Winter of Ice and Iron

by Rachel Neumeier

  Another man came in just then. This man was in good-quality clothing, not the uniform of a soldier, but the sort of clothing that a minor lord might wear. He had the very light hair one seldom saw in the south, and gray eyes, and a quiet manner. From the captain’s mildly deferential manner, he seemed most likely to be of high, but not exalted, rank.

  “He has not said anything more,” the captain told the lord.

  The lord nodded and asked Gereth, quiet and polite, “You are from Pohorir. From Eäneté.”

  “Yes, my lord. As I have said.”

  “You must be weary. Would you like wine or tea? Perhaps something to eat?”

  “No, thank you,” said Gereth, feeling his stomach clench at the thought. It was all very well to judge Torrolay Elin Raëhema by his daughter. But he fully expected to be brought, before too much more time had passed, if he maintained his stubborn silence, before the king. He was Pohorin enough to be frightened at that thought. The idea of food revolted him. He very much did not want to throw up in terror at the feet of the Harivin king.

  The man made a polite, dismissive movement with one hand. “It is not our intention to question you until you collapse from hunger or weariness. If you change your mind, you have only to ask.” At Gereth’s repeated disclaimer, he went on, in his quiet voice, “Now, if I may ask, how did you get past the Coär end of the pass, coming as you were from Eäneté?”

  No one had asked that particular question before. Gereth hesitated. Then, deciding, he spread his hands. “I had a token from the Eänetén duke. For service I had done him, the duke gave me leave through the pass. They did not see me in Coär. I think it was the Eänetén Power, hiding me within a thread of its awareness.” That pebble hadn’t implied forgiveness. He knew that. But . . . a chance to redeem something good from the terrible mess he’d made of everything. A chance beyond price.

  “For service you had done him,” repeated the quiet lord, perhaps hearing something of this in Gereth’s voice. “For service you had done the Eänetén duke, he gave you leave through the pass and a thread of his tie. Who are you?”

  Gereth hesitated. There was something about this man. Something he almost seemed to recognize. He said slowly, “He dismissed me from his service. But Kehera Elin Raëhema asked me to go to her father, and His Grace gave me his token and leave through the pass.”

  The Harivin captain jerked his head up at that. But the lord sprang to his feet, nearly knocking over his chair. Then collecting himself, he sat down again. But he did not manage to conceal the eagerness when he said, “Kehera Raëhema herself sent you to us—our lost princess. She, herself, and not the Eänetén duke? But why would she send you to her father?”

  “I think, mostly, so that I should have a place to go. She is a kind child.”

  “Yes,” breathed the man, and lowered pale lashes over his gray eyes, bringing his folded hands up to press against his mouth.

  And Gereth putting two and two together and coming up, very abruptly, with four—stood up suddenly with a stifled exclamation of his own.

  The man looked up swiftly, and the Harivin captain took a step forward.

  Gereth immediately dropped to his knees and bowed his head. He had been, he knew, a fool; oh, he had done it up in ribbons. But he had not expected—how could he have expected?—the King of Harivir to keep other than formal state. He had not expected Torrolay Raëhema to come, himself, without attendants, to question a man who had shown up at his door with odd claims and odder requests. He had been very stupid. Because it had taken that moment, in which this man had suddenly looked so much like Kehera herself, to show him what he should have guessed from the moment the man had stepped into this room.

  He expected—he did not know what he expected from Torrolay Elin Raëhema. A Pohorin lord would not have been forgiving of any show of disrespect from a prisoner, even in the midst of such a deception. In a moment like this, a Pohorin lord would expect a prisoner to go down on his face in terror. Even the Eänetén duke would expect that. Would demand it.

  But this was not a Pohorin lord. The Harivin captain retired quietly to his post by the door. And after a moment the king’s voice, no colder or more forbidding than before, said above him, “Please, get up. You have not offended me. Get up, please.”

  Gereth straightened his back cautiously, glancing up and then immediately lowering his eyes again. Now that he knew to look for it, the resemblance was obvious. This man had the same broad forehead, the same oval face as his daughter, though in a masculine form. Gereth said, keeping his gaze on the floor, striving for calmness in his tone and manner, “I meant no disrespect in failing to address Your Majesty properly. I beg Your Majesty will forgive my most appalling failures of intelligence and manners.”

  “You have not in any way offended me,” repeated the Harivin king. “Please get up. Sit down again, if you like.” He gestured for Gereth to resume his seat.

  Gereth rose, and then stood for a moment waiting for the lightning strike of this king’s hidden anger to fall upon him. It did not come. He reminded himself, This is Kehera’s father, and sat down again on the low couch, letting his breath out slowly. His hands were trembling, and he clasped them together in his lap.

  Torrolay Raëhema did not appear to notice. He said gently, “Tell me about my daughter. How is it she came to send you to me?” When Gereth did not at once respond, he went on, patiently, “You were the duke’s man, but he dismissed you? How did that happen?”

  “Your Majesty, it’s all part of the same thing,” Gereth said, and paused. And then went on, very carefully, because there were things Kehera’s father would certainly not want to hear. “He intended to wed her. You are . . . Of course you are aware. Perhaps he has done so already. He intended so. She would have accepted the marriage. My duke is a . . . hard man in many ways. But he was gentle with her, Majesty. I swear that is true. And she saw the sense of it when he laid it out for her.”

  “But?” Torrolay Raëhema was sitting very still.

  “She heard about Leiör. And about your son. That’s when she asked me to help her get through the pass. Until very lately, I was the duke’s seneschal.”

  “Ah,” the king breathed. “Go on.”

  “I . . . agreed. For reasons of my own. She—Her Highness could have gotten through the pass. But Raëhemaiëth . . . There was a falcon. I don’t know whether you . . .”

  “I know very little with certainty. But I have been aware that Raëhemaiëth favors the Immanent of Eäneté—it proved willing for Coär to go into Eäneté’s keeping—or I should hardly have agreed to any of your duke’s demands, whatever other exigencies I or Harivir might face.”

  “My duke has set his own stamp on Eäneté. He’ll do no harm to Coär, not to any Harivin province—”

  The king made an impatient gesture. “I’m pleased to hear so, though far less pleased to put such an issue to the test. Personally, I find it appalling to think that any Harivin province should be influenced to any degree by any Pohorin Immanent. But as I say, Raëhemaiëth did not protest. And I had no choice. Go on.”

  Gereth nodded, fumbling for coherent thought. “Your Majesty, because I had helped her, my duke dismissed me from his service. Her Highness he took back to Eäneté. I swear to you, Your Majesty, he will have resumed his gentle manner toward her. His anger was with me, not with her. And with himself. But not in any part with her. I will swear that is true, Your Majesty.”

  “Why angry with himself?” The king’s tone was reserved.

  “For allowing her to break away from him. Innisth terè Maèr Eänetaì is not accustomed to lose track of anything. But Her Highness has a . . . a strength that is quiet. Contained. He knows it, but I think it still took him by surprise. He doesn’t like being surprised. But I swear to you, he will show her no shadow of cruelty.”

  “And yet you betrayed him in favor of my daughter. Why, if what you say is true, would you ever have done such a thing?”

  Gereth winced at this. But he lifte
d his eyes at once to meet the king’s and answered earnestly, “The princess appealed to me in the name of . . . another young lady, who was married against her will to the old duke, and died of it. It was not the same. But I . . . It is hard to deny her what she asks.”

  Torrolay Raëhema drew a breath and closed his eyes briefly. Then he said, looking up again, “Why should the duke care for her feelings if he can compel her obedience?”

  It was a better question, perhaps, than the Harivir king knew, and spoken with all the bitterness of a father who could not protect his daughter. But Gereth answered immediately and without, he hoped, a sign of doubt. “He wants her as a willing ally, Your Majesty. He values her for herself, not only for her tie to your Raëhemaiëth, though he believes he can use her tie to free himself from Irekay and break away from Pohorir.”

  “He is ambitious. But Raëhemaiëth supports him.” The king considered this for a moment. Eventually he went on. “Your duke must have been very nearly on your heels through the pass. Raëhemaiëth has lost its bond to the Immanent Power of Coär. The Power of Eäneté has taken that.”

  Gereth bowed his head. Of course he had not outrun that news. He said, “Even so, I hope Your Majesty will think kindly of the Eänetén duke. He will protect all he holds against Pohorir. Your Majesty may trust that he will. He sent me with a token, as I said. But he gave it to me only after Her Highness told me to come to you. I think it . . . may also be a gift, Your Majesty.”

  “A gift.”

  Gereth took it out, the little fragment of stone, plain granite with a little quartz inclusion. To him it seemed an ordinary pebble, save that if he paid careful attention, he could half perceive . . . something. Very faint. By Torrolay Elin’s sudden indrawn breath, he knew that the Harivin king must see more than he.

  “A thread of a tie,” said the king. “Set into the native stone of Eäneté. And you brought this here?” He sounded as though he was trying to decide whether to be outraged or merely surprised.

  Gereth ducked his head apologetically. “I hope I was right to do so, Majesty. I think . . . your son. We had word that when Leiör fell, the young prince suffered some injury. That the Power of Irekay struck at his tie somehow.” He held the pebble out toward the Harivin king. “The king of Irekay is your enemy. He is everyone’s enemy. The Immanent Power of Irekay is very strong and very aggressive. But His Grace means to defy him, and to ally with Your Majesty to defy him. And he gave me this.”

  “I . . . see.”

  The Harivin king did not seem altogether to trust this assurance, for which Gereth could hardly blame him. He said carefully, “His Grace gave me this. But as I say, only after Her Highness told me to come to you.”

  Torrolay Raëhema reached out with one hand, but then did not touch the pebble after all. Instead he drew back once more and folded both his hands on his knee. He was silent for some time, considering. Then he murmured, “So this gift comes from the hand of . . . a man who would prefer, perhaps, not to be my enemy? Or would he prefer to clear Harivir of rivals? Perhaps your duke is working for Methmeir Irekaì after all.” He gave Gereth a sharp look and smiled suddenly. “You needn’t look so horrified. I think that unlikely. Still . . .”

  The Harivin captain said quietly, “Your Majesty, as your daughter was present when the Eänetén duke gave this stone to this man . . .”

  “Yes,” said Gereth at once. “She was there.”

  “True. True. She would have seen that thread,” acknowledged the king.

  “His Grace isn’t such a fool that he wishes to face the Irekaïn Power alone.”

  “I understand.” There was another slight pause. Then Torrolay Raëhema rose, and gestured Gereth to his feet as well. “This way. Bring that.”

  It was a surprisingly short way: up a flight of stairs and down a curving hallway, and then a suite, and a small, neat bedchamber, with a wide window that looked out over the gardens, open to the air. A woman servant rose from a chair drawn up close to the narrow bed. She nodded to the king, murmured, “No change,” and stepped aside.

  Torrolay Raëhema stepped forward to his son’s bedside.

  The boy was seventeen, Gereth knew. Or perhaps eighteen. He looked younger, tucked in that bed. He looked young and thin and pale and vulnerable. He lay quietly beneath the blankets, but there was a strange tension in his face and his neck and shoulders and hands, very unlike the relaxation of ordinary sleep.

  “You see,” the king said over his shoulder. “Since Leiör. It is many days now. He does not decline. Raëhemaiëth sustains him, though he takes little water and less nourishment. But he does not wake.”

  “Yes,” said Gereth, understanding.

  “Your duke’s . . . gift. What would you do with it?”

  “I will put it in his hand, Your Majesty, so that the Immanent Power of Eäneté can find your son. And if it does not help, I will pray it does no harm.”

  “You should pray for that,” said Torrolay Elin, an edge to his voice. But then he rubbed his eyes, sighed, and glanced at Gereth. “No. Forgive me. I do believe, at least, that you offer this in all good faith. If you are mistaken . . . If we are both mistaken, I will try not to blame you for it.” He gazed down at his son for another long moment. “Very well,” he said at last. “Set it in my son’s hand.”

  Gereth didn’t let himself hesitate. He stepped forward, took the young prince’s hand, turned it palm-up, tucked the pebble into it, and folded the boy’s fingers around it. He stayed by the bed afterward, holding the prince’s hand in both of his, his gaze on the young face.

  At first nothing seemed to happen. Then the king made a slight movement of surprise, stiffening, and a second later, Gereth felt the reverberating presence of a rising Power. A deep hum pervaded the room, intangible, invisible, but as though the very air had become heavier all around them.

  Here in this place of its strength, Raëhemaiëth shook the world as it rose. It was not like the Eänetén Power when Innisth called it up. The Power of Raëh rumbled through the world as though the earth itself purred like a great cat. It seemed indeed very much a thing of earth, warm and deep, immensely strong but far less frightening than the Eänetén Power. Below Raëhemaiëth, Gereth could perceive Eänetaìsarè as well, vivid and violent, like shattering rock and savage fire.

  But there was something else, something beyond and underneath both Raëhemaiëth and Eänetaìsarè. Gereth realized this only after the king, who swore under his breath and then snapped, “Raëhemaiëth!”

  The Raëh Power surged upward and outward. The room trembled with it—the very light took on a heavier, richer appearance—cold bit Gereth’s fingers sharply and he opened his hands, gasping. Frost spread suddenly across Tirovay Elin’s hand and continued in a glittering web up toward his elbow; frost grew across his eyes and his hair. The boy drew a shuddering, painful breath.

  “Fortunate Gods!” said Torrolay Elin, a prayer, and again, “Raëhemaiëth!”

  “Eänetaìsarè,” Gereth added. “Eänetaìsarè!”—though he did not know whether the Eänetén Power could hear him. But the Raëh Power surged strongly through the room, all warm earth and burgeoning summer, and the frost melted, running down the young prince’s face like tears. Tirovay Elin Raëhema drew in a sharp breath, and then another.

  Then he sat up, so suddenly that Gereth flinched.

  The prince closed his hand hard around the stone he held and brought it to his mouth. He touched it to his lips—perhaps he breathed on it. Then he clenched it in both hands. He said to Gereth, in a tone of surprise, “But you don’t hold a deep tie.”

  “No,” said Gereth.

  “But you brought it,” said the young prince. He sounded perfectly coherent and aware. “It broke the other Power. Raëhemaiëth held it back, but Raëhemaiëth couldn’t break it until your Power gave its strength to the effort.”

  “Yes,” said Gereth. “I think that was the intention. Or at least the hope.”

  The boy nodded. Then he looked at his father a
nd said in a smaller voice, “I failed Leiör. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. If you’d been there . . . or Kehy . . .”

  “Raëhemaiëth failed Leiör,” Torrolay Raëhema told his son, quietly firm. “We faced too great an incursion, all along the river. We faced both the mortal armies of Emmer and an incursion of midwinter cold from Pohorir. You did well.”

  Prince Tirovay stared at him, seeming to have trouble taking this in.

  “Had I been at Leiör, I probably would not have made common cause with Enmon Corvallis,” said his father. “Then we would be facing worse trouble along our border with Emmer. You supported Sariy, and Corvallis blocked the Mad King’s mortal army while Raëhemaiëth blocked the Irekaïn Power.”

  “But Leiör—”

  “Even though Leiör is now a hollow province, at least Methmeir Irekaì found no way to anchor his cold Immanent into that land. Meanwhile, the north bank of the Imhar stands now as a buffer between Hallieth Theraön and Harivir, exactly as you intended, my son. If we hadn’t bound Raëhemaiëth into Sariy, then once Leiör fell, we would most likely have lost everything north of Raëh. Because of you and because of Enmon Corvallis, we lost not an inch of land, but rather gained a new foothold on the northern bank of the river. Though Leiör is hollow, the land is not actually lost, nor has the Immanent of Irekay found foothold there. I assure you, it makes a great difference to the folk there that the province still lies in Harivir and has not fallen to Emmer.”

  His son stared at him.

  The king laid one hand on his son’s shoulder. He was not smiling, but there was an intensity in his gray eyes that went well beyond a smile. He said, “You did well, Tiro. And you will do well, now that you are come back to us. Are you hungry? Can you eat?” Without waiting for an answer, he added to the woman, “Have someone bring my son broth and bread.”