Jenga shook his head. “Jacomina would support her, but Harith opposes her on principal and Francil has never been one for involving herself in the power games of the Quorum. I find it hard to believe that a majority of the Blue Sisters would support her.”
Tarja laughed harshly at Jenga’s assessment of the situation. “I admire your optimism, Jenga, but if Joyhinia moves to impeach the First Sister, I promise you, she has the numbers.”
“Then we must warn Mahina.”
“Tell her about R’shiel, too,” Tarja suggested. “It will give her ammunition to use against Joyhinia. If she’s exposed as a liar, it may shake the faith of her supporters.” Tarja looked him in the eye, his expression a blatant challenge. “Although there will be some who wonder why you’ve never denied R’shiel, my Lord.”
“Aye, there will be,” he agreed uncomfortably. “But that is none of their concern. Or yours.”
“But with proof of Joyhinia’s deliberate lie...” Garet began.
“I said the matter is none of your concern. I’ll hear no more about it.” The distrust in Tarja’s eyes pained him, but he was too far down this road to turn back now. “Tell R’shiel if you must, Tarja. She deserves to know. But you will not reveal it publicly. Nor you, Garet, and that’s an order.”
The Commandant nodded his agreement with some reluctance and more than a little suspicion.
“Maybe you should tell Lord Pieter,” Davydd suggested. The other men looked at him in surprise, and the young man found himself having to defend his statement to the senior officers. “I mean, he’s expecting to return with the daughter of the First Sister, isn’t he? His enthusiasm might wane a little when he learns she’s nothing more than an orphan from the mountains.”
“He has a point,” Garet remarked thoughtfully.
“If Pieter believes Elfron has spoken with Xaphista, I doubt R’shiel’s parentage will unduly concern him.”
“Aye, and much as I am fond of the girl, I cannot worry about her at the moment,” Jenga added. “I’m more concerned with Joyhinia’s plans for this evening,”
“We still have several hours before the Gathering,” Garet reminded them. “Perhaps we can think of a way to disrupt her plans by then.”
“And perhaps not,” Tarja predicted. He looked straight at Jenga. “Have you considered, my Lord, that if Joyhinia succeeds, you will be required to swear allegiance to her?”
“I am the Lord Defender, Tarja. If Joyhinia wins the First Sister’s mantle by legal means, I will have no choice but to swear the Oath of Allegiance to her, on behalf of the Defenders.”
“You may swear the oath on behalf of everyone but me,” Tarja told him bleakly. “I’ll not serve under Joyhinia’s rule.”
“You are a captain of the Defenders,” Jenga pointed out, surprised that Tarja would even contemplate such a thing. “You are not some common trooper who can run home to his farm when he is tired of playing soldier. Your oath is binding until death.”
“Then I’ll desert,” Tarja replied. “You can hunt me down and hang me for it, Jenga, but not for any price will I serve in the Defenders if Joyhinia is First Sister.”
chapter 13
Despite the promise of perfect weather earlier in the day, impatient storm clouds gathered over the Citadel during the afternoon. By the time the amphitheater was due to be cleared for the Gathering, a blustery wind stirred the treetops, and the dull rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance. Mahina ordered the Gathering moved to the Great Hall and sent word that revellers could stay in the amphitheater as long as the weather held.
The announcement was met with a general cheer, and the Guild musicians struck up another lively tune. They had moved their wagon into the Arena as an impromptu stage, pushed tables back to make way for dancing, and a bonfire was started to stave off the chill of the evening. Every Blue Sister in the Citadel would be at the Gathering as soon as the sun set. The Novices and Probates were left with a rare opportunity to enjoy themselves away from the watchful eyes of their superiors. Fully aware that the young women would be unsupervised until well after midnight, the Defenders hovered around the Arena, waiting for that magical moment when the last blue figure disappeared from view.
R’shiel watched the dancing from the side of the Arena, unconsciously tapping her foot in time to the music, as Junee and Kilene filled her in on all the latest gossip from the dormitories.
“By the Founder’s!” Kilene suddenly declared dramatically. “It’s him!”
A little taken aback by Kilene’s sudden change of subject mid-sentence, R’shiel looked at her friend in puzzlement.
“Davydd Tailorson,” Junee explained with a world-weary air. “Kilene goes to sleep every night dreaming about him.”
“Who is he?” R’shiel knew most of the officers who had graduated with Tarja by name, but as a rule, she did not follow the goings-on in the Corps with quite the same dedication as her friends. Having spent the last few weeks in virtual imprisonment in Joyhinia’s apartments, she was even more out of touch than usual.
“Over there,” Kilene said, “In the red jacket.”
“In the red jacket? Kilene, every man here is wearing a red jacket, you fool.”
“You know what I mean. He’s standing next to Luc Janeson. No! Don’t look at him!”
R’shiel had no idea who Luc Janeson was either and in the crowd of red jackets in the fading light, was hard pressed to tell one Defender from another. She glanced at Junee who laughed at both of them. “You’d better get a look at him soon, R’shiel. She’ll be in love with someone else before dinnertime.”
“Don’t be so cynical!” Kilene declared with a wounded look. “I will love him until I die.”
“Or until someone better comes along.”
“So what’s so special about... what’s his name?”
“Lieutenant Davydd Tailorson,” Kilene said with a reverent sigh. “He’s in Intelligence.”
“He’s very intelligent, too,” Junee agreed with a wink at R’shiel. “He avoids Kilene like the pox.”
“He does not! He’s been away, that’s all.”
“With you panting after him like a bitch in heat, it’s a wonder he didn’t volunteer for the southern border.”
Kilene loftily ignored Junee and stared across the Arena at her idol for a moment before clutching R’shiel’s arm painfully. “They’re coming over!” she gasped with a mixture of terror and delight.
R’shiel finally spotted Kilene’s object of adoration walking toward them with two other lieutenants, weaving their way between the dancers and the helpful souls dragging several large logs toward the bonfire. The sun was almost completely set, and shadows concealed the faces of the Defenders as they approached. Kilene’s champion, when he finally drew close enough to be seen clearly, was a young man of average height with a pleasant but unremarkable face.
“Would you ladies care to dance?” he asked, with an elegant bow. “It’s too cold to stand around gossiping.”
Kilene was on the verge of fainting with happiness. “Yes, please!”
She stepped forward eagerly and was immediately whisked away by the officer standing on Davydd’s right, her face crestfallen as she looked back over her shoulder toward the object of her affection as her partner pulled her into the crowd. The young man on his left grabbed Junee with equal enthusiasm, and they too rapidly disappeared.
R’shiel realized she had been very effectively cornered. “Nice maneuver, Lieutenant. Do they teach you that in the Cadets?”
“Actually, they do,” he replied. “It’s called Divide and Conquer. But fear not, my designs on you are completely honorable.”
“Is that so?”
“Tarja wants to see you.”
“My brother is in the north.” She’d heard her share of lines from dozens of Cadets and Officers, but nobody had ever tried using Tarja before.
“He arrived back earlier today. We both did. With the Karien Envoy.”
“Where is he, then?”
“In the caverns under the amphitheater. He asked me to take you to him.”
R’shiel studied him for a moment before deciding he was telling her the truth. She let him lead the way toward the tunnel, more curious than concerned, wondering why Tarja wanted to see her.
“Keep watch,” Tarja ordered. The lieutenant nodded wordlessly and vanished into the shadows. She looked around curiously. The last time she had been in these caverns, Georj had died fighting Loclon, and she had fainted from the onset of her menses.
“You look a lot better than the last time we met,” he told her, taking her hand and leading her deeper into the caverns.
“I can’t say the same for you,” she remarked, pulling away from him to study him more clearly. He looked exhausted. “In fact, you look like you haven’t slept in days.”
“I haven’t,” he agreed wearily, “so that probably accounts for it.”
“Are you in trouble again?”
“Not yet,” he assured her with a faint grin. “But the night is young.”
“I’d laugh, except I have a bad feeling you’re not joking. Why all the secrecy? If you wanted to see me, you didn’t have to send your lackey. You could have just come to the party, you know.”
“I’m not in a party mood.” He walked further into the dim cavern. In the distance, R’shiel could hear the faint sounds of a couple giggling and urging each other to silence. They were not the only ones seeking privacy down here tonight.
“So you sent for me? I’m not one of your troopers, Tarja. You can’t just order me around like a Cadet.” R’shiel knew she sounded angry, and it was hardly fair to take it out on Tarja, but the closer the Gathering came, the more she fretted over what would happen when Joyhinia set her plans in motion.
Tarja didn’t seem to notice. He studied his boots for a moment, which were scuffed and dusty with wear, then took a deep breath and looked at her. “I have to tell you something, R’shiel. It’s going to be difficult for you to hear it, but you have a right to know.”
“What are you talking about?” She could not imagine what he could say that warranted such a warning. Tarja was not normally so cryptic.
He took another deep breath before he answered. “Joyhinia is not your mother.”
She stared at him. “What?”
“You’re not Joyhinia’s daughter.”
“That’s ridiculous! Of course I’m her daughter! Where would you get such an idea?”
He stood leaning against the wall, his arms crossed. “Your mother was a girl named J’nel Snowbuilder. She lived in a village called Haven, up in the Sanctuary Mountains west of Testra. She died giving birth to you.”
“That’s absurd!” She walked to the back of the cavern. “I know I was born in Haven. Mother never hid that from anyone. She was pregnant when she left Testra.”
“No, she wasn’t,” he said. “Although it’s true that she wintered in Haven that year. You were born to a girl in the village. She took you back to Testra in the spring, claiming you were hers. But you are not her daughter, R’shiel.”
The whole idea seemed too bizarre to be real. “If that’s true, why hasn’t Lord Jenga ever denied me?”
“I’ve no answer to that, I’m afraid,” he said. “Perhaps you should ask him.”
R’shiel sank down against the wall, until she was sitting on the sandy floor, her chin resting on her knees. Tarja stayed where he was. She could not read his expression in the dull light.
“Then who is my real father?”
“Your mother, your real mother, refused to name him. You had an aunt there, your mother’s older sister, but no other family, from what I know.”
R’shiel felt numb. “Where is she now, this aunt of mine?”
“The whole village is dead, R’shiel,” he told her. “Joyhinia had them killed three years ago, when your aunt threatened to expose her.”
R’shiel looked up at him. His voice had the ring of certain truth, but it was too dreadful a truth to acknowledge. She thought it odd that she felt nothing. No anger, or hurt, or even surprise. “How did you find out?”
Tarja kept his distance, leaning against the bare stone wall, studying her with an unreadable expression. “There were a few survivors. Children, mostly. And a Blue Sister. I met her while I was in the north. She spurned the Sisterhood after it happened.”
“Why?”
“I suppose she considered the Sisterhood—”
“But why did Joyhinia lie about me?” R’shiel interrupted impatiently.
“She wanted a daughter,” Tarja said with a shrug. “I don’t think she ever forgave me for being born male.”
“Then why not simply have another child?”
“And go through all that pain and discomfort with no guarantee the child would be a girl? Come on, R’shiel, you know Joyhinia well enough. You figure it out.”
A heavy silence settled over the cavern as R’shiel digested the news. Suddenly the feeling she did not belong here seemed eminently reasonable.
“Who else knows?” she asked eventually.
“Lord Jenga, obviously. Garet Warner. And Davydd Tailorson.”
“You stopped short of announcing it on the parade ground to the entire Defender Corps, then?”
He shook his head at her question. “And you accuse me of not taking things seriously enough.”
“Well, what do you expect me to say, Tarja? You drag me in here and calmly announce that I’m not who I think I am. You tell me Joyhinia and the Lord Defender have lied all these years about my birth and that Joyhinia had my real family and an entire village murdered. I don’t know what to say, Tarja. I don’t even know what to feel!”
“I warned you this wouldn’t be easy, R’shiel, but it’s not the worst of it, I fear.”
“You mean there’s more? Founders! If this is the good news, I can’t wait to hear the bad!”
Tarja sighed, as if he understood her anger. “She’s done a deal with Lord Pieter. She’s sending you back to Karien with the Envoy. She traded you for the First Sister’s mantle.”
R’shiel could feel the blood drain from her face. I’ll call you when I need you, Joyhinia had said. She stood up and paced the cavern until her angry steps brought her face to face with him. His expression was bleak.
“You must be mistaken.” It was more a hopeful question than a statement of fact. She knew Joyhinia’s ambition had no limit. “Why would the Kariens want me? It can’t be true!”
Just then, Davydd Tailorson appeared at the cavern entrance with Garet Warner at his side, coughing politely to alert them to his presence.
“I hate to break this up, children,” Garet said, his laconic tone easing the tension a little. “But Lord Pieter has just entered the Great Hall to address the Gathering. I suggest we get a move on, or we’ll miss all the excitement.”
R’shiel looked sharply at Tarja. “You can’t attend the Gathering! They won’t let you in. You know it’s restricted to the Blue Sisters.”
“And the Lord Defender,” Garet reminded her. “And whatever aides he deems suitable to the occasion. Now, if you will excuse us, R’shiel, we are rather pressed for time.”
Garet stood back and waited for Tarja, who spared her nothing more than a sympathetic look. R’shiel watched the three men leave. The torches hissed loudly in the sudden silence, leaving her alone with her anger. Impulsively, she ran after them.
“Wait! I’m coming too!”
“They won’t let you in, R’shiel,” Tarja warned her.
She looked at him defiantly. “Care to wager on that?”
“Come on, then,” Garet ordered, obviously annoyed but knowing there was little he could do to stop her. Davydd hurried after the Commandant, but Tarja caught her arm and held her back. She struggled against his hold but could not break free.
“R’shiel!” he said sharply, surprising her into stillness with his tone. “Look, whatever you may think of Joyhinia, whatever happens after tonight, you still have Lord Pieter to deal with
.”
“That’s simple. If he tries to lay a hand on me I’ll slit his lecherous throat!”
“Which won’t achieve anything, except you being hanged for murder,” he pointed out with infuriating logic. “Anyway, the Envoy isn’t your problem. It’s his priest, Elfron, you need to watch for. He claims he had a vision or something from his god. He’s the one who wants to take you back to Karien.”
“Tarja!” Garet and Davydd had reached the end of the tunnel and were waiting impatiently for him.
“I have to go. Be careful, R’shiel.” Without another word Tarja strode off toward the entrance.
R’shiel had to run to catch up.
chapter 14
When R’shiel and the Defenders reached the Great Hall, Tarja and Garet continued up the steps to the massive bronze-sheathed doors. The two Defenders on guard saluted the officers sharply and stood back to let them enter. They were attending the Gathering as the Lord Defender’s aides and had a valid reason to gain admittance. R’shiel had no such excuse. She glanced at Davydd Tailorson questioningly.
“Now what?” she whispered, afraid her voice would carry in the deserted street. Everyone was still at the amphitheater. A soft rain had begun to fall, and the cobblestone street was slick and glistening in the moonlight.
“There’s no way they’ll let you in, R’shiel.”
She looked at him, her eyes glinting. “Oh, yes there is.”
R’shiel glanced up and down the deserted street then ran across to the alley between the Great Hall and the slightly less impressive Administration Hall next door, from where Francil ruled the Citadel. Davydd followed her down the alley to a shoulder-high brick wall that blocked the end of the lane. She grabbed the top of the wall and pulled herself up, turning to help Davydd. Balanced on the top of the narrow wall, Davydd looked up.
“You’ve got to be joking!”
“I hope you’ve a head for heights,” she said.
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