Tanis watched Fynn and Brody depart and wished he could have gone along, for he was sure there was an adventure in store. Instead, he waited as his lady gave her mare to one of the boys, but not before admonishing the lad about how best to rub the animal down, what sort of feed to give her and when, that she had a sensitive tooth… Tanis had heard the lecture many times. Yawning, he heaved his and Alyneri’s bags over either shoulder, and went inside.
As he found a path through the crowded common, Tanis caught snatches of talk from each table. While passing two men, both dressed in rough leather jerkins, one of them said, “…have everyone on edge. Sundragons by all that’s unholy! Returned to claim their desert stronghold, some say.”
“I heard they were summoned by a mage sworn to the Emir.”
“Mage,” the first spat. “’Tis an ill wind blowin’ down in M’Nador, as anyone can see, yet His Majesty orders our fine soldiers to their deaths in a fight with a mage? I’ll wager there’s not a soul in the north as knows how to battle one of them desert witchlords.”
“As if dragons weren’t bad enough,” his friend commiserated.
The first shook his head. “No one can blame a man for keeping well away from M’Nador, even without the dangers of war.” Then he noticed Tanis watching him, gave a little start, and seemed to reconsider his prior words, for he added just loud enough for anyone who was listening to hear, “Not that His Majesty—Epiphany bless and keep him—shouldn’t have sent his army to exterminate the desert bastards. I’m not sayin’ that. What with them invading the way they have, and after murdering our Prince Sebastian…”
Tanis frowned and moved on, feeling his talent so often a curse instead of a gift. Being a Truthreader wasn’t at all as glamorous as Tad thought—especially when your eyes so readily identified you.
“—trouble with the pirates,” a mustached Veneisean was saying to his four companions, all of whom were huddled over a game of Trumps as Tanis passed. “You couldn’t pay me enough to sail the Sea of Shadows to Agasan, not if it meant crossing the waters near Jamaii.”
“My cousin lost an entire hold of cabbages to the bastards,” one of the other men added. “They thought his was a galleon ship out of the Bemothi mines…”
“—famous Healer,” a woman was noting to her two male companions at the next table along Tanis’s way. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that her gaze was fixed on his lady, who had just come inside. “They say she’s an important heiress and that the queen intends to betroth her to our Prince Ean—and this after she was meant to have married the middle brother before his death.”
“Can’t say I’d trust the girl,” returned one of the men. He was sipping his ale and eyeing Alyneri dubiously. “There’s probably a curse on ’er—you know how wicked strange those desert folk are. Could be she’s the reason the prince’s ship faltered in the Fire Sea in the first place…”
Two barmaids carrying trays of empty mugs slipped around Tanis, and as they rejoined in front of him again, he heard one of them whisper to the other, “I tell ye, Lise, he came to ’er in a dream and changed the color of ’er very hair, he did! He made her blonde like she’d always wanted—she says he can do anything in the world of dreams!”
“Really?” the other gasped. “D’ye think the Warrior-God Dagmar would come t’me in my dreams and change me into a Lady?” They both set to giggling.
Tanis spotted His Highness then. The prince was leaning on a barstool waiting for Rhys to finish arguing with the innkeeper. His hood had fallen back slightly, and his face was in view from certain angles. Tanis wondered what so occupied the prince’s mind that he hadn’t noticed his hood. The barmaids certainly took note of him, and one of them whispered, “My heart, but that one’s got the devil’s good looks, don’t he?”
Tanis admitted His Highness exhibited a roguish charm, well looking the part of a hired guard in his muted chestnut leathers—albeit an unusually handsome one. No one else seemed to be paying much attention to him, by Epiphany’s grace, though Tanis did notice a man get up and leave after he looked at the prince, but what did that prove? Tanis forced himself to relax about it, though he couldn’t quite banish his apprehension; it remained on the fringes of his awareness, making him tense and edgy.
The barmaids eyed Ean as they passed on their way into the kitchen, and he came out of his musing to bless them with a generous smile and a suggestive wink. They giggled even louder and rushed off down the hall amid excited whispers. Still softly smiling, Ean turned his attention back toward Rhys and the others, only to find that Alyneri had arrived and witnessed the exchange. He gave her a wink just for good measure. She replied with a withering look.
“…rooms?” the long-jowled proprietor was saying when Tanis at last joined his friends on the far side of the room near the wide staircase. “Well, to tell you the truth, my lord, we’re quite full—every inn in town is the same, I’ll wager. What with Festival up in Calgaryn and the Harvest Fair ongoing here and Samhain not but a week away.” Then he closed his mouth and settled greedy brown eyes on the captain.
Rhys grunted something uncomplimentary and shoved more silver pieces into the man’s hands, which he deftly slipped into his vest pocket. “Now that I think on it, surely we can make room for Her Grace’s party, my lord—that is if some of your men don’t mind doubling up.” He glanced to Alyneri, and Tanis thought he saw the shadow of a lewd smile flicker across his lips, but the spark vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving the lad to wonder if he’d seen it at all. “Well then,” the proprietor remarked, rubbing hands together. “Please come with me. ’Tis a long way you’ve come, Your Grace—from Calgaryn, did you say?”
Tanis eyed the man distrustfully. There was something about him that put the boy on edge.
“I wonder,” Alyneri asked, “if you might have a private room where we could all dine together. The common looks so crowded tonight…”
“I’ve a small room in the back,” the innkeeper offered as they rounded the landing, “but I’m not sure if it’s available...” He looked to Rhys expectantly, like a droopy-eyed hound waiting at the tableside for scraps.
Rhys glared at the man and shoved another silver piece at him.
The proprietor turned Alyneri a winning smile. “I’ll have the meal set at once,” he cooed.
“You’re very kind,” Alyneri murmured pleasantly.
Rhys grunted.
Following at the back of the group, Tanis was unable to take his eyes off the innkeeper. What is it about him?
Rhys was paying the man for something else when Tanis at last labored past him and on into Alyneri’s suite with Her Grace’s bags. The captain followed inside soon thereafter, shut the sitting room door with an indignant grunt, then snatched it open again only a moment later and stuck his head out into the hall, ostensibly making sure the innkeeper had returned to his own affairs. After glaring around into the empty dimness, he closed the door, pulled the bolt, then walked over and peered out the window into the darkened street below.
The man would challenge his own shadow, Tanis noted in wonder.
Though there were a couple of chairs set by the mantel, Ean lowered himself to the hearthstone with a dramatic sigh and propped elbows on knees. He looked over to the captain. “I think perhaps it might be beneficial if you’d see what news you can gather in the Common, Rhys. See if anyone untoward noticed our arrival.”
The captain nodded and stalked out into the hall, and Tanis followed him with a hesitant question. “My Lord Captain,” the boy asked as Rhys was shutting the door behind them.
He turned with an automatic scowl. “What?”
Tanis swallowed. “My Lord Captain, did you notice anything odd about that innkeeper? Anything that seemed…well, dishonest?”
“All innkeepers are dishonest,” Rhys rumbled. “I’ve yet to meet a one that wouldn’t steal your boots overnight and try to sell them back to you the next morning—and not even polished at that.” He turned on his heel and headed down the
hall, leaving Tanis staring after him pulling uncomfortably at one ear and trying to put his finger on the feeling that had him so disturbed.
When the boy at last reentered Alyneri’s small sitting room, he found Her Grace seated in an armchair wearing a rather blushed expression, and became curious about what he’d missed.
“…just admit that you went there to avoid seeing me, Alyneri,” Prince Ean was saying as Tanis settled onto a stool beside the hearth to listen.
“Your Highness—” Alyneri made to protest.
Ean still sat upon the hearthstone, but now he rested one elbow casually on a pile of wood, long legs extended and ankles crossed. Tanis thought His Highness could make most any position look comfortable. “You’re my oldest friend, Alyneri,” he reminded her with a wink and a grin. “Call me Ean.”
“Your Highness,” she repeated, “just what do you expect to hear from me?”
“Well, you could start with an apology.”
Alyneri’s eyes flew wide. “Apology! For what?”
“For purposely avoiding me and then refusing to admit that your plans were foiled, that our inevitable meeting was fated to be.”
“Ill-fated, you mean,” she muttered.
Ean grinned. “Just admit it, Alyneri. What’s so hard about this? Don’t you know how crushed I am that you weren’t waiting to receive me with kisses and flowers on the momentous occasion of my return?”
“Suffering that homecoming at your side was momentous enough,” she observed.
He settled her an arch look then. “It was Fate that brought us together at Fersthaven and Fate that keeps us together still. Just admit that you can’t outwit Fate, and I’ll leave the matter alone.”
“There’s no such thing as Fate, Ean,” she retorted irritably, “and I’m sure I don’t know what you mean about any of this.” She tossed her head and insisted, “I mislike the crowds at Festival, and Farshideh was in poor health. Contrary to your elevated sense of importance, every decision made in the realm does not pivot around you.”
“No,” Ean agreed, giving her a devastating smile, “only every decision of yours.”
Alyneri’s mouth fell open, but her surprise revealed all too clearly the truth of his words. Unable to summon a retort, she pushed out of her chair, glared at him once, and stalked into her bedroom, slamming the door.
Tanis frowned fretfully after her. “If you were trying to irritate her, Your Highness,” he said, “I think you succeeded.”
Ean gave him a wink and a grin.
The prince, Tanis, and a still-fuming Alyneri joined the others downstairs in a small private dining room just as the kitchen girls were setting heavy platters of gravy-soaked lamb upon the long wooden table. Alyneri punctuated her indignation at Ean’s treatment of her by disregarding his presence, but every once in a while Tanis saw her glance his way to see if he showed due signs of suffering.
Midway into the meal, Rhys entered, as usual shutting the door and then jerking it open again to check the hall for idle ears.
“What news from the Common?” Ean asked as Rhys seated himself. The others paused, even stopped chewing, waiting for his response.
“The usual nonsense,” Rhys reported in his typical laconic style. He took hold of his sleeve to keep it out of the gravy and served himself some of the lamb, seeming of a mind to say little else on the matter.
Ean contained his irritation admirably. “Might you elaborate, Captain?”
Rhys shrugged as he shoved a hunk of gravy-soaked bread into his mouth. “Lots of talk about the war,” he muttered while he chewed. “No surprise there. No one wants their sons or brothers in a foreign land fighting for someone else’s kingdom, pact or no.” He grunted in a way that said he didn’t much disagree.
“Anything else?”
Rhys cast a wary glance at Alyneri. “Talk of Her Grace. Morin’s lies found their way south faster than we did.”
Alyneri sniffed.
Ean cast the captain a resigned look. “No doubt the minister was counting on that.”
“No mention of you, though, Highness,” Rhys added more brightly than his usual wont. Then he looked hesitantly at Alyneri and added, “Leastwise…not in relation to our arrival.”
Alyneri harrumphed indignantly.
Tanis knew they owed Morin d’Hain their thanks, no matter how Her Grace protested. Without the spymaster’s rumors to pave the way, people might’ve looked much more closely at their party.
A knock came upon the door, and Rhys went to answer it. The innkeeper stood in the portal. “Good evening, Lord Captain,” he cooed. “I see your meal was served in a timely manner. Is everything to your liking then?”
“What do you want now, man?” Rhys rumbled. “Her Grace mislikes being disturbed during the meal.”
“No, no, I need not disturb Her Grace, my Lord Captain. I just received word from the Earl of Pent that he has made all arrangements for your replacement mount, but he requests your presence in choosing a horse.”
“It’s a pack horse, not a thoroughbred,” Rhys complained.
The innkeeper gave him an oily smile. “Even so, Lord Brantley would that you have the best of those available. If he might prevail upon you, my lord, to attend him at the farrier on Longshore, near the river port—”
“That’s near halfway back to the gates!” Rhys protested.
“The master there has the best horses in the city, my lord,” the innkeeper pointed out, and his disparaging tone implied that he thought Rhys must be too cheap to pay for a good horse.
Rhys’ glare lingered on the innkeeper irritably. Then he barked, “A moment,” and slammed the door on the man. He looked to the prince.
Ean shrugged. “The earl at least was as good as his word.”
“I don’t like it, Ean,” Alyneri said. “I don’t trust Lord Brantley.”
“I don’t either, but is there harm in it?”
“We do need the horse,” Bastian pointed out.
Rhys looked indecisive. Finally he grumbled, “Fine. Cayal comes with me. Bastian and Dorin, you stay and protect His Highness.”
“What am I, chopped liver?” Alyneri objected.
“Last I checked, no one was offering a fortune in Agasi silver to see your head removed from your shoulders, Alyneri,” Ean observed.
“How perfectly egocentric of you, Ean,” she remarked witheringly. She pushed to her feet and announced, “I for one intend to take advantage of the bathhouse. I would encourage the same of the rest of you, even if you think setting a toe in bathwater is certain doom.” With that, she marched out of the room, excusing herself primly around the innkeeper, who stood so close to the door that he might’ve removed his ear from the parting only just in time.
Thirty-five
‘A wielder is limited by what he can envision.’
– Sobra I’ternin, Eleventh Translation, 1499aF, A Discourse on the Nature and Relationship of Patterning and the Currents of Elae
Ean lingered at the table long after the others had left. After staring for far too long into his empty bowl reflecting on everything he knew and more so over the things he didn’t, he finally wandered over to the room’s one mullioned window and pushed it open, gazing out into the starry sky.
Cephrael’s Hand couldn’t be seen from that angle, but he felt it burning above him as hot as a near blaze. Creighton had given his life under those stars, and Ean had almost lost his own beneath them twice. Someone had to be held accountable for these crimes. But who?
‘No good man claims another’s life without regret.’
Alyneri’s advice had sparked a memory of the night Creighton died, and the more Ean thought on it now, the less it made sense. ‘It was not meant to be this way with you…’ the Shade’s words haunted him, along with the image of the man’s blade angled downward into Creighton’s neck.
‘It was not meant to be this way with you…’
For the longest time, Ean had no memory of the words at all. Now he couldn’t get them out of h
is head. What had the Shade meant by the enigmatic pronouncement, which seemed now, in hindsight, to have been spoken with regret?
Sighing, Ean shut the window and leaned back against the sill. He wished that Alyneri’s criticism didn’t strike him so deeply. For that matter, he wished himself inured to all criticism, for it seemed Morin d’Hain’s words had truly wounded him.
Reckless and brash...
Could it be that I am the one to blame?
Once it had seemed such an easy truth to fault the Shade who’d taken Creighton’s life. Now Ean couldn’t help but wonder if he was ultimately to blame for Creighton’s death? If a king sends a soldier into war, does he blame the enemy who slays the man, or does he take the blame upon himself? Ultimately, who was responsible?
Reckless and brash…
Ean just didn’t know anymore.
Disheartened by his own dark ruminations, Ean made his way through the inn and back to the third floor where he and the other men had been quartered. As he gained the landing, however, something gave him pause, and he stopped at the edge of the staircase just out of sight.
He came alert when he realized what had changed—such a little thing really, the dousing of a lamp along the wall, but it happened to be the lamp closest to the room he shared with Bastian. Moreover, the Lieutenant should have been on guard in this hallway, and his absence strengthened Ean’s suspicions.
He drew his sword.
Stepping onto the landing, Ean announced, “Show yourself.”
After a moment, a man stepped from a recessed doorway just beyond Ean’s room. There was nothing familiar about him except the style of weapon he held. They walked to the middle of the passage and faced one another.
The Geshaiwyn chuckled. “You seem weary, Prince of Dannym. Have you lost the will to fight?”
Ean was weary—weary of people trying to kill him; weary of worrying over the impact of his decisions; weary of fearing the loss of those people who were most dear to him. But more than this, he was damned angry. He drew in his breath to challenge the man, but the words that followed were a surprise even to him.
Cephrael's Hand: A Pattern of Shadow & Light Book One Page 57