Surela leaped to her feet. “That is enough! Whether you accept it or not, I am your sovereign now and you will not speak to me this fashion!”
“You will never be my sovereign,” Araelis snarled, the words dripping black and shadows. “And even if Liolesa died tomorrow, you would never be anyone’s liegelady, because you will fail in the one paramount duty that only a queen can undertake… the protection of the realm.” She folded her arms around her swollen belly. “Am I done here, or do you wish to have me executed for my insolence?”
“It is not insolence! You skirt perilously close to treason!”
“Oh… oh no. You have not seen treason yet.” Araelis narrowed her eyes. “You have set your sword against the Galare-Jisiensire. Good luck with that, ‘Queen’ Surela.”
“You may go,” Surela said, before she said anything more regrettable.
Without thanking her for the dismissal, Araelis departed.
The nerve of the woman! To say such things! As if she knew better than anyone what would serve the world and the people!
…still, there was the chance, slight as it might be, that she did know aught that was kept from others. Jisiensire enjoyed a rare closeness with the royal line; perhaps Liolesa had confided something in Araelis, or Hirianthial, that she had not mentioned to the court? This business of Hirianthial observing the acts of outworld slavers sounded plausible.
Fortunately, he was still in the catacombs awaiting the trials of the priests. She could ask. He would not be glad to receive her, but perhaps for the good of their people he could be compelled to give answer. Best to arm herself with that knowledge before attempting her next interview; if Araelis had been less than tractable, and she only of allied family, Surela could only imagine what her reception would be when she attempted the northern branch of the Galares. She sighed and took up her mantle, remembering the cold in the catacombs, and went to ask for escort.
Liolesa found him the following day in the room he’d been assigned. She did not look well, he thought, nor would she until she was home again, but her aura smoothed at the sight of him. He set his stylus down and started to rise, but she lifted a hand. “Don’t, cousin. I am the one who intrudes. I do not interrupt anything, I hope?”
He glanced at the tablet and smiled faintly. “Nothing that would not make you laugh, perhaps, to hear.”
“Oh? I could use such a tale.” She stepped into the room, sat at a chair by the door.
“I am arranging for horses.”
A comet-tail of bright amusement skittered over the dome of her aura, silvered her words. “Theresa’s horses?”
He tapped the stylus gently against the data tablet, kept his voice even and the color neutral. “Yes. They remember me well on that world.”
She hesitated. “I imagine they do,” she said finally. “Well, you will not hear me laughing, cousin. I am glad, in fact.”
“Oh?”
“Because it shows you have expectations for a future where horses still play a part,” Liolesa finished. “Where your lady has time and peace to raise them for me.”
“And when you still need them? Will you?”
Liolesa smiled a little. “An Eldritch will always need a horse. Whether she is using that horse for transportation or for pleasure. I’m told you have been to see the priest?”
“Who has resumed my lessons, yes,” Hirianthial said, thinking of the one he’d endured that morning. “I have a great deal yet to learn.” He added, quiet, “She is not my lady.”
“You are still carrying the swords for Araelis, so, no, I expect not,” Liolesa said, with far too bland an expression.
“Your attempt to properly educate me using Lesandurel—”
“Worked? Or did not?”
He denied himself the severe look he wanted to award her and said only, “I am not Lesandurel.”
“No one would have ever said differently—”
“And I will not do things as he did, nor make his choices. I will make my own.”
“So will we all,” Liolesa said, her aura flashing dark, like steel turned against moonlight. And then, rueful. “Forgive me, Hiran. There is so little I can do right now, and little joy to be had. I fear I may be indulging myself at your expense, if only to have something pleasing to contemplate in my exile.”
Hirianthial sighed and smiled, just a little. “And you find me with the horses, doing the same.”
“Well, then… perhaps you might show me what you are about, and we can both be diverted by something that does not abrade you quite so much.”
On this they whiled a pleasurable hour away, and were in fact still engaged in it when one of the ubiquitous Tams arrived at the door and begged their attention. “My Queen,” he said. “The Alliance ambassador has requested your presence for a meeting with a member of the Fleet Admiralty.”
Liolesa rose and said to Hirianthial. “Come. You will be wanted for this discussion.”
The Ambassador and Admiral awaited them in one of the hotel’s conference rooms, a space dominated by its window and the view of the ships that passed beyond its flexglass wall; everything else fell away, an understated sweep of midnight blue carpets and dark brown furniture cut in simple, elegant lines. The twain standing by the window were the sole spots of color: a female Seersa, white fur pied with fire-red, wearing maroon edged in silver surmounted by a black cloak affixed with the Alliance’s crest, and a human man, skin dark as chestnuts with a fringe of short black hair, in the stark splendor of the Fleet’s dress uniform, cobalt blue and black and gold and silver.
“Your Majesty,” the Ambassador said, drawing nigh and bowing. Speaking in Universal—not a given, with the Seersa, for Hirianthial recalled the few people allowed to learn their tongue by treaty stipulation were mostly Seersa. “Thank you for coming. As you can see, Admiral Ogaban has arrived.”
“With news, I hope?”
“Good and bad,” the human said, stepping forth. He had a mellifluous bass, and none of the unease Hirianthial had often marked among those fresh introduced to the Eldritch; even his aura was a calm burnished silver. “Your Majesty. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, though I would have preferred better circumstances.”
“As would we all,” she said. “This is my Lord of War, my cousin Hirianthial Sarel Jisiensire. Lord Hirianthial, Ambassador Fetchpoint.”
“My Lord,” the Seersa said, looking up at him. “It’s good to see you on your feet. I trust the Fleet hospital met with your approval?”
“They did very well by me, thank you,” Hirianthial said, and wondered at his own acceptance of the unexpected title. But then, had he not said that he was committed at Liolesa’s side to the protection of their Body?
“Excellent,” Fetchpoint said. “Then if we might have a seat? Admiral Ogaban can outline what we can immediately send in response to your request for aid.”
“The good news,” Ogaban said once they’d settled at the conference table, “is that I can free up a scout to send your way. Our scouts are heavily armed ships with fifty-man complements; they’re trained to sneak into hot zones and grapple with enemies that might not want to see them coming. They’re just the sort of ships I’d want for a situation like this.” He met their eyes. “The not so good news is that I won’t have that ship to send for another two weeks.”
Hirianthial could feel the flare of Liolesa’s aura as she reacted, though no sign of her tumult reached her face.
“I have spoken at length with Ambassador Fetchpoint,” Ogaban continued, “about our need to honor the treaty we’ve signed with you, and what that entails, and how what we’re currently offering is not sufficient to the promises we’ve made you. That we made those promises before we became embroiled in a war on our coreward border shouldn’t put constraints on our delivery, even if realistically it does. This is particularly odious because I strongly suspect that what’s happening on your world, Your Majesty, is only another arm of the same war. Given that, then, I have a ship en route that should arriv
e here tomorrow.
“This is one of Fleet Intelligence’s quick-insert vessels. It’s manned by a single FIA hold, a group of operatives who’ve trained together and remained together since. I want them to go in and get the intelligence we need so the scout can come in swinging.”
“And they could not handle the pirate vessel themselves?” Liolesa asked.
“Not unless it’s a lot smaller than we’re guessing from your description,” Ogaban said. “I won’t rule it out, but I won’t raise your hopes either. If there’s opportunity, they’ll take it, but their primary goal will be to prepare the ground for the heavier vessel coming after them.”
“And if they find something that requires more than a scout’s weaponry?”
“Let’s pray they don’t, Your Majesty,” Ogaban said with a crooked smile. “But if they do, then there really is more going on in your sector than we thought, and we’ll deal with it accordingly.”
“This vessel,” Hirianthial said. “Can it carry passengers?”
The human looked up at him, aura swirled with a sudden queasy yellow consternation. “It’s a military vessel, my Lord. It’s not equipped for guests.”
“It would not be carrying a guest,” Hirianthial said.
Ogaban paused. “You mean to assign someone to accompany them?”
“It would be meet,” Liolesa said. “To have an observer with you. And wise as well; someone who knows the land, the language, the political situation intimately.”
“Ah… yes, yes it would,” the Admiral said. “And of course, your observer is welcome.”
“Two,” Liolesa said. “Two observers.”
“Two. But I can’t in good conscience allow more. It’s not a large ship and passengers are an intrusion.”
“Two will suffice,” Liolesa said. “Thank you.”
At the conclusion of the conference, Hirianthial and Liolesa walked together to their suite. He was intimately aware of the strength and solidity of her aura… that at some point, her anger had become the impetus for forward motion, now that there was some action she could undertake. So it was, with his cousin: Plan early. Execute presently. Emotion later.
Once they reached the sitting room, he said, “What will you do?”
“Wait for this scout,” Liolesa said. “And then go home with her. So I will be two weeks behind you, and I expect you to have prepared the ground, cousin.”
“A fine title you granted me, all unknowing.”
“You think it so?” She smiled, just a faint curve at the edge of her mouth. “It has not been used since Jerisa’s reign, and the last man to answer to it died carrying the war to Corel.”
He suppressed the urge to sigh, and his words came out drenched in shadows. “We put too much weight on things that have passed. It is little wonder we are strangling to death in our own history.”
“No. But Goddess and Lord willing, we shall be done with that soon.” She looked up at him. “You will prepare now?”
“If the vessel is arriving tomorrow? Absolutely.” He folded his arms, regarding her. “And now I wait.”
She turned one of the coffee cups on the service. Not innocence, he thought—she was feeling it, feeling the reality of where they were, and the entity they would be courting a closer relation with once this was over, did they live through it. “Mmm?”
“For you to explain.”
“Explain…?” She looked up, cup in hand, then laughed, a low sound. “Ah. Which part?”
“Two?” he prompted.
“You and your equerry, of course.” At his blank expression, she said, “The Harat-Shar, yes?”
“My equerry!” The notion struck him as ludicrous, and yet there was a tender humor in it: Sascha, who would not mount a horse for fear of it biting him, as an equerry! Him even needing an equerry, when their world did everything possible to minimize wars. His carrying a title as old as Settlement, and dusty from disuse. “Sascha?”
She smiled, all silvered words. “Try you to leave without him, see what happens.”
“Someone must carekeep the Earthrise.”
“Fleet can carekeep the Earthrise,” Liolesa replied. “And Fleet is a safer place for Theresa’s investment than a system threatened by an unknown number of pirates. There is not a weapon on that vessel, is there?”
He thought of the single laser designed to deal with debris and said, “No… no, that there is not.”
“There you are, then.” She studied him, then nodded. “Go you with your man, and see to our world. I will come with the cavalry, and we will put paid to this nonsense and see to the real work.”
“You sound so certain of success,” he said.
“And so I must be. What choice do we have?” She set the cup down. “It is this or oblivion. Worse than death: slavery and dispersion until we die out. No, Hiran. We must succeed. There is no other option.”
“Then I shall do my best to abet you. Only, I pray you, cousin… have some useful notion of where we are to go after this to prevent a similar happenstance.”
She laughed then, full and rich. “Oh, never fear that. I have a plenitude of plans and always have, and if this is not quite the way I’d envisioned launching them, well… I was never so arrogant to think that war might not have been the ultimate catalyst in the end.” She offered him her bare hands and he took them, resting his thumbs on her palm. Her fingers were warmer than his; she’d always been thus, like a fire strove at her edges. Liolesa, the woman who was not content to be solely a seal-bearer for a world and its people, but who insisted on being her own sword as well… to the point of taking it for a personal emblem. He smiled, fond of her and exasperated both, and turned her hands so he could kiss their backs.
“I am your faithful liegeman.”
“And much beloved, at that. Pack, Hiran. At last we are in motion again.”
“Yes,” he said, vehement. “Yes.”
CHAPTER 6
“I am not convinced of the wisdom of allowing this stranger access to our counsel,” Belinor said once they’d all been seated around Taylor’s data tablet. He glanced at Val. “Even if he has offered us no further harm, he is an unknown. We hardly know his motivations.”
“If it makes you feel better,” Val said, “I could step outside. Except that I could still learn everything you’re saying if I wanted to listen. I could even use your ears and you’d never know.”
“You’re not helping,” Reese told him dryly.
“I thought being honest about my capabilities would make it clear that I am being forthcoming.”
Irine coughed into a fist as Belinor turned a scathing look on the other Eldritch.
Val grinned and inclined his head, pressing his hand to his heart. “I apologize, Acolyte—”
“That’s better than ‘boy,’ at least,” Taylor muttered as she flicked through the tablet’s comm channels.
“—and if there is some way I might convince you I am here in good faith, only tell me.”
“Fine,” Belinor said, eyeing him. “Will you swear to it?”
“On anything you like,” Val answered magnanimously.
“On Elsabet’s sacrifice,” Belinor said with zeal, leaning forward. “Swear it.”
Val froze in place. Seeing it made Reese realize that he tended to move more than the Eldritch she knew; she’d seen Hirianthial do this stillness, but it was less marked. Was that one of the reasons she trusted the former priest so easily? Because his body language read like Pelted body language… or human? Because it made him seem more open?
This stillness, though—the request had meant something. Meant a lot.
Folding his arms, Belinor finished, “You say you are his incarnation. Then swear on her sacrifice, that you will not betray us to our enemies, whosoever they may be.”
“Ah,” Val said, and sighed. He ran a hand over the back of his neck and said ruefully, “Perhaps it won’t be years before he’s useful after all, Lady Eddings.” Lifting his head, he met the other Eldritch’s eyes an
d answered in their own tongue, a stream of vowels with consonants that only seemed to give them ground to soar from. In Universal, “Repeating for the benefit of our companions: I do so swear, on the Lady Elsabet’s sacrifice, that I will not betray any of you to your enemies, whosoever they may be.”
Satisfied, Belinor said, “My Lady. It is well with me, then.”
“Just like that?” Irine asked, mystified. “You think he’s a renegade and a horrible witch and you trust him to keep his word?”
“He claims to be the reincarnation of Corel,” Belinor said. “If he can hold such a belief in his heart, then he would never go against the word he swore in the name of the woman who loved Corel, and died for him.”
“What if he was joking?” Reese asked, uneasy. “You know. About the reincarnation bit.”
Belinor said, simply, “He wasn’t.”
Reese let that go because dealing with it… well, how could she? A woman could only handle so much metaphysical gibberish at a time. “Taylor, you ready?”
“Ready.” The Tam-illee tapped the data tablet and it chirped. “Malia.”
A few moments later, the other Tam-illee’s face formed above the data tablet, shimmering until it solidified. “Taylor? Can you see me? I’ve got the solidigraph feed off on my side, we’re keeping it quiet here.”
“We’ve got you,” Taylor said. “Where are you?”
“Out in the woods, west of Ontine. There are some caches out here that the Swords have been maintaining: weapons, another Pad, food and communication gear. We’re hiding out while they do some scouting. So far no one’s left the palace, but they’re sure that Surela won’t stay long; they’re of the opinion she’s going to have to ride out soon to demand the surrender of the Queen’s enemies.”
“Armed with Alliance weapons,” Reese said heavily. She tried not to imagine what palmers would do to people armed with swords and succeeded only because she’d never seen the battlefields of the dead her romances had described when they’d wandered into epic fantasy storylines. What would that look like? The books always said things about the sky darkening with the wings of carrion birds. She rubbed her arm against the gooseflesh. “Have you gotten off any people to warn them?”
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