A breeze played idly with the flowers set on a stand near the window. Other than that spot of color, Sene’s audience room had very little in the way of decoration. One entire wall and the adjacent corner were filled with a map table. The other walls, except for the space needed for windows and doors, were covered with book shelves. Once every few ninedays, Sene used the room to hear disputes referred to him by law readers. He liked the convenience of having his references near to hand, but he suspected that his reputation for wisdom occasionally suffered in the eyes of his Keeper subjects, who didn’t need books and weren’t always generous about allowing that other people did.
Through the house door, propped open to catch the cross breeze, Sene heard the rap of boot heels on the corridor’s tiled floor. Feather exclaimed, “Not another one! And don’t tell me that listening to your arbitrations is an opportunity to broaden my education, because I am never going to be a ruler of Sitrine. And that’s that.”
“Define ‘ruler.’ No, never mind. We’ll discuss it later.” Boot heels—not the softer, formal footwear of a law reader—implied one of his guards or a traveling messenger. Sene hid a smile. He would point out that detail to her later—educationally, of course.
The man who entered was not a member of Sene’s guard.
“Ivey!” Feather exclaimed.
“Your Majesty,” the minstrel said to Sene. “Dektrieb told me I’d find you here. Hello, Feather.”
“Welcome, my friend.” Sene gestured Ivey into the room. “You bring me news of the wide world?”
“Quite a lot, actually.”
Sene took a seat at the table as Ivey began his report. Feather made no move to leave, which pleased Sene. The sooner she understood the complicated issues involved in ruling Sitrine, the sooner she would be ready to marry Chasa. Afternoon faded to twilight, then to full dark. The minstrel had not been exaggerating. He had a great deal of news indeed. Sene had drawn paper, pen, and ink from a drawer and made notes as Ivey spoke. He looked them over now. Unrest in Edian, the sorry state of the Brownmother house at Soza, the guard attack on Broadford, and Jenil’s choice of a Keeper family to shelter Vray.
“This carter,” Sene said. “Do you trust him?”
Ivey looked surprised. “Jordy? Yes, of course.”
“From what you say, he has little use for Shapers. What would he say if he knew that you served me?”
“He would call me a fool.” Ivey leaned back in his chair with a smile. “He says what he thinks. He’s an honest man, Your Majesty.”
“Honest men don’t like being deceived.”
“True. He’ll be furious. But there’s no sense worrying about that until it happens. Right now, I need your advice about another Dherrican entirely.”
“Very well. Palle, or Pirse?”
“Both, actually.”
“I was under the impression that the prince spends his winters hunting Abstainer bands and his summers killing dragons.”
“Aye. Quite successful he is, too. The villagers honor him for it. Palle, on the other hand, never stirs from Bronle. His troops guard the important trade routes between Dherrica and Rhenlan, make a show of patrolling the border, and are quick and efficient when it comes to the collection of taxes and tribute.”
“Nothing wrong with any of that.”
“Except for the way certain merchants are given all the best trade, and certain goods are available in some villages but not others, and certain Shaper families receive favors from the king while others do not.”
“Choices must be made.” Sene glanced at Feather. “The art of arbitration.”
“Palle renders judgment based on who is the highest bidder. Those who can buy his favor are pleased with the system. Those who cannot have no voice with which to complain. Rather neat, don’t you agree?”
Sene studied the young man’s bitter expression. “None of this changes the fact that, with Dea and Emlie dead, and Pirse declared Abstainer, Palle is the lawful king.”
“Pirse is no more an Abstainer than I am. He did not kill the queen. Half of Dherrica knows it, and the rest have their suspicions.”
“Can he prove that? Can you?”
“Stones, no.”
“He can’t challenge his uncle’s accusation in front of the law readers without some evidence to support his version of what happened.”
Ivey snorted. “He doesn’t know what really happened. He also can’t enter Bronle. Some of the guards might deliver him to the law reader for judgment—but would rather please Palle than serve the law.”
“Then the impasse continues.”
“Not necessarily.” Ivey sat forward. “It occurred to me that Pirse could challenge his uncle’s right to the throne without ever placing himself in his uncle’s power.”
“How?”
“By fathering a child—a direct descendent to take Dea’s place.”
Sene twirled his pen between his fingers. Feather, who had not spoken since the minstrel began his tale, identified the most practical flaw in Ivey’s plan. “Has Palle claimed blood debt against the prince?”
“Formally, no,” Ivey admitted. “But isn’t it implied? Pirse is accused of murder, of stealing the life of Palle’s sister. By law, Palle has every right to claim new life for old.”
“By declaring Pirse Abstainer, his life forfeit, he made his claim clear,” Sene said. “He wants Pirse to pay the debt with his own life.”
“Ah, but that’s my point. Palle can lay the claim, but it is up to whoever judges the case to decide the method of payment.”
“But, you said Palle has not claimed blood debt,” Feather argued.
“With good reason, if Ivey is correct,” Sene said. “The last thing he needs is for Pirse to father and raise a child to succeed Dea as ruler of Dherrica. Not only would such a response to the blood debt claim save Pirse’s life, it would also relegate Palle to the role of regent, at best. Not even that, if the mother’s family claims the regency for her.”
“Can Pirse answer a challenge before it’s presented?”
Sene nodded slowly. “In the case of a member of a ruling house, like Pirse, claims are settled by a council of the Children, rather than a single law reader.”
“I don’t know if it would work,” Ivey said. “That’s why I’m asking.” He pointed to the booklined shelves. “If there’s a precedent anywhere in there, Sire, to get Palle off the throne, all of Dherrica would be grateful.”
“I can’t guarantee anything. But I also can’t see Pirse remaining a fugitive for the rest of his life. Have you discussed this with the prince?”
“Aye. We spent a nineday together last winter, near Dundas.”
“Do you have a mother in mind for this child?”
“We do.”
“And you have reason to believe she’ll accept this proposition? Her and her family? For the sake of the child, this will need to be more than a passing relationship between Pirse and the girl.”
“The family has no great love for Palle.” A blush colored Ivey’s fair Dherrican skin. “As for Kamara, Pirse won’t know for certain until he asks her, but he told me the two of them were childhood friends.”
Sene heard tapping. Distracted, he glanced toward Feather. She had her arms folded and a frown on her face. The toes of one foot beat impatiently against the floor.
“I see you’ve got it all figured out,” she said. “But what if it’s all a waste of effort? What if Palle refuses to acknowledge the child?”
“I know the solution to that problem,” Sene said. He smiled at Feather. “And you, my dear, can help.”
Her foot stopped its tapping. “Me?”
“In fact, the task is perfect for you. An opportunity to broaden your base of authority here in Sitrine.”
“But—”
“You will summon a Council of Judgment,” Sene continued over her protest. “Aage is the only Dreamer available, but you’ve got hundreds of people to chose from for the Shaper and Keeper positions. We’ll make a formal pr
esentation of the case and let the Council respond. That should answer your questions, Ivey.”
“We?” Feather repeated.
Sene pretended not to notice the icy skepticism in her tone. “Feather, you will speak for Pirse in his absence. The judgment of the Council will resolve nothing between Pirse and his uncle, of course, because Palle hasn’t presented the challenge to us. But we can judge whether or not this child would be fair compensation if Palle ever does claim his blood debt.”
Ivey nodded. “That’s all Pirse asks. Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“Yes,” Feather grumbled. “Thanks.”
Chapter 25
Sene knew better than to be out from under a cool roof at midday in summer-baked Raisal. Even worse, he walked the main street bare-headed. The bald spot on the top of his head would crisp in the strong sunlight. He’d go home burned, and Jeyn would nag at him. He wiped a trickle of sweat from his cheek.
“Should have brought a hat.”
The market was over for the day, and the street nearly empty. As he passed a tavern, a few people lounging at the awning-shaded tables called to him, but he declined their offer of a refreshing drink and hurried on. He needed to be alone, to bring his anger and frustration with Jeyn under control. He had shouted at his daughter, she’d shouted back, and they’d stomped off in opposite directions—which didn’t solve a thing.
When his grandmother was ruler, Raisal had been the largest town on the continent, its market and workshops and wharves bustling with activity. Sene barely remembered those days, when he rode his father’s shoulders through the noisy, crowded streets and watched ships sail in and out of the harbor. He remembered the plague better—mass graves, Redmothers reciting by the hundreds the names of the dead, and whole streets of houses emptied and left to fall to ruin. Ruin that still hadn’t been completely cleared away, despite years of effort. Now he walked the streets of a much smaller town, toward wharves where only a few fishing and trading boats waited for the tide.
Both his parents had died from the plague. His grandmother lived until he was fourteen. From her, he inherited a town and countryside ravished by loss and reeling with despair. In the waning years of the plague, representatives of more and more villages came to him with the news that the Shapers who had led and protected them were dead. In the end, only three other Shaper families survived in Sitrine, all close relatives of the ruler of Raisal. The consensus among Keepers, Shapers, and Aage was for Sene to organize and care for the populace of the northeastern lands. Instead of concentrating on his city and its surrounding villages, Sene began the task of rebuilding an entire region. More responsibility than any one person should have to bear, but there hadn’t been any choice. The rulers of Rhenlan and Dherrica, whose territories had grown in much the same way, seemed to take pleasure in their expanded kingdoms. He did not.
Sene approached the dock. A breeze tempered the heat and disguised the fierceness of the sun. Perhaps the comparatively cool air would help clear his head. He had to think this situation through before he went home and tried, again, to have a reasonable conversation with Jeyn.
He wouldn’t be quite so annoyed if both Aage and Jenil weren’t nagging at him. They were impatient to get on with their plans for a new generation of Dreamers. Hion’s daughter had been established in her new home, and Feather was settling in to life in Raisal. The only one unwilling to cooperate was Jeyn. Over lunch, Sene had tried to have a fatherly talk with his gods-favored daughter. It wasn’t that he wanted to push her into marriage, exactly. He had merely hoped to advise her on her relationship with her betrothed. Jeyn had not been interested in his advice. As the conversation grew more heated, Sene discovered she wasn’t interested in Daav, either.
Sene took a seat on the weather-worn planking of the dock and leaned his back against a piling. Through the purposeful bustle of traders, sailors, and hungry gulls, he spotted Chasa’s boat at the end of the jetty. His son had been called away on a sea-dragon hunt just after the Spring Festival, and had only returned last night. Sene didn’t remember so many monsters slipping through the cracks between worlds when he was young. Maybe because the cracks weren’t so numerous then, or because there had been more wizards to defend against the magic.
They needed more Dreamers, and soon. The gods had provided a way, and Sene had vowed to obey the gods’ will. Jeyn was old enough to be wed. It was time she and Daav made peace with each other and got on with giving him grandchildren. Sene sighed, and knocked the back of his head lightly against the wooden post. It didn’t help his frustration any. What was he going to do with that girl? She had too much mind of her own. Always thought she was right. A chuckle rumbled up from his chest.
“Takes after her father that way,” he admitted. With renewed determination, Sene got to his feet. Time to go home and try a little more fatherly persuasion.
* * *
Chasa pulled off his vest as he came into the hall as the head of the household staff entered through another door. “Have you seen Feather this morning, Dektrieb?”
“Gone into town, I believe. She’s been complaining about being cooped up in the house.” Dektrieb muttered something else under his breath, about Feather, but Chasa couldn’t catch the words.
Chasa hid a smile with his hand. “You don’t remember when we were children, do you?”
Dektrieb shook his head. “I was with the guard then, Highness.”
A wound and the permanent limp that resulted had forced Dektrieb to retire from the guard and come to work on the king’s estate.
“Well,” Chasa went on. “Feather’s always been adventurous. And kind of stubborn and touchy. We used to get into a lot of trouble together.”
He remembered the time they’d stolen a basket of freshly caught fish from the kitchen—so fresh they were still wriggling. Feather wanted to get them back in the water before they died, and they got to the shore and tossed the basket in before they’d been caught. They had gone to bed hungry, and had to listen to a long, dull lecture from Aage on the differences between fresh and salt water fish, but they’d still felt they had managed a victorious deed. They used to make plans about all the victorious deeds they’d accomplish when they were grown up and no one could stop them from saving the world. Then Feather had gotten sick and been sent away and a great deal of mischief had left Chasa’s life. Jeyn liked to tease, but Feather had been a true instigator of rebellion.
Bright sunlight hit Chasa in the face as he left the house. She could have waited a couple of hours, he thought, and sighed as he set off toward town.
Raisal slumbered in the midday heat. The few people Chasa encountered were happy to report that the new princess and the king had wandered by at different places and times. Chasa followed on Feather’s trail. It led down a wide street of small shops interspersed with vegetable and flower gardens. Vine trellises climbed the stucco walls, waxy green leaves and explosions of purple flowers dark in contrast to the sun-catching whitewash beneath them. Chasa lingered in the shade of a building for a few minutes. In the garden behind him, a songbird trilled. He didn’t have to wait long before Feather emerged from a doorway. She carried a cloth bag and wore a green dress belted with a red sash. A silver chain glinted around her delicate throat. She plopped a wide-brimmed straw hat over her fine, straying hair as she stepped, barefoot, into the street.
Chasa took a steadying breath and hurried to catch up with her. He touched her lightly on the shoulder. “Lost?”
She turned her head, looking up sourly from beneath the hat brim. “Of course not.”
“Can I carry your bag?” He fell into step beside her.
“No.”
“What have you got?” I sound like a five-year-old, he told himself. Next I’ll be asking if I can see. Then I’ll go on to the banality of commenting on the weather. He decided to start over. “Hello, Feather.”
“Hello. Embroidery thread.”
They continued walking toward the main square. “Do you like lemonade?” he asked.
>
“Yes.”
“There’s an inn nearby where we could get out of the sun.”
“I like the sun.”
“So do I. But aren’t you thirsty?” He couldn’t see her face under the hat. He noticed the tension in her and wondered what was wrong. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
“No.”
“Then maybe we could sit and talk and get to know each other.” They entered the square in silence, and he steered her toward the inn. “For example, you could tell me what you like to embroider. Do you still hate to eat fish?”
Feather stopped walking and glared up at him. “That’s not fair.”
“I know,” he said. “I remember lots of things about you and you don’t know a thing about any of us.”
He didn’t want to tell her how angry that made him. The thought that Dreamers could make mistakes made him extremely uncomfortable.
He motioned toward the inn. “Why don’t we have some lemonade? Then we could go home and I’ll hunt up a book of embroidery patterns in the library. There’s a text all about the history of embroidery. I could read that to you, if you like.”
“I don’t need to hear a history of embroidery.”
“You’ll like the pictures.”
Her frown eased. Grudgingly, she nodded. “That might be interesting.”
“Chasa, Feather!”
They turned to see the king approaching them. “Sir?” Chasa said.
“Your Majesty.” Feather’s expression brightened as the king came up and put a hand on her shoulder.
“A warm day,” Sene said. “Lemonade at the usual inn?”
She looked up at him with a friendly smile. “Yes, Sire.”
Chasa gaped at the obvious fondness between his father and his betrothed. The king did not seem to notice. “Son, do me a favor. Ivey’s back at the house, and your sister and Daav have been fighting again. I’ve got a suspicion she might try to make Daav jealous, and I don’t want her embarrassing herself or Ivey. Might be a good idea if you spent some time with her until I get a chance to talk to her.” Without waiting for Chasa’s reply, he steered Feather toward the inn.
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