Empire's Reckoning

by Marian L Thorpe

  I waited another half an hour, and then I took Kyreth aside. “I must go back,” I said. “I cannot leave Cillian to find empty rooms.”

  Chapter 34

  He wasn’t alone. Gnaius was with him, and Apulo. The relief I felt at that came with a twinge of self-disgust. Cillian stood at the window of their sitting room, the shutters opened to the sky and wind. He turned when I came in. He’d have heard my triple rap, known it was me.

  He didn’t speak. “They think Tyrvi took a boat to sail south. Maybe trying to get to Tirvan. Lena went after them,” I said, forcing the words through a dry mouth.

  Cillian turned back to the window. “I have sailed with Lena,” he said, “in weather not so different. She is more than competent.”

  But they had been sailing with the wind, the storm behind them. I had navigated the waters off Gundarstorp since I was twelve, and I had known experienced fishermen lose their lives fighting to bring a boat home in the teeth of a storm. “No doubt you are right,” I said. I couldn’t think about Tyrvi, inexpert and with two babies in the boat with her. I could only hope Lena had reached them before the weather worsened.

  “Why has Tyrvi done this?’ Cillian asked. He was too calm. Detached, almost, as he had been in Casil. I told him what I thought, what I had told Lena. He nodded.

  “So she is taking her to Lena’s sister, you believe? To Tirvan and her people?”

  “That is what Lena concluded, yes,” I said.

  “Did I not say almost everything Casil asks conflicts with this land’s traditions?” he said. Apprehension prickled along my spine. If he said more in front of Gnaius...

  “Forget that,” I said, sharply. “We can concern ourselves with it later.”

  He looked at me then. “Do not worry, mo duíne gràhadh,” he said. “This is not a price the god will ask of me.” He sounded completely certain. What drug had Gnaius given him? I turned to the physician, frowning the question. He beckoned me over.

  “Cannabium,” he murmured in my ear, “and certain other herbs, in wine. I will give him more, in another hour, if there is no news. Or if it is not good.”

  I couldn’t settle, unable to think of anything but the rough seas and a little fishing boat battling against them. I paced for a while, and then I sat, wrapping my arms around myself. Cillian remained at the window. Rain drummed on the roof and flagstones, the wind blowing it away from the open shutters.

  Apulo lit lamps around the room, and then made his noiseless way over to me to place his hands on my shoulders. I looked up, surprise dimly registering. He began to gently massage me. Behind him, I heard Gnaius at the sideboard, busy with wine and drugs. I wondered if he would give me a little, if I asked, to stop me thinking of drenching waves and the tiny body they could so easily sweep away. Bodies: Darel was out there too.

  “Thank you,” I murmured to Apulo, before I rose abruptly to stand beside Cillian. This time I could hear the unsteadiness in his breathing. The effects of the drugs were fading. I put an arm around him, feeling tautness and a faint trembling.

  “By my side, as Lena asked,” he said.

  “She isn’t dead,” I said. “They aren’t.” I had to believe it. She is as necessary to me as breathing, he had told me once, in a place and time I couldn’t think about just now. I slipped both arms around him, resting my cheek against his back, feeling his heartbeat, light and rapid, under my hands.

  The wail of a baby made us both turn. Apulo ran to the door, pulling it open. Lena stumbled in, dripping rain, Gwenna in her arms and another woman behind her. An incoherent sound from Cillian, and he moved towards her, steadying himself on the furniture. He wrapped his arms around them, murmuring words I couldn’t hear.

  Tension drained from my shoulders and neck. I grinned at Gnaius and Apulo like a fool, and Gnaius smiled back and emptied the wine cup he held into a bowl. Refilling it, he handed it to me. I drank half of it in one swallow. I exhaled, deeply, and at that sigh Cillian looked my way. He held out one arm. “Come here, Sorley,” he said softly.

  “No,” I said. Lena turned her head.

  “Yes,” she said, and so I did.

  Gnaius allowed us our reunion and reassurance for a few minutes before asserting himself as the physician. He made Lena sit while he examined the baby in the nursery, ordering Apulo to make tea for the sodden women. When Lena raised a hand to take the mug Apulo offered, both he and I gasped.

  “Your hands,” I said.

  “What?” She looked at them, bleached and torn, flayed, I realized immediately, by the wet, salt rigging she’d handled for so many hours on the sea. Once her hands would have been callused, inured to the work, but that had been years ago. “Oh,” she said.

  The other woman clucked her tongue. “I did not see, in the dark,” she said.

  Apulo had disappeared into the nursery. He came back with a cloth, wrapping it around the mug. “Not hurt so much,” he said. Lena took the mug, holding it gingerly before taking a sip.

  “Thank you,” she said. She seemed to remember the other woman was there suddenly. “Marcail, you are soaked. Sorley, ask Apulo to find her a towel, and show her where my clothes are, in the bedroom?”

  “You should change too,” I said. Cillian and I were wet too, but we hadn’t spent hours out in the storm.

  “I will. In a minute. Why is Gnaius taking so long with Gwenna?” Cillian had gone with his daughter. I heard the note of panic in her voice.

  “I’ll see,” I said, but I didn’t need to. The two men returned, Gwenna in Cillian’s arms, grizzling a little. Gnaius walked beside him, a hand on Cillian’s elbow.

  “She is fine,” he announced. “But hungry, I believe.”

  “It’s why Marcail came,” Lena said. “She left her own baby with the women in Berge. But let me hold her first?” She reached out for Gwenna.

  “Your hands?” I said. “Gnaius, look at them.”

  An hour later all was calm, Lena in dry clothes, her hands salved and bound, and Gwenna fed and sleeping on her mother’s lap. I’d tried to leave, to sharp objections from both Lena and Cillian. Apulo had brought us food, and built up the fire. Marcail had gone to the nursery and the bed there.

  “You miss the baths, and massage,” Apulo said to Cillian, quietly.

  “Then twice tomorrow, if I must,” Cillian replied.

  “You can go,” Lena said. “I’m all right.”

  “No,” he said. “Not tonight.” He sat close to her, stroking her hair every so often. “I should have seen this could happen.”

  “You cannot see all outcomes,” Lena said. “I’ve told you that before. Not even you.”

  “I should have said something,” I admitted. “When Tyrvi made those comments to me.”

  “Why would you?” Lena asked. “The thoughts of a young girl? I don’t think I’d have taken them seriously either, even if she’d said the same to me. No, the fault lies with me. Talyn and I were speaking last week of the new law, that within a marriage both boy and girl children belong to the father. Tyrvi was in the nursery, and I thought the door closed, but it must not have been.”

  “An extreme reaction, but Tyrvi will not be the only woman to object,” Cillian said.

  “How is Tyrvi? And Darel?” I hadn’t thought to ask until now.

  “I left them with Kyreth,” Lena said. “Darel was well wrapped; Tyrvi took great care of both babies, but I’m worried for her. She was near exhaustion when I reached them, soaked through and terrified.”

  “She’s lucky to be alive,” I said, without thinking.

  “So is Gwenna,” Lena said sharply. She leaned forward. “I want you both to hear me. I know there will be complications with your work, Cillian, and with Druise, but nonetheless: I want us in Linrathe. I want Gwenna in Linrathe, away from people who would risk her life to claim her for one faction or another. I’ll resign from the army: it doesn’t matter that much to me. There will be work I can do at the Ti’ach, of some sort.”

  “Not a conversation for tonight,
käresta,” Cillian said. “You too are exhausted.”

  “Perhaps,” she said. “Yes. But do not brush this off, Cillian. I mean it.”

  “I am not,” he said. “We will talk tomorrow.”

  She gave him a level, unsmiling look. “Yes,” she said, “we will. And tell Livius I want that statue of the huntress. Three times I have prayed to her, once to guide the bowshot that killed Fritjof, and twice now for Gwenna’s life. She needs to be honoured.”

  Chapter 35

  Reluctantly, I left the next day for Dun Ceànnar, for more talks with Liam. The Governor had accepted timber as tribute, and a delivery schedule needed developing.

  The planning took time: Liam had little stamina, and his weakness frustrated him, but he insisted no decisions could be made without him. All of us – even the Teannasach – endured his withering remarks.

  “Liam does not look well at all,” I commented to Daoíre the first afternoon, while the old man rested.

  “He isn’t,” Daoíre said. “But he won’t admit it, and for all we guide his thoughts now, he’ll know if we decide something he didn’t approve.” He drank some of his ale. “It’s teaching Ruar patience and subtlety, though, so there’s value to his obstinacy, in a way.”

  Our short meetings left me with time on my hands, and I took advantage of it. Bhradaín had no objection at all to working with me to improve aspects of both my playing and singing. “Gladly,” he’d said, when I’d asked. “We’ll concentrate on your voice; it’s where you’re least skilled.”

  We were practicing in the great hall a few days later, discussing how different inflections changed how a listener interpreted the words of a danta, when Liam appeared unexpectedly. “You are toscaire, not scáeli,” he growled at me. “Leave this, and come with me.”

  I didn’t hide my displeasure; Liam’s eyesight wasn’t good enough for him to see the look on my face in the dimly-lit hall. Bhradaín touched my arm in commiseration. “Lessons in influencing an audience’s responses are appropriate for both scáeli and toscaire,” he said, his voice level.

  “Aye, maybe,” Liam said. “But my toscaire’s time is mine now.”

  My toscaire? I saw Bhradaín’s eyes narrow slightly, but he said nothing. I followed Liam, not into our usual meeting room with its large table, but into a smaller one, where even on this summer’s day a small fire burned.

  “What have you to tell me about the trading port?” he snapped, as soon as the door was closed.

  “Nothing,” I said. “The Governor wishes to discuss that directly with the Teannasach and his advisors. I assume it will be Daoíre who accompanies Ruar to Wall’s End later this summer?”

  “I do not want Ruar in the south,” he said, his face purpling with anger. “He should never have been sent as hostage. I do not know what Donnalch was thinking.”

  “He cannot always have a go-between,” I said. “Casil will expect his direct involvement. Or,” I added, “will they not wonder why? You do not want the Governor thinking Linrathe’s leader incapable, do you?”

  His face grew even darker. “You will keep him away from Cillian na Perras, do you hear me? I want none of his influence on the boy.”

  “Cillian, Prince of Ésparias,” I said coldly, “is a senior diplomat for his country. I have no say in who meets with the Teannasach on a political visit. I am only Linrathe’s toscaire. Give those instructions to Daoíre, if you must.”

  He’d heard my emphasis on ‘Linrathe’. “Get out of my sight, toscaire,” he spat. I’d never been so happy to obey him.

  Twelve days later, I rode into Wall’s End just after midday. I went in search of Cillian or Lena. Neither was available, but Apulo, tidying their rooms, greeted me with genuine pleasure, I thought. They were in talks with the Governor, he told me, but yes, Gwenna was well, and there was a new nursemaid. Relieved, I left a message that I was back, and went to the carpenter’s shop to oil my ladhar one more time.

  Late in the afternoon I tried their rooms, finding Lena feeding Gwenna something that looked like mashed peas. Cillian was having his treatments, she told me. “Both of you with the Governor?” I said. “I thought the question of land ownership had been settled.”

  “It has,” Lena said. “We are discussing the age of marriage now. Did you know girls marry in Casil at fourteen?”

  “Fourteen?” I said. “Actually marry, not a betrothal?”

  “Marry,” she confirmed. “And Casil’s laws are ours now. Or are supposed to be: it is what Talyn and I are arguing against.”

  I poured tea from the pot on the table. “Are you getting anywhere?”

  “Perhaps. We are arguing that Ésparias needs its women to be skilled at their trades, so the apprenticeship structure makes seventeen the more reasonable choice. He is listening, at least, but I am not sure he is convinced.” She held the spoon to Gwenna’s lips. “No? Well, you’ve eaten enough.” She wiped the baby’s face and put her down on the floor.

  “You’re weaning her?” I asked.

  “Yes. I know it’s early, but it will be easier for everyone.” The door opened. I stood to greet Cillian.

  He smiled down at me after our kiss of greeting. “I must spend the evening in the senior commons,” he said. “I wish now I did not have to, but I have made the arrangements. How is Ruar?”

  Lena picked up Gwenna. “She’ll need changing. You can have her in a minute.” She went through to the nursery. I poured tea for Cillian.

  “Ruar is well,” I said, handing him the cup. “Maturing rapidly. Liam tires easily now, and can work for no more than an hour at a time. So I spent as much time, or more, with Ruar talking of our travels as I did in the actual tribute discussions. But it got done in the end.”

  We talked about Dun Ceànnar until Lena returned to put Gwenna down in Cillian’s lap. She babbled happily, and he kissed her hair.

  “Dinner here tomorrow night?” Lena asked. “Cillian’s missed you. Eat, and then go and play xache.”

  “With pleasure,” I said.

  We’d left the game unfinished, moving eventually to the chairs by the hearth where Cillian could rest his aching leg on a footstool. I’d been adding fuel to the fire when he’d said my name, softly. I’d looked up, smiling, but his face had not held the expression I’d expected.

  “What is Liam doing, behind Ruar’s back?” he asked.

  “There are...certain negotiations,” I stammered. “You know I can’t tell you.”

  “Then I will tell you. You do not need to comment. Liam is offering Casil timber, the tribute once paid to Varsland now given to Casil, as we discussed. And he is also suggesting a trading fort with a deep harbour, where perhaps ships may be built, and the Marai ships can come to trade.”

  I tried to keep my face impassive, but I doubt I succeeded. I picked up my wine glass to take a sip, hoping it would disguise my thoughts. Cillian barely glanced at me, though. “It all seems reasonable,” he said, “especially since Liam hopes for support from Casil to retake Sorham. But beware of those you ask into your house, for they may make it their own. A deep harbour on Linrathe’s coast may be protection, and a trading base. It may also be a foothold from which to bring Linrathe, and perhaps even Varsland, under Casil’s complete rule. Is the mouth of the Tabha the suggested location for the harbour?”

  “Cillian,” I said helplessly, sinking back down into my chair. His interpretation made chilling sense.

  “Do not forget your danta,” he went on, “and how far up the Tabha Halvar brought his ships.”

  “How did you know?”

  “Now it is I who cannot say. To protect the man who told me, you understand.”

  “What do I do?”

  “Talk to Ruar, privately. Just the concern, this alternate explanation of Casil’s interest. Plant the seed of suspicion. That is all you can do.”

  I put my wine down on the low table. “Is this what you would do, were you toscaire for Linrathe, and not me?”

  “It is where I would start. Be care
ful, though, Sorley; judge first the relationship between Ruar and Liam. If he has influenced the boy too greatly, say nothing.”

  “And let Casil take Linrathe?”

  “No. If Ruar is too much under Liam’s control, look to see who in the family is unhappy, excluded, and who his followers are.” He paused. “Then I would prefer it if you did not act, before consulting me. But you must do what your conscience tells you.”

  “Should you be saying this to me?”

  “It is advice only, from an experienced diplomat to one new in his role, nothing more.”

  “I doubt Eudekia would see it that way,” I said. “She’d say you were speaking treason. Again.”

  “If I am, it will not be the first time I have forsworn an oath,” he said, “and this is for love of my country, my true country, whether I can ever go home again or not.”

  My true country. The scream of gulls over the harbour; the sheep on the hills, the curlew crying. Waves, always beating, like a heart. I had signed it away, on Cillian’s advice. Cillian’s, and Turlo’s. Liam had suggested Casil might help regain it.

  Ésparias had asked for the same help, and the price was to be reshaped in Casil’s image. I took things at face value too easily, not considering other motives.

  Words forced themselves to the forefront of my mind. My true country. Not the first time I have forsworn an oath.

  “Cillian,” I said, “did you...is Linrathe’s treaty favourable, because Ésparias’s is not?”

  He didn’t answer immediately. When he did, his voice was low. “I believe not. I hope not, Sorley. But I cannot be sure.”

  But you were sure of the need to surrender Sorham. I ignored the thought, intrusive and unwelcome. “Why shouldn’t you go home to Linrathe?” I asked instead. “Lena is insistent that you must, and it would remove Gwenna further from Casil’s influences.”