Winter of Ice and Iron

by Rachel Neumeier

  Gereth, struck to silence, could only stare at her. She looked up to meet his gaze, and he managed after a moment, “The artist was the current duke’s mother. She was brought here at nineteen to marry the old duke, and she died at twenty bearing his heir. I think it was the only way she could find to escape him.”

  “I’m twenty,” the woman said quietly. “She was just my age.” She looked again at the painting, her expression grave and a little sad, as though she imagined herself in the Jeneil’s place.

  Twenty-seven years since Jeneil inè Suon had died, and Gereth had hardly thought of her in years. Now, all in an instant, she seemed again a presence in this house. He almost believed he might hear her light, tentative step, that in a moment she might come out into the entryway and speak to him. She would probably look at him reproachfully. Gereth, why did you bring her here? This is no house for a gently bred Harivin girl.

  And, for all Gereth had loved and served Innisth terè Maèr Eänetaì every day of the young duke’s life, he knew Jeneil would have been right.

  He said in a low voice, “It may take a day or so to arrange matters, but I shall see you through the pass.”

  She lifted grave eyes to his face but did not fall into effusions of gratitude. She merely murmured, “May the Fortunate Gods bless you and the Unfortunate pass you by. I and my father will both be so grateful.”

  Gereth did not ask her for her father’s name, or her own. He didn’t want to know, in case the knowledge might compel him to inform Innisth of this young woman’s presence in Pohorir and Eäneté and in this house.

  11

  Kehera looked back at the painting to disguise her relief at the seneschal’s promise. She suspected from his tone that the seneschal had cared about that other young woman. Studying the flying lark, she felt a strong kinship with that other girl, just her own age and even more bitterly trapped by circumstance.

  Before she could ask anything about Roh Pass or her own circumstances, however, a tall man strode into the hall, the heels of his boots sounding crisp beats on the polished wood of the floor. Kehera knew instantly, even without the seneschal’s slight flinch, that this must the Wolf Duke himself. She saw at a glance that he bore a ruling tie to a Great Power—of course he held a tie, but she had not realized the Eänetén Power was among the Great. But the tie blazed in him like fire, brilliant and dangerous. Even so, it wasn’t only the tie that told her who this must be. There was also something in the tilt of the duke’s head, something in the set of his shoulders or the way he moved, a confidence of his own mastery so absolute that she could never have mistaken him.

  His hair was dark, his face lean and spare, his hands narrow and elegant. His eyes were the eyes of the wolf on his banner: amber-gold; topaz-gold; a color startling and disturbing in the face of a man. It was impossible to judge his age: he might have been twenty-five or thirty or thirty-five, but he would probably look little older at fifty. He brought into the hall a tremendous, tightly leashed vitality. It was immediately hard to remember that anyone else was present.

  “Ah,” murmured the seneschal, making a tiny, abortive movement, as though to draw Kehera away and out of the duke’s sight. But it was clearly too late.

  The Wolf Duke paused, took in Kehera’s presence, and said, his tone cutting and yet not without humor, “Gereth, a girl? She hardly seems suitable. Am I to gather you found yourself distracted from your other errand by a mission of mercy?”

  The seneschal cleared his throat. “I admit I was distracted, Your Grace, but I may have fulfilled my other errand as well. Lieutenant Nikas should be arriving shortly with a slave dealer who requires close questioning—he may have been taking free people, our people, to sell as slaves in Irekay. A bad business, if so. Also, he will bring a Black Rose guildmaster who might have been involved in forging bills of sale for this purpose. Though we do not know with certainty that either of these men is guilty,” he added hastily, as the humor disappeared from the Wolf Duke’s face. “I can go back, visit the magistrates as I intended, find someone more certainly guilty of serious wrongdoing—”

  “Unnecessary. I shall determine the truth,” said the duke. “I assure you, I am not in such straits I cannot take appropriate care. Well done. Well done, indeed, if you have discovered such traffic. But this is not one of our folk, I perceive.” He studied Kehera narrowly.

  “Your Grace?” The seneschal glanced, with a trace of reluctance, at Kehera, who tried to look unimportant.

  “Harivin,” murmured the Wolf Duke, his gaze still fixed on Kehera. “Yes, I think she is Harivin. Not Pohorin, certainly.” He looked at Kehera more closely, golden wolf’s eyes flicking with impersonal curiosity down her body and returning to examine her face.

  The seneschal sighed, almost imperceptibly. He said in a faintly apologetic tone, “She has appealed to me for leave to go through the pass, Your Grace. I thought she might very well join a merchant’s company.”

  Kehera continued to concentrate on looking like any random girl who might somehow have gotten herself trapped in Pohorir through . . . she could not quite imagine what set of circumstances. She hoped the duke would simply shrug and agree with his seneschal, but she could not believe he would. She felt as though all the layers of deception were being peeled ruthlessly away from her by that fierce topaz stare. It struck her silent, bereft of words, almost of thought, like a rabbit crouching before the wolf of his banner.

  A clatter from outside interrupted this moment before anything had been resolved. A man came in hastily and said, half announcement and half warning, “Your Grace, Lord Laören.”

  “A bit beforehand, it seems,” muttered Gereth, sounding grim, and took Kehera’s arm to lead her aside.

  The Wolf Duke straightened his shoulders, tilted his head at an even more arrogant angle, and turned toward the door. The new lord was already coming through the doorway. He was nothing like the Wolf Duke. He was shorter and softer, and though he also carried an air of arrogance, in him it had a thin, sharp edge of contempt. Kehera didn’t know him, but she was afraid of him immediately. Without thinking, she stepped back, tucking herself softly behind the midnight drapery on one side of the painting. Then she thought how stupid that was, because of course the seneschal would exclaim in surprise and make her come out—or the Wolf Duke would say something sardonic and drag her out himself. Then, his interest firmly captured, this other Pohorin lord, Laören, would surely want to know all about her.

  The Eänetén duke had recognized her as Harivin; so had his seneschal. Lord Laören, as any lord, must hold some stronger tie to an Immanent Power than a common man; he would see that in her as well. Kehera found herself certain of this. He would know she was Harivin, and who knew what else he might find out?

  But rather than revealing her, Gereth actually stepped away from her hiding place, and the Wolf Duke only said, in measured, chilly tones, “Lord Laören. I have heard your hunting party turned up unexpected quarry. Allow me to congratulate you. I am certain His Majesty will be pleased.”

  “Your young Captain Deconniy was instrumental in my success,” answered the other man. “Such a modest young man, but I trust his modesty did not prevent him from informing you of that as well.” Kehera couldn’t see his face, but something in his voice made her shiver. It was something beyond mere satisfaction. Something colder and more malicious.

  “Indeed,” said the duke, his own voice flat.

  “Yes, yes. I must say, I so much appreciated your loaning him to me. I’m sure he feels the same appreciation. Irekay offers so many more opportunities for advancement than the provinces, though I mean no insult in the world. It is merely a fact. Of course any ambitious young man must be glad of the chance to acquire patronage within the court. I so much appreciate Your Grace permitting your young captain to seek his fortune in Irekay. Not every provincial lord is so understanding of a young man’s desire to seek greater opportunity elsewhere. But I’m sure you agree that Irekay will broaden anyone’s experience of the world.”<
br />
  “Indeed, I have often said as much,” answered the duke, his tone even flatter.

  “I have so looked forward, all through the long ride from Tisain, to renewing my acquaintance with the young man,” said the other, and Kehera could hear the smile in his voice. It was the smile not of a wolf, but of a viper. She tried not to shiver, afraid the draperies that concealed her might tremble.

  “I am gratified Captain Deconniy gave such complete satisfaction, my lord,” said the duke, his tone colorless. “I shall instruct him to present himself to you when he is at liberty. You will be weary after your journey. Allow my servants to conduct you to your suite. They will see to your every comfort. I am told you have taken Lord Geif into your custody. I assure you, this house possesses secure cells for miscreants.”

  “Oh, I think I will keep him with me,” answered Lord Laören. “My staff knows very well how to keep miscreants secure.”

  “Of course,” murmured the duke. “Just as you wish, my lord.”

  Then Kehera listened to the small sounds of people sorting themselves out, murmured politenesses, the sound of echoing but muffled footfalls, and the kind of quiet that told her nearly everyone had gone. She felt profoundly relieved, though that was foolish. She knew perfectly well the Eänetén duke must be just as dangerous to her as any other Pohorin lord. But somehow she didn’t feel that. She felt . . . she felt as though something in herself recognized him and as though she had come to the place she should be. She didn’t understand that. She no longer carried a deep tie to Raëhemaiëth, and even if she had, Eäneté was not bound to Raëh.

  The Wolf Duke himself folded the draperies aside and offered her a steadying hand. Kehera met his eyes, took his hand, and stepped forward.

  She knew at once that touching him had been a mistake, for she felt the mountains of Eäneté in him, with their ungiving stone layered over buried fire. And though he shouldn’t have been able to, she knew he also perceived something of Raëh in her. She could see the certainty in the slight narrowing of his eyes. She gazed at him helplessly.

  “You know whom you have brought into this house, of course,” the Wolf Duke said to his seneschal. “No? Not even yet? But of course you cannot perceive her tie as clearly as I do. It is greatly attenuated, yet quite unmistakable.” Reaching out, he pulled a pin out of Kehera’s hair. The gesture was at once so quick and so smooth that he had completed it before she thought to flinch. Her disordered hair fell past her shoulders, its damning pale-blond roots grown out past the dye.

  “This is Kehera irinè Elin Raëhema,” said the duke. He was speaking to Gereth, but his eyes were again on hers. “This is the Raëhema heir, for whom all men in the world have been searching these past weeks. Hallieth Suriytaiän took her and lost her, and Methmeir Irekaì has reached out from Irekay to the four quarters of this kingdom to gather her in. Yet here she is. The Fortunate Gods have cast her at my feet like the key to a riddle I did not know to ask.”

  The seneschal drew his breath in slowly. He said, “I didn’t know. I thought . . . When I found myself outside a Black Rose house, I thought I might find someone for you among their more perverted clients. But when I saw her there, I could not bear to let them have her. Even before she insisted to me that she is not a slave.”

  “Well, after all, that is true. She is certainly not a slave.” The Eänetén duke did not smile, but an indefinable lightness had come into his face like the shadow of humor or affection.

  Kehera finally managed to find her voice despite the duke’s wolf-eyed regard. “My father would be grateful to have me returned to Harivir. I would be grateful too.”

  “Kings have a short memory for gratitude.”

  “In Pohorir, perhaps. Not in Harivir.”

  The Wolf Duke smiled, more an expression of his eyes than a movement of his lips. “Perhaps. We shall see. How clever of you to avoid Laören’s notice. I do think it better if no lord of Irekay sets eye on you. Particularly no lord in direct service to Methmeir Irekaì.”

  Kehera certainly agreed with this.

  “Indeed,” the duke added to his seneschal, “the more quickly we can be rid of Laören, the better pleased I will be. How very convenient that we have already fed him our bait and designed our little play.” He gave Kehera an unreadable look. “I believe I may even see a way to contrive a more permanent solution by which Eäneté might be made safe from Irekaïn attention. Indeed, I believe it must have been the Fortunate Gods who brought Your Highness to me. But while Laören lingers here, we must certainly keep you well out of his way. That is very clear.”

  Kehera nodded uncertainly. That last bit sounded like a good plan to her, although she wondered what the Wolf Duke meant by “a more permanent solution” and why he spoke of her safety in the same breath. An alliance with her father—could he hope for that, could he hope to break away from Pohorir and bind his province to Harivir instead? She would be willing to urge her father to such an alliance, but she feared Harivir was already facing too great a threat from Emmer for Raëh to easily support Eäneté . . . though she didn’t know what might have happened in Emmer during these past weeks. She looked speculatively at the duke, wondering what news he might know from Harivir and whether he would tell it to her if she asked.

  Gereth was saying, “Yes, Your Grace, but Laören is a problem—his servants snoop everywhere, and Laören himself is so unpredictable—”

  “She must stay close; she must stay hidden; she must not be made the object of gossip. Or at least, not of such gossip as might be dangerous if it makes its way to Laören’s ears.” The duke gave a slight nod. “I see no alternative. She must lodge in my own rooms.”

  Kehera stared at him, recalled abruptly to the moment. She did not have to struggle to find words, however, because the seneschal protested, “Your Grace, that is hardly proper!”

  “But safe,” said the duke. He sounded amused and annoyed and resigned all at once. “My suite is becoming quite crowded of late, I admit. I can hardly imagine the gossip that will run through the house. First Eöté and then Verè and now I snatch up this girl the very moment I lay eyes on her. But gossip will not matter so long as no one suspects her name.” He added to Kehera, “There is nowhere else in this house I can be certain you will be safe from Laören’s prying. Do not fear. I will offer you no insult.” He held out a hand in invitation for Kehera to accompany him.

  It definitely wasn’t proper. But Kehera thought of the Pohorin lord’s silken malice and followed the duke’s gesture without hesitation.

  The duke’s private suite proved to be enormous, all its large rooms warmly and richly furnished: two different reception chambers, each leading away to a different sitting room, a bedroom—he did not show her that, for which she was grateful—a study, a sort of conservatory with red-flowering plants hanging in front of wide windows, a private dining room, and a luxurious bathing room. Kehera looked wistfully at the wide tub, but the Wolf Duke did not seem to notice. He guided her to one of the sitting rooms. It was a wonderful room, with fires roaring in each of two massive fireplaces and tall, arching windows that let in the pale light of the winter noon. Stands of cedar and spicewood supported clean-burning oil lamps. The fragrance of the oils made her think of summer afternoons and new-cut hay and flowers, and the fear that had constricted her heart for so long began, despite everything, to loosen its grip.

  Shelves reaching higher above Kehera’s head lined two of the walls, holding not only books but also lithe wooden carvings that suggested the forms of running deer and leaping wolves. One wall was occupied mainly by a single tall painting, trees and tangled branches and golden leaves and a single bird, a lark, flashing away, half hidden behind leaves. Kehera was sure this painting, too, had been painted by the duke’s mother. Kehera moved to study it and only then realized that the room was already occupied. A girl knelt by one of the hearths, but when she saw Kehera looking her, she shrank back. The other, a man perhaps a little older than Kehera, rose with alacrity from his chair.


  “Your Grace,” he said, and stood straight, his hands at his sides and his expression professionally blank. Kehera decided he must certainly be a soldier.

  “My captain,” said the Wolf Duke. “I gather you are aware of Lord Laören’s return.”

  “Yes, Your Grace. I came straight here, as you ordered.”

  “As well for you that you did. He expresses a desire to renew your acquaintance. I have assured him you will attend him when you are next at liberty.” The duke paused. The young man said nothing, but his mouth tightened.

  “I am certain you have much to occupy yourself with here for the rest of today,” the duke told him. “I expect your duties will keep you busy until late into the night. Tomorrow, you might have time to accommodate Laören, save that I believe events may intervene. You are ready for our little play?”

  A nod. “Yes, Your Grace, if you are.”

  The duke inclined his head. “The choreography will take some care. I am determined Laören shall witness the incident. Otherwise his suspicion would be twice as sharp. He will be acutely suspicious in any case, so we must be convincing in every detail. I shall see to it he has word that you will be sparring against others of the young men. That should draw him to watch. Then we may perform the rest of the play.”

  “Yes,” the captain said again, not sounding very happy about any of this.

  “Indeed. This lady is my guest. My valued guest. She, too, must be at some pains to avoid Lord Laören. Thus she will stay here—I trust for only a short time. Laören will not dare intrude here in my private rooms, but if he does, my captain, from this moment, your first duty is to protect this lady by any means you might find necessary.”

  The young captain gave Kehera a curious, assessing look. “I understand, Your Grace.”

  “Eöté,” said the duke, and waited until the girl rose timidly and came forward, clutching her hands together and not looking at any of them. The captain moved as though to lay a reassuring hand on her arm, but she flinched and after a second he let his hand fall.