Trickster's Choice

by Tamora Pierce

  “Your Grace sent for me?” she asked Mequen. He hadn’t, but she wanted to gauge his mood and his thoughts.

  The duke raised his head. “Bronau has asked to remain here a week, to rest his men and the horses,” he said quietly. “Then he and I shall return to Rajmuat, to straighten this out. He understands that he went astray. He says Rubinyan will hearken to me more than he will to Bronau, and I fear that’s true. In the meantime, he’s riding today with my lady and the girls.”

  Aly cocked an eyebrow. “Did he swear?” she inquired. “Did he swear to behave?”

  Mequen’s eyes hardened. “Enough. You do not know him as I do. I will hear no more of this, understand? Things are different for nobles than for commoners. If you cannot believe that, at least pretend to do so.”

  The bedchamber door opened. Out came Winnamine with Dove and Sarai, all dressed for riding and carrying bows and quivers. “Aly, there you are,” the duchess said. “Come—we’re going to hunt with the prince. Where were you this morning? My maid helped both girls to dress, but she was not happy.”

  Aly shrugged. “I assumed that I was back in the great hall, since the young ladies were with Your Graces and Your Graces’ servants,” she said, bowing to the duchess. “Will you forgive me?”

  “Yes, of course,” said Winnamine, pulling on her gloves. “It never occurred to me that you wouldn’t see your place is with Dove now.”

  “Come on,” urged Sarai. “Bronau’s waiting.”

  They passed the day as they had during the prince’s first visit. He galloped with Sarai, then rode with the duchess, Sarai, and Dove. Aly, the ladies’ bodyguards, and Junai followed close behind. Bronau told jokes and talked about Dunevon’s coronation, relating the list of those who attended and what they wore. As far as Aly could tell, Sarai and the duchess hung on every word. Dove rode silently as she listened. Above them crows swooped and cawed. From their calls Aly knew who was nearby and whether they were raka, members of the Balitang household, or strangers.

  The group returned with partridges for that night’s supper. Aly took the birds to Chenaol, while the Balitang women went to play with Petranne and Elsren before they went to their weapons practice. With free time to spend, Aly did the rounds of the castle. She spoke first to the girls’ raka defenders, telling them of the duke’s and Bronau’s plans. Nawat reported that the crows had seen nothing suspicious on the plateau, which made Aly feel a little better. Her relief did not last very long. Bronau’s presence itched more than a rash. She could barely sit still, not when her instincts were shrieking.

  Sarai and the duchess came out in the late afternoon sun to practice sword skills with the men-at-arms, while Dove joined in the archery practice. Bronau looked on, smiling like an indulgent uncle. Dove was stringing her bow when Nawat approached. He slid a handful of arrows into the twelve-year-old’s quiver. Dove’s eyes went round. She gazed at Nawat in awe, one of the few times Aly could read clear feelings on the girl’s face. Each of Nawat’s arrows was fletched with griffin feathers. It reminded Aly once more that Nawat had been a crow for most of his life. No two-legger would have given precious griffin fletchings to a child, let alone a girl.

  One of the footmen came for Aly. “His Highness and His Grace play chess,” he informed her. “They wish you to serve wine.”

  Aly followed the man back into the castle, her mind busy. Perhaps Bronau would get caught up in the game and say something she could use to persuade the duke to let his friend return to the capital alone. Instead the two men spoke of the past. Mequen and Rubinyan had been pages and squires together. Bronau had served under Mequen’s command in the royal navy, then commanded the naval escort that had carried Mequen on diplomatic missions to Carthak. The men discussed Isles politics, Carthaki history, and music. They discussed players and compositions for so long that Aly wanted to sleep where she stood. Every now and then, when Bronau said something funny or engaging, the duke would glance at Aly, as if to say, “You see? He is a good man and a good friend.”

  Aly kept her face pleasant and refilled the cups as they emptied. Prince Bronau had shown on too many occasions that he was reckless and unreliable. He probably was a good friend to Mequen, but that meant very little in a dangerous political world.

  The chess game ended; the men went out to practice sword skills with Veron and Fesgao. Aly stowed her pallet and belongings in the room where Sarai and Dove currently slept, then went downstairs.

  Nawat met her in the great hall. “My brethren have come to roost here for the night,” he informed Aly. They stood aside as Elsren and Petranne clattered by, pursued by their nursemaid. “The light is going. They say all remains quiet on these lands.”

  Aly nodded. “My head aches, though,” she told him. “If all goes well, why am I tense?”

  Nawat ran his fingers gently through Aly’s short hair, preening her. “That is your task,” he replied simply. “Most humans think the appearance of quiet is quiet. They do not see that sometimes the enemy is as quiet as the serpent. Only when it has stolen all of their eggs will they know bad walks in the quiet as well as the noisy.”

  Aly leaned against the wall, looking up into Nawat’s deep-set eyes. “I thought you were worried about hawks.”

  “Those as well,” Nawat answered. “But a hawk I can see. While I watch the hawk, who is to say the serpent is not behind me?”

  Timidly Aly reached up and ran her fingers gently through Nawat’s hair over one ear, preening him in return for the first time. “I wish the duke were as wise—or as clear-sighted—as crows.”

  Nawat was bending down to Aly when Ulasim called from the stair, “Aly? Lady Dovasary is calling for you.” Nawat made a face and kissed Aly lightly on the nose, then left the hall. Aly tried to scorch Ulasim with a glare, but the big raka only returned a polite, meaningless smile. She stuck her tongue out at him as she trotted by on her way to Dove’s room.

  The day had cooled rapidly, enough that Sarai and Dove both wore woolen dresses to supper. Aly and Pembery loaded the braziers in the girls’ rooms with charcoal and set them alight so that they would be warm as they slept. Then they followed their mistresses downstairs.

  Bronau’s men-at-arms ate supper with the Balitang household, then retired to their quarters. The family’s servants and slaves played music and sang, relaxing. At last the Balitangs went upstairs. Aly helped to undress Dove, then spread her pallet near the door of the master bedroom. After she donned the shift she slept in, Aly refastened the sheaths of her knives around her ankles and arms. Her sleep would be uncomfortable, but she dared not risk a night without them. Once that was done, she talked with Dove as Sarai read. From the sitting room, they could hear the murmur of conversation between the duke, the duchess, and Bronau.

  At last the girls’ parents came in and went into the dressing rooms to change clothes, with the help of Pembery and the man who waited on Mequen. The servants laid out their own pallets at the foot of the master bed as the duke and duchess slid under the cool linen sheets and a light coverlet. Sarai and Dove lay on cots placed on the far side of the bed, between Winnamine and her dressing room.

  Aly looked around. Something wasn’t right. Mequen was about to blow out the last candle when Aly said, “Wait, please.” She went into the dressing room and returned with his unsheathed sword.

  “Aly,” Mequen said, his eyes sharp with anger. “You really go too far—”

  Winnamine laid her palm against his cheek to silence him. “Humor us, my dear. Keep it close.”

  The duke sighed in exasperation. “Gods, save me from the nerves of women!” he snapped, flinging himself back against his pillows. Then he sighed and sat up. “Thank you, Aly. I know your concern is for our welfare.”

  Aly placed the sword on the table with the candle. She angled its hilt so Mequen would find it instantly if he reached out in the dark. “Good night, Your Grace,” she said, and blew out the candle. Using her Sight, adjusted for the dark, she found her pallet easily.

  Sleep would
not come. She tried to keep still, so as not to wake the others, but her body trembled with nerves. When she slept in the great hall, she could hear everything outside and in. She also had freedom to move downstairs. This room felt like a trap.

  Aly heard the whisper of cloth on cloth through the crack under the door beside her. She pressed her ear to it, straining to hear. The sitting room on the other side was closed. She had watched Sarai shut that door, putting a heavy wooden barrier between the bedchamber and the main stair. What had made that stray noise, mice? The old tower had its share, but this sound was not mouselike.

  She heard a thump, then a creak. Someone was definitely opening the sitting room door. “Your Grace!” Aly whispered, scrambling to her feet. “Wake up!” She lunged for the door and braced her shoulder against it, cursing the absence of locks on the family’s rooms. What could she use to barricade the entry besides her own weight? Behind her she heard people scrambling out of their blankets.

  As Aly braced her shoulder against the door to keep it shut, someone pushed on it from outside. It edged open. She scrabbled for purchase on the floor with her bare feet, without success, and leaned into the door with all of her weight. It wasn’t enough. The door slammed open, smashing her against the wall behind it. Pain seared through her as her back hit stone with a crack. Aly groaned and shoved the door away from her. She sank to the floor, fighting to stay conscious.

  Someone in the room threw the water pitcher: Aly saw it fly through the open doorway. A man yelped outside; the pitcher shattered on something hard. Mequen shouted orders to his wife and servants. Then Bronau, clinking in a chain mail shirt over a leather tunic and breeches, walked in. He carried an unsheathed sword in his hand. Three of his soldiers, wearing mail and carrying torches, followed.

  The duke’s manservant, howling in rage, attacked with no better weapon than an iron candelabrum. Bronau ran him through, then thrust the dead man off his blade with a booted foot. His men spread out behind him. Mequen had grabbed the sword Aly had left for him. He now stood between Bronau and the women of his family. Winnamine placed herself in front of Sarai and Pembery, another iron candelabrum in her hand like a sword. Aly couldn’t see Dove behind the bulk of the master bed.

  “I didn’t want this, Mequen, Winna,” Bronau said, pain and regret in his voice. “Not a fight. We’re all friends, aren’t we?”

  “Friends don’t call at midnight with swords in hand,” Mequen retorted.

  “Swords don’t have to come into play,” Bronau said with his charming smile. “We can work this out. All you need do is declare your claim to the throne. Once you are crowned, you’ll abdicate in favor of your oldest daughter and her husband—me. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Sarai?” he asked, his voice honey-sweet. “To be queen, clothed and jeweled as your beauty deserves. It could be a step forward for your mother’s people. I know you have a sentimental attachment to them.” Bronau looked from Mequen to Winnamine. “Don’t make me do this,” he pleaded.

  “Our servants will be at your back momentarily,” said the duke. “You can’t believe you and ten men can take my daughter and me.”

  “Of course not. That is why the forty other warriors I’ve recruited came onto the plateau after sundown,” Bronau informed them. “I did notice all those idle raka warriors riding to and fro when I visited here. My lads are combat veterans, not peasants or slaves with arrows and rusty swords. Your gates are now open to my armsmen—I’m afraid we had to kill some of your guards to do that.”

  “We have a mage,” snapped Sarai. “You won’t defeat her so easily!”

  Bronau smiled as if she were a clever student who had given a good answer. “I thought you might have one by now. I have three. They are keeping your old woman busy, if they haven’t killed her yet. Mequen, be sensible. I don’t want to kill you. You’re going to be my father-in-law.”

  Aly got her feet under her. She leaped onto the back of the closest man-at-arms. Wrapping her right hand around his chin, she yanked his head back and dragged her left-hand knife across his throat. He choked, staggered, and toppled backward, crushing Aly under his body. She squirmed madly, trying to free herself.

  “Papa!” cried Sarai as Winnamine held her back.

  Mequen lunged with his sword, chopping at his old friend. Bronau parried the blow with a half-turn, pushing Mequen’s blade aside. Mequen kept his sword moving in a sidelong cut that bit into the belly of Bronau’s second man-at-arms. The wounded man dropped his torch. Mequen used a bare foot to sweep the soldier’s feet from under him, dumping him onto it. The body smothered most of the flames as Mequen blocked another of Bronau’s strikes.

  Pembery shrieked and hid under the bed, begging the gods for help, as Winnamine and Sarai threw everything they could reach at the third of Bronau’s soldiers. Aly cursed as she struggled to free herself of the corpse that weighed her down. The remaining man-at-arms advanced on Winnamine and Sarai, shielding his face from the rain of vases, plates, and cosmetics jars. Aly saw no sign of Dove.

  “Don’t kill the girl!” shouted Bronau as he hacked the bed curtains by mistake. Mequen cut a long, shallow slice down Bronau’s leg, cutting through leather into flesh.

  Aly got her right hand free. In it she held a knife. Clenching her teeth, she rose halfway under the dead man’s weight and threw the blade. It struck the last man-at-arms on the cheekbone, opening a gash there. He glanced toward Aly with a snarl.

  The moment his attention shifted to Aly, Winnamine slammed her candelabrum across his face. The armsman’s nose broke with a dull crunch. Ornate metal leaves opened cuts in his eyebrows, cuts that blinded him with blood. Winnamine hit him twice more with all her strength. The soldier’s knees gave way.

  As he dropped, he lashed out, cutting Mequen’s leg. Mequen glanced down and stabbed him through the throat. Then the duke’s feet slipped in the armsman’s blood. He fell across the downed man’s body. As he fought to rise, Bronau ran him through.

  “Papa!” Sarai shrieked. She darted past Winnamine and grabbed her father’s sword. Facing Bronau, she brought it up to the ready position. “He is your friend!” cried Sarai.

  Bronau stepped back, raising both hands, though he kept a grip on his sword. “He would be the first to tell you that when a crown’s at stake, friendship becomes a luxury.” He pointed to Mequen. “I’ve seen men survive worse. Only swear that you’ll marry me and be my queen, and I’ll call one of my mages to heal him.”

  “He lies,” Aly croaked, Seeing it in Bronau.

  “I know that,” snapped Sarai. “His lips move, don’t they?” She lunged, her sword aimed at Bronau’s heart. He stepped back, half-pivoting, as her sword cut a bright line across his mail. Sarai caught herself, pivoted, and lunged again.

  Bronau seized her blade in gauntleted hands and wrenched it out of Sarai’s grip, tossing it aside. As she stumbled, he shoved her onto the bed. “We can do this nicely, or not,” he informed her calmly, “but you are going to lead a revolt at my side.”

  Aly wriggled free of the body that had pinned her. She gripped a knife in her left hand and jumped for Bronau’s back, grabbing for his chin with blood-slick fingers. Her hand slipped. Instead she hooked her fingers in his nostrils and pulled, then stabbed blindly. Her dagger scraped bone, not flesh. She’d gotten his jaw by mistake.

  Bronau roared and threw himself back, slamming Aly against the unforgiving stone wall. Her ribs cracked. Still she clung, raising her left hand for another slash. He wrenched the knife from her grip, breaking more of her bones, then slammed her into the wall again. Aly’s vision went dark. She hung on for her life and dragged on his nose, keeping his head back.

  Something thudded into Bronau. Aly couldn’t see what it was. He went still, wobbling on his feet. Something else hit him. Aly groped the man’s neck until her swelling fingers hit two long, slender shafts buried in his throat. She freed Bronau and shoved him forward. He dropped onto his face. Bracing herself against the wall, Aly looked across the bed. Dove stood on its far s
ide, a bow in her hand. A few griffin-fletched arrows lay on the coverlet where she could reach them.

  “Papa,” whispered Sarai. She lurched off of the bed without so much as a glance at the man who would have made her queen, and ran to her father’s side. Dove dropped her bow and did the same.

  Winnamine grabbed a shirt and knelt beside the girls. Carefully she laid the wadded-up shirt on Mequen’s bleeding wound and pressed down with it. “Pressure slows the bleeding,” she whispered.

  Aly seized a goosefeather bolster from the bed and used it to beat out the small fire that had spread from the second man-at-arms’s torch. She used what was left of that to light candles, then stumbled through the study and battered the door to Petranne and Elsren’s rooms.

  “Who is it?” asked Rihani, her voice shaking with terror. The two younger children were crying.

  “Aly. The duke’s cut in the belly. Come see to him.”

  “I don’t know if I can help,” Rihani protested.

  “I’ll find Ochobu!” snapped Aly. “Just keep his grace alive!”

  She heard furniture scrape. Weeks ago Rihani had been told that, if an attack came, she was to barricade the door, to keep the younger children safe. When the door opened, and Rihani saw Aly, she nodded.

  Aly didn’t watch her enter the duke’s bedroom. She raced down the stairs to the main hall. Her broken left arm hung by one side, limp and bluish purple. Sharp pains stabbed her right side, where she had broken ribs. She prayed they wouldn’t puncture her lungs, then ignored them. Without Ochobu, Mequen would die.

  Ochobu was not in the great hall. The room was in chaos as Ulasim and a few armed footmen fought nearly thirty invaders, most in leather armor covered with metal rings. This must be what’s left of the men Bronau sneaked onto the plateau after dark, Aly thought bitterly. He thought he was evading raka patrols, but he hid them from the crows as well. Had they killed the raka who guarded the road to the pass? They looked like they’d had a fight of some kind, either with the raka or with Veron and his men.