Ignoring this, the duke said to the girl, “As the lady had no attendants of her own, you may attend her. I give you my word she is a kind and gentle lady. I do not believe you will find the duty onerous.”
Eöté gave a tiny bob of her head and whispered assent. Kehera wondered at the girl’s obvious terror. She had not thought the duke’s people feared him so much. Or, if it were herself the girl feared, that was even more disturbing because she had no notion why.
Before she had quite decided whether to speak or what to say, a man put back the great door that the duke had left ajar and came in. By his dress and his manner, he was a ranking member of the duke’s staff, a quiet-seeming man perhaps in his late twenties, with dark blond hair and calm eyes. The man bowed slightly to the duke. “Gereth said you wanted me, Your Grace?”
“Gereth anticipated me,” agreed the duke, nodding. “Yes. This lady will need proper clothing and”—he gestured, a minimal flick of the fingers—“whatever else she requests. She will not leave this apartment until Laören has departed. Do not speak of her to the staff, save as a woman who has caught my eye.”
“Another one?” the man said. He was not actually laughing, but his sideways glance at the duke was alight with silent humor.
The duke cast his gaze upward.
“I’m jealous,” said the man cheerfully. “I’m sure Laören will hear all about your . . . vigor. But never fear, Your Grace. I will defeat all my rivals in the end.”
The duke ignored this. Kehera found her eyebrows rising and hastily turned her gaze out the window, making sure her expression reflected polite inattention rather than incredulity.
“I will leave you in Reiöft’s capable hands,” the duke told her. “Do not leave these rooms.” He swept a narrow glance at the others, including them both in this command as well. Then he added, only to her, “You will join me for a late supper. Caèr, get the lady something from the kitchens if she wishes. Bring it yourself.” He did not wait for a response, but turned sharply and went out.
The man—Caèr Reiöft—gave Kehera a small bow. He was not very good-looking. His mouth was too wide, his eyes set too close together. But Kehera liked him. His good humor was enormously reassuring. “I will draw a bath for you, lady,” he told her. “And I will endeavor to find satisfactory clothing that will do until better can be properly made up for you.”
“Thank you,” Kehera said fervently. “You are very kind.” All else aside, she wanted a bath above anything. At least, anything that didn’t involve a fast horse and a straight path through Roh Pass. But at least she could have the bath. Immediately, she hoped. “Eöté?” She turned to the girl.
“Of course my lady will wish to bathe,” Eöté whispered. “There are bowls of special soap for your hair.” She backed away toward the bathing room.
Eöté found soaps and scented oils. She still seemed very much afraid, even once they were alone in the duke’s enormous bathing room. Her fear made it impossible for Kehera to relax. She wanted to say, Please, Eöté, don’t be frightened of me. I think I’m going to need a friend here. It wouldn’t help—and this girl was not Eilisè, and was far too terrified to be a friend. Kehera missed Eilisè intensely now that she had found herself in relative safety. If Eilisè had been here, Kehera would not have felt so alone or so lost. If she had only known her friend was alive and well in Raëh, she would have felt less alone. If she hadn’t been responsible for her friend’s death, she knew she would feel braver and more able to try again to get away, get home.
But now she had abandoned that poor little girl Geris as well, and Tageiny and Luad . . . even spiteful Reilliy and the other girls, poor Hallay who’d obviously never deserved to be made a slave. Everyone she would have wanted to protect was lost somewhere behind her, and she could help none of them.
“Did the duke—has he hurt you?” she asked Eöté directly. “Is he that sort?” If he had, Kehera was determined to do something to help this girl, at least. Somehow.
Eöté knelt frozen by the tub, a warm towel in her hands, her eyes enormous in her delicate face.
“I’m sorry to ask,” Kehera said sincerely. “But I do think I had better know the worst. You—I mean—I can’t help but see you’re afraid of him. So—”
“He hasn’t,” the girl answered suddenly, with bitter emphasis. “But he could. Anyone could. A woman is never really safe. No one is safe. Not even here.” Then she paled again and dropped her eyes, clearly wishing she hadn’t spoken.
Kehera wished she could promise that she would keep Eöté safe. But she knew she could promise nothing.
Despite her doubts, being clean, really clean, was a tremendous luxury. Kehera let Eöté wrap her in a soft blue robe and then sat in a low-backed chair for the girl to work the tangles out of her hair with a broad-toothed comb. The dye still colored most of it dark, startling Kehera whenever she caught sight of herself in one of the bathing room’s mirrors.
Eöté braided Kehera’s hair, a complicated braid with the ends turned under and hidden, but left the heavy braid swinging loose down Kehera’s back. Kehera looked in the mirror Eöté held for her, and she nodded in approval, then frowned. The pale roots of the hair were quite noticeable now that her hair was clean, and all the dye was wearing off in streaks.
“I could get you some more dye, my lady. . . .” Eöté offered hesitantly.
“Thank you.” It was probably a good idea, and she was glad the girl had been brave enough to offer.
“Would you like to see the gowns Caèr Reiöft found for you, my lady?”
“If I am to join His Grace for supper . . . is there one suitable for a private but formal supper?”
“I think so. If my lady pleases, I will show you. . . .”
The dress Eöté found was like the room, all pale cream and soft blue. Delicate beadwork spread in a smoke-colored fan from the bodice down the long skirts. Kehera stood still to let Eöté do up the lacings. The fine, heavy cloth seemed doubly luxurious after the coarse material of her recent garb. The thought reminded her of other things she had carried all this way, and she asked, suddenly, “Eöté, the pouch I had with my traveling clothing. Would you bring it here, please?”
The other girl retrieved the pouch wordlessly. Kehera weighted it in hand for a moment. It had come so far with her . . . incredible that she still held it safe. A memory of home, a thing Tiro had made just for her. She dared not hope that she might ever play another game of tiahel with her brother with these carefully carven pieces. Still . . . “I’d like to put this somewhere where it won’t be lost, Eöté. It’s only a tiahel set—you can look, if you like. But my brother made it for me, and I would like to keep it safe.”
The girl looked at the pouch doubtfully. “I think my lady will be sleeping on a pallet in the smaller sitting room. I can put it there for you, if you wish. . . .”
Kehera handed her the pouch and watched as the Eöté took it away, perhaps to examine its contents, or report them, or something. But after all, it honestly was a tiahel set, ordinary to anyone but Kehera. Probably the pouch would wind up on her bed, just as it was supposed to.
While Eöté was gone, she also quickly retrieved her few remaining pearls. There were only five left, but they were the biggest and the best. Kehera tucked them away in a pocket of her new dress.
She wanted nothing quite so much after that as a chance to lie down somewhere private and close her eyes for a little while. But there was no privacy she could trust in these rooms that were not hers, and if she lay down, she would crush her skirts. She went back to the larger sitting room instead, perched upright on the least comfortable chair, gazed out the window, and tried to think. Her thoughts only went in circles, but the view from the wide window was stunning, the lowering sun gilding the tops of the Takel Mountains. In the shadowed curves of the mountains, she thought she could make out the way Roh Pass must run.
Captain Deconniy had taken a seat by the fire, and Eöté had tucked herself down on the hearth near him, half o
ut of sight behind his chair. Kehera wanted to ask them whether they thought the Eänetén duke might give her leave to go through the pass. But probably they would not know. She said instead, as though idly, “It was so kind of Gereth Murrel to help me. But he does seem kind.”
This proved the right thing to say. Eöté actually brightened a tiny bit. “Oh, yes! He’s so kind to all of us. Without Gereth, His Grace might—he might do anything, but he listens to Gereth.”
Kehera was glad to hear this. After Parren, she wasn’t very certain of her ability to judge people. Although she could see now that hints of the slave trader’s true nature had been there all along. . . . She supposed Parren was probably here in this house now. The duke’s seneschal had said he was to be brought here. Whatever the duke did to Parren, he deserved it. But she said, “Yes, it seems to me His Grace might do anything. I have heard that he’s cruel.”
This time it was Captain Deconniy who answered. “His Grace isn’t cruel, my lady. I mean . . . it’s the wolf tie. But he . . . controls it. He’s not really cruel, not like Lord Geif of Tisain. Or Lord Laören.” He and Eöté exchanged a glance of what seemed complete accord.
“Him,” Kehera said, and shivered.
The captain gave her a little nod. “I see you’ve met him. Not—” The man hesitated. “Not closely, I hope.” He and the girl exchanged another glance. Then Deconniy moved to touch Eöté’s hand, just resting the tips of his fingers on the back of her hand, and though the girl dropped her gaze, she didn’t flinch away.
“No,” said Kehera, and definitely didn’t ask just what either of them had suffered at Laören’s hands. But she turned back to the more important topic, obliquely. “I understand how it is, to have a deep tie. But it shouldn’t be like that for your duke. I mean, something you have to fight to control. It’s more like . . . something that shapes the person you are. But not something that makes you into someone you never could be.”
The captain’s eyebrows went up. “With respect, my lady, in Pohorir, you don’t want a deep tie to shape your lord. You’re Harivin, are you not?”
“Everyone seems able to tell,” Kehera said, discouraged. She had thought herself so well disguised.
“I don’t know about that, my lady. It’s just, it’s what you seem to expect from a lord with the deep tie. Mind, His Grace is a hard man. But—I’ve seen this, since I came here. He’s hardest on himself. You can trust his self-control.” He gave Eöté a tiny nod that Kehera couldn’t read, but the girl only looked away. Deconniy turned back to Kehera and went on. “But you have to understand, managing his tie takes a lot of . . .”
“Strength of mind?” Kehera suggested. “I understand. You’re new to Eäneté yourself, Captain Deconniy? Why did you choose to serve the Eänetén duke, then? Him, especially? If I may ask?”
Captain Deconniy gave her a long look. “There aren’t any other lords in Pohorir who would choose a man like Gereth Murrel as their seneschal, or regard his opinion if they did. I knew just from that. And from Senior Captain Etar. And there’s not another lord in Pohorir who would trust a man from another lord’s service. Or go to . . . enormous trouble, to protect such a man from an influential Irekaïn lord who wanted him. His Grace . . . he’s a great man, lady. I believe that.”
Eöté shivered.
Kehera made a mental note not to try to suborn the young captain. But perhaps she wouldn’t need to try to suborn anyone, if she could only persuade the Eänetén duke to simply let her go. If he wanted an alliance with her father, perhaps he would. She hoped for that.
The duke’s private dining room was beautifully appointed; it was not large, but the wide windows made it seem more expansive. This room, too, had the inevitable fireplace, the light of the fire flickering across the slate of the hearth and the polished brass of the spoons, but the room smelled more of cooking than burning cedar. The table was oak, carved with leaves and acorns around the edge. The chairs, too, were carved, but with stylized deer and wolves with eyes of yellow topaz.
The Wolf Duke stood up with that same strict courtesy as Gereth Murrel escorted Kehera into the room. “Lady,” he said—not “Your Highness,” a caution she appreciated, though there seemed little chance of anyone outside the duke’s intimate servants overhearing. “Please join me. I hope you have found yourself comfortable despite the rather close accommodations.”
“Yes, quite comfortable,” Kehera answered, automatically coming forward to take the chair he indicated. She studied him, at once wary and fascinated. She could see the tie in him. It seemed . . . less obtrusive now than it had earlier. She could not tell whether the Eänetén duke had bound his Immanent Power more firmly through sheer self-control or whether he had done something else to content his Power and make it settle. The duke was, in fact, very hard to read.
But the food was good. Caèr Reiöft served, unobtrusive but quietly good-humored, so that Kehera found herself almost at ease. There was a winter soup of leeks and potatoes, rich with butter; and bread; and apples with honey; and little skewers of meat served with some spicy sauce that took Kehera by surprise so that she had to reach quickly for bread to cool her tongue.
The duke smiled slightly. It altered the angles of his face and made him seem less forbidding. But he said only, “Lord Laören may depart as early as tomorrow. Then we should enjoy a peaceful interval in this house, during which we may consider the course of the future.”
Kehera inclined her head. “I must thank Your Grace again for protecting me from . . . our common enemy.” She meant Methmeir Irekaì as well as Lord Laören. And if the King of Pohorir was the Eänetén duke’s enemy . . . surely that was all to her advantage. She added, “I pray Your Grace will have nothing but good fortune before you for the years to come.”
“In your coming to my house and my hand, I hope we may indeed perceive the intentions of the Fortunate Gods.” Strict patience glinted in the duke’s yellow eyes, ruthless as winter.
“There is surely no reason why the Gods should not favor us both. Especially if Your Grace is kind enough to allow me passage to Harivir. Such kindness would surely find favor with the Fortunate Gods.” And my father, she meant, though she did not say this out loud.
“Perhaps. We shall see. In fact, you might do better to claim refuge here. I think you may not know that Harivir has of late found itself much engaged against its enemies to the north.” The duke paused.
Kehera suddenly found her mouth dry. She took a sip of wine and asked, calmly, she hoped, “Perhaps Your Grace would be so kind as to tell me the news from Harivir?”
“Rumor has crossed the mountains in some confusion,” murmured the duke. “For example, some weeks ago, toward the end of Fire Maple Month, word came to Eäneté that Hallieth Suriytaiän had compelled Torrolay Raëhema to deliver up his heir in tribute, but that the Mad King had quickly found reason to regret his demand, for Torrolay Raëhema had sent a trap of some sort as well as his daughter.” He regarded her with thoughtful interest. “Shortly thereafter, I heard that Hallieth Suriytaiän was dead. Then that he did not die, but rather lost the Power of Suriytè, and with the tie, the kingship. Then that he had lost the Suriytè Power but gained a different tie; that a foreign Immanent Power reached out of the wild desert and set its tie in his heart and in Suriytè. You will understand my bewilderment.”
Kehera considered this assortment of tales. “He was not dead when I . . . left Suriytè,” she said after a moment. “But I think it’s true that the Great Power of Suriytè had been destroyed.”
“Do go on. I am most interested.”
Kehera was sure he was. She said, “An Immanent Power out of the empty desert? Is that the tale? That seems strange to me. The foreign Power I saw there seemed no small wild Immanent newly risen out of those abandoned lands. Nor do I see why an Immanent rooted in the desert would reach out to a great city such as Suriytè; nor do I understand how such an Immanent could have challenged the Great Power of Suriytè even were it so inclined.” She hesitated, but she c
ouldn’t see how reticence could help her now, so she added, “The foreign Power I saw in Suriytè was . . . cold.” She shivered. All her memories of those horrible moments in the tower of the King’s Hall of Suriytè seemed blurred and strange. But she could say with confidence, “The man who brought me through Anha Pass was an agent of your king, I am certain. He was a sorcerer. He bore a deep tie, and I would swear that the Power he carried within him was that same cold Power and not some other.”
The Eänetén duke’s interested regard sharpened. “Indeed. How very intriguing. You were there, of course, when Hallieth Suriytaiän lost his namesake Power. And Methmeir Irekaì is uncommonly ambitious, even for a King of Pohorir. Of course, his father was ambitious, and his grandmother before that; one expects the Irekaïn Power to be acquisitive and aggressive. Still, to strike so ruthlessly and so far from Irekay is certainly unexpected.”
Kehera nodded. Everyone knew that an ambitious king might use his Immanent Power to overwhelm a rival, force another Immanent into an Unfortunate bond, bind the land to his own. An unfriendly king might then strip the vigor and strength of the subjugated Immanent to enhance his own land and extend his own life.
But a king using his Immanent Power to actually destroy another was something she had never heard of, and a king reaching so far from the precincts of his own Power to do it was something she had never imagined. She guessed now that this had been Gheroïn Nomoris’s role: to carry a deep tie from Irekay into Emmer so that his king might reach through him. She had never heard of anyone doing that, but she had never studied history assiduously. Probably her brother, Tiro, could list half a dozen times it had happened.
But she hardly cared about any of that at the moment. “But Harivir?” she asked, unable to disguise her need to hear whatever the Wolf Duke might know. “Your Grace, what has happened in Harivir? You say my father is hard-pressed?”
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