by Sarah Zettel
Peran’s breath rasped hard in his wounded throat. The blood drained from Lynet’s face and hands. Peran might have come here ready to buy his vengeance, but Mesek came ready to start a war.
“What is God’s name is this!”
Every head turned. Relief poured through Lynet. Lord Kenan, the Steward of Cambryn, strode into the hall. He was a tall man, square and broad. His great sword slapped at his hip with each step. Laurel and Colan both hurried behind him, and behind them came a host of familiar faces; Hale, their granite-grey Captain, his wiry son Lock, and a dozen men at arms, men she had known since childhood and who had followed her father on every campaign only to come back again with new scars and new tales. Lynet was seized with the desire to leap from the dais and take shelter behind their backs, and their blades.
“And here comes the one who sired these pups,” muttered Mesek.
Lynet ignored him. She moved out from behind the table to make a deep courtesy to her father. “God be praised for your safe return, Lord Father,” she murmured.
Father rested his hand briefly on her head in blessing, then tilted her chin up, studying her for signs of hurt or fear. If his wife and eldest children were of the sea, Kenan was of the earth. He was solid and craggy as the cliffs and the standing stones, with brown hair, brown beard, brown skin, brown eyes, and hands strong enough to lift a boulder the size of a man’s head and hurl it thirty paces. “And glad I am to be home, Lynet,” he murmured softly. “I’m sorry you were left to bear this much more.
“Mesek! Peran!” Father raised his voice to carry past her. Lynet, quickly and gratefully slipped aside to take her place next to Laurel. She did not dare glance at Colan.
“I am told there exists some quarrel between you,” their father boomed as he looked from one of the chieftains to the other.
Hearing this blunt understatement seemed to rob both men of their voices. Belatedly, they remembered they owed the steward at least the sign of their obeisance, and both bowed.
“What’s the news from Tintagel?” breathed Lynet to Laurel. Father’s hands were on his hips, and she could read nothing but annoyance in his stance.
Laurel shook her head minutely and Lynet swallowed a curse. King Mark had been unmoved by the pleas of his lords. He would not break from his self-made cloister.
“Aye, a quarrel there is,” said Mesek as he straightened from his bow. “And we were promised we would be heard in all fairness.” He stared daggers at Colan, who seemed not to notice.
“That you shall. Clear the hall!” Father called to his men. The men Mesek and Peran had brought with them hesitated, but the men of Cambryn spread out at their steward’s word. Captain Hale moved about the hall, politely but persistently herding those who did not move quickly enough toward the door, reminding some of their work, mentioning to others that they should stay close to Mesek’s folk, or to Peran’s, to prevent mischief. Lynet’s heart was weak with relief. It felt as if after a full day on a storm-tossed sea she stood firm and safe on land again.
“You stay with us, Bishop,” said father as Austell too moved to go. “It may be we need to hear God’s word in this matter.”
The bishop bowed his head in assent, and moved to the end of the table.
“And Colan?” whispered Lynet to Laurel. But she was not quiet enough, for their brother turned toward her, his glance knowing, hopeful, assured. She bent her lips into a smile for him, and could only pray he did not see it was false.
“Our brother greets our father with all joy,” murmured Laurel.
Captain Hale closed the doors with a resounding thump. He and his son Lock flanked the portals while the others ranged themselves about the hall. The fact of their isolation descended onto Peran and Mesek, and that brought a return to proper manners. In movements so perfectly matched they might have been part of a ritual mass, the chieftains descended the dais steps, one on each side, trying to eye each other and the steward at the same time.
Had the situation not brought them so close to war and tragedy, Lynet would have laughed.
The remains of the food lay everywhere, filling the air with tempting smells, but none moved toward it save father. Apparently satisfied that his authority had been remembered, Lord Kenan mounted the dais and sat himself in the center of the table. He lifted a cup and Lynet hurried to reclaim her crock and fill the silver vessel to brimming. As she withdrew, he touched her arm in reassurance, and Lynet smiled.
Lord Kenan drank off his cup of cider and set the mug down. “Now.” He wiped his mouth and beard. “What business could not wait for my return?”
“Well Peran?” Mesek folded his arms, stepping back so he could view the other man more clearly. “You’ve been quick enough to speak before now. Will you tell our lord steward what brings us here?”
The fingers of Peran’s good hand rubbed together, searching for the knife left behind on the table, Lynet was sure. “Lord Kenan,” he said, each word grating against his wounded throat. “It was in the day of the first thaw that we drove our cattle down to the river to drink. Mesek and the men of Kynhoem fell on us there, and after much fighting they stole the better part of our herd. We left two dead behind us as we pursued them, but darkness prevented our catching them.”
He dragged in a long, heavy breath. The burn on his face seemed to darken as he spoke, growing redder as if his skin remembering the fire which wounded it so terribly. “We went to Mesek next day, not for the return of the kyne, but for bloodprice for those men dead at the hands of his people. He denied us. Denied the raid was his doing, and that the dead were laid low by his hand. He bid us leave without any other answer.
“Honor would not permit such cowardice.” Peran’s voice rumbled lower, the words rasping and hissing, like the sea speaking to stones. “Instead, we followed the trail his men had taken after the raid and in so doing we found the hidden paddock on the moor where they kept the beasts, they thought, from our eyes.” His hands twitched, and he coughed, and coughed again. Lynet felt her own breath grow shallow in sympathy. “My son led the way to the gate while I and my men circled behind. In the fighting, a fire began, burning the barn, and while … and while my son Tam worked beside Mesek’s men to save the herd, both ours and those lawfully theirs, Mesek came up … he came up behind my son who was trying to save his wealth and he hoisted Tam into his arms and tossed him onto the fire as if he were a fagot for the burning.”
This then was where his burns had come from. Lynet closed her eyes against the image of a desperate Peran diving into the fire, striving to pull his son free, and failing.
Father was silent for a moment, acknowledging the death for what it was. Bishop Austell crossed himself, murmuring his own prayer. Lynet glanced at Laurel, and at Colan. Laurel permitted no emotion to disturb the set of her face. Colan … Colan was clenched tight and all his attention was on their father.
“This is a foul deed you speak of,” said Lord Kenan seriously. “If it is true, the angles must weep at it. I wonder you did not take your vengeance at that instant.”
“I wish to God that I had. I stayed my hand.” Peran held up his ravaged and crooked hand. “I was too wounded to strike back as I should, and more, I wanted all the world to know Mesek was a liar and a murderer. I would have his goods forfeit! His followers driven from their hovels! There is not blood enough in him to pay for this thing!”
Father waited, patient, unmoved. It was only when Peran fell silent, and all could see the tears of pain and loss streaming down his ravaged face that the steward turned to the other man standing there.
“You are quiet, Mesek. What do you say to this charge?”
Mesek shrugged. “I say it does not matter.”
Kenan raised his brows. Lynet had to work to keep her jaw from dropping. Her skin crept across the back of her neck.
“How is it that this does not matter?” asked Father softly.
Mesek shook his head. “Peran, I wonder that God let you live this long. With that eloquent plea of yours you m
ight have moved our tender lord or his tender son to tears, and you would have had your way and my head. But no.” Mesek faced the steward squarely. “No. Lord Kenan, Master Peran Treanhal must drag me here because he did not see this thing he claims I did. He must meet with your only son in the middle of the night — where God and any with ears can hear it — and bribe him with the promise of fifty men to aid in your overthrow which has been so long plotted by this true scion of your body.”
God and Mary, does the man have ice water in him? Mesek stood as easy as if he surveyed his own lands while Lord Kenan rose from his chair and stalked around the table. Colan’s hands clenched into fists. He made no other move. Lynet wished she could reach for Laurel, but she did not dare move either.
The steward of Cambryn towered above Mesek. “Be sure of what you say, Mesek. Be very sure.”
Mesek only tucked his thumbs into his belt. “I am that, my Lord Steward. I have no need of lies or bribes. There are fools enough here to smooth my way.” He glanced across at Peran, speaking those last words in a tone of utter disbelieving disgust.
Father stood where he was, and for a heartbeat, Lynet saw indecision in him. Then he remembered duty. He drew his shoulders back and with heavy dignity cloaking him, he walked to stand in front of his son.
“An accusation has been made against you, Colan Carnbrea, son of Steward Kenan,” he said, letting each word be heard plainly so that all would know he did not fear the answer.
“Did you do as Mesek Kynhoem says?” Lord Kenan asked.
Lynet’s heart squeezed tight until she felt as if she could not bear the pain. If Laurel felt anything at all, she gave no sign. Colan simply looked at their father. “No,” he said, flatly. “Master Mesek is mistaken.” Mistaken, not lying. Colan did not seem ready to say that much in open court. “It was Lynet I met and talked with,” he went on, and Lynet’s strangled heart sank into the floor. “She was upset by what had been said during the day, and I sought to comfort her.”
Lynet’s breath caught in her throat. She saw the plea in Colan’s eyes. She saw what he was doing, and she understood it. Here was Father, come yet again with no good answer from King Mark. Here before them was plain evidence that Camelot’s inattention and Mark’s fall were set to split their own land apart, and yet their father would cling to oaths already betrayed.
Beside this, she saw Father, tired, aging, angry alone. What if her words broke him? He might fall under the weight of his son’s treachery, as Mark had fallen beneath his wife’s. Her lies had brought down one great man. Could her truth bring down another?
Beside them both stood Laurel, her own gaze hard and uncompromising. Laurel knew the whole, long truth and knew the choice Lynet faced. This time, however, Lynet knew her sister would not forgive the lie. Lynet was no child now, run half mad with intrigue and love. If she lied now, she did so for herself and of her own free will, and Laurel would not forgive.
“Speak, Lynet,” said her father, his voice as stern and uncompromising as Laurel’s gaze. “Is it as your brother says?”
Lynet bowed her head. Not again, brother. Be your cause so just God himself must smile on it. I cannot lie again. “No, my lord father, my Lord Steward, it is not.”
As she spoke, disbelief welled up in her brother’s face, with hot rage burning it fast away, but she did not stop. “I was awake that night, and I was troubled, yes, but I did not speak with my brother. I overheard Colan give his promise to Master Peran that he would rule in Peran’s favor, whatever the matter laid before him.” Her throat was dry, her words soft and harsh. She wished with the whole of her heart that she could die. “In return, Peran offered him fifty men to aid in the overthrow of … in the overthrow of …” She couldn’t say it. It was beyond her power to force one more word into being.
Lord Kenan’s shoulders sagged and Lynet swallowed hard against the bile welling up in her. God, why, why must it be me?
All in an instant, Kenan reached across the space that separated him from his son, grabbed the young man up by the collar and cast him to the floor.
“Dog!” Father shouted. “I would call you bastard and son of a whoremaster, but I know all too well what flesh sired this treachery.” Though Father’s hands clenched into fists, only his words struck and they struck hard. “Dishonor the name you own if you will, but you will not dishonor the office we hold by the grace of God! What answer have you, sir?”
Colan picked himself up from the floor slowly and with a dignity Lynet did not know was his. Barely contained fury smoldered in his eyes. But Colan’s gaze was not on their father. It was Lynet he watched. She saw the violent nature of the promise in that gaze, and her heart quailed.
“Since you see fit to ask with such courtesy, my lord father, I will answer,” Colan said. “Why did I do this terrible thing? What my sister heard,” he made a broad and courtly gesture toward Lynet, “was nothing more nor less than that I feared you would return from King Mark without answer. And this has happened,” he added as if it were only a small matter. “But I feared more than that, father.” All pretense at lightness fell away from him and Colan also lifted his voice, to make sure every man there heard all he had to say. “I feared that with the spring, news of our weakness must wing its way across land, and sea. What do the kings of Eire say about what happened at Tintagel, with the death of their beloved daughter? They have unleashed their raiders already to regain their share of our wealth and the slaves they make of our bodies. what will they try to regain next?” He spread his hands, now the anguish in him rising up to choke at his words. “We are abandoned my father, by those we have served most diligently. We must be ready for the war that is to come of it. We must find allies who will truly stand with us, not just take the riches of our land and return empty oaths.
“It was Peran I dealt with, but Mesek has the right of it. We are cast off and squabbled over because we will not fight back!”
This last word rang through the hall. Colan faced their father, his head held high. In that moment Lynet saw the man he was to become; strong in his own right and no fool, but his blood burned hot in him, hotter than reason and hotter than right.
“So, this is your wisdom?” sneered Father flatly. “The fears and rantings of a miser who would keep all his gold for himself and give none to his master who keeps the house?”
But Colan would not yield one inch. “You know I speak the truth.”
“I might have once, Colan.” Lord Kenan’s shoulders slumped and for the first time that morning, Lynet saw how tired her father truly was. He must have ridden half the night to stand here now. “But now I know nothing except that you would rise up against me and the lords of this land.” He spoke sadly, but implacably. “You are no more son of mine, Colan Carnbrea. You bear no name. You have no place in this house nor any claim on that which is mine.”
Disbelief widened Colan’s eyes and loosened his jaw. As Father stood there offering no other word, no explanation or condition, Colan’s face turned slowly white. His hands trembled at his side. “Father, do not do this,” he whispered. “I may have acted rashly, but I acted because I feared for our house. I beg you, do not turn away from this.”
Father shook his head. “It is done,” he said. “By your own action, and now by mine.”
Lynet expected Colan to least to bow his head in the face of their father’s finality, but he did not. He held his ground, and his pride.
“What action should I have taken?” Colan asked evenly. “When you leave us to sniff like dogs at Camelot’s feast, looking for scraps, to be used like whores for the lust of their men …”
At this, all father’s rage blazed afresh. “Enough!”
But Colan was not done yet. “Would you have been so meek if it had been Laurel and Lynet Sir Tristan seduced?”
“You know nothing,” Father grated. “You are a babe bleating that it has not been fed. Get out before you shame me more.” Father shoved Colan backward, sending him staggering backwards toward the doors.
> Colan righted himself, blood showing bright on his mouth where he had bitten his cheek. “Or having seen them dishonored, would you have just killed my sisters and gone bowing and scraping back to our false queen …”
“Get out!” bellowed father. “You are no more son of mine! This is no more your house! Get out!”
What happened next came so fast Lynet barely saw it. Colan launched himself at their father. Father turned, quick and graceful, grabbed his son and tossed him aside. But Colan bounced off the wall, and charged again, crashing against father, who threw him back once more. This time, Colan kept his feet, even as the men surged around him, even as Bishop Austell leapt out from behind the table to help grab Colan’s arms and drag him backward.
She could not see father. She could not see father anywhere.
Lynet thought it strange that Colan should be smiling when he was held so firmly by father’s men. She noted there was murmuring behind her, and that a tight knot of people still stood before her though Colan was in the guard’s hands. Then she realized that Laurel was not beside her any more.
While Lynet slowly took all this in, Laurel pushed out of the crowd in front of her.
“Lynet!” When Lynet did not move, Laurel grabbed her hand and dragged her through the press of bodies to their father’s side.
He lay on the stones, clutching his belly, and he screamed, a loud ringing scream torn from the depths of pain. Red. There was red everywhere. It fountained out over the handle of the dagger protruding from his belly.
Red. Blood. Stabbed. Father.
Lynet dropped to her knee. Father screamed again in his agony, clawing at the knife.
“Hold him!” she shouted. “Get him something to bite on!”
A cloth was pressed into her hands and she tried to mop at the blood and staunch it. Another cloth was twisted into a rope so father could bite down against the pain.