by Unknown
‘They’re pretty,’ she said, attempting to muster a smile.
‘You don’t mind, do you?’ asked Laryia.
‘Of course not, but Tierken might. He might think that seven days is insufficient time for you to give your heart to a man who does nothing but sleep.’
Laryia coloured. ‘I realise this sounds foolish, but when Tresen opened his eyes, I knew he was the man I was going to marry.’
‘It doesn’t sound foolish to me, but it will sound ridiculous to Tierken.’
Even as Kira said it, though, she was reminded of Tierken’s own words to her: From that moment on the plain, when you raised your head and looked at me with my own face, I’ve wanted you. Perhaps this sureness in matters of the heart was a family trait, but even if it were, Tierken was unlikely to accept the same standards of behaviour from his sister. And surely Laryia knew that Tierken would never give his permission for his sister, the Lady Laryia, to bond with the seed of the despised Kasheron.
‘Tresen’s not married, is he?’ asked Laryia.
‘The Tremen don’t marry,’ said Kira automatically.
‘Bonded then.’
‘No.’
‘Is there anyone in Allogrenia who waits for him . . . who loves him?’
‘Tresen was courting when the attacks began, but turned away. I think the killing made him reluctant to risk giving his heart,’ said Kira.
‘I should be sorry, but I’m not,’ said Laryia with a wan smile.
‘You’re tired, Laryia. Let me sit with him for a while. You go back to the Domain and rest. I’ll send for you if more wounded arrive.’
‘I need to speak with Farid, but I’ll come back at dusk so you can get some rest. Your eyes are still dark.’
‘My eyes have always changed colour,’ said Kira reassuringly.
The curtain fell back into place and Kira took Laryia’s seat. She knew her eyes mirrored the black nothingness that had been present within her since bringing Tresen back from death. It was almost as if death claimed something of her in recompense for its loss.
In the past, death had been common in the north, she mused. It had caused the Sundering but, in the times since, peace had reigned, helped by the Terak treaty with the Ashmiri. Kira wondered why the Terak hadn’t treatied with all the Shargh. The fighting brought death to the Shargh as well, and in their lands there must be other women who sat as she did, by the side of their wounded. If there were a treaty, the suffering of both peoples could be halted.
Kira sighed wearily, fearing that the chance for a treaty – and end to the bloodshed – had been lost long ago.
The spill of sunlight from the window behind her was warm, and voices drifted in from the street outside: mothers scolding children, men’s deeper voices ebbing and flowing, and laughter – sounds of normalcy that Kira found immensely comforting.
She dozed, then started awake as something touched her. It was Tresen.
‘I didn’t mean to startle you,’ he whispered.
He’d had enough strength to reach out to her, which was a good sign, Kira thought, as she poured him a cup of beesblest. He managed to drink half of it too.
‘You came and got me,’ he whispered. ‘Did it hurt you?’
‘Save your strength, Tresen; you could still die.’
‘You won’t let me.’ His eyes closed, then fluttered open again. ‘There was a woman . . .’
‘With fine pale skin, dark hair and eyes?’
Tresen nodded imperceptibly.
‘The Lady Laryia, sister to the Terak Feailner,’ said Kira. ‘She’s barely left your side, but I’ve just sent her back to the Domain to rest. That’s the place where those who rule the Terak lands live.’
‘Why?’ whispered Tresen.
‘Why do they live behind a second wall, or why has Laryia chosen to sit by your pallet day and night?’
Tresen was too weak to respond, his eyelids drooping.
‘Laryia can answer both questions for you, but not this day. Rest, clanmate,’ said Kira softly, and kissed him on the cheek.
Tresen slipped back into sleep, but Kira wandered restlessly between the pallets. Tresen’s recovery continued and Kira knew she had much to be thankful for, but she still felt a sense of urgency. Farid had told her that a major battle approached, and that meant there would be many more wounded. She must resume her search for fireweed, but the lack of Healers in Sarnia meant that she must be here too. Not knowing what was happening beyond the wall added to her frustration. In fact, she didn’t even know for certain who commanded the Tremen Protectors.
Perhaps Clanleader Dakresh had been right to oppose her ascension to the leadership, all those moons ago!
The more she thought about it, the more certain she became that Tierken had refused the command; he wouldn’t accept the ring for the same reason he hadn’t accepted the kin-link – he thought Kasheron had taken his cowardly Healer followers over the northern seas!
The sound of the Haelen door opening came to her, and then the sound of a crying child, heralding new need for healing. Kira smoothed down her tunic. Well, at least two of Kasheron’s ‘cowardly Healers’ had returned, and brought healing with them, she thought, glancing at Tresen before she hurried from the alcove.
14
Dusk was one of Kira’s favourite times of day. In Allogrenia brightwings and silver moths woke, and the mira kiraon flashed through the air as it left its roost to hunt. It was beautiful on the plain too, Kira recalled, with grasses that silvered beneath skies brilliant with stars. But as she peered out the Haelen’s window, she could find neither beauty nor comfort in the chill set of Sarnia’s stone. It seemed that the houses turned inwards, holding their warmth and love to themselves, and away from the stranger. Kira was about to close the shutters, when hoofbeats sounded and a single rider appeared. It was Marin.
‘Lady Kira,’ he said, catching sight of her. ‘This is good fortune. I come from the Feailner with a message for the Domain, but also for you. Is there somewhere we may speak?’
‘Here in the Haelen,’ said Kira.
She led him to the room where she and Laryia ate, poured him a mug of cotzee and watched him gulp it down, before pouring him a second.
Then he settled back in his chair and sighed. ‘You look better than expected,’ he said.
‘Should I take that as a compliment or as an insult, Commander?’
‘A compliment,’ said Marin with a grin.
‘And Tierken? Is he well? And Caledon?’
‘Both well,’ said Marin, ‘and the Feailner’s leg is all healed.’
‘His leg?’
‘A nasty sword slash below the knee, early in the fighting – protecting his horse. Healer Tresen fixed it up.’
Tresen was thorough but Kira longed to make sure the wound had healed cleanly, that no Shargh filth remained, that –
Marin’s empty mug chinked onto the table and she started. ‘The Feailner asked that I come here first, and deliver this message,’ said Marin standing, his face becoming solemn.
Kira stiffened, wondering who’d been killed.
‘The Terak Feailner thanks the Tremen Feailner for the ring of rulership. He wears it now as a symbol of the long sundered seed of Terak and Kasheron being united once more. He instructs the Keeper of the Domain to grant Kasheron’s kin and the kin of his followers the rights and privileges accorded to all others of the Terak Kirillian peoples, and looks forward to the formal granting of Kasheron’s Quarter to the Tremen Feailner’s people on his return.’
Kira stared at Marin in amazement, half expecting him to break into uproarious laughter at his own joke.
Instead his expression gentled. ‘The Feailner’s recognised your kinship claim, Lady.’ And as Kira continued to gaze at him blankly, added, ‘It’s a cause for celebration for your people.’
‘But not for yours?’
‘It will be a hard thing for Sarnia to accept, and the Marken won’t help,’ admitted Marin. ‘Is there a message you would have me take back?’
<
br /> What was she to say? Why did you delay so long? Why have you suddenly decided to believe me? Thank you? I love you. The responses were either graceless or inadequate, or both, so she shook her head.
‘I’ll bid you a good night then,’ said Marin.
The message Marin had delivered to Farid meant that Farid was still in the Meeting Hall when the sun rose the next day. He’d carried out his Feailner’s instructions to the letter, and now stood at the window trying to fend off his weariness with a mug of cotzee, and waiting for the inevitable visitor.
‘Right on time,’ he muttered, watching the figure move swiftly across the courtyard.
His father must have only just received Tierken’s declaration, which Farid had transcribed for each of the Marken and had delivered to their houses. And Tierken had accurately predicted Rosham’s reaction.
I understand that my acceptance of kinship claim by the descendants of Kasheron and his followers will cause consternation to some in Sarnia. I leave it to your considerable powers of persuasion to ensure that the process of recognition and establishment of rights is carried out promptly and smoothly.
He was going to need more than powers of persuasion, thought Farid, as he heard the rapid approach of footsteps. In fact, at this moment, Farid would have preferred to be out at the Rehan preparing to face Shargh spears and flatswords.
Then the door was flung open and his father stormed in.
‘I’ve come for confirmation that this is a mistake,’ said Rosham, thrusting the message-paper under Farid’s nose.
‘I cannot give such confirmation.’
‘Surely you’re not saying that this act of . . . of treachery is deliberate?’
‘Be careful of your words, Father.’
‘I knew the Feailner had taken a liking to this southern woman, but I hadn’t realised the pleasures she afforded him were so seductive as to make him forget both his honour and his duty!’
‘Father!’
‘Do not pretend this decision is motivated by anything other than lust!’ exclaimed Rosham, rounding on Farid. ‘You know as well as I do that her claim is driven only by her wish to insinuate her ragged tribe of tree-dwellers into the richness of our city.’
‘You insult the Feailner and the Leader of the Tremen!’
‘The Leader of the Tremen!’ snorted Rosham. ‘Do you know where the Leader of the Tremen is now? The Feailner’s woman? In the Caru Quarter, where she belongs. No doubt she makes a tidy profit for herself while the Feailner’s not present to grant her every whim!’
‘Lord Rosham! You will retract those words immediately or be expelled from the city!’
Laryia stood in the doorway, colour high, her face as hard as her voice.
Rosham checked himself. ‘I meant no insult to you, Lady Laryia,’ he said curtly.
‘Nevertheless, you have insulted me, and the Feailner, and the Lady Kira. You will retract your words if you wish to remain in Sarnia!’
‘With respect, Lady, you do not have the authority to expel anyone from the city. Only the Feailner may do that.’
Laryia strode into the room. Farid had never seen her so angry, nor so controlled. When she’d first come to Sarnia with Tierken, she’d been only sixteen seasons – a pretty, unsophisticated Kessomi girl who idolised her brother. Since then, Laryia had become the assured hostess of all ceremonial occasions and a skilled manager of the domestic affairs of the Domain. But what Farid hadn’t noticed till this moment was her determination and courage. Now she stood toe-to-toe with one of the powerful Marken, and stared him down.
‘You are mistaken,’ said Laryia. ‘In the absence of the Feailner, the Feailner’s family assumes authority over the Sarnia Guard. The Keeper of the Domain will confirm this.’
Rosham swung back to Farid.
Farid cleared his throat. ‘The Lady Laryia is correct. The Keeper of the Domain administers the city, but it’s the Feailner or, in his absence, his kin, who command the Guard.’
Rosham nodded stiffly. ‘I withdraw my words and express regret for any perceived insult.’
It was a poor apology but Farid hoped Laryia would accept it. Expelling his father from Sarnia would only garner Marken Rosham sympathy and make Tierken’s edict more difficult to enforce.
Laryia inclined her head slightly, but didn’t drop her gaze or move, and Rosham had to edge around her to leave the room. His footsteps echoed away and Laryia slammed the door behind him with a resounding bang. The colour was still high in her cheeks and her eyes still sparked.
‘I’m sorry he’s your father, Farid.’
‘So am I.’
Laryia pulled out a chair and settled on it. ‘It’s going to be hard, isn’t it? People won’t dare say what your father did, but they’ll think it.’
‘It won’t be easy,’ admitted Farid. ‘No one remembers Kasheron and his folk with joy, and our histories say he went north, over the oceans, never to return.’
‘Did Tierken say why he’s acknowledged the kin-link now?’ asked Laryia. ‘Last time we spoke he insisted any shared blood came from before there were distinct peoples. It’s strange he’s changed his mind.’
‘He gave no reason,’ said Farid. ‘But I know Marin went to the Haelen first – on Tierken’s instructions.’
‘Tierken sent message to Kira?’
‘It appears so.’
Farid poured Laryia a cup of fruited water and a cup for himself. ‘Marin found that Kira looked a little better than the reports suggested,’ he said. ‘Is she recovered from healing Tresen?’
‘She pretends she is,’ said Laryia with a shrug, ‘but her eyes betray her. I know they change from green to gold, like Tierken’s once did, but there’s an emptiness in them that worries me. If she rested more it would help, but she’s at the Wastes again, looking for fireweed. And as only a server is there, I must return to the Haelen.’
‘So soon?’ Farid’s disappointment was plain. ‘I was hoping you were going to take breakfast with me.’
‘I’m sorry, Farid,’ she said, already at the door. ‘I’ll share supper with you instead.’
Kira had resumed her search of the Wastes only a little after dawn. The dreariness of her fruitless searching seemed to reflect the bleakness of the fighting and her endless wait for Tierken’s return. She felt weary and discouraged, and the Guard’s presence and obvious displeasure at being hauled from their beds irritated her more than usual.
‘Have either of you seen any torch-flower growing here?’ she asked.
‘The plant that gives red dye?’ said one unexpectedly.
‘I don’t know,’ said Kira, surprised he’d actually answered. ‘Is there some here?’
The Guard made his way down to the stone seat, found a stick and probed at the growth beneath.
‘I played here as a boy, and we used the plant like swords. There was a broken pipe . . .’
‘A pipe?’
‘A water-pipe, my Lady. This was a garden once and pipes brought water to help the plants grow.’ He bent suddenly and parted the mesh of rank growth. ‘There, Lady.’
A fractured tube of stone sent a seep of slimy water onto the ground.
‘Which way does it go?’ asked Kira.
‘I’m not sure.’
‘If it were used to water plants it would go along the terraces, wouldn’t it?’ she asked.
‘It’s buried. This is the only place you can see it.’
Kira tested the earth’s sponginess with her boot, went forward a few paces and repeated the action, then dropped to her knees and scrabbled through the growth. Slime soaked through her breeches and a thorny tendril left a stinging trail across her cheek but she was oblivious – for there, in a line of five or six protuberances, was fireweed.
She sat back on her heels and closed her eyes.
‘Torch-flower,’ said the Guard over her shoulder. ‘Is that the plant you looked for, Lady?’
‘It is,’ said Kira, hands shaking so much she could scarcely harvest it.
‘Your aunt harvests it here?’ questioned Kira anxiously, fearing that the supply might be exhausted.
‘Of course not! It’s no place for a . . .’ the Guard reddened. ‘It grows all along the north wall.’
‘In what season?’
‘Oh, in all seasons. My aunt only dyes cloth occasionally, but there’s no shortage of it.’
Kira laid the fireweed carefully in her sling and made her way unsteadily up the steps. The northern wall would catch leaf litter blown from the Tiar Forests and the run of water from the Silvercades foothills, she realised. Why in the ’green hadn’t she recognised it before? Now she had a Haelen, a Herbery, a steady supply of herbs and fireweed.
She threw back her head and laughed.
15
Kira’s mind buzzed with the best ways to prepare and store the fireweed as she walked back through the Caru Quarter. If there were a good supply, she could harvest it often and use it fresh. Most herbs were more potent fresh, especially if gathered before dawn, though she didn’t know if this were the case with fireweed. What she really needed to do was inspect the land adjacent to the north wall to make sure what the Guard said was correct. But first she’d grind this gathering. The fighting would be less than a day away, Laryia had told her in the last night. Kira didn’t know if it had already started, but if it had, wounded Protectors and patrolmen could arrive at any moment.
She came to the Domain gate and stopped, horribly aware of how grimy she was, and the fact that there were respectably clean citizens of Sarnia close by. She should bathe and change, but she was anxious to get back to the Herbery and prepare the fireweed paste.
Then the gate burst open and Kira jumped. It was Rosham, and for once he didn’t make a point of shunning her, coming to a stop instead.
‘The Lady Kira,’ he sneered. ‘And looking rather dirty. But then it’s hard to remain clean, given the type of activities you engage in at the Caru Quarter, isn’t it, Lady Kira?’
Kira flushed but the Guard’s faces remained impassive. Rosham was both powerful and important, and she realised that they certainly weren’t going to challenge him. She went to walk on, but Rosham stepped forward and blocked her path. Rosham wasn’t the Shargh, Kira reassured herself, as her heart quickened; he couldn’t hurt her. But then he stepped closer still and his lips curled back.
