“Well, I’m glad you’ve found a place for Hallay. I liked him.” Kehera put the paper aside to examine at leisure later. “Thank you, seneschal,” she said formally.
“Entirely my pleasure, my lady, I assure you. Now, as for riding out. I fear—” He turned his hands palm-up.
“I’m not surprised,” said Kehera, and sighed.
“Yes, I know,” the seneschal said sympathetically. “Many things may change once Lord Laören is finally out of the province.”
Kehera sighed again, but nodded.
“Unfortunately, it is likely to take at least three more days for Laören to cross the border. Eäneté is a big province.”
Kehera nodded politely. “Of course, or it would hardly support such a strong Power. May I ask you an impertinent question, Gereth?”
He gave her a wary glance. “Of course, my lady.”
“How long ago did His Grace take the deep tie to Eäneté? It’s only,” she added apologetically, “that I seem to have heard of the Wolf Duke of Eäneté all my life, and his tie seems very strong and, well, committed. I’m almost sure his Eänetaìsarè deliberately sought help from my Raëhemaiëth rather than risk his death. Yet he doesn’t seem that old. So I am curious. I told you it was impertinent,” she said ruefully as the corners of Gereth’s eyes crinkled.
“The first part is easy enough: Innisth’s great-great-grandfather, Imhaèr, was the first to be called the Wolf Duke—called that by everyone, I mean, rather than just his own people. The Wolf Duke, the Black Duke, the Iron Duke—I doubt anyone called him by his name. I believe it was during Imhaèr’s lifetime that the Immanent Power of Eäneté grew into itself and took its full name. At first it was called Eän, which is ‘mountain,’ you know. And then for a little while, Eänetaìsa—‘mountain of fire.’ The wolf symbol came later.”
Kehera made a small interested sound.
“Eäneté was a smaller town for a long time. The Power has strengthened since Imhaèr’s day, and I believe the duke’s tie has deepened with every generation since. But it is only since Innisth took it that I think it could fairly be said to become nearly Great.”
Kehera nodded thoughtfully. “Yet he can’t have held the true tie long? When did his father die?”
“Innisth took the tie when he was twenty. He is now twenty-seven.”
“Oh.” So he had taken the full tie when he was just her age. Kehera tried to imagine that. “Eänetaìsarè can’t have been an easy Power to master,” she said aloud. “How tragic that His Grace should have been forced to take it so young.” Something in the seneschal’s silence caught her attention, and she looked at him, frowning in question.
“It was difficult for him, I believe,” Gereth murmured. “But hardly tragic. They still celebrate the occasion in town.”
“Oh.” Kehera thought about this. “So the old duke, His Grace’s father was . . . He must have been a . . . difficult lord.”
Gereth was not going to be drawn, but Tageiny snorted quietly and put in, “A vicious, sadistic wolf’s whelp, Iheraïn Iönei Eänetaì, and no mistake. I was way off in Vièm then, and that wasn’t a mistake either. It was a good time to not be anywhere near Eäneté.”
Gereth smiled ruefully, caught Kehera’s raised eyebrows, and shrugged, not disagreeing.
Kehera said to him, “But you were here in Eäneté, of course?” She thought the seneschal must have been. But he didn’t answer, and she could see a certain constraint in the set of his shoulders that hadn’t been there before. She said, “Tageiny, would you go make sure Luad got enough breakfast, please? And take some of this for yourself, too; I know you must be hungry.”
Without a word of objection, the big man collected a plate of sliced sweet cake and another dish of eggs and retired into another room. As soon as he was gone, Kehera asked quietly, “What was he like? The duke’s father? I think . . . I think I had better know. If I am to be His Grace’s guest. Or . . .” Something about the quality of the seneschal’s silence drew her. “What was she like? His mother? You said she died when she was twenty, but . . . the old duke didn’t kill her, surely?”
There was a little silence. Then Gereth gave her a small, stiff smile. “Innisth does that too. Asks the question he shouldn’t know how to ask. Your man is quite correct about what Innisth’s father was like. A vicious, sadistic wolf’s whelp. Yes. That’s fair enough. And Jeneil was a lovely girl, who deserved . . . so much better. Iheraïn didn’t kill her with his own hand. But he hounded her to her death as surely as though he’d set his wolves on her.” He fell silent, eyes focused inward, on a private vision, an echo of memory.
“I’m sorry,” Kehera said softly. “That’s why you serve Innisth, then.”
“I saw only Jeneil in him, at first. I was a fool there again, you may well say. . . . He’s far more the old duke’s son than hers, for all he has her fine cast to his face and her graceful hands. By the time I saw Iheraïn in him, it was too late. I loved him too much by then ever to turn away from him.”
“Not just for her memory,” Kehera said with quiet certainty. “I don’t find it astonishing that you found something in him to love.”
“Well.” The seneschal gave her a little nod, half-surprised. “Yes. There’s more under that stony facade he’s built up than you’d ever think, seeing him as he is now. He’s not gentle. The Eänetén Power doesn’t lend itself to gentleness. He’s possessive, and merciless, and passionate. His temper . . . well. He’s not kind. Or, that’s not quite fair. Sometimes he is kind. He can be generous. And strong. My sweet Gods, you can’t imagine the kind of endurance it took even to survive, under his father’s attention.”
“Even with your protection,” Kehera murmured.
Gereth laughed, a laugh edged with bitterness. “How much protection do you think I could be? Oh, I tried, that’s true enough. There was little enough I could ever do. I could help against the servants, but it would have taken the Gods themselves to protect Innisth from his father. And the Fortunate Gods, more’s the pity, didn’t seem overly inclined to take a hand. Not that they ever seem to, in Pohorir.”
“It must have been . . . very hard,” Kehera ventured.
Gereth laughed again, still bitterly. For a long moment Kehera thought he wasn’t going to speak. Then he gave her a direct look and said, “The first time Innisth tried to kill his father, he was only fourteen.”
Kehera stared at him.
“He didn’t manage it, of course. Not then. That . . . was a hard time for all of us.”
In a hushed voice, Kehera asked, “What did his father do to him?”
The question got her a sharp look. “I talk too much,” the seneschal said, in quite a different tone. He stood up. “Forgive me, my lady. I have a great many tasks I must see to. Forgive me that I cannot allow you to leave the house. Please do not even visit the stables. It would worry His Grace’s men. I hope it will not displease you to know that His Grace will most likely invite you to join him for supper.”
Kehera nodded, since that was what he expected. She stood up to see Gereth out, feeling as though her new knowledge were actually weighing her down. She had wanted to understand the Wolf Duke better. Now . . . now she wasn’t at all sure she was comfortable with what she had learned. That Not then was . . . fraught. She tried to imagine what Innisth terè Maèr Eänetaì’s life had been like as a child in this house. It was not a comfortable thing to imagine. But she thought she understood him better now. No wonder he was so determined to have everything his own way, to gather all power into his own hands, to make every decision and force those around him to accede to his will. She suspected that he had learned young to value his own power and strength as the only possible guard against ill will and cruelty.
At least she was convinced he also valued his own power and strength as a means of providing safety and well-being to his people. That was why he was so utterly self-disciplined; because he put his whole sense of self-worth on forcing kindness and generosity from an inherently cruel Im
manent.
It all seemed so complicated. And she might still be wrong. Except she was sure she was right. This was her captor. In a way, knowing this little bit about his history made her look forward to supper. She wondered how much of his history she would now see in his face or hidden within his yellow eyes.
14
Innisth woke before dawn, in pain. The wound had been healing. He had been foolish, forgetting himself, reopening the injury, and now he paid for that foolishness. For a time he lay still, teeth set, enduring. The throbbing ache grew worse, spreading to involve his whole side. Finally he thought, This is ridiculous, and threw back the blankets. There was an infusion of willow bark in the other room, left by his physicker for just such a need; ridiculous not to use what remedies were available. He gripped the headboard of the bed and pulled himself up, allowing himself a grimace in the privacy of the darkness. There was a lamp on the table, hardly a step away. Caèr had set the wolf-headed walking stick close by the bed. He reached for it and felt in the dark for the candlelighter. The lamp cast a flickering mellow light across the quiet room. A dozen steps to the door, perhaps a dozen more to the remedy the physicker had left. Not an impossible distance. He picked up the lamp and made his way grimly across the room. The stick had certainly been an inspiration of Caèr’s.
The door opened quietly. The lamp threw light in a long trail across the outer room. For a moment Innisth thought that the sharply arrested movement to one side was an illusion of that flickering light, and even when he realized it was not, it took him a long moment to determine just what it was that he was seeing.
Deconniy was on a couch there, and Eöté was with him. They were frozen in horror, staring at the duke, faces deathly in the chancy light of the lamp. Eöté had been on top of Deconniy, with the blankets thrown over them both; now the young captain moved convulsively, putting the girl behind him and coming to his feet between her and the duke, his expression stricken. He was quite naked.
Innisth spun away violently, back into the inner room, and closed the connecting door with real force. He nearly fell as his weight came onto his injured leg, and swore savagely. But in one way, the pain was no longer unwelcome: it was a distraction, and Gods knew he needed one now. He hardly required the stick at all on his way back to his abandoned bed. No one, thankfully, tried to come after him: neither the earnest young man, nor the frightened girl, for which slight mercy Innisth was truly grateful.
The sunrise was welcome, when it finally came: as an end to the night if for no other reason. Caèr Reiöft helped the duke dress, as on any morning. It was impossible to guess whether Reiöft knew of the eventful night. He was very quiet, but he understood the duke’s moods, so that meant very little.
Deconniy and Eöté both stood up nervously as Innisth came into the breakfast room, their eyes on his face. Leaning on Reiöft’s arm, the duke surveyed them with cool detachment. He permitted Reiöft to assist him to a seat at the table. Reiöft gave him a wry look, but withdrew without a word to bring the breakfast tray. Both the young captain and the girl stared after him, as though they had hoped Reiöft might save them from the wolf. Innisth was almost amused.
“Your Grace—” Deconniy said cautiously. His voice shook a little, and he stopped.
“Silence,” ordered the duke. He examined Eöté narrowly. The girl twisted her hands together painfully and stood still, eyes on the floor. Weak. Fragile. He let his breath out slowly. He asked her, “Did he importune you? Force you? Tell me the truth.”
Eöté paled, and flushed, and paled again. “No,” she whispered. “Your Grace. I—I asked him. Truly.”
“Indeed,” Innisth said coldly. “Very well.” It was, he supposed, the coin a frightened woman might most easily barter for protection, though why she should suddenly feel the need escaped him. He could not quite prevent a sharp stab of offense that she would not consider his own protection adequate. . . . But that was foolish. Of course she would not seek shelter from him. He said, still coldly, but not so cuttingly as he might have, “Why are you here? Should you not be in the adjoining suite, assisting the lady?”
Deconniy drew a breath, but said nothing. The girl did not look at him, but flinched and whispered, “Yes, Your Grace.” She slipped away carefully, like a mouse under the regard of a wolf.
Deconniy said steadily. “I beg leave to ask—”
“Denied,” the duke said curtly. “You may go. Do not leave this suite, however.”
Deconniy nodded. But he did not retreat. Instead, he came forward and knelt beside the duke’s chair, reaching out to touch the back of the duke’s hand with the tips of two fingers, very lightly.
The Eänetén Power rose instantly, its heat edged, as always, with violence. Without thought, Innisth lifted a hand, tracing the line of Deconniy’s cheek. Deconniy turned his face deliberately into the duke’s touch, brushing Innisth’s palm with his lips.
For an instant, Innisth was still. Eänetaìsarè rushed through his blood, so that his heartbeat quickened and his breath came short. Nevertheless, he exerted himself to free his hand from the young man’s hold. “You don’t want this. You wish to fix my attention on yourself, thus protecting the girl. It speaks well for you. But it is not necessary.”
“Your Grace, I am very sorry for my insolence. You have been all that is generous. I’m willing, I swear it. You aren’t Laören.”
“That, at least, may be said to my credit,” the duke agreed with some irony. “No, I am indeed not Laören. So I will not permit you to . . . sacrifice yourself. No. Enough. Get up. Don’t argue. Get up. Good. Step back. Farther than that. Enough.” The pressure of the Eänetén Power was subsiding, slowly, as he refused to yield to it. He leaned back in his chair, breathing deeply, gradually recovering himself. He said after a moment, “You are fond of the girl, I gather?”
The young man was clearly embarrassed. But he met the duke’s eyes with determined effort. “I have become so. She is so . . . delicate. Elegant. Gentle—”
“Oh, stop.”
Deconniy flushed. “Forgive me, Your Grace—”
“You were careless. Young love is said to impair judgment, I believe. The remedy is, as I recall, equally well known. I am aware that a girl may suffer when she is set aside by a man of rank. It will be thought that I have set Eöté aside. A suitable marriage may ameliorate any difficulty. It would therefore seem advisable for Eöté to be married as quickly as possible.”
Deconniy had drawn his breath in sharply midway through this speech. The captain had already been pale; now he paled further. He said huskily, “I would be glad to marry her, Your Grace, with your permission.”
“Indeed. A match with a captain of mine will give the girl adequate rank. If Eöté is agreeable, the match may be announced as soon as I have clearly put you both aside. I expect to do so very soon. I will leave it to you to address the girl with the suggestion.”
The man had got his balance back. He said simply, “Yes, Your Grace.”
“You may go.”
Deconniy bowed. Then he said much more forcefully, “Nothing like Laören. Nothing like Geif. I am your man, Your Grace. Whatever you ask. I swear it.”
Innisth found himself genuinely moved. He said flatly, truthfully, “I value your loyalty, Verè. Nor will I abuse it. You are dismissed.”
The young captain hesitated one more moment. Then he bowed, to the precisely correct degree, and withdrew.
Though the incident might be said to have come to a satisfactory conclusion, Innisth was nevertheless in a fine temper. He knew it, and knew it would be seriously unjust to indulge it against his household, but today he could not seem to cast it off. He wanted to pace, but his injury still made that impossible. He wanted to order his black mare brought up from the stables, ride a wild course up into the mountains until the whole world turned into snow and stone and leafless trees and the distant voices of the wolves. That, too, was out of the question for at least another day or two.
The household ledgers were o
pen in front of him, but he could not focus on them. He wanted to kill someone. He wanted to take his time about it. That slave merchant, Parren, had died not so long ago. Even in this bitter season, the desire should not press him so hard for some time. Weeks, at least; perhaps months.
Possibly it was the injury. Or perhaps it was—
He straightened in his chair. Then he laid his hands flat on the table for several moments, steadying himself as he stared into the blank air.
Then he rang the bell to summon whatever servant was waiting.
The servant was Timàs, an elderly man who had served first Innisth’s grandfather and then his father, and who as a consequence did not fear Innisth himself. He came in and bowed in silent inquiry.
“The lady, my guest,” Innisth told him. “I will see her at once.”
Kehera Raëhema arrived quickly, as her rooms were adjoining. Her man Tageiny came with her, at her back, watchful, which even under the circumstances Innisth found faintly amusing. The pressure of his tie eased the moment the girl stepped into his presence. That was not so amusing. It was too important to be amusing.
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