The Fire Mages' Daughter (30 page)

Only Zandara seemed as calm as ever. “You intend to proceed with this charade, then, Mother?” she said.

“I have to, you know that. The evidence is too strong to ignore. But if you are innocent…”

“Pfft. You have already made up your mind, I daresay. All of you have condemned me already.” She cast her cold eyes over us.

“I want only to find the truth, Zandara. The mages will make the final determination.”

“I should like a hidden judgement. You will not deny me that, I hope.” That meant three mages, instead of the usual two, separated by screens so that none could see how the others decided. Only a unanimous decision would count.

Yannassia bowed her agreement.

“And you will allow me to choose the mages myself. I have that right.”

That was not strictly true. She could propose, but Yannassia had the final say, as always. However, she nodded. “I will allow it. Everything will be done as you wish it, my dear.”

At the appointed time, the assembly chamber was packed as full as it could hold. At least a hundred minor nobles had to be held in an outer chamber, as there was just no room for them to squeeze in. Several rows of benches had been set up around the outside of the chamber, where Bennamore’s nobility fanned themselves vigorously, and peered around the pillars and statuary lining the centre of the room.

Some were solemn, and some excited, but they all wanted to catch a glimpse of Zandara, to see what she wore, the expression on her face, how she conducted herself. And Yannassia, too. Would either of them weep or fall into hysterics? And I suppose they watched me, as well. What a story to tell the children and grandchildren, to be savoured and recounted in ever greater detail, that they were there when the Drashona’s blood daughter was accused of trying to kill her own sister.

The three mages Zandara had chosen were all elderly, no longer active spellcasters. They were of the old style, using only a single vessel to fuel their magic, far less powerful than the belt with multiple vessels that Cal and Jayna and other younger mages used. Such mages had far less ability to distinguish truth from falsity.

The mages sat in their booths, hidden from each other by screens, visible only to Yannassia and her immediate court. Each held a white-painted stick. If they detected a lie, they would raise the stick aloft.

Zandara sat in front of the mages, her back to them, facing Yannassia. She was confident, smiling, quite sure of the outcome. She had chosen the mages well. Without the powerful belt, they would never be able to reach a unanimous decision and condemn her.

But I knew what Zandara did not – beneath their robes, all three wore a belt, clearly detectable in my mind. The mages were taking no chances. I felt sick.

The three law scribes set about their work with practiced efficiency. They were gentle with Zandara, but their questions were relentless. They asked about the Icthari servants, about poison, about Yordryn, and, eventually, about me – the sweets and then the night-time assassins. Zandara answered every question without hesitation.

And she lied.

Time after time the mages raised their white sticks, all three of them in unison. I couldn’t stop the tears from pouring down my cheeks. And gradually Zandara understood, faltered and then fell silent. The law scribes continued their questioning, but they received no answers. There was nothing more to be said.

Yannassia shed no tears, not then. Her face was expressionless throughout.

But in the end her voice wavered and then cracked as she gave her judgement: guilty.

“And what punishment does the Most Powerful decree?” asked the senior law scribe.

“Death,” she whispered.

Zandara leapt to her feet. “So you would kill your own daughter? I am of your blood! You cannot do this!”

“I can. I must. The law must apply to everyone, or we are nothing but savages.”

For a long moment they stared at each other, mother and daughter, Zandara defiant, Yannassia struggling to stay composed. They were so alike in looks, yet so different in other ways.

In the end, it was Zandara who crumpled. “You will give me time to set my affairs in order?”

“Three suns.” Yannassia’s voice was a mere thread. “Guards – lock her up.”

Several guards bustled forward, but there was a flurry from the side of the chamber. “Wait, wait!” Mother, of course, racing across to Zandara. “I must check something – if you permit?” She turned to Yannassia, who nodded.

Mother laid her hand on Zandara’s, and gave the tiniest of smiles. “Oh, yes. As I suspected – a child. You will not—?”

“No, of course not,” Yannassia said, and she too seemed relieved. “The penalty will be deferred until the child is born, naturally.”

A small reprieve. At that moment, it felt like a victory.

But Zandara was not one to await her destiny in patience. That night she requested that her drusse be sent to share her quarters. The next morning, they were both found dead in their bed.

She had used poison one last time.

We were all in chaos. There was no time to grieve for my sister and her motherless child. Outwardly, the funeral rites and burning were conducted with all the proper solemnity and ritual pace. But when we retreated to the sanctuary of the Keep, the business of the realm went on as always, with perhaps even greater urgency.

With Yannassia still unwell and spending every afternoon resting, much of the burden fell on me. I spent most of each sun in closed meetings with the nobles and ambassadors, the law scribes or the mages. So much to discuss, so much to be set right before Kingswell could settle back into its usual calmness. I had complained many times at the dullness of my life. I would have given everything for just a little of that dullness now.

In the darkness, there was one gleam of light. A group of Icthari arrived, a little more formally than my proposed husband, for they stopped at the border and waited for an escort. They brought news that a plot had been uncovered to kill me, my brother and sister. Well, that part was not news to us, but the rest was.

“You may be aware that the man concerned used to be our representative here,” their leader said. His Bennamorian was excellent. “Hal Torghesh. He had a very profitable business importing certain… erm, herbal remedies into Bennamore. But then he was replaced, and sent home very suddenly. He fell out with your Icthari husband, Lady. He was most unhappy about it.”

Yannassia nodded. “I remember. I never heard what the difficulty was.”

My father. Hal Torghesh had quarrelled with my father, all those years ago, and nurtured his resentment ever since. That explained a great deal. My father had left a trail of havoc behind him.

The Icthari continued, “We do not know, either, but he and his family lost much status as a result. Several of his children were taken into slavery because he could no longer meet his obligations. He made a vow of restitution. Since his own children were taken from him, he would take the children of the man who had destroyed him.”

“That is the custom amongst your people, then?” Yannassia said.

“In a way,” he answered. “Although it is more usual to kidnap the children, and keep them as slaves. But perhaps that would have been impractical in this case. Yes, restitution is a right, when a man is aggrieved. So he planned an elaborate scheme, marrying his remaining son to one of your daughters. Fortunately, our spies discovered the scheme at an early stage. Even more fortunately, Hal Torghesh and his son have been killed by a neighbouring clan with a grudge of their own. None of the neighbours has yet claimed the resulting increase in status, but it must have been so, would you not agree?”

“Indeed it must,” Yannassia said gravely.

“It distresses me to bring you such tidings. Your daughter will be most grieved to lose her betrothed in such a manner.”

“Yet it seems that she had a lucky escape,” Yannassia said. “We are grateful to you. Is this matter now at an end? We need not fear—?” She stopped, perhaps unable to talk about assassins so soon after Zandara’s own attempts to kill me.

“You need not fear the Icthari,” he said quickly. “We are all as shocked as you must be. We wish for nothing but harmony between our two peoples. If there is any part of the treaty between us that needs to be strengthened, we would be most happy to accommodate you.”

I glanced quickly towards Mother, standing immobile to one side of the dais, but I didn’t need her almost imperceptible nod. It was clear to me that the Icthari spoke the truth. With the Vahsi unsettling their eastern border, they would be very happy to have the Bennamorian army nearby.

~~~~~

With Zandara gone, there was a need to appoint another Bai-Drashonor. There was also the war to consider, since that had always been her special project.

Axandor was Zandara’s natural successor, yet Yannassia hesitated. “I suppose we shall have to have him as Bai-Drashonor, but I do not want him in charge of the war. He is every bit as aggressive as Zandara was, but without a sliver of common sense. She could always make a good case for it, clear and well-reasoned. Axandor… no, I will not have it. Besides, he has been so down since Zandara’s death, I am not sure he would be minded for it himself. You will have to take charge of the war, Drina.”

We sat in her private sitting room. Torthran was the only other person there, hunched in a chair across the room pretending to read a book, to give us the illusion of privacy, but close enough to rush to Yannassia’s aid if needed.

I clicked my tongue in annoyance. War leader? I could hardly think of any role less appealing. “Me? But I never wanted the war, you know that. I have always argued against it.”

“But it happened, nevertheless. And now the issue is the management of resources – supplies and morale and how best to deal with the coming winter. Pulling out altogether is not an option, but you may consider a partial withdrawal for the coldest months, so as not to over-stretch the supply lines. Bring some of the inessential troops back to the border, or even to Kingswell. Talk to the commanders, and give me your proposals in… oh, shall we say a ten-sun?”

“Two, at least,” I said feebly, aware that I should be putting up more resistance to the idea, but unable to think of a single reason why. “I shall need time to… to familiarise myself with the current state of affairs.”

“Very well,” she replied. “Two ten-suns, but no longer.”

Pregnant or not, ill or not, Yannassia was still fully in charge of her realm.

So I added the war commanders to my long list of people to hold meetings with. There was one advantage to being Drashonor, though – my vast new apartment had many rooms designed for just this purpose. Instead of trailing all over the Keep, now I sat in state and everyone came to me, cooling their heels in one or another ante-chamber before being ushered into my presence. I could choose from intimate rooms with sofas and side tables, impersonal meeting rooms with a table and chairs, and one room with an enormously long table, where the commanders loved to spread out their maps.

Now that the Icthari threat was removed, I argued for a return to just one bodyguard, but Yannassia refused. She also insisted on maintaining the increased night guard, and ordered them to patrol the roof as well. I suggested that bars across the atrium windows would protect us just as effectively.

“Excellent idea,” Yannassia said. “We will do that, too. It does not hurt to take all possible precautions.”

“Very well. But I am not going to have two bodyguards with me at all times. I can barely breathe. In private, one is perfectly adequate. Besides, I have Arran. He’s a trained bodyguard, too, and he’s almost back to full fitness already.”

“If you insist, but the second one must wait within call. And as soon as you leave your own walls, you must have both. Arran is your drusse, he attends social functions as your escort, unless you want him constantly mailed and draped with weaponry.”

I was glad that Arran was so easy-going, for I hardly saw him. He was not allowed into the war meetings, but he was content to sit outside and wait for me with Cryalla. It was lucky they got on so well together, for they spent endless hours sitting around while I was busy. Sometimes, when a door opened, I heard their voices briefly, chattering away, or laughing at some shared joke. It was miserable to be kept apart from Arran so much, but it pleased me greatly when he chose to be near me rather than idling away the hours at the barracks.

The war commanders told me nothing new about the war, but there was always some complaint or other from the forward camp. One time, it was the length of the supply line. On another occasion, the horses were sick. Once it was the firewood.

“Firewood?” I said. “How hard is it to find firewood? They are surrounded by forest.”

“True, Most Powerful, but the immediate area has been cleaned out, and it is now some distance to the nearest supply.”

“And we have lost a couple of foraging parties,” another put in. “Now we have to double up the numbers. It makes things very difficult, with the colder weather.”

“Lost? How does anyone lose foraging parties?”

They exchanged glances. One looked at his feet, studiously avoiding my gaze.

“Well?”

A cough. “It is the black-bark forest, Most Powerful. It is… confusing.”

“People say that it changes,” another said. “When you turn round to go back the way you came, it looks different. Certainly groups enter at one place and emerge at another. Two groups have gone missing altogether. So the firewood foraging teams now make the longer journey to the oak forest to the west.”

“Hmm.” I’d heard stories of the black-bark trees, but I’d always assumed they were no more than nursery tales. “What of the bark collection? That, after all, is why we invaded the Clanlands in the first place.”

They shuffled their feet, not comfortable with the open mention of invasion. They liked to talk of sorties, or cross-border advances. Nice, neutral terms.

Eventually one said, “The amounts collected are not as great as we had hoped.”

I clucked in annoyance. “Then what is the point of it all? So much inconvenience and expense, and for what? And why was this not brought to the Most Powerful Lady’s attention sooner?”

But I knew the answer to that – Zandara’s reluctance to admit that her war was not going terribly well.

“Well, at least there has been no retaliation by the Blood Clans,” I said. “That much is still true, I hope.”

“Oh, very much so, Most Powerful. No retaliation at all. No sign of them.”

And that was the part that surprised me the most. The Blood Clans were recorded in the histories as amongst the most fearsome of enemies. They were quiet for generations, but when attacked, they responded with merciless slaughter. And occasionally, when the urge took them, they turned their attentions on peaceful neighbours, destroying everything in their path.

They were wild and undisciplined, and our forces were stronger and better armed. Even so, it was inconceivable to me that they would meekly run away when Bennamore marched into their territory.

But Ly-haam was their leader now, and he was a strange boy. I couldn’t predict what he might do.

~~~~~

As soon as the moon of mourning was passed, the usual round of autumn festivities began again. For once I was glad of it, relieved to escape the apartment and the endless hours closeted with tetchy commanders and nobles.

One evening, a cousin of the Drashona was celebrating his drusse’s birth anniversary. Arran was chatting companionably as we left our private quarters and entered the largest of the apartment’s family rooms.

“Oh!” I stopped dead. “I’ve forgotten the present. I left it in my sitting room.”

“I will fetch it, if you wish.”

“No, because I didn’t finish tying the ribbon. The maids came to do my hair, and I forgot. Wait here with Cryalla. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

I whisked back into the inner rooms, and down the corridor to my sitting room. Then I had to find more ribbon, so it took me longer than I’d expected.

As I made my way back, I heard the low murmur of voices through the open door. It could only be Arran and Cryalla, for they were alone. The rest of my attendants for the evening were in the outer rooms. Yet the tone was softer than usual, as if they were whispering.

I reached the door, which stood open a crack, and stopped, a bolt of shock charging through me. They stood close, far too close. She was leaning against the wall, looking up at him with a little smile. He was pressed against her, his face no more than a handspan from hers. And as I watched, horrified, he narrowed the gap, and brushed her lips with his.

Spinning round, I fled back to my sitting room. A heaving breath. I took another breath, trying to still my thundering heart, and stop myself from shaking like a dried leaf. I paced up and down, up and down, willing myself to calmness.

By the third breath, I had decided what I had to do.

I sat down and wrote a note to the guards’ commander. Then I once again left the private quarters. This time I made sure to make a noise as I approached. When I emerged, they stood a short distance apart.

“Ready, my love?” Arran said. The tone sounded no different from usual, but I fancied I could detect a certain consciousness in his expression.

I wasn’t sure I could trust my voice, so I waved the beribboned present at him with what I hoped was a convincing smile. As we passed through the apartment into the public rooms and met the gaggle of waiting women, scribes and mages who accompanied me everywhere now, I summoned the door steward.

“See that this is delivered,” I said, pressing the note into his hand. Then I went out for the evening with Arran by my side and Cryalla one pace behind, and pretended that nothing at all had happened.

The next morning, I had two new bodyguards.

“Oh! Where is Cryalla?” Arran said, gazing around as if he expected her to emerge from behind a dresser or sofa.

“I replaced her.” Then I swept into my first meeting of the morning.

Whenever I saw Arran between meetings, or at board, he was subdued. He’d had plenty of hours to work it out, and wonder about it. Still, he was too much the diplomat to raise the issue in public.

But as soon as the door closed behind us that evening and we were alone, he turned to me.