After a suitable pause Dael prompted, “What feeling?”
“The feeling that if I said the wrong thing you’d run away from me exactly as you ran away from the inn.”
“I didn’t run… All right. I am running. In circles. She held a Remembering.”
“So I heard.”
“The next morning she was gone, sent abroad in Rhenlan to study as a young princess should, and it’s partly my fault.”
“Oh?”
Grateful that the darkness hid his embarrassment, Dael described Vray’s growing infatuation with him, and Prince Damon’s practical solution. Ivey sensibly refrained from any ribald remarks and allowed Dael to finish his story without interruption.
“I don’t see why you’re worried,” the minstrel said as they turned the corner into another quiet street. “You know why she’s gone, and what she’s probably doing.”
“She hasn’t been seen, Ivey.”
“How far have you looked?” Ivey asked. “For that matter, how far should you look, given that her absence is with the knowledge and approval of the king?”
“It’s just that I miss the girl, Ivey.”
“I’m sure she misses you, too. And she’ll probably be kept away from Edian until she stops missing you.” They reached the goldsmithy’s lamp-lit windows and turned down the path to the back door. “Your parents are going to think I don’t like Edian’s inns. I stay with them too often.”
“They like you.”
“They like my singing.”
“They like being the first to hear your news.”
“I’ve a lot to tell.” Ivey stopped Dael before they reached the door. “Don’t worry about Princess Vray. If I hear anything, I’ll send word to you.”
Dael draped his arm over the minstrel’s shoulders. “Thank you.” He pushed the kitchen door open. “Dad! Mom! Company!”
* * *
Hot nights in the mountains didn’t happen very often. The heat contributed to Pirse’s being unable to sleep. The heat and the memories. He lay in the darkened main room of Doron’s small house and willed himself to stop sweating. A nineday before he would have blamed it on fever, but the fever hadn’t bothered him for some time now. It was just a still midsummer night. Too still. Too quiet. He could hear his thoughts too clearly. He could see his memories more vividly than the shadows the sickness had made of them. Lying here in the dyer’s house, all he could think of was his mother’s great hall, all he could hear was Cratt’s despair, all he could see was the accusation in his uncle’s dark eyes. Accusation and triumph.
Pirse sat up abruptly, unable to stand his own dark silence any longer. The cot creaked beneath him. He heaved himself to his feet and clutched his aching head with one hand, fighting nausea. The door to the porch was open; a rectangle of bluish light crossed with the motionless shadows of tree branches overhead. He moved hastily outside, bare feet silent. Since his intrusion into her life, Doron often appeared at his bedside when he was restless, day or night, to offer her brusque sympathy and see to the little details of nursing him back to health. Health he didn’t deserve. Health that meant facing up to the future.
He crossed to the porch steps and sank down, dropping his head into his hands. An owl hooted somewhere in the forest to the north. He always noticed hunters. He was a hunter, much good it had done him. How many of the castle guards died in the lawful hunt for me? I don’t even remember. Why didn’t I let them take me? I should never have left Bronle. I’m no good to anyone out here.
“What are you doing awake?”
Pirse jerked upright. Doron stood in front of him, at the bottom of the stairs. “How did you get there?”
She planted her large fists on her hips and scowled at him. “I’ve a right to be in my own yard.”
“I thought you were asleep in the house.”
“You were wrong. And you should be resting. To bed with you.” She made a shooing motion with her hands. It made Pirse feel like a hen being chased back into a chicken coop. He assumed it was that image which almost made him smile.
“I can’t sleep,” he answered her, and made the effort to be polite, even if it was the middle of the night. “Does the heat disturb you, too?”
The moonlight shone over her shoulder, leaving her face in shadow. She turned and sat on the step beside him, revealing a sad expression on her strong features. Staring across the yard, she seemed to forget his presence for a time.
She was really quite pretty, he decided, in a raw-boned, square-jawed sort of way. A woman of character, of strength. That’s what his mother would have said. She believed in finding something complimentary to say about all people.
Mother. What am I going to do?
Sheyn was bright tonight. His blue light positively glistened on the woman’s face. Pirse blinked and looked more closely at Doron. It wasn’t moonlight. A slender trail of tears marked her cheek.
Without thinking, he touched her shoulder. “Doron? Are you all right? Is it something to do with me?”
She shook him off. “Shapers.” Her low voice was roughened with emotion, but not so rough that he missed the underlying contempt. “You’re not the center of the world, man. I had a life before you came to Juniper Ridge. Had.” A deep sigh shook her. “Go to bed, will you?”
He bit back his first proud retort and answered with forced patience. “There’s no sleep for either of us. I’m only trying to be of use. I know I’m not much help in a village, but I do know how to listen if you need to talk.”
“You don’t know me, Shaper, nor I you. What makes you think you can help where family and friends have failed? I had a man. He’s dead. Talking or listening can’t help that.”
“I had a mother and sister,” he retorted before he could stop himself. “They’re dead. I hurt tonight. Advise me, Doron. If talking doesn’t help the grief, what does?”
“Rock and Pool,” she whispered. “I wish I knew.” Suddenly she was facing him, the tears rolling more freely, her mouth twisting with despair. “I don’t know what to do!”
He swallowed uncomfortably. “Doron….” His voice didn’t respond as he’d expected it to. Instead, his vision blurred and his hands went to her shoulders again, this time without rebuff. She moved into his offered embrace, her head burrowing into his shoulder. He tried to take a deep breath, but the inhalation became a sob. He buried his face in the softness of her hair and the tight control he’d kept over his emotions shattered.
“I told myself, no tears,” he said when he was done with his crying. Said it not to Doron, but to himself. “Tears wash away grief. I don’t deserve that.”
“Oh hush,” was the unsympathetic retort from the woman. “Tears come. They solve nothing. They just come.”
He pushed her gently upright. “Fine pair, aren’t we?”
“Pair? That we are not.” She stood and walked back into her yard. “Go to bed. Go to sleep. That also solves nothing, but it passes the time.”
She disappeared beneath the shadows of the trees. Pirse levered himself to his feet. “Passing the time? Maybe that’s enough for you.” Fatigue caught up with him as he spoke. A yawn took the place of whatever else he was going to say, and drove the words right out of his mind. He made it back into the house with barely enough energy to find his cot. If he wasn’t good for anything else, he thought as his eyes closed, at least he could play the obedient lad for the dyer of Juniper Ridge. That’s the trouble with Dherricans. We all think we know what’s best for everyone else.
We just can’t decide what’s best for ourselves.
* * *
The pain grew during the night, ebbing near dawn. It was a frequent pattern and Hion had learned to live with it, but it exhausted him, eating away at Jenil’s healing magic
“Magic,” Hion snorted, and dragged himself from beneath the sweat-soaked sheets. He stumbled across the room and opened the curtains to let in the dawn light. Behind him, the door opened, and he heard the familiar sounds of his servant preparing his bath. He settl
ed heavily into the chair by the window and watched the light grow over the fields and buildings of his city. He loved the view from his room. His view alone. It had been years since he’d shared quarters with the queen. Gallia was hardly ever in Edian. When she was, she certainly didn’t come near the king’s chambers. She hadn’t shared his bed since the night the girl was conceived. Not that Hion particularly cared. The red-haired woman’s presence wasn’t missed.
He shared his bed with the pain, which was all the company he could bear. Hion was glad to have no meddling woman about to question him. His room was the only refuge he had. Here, he could be weak. If he showed weakness in the castle, in the council chamber and great hall, on his rounds of the city, there would be talk. If there was talk, a delegation of Shapers would follow, to challenge his right to rule them—and Gallia would lead the delegation.
He had given his life in defense of Rhenlan. He had no intention of retiring to some estate to quietly nurse his failing strength. He was not yet fifty years old! Every moment he still ruled—some worse than others—reminded him of the rewards of his Shaper’s duty.
Hion sighed. He was feeling particularly bitter this morning. It had been a bad night, and now he had a council meeting to prepare for. He moved to the tub of hot water that his servant had filled. She was the only person he allowed in his rooms. Hion didn’t think they’d exchanged more than a few words in all the years she’d served him, but she understood his habits and never got in the way. She’d been young and pretty once. Gallia had been jealous.
Gallia had liked to pretend, in the early days, that she loved her husband. She’d given up the pretense after Damon’s birth, doting on the baby for a while. Eventually she lost interest in their son and went back to the horses she loved. She still spoiled Damon when she came to court. Fortunately, the castle was no more to her than a place to stay during the annual horse fair, so Damon was spared her smothering attention all but a few days of the year.
Hion eased himself into the steaming water and leaned his head back against the wooden edge of the tub. He closed his eyes, paying no attention as the servant went through the familiar ritual of bathing and shaving him.
Poor Damon. The boy had had poor luck with his parents, and poor luck with the times he lived in. A Shaper needed challenges, things to struggle against. Since the plague, the monsters that still afflicted Dherrica and Sitrine had been absent from Rhenlan. Hion had seen to the last of the fire bears himself. Though they kept patrols on the southern border, the horse people had been quiet for a dozen years or so.
It might have been better for the boy if he’d been able to set his mind and strength against some tangible threat. Damon had grown up a brilliant administrator, but he lacked compassion. At twenty-six, he showed no more understanding of the basic needs of Shaper and Keeper than he had shown at sixteen, or six. Hion was grateful for all the help his son gave, but worried as well. Although he allowed Damon to oversee more and more of the business of running the kingdom, his son was not yet qualified to assume the full responsibilities of kingship. He had not yet told the council, or Damon, how soon he might have to relinquish the throne to his son. Only Jenil, who had sense enough to keep her Dreamer’s nose out of the business of government, knew that the king spent much of his time lost in pain.
The hot, pine-scented water soothed Hion’s aching body. That’s something else the kingdom owes me. Rhenlan stole my life. Worse, it has stolen my boy’s childhood. I’ve used him, turned him into my deputy, but he’s not ready.
Hion grunted and heaved himself out of the water. Time to start the long, hard day. The serving woman handed him a towel and he went back to his bedroom to dress in the clothing she’d laid out while he soaked.
The morning was growing older and he had the council to think of. His eyes sought the window and the long view over the countryside. He was a fool to keep trudging up the many flights of steps to the privacy of this tower chamber year after weakening year. He could sleep nearer to the ground, but he had no intention of giving up the privilege of the dawn.
He turned his thoughts to the council and what they needed to discuss today. Ah, yes. The message from Palle, and Captain Dael’s request for guards.
Dael will ask that the guards now on the border be put to use hunting down Abstainers. Best to talk to Dael before the meeting. No need to discuss Abstainers in front of Damon. Dael’s a good lad, responsible, but Damon’s my son. It was hard on the boy when his uncle, Gallia’s brother, renounced his vows and ran off to the abandoned lands rather than live among civilized people. Soen’s mad, always was. Still, Damon cared deeply for him. Now he’s afraid that every Abstainer executed will be his dear uncle. He’ll have to deal with Abstainers when he’s king, but I’ll manage that problem for now. Tell Dael myself we can’t spare any more guards.
What else? Hion waved the question away and got to his feet. Never mind. He’d find out soon enough.
Chapter 10
I wish I had time to get drunk, Dael thought as he mounted the steps of the law reader’s house. Good and drunk. A days and days long drunk. Several people followed him through the wide doors. The petitioners were stopped by the porter to ask their names and business while Dael continued on into the cool interior of the old wooden building. He headed up two flights of stairs to the top floor, turned left, and entered the room of the senior law reader, an old Shaper named Oskin.
“Dael. Good. I want to have a word with you.”
Dael approached the tall, carved oak table. The white-haired man behind it put down his quill. Dael gave the book one disinterested glance. He didn’t really understand Shapers’ need for recording things with pigment and parchment. All he knew was that most Shapers couldn’t recall what they’d had for breakfast unless a Redmother was there to remember for them, or they marked it down in a book or scroll. Oskin probably had a hundred books lining the shelves behind him. Vray said she liked to read the old records. Liked to read, though she didn’t really need to with her memory training. Personally, Dael preferred to listen to a story teller, or a minstrel’s songs.
“I need a favor, Oskin.”
The old man glowered at him. “I need more guards. Maybe we can help one another.”
“For the cells? You know I don’t have any people to spare.”
“Well, without guards we can’t hold prisoners. You’ll have no labor at all for the roads if every malicious offender is executed because there’s no one to oversee the labor crews.”
Dael grimaced. “That’s why I’m here. You’ll receive a delegation from Hillcrest today. They want a road repaired. You have to tell them to do their best without any help from Edian.”
“This can’t go on.”
“It will go on as long as guards are needed at the borders. We have to make do with what we have.”
A knock on the door interrupted them. “What is it?” Oskin called.
The porter stuck his head in. “Will you hear a blood debt settlement, sir?”
“Now? It’s an hour before my witness arrives. Can’t they come back later?”
“The woman’s with the midwife now, sir. They weren’t expecting the baby this early.”
“I’ll witness as long as I can,” Dael offered. “I have to see the king in an hour.”
“Oh, very well,” Oskin agreed. “Send them up.”
* * *
Because of the gentle rain which had been misting down all day, Doron did not expect to hear the sound of voices outside her dye shop. For that reason, and because she was concentrating so closely on the pigments she was grinding, she missed the beginning of the conversation. The first words that came clearly through the open window were in Prince Pirse’s good-natured voice.
“Fine day for it, Tamik!”
Doron raised her eyes from her mortar. Fine day for what? The voice of Tamik, an old shepherd who lived with his wife on the south edge of the village, sounded faintly through the rain. “Aye. It is that.”
“Is that Star, t
hen?”
The gate leading into the yard swung against the fence with its characteristic boom. “Nay, laddie. This is Myrtle. Star has the brown marking on her back.”
“I’ll try to remember that.”
Shapers can’t remember anything, Doron thought sourly. Then the nagging question returned: Fine day for what?
Tamik said, “You have a neat hand with that.”
“Plenty of experience, I’m afraid.”
That does it. How can I concentrate with people talking in riddles outside my window? Doron dropped her pestle into the mound of blue powder and stalked to the window. When I’m alone no one interrupts me. Why did I ever think I didn’t like living alone?
Tamik said, “Perhaps you’d have time another day to come by my house? I’ve one or two blades could use proper attention.”
“Gladly.”
Doron leaned one forearm on the windowsill. Blades. She might’ve known. Since Pirse had begun feeling stronger he’d been badgering her for useful things to do. He’d reset several stones in the hearth at her house, replaced half the fence at the east end of the yard, patched the roof of the storage shed in the dye shop yard, pulled weeds in the garden behind her house, and during the past nineday had begun the task of filling her woodshed for the winter. She admitted, at least privately, that he was a handy man to have around the place. She did not, however, recall giving him permission to get into her cutlery.
She stuck her head out the window. “Fine day for what? Good day, Tamik,” she added with an effort at friendliness. “Fine day to stay indoors, if you ask me.”
Pirse straightened. His soft black hair was even curlier than usual, thanks to the damp weather. He was seated on one of her three-legged stools in the shelter of the overhanging eaves, an oblong block of oiled stone nestled in the palm of one hand, her best carving knife in the other. In a basket beside him were the rest of her cooking knives, as well as two pairs of shears from the dye tool shed and the small sewing scissors she kept on the chest at the foot of her bed.
Moons' Dreaming (Children of the Rock) Page 10