Time of Daughters II

by Sherwood Smith

  That day in the Pass, nobody seemed to notice anything amiss as Captain Basna said to Quill, “They sent you to the Idegans? I thought you were redoing the water spells.”

  “I was. I am.” Quill tapped his saddlebag. “But the long runners were all elsewhere, so I said I’d run a message over the Pass to Andahi.”

  “Any news from up there?”

  “The only item of import was some crowing about having chased the Skunk’s gang into the southern mountains.”

  “No doubt pushing him down onto our side.” Captain Basna made a spitting motion, then raised a hand in salute, and clucked at his mount as they started up the Pass.

  “Skunk?” Connar asked, glancing back at Quill’s solitary figure.

  “Jendas Yenvir, a horse thief. They say he’s part morvende—he’s got the white hair and fish-pale skin, but no talons. And he has a black stripe going from brow to the back of his head, the way that some part morvende do. He’s tried to get his gang called after white hunting cats, but the locals all call him Skunk.”

  Connar scarcely listened to the talk about Jendas Yenvir and his striped hair. He was still thinking about Quill. Of course the runners would carry weapons—they could encounter anyone in those mountains, most often various types of brigands or run warriors escaping punishment for crimes, who certainly wouldn’t respect those blue coats.

  It's just that no one had ever seen the feet training with weapons, though it was stupid to think them incapable. Even Fish could carry his own weight—Connar had gone to watch the garrison runners’ drill one morning before his first garrison posting, to discover it wasn’t much different than what he’d done as an academy senior, except more hand to hand, and of course no lance training.

  After reflecting on these things, he turned his head on the pillow, and said to Lineas, “Do you think Quill could take me down?”

  She opened heavy eyes, looking confused at the abrupt question when she was so used to his habitual silence. Her voice husky with sleep, she murmured, “I think he would risk his life to defend you.”

  Connar accepted that, turned over, and neither woke until the dawn bells.

  By then word of the new orders had spread along the residence; when they rose, Lineas to retreat to her room to fetch clothes for the baths, there was Fish with coffee for Connar.

  On her way to the door, Lineas was about to give Fish a polite good morning, but met such a narrow-eyed, white-lipped glare the words froze in her throat as she stopped just inside the suite door.

  His gaze flicked to the shut bedchamber door, then he said in a low, venomous voice, “You think I’m incompetent, is that it?”

  “What?” she said.

  Fish’s lip curled. “You seemed to have weaseled your way into going north. Well, you’re in for a surprise if you think you’ve got him by the prick.”

  “The orders came from the queen. I didn’t—”

  The latch rattled as Connar began to open the door, and Fish turned away, his hands stiff with tension as he began to uncover Connar’s breakfast tray.

  Lineas did not understand the tension between Connar and Fish, but she’d learned to glide silently between them. She was gone before Connar emerged into the room.

  She met the queen’s third runner Sage and Noren’s Holly going down to the baths and joined them.

  “You look sober,” Sage said to Lineas.

  “It’s...I don’t understand the rivalry with the garrison runners,” Lineas said, unwilling to mention Fish’s name, as that felt like gossip.

  Holly relished gossip, being as curious as she was lively. She’d been the first of the newcomers to master the complexities of relationships among castle staff, and she had not endured the years of lessons the royal runners were given about circumspection. “Fish get nasty with you?”

  Lineas looked startled as Sage said, “I should have guessed. He’s in a snit over your being transferred to the princes, right?”

  Bitterness, Lineas had learned early, usually stemmed from the kind of disappointment that seemed unjust. But she had never done anything to Fish. So it had to be due to something older. “I don’t understand—we’re all dedicated to service.”

  Sage gazed into the middle distance, then said finally, “It’s not you, Lineas. It’s us. Fish Pereth was a fuzz same year as me. He’s smart. Very. But he liked mean games. When he got caught, he said everything he was supposed to, but as soon as the seniors were out of sight, he went right back to it. So they sent him over to the garrison runners. He’s hated us ever since.”

  Lineas recollected her first year. Fish had been derided as a snitch by the garrison boys in their never-ending feuds and stalking not-quite-games, that the fuzz (first year royal runners in training) had been strictly forbidden to stay out of.

  “Did they tell him why when they put him out of the royal runners? Oh, but they must have,” Lineas said.

  When she was fourteen, two of her fellow fledglings had been released from training, a boy and a girl, both of whom had spent time closeted with the masters before they went elsewhere—one to the scribes, and one sent all the way back to Feravayir. The first one, she remembered, had wanted to go. He preferred the scribe life. The second had been a bit more mysterious, but then life was generally mysterious to her then.

  Sage eyed her. “You’re thinking of Liet Genda. Maybe you didn’t know that she turned out to be what the military would call a spy. Her loyalty belonged to Lavais-Jarlan of Feravayir, not to the kingdom.” She sighed. “This is what Camerend said to me. The senior staff can explain as carefully as is possible, but people are going to hear what they wish to hear. I believe Fish Pereth heard only that we didn’t want him.”

  Holly’s hands flung wide, then she said with a wry face, “I’m not surprised, considering how horrible everyone says his mother is, and that uncle that everyone says is a drunk—”

  Sage cut that off, as usual, saying in a scolding voice, “I wish you wouldn’t spread about ‘what everyone says’ without telling us who said it first, and what proof they have. Retren Hauth is an excellent master, that’s what I’ve heard from Headmaster Andaun....”

  Lineas didn’t hear the rest, as she scarcely knew who Master Hauth was. Instead, she was contemplating what she had observed as a small child in Darchelde, how anger begets anger. Fish was angry over something, so she resolved to be kinder to him, as on the other side of the garrison, in the cramped, stuffy quartermaster’s office, Fish complained with pent-up resentment about the interloper royal runner.

  His father listened with scarcely hidden disinterest, and Retren Hauth with the close attention he paid to anything that remotely touched the true king.

  At the end, “Lineas said she didn’t weasel her way into those orders, but I don’t believe it. Of course she did. She had to. When has anyone ever taken women on military posts?”

  “She’s a royal runner,” Hauth stated derisively, for he loathed whining. “They go everywhere. The garrison trains men as runners for the military captains and commanders, but the royal runners have never made a gender distinction, since they don’t fight, and are excluded from the chain of command. One of the reasons why we only assign male runners to captains and above is that they sometimes earn side-promotions in the field.”

  Fish knew that, of course: runners were sometimes commandeered into logistical support. He had no interest in such a promotion.

  Hauth went on. “But that won’t happen with that girl, so why are you complaining? They probably need another paper-weasel up north. Has she ever lied to you?”

  “She doesn’t talk to me. I make sure of that.”

  His father, the garrison quartermaster, lifted his head at that, and said mildly, “Might be a mistake.”

  Hauth snapped his palm down and away. “If royal runners gossip, it’s always in one or another of those old languages no one uses anymore. She won’t jabber with Fish.” And to Fish, “Nothing I’ve heard about her indicates that she lies. Have you ever considered
that Connar asked for her? It’s probable, if they’re exclusive.”

  “But that’s just it,” Fish exclaimed. “He’s not. While he’s here, she’s convenient, but the day we ride out, he’s got his eye roving. Male or female, it’s rarely the same one twice. They come at him everywhere we go, and some days, it feels like they’re lining up at the door,” he finished with disgust.

  “He’s young.” Hauth shrugged. “And he’s still at that snotty defiant age. He’s not the only one,” he added.

  Fish flushed with mortification, and muttered, “The only person he talks to is Nadran-Sierlaef. And that’s mostly telling him what to think.”

  Tired of Fish’s habitual trail, Hauth resorted to his own equally habitual trail. “This next post is their first taste of command. You’ll see. It’ll make all the difference. Connar won’t be able to miss how stupid the heir is when it’s them giving the commands for the first time. He’ll get tired of doing all the thinking, and when he does, he’ll need allies. You are in place to be the first.”

  Fish sighed.

  Hauth added, “As for the girl. If you can, listen to the two of them.”

  “Shit,” Fish uttered with heartfelt revulsion. “It’s bad enough being around them without trying to ear in on their headboard banging.”

  Hauth hissed out a sigh. “Before. Or after. We need to know what’s in his mind, and remember, whatever he’s telling her is surely making its way to the king and queen in that girl’s regular reports.”

  Hauth left after a few more exhortations, leaving Fish alone with his father. “I don’t think Connar tells anybody anything,” he groused.

  His father, aware that his son hadn’t come out with that opinion in Hauth’s hearing, retorted, “Your job is to make sure of that.”

  Fish left, disgusted with everything and everybody. The only thing he was sure of was that riding out of the royal city, once his greatest pleasure, had been ruined. He slunk to the garrison drill court to work off his temper while Connar was scrapping with the rankers.

  Passing in the other direction, Quill at last had a chance to visit Hliss, now officially Aunt Hliss, as she was wearing a ring on her heart finger, matching the one Camerend wore. Her work chamber was heady with the pungent scent of flowers used in dyes as they talked.

  Quill looked down in delight at Blossom (given the name Danet on her Name Day, but that altered rapidly through a series of sickeningly sweet nicknames until Blossom was settled on what everybody agreed was the cutest baby ever born) as she toddled about, chattering. Quill had so little family that every added person made him happy, especially as he had always liked and admired Hliss, and Blossom, so far, had the same even temper as Andas, Hliss’s son by the king.

  Hliss watched with pleasure how careful Quill was with Blossom’s eager lurches and wild battings of dimpled hands, then he looked over her blond, curly head to ask, “How is Andas?”

  “Flourishing. Even though your father’s mostly at Darchelde now, he still sees to it that I receive regular letters. Also, ever since Andas learnt writing, Arrow’s been sending his own runners, or asking the ones going to and from Larkadhe to ride to Farendavan before taking the south road.” Hliss’s gentle face curved into a sardonic smile that brought the gunvaer sharply to mind for a moment before she said, “He knows I won’t let Andas return until he’s too old for the academy, but I suspect Arrow can’t help hoping. However he might wheedle, Andas is with my mother. She won’t let him go.”

  “The king can’t help but hope, I suspect,” Quill said. “He’s proud of his army.”

  Hliss’s dimples were back. “Oh, I know. And we don’t argue about it anymore. He comes over at least once a week, sometimes more when he can, Noddy often with him, to share his letters and read mine. Things are—”

  They looked up at the shadow in the open door. A fledgling whose name Quill hadn’t learned yet touched fingers to chest and said, “Quill, summons to the roost.”

  Quill bent down to kiss the top of Blossom’s curly head. He flicked a quick farewell to Hliss, who continued sorting flowers for dye, and crossed the court toward the main castle as the fledgling ran on with the rest of her messages.

  He reached the roost, where Mnar was waiting. “We haven’t a lot of time,” she said. “I’ve written to Camerend. He says he’ll write you when he can—he’s in a blizzard at the moment—but right now he wants you to tutor Lineas in the protocols of state runners.”

  “Lineas?” Quill repeated.

  “It will mostly have to be by letter. We’re making her a golden notecase now, as you know she’s unable to do magic. An initial set of studies that she can take along—”

  “Where?”

  “To Larkadhe.”

  “What?” He didn’t realize he’d yelled the word until he saw Mnar’s mouth tighten. “Why?” he said more quietly.

  “Ask the gunvaer,” Mnar retorted, and Quill flushed, listening to the rest of her instructions without comment.

  He left, wild with the urge to demand answers to questions that he had no right to ask. Sharpest was regret that he had not asked Lineas if she would like to exchange letters while he was gone. Five years of silence, meant to cure him of his infatuation, was proving to be the worst decision he could have made. All it had accomplished was to create a divide in their old easy communication.

  Now that he was losing her presence, he would simply have to bridge that distance by letter.

  THREE

  The entire castle and a good part of the city turned out to watch the two princes depart for the north. Fish relished the attention, the clatter of horse hooves and rattle of weapons as the chosen wing formed up into column, banners snapping in the fresh spring breeze.

  The king and queen came down to say goodbye to the young men they would always think of as boys, off to their first command.

  As everyone assembled in the great stable court (except the supply carts, which were already on their way out of the city gate), Arrow walked up and stood at Noddy’s stirrup.

  He smiled from Noddy to Connar. Strictly speaking Noddy, as heir, ought to ride at the front, but Noddy insisted they ride together, just as they’d share command.

  “So you’re wearing the captain’s flash now,” Arrow said, pointing to the new silver chevron that Noddy and Connar each wore on their right sleeve, below the flare of the coat shoulder cap.

  Both princes suppressed the urge to touch the symbols of real command, though they were highly conscious of them. “That’s what the heir traditionally wore when doing his two years at Larkadhe,” Arrow said, having thrashed this much out with Danet over an early breakfast. “You also know I didn’t do that two years. But I’ve told you everything my Da told me, when he used to ride there on inspections. Only now you’ve got your share of tax money up in the north again, which he rarely did, so they shouldn’t be griping too much. Ah, people always find something to gripe about,” he said, turning his hand flat, and then aware that he’d rambled from his point, he sighed. “Use good sense up there, right?”

  “Right,” they said, both at the same time. They’d grown up knowing the complexities of Marlovan chain of command: they shared the wing lined up behind them, though Noddy, as heir, had seniority. When they arrived at Larkadhe, they would be able to command the garrison there, but they were under Commander Nermand at Lindeth, and he was under their uncle Jarend at Nevree.

  Noddy didn’t think about any of it. Connar had been unable to think of much else.

  “Then ride out.” Arrow stepped away.

  The princes saluted, fist to chest, and Noddy raised his fist and turned it.

  Now that they were finally moving, Fish nosed his horse up behind Connar and to the left, as Vanadei, Noddy’s first runner, fell in beside him.

  From his privileged position near the front, Fish looked back at the great cavalcade, wondering if Lineas was going to thrust her way up the line? No. He spotted her frizzy red head among the stable hands and all-purpose runners at the
back, where she belonged.

  Fish straightened around, satisfied, as the trumpets on the castle wall pealed.

  Noren and Ranet, standing a little to the side behind Danet, watched Connar and Noddy vanish through the gate.

  Noren didn’t expect acknowledgement. She and Noddy had had breakfast together. They got along well, given that they were such different people. In two years, when Noddy returned from Larkadhe, they’d marry, and she’d take control of the queen’s training. All part of duty.

  It was Ranet whose eyes burned, and her throat ached. She’d schooled herself not to expect any attention from Connar, and had even laughed carelessly with the senior class in the queen’s training about how much fun the girls would have with the young generation’s end of the wing to themselves, but the truth was, she was so clearly not in his thoughts that it hurt, because he was always in hers.

  She gulped down the threatening tears, glad Noren couldn’t hear her sniffs, but then Noren touched her arm and signed, ? with a wry expression.

  Ranet fluttered her fingers, “I’m fine.”

  “If you say so.” And then, after a searching glance, “I hope you aren’t angry with Lineas.”

  Ranet waved her hand in violent negation. “The first story I heard when Braids got home that first year was how Lineas was the one to stay nights with Connar after you-know-what happened. And he’s been true to her ever since. It’s so romantic, and I believe it of her, because she’s so true herself.”

  You-know-what. Noren reflected on how idealistic Ranet was; she couldn’t bear anything negative said about the beautiful Prince Connar, certainly not that he’d been caned bloody for cheating.