan said, with just the faintest edge of doubt in his tone.

  Mienthe started to say something sharp, she didn’t know what, but Erich said, his tone still mild, “You’ve been in Linularinum too long, maybe.”

  After a moment, Tan laughed. “Perhaps.”

  Mienthe looked at him, puzzled.

  “Ah, well,” Tan said to her. “You’d think Feierabiand would be closely allied to Linularinum, wouldn’t you? We share a common history and a common language, which you’d think would make us far more like one another than either of us is like Casmantium, and there’s quite a lot of shared blood along the river and down here in the Delta.” He gave Erich a little nod and went on, “But in some ways, I think Casmantium is far more Feierabiand’s natural ally. We’re alike in our straightforwardness and love of honesty, which aren’t qualities Linularinum admires.”

  There was an odd, wistful tone to his voice when he said that last. Mienthe said, “But you loved Linularinum, didn’t you? And then you had to leave it. I’m sorry.”

  She seemed to have taken Tan by surprise. For a long moment, he only gazed wordlessly at her. But then he said slowly, “I suppose you’ve heard all your life, living on the border as you do, about Linularinan haughtiness, how the people of Linularinum look down on the people of Feierabiand as so many unlettered peasants. About how secretive and sly they are, and how they never use one word when they can fit in several dozen. And there’s some truth to that. They love poetry—”

  “Oh, I know!” Mienthe exclaimed, and then blushed because she had interrupted. But Tan only lifted a curious eyebrow, so she said, “I think everyone on both sides of the bridge reads Linularinan epic romances. All the girls in the great house read them—I read them, too. All we can get, I mean. They’re wonderful fun.”

  Erich rolled his eyes, but Tan grinned. “All the girls in Teramondian read them, too: high birth or low, court ladies or merchants’ daughters. Their mothers pretend indifference, but I’ve noticed even quite elderly matrons will correct your smallest errors if you refer to even the most recent epics.”

  And Tan had actually tested that, Mienthe guessed, just to amuse himself or purely out of habit. She didn’t know whether that was entertaining or a bit frightening.

  “But anyone from Linularinum will go beyond the popular epics. Especially in the court, people would rather quote something flowery and obscure—especially obscure—than simply say anything right out.”

  “Oh.” Mienthe tried to imagine this.

  “It’s true they’re secretive and love to be clever, but half the time when they’re sneaking around trying to outmaneuver someone, they’re actually arranging something kind for a friend. They like to surprise people, and they don’t brag about it when they’ve been generous.”

  He almost made her admire secrecy, though it had never before occurred to her that that might be an admirable quality. “Are they kinder and more generous than we are, then?”

  “Oh… no, I don’t think so. But much less straightforward about both friendships and enmities. It’s true what they say, that no one smiles in Linularinum without first calculating which way fortune is tending. But it’s also true—this is a Linularinan saying—that the politest smile still contains teeth. You can’t guess whether a man is your friend or not by whether he smiles at you.”

  “They sound very different from us,” Mienthe said doubtfully. She wondered if this could actually be true. Though she’d heard that saying.

  “In some ways. And in other ways, that perhaps matter more, they aren’t different at all.”

  Mienthe nodded. She was even more certain now that he had loved Linularinum. She looked for something to say that might ease his sense of loss, but couldn’t think of anything. Probably a Linularinan woman would be able to think of something subtle and obscure and, what had he said? Flowery. Something subtle and obscure and flowery to make him feel better. She d
idn’t seem to be as clever as a Linularinan woman. She said merely, which was true but neither subtle nor clever, “I’m sorry for your loss. I don’t suppose you’ll have a chance to go back to Teramondian now.”

  Tan said after a moment, “It was bound to come to this eventually. That it was that day, right then, when all the pieces suddenly fell into order… Well, the years do shatter in our hands, and cut us to the bone if we try to hold them.”

  Mienthe could not imagine wanting to hold on to the past. Then she thought of Tef, and after all understood exactly what Tan meant. Erich, too, nodded.

  “So tell me how I came to be so fortunate as to find Iaor here before me,” Tan said to him, deliberately breaking the moment.

  Erich shrugged. “His Majesty,” he said with some emphasis, “likes to see his country. And he likes to leave the cold heights and come down to the Delta before the heat of summer.”

  “Eminently sensible,” murmured Tan, with a quirk of one eyebrow.

  “I’ve always thought so,” Erich agreed with a grin. “We chase the spring, and by the time we reach Tiearanan, we find the ice gone from the mountains and the flowers blooming.”

  “Yes, but it’s more than that,” Mienthe put in, “because they say His Majesty never guested in the Delta until Bertaud came back. Everything—” She stopped abruptly, having come surprisingly close to adding, Everything changed when my cousin came home. How strange that she should have begun to say something so personal.

  “The Fox never leaves Teramondian, I think. I think perhaps I prefer His Majesty’s”—and here Tan lifted a wry eyebrow at Erich, who grinned back—“inclination to see the whole of his country.”

  Mienthe nodded. “From here, King Iaor takes his household along the coast to Terabiand, then back north along the Nejeied River to the summer court in Tiearanan.”

  “Lingering in Terabiand if there are any reports of late snows in the mountains,” put in Erich.

  “Yes, so the whole progress takes about two months, sometimes more, doesn’t it, Erich? I’ve always wanted to go along… My cousin doesn’t want to spend so long away from the Delta, I suppose,” Mienthe added a little doubtfully.

  “He doesn’t care to travel?”

  “Oh, before, he went everywhere in Feierabiand, I think,” she said. “And to—” Casmantium, she had meant to say, but that had been after Casmantium had tried to annex part of Feierabiand, when her cousin had escorted Erich from his father’s court to Iaor’s and she didn’t want to say that. She said instead, “I think he likes to stay closer to home, now.”

  “Of course,” Tan murmured.

  Mienthe realized suddenly that Tan really had known about the progress, but had simply wanted to get them talking freely. And she had—much more than usual. She gave him a narrow look, wondering whether to laugh or be angry. “You’re very good at that, aren’t you? I think I understand why you’re such a good spy. Confidential agent, I mean.”

  Tan looked surprised. Then he laughed and opened his hands in a gesture of contrition. “Habit,” he said apologetically. “One I’ll have to break, now I’m no longer an agent—certainly not confidential. Forgive me, esteemed lady.”

  Mienthe thought it would be very difficult to break a habit of getting people to talk to you, and doubted Tan really meant to try. And the other half of that habit must be not talking too much yourself, at least not about anything important. That must be hard, learning to say things, but nothing that mattered. She’d certainly been carrying more than her share of the conversation so far, which wasn’t at all usual for her, and hadn’t been her intention, either.

  Perhaps guessing her thoughts, Tan said lightly, “I do know some north Linularinan poetry, including a couple of romantic epics you might not have heard this far south. I could write them out for you, if you like.”

  Mienthe straightened, excited and happy at this generous offer, even though he’d obviously made it partly to turn the subject and partly to flatter her because she was Bertaud’s cousin. But she hardly meant to turn the offer down, no matter why he’d made it. She said quickly, “Oh, could you? Of course you could—you have a legist’s memory. That would be wonderful, truly! And it would be something quiet you could do, when I know you’re still tired.” She hesitated, remembering that he was a guest, and still recovering from injury or exhaustion. “If you’re sure you don’t mind?”

  “Not in the least,” Tan said cheerfully. “Whom should I ask for paper and quills?”

  “Oh, I’ll send you all the things you’d need,” Mienthe assured him. She jumped up, but then hesitated. “I know you only just came out of a legist’s trance. Of course you need to rest. I’d understand if you’ve worn your gift out for the next little while—I didn’t mean to ask you to write things for me if you’re too tired or anything—”

  “Not at all,” Tan assured her with perfect good cheer. “An unhurried little task like this is just what I need to limber my gift and memory and fingers all up again.”

  “If you’re sure,” Mienthe said. But he did look tired now, she thought. “But I’m sure you should rest. I’ll tell the kitchens to send up a real tray, shall I?” There were only crumbs on the plate that had held the rolls.

  “A wonderful idea,” Tan agreed, and let his head rest against the pillows.

  “Though I should go find Bertaud first,” Mienthe added doubtfully, once she and Erich were in the hall. There were two guardsmen in the hall, which she found did not surprise her.

  “Go,” agreed Erich. “I’m sure Geroen passed the word along, but yes, go. I do not mind to go back by the kitchens.”

  Mienthe grinned and let him go. But once she was alone, her steps slowed. She was, she decided, thinking back on it, not quite as pleased at Tan’s offer as she ought to have been. How strange it was, to be a little bit suspicious of every single thing a man said! She found herself wondering if Tan was trying to make a good impression on her, and then wondering if asking herself that question meant he wasn’t succeeding, and then asking herself whether it was fair to be suspicious of a man who had, after all, risked his life to bring Feierabiand important information. Or fair to worry about whether Tan was being altogether honest with her, when, after all, she never did know whether anyone ever was. Except her cousin, of course.

  Her steps quickened as she suddenly found herself eager to talk to Bertaud. She wanted to ask him whether he liked Tan, whether he thought he ought to like him, whether he trusted him—was it possible to like somebody you didn’t trust? Was it proper to allow yourself to like somebody you didn’t trust?

  Though the great house had hardly been built to loom over the town, some parts of it were set rather high, and then the whole house was on a hill—not a high hill, but the highest Tiefenauer offered. The solar was nearly as high up as the tower room, but in every other way it was the antithesis of that windowless chamber, being long and narrow and very nearly nothing but windows. It was much too hot in high summer for anyone but a particularly determined cat, but it was perfect in the winter and early spring, especially at sunset, for almost all of its windows looked west. One could look right out over the rooftops of Tiefenauer to the flashing ribbon of the river, the bridge leading in a fine and delicate arch over to Linularinum. Away to the north, the marshes were a dusky emerald with occasional glints of diamond brilliance where the sunlight struck through the dense trees to the still waters beneath. To the south, visible on clear days, the infinite sea stretched away, muddy and opaque where the Sierhanan River emptied, clear sapphire farther out.

  Mienthe had expected Bertaud to be in company with King Iaor, with maybe half a dozen attendants besides. But her cousin was quite alone. He was sitting in a high-backed chair drawn up close to the windows. There was a book open on his knee, but he wasn’t reading it. He was gazing out over the city, past the city, at the clouds piling up over the sea, purple and gold against a luminous sky, crimson in the west where the setting sun turned the sea to flame.

  He did not see
Mienthe at once. She watched him in silence for a moment. The brilliant light showed her fine lines at the corners of his eyes, deeper lines at the corners of his mouth. He looked older in this light, only… not exactly older. Her cousin looked, Mienthe thought, as though something had recalled to him some grief or hard memory.

  Then, though she was standing motionless, he must have heard her, for he turned his head. The golden light of sunset seemed to fill his eyes with fire, and yet behind the opaque veil of fire, they were dark. Even bleak. Some of the other girls Mienthe knew who also liked epic romances would have instantly spun a tale of love and loss to explain that bleakness. Mienthe didn’t think what she saw had any such simple explanation. She didn’t understand her cousin’s unspoken sorrow, yet somehow she recognized it. She stood mute in the doorway.

  Then the setting sun touched the surface of the sea, the angle of the light coming in through the windows changed, and the moment passed.

  “Mienthe,” Bertaud said, rising to greet her. With the light now at his back, it was impossible to make out his expression at all.

  Though Mienthe listened carefully, she could hear neither grief nor loneliness in his tone. She said, “Tan’s awake, did Geroen tell you? I went to see him.” She’d been a little worried that her cousin might not approve, but he only nodded and invited her, with a gesture, to take a chair near his.

  “What did you think of our spy?”

  “Oh…” Mienthe tried to think how to answer. “He has enough charm, when he wants to. I think he must have been a good spy.”

  “Indeed. He’s resting now, I suppose? Well enough. I’ll want to speak with him tonight. Or possibly Iaor will. Or perhaps both of us.”

  Poor spy, to have both the king and her cousin looming over him at once.

  “I left orders for one of Geroen’s men to attend him at all times. I want him to stay close for a few more days, and I don’t think I necessarily trust that man to obey any command he’d rather conveniently forget.”

  Her cousin was smiling a little as he said this last, but Mienthe thought he wasn’t really amused. He wasn’t used, she decided, to having to doubt whether anybody would obey him, and he didn’t like having to wonder.

 

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