Treason's Shore (28 page)

Chapter Sixteen

W
HILE Iasca Leror’s royal city was gripped in winter, Evred and Inda at last took their much-postponed walk through the academy. They began with old reminiscences, talking over each other, breath clouding as they laughed over their ten- and twelve-year-old antics. They laughed even more as they slipped and slid on ice patches. Then Inda asked about the years he was gone. Evred began sharing memories as they approached the senior barracks, which Inda had never set foot in.

Inda had begun to answer when they reached the door. “. . . and you remember how much effort it took me to learn something about those damned lances. I still don’t think I’d—ah. Here we are. I want to go in,” Inda said, interrupting himself.

“It’s empty. Nothing here,” Evred protested mildly.

“I’m curious. I didn’t get this far on Lassad’s tour last summer. He was—” Inda paused, reluctant to say
being Smartlip
.

“Bragging,” Evred finished. “I know. And I recall what you said later that day. Look, Inda, you’re going to find flaws in all the masters. Try as I might, I could not staff the academy with men like Gand, though I wanted to. There aren’t a lot of men like Gand—tough, wise, experienced, and able to teach. Horsepiss Noth is tough, wise, and experienced but he said he’d be terrible as a teacher. What makes him excellent for toughening up dragoons makes him terrible for dealing with boys.”

Inda grimaced. “Didn’t he thrash Whipstick when he had a broken arm? I didn’t think twice about that when we were scrubs, but Whipstick couldn’t have been more than ten.”

“Yes. That was after the egg dance,” Evred said, and Inda heard the regret in his voice.
Dogpiss
. “My father was very careful in selecting Gand, though his choice took everyone by surprise.”

“I get it.” Inda looked around, left hand on hip, right held close to his side. “I get it. Use the strengths, overlook the weaknesses. We did that with picking ship captains. I guess I thought things would be different at home.”

“That we had a kingdom full of Gands for the asking?”

Inda laughed, and smacked his left hand against the lintel before opening the winter door. “Yes. Stupid, isn’t it? If that had been true, everything would be different. Including you and me standing here right now.”

He stepped inside, flung wide the winter shutters, and looked avidly at the battered walls, the warped floorboards, the low bed frames waiting for the old mattresses to come out of storage above the barns, where they acted as insulation for the animals all winter. There was no weight of memory to rein Inda’s thoughts.

“Here’s my question.” He stamped numb feet on the bare wooden floor. “Gand wants me to wait on changes, but won’t the Jarls sit up and howl if I don’t change everything? At the banquets half of them were yapping at me about how I was going to make their boys stronger, better. Faster. What are they expecting?”

Evred leaned in the big window that opened into the coveted senior courtyard. He scarcely heard the question, so intense was the memory of sitting in this window, his favorite place during summer’s still nights, golden light spilling onto the honey-colored stones below as the half-lit silhouettes of boys talked, drummed, sang, laughed. He could almost smell the dust and hay and the distant astringency of summer sage, so close was his younger self who’d sat here wondering where Inda was in the wide world and how to keep a vow of justice.

Inda seemed to think their memories were all happy. Evred gripped the knife-scarred windowsill, his gloved fingers next to a pair of initials shaped like a tree: that boy had been a year older. Rat Cassad’s voice whispered in memory, after the losing battle against the Venn invasion just below Lindeth Harbor
. . . legs tendon-cut, arms smashed at the elbows. We found him on the shore with his own sword sticking up from his ribs
.

Evred turned away. “Tradition,” he said finally, when he discovered Inda not just waiting, but still. He was so rarely still. Usually he rattled around and around whatever space he was in, pacing, rapping, thumping, but now he was motionless, that wide brown gaze as bright and painful as the summer sun. You did not look into the sun. “Tradition is important to us. Or so we say, but when I think about it, every generation has made significant changes from the one before, going back to when we first moved into castles. Now Hadand wants me to bring girls in as King’s Runners.”

Inda said, “Why not? You put girls to work in the archive for the oath project. Nothing terrible happened.”

“I know. I know. It’s considered an honor for families who will never inherit to have a boy invited into the King’s Runners.” He thought of that blood-stained, rent banner hanging over the throne, and said, “Who deserves the honor more than Hadand Tlen, the child who managed to bring what was left of the Andahi children through those terrible weeks?”

“I think it’s a great idea,” Inda stated. “Cama talked about her. Calls her Captain Han. You know how skimpy he is with the praise. I see this idea as a change for the better.”

Evred’s smile was pensive. “So you would think, Elgar the Pirate. As for the academy, the Jarls will all talk as if they expect their sons to come home ready for battle, but they’ll be realistic. You could offer the older boys your Fox drills—”

Inda looked up quickly.

Evred snorted a soft laugh. “I know everyone’s been calling your double-knife style Fox drills. I believe I’ll survive the reminder of old family feuds. Especially since the boys apparently think the name is related to the academy Fox banner.”

“Which also used to belong to Montredavan-An,” Inda began, but stopped when Evred paused by a bed frame, drawing a slow breath.

“Noddy’s?” Inda asked, the Montredavan-Ans forgotten.

In the distance the watch change bell clanged. Evred said quickly, “He hated the sun in mornings. This was the darkest corner. If I could reach down through time—” He extended his fingers, but there was no tousled dark head burrowed under blankets, just an empty frame and cold air. “Let’s go.”

I’ll never come here again,
Evred thought, and closed the shutters.

Chapter Seventeen

O
N the first day of spring, all along the road Adrani villages and towns aired their houses and put seedling pots on windowsills, in the manner of the east end of the continent.

Tau had crossed the broad expanse of Anaeran-Adrani, finding its beauties and unwarlike life very much to his taste. By the time he left the trade center Shiovhan, he was aware that he was being followed, but he shrugged it off: he’d deal with trouble if it came. He hired himself out to share the driving on a northern-bound wagon train, having warned the team leader he would turn off at Elsaraen, wherever that was.

One morning they plodded past a cracked plinth with time- and weather-worn carved letters impossible to make out. If he’d been alone, he would have ridden right past. “There’s your sign, you. It’s old, old’r’n the moon,” the leader added.

The wagon train was slow and steady, so Tau flicked his forehead in salute, hitched his modest carryall over his shoulder, and jumped down without the oxen breaking rhythm. He trudged up the old road that seemed to wind directly into the mountains. The road was edged with white stone, arguing against poverty or some kind of isolated prison. It also argued against a pleasure house, as only a fool would build them out in the middle of nowhere and expect any business. But if his mother had for some crazy reason taken up her trade here instead of going back to Parayid, Jeje would have said so, for she approved of honest work.

He did not begin to guess at the truth until the road opened to a spectacular view of an old Sartoran eight-sided building with complicated arches and sun windows in weather-smoothed stone, enclosed by a “new” castle only a few hundred years old.

Tau stopped at a turn on the road and studied the old castle. The old sign, the well-tended terraced gardens visible in the valley below, the fine road, all gave evidence not just of wealth but of stability. One would think those good signs, so why wouldn’t Jeje?

Tau’s gaze finished taking in the vineyards on the north-facing hills and returned to the castle. A peculiar flutter behind Tau’s ribs—not quite laughter—offered the most likely solution, one Jeje would hate.

With a pained smile, Tau descended the last way, and walked into the castle’s forecourt. Servants came running out, stopping to bow.

Bows, and no word spoken yet.

Tau shook his head, following the one who indicated the way. The servant did not explain anything, by which Tau understood his mother would perform that office herself. She expected him to be surprised and pleased. The second servant relieved him of his carryall as if it were full of precious stones, and he was led up the stairs to a charmingly furnished parlor painted in a delicate blue, furnished with lyre-back chairs and low tables with half-circle legs. The walls and furnishings were edged with patterns of knotwork and stylized flower shapes.

His mother rustled toward him, arms extended gracefully. Saris was more beautiful than ever, dressed in pale blue, white, and gold.

“My darling boy! Here at last!” She enfolded him in a tender embrace.

She smelled wonderful—making him aware that he did not. She said nothing direct. She never had been indelicate. With an airy promise that as soon as he was refreshed and ready, they would have a cozy chat, she left him outside of a beautiful suite, which included a tiled bath with a magically heated waterfall. Everywhere in this ancient castle lay evidence of her exquisite taste—and the wealth to indulge it.

He was clean and dressed in one of his traveling outfits when he rejoined his mother, damp hair spread over his shoulders, having been toweled and combed out by an expert. He had to admit he missed that kind of handling.

The cozy chat was not to be alone, he discovered as she brought forward a tall, gray-haired man by the hand. “Here is my son, darling.” Her dark-lashed golden eyes lifted to the man, who was clearly besotted. “My Taumad.”

And to Tau, “This is Ored Elsaraen, my darling. We were married last Midsummer Day.”

Tau had noticed the ducal symbol by then: the white stylized lily of Colend, slightly altered. Gold lily for kings, silver lily for princes, white for dukes. He had learned that at his mother’s knee, never questioning why he had to learn it.

“Let us go in to eat. You must be hungry,” she declared.

Tau would have preferred to meet his mother alone first. She obviously thought her exalted rank a welcome surprise, but her bringing the duke into their first meeting was no mere flourish. His mother never did anything without purpose, to the smallest movement of her hand, or the way she managed her sweeping skirts. Art. Artful.
Just like me
.

So he followed the duke into a tower where a charming room of intimate proportion had been set up for dining, the dishes fine painted porcelain, the utensils gold.

The quiet, efficient staff entered after them, bearing trays whose contents were served with a finesse Tau recognized from his own experience. The room had only the one entrance, with no anterooms, even a discreet servants’ door. This room was designed to be private. Interesting.

The servants left and shut the door noiselessly behind them.

“So! Tell us about your adventures.” Saris poured out fine Sartoran steep for them all.

“Mostly sailing, and of late I was touring Iasca Leror.”

“My poor boy,” Saris protested. “It has to be the singular most boring kingdom in the world. How relieved you must have been to hear from your Jeje once she discovered me! She enchanted the entire court.”

He did not miss the subtle question implied:
Why was it Jeje and not you who sought me?
“How did she come to find you, Mother?”

Saris laughed lightly. “Through my relations. The younger generations aren’t interested in old quarrels. So it seemed I was to be permitted once again to use my family name—”