“Yes,” began Tiro.
“No,” said Kehera, very firmly. “I will see to . . . all that. Everything to do with the Pohorins. The Irekaïns can surrender to me—to Eäneté. That would be better, if—when—I mean, it would be better.”
There was a slight pause. Corvallis looked like he wanted to object, but Tiro caught his eye and he was silent. “Yes,” Tiro said to Kehera. “All right, Kehy. They are your people, after all. In a way.”
“Yes,” Kehera said. “I’ll take care of my people.”
32
A cell, no matter how finely appointed, is still a cell.
Innisth terè Maèr Eänetaì stood with his hands clasped gently behind his back, gazing out through an expensively paned window at the rising sun that streaked the winter sky with apricot and primrose. He was contemplating the ironies of life.
His chest ached: an intimation of mortality. His heart had not actually stopped and restarted. He had not actually turned to stone and then returned to life. It had not even felt like either of those things, though both images came to mind when he tried to make sense of those memories. He had not become a wolf, or a mountain, or a river of molten fire smashing out of the deep darkness of the earth into the light. But in a way he remembered all those things.
He still did not know how he had recovered the mastery of Eänetaìsarè. On his windowsill, he had placed two fragments of stone: a pebble of Eänetén granite and a shard of the pale-gold stone of Raëh. Neither held even the thinnest or most tightly involuted tie any longer.
He held his own tie still, or again. He still held ties to Kimsè and Tisain in Pohorir. He even held a tie to . . . not Irekay. Not precisely. But to the land where the fiery mountain now loomed above Teilè Bay, where the white city had once stood. Eänetaìsarè held that mountain. All the lands between Eäneté and the sea were slowly becoming part of Eäneté, and some of the lands north and south along the coast. He could feel a slow unfolding of awareness of those lands at the very back of his mind, or his heart.
But they—he—no longer held any kind of tie to Coär or Viär or Risaèn. Those had been taken from him while he lay helpless. There was a message in that, he knew. Though from Tirovay Elin Raëhema or from Raëhemaiëth itself, he was not quite sure. Now distance and Raëhemaiëth blocked any attempt he made to reach after Eänetaìsarè. He knew if he tried to raise up his Immanent, he would not be able to do so. He had not tried. He was weary of battle . . . and he did not want to battle Raëhemaiëth.
He had been held here seven days now. Seven times he had watched the sunrise from this window. The world without seemed peaceful. Quiet. The winter of the new year was a serene season after the Iron Hinge days. Innisth wished he knew how far the seeming peace extended . . . whether it encompassed the world beyond Raëh. He wished he could ask after his people. He wished very much to ask after his wife. But if she did not come, he would not set aside pride so far as to beg news of the guards who stood at his door. And she did not come.
Perhaps she refused to see him. Perhaps now that she was back in her proper place, in the home of her heart, she wanted only to forget everything that had happened to her in foreign lands. Perhaps she wanted to forget Eäneté. That seemed quite plausible.
Or perhaps her brother refused to permit her to approach him for fear that Innisth and Eäneté might yet divide her from her home. That seemed entirely plausible as well. Innisth might indeed have been tempted to take Kehera Elin from Raëhemaiëth and bind her to Eänetaìsarè, except he doubted it was possible. Raëhemaiëth might no longer be a stronger Immanent . . . but he knew that would not matter. He knew Eänetaìsarè would not rise against it.
Also, of course, if he attempted anything of the sort, Kehera would probably hate him. He did not want that.
He wished she would come. Or that he were able to bring himself to ask for news of her. But all he had left now was pride, and that he would not give up.
Tirovay Raëhema had not summoned him yet, nor come to see him. Not during the uncounted days of the Iron Hinge nor, once the year had turned, during the earliest days of the new year. The winter still lay across the land; the Month of Deep Cold and the hungry Wolf Month lay between the dark turning of the year and the new budding of the spring. But even through the cold, he felt the coming spring in the air, saw it in the quality of the light and the slowly lengthening days.
The outer door of the suite was not locked, but it was close-guarded. Besides the men in the courtyard, four guardsmen stood outside his door at every hour. Innisth might have challenged those men. He did not. He understood the implicit terms of his imprisonment: courteous recognition that it was imprisonment in exchange for a pretense of civility.
But he would have liked to go home. He dreamed of the forested mountains, now beginning to rise toward spring. Eäneté was so much larger now than it had been. He wanted to ride from the northern border near Enchar east to Teilè Bay and back again west and south to the shadow of the Takel Mountains. He wanted to learn the way the land lay within his new borders. But he held out very little hope that he would see his home again before he died. All his hope now was that young Tirovay Elin Raëhema would permit him to set Eäneté’s tie as he chose, and that Eänetaìsarè would accede. He would give it to Kehera, if he could, if her brother agreed and she accepted it, if Eänetaìsarè would allow it. Or to Gereth, if necessary, though he might be too gentle a man to hold it. Or if that choice failed . . . he did not know.
But striving to choose his own heir was now the measure of his ambition. Beyond that, he could do nothing for Eäneté or for his people. So that would have to be enough.
There was a tap on the door, and he turned from the window and waited expectantly, as he was always expectant, and always, to this moment, disappointed.
The guard tapped again and then opened the door. The man was alone. Innisth gave him a distant nod, nothing to show disappointment or query or even interest. But this time the guard bowed and said, “Your Grace, the king is asking for you.”
Innisth inclined his head in frigid courtesy and walked as directed through the long wide corridors of the palace.
The room to which he was conducted was large and warm, flooded with light from the fires burning in several fireplaces, and from many porcelain lamps, and from the wide windows fitted with fine panes of clear glass. A tapestry hung on the far wall: a scene not of battle, but of peaceful fields below tall forested mountains, so like the mountains of Eäneté that the image struck him with a feeling almost like pain. The guardsman bowed Innisth within with a slight flourish and shut the door after him gently as he entered.
The new young King of Harivir was waiting there, seated on a heavy chair with carved legs and velvet cushions. Beside Tirovay Raëhema, on a low table, lay a scattering of tiahel rods and a set of carving tools. There seemed to be two King Rods in the set. One showed the Pohorin double-headed Winter Dragon. That one had been snapped cleanly into two pieces. The other, as yet only half carved, had a blank face that he suspected would never show a dragon.
Behind the table, a massive war ax leaned against the wall, an old weapon with a stained blade and an age-darkened haft. As a symbol of authority, Innisth had to admit that it was fairly effective.
Both tiahel rod and ax were fraught objects, under the circumstances. Innisth wondered whether the new tiahel rod would ever be finished. Or whether the ax’s blade would ever be cleaned of its stains.
Kehera was not present. Innisth did not allow himself to feel disappointed. Or certainly not to show disappointment. Nor would he stand before Tirovay Raëhema like a penitent come for judgment. There was a wooden chair with a tall back against the wall to one side. He took it, swung it around, and sat down on it with his fingers laced over his knee. Then he regarded the young king coolly without speaking.
Tirovay Raëhema said, his tone neutral, “My sister speaks well of you.”
“I am pleased to hear so,” Innisth answered coldly. He was pleased. But he dec
lined to show anything of his feelings to this boy who had become king.
“As, Your Grace, does Riheir Coärin of Coär speak well of you. And Lord Toren Viärin, and all the folk of southern Harivir.”
This was more surprising. Innisth did not respond.
“My sister claimed all the people of Eäneté. All the other Pohorins were given into her keeping as well. She sent nearly all of them back to Pohorir, with your Captain Etar in command, under her White Falcon standard so that they might pass unchallenged. Kehera tells me that you would be interested to know this.”
“Yes,” admitted the duke. He added with exact courtesy, “Thank you for telling me, Your Majesty.”
“As you may know, Kehera is my elder by three years. I offered her the chance to take back her rightful place in Harivir, but she would not. Having once renounced the ruling tie, it may not easily be reclaimed. Still, we shared it, there at the . . . end. We traded it back and forth in a most unprecedented manner. I would have tried to give it back, if that had been her will. But it was not. My sister declares the Red Falcon of Raëh is no longer her standard. The White Falcon was no doubt a device of yours, Your Grace, but she has not and will not set it aside.”
“Indeed?” Innisth said, since the boy seemed to expect an answer. He wished he knew what this meant—what it meant to Kehera. What it meant to Tirovay Raëhema. Was it possible the young king meant to try to set Pohorir in his sister’s hands? Eänetaìsarè did favor her, or it had seemed to . . . and Innisth had no clear heir. But she carried none of his blood, nor any blood of Pohorir. . . .Still, perhaps the tiahel rod would be carved with a White Falcon.
He was prepared to suggest exactly this, but Tirovay Raëhema spoke first. “What I am interested to know now is, what are your intentions toward my sister?”
Innisth lifted one eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”
Tirovay Raëhema shook his head impatiently. “You meant to use her to compel half my country to yield to your rule. That opportunity has passed forever. If you were to take back Eäneté, what then would be your intentions toward my sister, as she is no longer useful in that way?”
Innisth regarded him coldly. “I am in no position now to possess intentions toward Her Highness. That is quite clear to me.”
“You misunderstand me.” Tirovay Raëhema stood up and took a step forward. He lowered his voice to speak both more quietly and more intensely. “I ask not as her king, but as her brother. So let me ask more plainly. Innisth terè Maèr Eänetaì, do you love my sister? Will you cherish and protect her for all your life?”
Innisth said sharply, “Am I going to survive long enough to make the question urgent? As you say, I established my own rule over half your country. When your sister fell into my hand, I forced her to marry me; and it was in part my doing that your father fell in his battle. Ah, she did not tell you that, I see. But it is true. I held myself aloof and allowed you to take the full force of Irekay’s malice. And then at the end, I destroyed Irekay. Do you think I don’t know that I am too dangerous to be suffered to live?”
Tirovay Raëhema was clearly shaken, but he waved all this away and said merely, “None of that bears on my question. That still stands. Innisth terè Maèr Eänetaì, Wolf Duke of Eäneté, answer a brother who must know: Do you love my sister?”
There was no mistaking the young man’s sincerity. Nor the fact that he did have a brother’s right to ask. Innisth said through his teeth, “Yes, then. Yes. Does that satisfy you?”
Tirovay Elin Raëhema exhaled. “It will do for a start.” He paused. Then he resumed his seat. “Everything you say is true, of course. Yet you also came onto the field here on my side, though you must have known you might lose everything when you did it. And you did destroy, not Irekay alone, but almost the entire province. Along with Irekaìmaiäd.”
Innisth shrugged. “I don’t imagine anyone protested. I hardly expect you to protest it now.”
Tirovay Raëhema considered him for a long moment, “I don’t protest it. It was a remarkable deed, and produced remarkable consequences. I sent a man to Irekay, you know. I should say, to the place where Irekay used to stand. He has only just returned.”
Innisth lifted an eyebrow.
“Probably you will not be surprised to know that a great mountain stands there now, rising from Teilè Bay. The mountain is black. Smoke and grit and ash rise from it. Everything for many miles around is covered with ash. The white cliffs are broken all along that shore. I don’t know how long it will be before anything lives there again.”
Innisth wished he could see it. He lifted one shoulder in a tiny shrug. “It seemed good to Eänetaìsarè that the white city should be destroyed utterly.”
“Eänetaìsarè made that choice. It had mastered you.”
“Yes.”
“But now it has yielded again to your mastery.”
“Yes.”
“A unique circumstance, to the best of my knowledge. But a circumstance that offers us unforeseen possibilities. So now what shall we do with you, Innisth terè Maèr Eänetaì? What shall we do with Eänetaìsarè, now that it has become so strong and shown itself to be so ambitious?”
Innisth said flatly, “It is your decision, of course. Because you hold all the other Immanences. You understand what Eänetaìsarè has become. You have the strength to destroy it. No one else. Only you. If you choose to do so.”
“Yes,” the young king said, very quietly. After a short moment, he added, “I once swore that if you ever came into my hand, I would kill you for forcing my sister into marriage.”
“No one would say you do not have the right. Many would say that you have a duty to destroy both me and Eänetaìsarè.”
The young king acknowledged the truth of this with a little nod. “I know.”
Innisth could see he had been wrong in his first estimation of the young man. It was true that Tirovay Raëhema was hardly more than a boy. But he had exceptional presence. He had fought Irekay, fought a losing battle to preserve the order of the world, with the ties to Immanences of three kingdoms gathered into his hands. That would change someone. It had changed this young man. It had made him into a king. He was, in fact, the only true king in all the lands now.
“Tell me, Duke of Eäneté,” said Tirovay arrin Elin Raëhema. “What shall I do with Pohorir, now that Irekay has been destroyed, its lands buried beneath stone and fire and ash? What house and family and Power is strongest in Pohorir?” He paused and picked up the unfinished tiahel rod, weighing it in his hand. “What symbol shall I carve on the unmarked face of this rod, Innisth terè Maèr Eänetaì? A wolf?”
Innisth got slowly to his feet and turned to look into the heart of the burning fire in the nearest fireplace. After some moments, he faced Tirovay Raëhema, who had not moved. The room was very silent. They might have been the only two men in the house, or the city.
He said, “If you are going to offer it to me, then offer it.”
The king set down the rod and opened his hands. “Will you take it? Innisth terè Maèr Eänetaì, I ask you: Will you take Pohorir? Can you rule it, and create a bond between Eänetaìsarè and each lesser Immanent of Pohorir, and be certain it rules them all, and never permit any of those bonds to become Unfortunate? Can you hold Eänetaìsarè, and master it, and raise an heir who will do the same, so that it never becomes a God? Irekay all but ruined Pohorir, shaping its land in its own cold and brutal image. Then it nearly destroyed us all. Can you forge Pohorir into a greater and brighter land, so that we never again have reason to fear the Immanences that rise from its lands?”
Innisth exhaled, a long, slow breath. “Yes. If you give it to me.”
“If I give it to you, you must take it from my hand. With all that implies. Through you, I will take a ruling tie, as I have done elsewhere, in raising up Immanences in hollow lands but also in lands possessed by lesser Immanences. Eänetaìsarè will be subordinated to Raëhemaiëth. You will lose something of your sovereignty.” He paused and then went on.
“You are right that you are dangerous. Your Immanent is dangerous. But I might trust Eänetaìsarè—if I take a tie to it. I cannot force it to take such a tie. But that is what I must have. So I ask you: If I give Pohorir into your keeping, Innisth terè Maèr Eänetaì, will you take it from my hand?”
There was a pause, stiff with tension.
Then Kehera swung the door open and came in. “He will,” she said.
Both men turned, her brother sharply, Innisth more slowly. He felt he could hardly bear to look at her. He could look at nothing else.
She was as self-possessed as ever. She was smiling, but she was serious, too, and she met Innisth’s affronted stare with serene, unyielding determination. “You will. Is your pride so great that you can tolerate no king above you? When you were ruled by Irekay all your life until this year? Tiro will do very well. He’ll leave you alone to rule as you see fit.”
“Will he? And what will you do?”
“She’ll go where she will,” Tirovay said quickly.
Kehera turned swiftly and walked across the room to take her brother’s hands in hers. “Tiro, this is what I want.”
“Kehera, are you sure it’s not just what Raëhemaiëth wants?”
“I’m sure.”
“She believes that she must stay by me,” Innisth snapped. “To bring the kind influence of gentle Raëhemaiëth into Eäneté and into my country. This is not true. I am perfectly capable of ruling Pohorir alone.” He met her eyes and told her coldly, “Raëh is your home. Stay, then. I shall do perfectly well, I assure you.”
“With Gereth? And Caèr Reiöft? And Verè Deconniy?”
“Just so,” said the duke, between his teeth. He was furious.
Kehera smiled deliberately into his face. “You would do well enough, I’m sure. But you’re not going to, Innisth. Because the fact is, I am going with you—the foundation of all your hope, Innisth, and the tomb of all your fears. Don’t think you will put me aside. I go where I will, and that is by your side. If you will master your pride. You can, I know. If you will.”
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