Echoes of Betrayal

by Elizabeth Moon

  Finally the Marshal belched and sat back. “And now, what to do with you and the boy,” he said. “Best thing for him is to find him a family, keep him safe and fed, and teach him a trade.”

  “I want to stay with him,” the boy said, pointing to Arvid.

  “Lad, he’s in danger himself; he can’t keep you as safe as a good solid family can.”

  “They’ll be looking for him,” Arvid said to the Marshal. “They know him, and they’ll take him back if they can.”

  “Out of Valdaire somewhere? On a farm?”

  “Maybe. But the risk’s there until he’s man-grown.” Arvid looked at the boy. “It’s true what the Marshal says, young Arvid. I cannot keep you safe while I’m being hunted—or not as safe as someone else could.”

  “Any chance you’re his father?” the Marshal asked.

  Arvid spread his hands. “As I told the lad, I simply do not know. I have been in Valdaire before, before Siniava’s War as they call it in the north, and … it’s possible. But I made no promises and heard no word.” That was the way he’d always liked it: share a happy night or two, having made it clear he had no interest in staying, and walk away whistling. “I do have some gold, and that can go to help.”

  “I’m not worried about that,” the Marshal said. He chewed his lip a moment. “See here, Arvid, the boy is not the only problem we have. Or that you have. You need to choose a path and stick to it—”

  “You mean leave the Guild,” Arvid said.

  “I mean join the Fellowship, become a Girdsman,” the Marshal said.

  “I’m not—I can’t—you don’t understand,” Arvid said. “I’m not your kind of person. I can’t … I can’t just put on a blue shirt and change everything.”

  You’re right about that, laddie.

  Arvid twitched. “I don’t … I don’t want to be—” How could he say it without offending them—and why did he care? “Ordinary,” he said at last. “I’m—”

  The Marshal’s eyes twinkled. “Oh, no, you’re not ordinary. You’re intelligent and charming and gifted, and if you’re not the guest over there at the Dragon who took down four—or was it five?—thieves all by yourself, I’d be very surprised. A gifted sneak, the way you got into and out of the Thieves’ Guild house today. A fine voice—I’m sure you sang to the girls you slept with—and graceful. Sophisticated, no doubt. And you think of us—of the Fellowship—as a collection of grubby, dull, not-very-bright peasants, don’t you?”

  “Not … exactly. Not Paks. Not the Marshal-General.”

  “And I’m sure she’s grateful for that.” The Marshal shook his head. “Arvid, back in Gird’s day it’s true that his followers were nearly all poor countryfolk, mostly unable to read or write—Gird himself wasn’t a scholar. That was a long time ago. Yes, we have many members who are farmers and many who are crafters and merchants—and many who are in every other occupation—other than the Thieves’ Guild.”

  “Yes, but you’re …” “Good” was the word hovering over his tongue, and the Marshal seemed to read it out of the air.

  “Good, I suppose, is what’s bothering you. Stuffy and priggish, maybe? Narrow-minded, perhaps?”

  Arvid was aware of the boy’s eyes shifting from face to face like a child watching a pair of jugglers perform. Inside his head, he was aware of a vast amusement. “Well—I—yes, sometimes. And I’m not—I mean, you know I’ve done things you wouldn’t approve of.”

  “And so have I done things I don’t approve of,” the Marshal said. “I’m not perfect—don’t pretend to be. I’m perhaps less interested in fashion than you would be if you didn’t prefer black—”

  Arvid could not help grinning at that. “Perhaps.”

  “Well, I was plain as a barrel and shaped like one from childhood, Arvid. No use trying for elegance. But I recognize it when I see it, appreciate it, and know good quality from bad.”

  “In other words … you think I take pride in what I should not take pride in.”

  “No. Not at all. I think you don’t take pride in what you should take pride in … in addition to your knowledge, your skills, your handsome face.”

  “And that would be?”

  “I told you. You aren’t cruel. That’s a start. And you’ve saved two lives—Paksenarrion’s and this lad’s—that you didn’t have to. Build on that.”

  Lyonya, Chaya

  Five days after the wedding, most of the guests had started home. Arian took advantage of the relative quiet to invite Estil Halveric and several Queen’s Squires to spend a quiet afternoon relaxing in the queen’s chambers. Arian felt tired; her muscles ached. She wasn’t sure if it was from the crowds and ceremonies or if this was something that happened in pregnancy. Her Squire’s uniform had been uncomfortably snug for the past couple of days; after a brief session in the salle that morning, she’d left it off, putting on softer, looser clothing since she would be among friends.

  In the midst of a discussion of the new candidates for King’s and Queen’s Squires, Arian felt something inside, not quite a cramp but a strong sensation. She put a hand to her abdomen.

  “What is it?” asked Estil Halveric.

  “I think it must be the baby moving,” Arian said. “Or maybe something I ate—but it’s—strong.”

  “It’s early if you conceived at Midwinter,” Estil said. “Though I don’t know with half-elves—”

  “Very early for half-elves,” Kaelith said. “Half-elven babies are almost three tendays longer from conception to birth; I’m surprised you’re feeling movement now. Halfway between the Evener and Midsummer to as late as Midsummer is what I’d expect.”

  Arian sat back. “Well, we’ve all been eating rich foods the past few days. Maybe it’s just that. It just feels … different.”

  The conversation they’d been having about Dorrin Verrakai shifted to what Kaelith remembered her mother telling her about the difference in pregnancies between half-elf and human. The pastries on the tray disappeared one by one as the afternoon passed. Arian felt anchored to her chair, as if the child within were much heavier than it could possibly be. Suddenly she felt another movement—sudden and strong enough to be painful.

  “Arian?” Estil said, watching her.

  “It’s—I think it must be something I ate. Too many pastries.” The pain eased; Arian settled back against the pillows. Her mouth wanted another of the jam-filled crispy ones, but she wouldn’t risk it.

  “I don’t like your color,” Estil said. “I’m going to call—”

  “No,” Arian said. “I’ll be fine. If it’s too many pastries or whatever, it will go away in a few turns of the glass. I don’t want to be hovered over.”

  “You shouldn’t take any chances now,” Estil said.

  Arian saw the look that passed from Estil to Kaelith and back. She started to speak, when the pain returned, much stronger, along with nausea. She felt cold, sick—she struggled up from the chair, but her knees gave way and she fell into the table of pastries. She could just hear Estil’s exclamations, feel someone holding her shoulders, as her sight dimmed and pain racked her belly. Simultaneously, the taig cried out. She tried to reach for the little spark of life within her, but could not. Panicked, she struggled against the hands that held her. Her stomach heaved and she vomited; her bowels loosened, and even as she fought for the light, she fell into darkness.

  It was no normal miscarriage,” Estil said to Kieri. White to the lips, he crouched beside the bed where Arian lay, cleaned now and put to bed with warm stones at her feet. “I’ve seen that … that’s belly cramps and bleeding and then the little lump—”

  He held up his hand. She fell silent. Across the room, Aliam sat in the chair Arian had fallen from; the carpet still had a damp patch, though the smell had gone. He shook his head slightly. Well, then. She would not say more, but more must be said sometime. Soon.

  Kieri lifted one of Arian’s hands and kissed it. She did not respond. “Will she live?” he asked without looking around.

&nb
sp; “She is alive now,” Estil said. “That is the best sign.”

  His head went down to the bedclothes, then rose again. “I … do not want to lose her.”

  Estil could think of nothing to say.

  “If childbearing is too much for her … I will find another heir.”

  Estil glanced again at Aliam, who shrugged. “Kieri,” Estil said in the gentlest voice she could. “It is not her body.”

  “But so much pain—”

  “Kieri, this is important.” He looked up at her finally, and she sank down to the floor, where she could lay a hand on his arm, look him in the face. “This was not just a miscarriage. It is not any weakness of hers. I know women’s bodies as you cannot, even after knowing Tammarion. Arian should bear children as easily as any. This was treachery, Kieri. She was poisoned, or the babe was.”

  “But she—how—who would—?”

  “I don’t know. You don’t know. But what happened—the smell of it—was not natural. You have had warnings, she told me, from your sister’s bones, and she had one from her father.”

  Color came back to Kieri’s face; he still held Arian’s hand, but he looked at Estil. “Warning, yes, but … but she has had Squires with her, or me, every moment. How could it have been done? Through magic?”

  “Maybe,” Estil said. “But my guess would be in food. Something she ate.”

  “Today?”

  Estil shook her head. “Not today, or not merely today. Very likely food for the wedding feasts, though it could have been earlier. Something that would not kill her of itself, but would kill the child in her … any child she might engender. It would not have been done before your engagement was known.”

  Kieri’s brow furrowed. “The announcement was at Midwinter, but people knew before that. The Lady knew … but I cannot imagine her doing this, and anyway, Arian left Lyonya immediately after that confrontation.”

  “But when she came back …”

  “The Pargunese had invaded.” He looked thoughtful now. “I suppose … when we came back to Chaya … the fourth or fifth day after the first invasion. I cannot now recall exactly, but we told the Council and I took her into the ossuary.”

  “How did the ancestors react?”

  “With joy. And with a caution. But everyone seemed happy, even the Lady. I sensed no resentment of Arian …”

  “It may not be of her, Kieri. Think how much effort went into removing your mother and you and then keeping you away from the throne for so long. This is not a new menace. If it is elves—”

  “If what is elves?” The Lady stood in the doorway, the elvenhome light shimmering around her. “What has happened to my daughter Arian?”

  Kieri whirled to face her. “Did you kill the child?”

  “What?”

  “Did you kill our child? Were you lying when you said you wished us the joy of children?” His voice was harsh, a voice Estil had not heard him use before. “Do you now come to gloat over your success?”

  “No!” A wave of elven power overwhelmed Estil; she felt herself floating on it, but Kieri, standing now, repelled it. He was alight, and so was the Lady, but their lights did not mingle. “I wished no harm to you, Grandson, or to Arian or to your child. I came when I felt the taig’s grief.” Kieri said nothing, merely staring at her. “I swear it,” she said. “On the Singer’s own name, I swear it.”

  “Someone did,” Kieri said, “and I let a son of ours die through not protecting her.” The Lady moved forward, but he held up his hand and she stopped. “Though I believe you, I do not want you closer to her,” he said. “Not now.”

  “Not to heal her?”

  “Can you?”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps the two of us. I know it will not heal her grief, but she is cut off from the taig now.”

  “By you?”

  “No, Grandson. I would not do that again. By whatever it was that took the child and by her grief. She needs its strength to heal.”

  “Estil?” Kieri said.

  Estil raised her head, realizing then that she had slumped to the floor. The pressure around her eased as Kieri reached down and helped her up. She looked into the Lady’s eyes from the bubble of Kieri’s power and saw what she had not seen before, not even when the Lady had come to them at Halveric Steading. Deep, deep within, some fracture, some wound that had never healed. But not malice, not for Arian, not now. “Arian needs our comfort first,” she said. “And the Lady is right; she will need the taig, but later.”

  “What would you do for her, if the Lady or I were not here, Estil?”

  Love her. But that wasn’t what Kieri meant. “Sib when she wakes. There’s another root I’d add to the mix. Then the healing herbs. Strengthening foods. Sunlight.” Estil looked at the Lady again. “Gracious one, at this moment she needs a human’s care. Her taig-sense will return as her body recovers and complete the healing.”

  A long pause, then the Lady bowed slightly. “As you are mother and grandmother, Estil Halveric, I trust you.” She withdrew.

  Kieri turned to Estil. “And you think the poison came to her in something she ate?”

  “It’s the easiest way,” Estil said. “Something she ate or drank.”

  “So … someone in the kitchen?”

  “Not necessarily. Someone supplying the kitchen. You’ve had guests, haven’t you, since Midwinter? And all those come for the wedding …”

  “Yes … so the steward should know who’s supplied the kitchens—”

  “She should not eat anything from anyone you cannot trust, Kieri. Food fresh from the ground, that you or she or someone you know has picked.”

  “Who else might have been poisoned? She has eaten with others, I know that.”

  Estil shook out her sleeves. “If this was put in food others ate, someone else may have lost a child. Have you heard anything?”

  “No—but with the wedding coming up, they might not have told me.”

  “I’m going to the kitchens,” Estil said. “I will be back shortly—less than a glass. Your cooks and other servants will talk to me when they might not to you.”

  The news had already spread, Estil saw, as she hurried through the palace. Worried faces, whispering in corners. She overheard one servant say, “It’s maybe spring fever … You know Perin just lost hers …” Estil slowed; the two servants nodded respectfully to her.

  “Do you really think it’s spring fever?” Estil asked. “When my dairymaid lost hers, two years agone, we thought it was from eating sourgrass.”

  “Sourgrass is up, to be true,” one of the servants said. “But Cook only uses sourgrass late in the year, when it’s safe, and not much then. Perin wouldn’t have touched it; she wanted that child.”

  “How far along was she?” Estil said, leaning on the wall as if she’d been hoping for a good gossip, as indeed she had.

  “Near half-term,” the other servant said. “Showing and kicking. And you know—” She turned to the other servant. “Maris, she thought she’d caught, and she had a terrible time just two days ago. All day in her bed or the jacks, she was.”

  “Had there been other fever in the household?” Estil asked. “Or out in the city?”

  “Nay. We’s been lucky this year, all year. Thought it was the king’s luck, him being the true heir. But then comes war and this … Maybe he’s not so lucky, after all.”

  “The Pargunese would’ve come, king or no king,” Estil said.

  “Yes, my lady,” they both said.

  Estil saw at once she’d spoken too firmly; she tried again. “Forgive me. It’s that I’ve known him since he was a starveling boy; he was like one of my own.”

  Their faces relaxed. The older one spoke. “Oh, my lady, tell us … We heard some tale of it but nothing specific. What was he like as a boy? Was he always so handsome?”

  “No—he was just a ragged waif,” she said. Their faces softened with the same sympathy she’d felt. But she could spend no more time feeding their curiosity; her own might save Arian’s next
child. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I must not stay here chatting. Where are Perin and Maris? I want to talk to them, see if there’s any connection between their loss and the queen’s.”

  “I’ll take you, Lady Halveric,” the older servant said. “Gadlin, you’d best be at work when t’steward comes.” She winked. Estil glanced back and saw the steward hurrying down the passage.

  “Perin’s my third cousin,” the servant said over her shoulder as she led the way. “I’m Bettlan, milady. Perin’s that upset … she won’t likely talk to you unless I’m there, and she’s a cryer, Perin is.”

  “I understand,” Estil said. “I lost a child once.”

  “Ah. Be gentle with her, is all.”

  “I will be.”

  “And you think it’s not spring fever.”

  “I think a fever would have taken more people,” Estil said. “And there’d be fever in Chaya, with all the visitors who’ve come.”

  “So …?”

  Could she trust this Bettlan? They were out in the west court now, heading to the row of cottages that backed on the palace wall, where some of the servants lived. Estil touched Bettlan’s shoulder; she stopped and turned. “Bettlan, if too much is known too soon, we may never figure out the truth. Can you keep a quiet tongue?”

  Bettlan scowled. “I’m no blabber despite your finding me talking with Gadlin. If it’s a secret you want kept, I’ll keep my tongue behind my teeth.”

  “Fine, then. I think these babes were lost to poison, poison their mothers ate in food here, in the palace. There’s been treachery in the air since the king’s mother rode away with him expecting an escort who never came. Do you understand?”

  “But they said elves—” Bettlan rocked back on her heels. Her face paled. “You mean it’s them … they … they wouldn’t have … the Lady …”