by Val Roberts
He walked out of the kitchen in a daze and sat down in an empty chair at the big table. Someone set a bowl of stew in front of him, then a spoon. He stared at them like they were archaeological artifacts.
"There's fresh bread and the best butter I've ever tasted, too,” Galen said from his shoulder. “What did she do, show you hers?"
"No.” Blade concentrated and picked up the spoon. “She threatened to tell me what we're missing."
Galen threw his head back and laughed harder than Blade thought was warranted. “That did my heart good,” he sputtered when he could speak again. “What about the rooms?"
"Six will do for a bunk room,” Blade said around a mouthful of extremely bland stew. “Seven is ... smaller.” He searched the table and spied a salt shaker. Not even a cellar, but a shaker. Leone ran a classy establishment.
"So you'll be taking that one with the Zonan,” Galen finished, nodding to himself. Blade swallowed, then decided against the maybe stalled on his tongue, because he really didn't want to bed down on a slice of hardwood floor after spending the day on horseback. “How are the locks?"
"Hand me the salt, will you? There are no locks.” He watched Galen reach, accepted the shaker before continuing. “Tar—the commander comes here for home leave. She has extra clothes here. And the bed in seven is bolted to both the floor and the wall."
"We'll mount a standard watch, then. Interesting.” Galen reached for a loaf of bread and tore off a piece as if he'd been doing it all his life. “About the clothes, I mean. Leone seems like an extremely good person to cultivate on this side of the border."
"I'll find out after I clean up.” Blade took another spoonful, and it was perfect. “Where are the packs?” He started eating faster as his stomach realized this was real, live, hot food, heavy on the protein and tasty, too, once the salt had activated all the other flavors.
"By the door. They brought everything in.” Galen turned to his right. “Dorcan, when you're done, take a few guys and get the stuff upstairs. We're in six, Blade and the commander in seven. Then you can drink Zonan ale till your eyes bleed or you're on watch."
"Yes, sir,” Dorcan said as he buttered a chunk of bread.
"So Leone has a whoring room,” Galen said thoughtfully. “I wonder if she cultivates that herbal contraceptive they refuse to export. It could bring a good price off world."
"You actually believe in that old story?” Blade asked, only because he'd come to the bottom of the stew. He looked at the kettle and decided another bowl was in order. He was reaching for the ladle when the table went dead silent. Six men didn't even breathe that quietly.
He looked around just as Taryn came off the last stair. Her hair was loose and still damp, hanging in long waves down to her derriere. She was wearing a form-fitting sleeveless dress made of some fine-gage knit that molded to every perfect curve and ended at her ankles but was slit to one thigh and showing glimpses of cream-smooth rosy skin that stretched for miles, from ankle all the way up. She must have felt a chill, because he could see nipples through the fabric even from six or seven meters away. He swallowed, hard, and memorized every movement as she swayed across the room to the kitchen door, not even aware that six other pairs of eyes were doing exactly the same thing. Until she disappeared, and those six pairs of eyes turned on him with expressions of naked envy.
"Whoa,” he said, suddenly aware of exactly how long it had been since he'd been with a woman, down to the minute. Maybe the second. And he had to sleep next to that without touching, because he'd told her she had nothing to worry about. Gods, he had a big mouth.
"Interesting color,” Galen commented. Blade looked at him as if he were insane. “The dress. I didn't think they could get that kind of blue-green with natural dyes. It's almost the same color as your eyes, Blade. Perhaps she wore it in your honor?” Someone else whimpered.
Blade swallowed again. “Galen, there are days when I wonder about you. I really do."
"Never a burgha when you need one,” Dorcan muttered.
"I bet she doesn't have a father to talk to even if there was one,” Maris returned, though he threw a guilty look at Blade as he said it.
"Did you see the way her mams bounced?” Garid asked breathlessly, his eyes glazing over at the memory. He started, and it was pretty clear that someone had kicked him under the table.
"You know, Leone mentioned that there are four baths upstairs,” Galen said into the silence. “Real showers, too. Geothermal hot water so there's no shortage, although,” he looked around the table, “I wonder if cold water might not be a better idea just now.” The others all stared at him. “Hey, I'm married. Looking is all I'm allowed, and I've done that."
Everybody laughed and the tension died, because they all knew Galen's wife was one of the most beautiful women in Barian, on top of running the entire Northshield duchy when he was doing court business. Even Blade smiled.
"And she gave us a good, long look, too.” Juvenan was normally the silent type, but when he had something to say, it was inevitably right on point. “I don't need that kind of trouble from a woman who killed four men this morning."
Blade pushed his chair back from the table, silently agreeing that she was trouble, but then he'd always been a good troubleshooter. It was why he'd been sent into the Jags in the first place, in spite of his reputation as an attractor for certain kinds of trouble. “I don't know about you, but I could use a hot shower. Didn't I vow a few weeks ago never to spend another day on a horse?” He shook his head at the irony. “And here we are."
"The question is where we're going next,” Galen said, also standing.
"I'll talk to Tar—the commander after I've had my little chat with the innkeeper,” Blade said. “And that's not going to be until after I get a shower, thank you. And probably another bowl of stew.” He walked over to the piled packs and found his, along with his commandeered Zonan saber, before he mounted the stairs in search of hot water and a little privacy to take care of that throbbing between his legs.
* * * *
Silean sipped her wine and watched her daughter over the rim of the goblet. It was unusual for Talyn to attend the feast of the Redemption, but not unheard of. As a religious tradition, it was acceptable to be there even when in mourning, which Talyn certainly should have been, except the deep blue dress with the low neckline wasn't exactly mourning wear.
The laughter absolutely wasn't appropriate for mourning. Silean moved across the reception room and watched people scatter, probably from her expression. Deliberately smoothing out her face, she approached the daughter who hadn't changed nearly enough since her dreadful teenage years. “An interesting choice of dinner wear, daughter."
Talyn turned and sobered. “It was one of Mychell's favorites, Your Majesty.” She dropped her eyes in a passable imitation of subdued grief. “I wore it in his honor."
"I see. How thoughtful of you, my dear.” Silean scanned the crowd of would-be celebrants. “We have a good turnout this year."
"People always turn to their faith to help them get through hard times, Mother.” Talyn tried to make it sound sincere, but there was a faint note of superiority in her voice that irritated Silean.
"Then it's a good thing we have so many temples, because I don't see good times coming back to us soon,” she murmured when she really wanted to snap.
"Oh, I don't know,” Talyn said with a mysterious half-smile. “Good times could be right around the corner, if you know what to look for."
"Do you know something I don't?” Silean asked, rather pointedly, she thought. “Just this morning your Prime attacked the Barian negotiator, Mychell is dead, the negotiator is missing, and so is Taryn, with half her uniform drenched in blood."
"Yes. I know.” Talyn took another sip of wine. “Taryn never was able to keep her nose out of trouble, was she?"
Silean felt her lips press together in a tight line and watched her heir pale. “If I recall correctly, Taryn has never made a habit of looking for trouble. It always seem
s to be lying in wait for her, usually with your finger marks on it, Talyn Lunaren Penthes.” She set her goblet on a convenient surface, uncaring if it was a table, a passing tray, or someone's purse. “And now you have referred to your twin sister in the past tense, when the best information I've been able to gather all points to the conclusion that she wasn't even wounded."
Talyn blinked, obviously surprised if one knew what to look for. “She wasn't wounded?"
"The blood on her uniform was male.” Silean watched Talyn closely, but the damnable girl showed no emotion as she absorbed the information.
"Then I have a reason to be thankful this evening,” Talyn said after a longish pause, but she didn't sound enthusiastic. “If you will excuse me, Mother, I see someone I should greet."
Silean watched her disappear into the crowd of celebrants and wondered what the scheming prince was thinking. A few moments later, she saw Vallan conversing with the foreign minister, their heads bent together in deep conversation and both faces somber. Apparently the Bariani hadn't had much luck with their satellite surveys. Silean made her way toward the pair, and Herren spied her first.
"Your Majesty,” he said, breaking off Vallan's murmured sentence as he bowed deeply. “I am honored you saw fit to grace us with your presence."
"They didn't find anything, did they?” His hard swallow was all she needed, though he looked at the toes of his boots and shook his head minutely. “I didn't think they would. Taryn is adept at escape and evasion. She set a new record at the academy in that course."
"At least the Barianis could tell us she's not bleeding to death,” Vallan offered. “That's worth something."
"You have no idea what it's been worth so far,” Silean said before she could stop herself. “Would you excuse us for a moment, Herren?” The look of disappointment was masked almost immediately, but it was still painful to watch. She wondered for perhaps the thousandth time if she should have told him, if she should tell him now.
It couldn't have been easy for him, watching the entire country rejoice at their birth and not being able to claim them as his own, but he hadn't been her Prime, hadn't even been an appropriate match because he wasn't from a noble family. Bringing him into her cabinet had been the best she could do to keep her children's father close to them. He bowed even more deeply and retreated.
"Was that really necessary?” Vallan asked. “He's more than proved his loyalty at least half a dozen times, Your Majesty."
"I'm aware, and I fully expect you to convey my apologies.” Silean sighed and rubbed her temples as she tried to decide how to say it. She gave up after a few seconds, because there was no polite or circumspect way to get it across. “I need Talyn followed. She said something tonight that leaves me with grave suspicions about the attack."
Vallan straightened and drew in a deep breath. “I see.” She glanced toward Herren, now making polite conversation with a dowager wearing her family's fortune in jewelry. “Are you looking for anything in particular?"
"Anything ... unusual.” Silean nibbled her bottom lip for a moment. “And Vallan, I want to know of any Silvergard movements that aren't strictly routine, starting from mid-morning today."
"Goddess, what did Talyn say?” Vallan sounded shocked.
Silean shrugged. “She referred to her sister in the past tense, as if Taryn were already dead.” Her lips pressed together again at the memory. “If she had anything to do with this, or if she's attempting retribution when Taryn was only doing her job, I will need to reconsider my choice of heir."
"Are you sure, Your Majesty? Zona has never had a firstborn passed over as Crown Prince unless it was a boy.” Vallan sounded shocked and dubious, as well she might.
"Zona has never had a murderous crown prince,” Silean replied, firm now that she had made the decision. “I don't like it any more than you do, but as Matriarch my first responsibility is to Zona, and I can't leave this peaceful place in the care of a woman with no morals and no understanding of the importance of family."
"I understand.” Now Vallan's voice was as quiet and as serious as it had been when she was conversing with Herren, which made Silean wonder what they'd been talking about.
"You'll need to tell the cabinet that I'm considering changing heirs, but not why,” Silean said just as quietly. “I realize they probably need to know that as well, but ... it's still a private matter.” She glanced over to where Herren was and met his eyes for half a second before he looked away. Goddess, had she seen desire there? She was nearly fifty, for heaven's sake.
"You can rely on my discretion, Your Majesty.” Silean started, because they were exactly the same words Herren had used when she told him no one must know of that night, so long ago.
"The troop movements. I need them first thing in the morning,” she said, still watching him. Even thirty years later, he was still a fine-looking man, more muscled than she remembered, and with touches of silver at his temples, but with the same high cheekbones and kind gray eyes. He turned his back to greet someone and she saw something else that hadn't changed.
"Of course. It will be on your desk when you get there,” Vallan assured her.
Silean swallowed her regrets and nodded, then moved away to make some polite conversation of her own.
The gathering broke up early, because it was still quite cold out and some had long carriage rides to get to shelter. Silean was shrugging on her cloak in the empty antechamber when hands pulled it from her and settled it on her shoulders.
"Allow me, Your Majesty.” Herren's voice. She turned and looked up at him, unable to hide her expression. His reply was to pull her into his arms and hold her close.
She buried her face against his shoulder and held back a sob by sheer force of will. “She's all alone out there, Herren, and there's nothing I can do."
"I know.” He stroked his hand down her hair. “But our warrior will get through this, Silean. Escape and Evasion wasn't even her best class at the academy."
Silean pulled far enough away to look in his eyes. “You knew all along."
"I can count to nine as well as the next man.” He moved to put one hand on her cheek. “I've always wanted to tell you how much I appreciated the appointment that kept me close enough to see them once in a while."
"I'm sorry. I should have done more.” Tears threatened again, making her blink hard to hold them back. Why was he so understanding? He should be furious.
"What, and open them up to a scrutiny of my background and bloodlines?” He shook his head. “You did the right thing, Silean. You protected my daughters better than I could myself. How could I ask for anything more?"
"She's not protected now,” she managed, though her voice was husky and breathless. “I'm so worried for her."
"I know. I'm worried too, but I have faith in Taryn. And I'm here for you,” he whispered as he lowered his head to kiss her for the first time in decades.
* * * *
Taryn pushed open the door to the kitchen and made for the table, already set with a bowl of stew and a glass of red wine, only detouring to say hello to Tomascon, who affectionately swiped her forearm with his raspy tongue.
"I see what you mean about seven Bariani,” Leone commented from the ladder where she was filling a salt shaker. “I can smell the testosterone from in here."
"Why did you put him in my room?” Taryn asked quietly as she sat at the table and pulled off a piece of bread.
"I'll tell you after you explain why you chose that particular dress for dinner,” Leone replied, then backed down the ladder and set the salt shaker on the table, “and why you didn't braid your hair.” She retrieved a bottle and two snifters, then sat on the other side of the table while Taryn salted her stew.
"It's a comfortable dress and I didn't want the stew to get cold.” She spooned up a mouthful of thick broth and blew on it before putting it in her mouth.
Leone gave her a lopsided smile. “Uh-huh. And the fact that it's skin-tight and cut up to here and down to there was the me
rest of coincidences,” she said as she uncorked the bottle. “You've got headlamps, too. In too much of a hurry for underwear?"
Taryn swallowed and glared. “I like this dress."
"From the absolute silence when you opened the kitchen door, seven Bariani liked that dress.” Leone poured three fingers into a snifter. “And that's why I put him in your room. There's no shame in desire, kitten."
Taryn put down the bread she'd been about to bite into. “I don't want to sleep with him.” It wasn't absolutely true, so she changed the subject. “And I've been a Silvergarder for ten years. Why do you still call me kitten?"
Leone smirked and swirled her brandy. “Because you are a kitten. Sure you can catch your own supper, but you'd much rather curl up in a warm lap and purr than sleep in a barn, much like that lump of fur by the fireplace. That's not a bad thing.” Leone sipped. “And you do want to sleep with him or he wouldn't make you nervous. You probably spent the entire day snarling at him so you wouldn't jump him with an audience."
Taryn had nothing to say in reply, so she bit into the bread and chewed out her frustration.
"Tell me what happened in town,” Leone said when she had swallowed the bread.
Taryn went through the events, ending with, “And when I realized it was Mychell, I knew they had been set up, but I couldn't figure out who or why. It's not Mother's style, and Talyn's not that smart, although I can't think that sending Mychell to assassinate someone was particularly intelligent.” She stirred her stew again. “I knew I couldn't drop them off at the palace and be done with it, because that was where the kill squad came from. That's when I knew I had to get them out of the country before I could go to the captain and demand an investigation."
"Hmm. You're right, the brains behind this didn't come from Silean or Talyn. Unless it was an opportunity that was just too good to pass up,” Leone commented as she picked up her wine glass. “Mychell's a moron. Or was, I guess. And Talyn had kept him around longer than any of the others, almost four years. Maybe she was ready for a new lover and needed to get rid of Mychell anyway. Kill three birds with one blow, you, Mychell, and the big one."