Dove shook her head. “Papa gave Sarai and me the maps for all our mother’s lands, since they are our inheritance. And the bailiff has extras. I’ll get a set for you. You’d tell Papa and the duchess if we’re in danger from Bronau, wouldn’t you?”
Aly picked up a sausage baked in dough, country food from the Eastern Lands. She looked it over, wondering if Chenaol had spiced it in the Isles way and if she would regret taking a bite. “Do you have a reason to distrust His Highness?” she asked. She took a careful bite of sausage. It tasted just like those at home.
Dove nibbled her mango. “I don’t trust anyone who feels you should like them because they love themselves so much,” she said tartly. Aly snorted, spraying crumbs on the grass. “Don’t laugh,” Dove told her. “It’s true.”
“I wasn’t laughing at you,” Aly said when she had swallowed the rest of her mouthful and taken a drink of water. “I was laughing because you put it perfectly.”
“He thinks if he smiles at you and gives you presents you won’t notice he can’t keep his mouth closed,” grumbled Dove, appeased. “If we were in Rajmuat and the king’s spies heard the way he talks, we’d all be under arrest. Does he believe there aren’t any spies out here?”
“We’ll just make sure they don’t have the chance to report anything,” Aly assured the girl. “That’s the nice thing about being all tucked away like this. We can control what information comes into these lands and what information leaves them.” She passed a sausage roll to Dove. “Try one of these, and tell me which members of King Oron’s family are still alive.”
In the days that followed, Aly settled into her expanded role among the Balitangs and the raka conspirators. Junai became a silent, constant presence from the moment Aly left the main hall in the morning until she reentered it at night. Wherever Aly spent her days, Junai was at hand, looking on as Aly tended goats, talked to Visda and occasionally Dove, and practiced her hand-to-hand combat.
The raka patrols were now visible. Aly would look up from studying the maps Dove had brought, to note distant groups of riders, mounted on nimble ponies. They skirted the farms and wound through the estate’s rocky eastern border. Sometimes younger riders came with them, to practice fighting and tracking away from the gaze of the duke’s and prince’s men-at-arms.
Aly traded on and off with Hasui as wine pourer on the dais. Every second night she searched the rooms occupied by Bronau and his attendants for new letters. Bronau’s spies wrote nothing, having no way to get correspondence out of Tanair, but the prince himself wrote every day, preparing letters that offered alliances to nobles who were not friends of his brother. Aly memorized each noble’s name, knowing that Bronau would send these calls for aid as soon as the opportunity came. She wanted to know whom Bronau felt was safe to approach.
When Aly took pouring duty, Bronau always made sure to say hello to her. He also flirted constantly with Sarai in the dining hall. Fesgao and the servants said that he did so at all other times as well. Everyone saw how Sarai responded to Bronau’s compliments and teasing, obviously flattered by the man’s charm and attention. At night, as Aly recited what news she found worth the family’s time, Sarai listened without comment. She could not keep the trouble from her face as Aly quoted Bronau’s latest piece of correspondence, any more than her parents could. Only Dove showed real curiosity and appreciation of what Aly had learned.
Bronau did not neglect Mequen and Winnamine, so his dealings with Sarai caused few ripples apart from idle speculation. Aly heard the servants’ and slaves’ observations when she and the chief raka conspirators—Ulasim, Chenaol, Lokeij, and Fesgao—met over a late supper in the kitchen. They talked softly over drinks and snacks while most of the household listened to music in the great hall. Ulasim summed up the patrols’ reports for his three comrades and Aly. Chenaol had the day’s gossip and discoveries from the servants and the villagers, where her own family played a vital part in everyday business. Lokeij and his stable boys shared news from visitors to the stables, as well as Tanair’s herdspeople, while Fesgao passed on the gleanings from the prince’s and the Balitangs’ men-at-arms. Sometimes Nawat joined them if the crows had seen anything of interest. Aly was surprised at first that the raka accepted Nawat so readily, until she overheard Chenaol tell Fesgao that their prophecy had mentioned the help of Kyprioth’s crows. Between the reports from the people and the crows, Aly had as perfect a spy network as her da could have put together.
So far there was little of interest to discuss: crop news, deer and elk sightings, human movement such as the route followed by the daily riding party, and bedroom intrigues between the locals and the royal guests. Aly was confident that she would know about danger before it got very far. With so much information coming in, she felt more like Aly of Pirate’s Swoop every day.
One night Aly finished her day’s report to the Balitangs. She turned to go when the duchess stopped her. “Aly, can someone else take your goats tomorrow?”
Aly nodded.
“The prince wants to see our villages,” explained Sarai. “Inti and Pohon. We thought you might want to come as well.”
“You did want to see more of the plateau,” Dove said. Normally she kept silent during these reports. Now she gave Aly a tiny smile and returned to setting out the chessboard for her nightly game with Mequen.
“I’m having the maid pack some of Rihani’s potions to bring to the villages,” the duchess added. “That will explain your presence. We’ll have soldiers, but you can say I didn’t wish to entrust the bottles and jars to a ham-handed warrior.”
Aly smiled. “Thank you, Your Grace,” she told the duchess. “I await your orders in the morning.” Finally, she thought. A chance to ferret out the mage at Pohon!
She rose at her usual time so that she could take the goats down to Visda, then returned to the castle. Waiting in her cleanest tunic and breeches, a small cloth bag with a few necessary items slung over her shoulder, she watched the men-at-arms at their morning combat drill. There was a quiet, grim competition between the Balitangs’ and Bronau’s men. Neither side was at its friendliest. Blows that should have been taps hit with authority and pain. Looking around the courtyard, Aly noticed Junai in the shadows, her eyes intent on the sparring men. No doubt her guard was considering new fighting techniques.
One person Aly hadn’t seen yet that day was Nawat. Perhaps he worked outside only at dawn, when things were quiet, and went back into Falthin’s bowyer shop when the courtyard got busy. Aly tried to pretend she wasn’t disappointed, but her illusion fell to pieces when she saw Nawat walking toward her, leading two saddled and bridled horses. He was smiling at her in a way that made her throat tighten just a little. She coughed to clear it.
“I am to ride with you,” Nawat explained when he reached her. “Workers in the villages gather wood for bows and arrow shafts, and I must collect it. We will ride together and our crows will visit us.”
“They’ll probably frighten the horses,” Aly said, accepting the reins Nawat offered. “Falthin certainly gives you plenty of time away from work.”
“He says I am young only once,” Nawat informed her. “He says that when I choose a mate he will help me with the bride price. Do you have a bride price? What is a bride price?”
He might as well have touched her with a branding iron. Aly jumped. Had she been someone else’s daughter she might even have shrieked. As it happened, she was saved from having to answer by the arrival of the prince, the duchess, the older girls, and their guards. Lokeij himself brought out Sarai’s mount, and winked at Aly and Nawat.
I suppose he thinks I’m interested in bride prices, too! Aly thought, indignant. She would have to explain things to Nawat, so he would know how very uninterested in such things she was. For now she had a performance to give. As far as anyone here knew, Aly had not spent much time in the saddle. To that end she dragged herself onto her shaggy chestnut mare, every inch of her the ignorant servant rider. The horse bridled, pranced, even reared twice.
Aly stayed on while she pretended to be on the verge of falling off, flopping here and there as the mare worked off her early- morning fidgets. It seemed that the horse figured out that she was experienced. Once the chestnut calmed down, Aly took the basket of potions from the duchess.
As they set off, Aly and Nawat rode between the nobles and the men-at-arms. Snatches of conversation came back to Aly: talk of weather and crops, hunting and books. More than once she heard the prince tell Sarai, “When you return to the capital,” as if they were on Lombyn for a holiday. Today for a change Aly watched from close quarters as the prince and Sarai had their daily gallop, their bodyguards following. The duchess, confident the pair would never be out of sight of their guards, remained with Dove and the main group of riders.
As a riding companion, Nawat was perfect. He sat his mount as if born in the saddle. Aly supposed it was because in many ways he was as much an animal as his horse. Staying close to Aly, Nawat pointed out the land’s features as they rode across it. Aly memorized them all, placing them on her mental copy of the Tanair map: roads and trails, creeks, springs, farms, stands of trees and of rocks where enemies might hide, herds of animals, clumps of wild berries and fruit trees. She also saw that the raka who labored in the fields stood at attention as Sarai galloped by and bowed to the duchess. They watched Dove from the corners of their eyes. Aly hoped their restraint was due to the Tanair conspirators’ warning them not to show any favor to Sarai before outsiders.
It was almost noon when they reached the village of Inti, astride the road that cut down through cliffs and waterfalls to reach the western coast of Lombyn. Inti itself was set on a mound of raised earth. To Aly it was the second most dangerous point on the Tanair lands, a less obvious route into Balitang territory. Ulasim had assured her that his people were aware of the problem. The road was watched. Inti’s villagers kept messenger doves to carry word of an enemy’s approach to the castle. There was also a large flock of crows in the trees around Inti and the road west. They bawled wary greetings to Aly and Nawat, then reported normal activity.
At Inti even Bronau could not ignore the rakas’ behavior. The villagers stopped whatever they did to look on in silence as the headman and elders came to greet their company.
I suppose I should be grateful they don’t have signs up proclaiming, Welcome to the One Who Is Promised, Aly told herself. She made a mental note to ask Ulasim and Chenaol how many noble luarin knew of the prophecy.
The raka remained silent as the duchess gave half of the contents of Aly’s basket to the village midwife, then followed the village headman to his home. There the headman and the elders offered the nobles herbal tea, coconut custard, sticky rice, rice flour cakes, cassava melon slices, and banana fritters on woven grass platters. They ate seated on the headman’s broad porch as the townspeople looked on.
Aly knelt just behind the duchess and Sarai, within earshot as Bronau sipped his tea and quickly set the cup down. “Murky stuff,” he whispered to Sarai in Common, his eyes dancing merrily. “Do you suppose they scooped it from a swamp? Perhaps we’d best check for slugs and salamanders. They eat anything that doesn’t eat them first, these wild folk.”
Aly doubted that he even realized he was insulting their hosts; he was simply bent on flirting with Sarai. To her credit, she kept her eyes down as a blush mantled her golden brown cheeks. Let Bronau think the blush was maidenly confusion. Aly, seeing the girl’s trembling hands, knew it for rage. She glanced at the raka elders. From the flashing eyes of three of them, she knew they understood Common as well as their own language.
I need hand signals, she thought, putting it on her mental list of things to do. In case I have to tell the family things without speaking aloud. Right now she wished she could ask Sarai to steer the prince away from his present line of chatter. She was wondering if she would have to spill tea on the man when Dove said, “Your Highness, perhaps these elders would like to hear news from Rajmuat?”
With everyone’s attention now on him, Bronau was happy to perform the role of the great man for the townspeople. He patronized them, explaining the most obvious things, but at least he was no longer making fun of their hospitality. I love that girl, Aly thought, passing the banana fritters to Dove. The younger girl met her eyes. Her mouth twitched slightly in a tucked-away smile.
The visit ended with an exchange of politenesses between the duchess and the village elders. The Inti raka stood in silence as the nobles mounted up and rode on their way.
“That was odd, don’t you think?” Bronau asked Winnamine as they left Inti behind. “Did you see how they stared? Surely they’ve seen luarin nobility before. And they weren’t chattering as they always do, in that dreadful language of theirs.”
“We are still a novelty here,” Winnamine replied, her face and eyes serene, with no hint of any emotion but pleasant interest. “Remember, these are highlanders. They hardly ever see anyone new, let alone of the luarin. Really, my dear, the tea and the food were perfectly safe. We all took our share. You insulted them by not taking any.”
“I would have insulted my belly even more,” Bronau said with a grin. “Just because I keep pigs doesn’t mean I eat their slop.”
A chill rolled off the raka among their men-at-arms. Bronau had not even tried to keep his voice down.
“For our sake, Bronau, will you be gracious to them?” Winnamine asked playfully, resting a light hand on the man’s sleeve. “We have to live with these people for the time being.”
Bronau took her hand and kissed her fingertips. “For you I will risk it, Winna. But don’t be so resigned. Once I return to the capital, I will use all my influence to bring you back to civilization.” He turned to Sarai. “After all, the young men don’t know what they’re missing while you are here.”
As they rode on, Nawat drew closer to Aly. “Raka aren’t pigs,” he murmured. She wondered if Falthin had told him to speak quietly, or if Nawat sensed that it was a bad idea to be overheard. “Why does he speak of them that way?” the crow-man wanted to know. “They are humans, just like he is.”
“I don’t think he sees them as just like him,” Aly explained.
“He is foolish, then,” said Nawat. “There are more raka than Bronaus.”
They rode on to Pohon, on the north side of the plateau. Once again the farmers stood up from their work to watch them pass. Aly, sharpening her Sight, noted that the closer they rode to the village, the more farmers had weapons close at hand in the fields. She also noticed that the men-at-arms had closed ranks and moved up to ride two deep on either side of the column, enclosing it on three sides. They entered forested land beyond the fields, until they came to Pohon. These villagers were different from those of Inti, except for the mute attention they gave Dove and Sarai. They accepted the duchess’s medicines without thanks. Their eyes were hostile when they looked at the men-at-arms, sullen as they regarded the prince, the duchess, Aly, and the luarin maid. Aly wondered if they remembered that their precious Lady was half luarin.
In the confusion of greeting the elders, Aly asked Winnamine to excuse her, implying that something she had eaten had not set well in her belly. When the duchess looked at her with the tiniest of frowns, Aly raised an eyebrow. Winnamine’s eyes crinkled with mirth, then she gravely nodded her permission.
Carrying her cloth bag and the empty medicine basket, Aly slipped into the shadows along the sides of a village house and put on the disguise she had packed into it: a beige head scarf such as farm women wore, tied at the nape of her neck, and a jar of brown skin tint, made of sap, that she could wipe off quickly. She smeared it on her face, arms, hands, and the tops of her feet where the leggings did not cover the bare skin. At the last moment she remembered the back of her neck, a mistake her father told her was often the death of spies. She hoisted the empty potion basket onto one shoulder as the raka women did, and sauntered through the area between the houses. Nearly everyone was gathered before the headman’s porch, where the nobility sat. Aly walked away from the
m.
Somewhere around Pohon there was a mage. Aly hoped it would be here, within the palisade walls. She kept her head down as she ambled along the beaten paths that were streets and walkways, keeping an eye open for any house that was decorated with the colors of a raka mage: red and purple braids, and green threads strung like spiderwebs in small wooden circles. People might visit a mage in her house for the treatment of their illnesses, or the mage could be elsewhere, helping a woman in labor while the midwife sat with the dignitaries at the headman’s residence. If the mage was away, Aly’s Sight would show her where the mage could be found.
She did see magic. Its white fire gleamed everywhere, in signs written on doors, windows, ladders, and wells, on the sides of jars and baskets, scratched in garden dirt. She didn’t know what they were for; the raka used very different signs from the eastern mages. From experience Aly could guess at their meanings and file in her memory the signs that obviously were for house blessing, disease, or fire prevention.
When she reached the rear wall without Seeing even a hint of a mage, Aly chewed her lip. She had prowled all over Pohon without luck. She had to return to the duchess’s party. Certainly she didn’t want to get left behind. Her disguise wouldn’t stand up to close inspection. The raka’s hate for the luarin was a nearly solid thing. It discouraged plans to stay the night.
She turned. Three raka men and two raka women blocked her path.
“So what is it?” asked one woman, a dark, feline creature who radiated contempt. “You thought raka are so stupid they wouldn’t notice a stranger prowling our village?”
Trickster's Choice Page 20
