by R. K. Hart
Lorcan felt a tug in his chest for her. He knew that people thought heirs spoiled and cosseted, that everything came easily for them, and sometimes, he knew, that was true; they were never hungry, rarely denied, and their bodies did not break under the strain of work. But the stakes they faced were high, the strictures placed upon them severe, and every failure occurred with a thousand pairs of eyes looking on. That was the part he hated the most: that no matter what he did, there was always someone watching. He was lucky, in that the eyes turned to Jakob first, and him second: Katrin had no such buffer. Jakob felt the weight keenly, but if she felt the same, Katrin gave no indication of it, moving to stand beside her brother, slender and graceful as a birch tree next to his bulk.
The Kali took her place, standing on the black rock dais, watching her children in the grassed depression below. Her hair was unbound and wild in deliberate mourning: she had bidden by the directive of the aine and she was not happy about it, though her face was impassive. The aine - the elders of the tribe, most of them the Kali’s own family - moved to stand behind her in a line. Ella’s father was frowning; Bethan’s mouth was set in a straight line. Lorcan wondered where Bronwyn was, and whether she was already dressed to spar, circling somewhere in the amphitheatre like a carrion bird. He shuddered, shaking his head slightly, taking comfort in the warmth of Alys’ hand on his. Trepidation was heavy in the air as the aine waited, and the crowd watched them waiting, still eerily silent.
No one had to wait long. At some silent signal, Katrin and Aaron bent themselves as one into a bow to their mother, before turning to face each other. Alys began to shake; Lorcan brought her hand to his cheek for a moment, then clasped it in both of his own.
For a handful of heartbeats, Aaron and Katrin stood still, calmly studying each other. Despite himself, Lorcan drew in a deep, silent breath.
Katrin shifted forward. The movement was so slight it was barely discernible, but Aaron moved to counter it. No, Lorcan thought, and he was right; too late, Aaron realised it was a feint, and Katrin used the half-second he was off guard to smoothly slam the palm of her hand into his nose. Blood blossomed down his lips and chin. He slowly raised a hand to wipe his face.
Clever, Lorcan thought; the blood and the slow movement had distracted Katrin, and Aaron struck out at her with his free hand. He caught the side of her face. Lorcan was sure that normally Katrin would have absorbed the blow, but the weight of her stomach pulled her off balance, too late for her to adjust. She landed flat on her back with an audible gasp for air.
She was barely down for a heartbeat, rolling and springing away like a cat to avoid Aaron’s following kick, which would have caught her chin. She circled him. He stood, his face calm, his nose still dripping blood.
Katrin stopped directly behind him and waited. Neither of them moved.
Lorcan heard Lida make a small noise as they stood, so still they might have been carved from ice. ‘What are they doing?’ she hissed. Her hand wove around Alys’ waist.
Alys winced. ‘It’s a test of will,’ she whispered. ‘Gods, Lida, not so tight.’
There was another long, tense moment - Lorcan took three slow breaths - before Aaron’s patience gave out and he spun, mimicking Katrin’s open-palmed hit, but she was too fast. She ducked to the side, grabbing his arm with both of hers, twisting it around as she aimed a savage kick at his knee. He collapsed into a kneel; as he did, he aimed a blow up at Katrin’s chin.
It caught and she reeled back. Aaron pressed forward with another strike to her face. It connected, but she ducked the third, and her foot found Aaron’s stomach with a loud thunk. Katrin kicked him viciously in the jaw as he doubled over; he rose unsteadily.
Katrin sprang at him, catching him by the waist and pulling him down onto the snowy ground. Her momentum let her lift him in a graceful arc up and over her body, rolling as he slammed back down. A sound escaped him, a deep, quiet murmur of shock as the impact winded him. Katrin sat astride his stomach and landed two hard blows to his face, aiming for the temple. Stunned, Aaron swiped at her with one of his arms, pushing her sideways and into the snow. He spun on his back, pinning her down with the weight of his legs across hers and twisting his torso up to strike at her face. One blow took her in the eye socket, and Lorcan winced as her eye immediately began to swell shut.
Aaron shifted to lean cruelly on Katrin’s shoulders, using his elbows and body weight to hold her down. Lorcan knew it must have been painful, but Katrin made no sound. Instead, she smashed her forehead into her brother’s already bleeding nose; he rolled off her, red spraying in a horrific wash down onto his tunic.
Katrin got slowly to her feet, her face creased in pain. Aaron staggered up after her, pulling himself to his full height, but something was wrong: he went white, turned aside, and with a hoarse cough, he bent at the waist and vomited noisily onto the ground. Lida keened and took a step forward; Alys grabbed her arm to keep her still.
Katrin curled her arm across her stomach and looked up at her mother. ‘J’forfeit.’
The words rippled across the crowd.
The Kali said nothing, just stared at her daughter, the tension in the air sharp enough to cut. As the amphitheatre began to swell with a low murmuring, she gave an almost imperceptible nod.
Katrin rushed to her brother. She drew - Lorcan could feel the pull even from across the Court - and lay her hands gently on Aaron’s cheeks to heal his smashed nose.
‘No,’ Alys whispered, dragging her nails down her white face. ‘She can’t forfeit. No one has ever forfeited.’
‘Aly, she had to.’ Lida gestured. ‘Even I can tell he has a broken nose and a bad concussion. If she’d hit him there again, he could have died. And it was good luck Katrin wasn’t hit in the stomach.’
‘You of all people should know it wasn’t luck,’ Alys snapped. ‘Didn’t you see? He went for the face, for the legs, for the shoulders. Never the torso. What’s lucky is that the aine didn’t pull him out and leave Katrin to the tender mercy of Bethansdotter.’
‘Then what’s wrong?’ Lida demanded.
A tear tracked down Alys’ cheek. Lorcan squeezed her hand gently. ‘Oh, Lida,’ she said miserably. ‘Katrin just gave up everything she ever dreamed of.’
Lorcan glanced back to the amphitheatre. The bleeding from Aaron’s nose had eased; he sat, quiescent under Katrin’s hands, as she settled the broken bones back into place. The Kali watched them, expressionless. When Katrin had finished, brother and sister looked at one another for a long minute, not speaking. Finally, Katrin bent and kissed Aaron on the brow, then walked out of the amphitheatre and through the crowd, her back straight and her head high, her eyes fixed on the mountains.
She did not look back.
***
l’Cour du Kali was subdued that day. The normal bustle of life went on, but no one spoke much. There was no laughter. Even the children were quiet, keeping close to their family fires as the snow fell, the fall thicker every hour.
Lida felt lost. She wanted to go to Aaron to reassure herself that he was all right, but he wasn’t in his tenat and his horse was gone, and Lida knew there were a thousand different places he might be. To take her mind off what had happened in the amphitheatre, she scrounged what ingredients she could from Katrin’s cousin Merna and made a doughy cake over the foye fe, flavoured with cocoa and cherries soaked in sugar syrup. By the time it was cooked, the tenat smelled delicious, and Alys called Ella to come and share the cake with them.
When it was almost all gone, a voice came from the doorway. ‘Smells good.’
Lida looked up to see Dylan smiling a crooked half-smile, his hair dusted with snow.
‘You’re back!’ cried Alys, jumping to her feet to give him a hug. Ella followed more sedately, giving him a calm smile.
Dylan pulled Lida into an embrace once they were done. ‘Want to go for a walk?’ he muttered in her ear.
Lida found her coat and followed him out. She pulled up her hood against the snow as he wove thro
ugh the snow tunnels and to the springs. He walked the entire length of them, finally stopping at a tiny, shallow pool, little more than a warm puddle, and pulled off his boots and socks to soak his feet.
Lida did the same, kicking her toes lightly. ‘What’s wrong?’
Dylan took a deep breath. ‘I told my mother.’
‘What did she say?’
Dylan looked at the water. ‘She gave me six more months. If I don’t have a wife at the end of it, the tribe goes to my cousin.’
‘Oh, Dylan,’ Lida said, aghast. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Dylan sighed. ‘Me too. I’m not sorry that I told her. She was … kinder, I think, because of it, and I needed to. But she wants her line to keep the tribe, and for that to happen, I need to make more of us.’ He rubbed his face. ‘She was ready to choose for me now, so at least it gave me more time. But I wish I wasn’t being pushed. I wish -’ his breath caught. ‘I wish it didn’t matter.’
Lida lay her head on his shoulder. ‘It doesn’t,’ she said. ‘If you weren’t an only child, it wouldn’t matter at all.’
‘Like Jakob and Lor, you mean. A back-up heir if the first doesn’t do their duty.’
Lida blinked. ‘Aly is right,’ she said. ‘The blood-heir stuff is nonsense. Can’t you just choose someone who will be good for the job? Do you even want children?’
‘Yes,’ he said, shocking her slightly; she could not imagine him with a baby in his arms. ‘I always have. And I want the tribe, Lida. I want it more than anything else, I think.’ He reached out to touch a finger to the surface of the water, watching the tiny ripples. ‘I think,’ he repeated, as if he were trying to convince himself.
Lida lifted her head to consider his face; his eyes were closed. ‘What will you do?’ she asked softly.
‘Choose someone.’ He shrugged, then opened his eyes a crack to peer at Lida. ‘I don’t suppose you’d like to marry me?’
Lida sat soldier-straight, her mouth open. He let her stare, panicked and wide-eyed for a few moments, then dissolved into laughter and poked her in the ribs.
‘I’m joking, Lida. My mother would rip the skin from my shoulders if I took an Eilin woman home. I’d let her, too, if I had to argue with you every day until I died.’
‘Ass,’ she snapped at him, though it was half-hearted. ‘I’d drown myself before I agreed to live in this gods-forsaken country, anyway.’
‘What, admitting you’re not tough enough? This must be a first.’
‘I don’t have enough ice in my veins.’
‘You’ll need to find some more,’ he said practically. ‘It doesn’t snow the whole winter in Kell, but I’ve heard it’s awfully cold.’
Lida looked at the water. Dylan narrowed his eyes.
‘You still haven’t spoken to him?’ he said incredulously. ‘Don’t be so stupid, Lida. Put aside your pride and work it out.’
‘I have spoken to him. Just not about …’ She balled her hands into fists. ‘It doesn’t matter. Who are you going to choose?’
‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.’ He poked Lida’s foot with his toes. ‘Ella or Alys?’
‘Please don’t ask me to choose for you, Dylan. They’re my friends. And they feel more for you than you do for them.’
‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘But I think their feelings are based on ambition, not passion. I doubt they’d give me a second glance if I weren’t heir. Which is probably a good thing. At least I can’t break any hearts.’
‘Then tell the truth,’ Lida said. ‘Whoever you pick. Before you ask her, tell her. Tell her what she can expect from you, and what you can’t give. That way, if she agrees, you haven’t hidden anything, and she’s going into it with open eyes. Give her the choice. She can say no, if she decides it won’t be enough.’ As she said the words, she knew that it never would be, for her.
Dylan stretched his arms above his head. ‘Ella, then,’ he said decisively. ‘She’s the fourth child; it’s very unlikely that she will ever inherit Cuinn’s position in the aine. She’s more practical than Alys, and a year or so older, too. If Katrin goes back to the Illarum, Alys will want to go with her. And Alys is … Aly should marry for love. I think she would need to.’
Lida nodded, thinking of Alys’ wish to go back south. ‘Ella, then. But be honest. Tell her everything.’
They sat in silence, Dylan looking at the water and Lida at the snow, before he pulled his feet from the tiny spring and stuffed them back into his socks and boots. ‘Right,’ he said gloomily. ‘Best get it over with.’ His elbow nudged Lida’s ribs. ‘Don’t you have someone to speak with?’
‘I’ll do it in my own time, Dylan,’ she said, annoyed.
‘Don’t take too long,’ he warned. ‘No one’s patience is infinite.’
‘Beni chance,’ she called after him as he walked away.
***
Lida approached the tenat cautiously when she returned, but she needn’t have bothered: she found it empty. She fed the foye fe, idly dreaming of an Eilin summer’s day, when the sun baked the sandstone in Kingstown so hot she could feel it through her sandals. When Lida and Maya were younger, Cathan would take them to the city fountains and let them play in the water; when they had laughed themselves hoarse and were finally cool, they would lie on towels in the sun to dry off. On such days, it seemed as if half the city was doing the same thing: Lida and Maya had always found someone they knew.
She ran her hands through her hair, realising that she missed it fiercely. She missed her father and her sister and she missed her home. She missed the warmth and the comfort of the golden sandstone and the people she knew. She missed how easy it was. She missed her bed and having her own space and the sun, bright even in winter. With a pang, she realised that she even missed the Illarum, and the way the building sat comfortably in its nest of green fields. A tear ran down one cheek as her fingers found a ringlet behind her ear and methodically pulled it apart into a mess of fuzz.
She looked up as a cold breeze blew through the tenat door. Aaron stood there, watching her.
‘Are you all right?’ she said at once, springing to her feet.
‘I was about to ask you the same thing, Sivasdotter. I thought that you were hurt.’
She flushed, reinforcing her mindshield and wiping her face. ‘Just homesick. Where have you been?’
‘Around,’ he said.
Lida twisted her lips. Even from the doorway, she could smell jasmine; wherever he’d been, he hadn’t been alone. She wondered what had happened to the sandalwood woman. He ignored her look, folding gracefully to sit cross-legged by the foye fe.
‘Show me,’ he demanded, holding out his hand.
‘What?’
He made an impatient tsk sound. ‘Your home.’ He reached up and took her fingers, pushing at the same time against her mindshield.
It took Lida a moment to catch on; she sat down and let her mindshield thin. Concentrating, she built an image, just as she did in the dreamscape. She thought of the main fountains, and the sandstone tiles, unforgiving in the summer sun, and of the heat that rose from them. She thought of the way the water shimmered in the midday light, and the relief when it flowed over her skin and through her hair. Aaron’s fingers tightened on her hand.
She thought of the forum, crowded with shoppers. She imagined the cacophony of chatter, the push of bodies all around. She thought of the palace complex, and of walking along the Southern Way, flanked by the gods, to end of gazing on the facade of the palace, the scent of lavender filling the air. She imagined her favourite public garden, the patches of northern snowdrops growing in the shade of Eilin pines. She imagined the baths, with the spas and cold plunge pools and the huge pool for swimming. She imagined the city crowded with people for a festival, colour and music and movement everywhere, the delight of spinning into a public dance and the thrill of a stranger’s swift kiss, stolen while the patriarchs looked the other way.
She imagined the lush green fields at the back of her father’s house, an
d the elation of cantering across them to Marnie’s farm. She imagined the coolness of the hallway and the kitchen of her home, and the comfort of returning after school to the smells of Maya’s cooking. She imagined the calmness of the stable block, the silence broken occasionally by the stomp of a hoof or a quiet snort, and the scent of hay and horses filling the air. She imagined her father’s garden, the flower and herb beds, the sturdy wooden fence that she would stand at to look across the city at dusk.
Unbidden, she imagined the last time she had done so, watching Lorcan give his lazy half-smile, his eyes hooded. A wave of longing crashed through her, so fierce she caught her breath. She pushed Aaron from her mind and channelled power to her shield, snatching back her hand.
His eyes were on her face but she determinedly ignored them, staring into the fire instead.
‘Ah,’ he said eventually.
‘Indeed,’ she answered tersely.
‘Be wary, Sivasdotter,’ he said, after another silence. ‘Alum Merchant wants a hefty price for his pretty second son. The whole world knows that Jakob will not take a wife, so all the responsibility will fall to his little brother. Alum knows just how much his son is worth. If he would not settle for Bronwyn, it is unlikely he will support a match with you.’
Lida closed her eyes, a hysterical laugh bubbling up her throat. She forced it back down. That was what Dylan and Alys were kind enough not to tell her: that a nameless Eilin with a dead Myrae mother was hardly a better prospect than the niece of the Kali.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, once the hurt had subsided enough that she could find her tongue. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she repeated, as if saying it would make it true.
Aaron cupped her cheek with one hand and leaned forward until their foreheads were touching. Tears tracked down her face, but he did not move away, just offered her his strength without speaking. They sat like that until her cheeks dried and her sobs calmed; when she was finally done crying, he pulled her to her feet.