Windsinger

by A. F. E. Smith

  Though they’d been cagey about it to start with, Ayla had discovered that the patrolmen had even begun to develop their own technology. The Kardise were making improvements to their firearms all the time: increased range, increased accuracy, even a double-shot gun that could fire two bullets at once. If the Mirrorvalese patrolmen didn’t keep up, they would soon find themselves at a disadvantage. And so, using captured firearms and a few ideas of their own, they had entered the race. They had two alchemists. They had a small foundry. They had even started to make their own powder. It was, after all, unwise to rely on your enemy for the very thing you needed to fight him.

  Ayla had taken it all in with a mixture of amazement and guilt. She’d always made sure the patrol units at the southern border were well funded, of course. When the occasional request came in for additional supplies, she never hesitated to grant it. The fifth ring kept up a steady supply of warriors to replace those who were injured or killed. Ayla even visited the border every so often, to speak to the patrolmen and hear first-hand of relations between Mirrorvale and Sol Kardis. Yet the news had always been the same: sniping, skirmishes, never outright battle. And so she’d let the situation continue as it was, and never thought to ask what her people were doing to make sure they weren’t outmatched. She hadn’t seen the innovation. She hadn’t seen the brilliance. And because her views on firearms were well known, they’d never dared to show her.

  It made her realise how short-sighted she’d been, to cling to her ban on firearms out of fear for her own life. They were in the world, and that could never be reversed. Instead of burying her head in the sand, she needed to accept the future. Mirrorvale needed to start manufacturing its own pistols and those other things, the long-barrelled things that allowed a bullet to travel with accuracy across a much greater distance … rifles. It needed to be more advanced in all aspects of industry than its neighbours. And she knew that already, didn’t she? That was why she’d built the railway. That was why she’d been opening Mirrorvale ever more widely to trade and ideas. Yet when it came to firearms, she’d let fear outweigh reason. That had to stop.

  If she got out of this war alive, it would stop.

  Of course, she had at least agreed with Tomas that the Helm should be armed with pistols. Which was all to the good, because the ten Helmsmen she’d brought with her were the only people apart from the patrolmen who knew how to use them. The rest of her army, the weaponmasters of the fifth ring and the assorted warriors who had trained under them, might be wonderfully skilled with bladed weaponry, unmatched in unarmed combat, and yet all that would come to nothing when faced with an ordinary Kardise soldier with a pistol in his hand. The archers helped, striking from a distance just as the Kardise riflemen did, but their arrows were less destructive than bullets and slower to fire. No, there was no denying that at war, the Mirrorvalese ways of fighting were far less effective.

  To be fair, I didn’t expect a war, she thought.

  You should always expect a war, came the imagined reply. She rather thought it was her father’s voice. And he was right – she had been stupid. Six years ago, firearms had been rare even in Sol Kardis; three years ago, they had been on the increase; today, they were numerous enough to equip entire army divisions. And she hadn’t had the foresight to match that.

  That was why it was so important that she protect her people from the consequences of her folly.

  SEVENTEEN

  A person could only worry about so many things at any given time. What with her ever-present fear for her colleagues and countrymen at the border, her rising alarm at the unrest within Arkannen, and her sharp, impotent fury at what was happening to Zander, Ree had almost forgotten the prospect of her own forced marriage. It simmered away at the back of her mind, but only rarely did it present itself as important enough to take her attention away from one of her more pressing concerns.

  Unfortunately, though, it seemed her father didn’t feel the same way. A little over a week after the declaration of war, he sent her a message to say that he’d arranged a meeting for her with Lewis Tarran – just as you wanted, Cheri, he wrote as though he were granting her a long-held wish. And so that was how, despite the fact that her country was at war and there were a million more important things she could be doing with her time, Ree found herself walking into the private lounge of an expensive guest house, ready to drink tea and make polite conversation with her theoretical future husband. Or rather, she reminded herself, do everything she could short of setting the place on fire to convince said future husband that he’d be making a terrible mistake by marrying her.

  Lewis was already waiting for her, reading in an armchair on the far side of the room. At least, she assumed it was Lewis; he didn’t look much like his father. Ree’s main memory of Derrick Tarran was one of presence – a man who was imposing in both person and personality – but she remembered his light skin, like Penn’s, and his bright blue eyes. In contrast, Lewis Tarran was brown-skinned and dark-eyed and slender. Far from dominating the room, he gave the impression he’d rather take up as little space as possible. Yet when he put his book down and stood up to greet her, she saw that he was tall, even though he tried to hide it; that the shape of his nose and cheeks and hairline was almost identical to Derrick’s; that the set of his jaw revealed a force of will with the potential to match his father’s. He was a Tarran, all right. He just wasn’t completely one.

  ‘Lewis?’ she said, just to make sure.

  ‘Ree.’ He gave her a nervous smile. She’d expected arrogance, but saw no sign of it. Nevertheless, she stuck to her guns.

  ‘I had a bit of a job getting in here. I don’t think I’m at all the sort of person this kind of establishment is used to entertaining.’

  She gestured to her striped coat. She’d worn her uniform, despite the fact that she was off duty. She’d wanted to show him that she was a Helmsman, not a suitable wife – and besides, it wasn’t as if she had much else to wear.

  Her mother would have told her off and forced her to change. She imagined Derrick Tarran would have looked at her in amused disdain. But Lewis only smiled.

  ‘Terribly dull, these places. I like your uniform.’

  Of course, Ree chided herself, he had enjoyed her father’s stories about her. He probably thought of her as an exotic novelty. She’d have been better off wearing a dress.

  ‘What are you reading?’ she asked, wanting to change the subject to something that would allow her to demonstrate how hopelessly incompatible they were, but not quite finding herself able to be rude to him without provocation.

  ‘Oh … a novel. An adventure story, actually. Do you like to read?’

  This was better. ‘I never read,’ she said firmly. ‘Don’t have the time.’

  He looked a little daunted, but recovered swiftly. ‘That’s understandable. You’re out doing all the things I like reading about. But I really think you’d enjoy this one. It’s –’

  As he spoke, he turned the book towards her, and the cover was so familiar that she finished his sentence without thinking. ‘Tales of the Darkhaven Defenders!’

  ‘You know it, then?’

  ‘It’s been my favourite book since I was about seven years old. Um.’ She caught herself, hastily reining in her enthusiasm. ‘Not that I like reading or anything.’

  He looked at her. She looked back at him. And they both burst out laughing.

  After that, she found it impossible to maintain her resolution to prove they had nothing in common. They curled up in the armchairs and talked: about books, about combat, about Arkannen and Torrance Mill, about the war. Lewis told her how disappointed his father had been when all his theoretical knowledge of weaponry had failed to translate into the slightest bit of practical aptitude; how much he was dreading being called up to the fifth ring to train in the reserve army, as he knew would happen sooner or later. He told her how much he wanted to teach reading and writing in Arkannen’s free school, which took any children whose parents couldn’t afford
to pay for tutors – only my father won’t hear of it. He says it’s unbefitting any man, let alone a Tarran. Incensed by that, Ree told him in turn about her initial struggle to join the Helm, which led on to all the details of her current life. I love hearing about it, Lewis said. I just wouldn’t want to do it myself. Finally, after she’d shown him her pistol – which he handled with a greater degree of familiarity than perhaps he had meant to betray; no doubt the Tarrans, like many wealthy families, had access to firearms despite their illegal status – he sat back in his chair and looked at her, a hint of his original shyness creeping back into his face.

  ‘Ree,’ he said. ‘Do you think … I mean, maybe we ought to talk about why you’re here.’

  She nodded. She felt equally shy. Yet they had talked easily enough, before, that she felt he would understand – and so she forced herself to tell him the truth, straight away.

  ‘I like you, Lewis. A lot more than I expected, in fact. I think we could be friends. But I really don’t want to marry you. I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s all right.’ He slumped down deeper in his chair, despondent gaze settling on the table and his discarded book. ‘The truth is, I don’t want to marry you either.’

  Ree studied him for a silent moment. Then she said, in a voice that couldn’t entirely hide her exasperation, ‘So why are we even having this conversation?’

  ‘I … you wouldn’t understand.’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘I’m my father’s only child. His heir. He’s been talking about me getting married since I was fifteen.’

  ‘But you’re only, what … twenty-five, now? Still plenty of time. Particularly,’ Ree said with a slight residual bitterness at the constraints of her previous life, ‘for a man.’

  ‘He keeps talking about passing on his legacy. He wants to know his line is going to continue. But I …’ Lewis swallowed. ‘I’ve never been interested in girls that way. And he knows it. That’s why he keeps pushing and pushing –’

  ‘So you like other men?’ Ree’s mind was already jumping to people her parents had known, back before she left home. Same-sex couples posed something of a problem in the highly formalised world of father–son inheritance, but there was usually a way round it. A younger sibling, a nephew: potential heirs abounded in most families. A couple could adopt a child, just as Lady Ayla and Captain Caraway had done with Marlon. Or a contract could be made with a parent-by-blood, someone who agreed to bear or father the child but relinquish all claim to it afterwards … Yet Lewis was shaking his head.

  ‘I’m not interested in anyone,’ he said vehemently. ‘I’m just … not interested. No-one seems to understand that. My father keeps telling me I simply haven’t met the right girl yet – as if I’ll come face to face with someone and a switch will flick inside my brain. But I know different.’

  ‘That seems perfectly reasonable,’ Ree said. ‘Surely he has no choice but to take your word for it.’

  Lewis snorted. ‘When I was sixteen, he took me to a brothel. Make a man out of me, he said – you know, since I hadn’t shown any signs of wanting to corner a maid on the back stairs as he did when he was my age.’

  ‘That didn’t make him a man,’ Ree said. The more she heard of Derrick Tarran, the less she liked him. ‘That just made him a bully.’

  Lewis lifted a shoulder; she couldn’t tell if he disagreed or was simply uncomfortable with hearing overt criticism of his father, however justified.

  ‘He paid for a whole night. The girl and I spent it talking about politics and playing strategy games with an old pack of cards she found in her bedside drawer.’ He rubbed the line of his jaw reflectively, as if recalling an old bruise. ‘My father was furious.’

  His father’s pride and joy. The words flashed into Ree’s mind, her own father’s explanation of the situation. What the boy wants, he gets. That might have been the story Derrick Tarran had sold, but it clearly bore only a distorted resemblance to the truth.

  ‘So why did you tell him you wanted to marry me?’ she asked.

  Lewis looked down at his hands. ‘I thought … I thought if I had to marry, at least it would be to someone I found interesting. And you are.’ He glanced up at her face, then away. ‘Interesting, I mean.’

  ‘But that’s not a good enough reason for me,’ Ree said softly.

  ‘No. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have – I’m sorry.’ He ran a hand over his face. ‘I’m just so tired of it all. And your father told these stories about you, like a joke –’ he winced – ‘sorry, but they were. Only I didn’t think it was funny. You sounded like someone who might … understand. And your father kept saying you’d be leaving the Helm soon anyway and needed to settle down in a good marriage …’

  ‘He did, did he?’

  Lewis raised his head at her sharp tone. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again, helplessly.

  ‘I’m not angry with you,’ Ree said. ‘My father, on the other hand …’ She pushed that aside as being unhelpful in the current situation, and added, ‘You do know I can’t marry you, though, don’t you?’

  ‘Are you sure? We could live in the city. You could stay in the Helm. Your life would be exactly as it is now, only you’d have more money. Is that not even worth considering?’

  Maybe it was. Not so much for the wealth – however much her parents might look down on her tiny apartment, it was all she needed. But the marriage would rescue her family from debt and make her mother happy … She sighed.

  ‘It would be dishonest, Lewis. You know that as well as I do. And it wouldn’t solve your problem, either. As soon as you were married, your father would be pushing you towards having children – that’s the whole point of this, for him – but I don’t want any. Never have. So what would we do then?’

  His eyebrows lifted. ‘You don’t want children?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And your parents accept that?’

  ‘Not really,’ Ree said drily. ‘That’s why I’ve ended up here with you. But at least they have other offspring to supply them with grandchildren.’ She gave him a sympathetic smile. ‘I do understand, Lewis. I honestly do. But that doesn’t mean I can marry you.’

  He nodded. He looked so unhappy that she reached out impulsively to touch his hand.

  ‘There’s no rush, you know. Even if your father thinks there is. It’s worth waiting until you find someone you want to share your life with and who feels the same way about everything as you do. And then, if you don’t want to take the necessary steps to have a child of your own blood, there’s always adoption –’

  ‘My father wouldn’t like it,’ Lewis muttered. ‘He’s always going on about how the Tarran line has been unbroken father to son for the past five hundred years.’

  Ree shook her head. ‘With the greatest respect to your father, it’s not up to him.’

  ‘What’s that?’ The question came from the far side of the room; both Ree and Lewis jumped and turned. Derrick Tarran stood in the doorway. After Lewis’s gentleness he seemed hard and imposing, the clear-cut original of whom Lewis was a blurred copy. Ree lifted her chin defiantly.

  ‘I was just telling Lewis that I never want to have children.’

  Smiling, Derrick walked towards them. An aide followed at his shoulder, a blank-faced man who took up a position by the wall while Derrick stopped in the middle of the room. Instinctively both Ree and Lewis scrambled to their feet at his approach.

  ‘My dear,’ the elder Tarran said. ‘As your father’s daughter, you must surely know what is expected of girls who make good marriages.’

  ‘But I’m not going to make a good marriage.’ Ree shot Lewis a pleading glance, and he moved forward to stand beside her. He looked nervous, but his voice was steady.

  ‘We’ve decided we don’t suit.’

  Derrick’s frown deepened. It held enough anger that Ree tensed, her hand drifting towards the hilt of a sword that wasn’t there – but it wasn’t directed at her.

  ‘You little freak,’ he snarled at Lewis. ‘Ar
e you telling me that even with her –’

  ‘Ree has a life here, Father. I don’t have any right to drag her away from it.’

  ‘I own her entire family,’ Derrick snapped. ‘That’s the only right that matters. You’ll keep the agreement and that’s final.’

  Lewis swallowed hard. ‘No.’

  Derrick’s arm drew back, and Lewis flinched. Ree moved without conscious thought, catching the blow before it could fall. The impact jarred her arm, but she forced herself to stand still and look Derrick in the eyes.

  ‘Leave him alone.’

  He grabbed for her wrist, but she twisted it out of his grasp. His narrow-eyed glare should have been enough to wither her where she stood.

  ‘I suggest you stay out of this, Cheri, unless you want me to call in your father’s debt and leave your family homeless.’

  ‘I’m not afraid of you.’

  His fists clenched again. She expected him to try and hit her, and she braced herself in readiness. Yet instead, and perhaps more frighteningly, he wound himself back. The threat of violence was still there, coiled beneath the surface, but he had it under full control. And Ree knew quite well that a calm opponent was a good deal more dangerous than an angry one.

  ‘You silly little girl,’ he said. ‘You have no idea what you’re dealing with.’

  Ree’s nails dug into her palms. ‘I know exactly what I’m dealing with: a man who thinks his wealth entitles him to order everyone else’s lives for them. You’re a bully, Derrick Tarran, and nothing more.’

  He smiled. His head tilted towards her, just a fraction. And in response, someone grabbed her wrists and wrenched them behind her back. Struggling to no avail, she turned her head to remonstrate with Lewis – I stood up for you, and this is how you repay me? – but it wasn’t him. It was the aide, the one who’d entered with Tarran senior. Not an aide: a bodyguard. She should have realised it as soon as they came in. Instead, she’d forgotten his existence. Stupid.