Winter of Ice and Iron

by Rachel Neumeier

  The falcon flashed once more through the air before him, its flight as sharp and sudden as a lightning strike: there and then gone again. It called as it flew, sharp and fierce. Somewhere the dragon cried again, but this time it seemed more distant. The wind died and the snow fell quietly, large silent flakes drifting downward around him. The wolf took a step closer and looked into his eyes.

  The woman’s voice said, “It is Eänetaìsarè, but you have mastered it. You know your own name. What is your name?”

  Innisth opened his mouth to answer, but the sound that came out of his throat was the long, eerie song of a wolf.

  “Innisth,” the woman named him. “Innisth terè Maèr Eänetaì.”

  The wolf came close. “Eänetaì,” it said, and its voice was his own.

  “Eänetaìsarè,” cried the falcon, speaking with the voice of a woman. Then the falcon said, “Innisth,” and darted away on narrow wings through the interwoven black branches and the silvery light.

  He turned and took one step to follow the bird, but stopped, looked back at the wolf. Its yellow stare seemed as measureless as the deep forest. He said, “Eänetaìsarè,” and woke.

  Innisth blinked up at the ceiling, trying to focus his eyes. For a moment he thought he looked at black branches laced across a field of snow, but he saw then that it was the dark spicewood trim over the white ceiling of his own bedchamber. He was terribly thirsty, and his leg hurt abominably. He tried, weakly, to sit up.

  A hand touched his shoulder, pressing him back irresistibly. “Don’t try to move,” said Gereth, and shifted into his field of vision. His seneschal looked as though he had aged years. His skin was fine-drawn, the lines etched deeply around his eyes and mouth. Such deep lines, to appear in so little time. Innisth said without thought, “I am sorry.”

  Gereth moved his head in quiet negation. “No. You did well in everything. You have always done well, Innisth. You lost a great deal of blood, that’s all. It certainly made for a most convincing performance. That was the day before yesterday. Hush! Do you think me so incapable that I cannot manage for a single day and night?”

  Innisth closed his eyes and sank back, accepting the rebuke wordlessly, knowing it was deserved. He asked huskily, “Help me sit up.”

  The seneschal obeyed, shoving pillows to brace him. “Drink this,” he said, and gave the duke a tall wooden cup.

  Innisth tried to lift it, but found that even so light a vessel wobbled alarmingly. Gereth caught it and held it steady for him to drink. It was water, plain and cold. Innisth drained the cup.

  “More?”

  Innisth shook his head slightly and leaned back against the pillows. “The Raëhema girl? She was here?”

  Gereth paused. “How did you know?” Then he said, “I knew you wouldn’t like it. But she insisted she could help you. That she could help your Power hold you. You almost . . .” He stopped.

  “The falcon,” said Innisth. He lifted one hand to rub his eyes. Even that small movement tired him. He said, “She did help me.” He frowned, trying to remember, but the dream had faded as dreams do, and he could remember nothing but a flash of wings and the sharp quick cry of a falcon.

  He shook his head slightly, not so much dismissing the dream images but setting them aside. “Laören is still here.” He knew it was true. He thought he could feel the Irekaïn lord’s presence, like a canker festering in the roots of an otherwise healthy oak.

  “He declares he is waiting to see you recovered before he goes. I allowed him to see you immediately after you were injured, as soon as your physicker said it could be allowed. I’m sorry, I know you would truly hate that, but he might have doubted the severity of your injury. No one could doubt it after seeing you as you were then. And Amereir was very convincing.” Gereth almost smiled. “I believe he suspects you did this to yourself on purpose, and wishes you would warn him before you do such things.”

  “But Laören is still here,” Innisth repeated, though he knew he sounded sulky.

  Gereth touched his shoulder, a comforting gesture. “He tells me he will depart as soon as you are strong enough to see him off. I imagine he is waiting to see if you will live. As everyone has been. Captain Deconniy is being held for your judgment; no one has presumed to touch him. Eöté is quite safe; I had her stay in your rooms here to help nurse you. Everything is quite in order.”

  “Why did the wound . . . bleed so much?”

  “Amereir said the sword managed to nick a major artery. A fluke, he said. He stitched the artery and said to tell you that the cut itself was not especially serious. You may expect to regain full function in the leg, though he was very stern about not rushing the recovery. That is for your ear,” Gereth added. “Everyone else has been informed that you may never again walk without a cane.”

  “Good. Very good. I will see Laören gone tomorrow.”

  “No.”

  “Yes. I want him away from here.”

  “The day after tomorrow,” Gereth said, and raised his hand as Innisth started to speak. He held his arm out before the duke. “Pull my arm down to the bed,” he commanded.

  Innisth eyed him with weary anger. Then, without speaking, he reached out and gripped the older man’s arm. He tried to pull it down. Gereth resisted the pressure with no evident effort. Innisth tried harder. Pain rose from his leg through his body in sickening waves.

  “You’re going to faint if you keep that up,” Gereth observed with pitiless accuracy.

  Innisth stopped, panting, just before he would have fainted, black lines (branches against white snow) cutting across his vision, his head swimming.

  “Day after tomorrow,” Gereth said gently. “The rest of today, and tomorrow, you rest.”

  Innisth leaned his head back against the pillows, defeated. A novel sensation. Had it been anyone but Gereth, he would have refused to accept it. The older man touched his arm again in affection and reassurance, a familiarity, but one Innisth had no heart to rebuke.

  Gereth said, “There is broth and bread. You must eat, and then rest again. Amereir left very stern instructions.” He helped Innisth eat, with care so matter-of-fact and impersonal that the duke found it possible to accept his help without shame. And he made him sleep, after eating, with the same tactful authority. “I will be here when you wake—I will be here all the time. I, or Caèr Reiöft, or Etar. So you see, you may rest easy.”

  “Or the Raëhema girl,” Innisth murmured, his eyes already closing. “She too may come and go.” But he sank down and did not hear Gereth answer.

  The second time Innisth woke, he was clear-headed enough to know that he had not been entirely clear-headed earlier. And stronger. Strong enough to push himself slowly up until he was sitting nearly upright, leaning back against the pillows.

  As promised, Gereth was present, sitting in a heavy chair drawn up close to the bed, his head tilted back, his eyes closed. A ledger was open on his lap, his hand lying across its pages in abandoned effort. Innisth found himself with no desire at all to disturb the older man and remained perfectly still in the bed.

  But Gereth, perhaps feeling Innisth’s regard, or sensing the new stillness greater than the quiet of sleep, opened his eyes and lifted his head. For a moment he only looked at the duke, a look that held, in that one moment, all he had felt of strain and fear in the past days. Then he smiled, and that strain seemed to fall away. “You’re looking much better, Your Grace.”

  Innisth said dryly, “I see you are using my title again. Does that mean you are now willing to accept my orders?”

  “I suppose I must be,” agreed Gereth. He stood up, laying the ledger aside. “What orders do you have for me, Your Grace?”

  The duke considered this. “Deconniy? The Raëhema heir?”

  “Kehera Raëhema is safe and well. Verè Deconniy is also well. The staff is evenly divided between believing this was an accident and believing Deconniy struck you down purposefully, so there is some tension there. But Etar is keeping an eye on him.”

&n
bsp; Innisth nodded slightly. “Such doubt is perhaps unavoidable. That can be dealt with later. The great thing must be to send Laören on his way. You may inform him that I shall be strong enough to see him on his way no later than the day after tomorrow. Add my apologies for the delay I have occasioned him and my thanks for his courtesy in remaining to take formal leave.”

  “Your Grace, I will see to everything.”

  “I know you will, Gereth. I depend on you entirely.”

  The seneschal smiled. He bowed, more deeply than was strictly required, and went out.

  Three days after Innisth’s little play, on the twenty-seventh day of the Month of Frost, Lord Laören and his staff assembled at last in the courtyard, more than a dozen men and horses, Lord Geif of Tisain close-guarded in their midst and looking already more than a little worse for wear. Innisth had intended to take his leave of Laören from his reception hall or his library—somewhere warm and comfortable. Forcing the duke to have himself carried into the frozen courtyard was a small, spiteful gesture that did not surprise Innisth at all; he very much hoped it was the last such gesture he would be required to suffer.

  “I’m so glad to see you recovering, Your Grace.” Lord Laören drew on his furred gloves slowly, smiling his little, dangerous smile. “Such a pity about your injury.”

  The duke sat in the high-backed chair brought out to the courtyard for the purpose. He inclined his head, showing neither pleasure nor displeasure, and murmured that he, too, regretted it very much. It was even true—at least true enough. He certainly regretted the pain and the incapacity. This was important, because he did not dare to lie too blatantly to the Irekaïn lord.

  “And a pity that it should have been your young Captain Deconniy who made such a serious error,” added Laören. “You were a bit fond of him, I thought. A shame.”

  Innisth said, his tone remote, “You may certainly enjoy the hospitality of Eäneté long enough to witness his punishment. If you wish it, I will set the day forward as far as possible to accommodate your need for haste, my lord.”

  “Alas, I dare not linger so long.” Lord Laören put out a hand without looking, and one of his men put the rein of his horse into it. “I have certainly enjoyed my visit, Your Grace. A very useful trip.” He glanced over his shoulder at Geif and then smiled at the duke. “I do so like to be of service to His Majesty. As do we all, of course. Perhaps the king will send for you when you are well enough to travel. Or perhaps I will ask him if I might visit your province and city and house again. Next year, perhaps.”

  “I will, as always, be delighted to serve His Majesty in any way possible,” Innisth said flatly. This time he did not care if Laören heard the lie. He bowed, a slow, deliberate bow that made it clear he considered the interview at an end. “May you have fair weather and good roads for your ride.”

  Laören, smiling, returned the bow with one a little less deep, and turned away to mount his horse. And he rode away, across the width of the courtyard and out the gate and away, gone. Innisth gazed after him, watching until he was out of sight and then tracking his progress through his tie. Four days, five days until the court lord would ride through the borderlands between Eäneté and the inner provinces and be truly gone.

  But he was gone enough now. At last. Innisth let out a slow breath and unclenched his hands from the arms of his chair. Gereth moved forward, but Innisth signed him to silence. He murmured after a moment, “He may yet turn back. He might enjoy that. I will not be confident he will not play that game until he is at least a day’s ride away from the city.”

  “He will want to drop Geif at the king’s feet, like a dog bringing back a stick to its master. Whatever he or Irekaì might suspect of you, the king will surely deal with Geif first. As you intended.”

  Innisth lifted one shoulder in a tiny shrug. “Yes. Even so. The Raëhema heir—”

  “Your Grace?”

  “I will see her.” Innisth set his hands deliberately on the arms of his chair, preparing to push himself to his feet. His leg twinged alarmingly, and he sank back, thinking better of the movement. “Tonight. A private supper, as before. Arrange for her to be given proper accommodations at once. The suite adjoining mine will do. However, we will not announce her name to the household.” He paused to consider. “Eöté can continue in her service. That will do, as we have few enough women in the household. But the men Kehera Raëhema particularly wished to bring into her service, I will see them. After supper, I think. Yes. She may attend while I interview them. Yes, I think that would be best. And send Etar to me. That, first of all.” He added last, pretending grimly that he did not find this dependence humiliating, “And have someone assist me inside.”

  Captain Etar strode into the duke’s reception room with a firm step and straight shoulders, neither of which quite hid the tightness of his mouth or the hard-held weariness of his eyes. He looked the duke up and down, a swift, summing glance, and some of the tightness eased. But some of it did not. He gave the duke a curt nod and drew himself into a pose of relaxed attention.

  Innisth considered him for a moment. Then he said, “My old soldier.”

  Etar relaxed, though Innisth could not have precisely pinpointed the difference in his stance. “Your Grace. I am very glad to see you well. Or nearly well. I hear from Amereir you are expected to recover fully.”

  “So he insists,” said Innisth, just a little wry. “At the moment it is tedious enough. You have Verè Deconniy safe in your keeping, I understand.”

  “Yes, Your Grace. Your Grace will understand that the young man is much distressed.”

  “Is he? So, tell me, my old soldier. Was the fault in the man who dealt the blow, or the man who received it? Or was there no fault at all, but only mischance?”

  Etar answered straightforwardly, “You moved in exactly the wrong direction at exactly the wrong instant. I thought Deconniy had managed to compensate until I saw the blood. Allow me to say that your recovery is a great relief to all of us, Your Grace.”

  “Indeed.” Innisth considered. “Bring Deconniy to me here,” he ordered eventually.

  “Immediately, Your Grace.”

  Deconniy still wore his uniform, but he had been stripped of his weapons and of the signs of his rank. There was a bruise along the line of his jaw, and even in so few days, he seemed to have lost weight. Other than this, however, he showed no sign of rough usage. But he was pale. His expression was closed, the line of his mouth ungiving. Captain Etar escorted him, but the senior captain stepped aside as soon as they entered the room and stood by the door, expression professionally blank. Deconniy, after one swift, urgent glance at the senior captain, came forward alone and stood at attention.

  The duke regarded him for a long moment. Then he said plainly, “I do not suspect your motives in the blow. I accept that the bleeding was an accident.”

  A weight seemed to lift from the young captain’s shoulders. He bent his head. “Yes, Your Grace. I swear by every Fortunate God, it was an accident—”

  Innisth waved a dismissive hand. “Yes. Do not concern yourself. You played your role skillfully and acquitted yourself well. I am pleased with you and with the success of the stratagem. Of course I am not pleased to have been injured, but that was always the price I intended to pay to rid myself of Laören while keeping you here. You are not to think of the price as one set on your life, but rather as one I set on my own honor and my pride, which to me are beyond value. Do you understand?”

  Deconniy closed his eyes for an instant. A little color came back into his face. “Yes,” he said, and after a second, “Your Grace.”

  “I count your loyalty, as I do my pride, beyond price. Do you understand me, my captain?”

  “I . . . Yes. I understand, Your Grace.”

  “Then we need not speak of this again,” said the duke. “You know that Laören has indeed gone, with all his people and with Geif? Yes, good. In a day, perhaps two, when we are confident he will not turn back, you may reclaim your insignia and your
weapons and return to your ordinary quarters. However, I believe caution is warranted. You will have to remain here for the immediate present. You may retire to the outer rooms, however. I am going to rest.”

  “Understood, Your Grace. If . . . if Lord Laören does return . . .”

  “In that case, it would be as well if the staff did not realize you had been released. Stay close and stay quiet.”

  “Yes, Your Grace. I—” But Deconniy only shook his head and withdrew, still subdued, but no longer with quite so closed an expression.

  Innisth found himself exhausted, which was ridiculous, as he had done nothing but sit in a chair this whole morning.

  The afternoon found the duke much recovered. He slept and waked and dozed again, and ate the food Reiöft brought him, and found himself impatient and restless, yet still bone-weary when he attempted to rise. Still, as the evening approached, he insisted on putting aside the ledgers and reports with which he had been passing the time. He had Reiöft help him to his chair in his private dining chamber, so that the Raëhema girl would not see how he struggled to manage the least task. Reiöft arranged cushions and brought a low stool on which the duke could rest his foot and generally fussed, but so quietly Innisth found it possible to tolerate his hovering. And he placed a blackwood walking stick where the duke could reach it. The walking stick was topped with a carved wooden wolf with topaz eyes. Innisth raised his eyebrows.

  Reiöft cleared his throat. “I know, it was your grandfather’s,” he said apologetically. “But the wolf is yours now. Perhaps you will not object to taking possession of the stick as well.”

  “Very thoughtful,” said Innisth after a moment. “Thank you, Caèr.”

  There was a sound from the doorway, and he glanced up. The Raëhema girl stood there. He could see the tie in her more clearly now, thread-thin but vivid as the first green shoots of spring. Warm, quiet, lending her a calm strength, which she gave back to it, a circular gift that could not have been more different from his own constant struggle with his Eänetén Power. Yet he felt Eänetaìsarè stir in response, not rousing in jealous anger, but as a wolf might stretch and yawn and settle in front of a fire if it were a dog. His breath seemed to come more easily. Even the ache of his leg eased.