by Sharon Shinn
“Can you take the Marisi all the way down to Chialto?” Zoe asked Broy.
He shook his head. “There are three impassable places—one a dam fifty miles downriver, one a natural rock hazard that would shred any boat that tried to go through. And then there are the falls that drop into the city behind the royal palace. There are portages by the first two, but nothing crosses the mountain pass but water.”
“Have you ever taken a boat out on the ocean?”
“Not this one, but yes, I have a schooner built to cross the sea. Someday I’m going to sail to the other edge of the world just to feel the water beneath me the whole time I’m traveling.”
“I’d like to make that journey sometime,” Zoe said. “I’d like to see the other side of the world.”
Keeli shook her head. “You can’t go wandering,” she said. “You have to go back to Chialto.”
Zoe celebrated Quinnasweela changeday with her newfound relatives and then bid them goodbye. Most of them flocked to Chialto once cooler weather made the tall buildings and densely populated streets bearable again.
“When will you be coming to the city?” Keeli asked.
“Soon,” Zoe promised.
But the Lalindars left, and the leaves turned so red it appeared that the whole mountain was on fire, and still Zoe waited. One nineday passed, and then another. It was the middle of the third nineday of Quinnasweela, and she had been in Christara’s house for more than a quintile, when she heard the sound she had been listening for.
First it was as faint as the breath of a sleeping child, and then it was only as loud as far-off rain. By sunset, it sounded like footfalls down the corridor, and Zoe slept all night with that unhurried rhythm tapping steadily in her ear. She rose early and put on her finest new clothes, a top and trousers and overrobe all made of a gold-edged blue. Hoden’s wife helped her with her hair, but Zoe applied her own makeup with a light hand.
All the while, she felt that heartbeat growing louder, coming nearer, until it was finally ascending the hill to Christara’s house. She was in the kierten before the carriage horses trotted through the break in the tall fountain. She pressed herself against the bank of windows on the far wall, the ones that showed the mountain face angling up toward the sky, half bare torz dirt and half bright sweela color.
The door chime rang three times and Hoden answered it, bowing very low. Zoe heard a man’s voice say, “I am here to see Zoe Ardelay Lalindar.”
“She is awaiting you,” Hoden said, making a gesture of welcome.
Darien Serlast stepped across the threshold. He looked straight at Zoe as if he had known, before the door even opened, exactly where she stood.
“Prime,” he said, offering her a very slight bow.
Not until Hoden left the room did she answer him, her face showing no hint of a smile. She said, “I’ve been expecting you.”
FOURTEEN
They stared at each other a good long while. Zoe was not sure if they were reminding themselves of features they’d forgotten or checking for changes they could not have anticipated. The day was sunny, and light fell dramatically through the windows, burnishing the wood floors to a blinding luster. Zoe did not offer to bring Darien Serlast to a friendlier room in the house; she did not ask if he would like refreshments. After that first greeting, she didn’t say a word. She simply watched him, simply waited. He was hunti, he could be as stubborn as oak itself, but she was not going to yield. She was not going to be the first to speak.
Finally he nodded, as if conceding something, and took three steps deeper into the room. “So,” he said. “The girl who ran away from me to hide along the river finally finds her way home.”
“Still alongside the river,” she pointed out. “But how did you know that was where I took refuge?”
“Because I looked for you, of course. Every day, until I found you. I went to the houses of your Ardelay and Lalindar cousins, hoping to surprise you in a parlor or a kitchen. I went to the tenements by the southern canal. I checked the infirmaries. I checked the morgues.” He shrugged. “Before the first nineday was out, I thought to seek you on the flats, and there you were. After that, one of my men went by every few days to make sure you were still in place.”
Although she was pleased to find that he had been worried enough to watch out for her, she was deeply irritated to learn that he had known her whereabouts all this time. “You should have dropped by some evening,” she said, “and shared a meal with me.”
His mouth formed a soundless laugh. “If you had stayed on the flats much longer, perhaps I would have. If you had seemed to be in danger, I certainly would have stepped forward and taken you to a more sheltered place.”
“Whether or not I wanted to go.” When he shrugged instead of answering, she went on. “It would be just the sort of high-handed behavior I have come to expect of you.”
His eyes narrowed at that. “I suppose, then, that you have come to consider me some kind of villain.”
She turned away from him and began a slow, measured pacing, coming to a halt when she was along the shorter wall, where the windows faced west toward the sea. Darien took a few steps forward, so he stood almost dead center in the room, and pivoted slowly to follow her progress. It was as if they were engaged in the stateliest of dances, where every step, every gesture, was weighted with significance.
Half of the room still lay between them, gleaming with refracted sun.
“I have come to think of you as . . . someone who is prepared to go to extraordinary lengths to bring about an outcome he believes is desirable,” she said, choosing her words with care. “I do not think it matters to you if the outcome is so desirable for everyone else who gets caught up in your machinations.”
“There is some truth to that,” he said. “But my motives are not sinister. Or selfish. I serve the king, which means I serve the kingdom. And everything I do, have done, or will do has had the goal of keeping the king and the country strong.”
“It sounds admirable,” she says. “And yet a ruthless champion is still ruthless. The people he tramples still generally feel bruised and resentful.”
He gave a slight laugh. “Well, I did wonder,” he said, half to himself. She was annoyed with herself that she could not resist saying, “Wonder what?”
He gestured at her. “What personality you would show when you emerged from your cocoon of shock and grief.”
“It is a personality that changes,” she said. “Even I have been a little surprised to discover that. But it is not a personality that seems to harbor a great deal of fear. Leading me, perhaps, to do things and say things that other people might not.”
“So you have a little courage, a fine hunti trait,” he said.
“And anger, which is not one of the random blessings,” she said.
His eyebrows rose. “Anger at me? In what possible way did I hurt you?”
She began pacing again, in those slow, stately steps. Again, he pivoted to watch her, not attempting to come closer. She rounded the corner and swept majestically by the great southern windows that overlooked the river. “You did not see fit to tell me something I cannot believe you did not know, which was that I was heir to Christara Lalindar’s estate.”
“I had no reason to believe you did not know it as well,” he countered. “Every other prime of the Five Families is perfectly well-informed on that point.”
He was right, of course, except she was pretty sure he was lying. “You had every reason,” she said. “You knew I had lived isolated from society for ten years. You knew my father had quarreled with my Lalindar relatives—yes, and you knew no Lalindar prime had stepped forward since Christara died! A quick-witted man would have concluded that I had no idea where my proper destiny lay. A kind man would have shared that information instead of trying to lure me to the city with promises of a marriage he knew I could not possibly consummate. Yes, I think it is entirely appropriate that I feel a little anger for you.”
He seemed to weigh his answe
r carefully. She wished she was like one of the blind sisters at the Plaza of Women, able to discern from a man’s tone of voice whether or not he was telling the truth. “It is true that when I found you in your father’s village, you were stunned and docile, and I knew you would not have the strength to resist any plan of action I proposed,” he said. “And it is true that I had come there to find you and bring you back, and I would have done so even had you resisted. My mission was to bring you to the king. But I do not think,” he said, raising his voice to drown hers out when she attempted to interrupt, “that I thereby injured you in any way. It was clear you were not thinking rationally. It was clear that you could barely care for yourself. I would not have let any harm come to you—I was prepared to care for you as long as it took you to recover some measure of yourself.”
“You wanted to marry me to the king before I had the sense to think it through!” she exclaimed, balling her hands into fists and taking a hasty step toward him.
He gazed at her gravely. “There would have been no marriage,” he said. “I never expected that transaction to be completed.”
“You acted very certain of it at the time!”
“It was posturing. It was a ruse. In the first place, I knew that as soon as the rest of the Lalindar family learned of your whereabouts, they would be swarming over the palace, snatching the prime out of the royal clutches. In the second place,” he added—and then paused, as if once again he needed to consider how to phrase his words. “I was not particularly interested in promoting any fifth marriage for the king. At the time, he was looking to obtain concessions from his wives. If he seemed intent on acquiring another bride, they would be more willing to make those concessions. You were a threat. And threats,” he added, “are generally not informed of how they are about to be deployed.”
She watched him with narrowed eyes. He might be speaking the truth—or he might be trying to portray himself in a less culpable light. “It is hard to see exactly how I would be a threat to the king’s wives,” she said in a calmer voice.
He smiled suddenly, an expression that unexpectedly warmed his serious face. “It is an ongoing game between Vernon and his wives,” he said. “No man, not even the king, is a match for four women. He is constantly making plans to bring another woman into the household—not because he wants a fifth wife, but because it is something they want even less. Thus, they negotiate. It is a delicate and ongoing dance.”
She made an impatient motion with her hands, as if brushing away rain. “And no doubt it is entertaining for all of you, but why draw me into your game? If you knew the Lalindars would step forward to claim me the minute I reappeared, why even go to the trouble of bringing me back to the city?”
“Because I promised your father that I would.”
She stared at him. Nothing he could have said would have astonished her more. For a moment, she wished they were in any other room—one that offered chairs, for instance—but she stiffened her back and tried to keep amazement off her face.
“I am afraid you will have to explain,” she said, making her voice very cold so that it didn’t shake.
“It was, actually, my father who made the promise,” Darien said. “He and your father had long been allies, and my father did not believe Navarr should have been banished. They remained friends once Navarr left Chialto, and my father promised yours that he would fetch you if something happened to Navarr before he regained the king’s favor.” Darien shrugged. “But my father died before yours did. And so the responsibility of looking after you passed to my hands.”
Zoe was trying to remember what Darien had said all that time ago when she had first met him, when she asked if he had known about her father’s death. His reply had been evasive; that was all she could recall. “You never told me how you tracked me down in the village where my father and I lived,” she said slowly.
“I had a letter from your father, telling me he was dying,” he said. “I had hoped to arrive while he was still alive, but he timed his letter very well.”
Her anger had returned. “Do you begin to see the reasons I am inclined to distrust you?” she said. “Why didn’t you tell me who had brought you there, what my inheritance was, how you planned to use me once we arrived in the city? Instead, all your actions are cloaked in secrecy, all your motivations are questionable. Why not simply tell me the truth?”
“You might fling the same question at your father,” he shot back. “He lied to you for ten years or more. I merely failed to expose the lies. Direct your anger at Navarr, not me.”
“Oh, there is plenty of anger for both of you,” she said. “You are just closer to hand.”
“Your father was sweela. Always thinking, always scheming,” Darien said. “If he concealed things from you, he had a reason—though it might not be a reason you would appreciate.”
“Indeed, and I can guess it very well,” she said. She was so furious that she could not stand still. Again, she embarked on that slow promenade, reaching the corner of the room and turning north, walking along the single solid wall broken only by a door that led to the rest of the house. Again, Darien Serlast turned to watch her as she moved. It was as if she revolved around him, the painted outer border of some dizzy, spinning top; Darien Serlast was the weighted balance at the center, nimble and much less frantic. “He was banished, and he wanted me to be company for him while he was in exile. So he did not tell me a different life was possible. It is no more complex than that.”
“It would take a very selfish man to deny his daughter her birthright only because he could not share it with her.”
“I assure you, my father was just that selfish.”
He studied her as she paced, very slowly, along the wall of windows that showed the autumn mountainside. “And yet, if I am to judge solely by the great grief you showed upon his death, you loved him very much,” Darien said. “He must have loved you extravagantly to earn so much affection from you.”
“He did. He indulged me and challenged me and encouraged me and taught me, and I adored him. Adored him. I wouldn’t have left his side no matter what kind of power and position I was offered as Lalindar prime. He knew it—or he should have known it. And yet he did not tell me the truth. He did not trust me to choose him over my grandmother. It will be a long time before I will be able to forgive him for that.”
“I hope you forgive me sooner.”
She came to a flat halt and glared at him. “You,” she said, “have done nothing but earn my suspicion. And not a word you have spoken today inclines me to begin trusting you.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “What can I do to reverse your opinion of me?”
“Can you promise not to lie to me again? To tell me the truth at all times—whether or not I have explicitly asked for it?”
He hesitated a long time and then answered, “No.”
She was surprised into a laugh. “Only a fool would say no to that question, even if he did not intend to keep his word.”
“Only a rogue would lie when he was asked if he would be truthful,” Darien retorted. “And you already think badly enough of me.”
“You have given me no reason to change my mind! You have admitted that you will continue to lie to me!”
“I am in a delicate position,” he said. “I serve King Vernon, and sometimes I must conceal information from almost everyone. I have gotten in the habit of telling the truth only when nothing else will achieve the results I need. That is not admirable, perhaps, but it has enabled me to walk the steps of a very dangerous maze without stumbling into any disasters. I do not see my way clear of the maze at this point. So I do not see my behavior changing anytime soon.”
She was still staring, but now she was more fascinated than furious. “Such an admission makes me wonder just exactly what is transpiring at the palace.”
His smile was a little lopsided. “And well you might. Though I presume it is no worse than the intrigue that plays out at any royal court.”
&n
bsp; “I do not like the idea that you feel you can lie to me with impunity, just because your life is complicated,” Zoe said. “Just because you have told me you might.”
His smile grew broader, more genuine. “What about this?” he said. “I will lie when I feel I must. At any time you can ask me if I am lying, and if I am, I will confess—though I will not then be compelled to tell you the truth that I am concealing. But you will be able to judge how much you can trust me.”
“Although a liar would lie even about such a bargain,” she pointed out. “So a quintile from now, I might say, ‘Is that the truth?’ and you would say, ‘Yes,’ and I would believe you because today you claimed that you would not lie in such a situation.”
He laughed out loud. “That is sweela reasoning,” he said. “A coru woman would have simply strolled out the door by now. Would already have moved on.”
She caught her breath, for he was right. But her answer was stiff. “A coru woman seeks and seeks for passage through an unnavigable space,” she said. “She will rise to any level or turn into any channel. And if you attempt to block her way, she will flood the banks and sweep everything ahead of her. Just because I argue with you today does not mean I will not force my way past you someday when you have tried to throw one too many boulders in my path.”
“I admit, I think that would be an interesting thing to witness.”
“On the contrary. I think you would be sorry that day had come.”
He held his hands out as if in surrender. “The fact that you are even quarreling leads me to hope that you are not so angry you will refuse to return to the city with me. You will make me pay for my perceived sins, but to do that, you must be somewhere in my vicinity.”
He made her want to laugh, and at the same time he made her want to hit him. It was hard to remember that less than a year ago she had passed nearly a nineday in his company and had never been moved to do either.