The Betrayal

by Pati Nagle

  “Ciris. You are well fed, I trust?”

  He nodded. “You have work for me?”

  “Yes. Come and sit with me while we discuss it.”

  She led him to a small table at the side of the chamber, laid with a platter of bread and cheeses, two pottery cups, and a jug of ale. The meal was more a symbol of hospitality than a practical gift, for her folk no longer could survive on such foods alone, and Ciris would have fed well in the wilds. That was one advantage of being a watcher: One could catch one's own feeders from the kobalen who roamed the plains.

  Old customs had their uses, however, and such simple foods aided digestion. With a gesture Shalár invited Ciris to help himself to the meal, and he at once reached for the jug.

  “You are weary of watching.”

  Ciris shrugged as he poured ale for both of them. “Little changes. I saw a large band of kobalen cross into the Steppe Wilds, near Coldwater Lake.”

  Shalár sipped her ale. “Hunting mountain geese for feathers to fletch their darts.”

  He nodded. “There are more such forays than usual this autumn. The kobalen have gone into the mountains in greater numbers.”

  “Food must be scarce on the plains.”

  “And the kobalen more plentiful than ever. Their numbers have increased rapidly of late.”

  Shalár nodded. She had observed the same, with some bitterness at the ease with which the kobalen multiplied.

  “Good, for I want a grand hunt.”

  Ciris's eyes lit with fire. “A grand hunt? Soon?”

  “Soon, yes.” She set down her cup. “Send word to every village. All who are fit and willing may join the hunt.”

  She rose and went to the gallery to look out over the bay. A night bird glided by below the cliff's edge, white and silent, seeking some small prey.

  “Have the hunters assemble here two tendays hence.”

  “As you will.” Ciris stood.

  She turned to look at him. “I want enough hunters to fill the pens twice over with their catch.”

  He nodded, his harsh mouth curving in a satisfied smile. “You shall have them, Bright Lady.”

  Evennight

  Eliani had her best gown, a misty blue dress with long pointed sleeves and a pleasant drape, halfway over her head when a knock fell upon her chamber door.

  “Who comes?”

  “Misani. My lady sent me to your assistance.”

  Assistance? To dress? Eliani laughed and shrugged into the gown, letting it fall heavily about her bare ankles, then went to open the door.

  “Too late!” She grinned, then stared in wonder at what Misani was carrying.

  Misani, who was Lady Heléri's attendant, smiled. In her arms were fabrics of the richest blue and violet Eliani had ever seen.

  “From your father. A new gown for your confirmation.”

  Eliani opened the door wider to let Misani enter. Misani carried the gown to the curtained alcove at the back of Eliani's chamber that served as her tiring room and hung it up to shake out the folds.

  It moved like clouds. The underdress was of pure blue, rich and glowing like the sky just at twilight, with full sleeves caught into long cuffs that were broidered with gold. A sleeveless overdress accompanied it, violet with narrow gilt embroidery at the neck and along all the edges. The neckline was deep and pointed and would show off the underdress. It was caught below the bosom with a sash of golden leaves.

  Elaini reached out a hand to touch the violet. It was softer than any fabric she had ever felt, and feather-light.

  “Eastfæld silk. Your father loves you well.”

  Eliani looked up at Misani in awe. “I have never owned anything so fine.”

  “Come, let me help you out of that.”

  Eliani suffered her to pull the mist-colored dress, which suddenly seemed heavy and coarse, back over her head. Misani also took away her linen shift, bringing out a silken one in its stead that slid over Eliani's shoulders like a summer breeze, cool at first, then warm as it settled upon her. Eliani wriggled her arms, delighting in the feel of the silk against her skin.

  Misani brushed out Eliani's hair and braided it back, then garbed her in the blue underdress, fastening the long cuffs about her forearms with loops of ribbon that slid over round glowing pearls. She lifted the violet overdress over Eliani's head and lowered it to settle on her shoulders, tying the sash underneath, which left the back hanging free, capelike.

  Eliani caught an edge of the drape, then let it fall. It just brushed the floor behind her. She took a step backward, and the gown floated lightly out of her way.

  “Oh, it is beautiful! How did they know to make it just the right length?”

  “Your father got your measure from the leather-maker.”

  Eliani glanced up at Misani, who affected to be grave but could not keep her amusement from showing in her eyes. It was true that Eliani had commissioned a new set of hunting leathers, for her old ones were worn almost beyond service. She laughed at the thought that her measure for leathers had gone to the maker of this gown.

  Misani brought forth another length of silk. “Lady Heléri hopes it will please you to wear this as well.”

  She opened it out, and Eliani saw that it was a long veil, its color shifting from blue to violet as it moved in the light. It was beaded along its curving edges with tiny Clerestone crystals caught trembling on golden threads.

  “Her own work.”

  “Yes.”

  She let Misani drape the veil around her shoulders and cast it over her brow, the crystal beads weighting it just enough to prevent its slipping from her head. Eliani stood before the mirror in her tiring room, gazing at herself in wonder. The female looking back seemed taller and more graceful than she had ever hoped to be, a stranger but oddly familiar.

  “I look like my mother's picture.” Her voice caught as she thought of the portrait that hung in her father's private room.

  Misani gave her an appraising look. “So you do. She is sure to be watching over you this day.”

  Eliani swallowed a pang of grief for the mother who had crossed long ago. Belani's father, Elmoran, had been killed by kobalen in the mountains. In her grief, Belani had followed, leaving Eliani motherless at an early age. Heléri had taught her what her father could not, but she still wished she had known Belani.

  Eliani coughed to clear the tightness in her throat. “Thank you, Misani.”

  “It was my plea sure. Blessings to you.”

  Eliani smiled, then with silent thanks to the spirits who walked with her, her mother and all the others, went out into the great hall. The silk swirled around her ankles, making her wish to dance. She was glad it was a feast day, for indeed there would be dancing this night.

  As she entered the hall, all those within it turned to her, and she had the gratification of seeing surprise on the faces of a number of old friends. It had been many days since she had worn a gown at all—since Midsummer, if she recalled correctly—and she had never worn a veil. A lady's veil, as she had always thought of them. She remembered Misani scolding her for playing with Heléri's, long ago.

  Heléri was there, she saw, hooded and veiled against the last of the daylight. Torches already burned in the sconces, though light still glowed through the windows on the west side of the hall, setting fire to the colored glass.

  Beside Heléri stood Lord Turisan, a pale gleam in the darkening hall. He was garbed in a soft sage-colored tunic, his hair loose about his shoulders and caught back from his face by a silver circlet with a white moonstone at the brow. He looked up at Eliani's approach, then smiled and bowed.

  Eliani could not help smiling in response, though she glanced away. She was pleased, if only because she wished Lord Turisan to know that the heir of Alpinon's governor was not a complete savage.

  “Ah, my daughter!”

  Lord Felisan came forward with open arms, and Eliani walked into his embrace. “Thank you for the gown, Father. It is beautiful.”

  “Not near as beau
tiful as you.” He held her at arm's length and beamed as he gazed at her. “You shine, my child! Come, let us give you your rightful place.”

  He offered her his arm, and she laid her hand along it as he led her through the hall. The governor's chair had been set against the back wall where it stood on audience days, and young Curunan stood nearby to wait upon him. Eliani saw that her own chair had been placed beside her father's, and her heart gave a small frightened thump. This was new.

  Confirmation of majority was a simple acknowledgment and required no ceremony beyond a formal declaration of nextkin relationships before at least two witnesses, usually members of the same house -hold. Eliani had been present at a number of such occasions, and they were often little more than a toast to the honoree's majority.

  Since she was to be governor-elect, however, her naming as Felisan's nextkin required the acknowledgment of Alpinon's theyns. Save for Mirithan, they were all gathered there.

  Her father led her to the two chairs, then turned and stood before them, facing the hall. The others drew near.

  “Welcome, theyns of Alpinon. Welcome, noble visitors.” He nodded toward Turisan and Heléri. “Thank you for your presence on this doubly joyous evening. I call on you to witness the majority of my daughter, Eliani of House Felisanin.”

  He gestured to Curunan, who brought forward a cushion bearing a narrow circlet of hammered bronze set with a small blue stone. Another gift from her father; this one she had known about, for as governor-elect, she would now be entitled to wear a circlet. Her father placed it on her brow, then stepped behind her and laid his hands on her shoulders.

  “Eliani, from this day forth you are my nextkin, to stand in my place should I be absent, to bear my burdens and inherit my holdings should I choose to return to spirit.”

  “Hail, Eliani of Felisanin, governor-elect of Alpinon!”

  It was Luruthin who had called out. Eliani shot him a glance as the others repeated the cheer. He grinned back.

  Heléri stepped forward, her face hidden by her heavy veil. “Who do you name as your nextkin, to follow in your own place, Lady Eliani?”

  “I name Gharinan, theyn of Heahrued.”

  Heléri turned toward the theyns. “Let him come forward.”

  Gharinan strode toward them, tall and grave, though his eyes lit with plea sure when they met Eliani's. Like her father, he was the son of a son of Lady Heléri, and his descent from her showed in the bluish cast to his eyes. Sea-green more than leaf-green, Heléri called them. Eliani had never seen the sea.

  As theyn of Heahrued, one of Alpinon's larger villages, Gharinan was seldom at Highstone. Eliani had not known him well until she had joined the Guard and begun to ride patrols near his village. She had grown to like him despite his gravity and considered him a dear friend as well as kin.

  Now he knelt before her, and she laid her fingertips on his shoulders. “Gharinan, from this day hence I name you my nextkin, to stand in my place should I be absent, to bear my burdens and inherit my holdings should I choose to return to spirit.”

  He bowed his head. “You honor me, Lady Eliani.”

  Lord Felisan squeezed Eliani's shoulders. “Bear you all witness of nextkin to nextkin. This day Lady Eliani takes her rightful place among us, to serve and be true so long as she walks in flesh.”

  Heléri nodded. “May spirits walk beside her and bless her path.”

  “So may it be.”

  The others repeated her father's words. Felisan released her shoulders, and Gharinan stood, bowed, and returned to the gathering while her father led Eliani to her chair. They sat and prepared to receive each guest, for the theyns had brought customary gifts of welcome to the new governor-elect.

  Heléri stepped up before Eliani, being of higher rank than the theyns. Curunan slipped forward to place a cushion for her to kneel upon. She held out her arms, and Eliani clasped them.

  “Thank you for the veil, Eldermother.”

  “I am glad it becomes you so well. Blessings on you, child.” Heléri leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “Come and visit with me later.”

  “I will.”

  Heléri arose, giving her place to Lord Turisan. His tunic seemed to glisten as he moved, and when he came near, Eliani saw that it was covered all over with silver embroidery, a tracery of delicate leaves. He bowed first to Felisan and then to her before kneeling upon the cushion.

  “Southfæld offers felicitations to you, Lady Eliani. Please accept this gift from Lord Jharan and all his house in honor of your majority.”

  He proffered a small box of pale-hued wood—whitewood from the forests of Southfæld—carved with intricate interlacing vines and flowers. Eliani opened it and caught her breath at what lay inside: a round gilt brooch in the shape of two stag's heads, their eyes great blue stones. Many smaller stones of violet and blue glinted among the tines of their antlers. She had never seen its like. She swallowed, humbled by the richness of the gift.

  “My thanks to Lord Jharan and his house. I shall treasure it.”

  Turisan nodded, then reached to his belt. “I hope you will accept this small gift from me as well.”

  He held out his hands toward her with a flute lying across them. Eliani gazed at it for a moment. It had been long since she had any heart for making music, save for the sort of songs guardians enjoyed around their campfires.

  She closed the box with the brooch and set it in her lap, then took up the flute. It was simple, carved of a single river reed. She ran her fingers along it, then put them over the holes and set it to her lips, and hesitantly played three notes. She looked up at Turisan, feeling shy.

  “It has a sweet voice.”

  He smiled. “I am glad it pleases you. Many blessings to you, my lady.”

  He rose and made way for the next guest. Eliani laid the flute in her lap and smiled up at the first of the theyns.

  Before long she had too many gifts to hold, and Curunan discreetly relieved her of some of them. Luruthin's gift was a crystal carved in the shape of a stooping kestrel, hung from a fine golden chain. She grinned up at him, and he smiled back.

  “A memento of younger days, O Esteemed and Wise Lady.”

  Eliani refrained from punching his arm as she was inclined to do. Instead she cast a demure glance at him.

  “I will give you the benefit of my wisdom later.”

  “I tremble at the prospect.” Luruthin glanced around the hall. “A pity Mirithan could not be here.”

  Eliani managed not to laugh aloud, though she could not repress a grin. Every theyn in Alpinon save one had come to Highstone for her confirmation. Mirithan, theyn of the village of Althill, the smallest and northernmost settlement in the realm, had sent messages of congratulation and regret that he would not be present.

  A decade since, Eliani, Luruthin, and three other guardians had patrolled up to Althill and earned Mirithan's disapproval by running buck races in the meadow above the village one fine autumn afternoon. It had been a day of riotous fun, and absolutely nothing had been accomplished by the villagers during the impromptu festival, which had continued past sundown. That night everyone in Althill, even the theyn, had supped on cold cheese and apples, for there had been no time to build back the cook fires. Mirithan had yet to forgive them.

  Luruthin grinned back at Eliani, obviously aware of her thoughts. He bowed just a little too deeply as he left.

  By the time she had received the compliments and gifts of every theyn, the light was beginning to fade from the western windows. Her father rose, glancing at Curunan.

  “Relieve the lady of those gifts, if you will. There is one more awaits her.”

  Baffled, Eliani handed the contents of her lap to Curunan and accepted her father's assistance to rise. Gharinan came forward again, bearing across his arms a length of folded velvet, deep violet in hue.

  Felisan threw back the cloth, revealing a sword. Eliani gasped as he picked it up, its golden-hued blade flashing in the fading daylight.

  “This day you be
come warden of Alpinon's Guard. May this sword serve you well, even as you serve your realm.”

  “Mountain-forged!”

  Eliani glanced at Gharinan, who was smiling. His village was high in the Ebons, on the slopes of a peak whose fiery heart was the crafthall of mage-smiths. The blades they made there were infused with fire-khi, the molten power of the mountains. They were stronger, sharper, more perfectly balanced than normal blades. As Eliani accepted the sword from her father, she felt a whisper of the smith's khi, and an echo of fire, running through it.

  “Thank you, Father! Oh, thank you!”

  Felisan smiled, then began to usher the theyns out to the public circle for the Evennight celebration. Luruthin came up to admire the blade until Felisan shooed him away.

  “Time enough for that later. The sun is about to set.”

  Eliani gave the sword into Curunan's keeping and glanced at the large basket where he had stored her other gifts. She wanted to wear either House Jharanan's brooch or the crystal kestrel. It would be a politic gesture to wear the brooch, but it was large and heavy, and she feared it would weigh down her gown. She opened the box to look at it again. The gilded stag's heads gleamed, and torchlight glinted on the stones.

  It was almost too fine. She remembered her thoughts about the clasp of Turisan's cloak: how it was finer than anything Alpinon could produce, how he seemed unconscious of its worth. Closing the box, she put it back in the basket.

  She unfastened the kestrel's chain and put it about her neck. The little crystal bird lay atop the silken veil just at the hollow of her throat. She smiled. This was a burden she could bear.

  Getting up from her chair, she found Luruthin hovering nearby. He offered her his arm.

  “I thought my father had chased you away.”

  “I am not so easily got rid of. May I escort you to the circle?”

  “Thank you.”

  She laughed, glad to be finished with courtesies, slightly giddy with her new gown flowing about her and an evening of celebration ahead. As they stepped out of the hall, she drew a deep breath of the cool autumn night, smelling wood smoke and roasting apples on the breeze.