Daughter of Blood

by Helen Lowe

  Parannis’s eyes had narrowed to a dangerous glitter, yet Myr was the one who felt off-balance. While she hesitated, wondering what to say or do next, Asantir sheathed first one sword, then the other. The deliberate action drew all eyes as the Commander turned away from Parannis—although without turning her back—and bowed to Myr. “Lady Myrathis, I accept your guest friendship and pledge my own friendship in return.” She bowed again to Khar. “I also accept your offer to stand as champion, Storm Spear, and will uphold the bond that establishes.”

  Myr could not recall Hatha mentioning a bond, but the gap in her knowledge would have to be remedied later. A murmur of voices and creak from the door behind her suggested that the others had arrived at last, and she hoped fervently that they would not just crowd in. Of course they’ll check, she thought, hearing a boot’s scuff, followed by silence. Taly and Dab had never been stupid, and if Ise was with them—But the current circumstances could not be less conducive to their plan, and very soon now the entire keep would be stirring.

  Parannis looked disdainful as Khar bowed in response to Asantir’s words. “So you’re the dregs that’s resurfaced when we thought all your kind well gone. This could prove entertaining after all.” The look he turned on Myr promised an early reckoning, before he made a show of looking past her. “No attendants or escort, I see—except for your newfound champion. I wonder what your guest friends will make of that when they report to your future husband?”

  Myr comprehended the implication but could only blink at him, she was so astonished by it. Yet as if on cue, Taly opened the door behind her wide enough to lean through. “Mistress Ise says she’s ready to continue now, Lady Myrathis—Oh!” Taly made a show of surprise, saluting first Parannis, then Asantir. “I didn’t realize you were engaged. We’ll wait on your convenience.”

  She must have been holding the door just wide enough to hear what was going on, Myr thought, with a stab of pleasure for Parannis’s discomfiture. Her brother’s expression, however, was already a blend of calculation and malice. “So you did bring the Rose harridan with you. And your tediously correct ensign, who will not under any circumstance be suborned from her duty.” His smile reasserted itself as Khar glanced toward the main doors. “Looking for escape, Storm Spear? I don’t think I can allow that, not when the Forward Holder is doubtless lurking as well.” He clicked his fingers as though trying to recall Dab’s name, before abandoning the attempt. “You’ve said you’ll champion the Mouse’s cause, and now her pet guards step forward: seconds made to order. So we can settle this here and now. What,” he demanded, “could be better?”

  “An explanation,” Earl Sardon said, appearing in the main doorway, “would be desirable.”

  You had to admire Parannis’s nerve, Myr conceded, because he kept his expression smooth and turned with his customary grace. “My father and Earl.” He bowed, his sword hand over his heart, as their father stepped forward with Banath, his Honor Captain, beside him. Myr could see a strong contingent of guards outside the door, and Liankhara was there as well, with Ilai hovering in the background.

  She’s Liankhara’s agent, Myr reminded herself, you’ve always known that. She wondered if the attendant had arrived early and found the note left for Ise, or whether her father’s arrival now was because Liankhara’s other eyes-and-ears had been about their business. Whatever the reason, Myr was grateful if it meant he would finally put an end to Parannis’s games.

  “One,” Earl Sardon continued, his gaze traveling from Parannis to Myr on the balcony, “that I might be willing to accept.”

  Myr’s thoughts whirled, wondering what she should say and what Parannis might allege, whether the Commander could or would intervene, and if her father might forbid the duel. But before she or anyone else could speak, Kharalthor strode in with Hatha and Huern—and the morning disintegrated into another of her family’s battlegrounds.

  26

  Service and Duty

  The only benefit to the furor, Myr decided, when she was finally back in the Bride’s suite, was that no one had been interested in summoning the rest of her companions into the training hall. They had all been dismissed out of hand, and Myr felt confident Taly would make certain the training accident explanation for Dab’s wounding passed unremarked as the keep buzzed over challenge and champion. And there had been enough shouting among her siblings, first in the training hall and afterward in her father’s war room, to ensure the keep hummed with conjecture for days.

  Or even weeks, Myr reflected, leaning back against her bedchamber door, which she had shut in her attendants’ faces. The nightmare hour within the war room’s walls had been filled with charge and counteraccusation, chiefly between Kharalthor and Parannis. Enough of the storm had still fallen on Myr’s head, though: for being where she should not, and daring to pledge guest friendship on her own—and by implication Blood’s—behalf. She still felt physically battered by the assault of words, every muscle locked tight with tension from withstanding the pressure to rescind her guest friendship, and was only surprised she had not been blinded by a headache.

  But Khar was right, she thought now. Once pledged, guest friendship cannot be withdrawn without dishonor. Similarly, Myr was sure that even if she did retract her pledge, Parannis could—and would—insist on the duel still being fought, now that the Storm Spear had accepted his challenge. So all she would achieve by withdrawing guest friendship, the same conclusion she had clung to throughout the war room storm, would be to compound her dishonor by abandoning her champion. She had hoped her father might forbid the duel, but he had shaken his head when Hatha suggested it, while simultaneously ruling out Sarein’s riposte that he overturn Myr’s guest friendship instead.

  “Even an Earl,” he had said, “may not instruct another in matters of her or his personal honor. And offers of guest friendship and challenges between warriors are both matters of honor under our Derai Code. My hands are tied.”

  Myr could detect no regret for that fact in either his face or voice. A moment later, Kharalthor’s fingers had drummed on the tabletop. “The Storm Spear can’t remain in the Honor Contest now that he’s assumed the champion’s role. We can’t have the duel decided by default if he were to be injured in the group combats.”

  Yet only those who completed the contest were eligible for the Honor Guard. So with Dab wounded, Taly would be further isolated among those who wished her ill. Except, Myr reminded herself, I’m forgetting: I have Liy’s assurance that Bajan will watch her back. Despite exhaustion and worry, the memory brought a smile. It faded, though, as she considered Khar’s situation. The dangers of the Honor Contest were real, but Parannis had never lost a duel. So by intervening to save the Commander of Night, all Myr had achieved was to condemn Khar. Even if the impossible happened and the Storm Spear prevailed, he would have killed a Son of Blood, and whatever the Earl might rule, neither Sarein nor her Oath Hold kin would rest until he was dead.

  But it was not only that. If Khar won, then the Bride’s champion would have slain her own half-brother . . . Myr closed her eyes against that thought, because she knew all those who held to the old ways of Blood, and many who purported to support the New, would regard that as little better than fratricide. They will say, she thought, that both Bride and marriage must be cursed with ill-luck—and the rumors of that will not stay in Blood, they will fly ahead of me to the Keep of Winds. She had felt afraid before, guessing most in Night would regard her as Blood’s agent, insinuated into their midst, but if they thought her accursed as well . . . I’ll be alone, Myr thought, in a House where honor guards murdered their Earl’s consort.

  But I mustn’t dwell on that, she added quickly, I can’t, or I’ll go mad. Straightening, she kneaded her stiff neck and reminded herself that she had known from the outset that the combat would be to the death. Duels always were when Parannis fought. He had practically boasted of it when asked to withdraw his challenge. “Withdraw? I?” His brows had lifted with Sardonya’s hauteur. “Never! I am loo
king forward to sending the Storm Spear the same way our forebears sent the rest of his kind.”

  Which suggests, Myr thought, that he knows something I don’t about Blood history. Slowly, she circled her chamber, picking up and replacing objects at random while recalling her father’s contemplative look and the mix of shrugs and blank stares among her siblings. You could never be sure with Parannis—and Hatha, who knew about the Storm Spears, had been absorbed in cleaning her nails while the arguments eddied about her. “This is a matter of the Bride’s honor as well as my son’s,” the Earl had said finally, summoning his Honor Captain forward. “So you had best see to her champion, Banath. He’ll need separate quarters until the duel is fought.”

  Huern’s brows had lifted. “I doubt there’s any spare room to be had.”

  “Put a minor Holder out.” Kharalthor replied brusquely.

  “My old quarters are empty,” Myr had begun, before stopping in the face of Sardonya and Sarein’s identical expressions of incredulity.

  Sardonya’s foot had tapped. “One of the ruling kin’s quarters, for an outdweller—”

  “Who’ll be dead soon anyway,” Parannis murmured.

  But the Earl had nodded. “A good suggestion, Myrathis. And Banath, oversee the watch on him yourself.”

  Myr stopped by a gilt-edged mirror that reflected the entrance into her dressing room, and frowned at the hydra emblem worked into the frame. At one level, the Storm Spear was effectively being taken into custody. At another, Banath’s involvement sent a message that harassment of her champion ahead of the duel would not be tolerated. A warning most likely aimed at Sarein, she decided, because Parannis would not do anything that might cheapen his kill in the arena. Myr’s mouth pinched, because in a duel to the death, wishing for her champion’s life was the same as desiring her brother’s death. Knowing what Parannis was, it would be easy to hope for that—but he was still her brother. Only a full sibling would have more claim on her in terms of duty and honor.

  Even, Myr added silently, if Parannis does not see it that way. But then, his allegiance was to the New Blood, who thought they could pick what they liked from Derai traditions and ignore the rest. Slowly, she reached out and touched the gilded hydra—then froze as the reflected door between her dressing room and the dayroom clicked open. Taly’s frown over the service entrance, and Parannis’s threat of early retribution, both leapt into her mind. Call out, Myr told herself: summon the guards. But her voice was frozen, too. The door edged a little wider before a gamine face peered around it—and Myr released her breath as Liy came right into the dressing room and closed the door. “Liy, what are you doing here? I told the guards I wasn’t to be disturbed.”

  The page sniffed. “I know. They sent me away. But I’ve a message for you from the Storm Spear and I thought you’d want it. Everyone’s talking about the challenge, so I just waited until your guards went back to doing that, too.” Liy grinned, clearly pleased with herself. “Pages are everywhere, and folk assume you’ll go once they’ve dismissed you. And I heard what you told Ensign Taly about the service door last night.” She shrugged. “Faro slipped me a note. They had to bring him down to the stables, you see, when no one else could manage those great horses.” Liy smirked. “It was funny, seeing all those guards and grooms hang back.”

  Khar’s horses, Myr thought, had obviously justified his confidence in their ability to safeguard his gear. She beckoned Liy through into the bedchamber and took the note the page worked free of her cuff. The cursive script was to the point. “Khar wants an audience.”

  “’Course,” said Liy, craning to read over her shoulder. “He’s your champion. He’s entitled to look to you to settle his affairs—” She paused, her face grown troubled.

  Of course, Myr repeated silently. She could receive Khar here, in the reception chamber, but that would mean a meeting stiff with formality, the room lined with guards and attendants. She fingered the paper, wondering why the request had come by such circuitous means, if Khar was entitled to make it. The manner of delivery might simply be the pages being mysterious and important, but—

  “I’ll go now,” Myr said, and picked up one of her new mantles, a fine scarlet wool lined with fire-orange silk, as Liy ran to open the dayroom door. Ise was sleeping after her vigil, and the attendants would not return until it was time to dress Myr for the afternoon’s receptions, but the guards—caught out talking through the open door to their comrades in the hallway—sprang hurriedly to attention. Taly, Myr thought, would not tolerate such laxness. Then again, the ensign would probably frown over what she intended doing now as well. “I’m going to my old quarters.” She was pleased with the sureness of her voice. “Liy will accompany me and two of you may provide my escort. When Mistress Ise wakes, please tell her where I am.”

  Once the guards recovered, they would probably rouse Ise or summon her attendants, but for now they were caught wrong-footed. Liy advanced on the main door, and the nearest guard stepped aside, his eyes fixed straight ahead. Myr draped the mantle about her shoulders and swept past the guards in the hallway as well. She did not look around, but her heart thumped until she heard two of them fall in behind. Liy, grinning widely, darted ahead.

  Banath had stationed an eight-unit from the Earl’s Honor Guard outside Myr’s old rooms, and the guards on the door saluted respectfully when she arrived. Nalin, the sergeant-in-charge, made no objection to Myr entering, but asked that Liy wait outside with the escort guards while two of the eight-unit accompanied Myr inside.

  Despite having seen her old quarters the previous night, Myr thought the main room looked shabby in the Wall’s gray daylight. She also found it strange seeing a warrior’s armor and weapons there—the equipment, she assumed, that Banath’s guards had needed Faro’s help to retrieve from the stables. The arms looked serviceable rather than fine, but from what she could recall of Ise’s lessons, some of the old military orders had deliberately shunned ostentation and any outward display of power. Behind her, Nalin’s guards closed the door and took up position to either side.

  Khar and Faro had both risen as Myr entered, and made their bow together. She bowed in answer, while pondering last night’s unanswered question: who are you? She knew Ise would caution her that the Storm Spears were an unknown quantity, having been absent from Blood for half a millennium, and that Khar would not be the first enemy to insinuate himself in the guise of an ally. Or a champion, Myr added silently. She did not believe Khar was an enemy, but knew she must remain on her guard.

  “You wanted to see me?” she asked, and made herself look at him directly, rather than past his shoulder or even at the floor. His eyes were gray as the day, but she could see the gold flecks in them as he studied her in return. Measuring me again, Myr thought. “I am grateful,” she continued, “for your defense of my guest friendship, even in the face of my brother’s challenge.”

  Faro glanced up at Khar, hero worship in his expression, but the Storm Spear was matter-of-fact. “I vowed to uphold your honor and defend your cause as Bride when I entered the contest, as did every other contender on the Field of Blood. Any one of them would have done the same if they had been in my place.”

  Myr thought of Kolthis and wished she could share his conviction. “I suspect many would consider that being obliged to fight a duel”—she would not say, to the death—“with a Son of Blood goes beyond the service encompassed by that oath.”

  Khar shook his head. “With respect, Lady Myrathis, we entered the contest to serve you until your marriage. Having done so, we cannot expect to pick and choose what that service entails.”

  I suppose not, Myr thought. “My sister Hatha,” she said carefully, “says the Honor Code requires that I make you a gift, as my champion.” Faro’s slantwise glance was startlingly close to a scowl, enough for Myr to check before carrying on. “She also says there’ll be some Storm Spear equipage from past times in the lumber rooms, which she’ll have Aralth hunt out for you.” She stopped, because that seemed far m
ore like Hatha’s gift than hers. And he would not have sought an audience to discuss whatever lay forgotten in the Red Keep’s vast undercroft.

  “I am grateful for Captain-Lady Hatha’s interest, and for your time, Lady Myrathis. I would have come to you, as is more correct, except for the . . . er . . . protective custody.”

  I suppose that’s exactly what this is, Myr thought, conscious of Nalin’s guards behind her. “I was pleased to come,” she said, and bowed again. As she straightened, the distant hound, which had been quiet since the previous night, howled again. Myr almost jumped, but held herself still as Khar placed his hand on Faro’s shoulder.

  “I do not require a gift, Lady Myrathis, for fulfilling oaths and honor. But as your champion, may I request a boon?”

  “You may.” Myr waited as courtesy demanded, despite the hand on Faro’s shoulder having told her what the boon would be. She did not think that the page realized, though.

  “I would be grateful, Lady, if you could personally escort Faro to Lord Nimor, the Sea envoy, and commend him into his care.”

  Faro tried to wrench away from Khar’s hand, his expression burning with indignation and reproach. Myr thought the request an unusual one, coming from a warrior of Blood—until she ran her family under mental review and decided Khar was right to assume their enmity would extend to his page. Since she could not protect either of them, much as she might wish to, that meant there would be no succor for the boy in Blood. “Of course,” she said, and was rewarded by Khar’s smile.