If he left the office now, he could walk leisurely to the meeting, gaining fresh air and vision, and exercise, taking his mind off his hunger and by the time he arrived, it would be time for the luncheon. That sounded like an excellent plan. He rose and gathered his coat and called out to Perty that he was leaving, and not to call a carriage. She glanced up from her desk as he passed by, her piles twice the size of his, and he could feel her stare at his back as he walked out of the office. He uttered an inaudible prayer that none of his daughters would grow up to be such an efficient and nearly intolerable person.
Lariel knelt by the font which carried the waters of the River Andredia into the inner courtyard and held forth a cup carved of that stone called chalcedony, said to reveal poisons within whatever liquid it held. The Vaelinars had the Talents and abilities to discern many things, but there were still elements of Kerith that had yet to reveal themselves, good and bad, and this was how she tested the river. She dipped the cup into the pooling waters that swirled in front of her and swished it around gently in the chamber. The creamy blue translucent vessel glistened with the dampness it held, and then took on a smoky aspect which wavered before clearing. She frowned and let the water dribble slowly back into the font with a sigh. Poison, but not strong enough to keep the cup smoky. Still, it detected a wrongness within, growing stronger with every year, and she had no weapon with which to fight it or that which corrupted it. Warrior Queen, they named her, and she had no foe to battle.
She stood slowly and then seated herself on the carved bench at the fountain’s edge, setting the cup underneath it, to rest in waiting till its next trial. Her blood had made a pact to seal their Talents to this world, and in turn, that vow had blessed the river and all it touched and fed with its waters, a God-sworn promise. Had that been broken? And if so, by whom, and how? It might help if she told Jeredon and the others, but this had fallen upon her shoulders when she became head of the House, one of those unspoken legacies that she alone had been expected to be the guardian of. She would enlist their help when she had a plan, but until then, the suspicions remained hers and hers alone.
Lariel turned her face to look into the groves beyond the courtyard, tall trees with coin-shaped leaves that flashed both green and silver in the slight wind, their white-and-silvery trunks swaying. A bird soared overhead and came to a stop at one of the parapets where the messengers landed, and a slender hand immediately reached out to let it into the coops. Life went on. She could not be bitter that this had happened on her watch. Once she knew what she faced, she would gather her army.
Lariel composed herself and rose, crossing to the small gate of the courtyard, and spoke a word that only she knew to speak. The lock clicked open for her to pass, and she closed the gate behind her with another word. Standing on the other side, looking back, she could see nothing other than the gate itself and dancing shadow beyond. So the courtyard had been given to her, and so one day she would pass it on.
In the meantime, she had business to attend to. Dusting her hands, she broke into a brisk stride, crossing the entry yard and the side steps leading into the kitchen and main hall, calling out, “What word, if any, from Sevryn?”
Tiiva descended the inner staircase, her slippered feet making far less noise on the inner polished granite flooring than Lariel’s booted ones, a slight smile on her face. “And how do you know we had any word at all?”
“I saw the bird come in, and it had better be from Sevryn.” Lariel disliked Tiiva’s mild teasing of her. “He’s been on the roads far too long.” Tiiva had put herself in charge of finding an appropriate consort for her, something she had no need or desire for, as of yet. Desire and passion, she had. Just not for commitment. One day she might have to put her seneschal in her place. In the meantime, she tilted her head up to watch Tiiva on the stairs. She carried a small scroll in one hand, her sweeping skirt gathered in the other so as not to trip her steps as she crossed to Lariel and bowed slightly. Her skin glowed a faint copper, and her burnished dark brunette hair with its streaks of copper accented a natural beauty which the sumptuous gown she wore could not rival, though it tried. She seemed amused as she handed the scroll to Lariel. A small pinfeather drifted from the object as she did, and wafted about before landing on the polished granite as Lariel peeled open the scroll. She inclined her eyes so that Lariel might have privacy while reading. Lariel had no doubt that a good deal could be, and was, seen from under those long lashes.
By the time you read this, m’lady Queen, I should be resting in the outer courtyard.
It was signed with an elaborate “S.”
She must have frowned, for Tiiva added, “I hear he asked for ild Fallyn hospitality.”
“I have no hold on his personal affairs nor would I wish to,” Lariel reminded her aide. “He seems to be returning, at any rate.”
Dismissed, Tiiva made a shallow curtsy, before almost turning about, and pausing. “I’ll alert the staff to freshen his rooms. Oh, and we need to order a staghorn count. It’s been a handful of years, and I believe you were worried about their restocking. If the herd needs to be thinned, now would be a good time to stock the larder.”
“Do it, then.” Lariel looked up from the scroll a second time, seeing a faint sheen over the small piece of paper that indicated something hidden for her eyes only had been writ as well, and her gaze met Tiiva’s. “Ah. Would you care to ride out yourself, with a few to assist?”
“As you wish, Queen Lariel. I will admit that a day or so away from my duties would be most refreshing.”
Lariel gestured. “Go, then. Take anyone you need but Jeredon.”
The corner of Tiiva’s mouth twitched ever so slightly before she inclined her head and left, taking the stairs with the same light, deliberate, gown-sweeping steps as she had descended them. Lariel gave her an ever-so-brief glance, weighing her reaction over Jeredon. She noted it as she made her way through the building toward the Rider’s Gate, knowing that her aide seldom showed any emotion and wondering if it had been played out for her, however quickly, on purpose. Jeredon and Tiiva. Not a bad match, if one were to consider matches instead of other business at hand.
Lariel pushed impatiently through the Rider’s Gate and found Sevryn seated on an upturned crate, harness and saddle in his arms, watching a stable lad trying to coax his horse into behaving. The hot-blooded animal, though covered with trail dust, did not look at all tired, and pranced from side to side, eyeing the lad suspiciously as if he might bite or kick the youth. Sevryn was being no help at all, using his Talent now and then to whisper a word of command only the horse could hear, keeping him in an alert state, ears flicking back and forth to listen and obey.
Lariel reached over Sevryn’s shoulder and took a firm grip on his ear in a sound pinch. “Let the boy do his work,” she suggested.
Sevryn froze and cleared his throat. After another pace or two back and forth, the beast began to quiet down and finally dropped his head and let himself be led away. The stable lad did so with a look of quiet triumph on his face. Sevryn waited till they had rounded the corner before shifting his body, removing his ear from her hold. “See that? No harm done. Stuffed him full of confidence.”
“Like you, that beast of yours is often too full of himself.”
“That’s why we had him gelded,” Sevryn responded lightly. “Trying to do the same to me?”
Lariel laughed. “Never.”
“That is good to know.” He hefted his saddle in his arms. “You look a bit overworked this morning, my queen. I suggest a cold glass of apple cider while I do my duties here and clean up, and then we can talk about my journey. I haven’t much I can tell you, I fear.” They entered the tack room in tandem, and he put his gear up on the pegs and barrels, then turned to her, half smiling. The bustle of stable workers continued beyond them, and the restless kick of a hoof against a wooden wall echoed.
The smile never reached his eyes. Disturbing eyes, storm-gray and yet one colored except for the pupil, eyes that were not of Vaelinar and held no hint whatsoever of the Talent he carried within his genes. Sevryn was that which no one had run across before, and that very feature which always disturbed her made him invaluable. No Vaelinar would even dare guess that he carried their magic in his veins. Decades of outbreeding on Kerith had proved otherwise. She saw the pink pucker of a new scar along the curve of his throat, and as his attention followed her gaze, he shifted uncomfortably and pulled the collar of his shirt up to cover it.
“Later, then,” she agreed. “I’ll meet you in the kitchens, since you look underfed as well.”
She did not hear his answer as one of the stabled horses let out a long whinny, and the tack door closed on her heels as she left. Lariel took up a chair in the kitchen, ignoring the workday around her, and asked for a glass of cider as he’d suggested, dropping the scroll carelessly as she did, and the glass spilled when she reached for it, inundating the message. With a tsk of fuss, Laraiel wiped the scroll and table over quickly.
Faint words rose to the surface under the wipe of cider, the mild acid proofing the ink he’d used.
Ild Fallyn looks to the east. And there are spies in Larandaril. Lady Tressandre sends a request for an Honor Duel with the Warrior Queen
.
Lariel frowned heavily over that last. Duel! Who did Tressandre think she dealt with? No wonder Sevryn did not give words to that last request; once spoken, rumors would spread through the holdings like wildfire. Tressandre made it plain that she chafed under Lariel’s rule in Larandaril. She would take the title from her, if given the opportunity. Well, that opportunity would not be extended! With a mutter, she crumpled the scroll and tossed it in the kitchen fire, watching it flare orange and then turn to blackened ashes as she drank her juice and pretended to warm herself a bit. The juice held no flavor at all as her thoughts mingled with the flame, dancing on the brick hearth. Sevryn had told her three things, one she had feared inevitable, one unthinkable, and the last a total shock to her. Of all places on Kerith she had deemed safe, her own Larandaril was the foremost. Now, it was not. That, too, had been inevitable, she supposed. She knew the moment she stepped outside her holding that the world could not be held secure. But this place, her home, her heart, always had been.
Till now.
She finished her juice and set it aside, leaning back in a rare moment of leisure and letting an expression of boredom and relaxation settle on her features, despite her racing mind. When Sevryn came in, she must have looked half asleep, basking in the warmth of the kitchen, for he laughed softly and said, “The kitten has been in the cream, it seems.” He sat down, clothes changed, his hair wet and slicked back, the points of his ears plainly visible and the new scar neatly hidden away from view under a high collar. “Any way I can get a meal now?”
“Of course.” Lariel raised a finger, and the second cook nodded, grinning, bustling away to the larder and warmer pantry to throw together something for Sevryn. Lariel stood and got a wet cloth, leaning over Sevryn to wipe down the table, explaining, “I spilled my juice. Other than that, your advice was sound.”
“Can’t have a Warrior Queen looking peaked.” He crossed his legs at his ankles. “Where is Jeredon?”
“Out training. How were the roads?”
“Muddy.” Sevryn eyed his boots, which he’d scraped though they could hardly be called spotless, and tapped the top of them. “Should be a good planting year if it lightens up, otherwise rust will get to the crops.”
She nodded. “So I have heard. You’re coming with me to Calcort?”
He winced slightly, one hand going almost unconsciously to his rib cage and rubbing there. “If you need me, I will attend.”
“I do. I need as many ears as I can have about me, for there is much to hear in the provinces these days. I intend on going to the Conference there. It’s been a session or two since I’ve gone. Summer court in Calcort seems prudent.”
He shrugged as if disinterested. “Rumors only, m’lady queen. Always rumors. It keeps the rest of us from being bored to death.” He dropped his crossed feet squarely to the floor, sitting up and paying attention only when the second cook approached with a platter and crockery for eating. Sevryn managed a crooked smile. “This business comes first, if you don’t mind.”
Lariel speared a bowl of berries from his platter, saying, “I don’t mind at all.”
They sat in silence, eating, Lariel wondering if he had anything further to tell her, and he no doubt wondering if he really had to return to Calcort, where the Kobrir assassin had gone after her and he’d stood in the way. She smiled faintly at the memory, at chance meetings, and fate. Using her fingers, she ate her berries, enjoying the burst of sweet yet tart flavor in her mouth, promising of lusher, riper flavor yet to come. They both ate, Sevryn heavily and she lightly, discussing things that seemed important but weren’t really, trading insignificant information, his attention on devouring his meal and hers on wondering when and where they could speak freely.
Time, she realized, was no longer on her side. Even a river did not flow forever.
Keldan saw the blaze from the treetop in which he perched, smoke-colored against the looming rain moving in, and an orange glow flickering wildly off the storm’s edge. He blinked and rubbed his eyes to be sure he saw what he did, then yelled down. “Da! Da!
Tolby.
The beacon’s afire!” He flew out of the tree limbs in a mad scramble, letting the last branch whip him to the ground where he landed in a crouch and straightened. His father turned slowly, expression not comprehending, and Keldan grabbed him by his coat flaps to face the northern horizon.
“The beacon is burning!” When Tolby’s eyes widened in realization, Keldan let go, saying, “I’ll run and get Hos and Garner,” legs bunched to dash away even as he spoke.