Winter of Ice and Iron

by Rachel Neumeier

  “You are the Raëhema heir,” stated the man. It didn’t have at all the tone of a question. His heavy voice was flat and unexpressive. “Yes. You have the tie still. It’s drawn out thin and buried far underneath. But you have it. I know you.”

  Kehera shook her head, but not exactly in denial because denial was too plainly hopeless. “Who are you?” But she was more and more certain she knew him, too, though she was equally certain she’d never seen him before in her life. She thought she could see a tie in him—or not exactly see, but she thought he carried a tie. It felt to her like a thing of cold and frost. It felt to her like the voice had sounded, in the Mad King’s tower. She could almost hear its hissing voice in her mind: “My agent will take her and bring her and deliver her to me. Once she is within my precincts, I will draw Raëhemaiëth . . .” Kehera wanted to scream. If this was that agent—if this man belonged somehow to the King of Pohorir, to Methmeir Irekaì . . . he must have found her by her tie, somehow. She thought she might have been able to find him by his. She thought she would recognize that cold Immanent anywhere.

  The man might have seen something of her horror in her face, but if so, her terror didn’t interest him. He answered her indifferently, “My name is Gheroïn Nomoris. And you are the Raëhema heir. You are the daughter of Torrolay Raëhema and the heir direct to Raëhemaiëth. I see your tie. You will not be able to escape me.”

  Habit straightened her back and lifted her chin. Kehera said, “I think you will someday come to regret what you have done here.” She was amazed at the coolness of her own voice, so at odds with the trembling of her stomach.

  Gheroïn Nomoris shrugged indifferently, already turning away. “Bring her,” he ordered curtly, swept up one of the lanterns, and walked away.

  Kehera let the man who held her shove her forward. She knew she couldn’t get away. Not now. Not yet. She thought again, with the flat clarity of shock, A chance always comes. Very well, then. She would hold to hope, and wait.

  And when the Fortunate Gods put the chance in her way, she would catch it with both hands and never let go.

  5

  Over the next two weeks, the king’s little pet proved just as much trouble as Innisth had feared. By the end of Fire Maple Month, Innisth was heartily sick of the sight of him and the sound of his voice. Lord Laören was arrogant with the Eänetén folk and dangerous to the duke’s servants. Innisth had been forced to pay more than double the normal rate for the pleasure boys and girls, whose masters had continually to replace damaged goods. And Laören’s servants were almost as arrogant and annoying as their lord, a constant strain on his own staff.

  Laören wanted a bribe, of course: a bribe to go away, a bribe to persuade Methmeir Irekaì to turn his attention elsewhere. Innisth was perfectly willing to pay it. Let the King of Pohorir play his games with the lickspittle provinces of the east and leave be the western provinces, among which none could measure its strength against Eäneté’s.

  The only questions were the amount Innisth would have to offer and how the bribe would be paid. Infuriating as it was to yield to such extortion, Innisth could see no way around it. Unless, to be sure, he could supply a truly masterful distraction. He had ideas for that, but could not yet see quite how to manage it.

  Worst of all, if Innisth could not finesse the current . . . situation, then he might offend Laören to such an extent that the man would refuse any bribe and ignore any distraction, but rather become a true enemy, focused on Innisth’s destruction and perhaps the ruin of all Eäneté. Innisth wanted very badly to feed the king’s lapdog to the wolves of the mountains. Instead, he must use finesse.

  Because Gereth had reported most urgently that one of the young women of the household had, despite all precautions, caught Lord Laören’s eye and Gereth did not know how to get her away.

  Gereth, being the sort of man he was, was very much distressed. The girl was not originally from Eäneté, Innisth gathered, but from Lord Geif’s province of Tisain. In recent years, as Innisth’s reputation for restraint had spread, not a few folk of Tisain and Kimsè and other nearby provinces had come to Eäneté seeking refuge from their petty lords. This pleased Innisth; both the knowledge that his own people trusted him and the gradual weakening of the neighboring provinces. In time . . . neither this year nor next, but eventually, he had some hope he might make something useful of Eäneté’s increasing strength and the comparative weakness of Tisain and Kimsè.

  Though not unless he could be rid of the close attention of the king. Which meant, now, the close attention of Lord Laören.

  Though this present situation with the girl was exasperating. She had suffered in Tisain and suffered further on the road before at last the Fortunate Gods had cast her up at Gereth’s feet. Now the seneschal was frantic for Innisth to protect his foundling. Innisth would have been willing to intervene simply for Gereth’s sake. But the girl was, after all, now one of his folk and a member of his household. Innisth’s pride could hardly permit him to allow her to be abused by some posturing court lord.

  Innisth strode straight up the stairs toward the upper level of the west wing and entered the interconnected suites he had ceded to Irekaì’s pet. Laören’s servants scattered, squawking, from his path, and Innisth flung open one more door and stepped forward, putting on his most arrogant manner.

  “Lord Laören,” he said, taking care to sound cool and remote and not at all as though he had just run up two flights of stairs. “I fear there has been an inexcusable error on the part of my staff.”

  The court lord turned, astonished and angry at this interruption. Two of his servants held between them a fine-boned girl with delicate features, porcelain skin, and rose-brown hair, falling now around her tear-streaked face. Her eyes were huge, like the eyes of an arrow-struck doe. Though she was making tiny whimpering noises, she was not struggling. Evidently her life had taught her not to fight back.

  The girl was naked. Several vivid welts crossed her back and buttocks. Laören held the riding crop. Whether he and his servants had yet had their use of the girl was difficult to say; Innisth had never seen reason to question the pleasure girls regarding Laören’s habits. He supposed it made little difference; either way, he had clearly failed to protect her.

  “What error?” Lord Laören demanded. “The girl’s not really spirited enough, but even if she’s a trifle limp, she’s a pretty little thing. I certainly see no reason for Your Grace to burst in unannounced—”

  “Indeed, I am ashamed to disturb you and outraged that the girl—” Innisth recovered her name after an instant of thought; of course, Eöté; yes. Gereth had told him. He had no idea what position she held on his staff. She looked too fragile to work at anything demanding. He said almost without a pause, “That Eöté did not inform you that she is possibly carrying. You will understand, Lord Laören, that one hardly wishes to confuse any issue that may possibly bear upon the succession. I have no recognized heir, you know.”

  There was a brief, frozen silence. Lord Laören stared at Innisth, who added blandly, “I must certainly commend your taste, my lord. She is indeed a pretty creature.”

  After another moment, Laören signaled for his servants to release the girl. Sinking down, she huddled on the floor, making faint efforts to gather up the torn rags of her dress. She was not weeping or screaming, for which small favor Innisth was grateful. Laören looked down at her, grimaced in disgusted embarrassment, and offered Innisth a short, reluctant bow. “I intended no trespass,” he muttered. “She did not tell me she was carrying your babe.”

  “We are not quite certain just at present. The girl believes she is, however, and I consider it prudent to hold her aside until the issue becomes clear. I think you quite overpowered her with your attention,” Innisth added smoothly. “And then, she is not very intelligent. But biddable, ordinarily.” He collected a tumbled blanket from the nearest couch and dropped it over the girl, adding in his coolest tone, “Eöté, go up to my rooms and wait for me.”

&nb
sp; The girl, fortunately, was not actually stupid. Or perhaps she was in fact biddable. Either way, she nodded shakily, clutched the blanket around her shoulders, and slipped away. No one tried to stop her.

  “I do not mean to be inhospitable,” said Innisth, making his tone apologetic. “I would be pleased to send you other girls. I rather thought the bath attendants I provided would do. I apologize if they did not please you. You should have spoken sooner.”

  Lord Laören shrugged. “You have been more than generous, Your Grace,” he said, though not with very good humor. “You have made my stay most comfortable and pleasing in all ways.” He bowed.

  The duke returned the bow as gravely. “I hope I may expect the honor of your company for a late supper, my lord? I shall hope that the girls who serve at table will please you.” He would make sure of it, though it might require hiring staff from every pleasure house in the city.

  Eöté waited in his rooms, as commanded. Innisth found his body servant with her; good. Caèr Reiöft was both imperturbable and thoroughly competent. Caèr had found the girl a robe and, when Innisth entered, appeared to be making some progress in persuading her to let him tend her hurts. But he set basin and cloth aside when the duke came in, gathering himself neatly to his feet and proffering a slight bow.

  The girl had perched nervously on the edge of a wooden chair before the fire, a damp cloth gripped in both hands, but she leaped to her feet when she glimpsed Innisth and stood wringing the cloth and trembling.

  “You’ll spend the evening here,” the duke told her. “Indeed, you will spend the better part of your time here, until my Irekaïn guest departs. You understand what tale I told him?”

  The girl opened her mouth, closed it, and shook her head. He could hear her teeth chattering from where he stood, a careful distance away. He said patiently, “You are carrying my child. At least, the possibility exists. In the fullness of time, we will discover whether it is so.” He paused. “You are not married? You have no young child?”

  Another wordless shake of the head. Innisth was beginning to wonder whether she could speak. He said merely, “Good. Best to avoid such complications. Yes. Your ordinary duties may be set aside for the next little while. I believe I can guarantee that neither Laören nor any of his people will venture to disturb you here.” He looked her up and down. She was pretty. Quite startlingly lovely. She looked very young and exquisitely vulnerable. So fragile. Like a little bird, a lark or timid finch, that, captured, might simply die of terror. The Eänetén Power trembled through him, seduced by her fear.

  Caèr Reiöft cleared his throat. Innisth met his eyes and shook his head slightly. He asked the girl, with what gentleness he could muster, “What have your ordinary duties been? If you can speak, answer me.”

  “I—I sew.” Her faltering voice was exactly as he might have imagined: tiny and timid. But she managed to add, “I sew, Your Grace. Embroidery . . . I do embroidery. . . .” Her voice trailed off. Perhaps she was in fact not very intelligent. Or perhaps she was merely frightened. It could be hard to distinguish between the two conditions, in Innisth’s experience. He said, carefully moderating his tone, “I will see that appropriate tasks are provided. As this suite is large, you should have no difficulty keeping out of my way.”

  From her trembling nod, keeping out of his way was the girl’s whole ambition. Innisth dismissed her with a gesture, nodded for Caèr to go after her, and waited, his teeth set, for the edge of desire to subside. He wanted to go after her himself, send Caèr away. . . . He did not yield to the impulse by even a single step, but the Eänetén Power was reluctant to settle and he was grateful when Gereth arrived, anxious on the girl’s behalf and worried about Lord Laören.

  “Your Grace—”

  “The girl will do well enough,” Innisth told him. “She will stay here. Put it about that she might be bearing, and that if so the child is mine. That should be explanation enough for any inquiry, whether from our own folk or from the Irekaïn lord.”

  “Ah!” said Gereth. “Yes, that will do. Ah . . .” He gave the duke a different kind of look.

  “I have no such intention,” Innisth told him, a touch impatiently. “You should know better, Gereth. Indeed, you must say something reassuring to her. Remind her that when the king’s pet departs, she will no longer be required to remain near me.”

  “Yes,” murmured Gereth. “Poor little thing. What a pity Laören’s eye should fall upon her! She was a highborn lady’s maid in Tisain, you know, and I gather the lady used to hand her around to her guests—and now Lord Laören—”

  The duke flicked an impatient hand. “Her fragility drew him, no doubt, as blood scent draws wolves. She is safe now. Caèr will make her believe so. However, you must be sure she understands she must say and do nothing that contradicts her supposed position with me.”

  “Indeed, I will, Your Grace.”

  “My reliable Gereth. Of course you will. Find me a girl to gift to Lord Laören. Someone willing to play at being new and innocent, and with enough skill to bring it off. The man is a brute, but the girl may be able to advance in his household if she is clever. The chance may appeal to an ambitious whore. It would be best if you found such a girl before supper.”

  “I’ll see to it without fail, Your Grace.”

  The duke moved toward his study. “I’m going to prepare some papers, invoices and such, to indicate that I have been skimming illegal profits off the trade from Harivir. Not much. Just enough to assure Laören that I will not jibe at a considerable bribe, not enough to compel official notice. It’s a delicate balance. I’ll want you to give me your opinion.”

  “Certainly, Your Grace.”

  “I believe I will also prepare something to indicate Lord Geif’s involvement in something more noticeable than skimming, in order to draw Laören’s attention away from Eäneté. I have not quite thought what this might be. Eventually, however, I’ll want your opinion on that as well.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  The duke took another step toward his study, then paused. The girl was moving around somewhere in the depths of his suite. He could hear her. She had a light, quick step, nothing like Reiöft’s. A pretty, feminine step. The sound of it was . . . much like blood scent in the air. He said slowly, “Gereth . . .”

  “Your Grace?”

  “It is fair outside this morning, is it not?”

  “Indeed, Your Grace. A beautiful morning.”

  “Then I believe I shall go for a ride. It will give me time to think.” He caught up a cloak and, leaving his startled seneschal behind, strode out of the room.

  On an impulse he did not quite permit himself to question, Innisth summoned the captain with whom he had ridden the bounds so recently. Verè Deconniy, the man who had come so recently, like Eöté, from Lord Geif’s domain of Tisain. Innisth considered Geif of Tisain, whose people fled him so frequently. What sort of evidence might best be set to bait Laören toward Tisain? An idea seemed to hover at the edge of his mind, but nothing came clear to him. He waited impatiently while his favorite mare was saddled and another animal tacked up for Deconniy. The officer arrived just as the grooms finished with the horses. He came into the stable yard collectedly enough, but his breathing, deep and even, showed that he had been running.

  Innisth swung up onto his tall black mare. “Join me,” he ordered, and turning his mare, signaled her at once into a neat canter. Behind him, he heard the clatter of hooves across the cobbles as the captain hastily vaulted into the saddle and hurried to catch him up. Innisth did not look back, tracking the other man’s movement by ear, putting his mare to a faster gait as Deconniy came up with him. He took his mare out of his castle’s gates and past the guards without slowing.

  The captain stayed at his side, his bay gelding pounding alongside the duke’s mare. Innisth turned off the causeway immediately outside the gates, jumped his mare over the retaining wall, let her have her head to slither down the shallow hill, and reined her in to a sedate walk at the
base of the hill. The mare, beautifully responsive, put her ears hard forward and extended her gait, showing that she would like to run if he would let her. Her breath plumed in the cool air.

  Deconniy had stayed by the duke almost perfectly, only reining in a fraction after Innisth had done so. He turned his gelding back, face still, and came in neatly at the duke’s shoulder. Innisth might have believed him relaxed, had the gelding not dropped his head and mouthed the bit uncomfortably and so betrayed the rigid hands of his rider.

  “Well done,” Innisth said, and watched sardonically as the gelding relaxed and came back on the bit. Deconniy, eyes firmly on his horse’s neck, said nothing. “We,” Innisth informed him, “are going to go riding. A pleasure ride, nothing more. You are my escort.”

  Deconniy nodded. But he also met the duke’s eyes and said, briefly, voice stripped of expression, “One man is not a sufficient escort, Your Grace. I beg Your Grace will reconsider.”

  Innisth smiled and let his mare pick up her pace to an extended trot and then a collected canter. Deconniy fell in behind him. The duke led him into the clean trails that curved through the forested foothills of this western province. He rode lightly, alternating an easy canter with a trot, heading nowhere in particular, but tending steadily westward. The peculiar all’s-well purr of the Eäneté Power was a low murmur at the back of his mind. The Power was much calmer in the open mountains—though Innisth was always aware of Verè Deconniy. So near. So vulnerable. One of his own people now, however. No longer Geif’s man. No longer fit prey for man or beast in these mountains.

  The foothills steepened and the trails grew rougher as they rode farther away from the city. Innisth ducked a low branch and turned up into a secondary trail, hardly more than a deer path, that angled up a steep slope. A little stream, barely a handsbreadth across, dropped as a miniature waterfall across their way. Light prismed in its spray. The mare jumped the little waterfall without fuss, the gelding after a second’s urging, and Innisth turned around the corner of a massive granite boulder up to the crest of the hill.