by J F Rivkin
“Greymantle, kill,” Nyctasia moaned, pointing to Trask. “Attack. Maim. Mangle.”
Greymantle good-naturedly got up and ambled over to Trask, sniffed him, licked his hand, and then sat down beside him, looking to Nyctasia for further instructions.
“Bad dog, Grey,” she said fondly, at which he clambered onto the couch, crowding her into a corner, and laid his great head on her knee adoringly.
Since Greymantle had failed to rid his mistress of Trask, Corson offered to do so, for a very modest fee, but before they could seal the bargain, their transaction was cut short by the arrival of a page with a letter for Corson.
She recognized the seal-a prancing hare-as the one she sometimes used to send messages from the Hare, but she’d never seen it on a letter directed to herself.
The only missives Corson had ever received were instructions from her employers or orders from her commanders, “It’s from Steifann,” she said in wonder, looking at the letter as if she had no idea what to do with it. “He’s never written to me before.”
“How could he?” Trask asked reasonably. “He’s never known where you were before, when you weren’t at the Hare, stupid.”
“That’s so,” said Corson, so entranced that she didn’t even bother to swat Trask for his insolence. Steifann was thinking of her! He’d sent her a letter!
“Aren’t you going to read it?” Nyctasia asked, turning away to hide her amusement.
“Oh. Of course I am,” said Corson, flustered. Suppose it was bad news, she thought suddenly. What if the Hare had burned down, what if Steifann had been robbed, or had broken his leg, or worse? What if he needed her-and her not there? She tore off the seal, and nearly ripped the letter in half in her haste to unfold it.
Trask tried to look over her shoulder, eager to see if he could recognize any of the combinations of letters he’d learned, but Corson pushed him away, mindful of those lessons in reading. He couldn’t have learned much yet, she thought, but one couldn’t be too careful where a sly thing like Trask was concerned.
“Well, what’s he say, then?” Trask demanded. “Don’t be such a bore, Corson!
Steifann always reads us your letters.”
“Only part of them,” Corson said smugly, savoring the coarse but gratifying endearments with which Steifann addressed her. “And you can hear part of this one. He wants to know what in the name of several dozen perverted demons is keeping me so long in Rhostshyl-and he says that it had rutting well better be something important. He says he hopes you’re behaving yourself, Trask, and-” she turned to Nyctasia with a mocking grin-“he congratulates you on your coming marriage, Nyc.”
***
Nyctasia hadn’t time to grant a personal interview to every student or scholar who sought to address her, and she was rather sharp with the clerk who informed her that a group of students was demanding to see her.
“What of it?” she said impatiently. “Students are always demanding to see me.”
But these particular students, she was told, claimed to have been specially invited by Her Ladyship to visit her at court. “Impossible,” said Nyctasia. “I summoned only certain select scholars, and if this lot were among them they’d have letters from me to prove it. You know that.”
“Yes, my lady. But they assert that they met Your Ladyship last week in Rhostshyl Wood, and that you promised to receive them on your return. And they insist that Your Ladyship will confirm their story. Shall I send them away?”
Nyctasia began to laugh. “I beg your pardon, sir, they’re quite right. I’d forgotten them. Show them in.” So they’d found her out already. She must have been pointed out to them at a distance, as the Rhaicime. It would be amusing to see them again; they’d been a merry crew, and good company. And she was particularly interested in the man Wren, who’d interpreted her dream with such insight.
But to her disappointment he was not with the others, and they seemed to know very little about him. He and his companion had joined them on the road, and left them before they’d made their way to the palace. “But it was he who betrayed you to us, lady,” one of them told her with a grin. “He said, ‘It’s no use your looking for the Rhaicime in Rhostshyl, she’s on her way to the coast.
That was she who crossed our path in the wood last night.’ We thought he was daft, of course, but when we arrived here, we learned that Your Ladyship really wasn’t at court, and no one knew where you’d gone.”
“And then folk told us what the Rhaicime looked like-”
“We heard that she’d always a great guard-dog with her, too, just like our boastful palace scribe.”
“So it seemed that Wren was right after all, but how in the vahn’s name did he know, Rhaicime?”
Nyctasia’s look was absorbed and pensive. “In the same way that he knew the meaning of my dream,” she said quietly. “I hope our paths may cross again one day.”
She soon sent the students to ’Malkin, who could be trusted to assess their abilities for her and find them work. He was really making himself quite useful, Nyctasia thought.
But the Master Scholars Anthorne and Tsephis had come to Rhostshyl at Nyctasia’s express invitation, and were not to be so summarily dealt with. The pair were among the most celebrated of the scholar-physicians of the Imperial University, and only the opportunity to consult certain long-lost works of the legendary healer Iostyn Vahr could have drawn them from the capital to an insignificant coastal city-state like Rhostshyl.
After an exchange of formal courtesies, Nyctasia bade her distinguished guests be seated, and patiently answered their questions about the manuscripts from the Cymvelan library, before raising a concern of her own.
“I had, I confess, another reason for inviting you here,” she said frankly. “A personal matter. My sister Tiambria is with child-her first. The women of my family have no unusual difficulties in giving birth, but as Tiambria is rather young, it would ease my mind a good deal if you would consider acting as her physicians.”
“Youth is entirely in a mother’s favor,” Master Anthorne said curtly. “Are we to understand that you make it a condition that we be midwives to the Princess Tiambria, if we wish to make a study of these texts?” His command of Common Eswraine was stilted but flawless, and Nyctasia had no difficulty understanding him.
But she was accustomed to testing others, not to being tested herself. Matching his tone, she replied coldly, “Rhostshyl is not a monarchy, sir. Tiambria is a Hlaven, not a princess, and I have set no conditions whatsoever. It would be criminal, in my estimation, to deny such knowledge to any reputable scholar. I meant to ask as a favor that you undertake my sister’s care, but much as I should like her to have the benefit of your skill, I would not allow anyone to attend her who did not wish to do so. That would hardly be to her good.” She stood and bowed to her visitors in a manner that conveyed due respect, but little cordiality. “Arrangements will be made at once for you to see any of the Cymvelan books that interest you.” That should satisfy them, she thought. And put them in their place as well.
The two scholars exchanged a look, then stood and returned Nyctasia’s bow. “That being so, we shall be honored to serve as the Lady Tiambria’s physicians,” Dame Tsephis said with a smile.
Nyctasia had barely time to congratulate herself on the successful conclusion of this interview before a page announced the Lord Anseldon and the Lady Elissa.
She sighed and took a moment to commune with the vahn, gathering her strength for another difficult encounter. But, contrary to the expectations of all concerned, the meeting did not prove unduly disagreeable or acrimonious.
Having spoken with Lhejadis, Anseldon and Elissa could no longer suspect Nyctasia of poisoning either her or the matriarch Mhairestri, and they had thus been forced to face the likelihood that she was guiltless where Emeryc’s children and Erikasten were concerned as well. They found themselves in the uncomfortable position of owing her an apology for their previous accusations, and, being Edonaris, they would not shirk
their duty.
But Nyctasia forestalled them by greeting them at once with humble and quite sincere apologies for having suspected them of poisoning Lhejadis in order to incriminate her. She too was reconsidering her views about the safety of the children.
After receiving her confession, it was far easier for Nyctasia’s elders to make their own amends with grace. Mutually reassured, the three parted company on better terms and with more goodwill than at any time in the past.
All in all, Nyctasia felt that she’d earned a rest. She sent her page to order a hot bath.
18
for the first time, Nyctasia regretted having cut off her long hair, years ago, to defy her family and to allow her to disguise herself more easily as a common student or harper. At last lying once more beside Erystalben in her great bed, she would have liked to sweep her hair across his bare chest, as he’d always loved, but she contented herself with trailing her fingertips down his throat and along his collarbone. Her maid had considered it most improper to admit him while her mistress was bathing, but Nyctasia had thought it an excellent idea.
Surely by now his arm must be nearly healed, she’d reasoned…
He caught her hand and kissed it. “Now you’ll have to take another bath,” he teased.
“Mmm, so will you. You can share mine. You’ll stay the night, ’Ben?”
“I may stay permanently, if you’ll have me. I’m more welcome here than among the Shiastred.”
“You’ve not remembered them, then?” Nyctasia asked, rather guiltily. Really, she thought, she might have given him a chance to tell her that before, instead of greeting him like a starving woman offered a leg of mutton.
He didn’t answer at once, but drew her close again and toyed with the soft, crisp hair at the back of her neck. She smelled faintly of mint. “No,” he said finally, “but it’s not only that I don’t remember them… what troubles me is that I don’t particularly like them.”
“But you never did. I told you that neither of us could get on with our families.”
“You did, but I didn’t realize… I’ve heard them at it, in the vahn’s name!
They either want to be rid of me altogether or use me to influence you. They deliberate over how secure your position is, because they’re afraid to offend the ruler of the city by turning away her favorite. But if they acknowledge me as heir instead of Jhasteine, they may forfeit the alliance with the House of Lesevern-and then suppose you fall from power?” His voice was disdainful, but Nyctasia could feel the anger in his hands. “None of them cares a straw whether I’m Lord Descador’s son or not, only whether I’d be an advantage or disadvantage to the House of Shiastred. It’s not quite the homecoming I’d anticipated.”
“I’m sorry, ’Ben. I tried to warn you. They’d accept you readily enough, I daresay, if you abandoned your claim to the Jhaicery.”
“I’ve done so already, it would seem. They say that Lord Erystalben renounced his position formally before he left the city. But did he-did I? How am I to know?”
“If you did, you said nothing to me about it. Still, you might well have done so. It would have been the responsible step to take, since you didn’t intend to return. And you always felt that you’d have no time for your studies, as head of the House of Shiastred. But if you doubt their word, I can see to it that they recognize you as heir to the Jhaicery, never fear. It’s for you to say.”
“A pox on the Jhaicery, and the Shiastred with it! I don’t know that I want any part of them, even if they are my kin.”
Nyctasia kissed the corner of his mouth. “Then stay with me, ’Ben,” she murmured-”
“As your consort, perhaps? You didn’t tell me, in Chiastelm, that you were soon to be married to the ruler of Ochram.”
“Am I never to hear the end of Aithrenn brenn Ochram! I didn’t tell you of the matter because I never gave it a thought. Nothing whatsoever has been settled, or even discussed yet, but even if I marry the High Lord, that’s of no consequence to us. You know a marriage-treaty’s purely traditional-it means nothing.”
He was silent for so long that Nyctasia grew anxious. She knew that he was not asleep. “’Ben? Answer me, love. I’d refuse the alliance for your sake if I were free, but I must do whatever’s best for the city-I’ve no choice. Rhostshyl is your rival, not Lord Aithrenn.”
“But will your bodyguard allow the union?” he asked with bitter humor.
“That’s what she asked me about you.”
He sighed. “I’ve no right to make demands on you, I know that,” he said resignedly, but broke out in frustration, “If I could but feel that anything here belonged to me! Rhostshyl promised me all, but it’s given me only a family I can’t care for, a title I can’t lay claim to, a woman I can’t make my wife-Vahn help me, if only I could feel that I belonged here-!”
I’m going to lose him again, Nyctasia thought with a sudden hopeless conviction.
She held tightly to him and said, “Perhaps you will remember in time, ’Ben, You’ve not been here long. The city may yet awaken your memories.”
“You don’t believe that, do you?” It was not really a question.
The time had come to tell him the truth, Nyctasia saw. “No,” she said gently.
“I’m not at all certain what to expect, but I don’t believe that you’ll recover your past without some further sacrifice. A spell of Perilous Threshold does not return what it has taken.”
He had grown so still that she could barely feel him breathe. “What sort of sacrifice?” he demanded in a low hiss.
“I don’t know. I’ve made little study of spellcasting, and still less of spellbreaking, but…” She too let her voice sink to a whisper. “I have books here that belonged to the Cymvelans, and you might find the answer to such a question among them.”
“Books? What books are they?”
“Such books as Khressen’s On the Securing and Sundering of Spells, and the forbidden Mastery of the Invited Powers.”
“No one has those books, they were destroyed-” Yet until she had named them, he had not realized that he’d ever heard of them.
“The Cymvelan Circle had them still, and I keep them now-under lock and key, you may be sure. I’ve shown them to no one. I haven’t read them myself, nor do I mean to read them, but you may do so if you choose-if there’s no other way.” It might be a mistake, but it was the only hope she had left to offer him. “You know what they are, ’Ben. Do you want to read them?”
“I have to read them!” he said passionately. “I have to know who I am, now. I could just bear to be a stranger to myself when I was among strangers, but here where I’m known to others, yet know them not, it’s maddening. Whatever the price, I must believe I’m Erystalben if I’m to live his life. No one else-not even you-can believe that for me. If the books can give me that, I must have them, don’t you understand?”
Nyctasia could only embrace him and promise, “I’ll try, love. I’ll try.” Then they were locked together again. Yet lying in his arms at last, in her great bed, as close to him as she could be, she sensed once more the growing distance between them.
19
“wren…!” said nyctasia. “Aithrenn, of course. How blind I’ve been! I can’t even accuse you of duplicity, my lord, since I was equally guilty. But you had the advantage of me, it seems. How did you know me?”
Lord Aithrenn chuckled, enjoying her astonishment. “You’d been described to me, my lady-dog and all. And the way you talked of the Rhaicime made me suspect you as well. But I wasn’t sure of you until the next morning, when you described your dream, that all of Rhostshyl followed you to the sea, rejoicing.”
“But I never told you that! I said only that Rhostshyl marched to the sea, not that I led the way or that it was a festal procession.” She had chosen her words deliberately at the time, and remembered them.
Leaning toward her, serious now, he said, “There was no need for you to tell me, Rhaicime, for I knew. I had the same dream that night-that the pe
ople of Ochram journeyed with me to the gates of Rhostshyl, coming after me with song and celebration.” He sat back again, silent, allowing Nyctasia time to realize the significance of his words. He knew exactly what they would mean to her.
Nyctasia too was silent for a time, lost in thought. But now her thoughts were fixed on the future, after dwelling so long on the past. At last she said. “It would seem that this decision has already been made for us. Are you satisfied with your scrutiny of Rhostshyl? You’ve seen the destruction and poverty in the city?”
He nodded. “It was no more than I expected to see. The one thing that surprised me was the talk of invasion from Heithskor.”
“Why, my rumor-mongers have done well, if you heard that! But it’s all moonshine and mirrors, I assure you, devised to unite the troublesome factions in the city. If the governors of Heithskor thought to take advantage of Rhostshyl’s weakened state, the power of the Alliance would soon change their minds, as you know. Only the consequences of our civil warfare need concern you.”
“As to that, this proposal of mine is one such consequence. Before Rhostshyl’s ruin, the Rhaicimate would never have entertained the idea of union with another municipality. It is I who seek to take advantage of Rhostshyl’s losses.”
He was right, Nyctasia realized. The very people who now urged her to accept his offer would have scorned it when Rhostshyl’s power was at its height. No other city-not even the thriving port of Ochram-would have been thought worthy to share that power. Not without reason had Rhostshyl been called the proud city.
But now the advantage seemed all the other way. “I see the benefit of such a union for Rhostshyl,” she admitted, “but what does Ochram stand to gain by it now?”
“Oh, a great deal, Rhaicime, I trust. Prestige, for one thing. Rhostshyl has not lost her name and reputation. But that is the least of it. Ochram is built on the rock of the coast-we need grain and dairy-goods that we can’t produce ourselves. We need arable land.” He held up a hand to forestall Nyctasia’s objection. “I’m aware that Rhostshyl hasn’t food enough for her own people at present, but that will not always be so. When her estates are again fully cultivated, they can easily supply Ochram with farmstuffs-at favorable terms of trade, of course. By the same token, we will gain a ready market for our imported goods and fish, offered on the same terms.”
