by E D Ebeling
Mari came out the door, her dark hair in a frazzle over her face. “Well?” she said. “Doubtless it all went to plan. Did they bicker much?”
“Like flies over a shit,” said Sarid. “I wanted to swat them.” She pushed past Mari and sat in a chair, breathing shallowly.
“Charming girl.” Savvel put his hands on either side of the doorway. Then he lay down on the floor, his face outside in the rain, arms stretched out behind him. “All that flying did me in.”
“Strange place to be done in,” said Mari, stepping over him.
“You’ve beat me down.”
Leva stepped inside and trod on his finger. He yelped. “You’re lucky it wasn’t your nose,” she said.
“What ought we to do?” said Sarid to no one, rubbing her eyes.
“Savvel’d better show himself to Caveira and the Eianhurts,” said Mari. “Right away. It might repair some damage.”
Savvel wiped his face with his arm. “Come with me, Ida. The Eianhurt woman scares me.”
As if to give his words portent the rain started pouring, making a mist over the stone. The sky glowed with a wicked green that came into the room and stuck to the walls and furniture.
“How insignificant and stupid all this is,” said Sarid, watching the rain, “compared to the weather.”
Savvel looked at her with an odd expression. “Profound.”
“Pity we can’t harness it,” said Leva.
“I don’t know about that,” said Sarid. And she began to think, and Savvel to fret, so she went with him.
Out in the hall they asked a page where Caveira was. The boy yawned and laughed at Savvel, whose shirt was soaked just at the shoulders.
“The south-facing salon, I think.” He picked at his teeth with a nail. “Keep the rain out of your ears, milords.” He ran off without bowing.
The salon’s doors stood wide open, so the sticky air could circulate. The doorman glanced absently at the floor and mashed something under his shoe. By the time he looked up Savvel and Sarid were inside.
Grete and Cai Eianhurt and Duke Caveira stood by the window. The dame said, “Uinard said he was spotted in Pengrava. But there’re lots of tall men with dark hair in Pengrava.”
“The Adra’s begun,” said Caveira, looking at the rain. “The storms will last all week. If he’s in Pengrava, it’ll take twice as long to travel by road.”
“Are they going by road, do you think?” said Cai Eianhurt.
Grete Eianhurt’s gaze drifted over Cai’s shoulder, and her face froze. She wrestled with her look of surprise and said to Savvel, “Good of you to return.”
The rest of them turned round and made a chorus of ‘oh’s’.
Savvel walked forward. “My apologies, madam––”
“Keep your apologies to yourself.” Grete strode toward him so vigorously her gray hair fell out of its twist. “The air is already blustering with idiot noise.”
“You went to speak with your brother, didn’t you?” said Caveira. “What did he say?”
“Shove off,” said Savvel.
Caveira frowned. “I was merely––”
“That’s what he said.”
Dame Eianhurt put her hands on her hips. “War, then.”
“Now––what? What are you––No,” said Savvel. “No. Sarid hasn’t even thought what she might do with Yelse––”
“Lady Hyeda can’t help us,” said the dame. “She’s thoughtless and inconsiderate, and we can no longer trust her.”
“Well, then,” said Sarid. She spoke softly, but they all turned and were quiet. “Go your own way. Go to war. It doesn’t matter.”
Savvel stared at her, surprised.
“Doesn’t matter?” said the dame. “What? Have you planned something?” She flicked her skirts contemptuously.
“If I had I wouldn’t tell you what,” said Sarid. “You are no use to me whatsoever. I’m done with you. Goodbye.”
She turned and walked out the door.
The guard was slack-mouthed and leaning on his staff, and he turned his head, watching her go. She heard Savvel fall into step behind her.
“Damn me if I go to war,” he said. “Tell me your plan.” When she didn’t look back at him, he grabbed hold of her arm. “Summon a saebel? Bind your father?”
“He’s too human,” she said, pulling her arm away. “I could summon him, but not bind him. But”––she smiled, because she did have a plan, or the beginning of one––“I don’t think I need him.”
“You’re right. All we need’s a barrel of niter.”
He reminded her of an angry tomcat.
“How would you like to be a mouse?” she said.
“I would’ve thought a hawk was enough.”
“Not literally. Like a character in a play.”
“Who’s the cat?”
“Yelse, idiot.”
He backed away. “I’m not sure I like this play. Yelse’s got some marvelous big claws.”
“Yes, she does. I’ll have to get them stuck in something.”
“Who will play the lead?”
“Leva.”
“Leva and Yelse?” He laughed. “Let me sit and watch.”
“We need you as an actor.”
“The three of us all together? There’ll be an audience, I hope, or I shan’t expect to give it my hardest effort.”
“Rischa.”
Savvel looked as though she had thrown a bucket of water over his head.
“I’m changing out of this shirt,” he said.
Sarid wasn’t eager to go back to Mari and Leva just yet, so she went with him to his apartments.
***
The door was unlocked. The place was beyond chambermaid-neat: the tiles had been polished and the velvet brushed, and in the bedroom was a new wall hanging with a great, yellow rose on it.
“Ugh,” said Savvel. He looked at the chair underneath it. There was a stocking draped over the back; a sewing needle stuck out of the heel.
Sarid nudged Savvel and pointed to the bed. Sleeping face-down upon it was a man with red hair.
Savvel pulled the sewing needle loose and pricked the man’s foot.
Yoffin jumped up and cried, “The cock of the porpoise!”
“Crawled under the door and littered the place with droppings, have you?”
“My dear lord,” Yoffin said, and sat up.
“Where’d you come from?”
“The street, where I trained pigeons to shit on noblemen.”
“You must have done an awful job. Where’d you come from just now?”
“Merstig. Where my sister lives.”
“How’d you know I was here?”
“The pigeons showed me.”
Savvel glanced above him. “The guard just let you in?”
“Rubnik and I, yes. We’re a charming pair.”
“Who’s Rubnik?”
“Rubnik,” called Yoffin. “Pay your respects to His Royal Highness.”
A small boy came out of a side room, yawning and dragging his feet. Sarid recognized him as the page who’d told them to keep the rain out of their ears.
He took a long look at Savvel, and said, “Doesn’t look like a prince.”
“A catamite?” said Savvel.
“My nephew,” said Yoffin. “He wanted to enter the service of a great lord.” He grinned.
“He should have looked under the west bridge,” said Savvel.
“He was adamant.”
“What shall he do in my service?”
“Take off your boots,” said Yoffin, “so I don’t have to.”
Savvel bent over the boy, contemplating him. “I don’t think he’ll be able to lift them.”
“I’d rather bite them off,” said the boy.
“Your blessing was a failure, sharklet,” said Savvel. “Your uncle’s pouring rain into my ears.”
“I live to serve,” said Yoffin.
“Does the boy?” Savvel took Rubnik by the arm. “Here’s my first errand. Go out
to the gardens and gather a basket of flowers. Get them quick before they’re bruised.”
“Girl’s work,” said Rubnik, pulling away from him.
“Why do you think I’m asking? After you’ve got them, ask your uncle for a vase. He carries a collection wherever he goes.”
The boy went out into the rain with a knife and a chamber pot, and Sarid said to Yoffin, “You’d let your nephew work for Savvel?”
“So long’s you’re keeping him under your thumb, Gurd,” said Yoffin, and he kissed her cheek.
The boy came back with the chamber pot full of peonies, tulips, and white iris-like flowers Sarid didn’t know. It smelled very good, for a chamber pot.
“Good lad,” said Savvel, and Yoffin produced a green vase with a long, shapely neck. Rubnik shoved the flowers inside, crushing a peony.
“Unbelievable.” Savvel held it up. “It looks so like her. Red, white, and poisonous.”
“What are you doing?” said Sarid, who couldn’t keep the words in any longer.
“Giving Leva flowers.”
“I would worry, but I know how chaste you are.”
“My intentions are entirely innocent. My heart belongs to you. Come with me. Bring the vase, Rubnik. The Haek sisters will find you irresistible.”
***
Outside the girls’ rooms Savvel said to Rubnik, who held the vase extended before him as though it were a giant spider, “Now stay out in the hall so I can call your name out loud. It’s funny.” Sarid shook her head and pulled Savvel through the door.
Mari and Leva walked into the parlor from an inner room. “What happened?” said Leva. “What did Grete Eianhurt do?”
“The linen maid,” said Mari, “said she ground her teeth so much this past week she left white filings on the pillow.”
“Grete Eianhurt told Sarid she can no longer help us,” said Savvel.
“No!” said Mari.”
“She can’t mean it,” said Leva.
“Oh, but she did,” said Savvel. “And I know it’s a blow so I’ve brought you flowers, and a boy. Rubnik,” he called, “come here.”
Rubnik came in and slammed the vase so hard on a table Sarid was surprised the glass didn’t shatter. Some petals fell off the tulips.
Mari bit her fingers to keep from laughing. “Poor work for a boy.” She walked over and patted his cheek and kissed him on the top of his head. Rubnik went redder than his hair.
“Thank you, Rubnik,” said Savvel. “Little pitchers have big feet they can walk out the door with.”
Rubnik took the hint and ran out the door. “None so big as yours, m’lord.”
“You know what they say,” said Savvel. He closed the door.
“Why the flowers?” said Leva.
“Because I feel bad.”
“For what? Going off like you did?”
“No. I just feel bad.”
“Why?”
“Ida’s going to use you as bait.”
Mari looked over at Sarid as Leva took a petal off the table. She shredded it into strips. They curled out of her fingers like tongues. “All right,” she said. “How?”
Twenty-Two
The wind made a mournful sound through the carved eves of Meliona. A draft crept through a window and felt around the room, lifting the bed curtains, making the violets on the table twist and blush with cold. The candle blew out.
“I’ve come to make amends.”
Yelse was sitting on a stool, combing her hair. She looked at her sister in the mirror. “Why now?”
“I’m tired,” said Sarid. “Tired of being used and ignored. Tired of being nanny to a lunatic. I am especially tired of Leva. She punched me in the stomach.” She lifted her dress and touched the bruise above her underskirts. “Here. Just because I took Savvel away without permission.”
Yelse turned around, rose from her stool. “She hasn’t improved?”
“No. I’m done with them. All of them.”
“Are you?” Yelse slid a finger up and down the comb’s teeth. “How can I possibly trust you?”
“I don’t know.” Sarid wiped her sweaty palms on her skirts. “I know you want Leva dead.”
“Savvel, too.”
Sarid hesitated. “He’s harmless.”
“They want to make a king of him.”
“I’ll take him away somewhere.”
“I want him dead, Sarid. I want to see it.”
“All right. Both of them.”
“Still not enough,” said Yelse, smiling a little.
“What else would you have me do?”
“Use your imagination.”
“I’ll let you bind my power.”
Yelse went very still and stared into Sarid’s eyes as though she were searching for something. Sarid turned away; her skin was damp and cold, and the gown clung to her.
“An interesting proposition,” Yelse said. “I accept.”
“How will I kill them, without power?”
“I’ll do it. And you will let me.”
“How? They’re surrounded by their people every minute. Will you kill a crowd of people in the middle of a city?”
“Lure them away,” said Yelse, putting the comb on the table and turning toward the mirror.
“Alright. And when I’ve done that, how shall I fetch you?”
“Summon me.” She started braiding her hair.
“Without power?”
“I haven’t got to bind that.”
Sarid relaxed a tiny bit. “Where shall I take them?”
“We’re going to Charevost next week, Rischa and I. So my barons can swear fealty.”
“You want me to bring them up to Charevost?” said Sarid, incredulous.
“Why not? The Vara is isolated and thick with saebelen.”
“How will I manage to get them to Charevost?”
“Go back, put the thought in their heads. After you’ve done that, I’ll bind your power.”
“But if Rischa’s up there as well––”
“You needn’t concern yourself with Rischa.”
Sarid said carefully, “I am concerned. He’s not as naive as you think.”
“So I’ll play with his head, make him go south––”
“Do you do that a lot?” said Sarid. Sweat had soaked through the waist of her gown. “Don’t you think he guesses?”
Yelse stared at herself in the mirror. “If you’re that worried, write him a letter and seal it with Savvel’s ring. He’ll ride out to meet his brother and we’ll be rid of him.”
“You’ll unbind me when you have what you want?”
“Yes.”
“Do you promise?”
Yelse knotted the end of her braid and curled it round her finger. “Yes. I’ve never lied to you before.”
“Can I ask a favor?”
“I’ll hear it.”
Sarid steeled herself and said: “When you are Ravinya, will you give me Rischa?”
Yelse looked at the ceiling and laughed. “Is that it?”
“Yes,” said Sarid.
“I don’t know that I can part with him.”
“Then I don’t know that I can help you.”
Almost imperceptibly Yelse’s face tightened. “What do you want with him? There are plenty of handsome boys the land over. Choose one of them.”
Sarid felt for the thread in her sister’s voice and followed it to its end. “You love him?”
“A Ravinya needs a Ravyir.”
Sarid tried to keep from laughing, and her bruise stung. “I can scarcely believe you capable of it. Very well, you can have him. You’ll grow tired of him soon enough, or he’ll come to see you’re manning his cock like a tiller. I’ll be patient.”
“You’re pathetic,” said her sister, turning away from her. Her hand tossed and a flame flickered from the candle again.
***
That evening Sarid walked down to the unkempt garden with the cypresses. Gloom sat so heavy on her she felt as though her stomach were filled with st
ones.
At midnight she opened a circle and summoned her sister. Yelse stepped out of the circle, and Sarid stepped in, and Yelse banked the flame in Sarid’s heart. And all the while Sarid silenced the little voice in her mind that said she was sentencing everyone to death.
It felt wretched, having her power bound, like being squeezed and and rolled into a tiny bead and held tight in a fist. She could scarcely breathe.
Afterwards, though it was almost summer and very humid, Sarid wrapped herself in cloaks and wore woolen underclothes, and shuddered at the dead feel of her skin.
***
A week later rumor went round that Rischa and Yelse had set north toward Charevost with an escort of five hundred.
Sarid, Savvel, and Leva made preparations to follow them. Mari wasn’t happy about it.
“Don’t take it personally,” said Sarid. “You’re much safer down here.”
“Besides,” said Savvel, “we’ll need someone to tell our story if we all become worm food. And you have a way with words.”
“Good gods,” said Mari.
“The gods choose their vessels blindly,” said Savvel, brushing his big horse. It was early morning and they hadn’t woken the groomsmen, wanting to go about their business as secretly as possible. “They must have had their eyes out when they chose Maryena Haek.”
“Shut up,” said Mari. “He never shuts up.”
“Stop worrying so,” said Leva. She heaved a saddlebag up and buckled it to the skirt. Her palfrey tossed her head in protest. “If I die, it’ll be for a worthy cause.”
“I thought you were scared out of your wits of Yelse.”
“I am,” she said, and shrugged. She had shadows under her eyes.
“You break my heart,” said Mari.
***
The trip north was uneventful. Pleasant, even. The good weather never broke except for a flash of a thunderstorm somewhere between Dirlan and the Gagethene. The rain soaked in and evaporated, leaving the roads packed hard and smooth, and Sarid was in time given her own horse, a little bay mare, so they could travel faster.
They went round the water meadows without sinking into any bogs––“Pity,” said Savvel, “it might have been a less painful way to die”––and traveled past the Hill of the Maids of Heartache, trying not to look at it––“There’s your last chance to dedicate your life,” Savvel said to Leva, “to castration, which you’d be good at, I’m sure”––and came to Amarstad, northernmost city of the Nolak River––“Anyone fancy the life of a bargeman? Because there’s our last––” At this point Leva said she’d burn Savvel in his sleeping roll and squat on his ashes if he said one more word.