Alythia frowned. “Jasin…?”
“Of House Daran. Handsome lad. Patrolled the walls for us.” Alythia's breath caught in her throat. Surely they could not have…She held her composure with an effort. “You were passing him messages to take to Patachi Daran. You met at his sister's wedding feast, but a week ago. You were observed to make eyes with him.”
“I did nothing of the sort!” Alythia exclaimed, genuinely outraged.
“Jasin confessed,” Raymon continued, his eyes dark with suspicion. “He took your correspondence to Patachi Daran, who would reply in turn.”
“Patachi Daran is an ally of this house and of House Steiner!” Alythia exclaimed. “He and I had an interesting conversation at the birthday feast, and he insisted we should correspond…”
“Oh-ho, is that all it was?” said Vincen, with amusement.
Alythia glared at him. “I'm never allowed to do anything, I've been cooped up in my room for the better part of the last week, and I'm only allowed out of the house for formal occasions…what do you expect? I want some friends! I want some company! At least I'd like to entertain some of the other ladies…and I could be so useful too, you've no idea how much information there's to be had from women's chatter! Why won't you let me be a full part of this family?”
“You sneak behind my back,” Gregan said quietly. He sounded hurt.
“Oh no, my love! I just…”
“They say you are a whore.” Still Gregan did not look at her. “My mother has always said so, and now it seems her words are true.”
“You think I bedded Patachi Daran? How would that even be possible, given that I'm never allowed from the house?”
“You are disobedient!” Gregan shouted, his voice trembling. “A woman of virtue shall always obey her husband.” Dear gods, Alythia thought to herself in despair, I've married a child.
“Who else have you been contacting behind our backs?” asked the patachi.
“Who else?” She was missing something here. Suddenly, she could feel it-the cold, creeping sensation that something was going on that she did not entirely understand. Something dangerous. “What…why do you suddenly accuse me?” She forced a laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. “What do you think…?”
“Cousin Gilbrato is missing,” said the patachi. “It seems almost certain that he has met some foul end. Someone seeks to damage us. Someone with knowledge.”
Gilbrato…the priest? Alythia recalled the man at the wedding feast. A young Halmady man, groomed from childhood to represent the interests of his family in the most powerful institution in Petrodor. The priesthood took men from each of the families, and was influenced by each in turn. Now…Gilbrato was dead? How could that possibly concern her? Unless they thought…unless they thought…Alythia stared at them in horror. “Surely you don't think that I…?”
“You show disloyalty. You pass messages beyond our walls. Someone seeks to undermine us. There is a rumour that Lady Marya Steiner has recently been in contact with your feral sister, the Nasi-Keth. Have you been passing messages to her also?”
“To Sasha? Good gods no! Sasha and I have always hated each other! We can barely stand in the same room without a fight breaking out!”
“You claim to be nothing like her,” Gregan said hotly, “yet you both come from the same highland stock! Treacherous, uncivilised and lacking in womanly virtue!”
Alythia swallowed hard, and stared at the wood-boarded floor. “You accuse me unfairly, my husband.” She struggled to keep the emotion from her voice. This was not going at all the way she had planned. “I am hurt.”
Gregan looked away, tore a piece of bread and wiped his plate with it to cover his emotion. For a moment, Alythia thought he might apologise. “Jasin will live,” Uncle Raymon said darkly. “He is Patachi Daran's nephew, and they each have uses. But the scars will take a time to heal. Have a care, dear niece. It would be a shame to tarnish so royal a beauty.”
Alythia swallowed hard. For one of the few times in her life, she felt fear, cold and hard in her gut. “As you say, Uncle.”
Alythia wandered the garden, the grass cool beneath her bare feet. She breathed deeply and tried to dispel the awful memory of fear. She was born into Lenay royalty and she knew what power was. Baen-Tar had always been full of armed men, but she'd never been afraid. Home was the place where a person felt secure and comforted. She'd hoped that House Halmady could be such a place, but her dreams were turning to dust.
She'd dismissed the attentions of Selyna and Vansy-she did not wish to explain what had happened. It was humiliating. In Baen-Tar, she'd been so popular. It was usually so simple to wind men and women around her little finger. She'd assumed that the exotic charms of a Lenay princess would be enough to win popularity in Petrodor. But, instead, there'd been whispers of “easy virtue,” and the attention of men at feasts, which had inspired envy from women in Lenayin, gained only evil stares from the ladies of Petrodor.
She stood behind her favourite garden bench for a moment, gazing out at the nighttime view of the harbour below. There was a lump growing in her throat, a great, inescapable despair. It advanced on her like a dark wave, threatening to drown her within its cold, churning depth.
She'd never meant for Jasin to get hurt. He'd rescued her from the wolf that night. Ever since, he'd been friendly. Evidently it had suited him to be on terms with the beautiful Princess Alythia. No doubt he'd boasted about it to other men, and implied something more intimate. She'd found it amusing. He'd introduced her to his Patachi at the wedding feast, and…and, well. Perhaps she'd simply wished an adventure. Or perhaps she'd truly been seeking companionship. Or, she admitted now to herself, she'd done it simply to get back at her new family.
But they'd harmed Jasin. Possibly tortured him. Whatever she tried, it turned out wrong. She wondered how Marya had managed to become the very image of a devoted Torovan mother so soon after her arrival. Marya had become pregnant, for one thing, she realised. Not immediately, but soon enough. Perhaps she should think about a child. Her maids kept the serrin's white powder for her, safe from Lady Halmady's pryings-it would keep her belly from swelling for however long she wished. But Lady Halmady had not even spoken to her about a son. Perhaps the Halmadys considered there to be no rush.
Or perhaps, the cold thought occurred to her, this was merely a marriage of convenience, for the duration of the war. Halmady secured its ties to Lenayin and the Lenay army until the Saalshen Bacosh was once again free, and then she'd not be needed any more. Perhaps they'd dispose of her, like refuse after some great feast.
The fear returned. She was going to cry any moment now. She'd cry like a little girl, here before the garden guards. Most of them had surely known Jasin, and some probably blamed her for his fate. Her own weakness sickened her. For the first time in her life, she felt truly helpless. None of her talents would help her here, and she did not know what to do.
She turned from the view and walked back toward the house. Guards watched her beneath their broad hats-the stares that had seemed so playful just weeks before now seemed intrusive and unfriendly. After a short walk, she found herself at the gate to the wolf enclosure. Her heart thudding, she peered over the gate, but could see nothing inside. She reached over, feeling for the latch…and withdrew her hand in sudden fear of a lunging grey shape. But no such shape emerged.
Frightened little girl! she thought to herself, furiously. Coward. Sasha would laugh at you. That made her angry. What did she care what Sasha thought? She never had before. But then, Sasha had always thought her a coward. She remembered Sasha laughing at her in the stables when she'd been scared to get close to the horses. And again, when she hadn't liked the kennel dogs any better. In fact, she'd never liked animals very much at all. It had not bothered her then that Sasha thought her a coward. It only bothered her now, when it seemed events might finally prove Sasha right.
She had an idea. She made her way briskly to the kitchen. Even late, there were meals being prepared, an entire bench
full of ingredients being chopped, a vast pot of soup bubbling over a flame, the delicious smell of baking bread. The kitchen hands did not pay her much attention-there were always family wandering through the kitchens, investigating tomorrow's meals, or in search of a snack.
Alythia found a bone largely stripped of its meat, but still with some good chunks attached. She took it and walked from the kitchen with no attempt at concealment. It was a trick she'd learned long ago in the halls of Baen-Tar Palace-if you looked like you knew where you were going, no one would question you. And a princess always knew where she was going.
Back at the wolf enclosure, she looked around, but the path between house and outer wall was empty of guards. She reached inside and undid the latch.
The gate moved slowly open. She peered anxiously into the shadow, the bone clutched in one hand-part temptation, part weapon. “Hello?” she called faintly, prepared to leap back at the slightest movement. “Hello puppy?” She was speaking Lenay, she realised, and nearly laughed, in sudden, hysterical humour. Why would a wolf pup be more likely to speak Lenay? It had lived in Torovan most of its life.
A chain tinkled. Two ears appeared, a faint silhouette in the dark. Two eyes glinted. Alythia froze, but the wolf did not move. Her eyes adjusted further, and now she could see it, lying near the enclosure's far side, as far from the gate as its chain would allow. It wasn't really that big, she realised…and was pleased that she remained calm enough to notice such things, despite her pounding heart, dry mouth and trembling hands. In Lenayin, they grew much bigger. She remembered Jasin saying that the wolf had been brought just recently…cubs were born in the spring, and it was now nearly autumn. This one would be four, maybe five months old. Huge, for a puppy. But not for a wolf.
The wolf growled, but did not charge. Instead, it crawled further away, low on its stomach. Its tail was down, tight between its hind legs. It was terrified, Alythia realised. Perhaps it remembered her and the beating it had received afterward. Or perhaps it merely expected beatings from strangers who wandered into its enclosure on a late night, probably reeking of wine.
Shakily, Alythia sank down on her haunches, rearranging her dress. The chain would pull the wolf up short if it charged again, she told herself firmly. She was safe here. She reached back and pushed the gate shut behind her. The wolf stopped crawling. Perhaps it registered something was unusual. Or perhaps its chain had pulled tight. Its nose twitched, sniffing furiously. Alythia remembered the bone in her hand and threw it. The wolf flinched, growled…and paused, sniffing.
“Oh there, you recognise that smell, don't you?” Obviously someone fed the wolf, for it did not seem starved. But she doubted they gave it fresh bones.
The wolf wriggled forward, quite pathetically, straining for the bone yet held back by some invisible force. It was really quite pretty, Alythia saw with surprise as it came closer. There were some evil legends about wolves in Lenayin, but some good ones too. The latter would be Goeren-yai tales, it occurred to her now. Goeren-yai always liked wild animals, especially the dangerous ones. This wolf had thick, dark grey fur, big ears, large paws and round eyes. Still young, with the ears and paws all out of proportion.
Suddenly it lunged, and Alythia stifled a scream…but it only grabbed the bone and scampered back to the far wall. But not all the way, Alythia saw as her heart started beating once more. It settled, with some slack still left in the chain, and began savaging the bone. Surely it would damage its teeth, Alythia thought. Crack! went the bone. Dear lords. Just as well this half-grown puppy hadn't gotten its teeth into her when it had tried to.
Alythia sat down properly and watched the wolf eat. It was strangely relaxing to focus all her attention upon something else. Something strange, and not human. The wolf had its own problems. Alone of all the residents in Halmady House, it cared not a jot for the Princess Alythia's trials and tribulations. The wolf did not begrudge her anything, and would not pass judgment, it merely counted itself lucky to have been fed, and not beaten.
“You need a name,” she said to the wolf, smoothing the dress over her legs as she sat. “I mean, if I'm going to sit here and get grass stains on my dress for someone, they'd better at least have a name.” The wolf watched her sideways as it cracked on the bone. “I could call you Sasha. She's a bitch too.” It amused her for a moment, but it was too immature and spiteful, even for her.
But there was a name she recalled a palace tutor using for Sasha. “Tashyna.” The tutor had been from Isfayen and in his native tongue a tashyna meant a great commotion, or something crazy and out of control. “Tashyna,” he'd said, with a shake of the head, every time Sasha would come tearing into the room, a noisy little whirlwind in a dress. Once, Sasha had heard him mutter and had confronted him. “Why do you always call me Tashyna?” she'd shouted, stamping her foot. “My name's Sasha!”
Those in the know had laughed. Alythia found herself smiling now to think of it. But sadness came with the humour. Her old home seemed so near, she could taste it, could hear the echo of conversation in the grand stone halls, and smell the waft of flowers from the gardens. Familiar faces. Familiar routines-feasts, play recitals, Verenthane ceremonies at the temple. Her brothers playing lagand upon a broad green field at festival time, the snorting of horses, the shouting of men, and the cheers of the onlookers. Her old maids and her many dresses. The view from her bedchambers, across courtyards and flower gardens, overlooked by lovely stone walls and windows. Flowers in the vase her mother had given her before she'd died.
“Tashyna,” she said softly, with tears in her eyes. “I don't know if you're from Isfayen. I doubt it, it's too far away. But why don't we make this enclosure a little corner of Lenayin for just the two of us?”
Tashyna chomped on her bone and seemed content.
Half of Baerlyn's council sat about the dining table in the ranch's main room as morning sun spilled through the windows. The storm was gone and Lenayin was shining once more. Jaegar, Teriyan, Ryssin, Raegyl, Geldon and Cranyk all sat about the table. Princess Sofy had the head chair-a sight not often seen in Lenayin, a woman leading a village council meeting. Jaegar sat at the far end, Cranyk to Sofy's right was the esteemed elder, and Jaryd to her left. Lynette and Andreyis served breakfast, Andreyis weary-eyed from his long night in the storm, having returned at first dawn to report that the assassin was still at large. “Surely the king shall not allow the murder of Jaryd's surviving brother.”
All eyes came to Sofy. She gazed at the tabletop for a moment, a slim hand wrapped about the warmth of a mug of tea. “I'm afraid there's not much the king can do,” she said. “With war approaching, the king needs the great lords and the nobility more than ever. The last thing he needs now is more trouble in Tyree.”
“The lords claim power over their own domains,” Jaegar added. “It will cost the king a great deal to intervene in Tyree, the great lords are already smarting at what they see as the king's capitulation to the Udalyn rebellion-”
“But Princess Sofy comes to us herself with news of the other great lords’ disquiet at events in Tyree!” Ryssin insisted. “Surely there will be those who would support the king in any action against Great Lord Arastyn…”
“Precisely the problem,” said Teriyan, with a shake of his head. “This could become a fight between great lords, when the king needs everyone united. He won't do it.”
Sofy did not disagree.
“All this politicking is dishonourable,” Cranyk said. “Warriors do not seek solutions through parley. The Great Lord Arastyn means to murder the brother of a resident of this village. Clearly our honour compels us to act in his defence, as warriors should.”
“We have no proof of Arastyn's intentions,” Jaegar countered. And looked at Sofy. “Begging Your Highness's pardon.”
Sofy gave him a somewhat imperious look. “My sources are quite specific, Yuan Jaegar.”
Jaegar nodded his respect, but his hard features remained unmoved. “This village has just partaken in one grand rebellion against t
he king's authority. To partake in another, on a matter yet unproven, might seem disloyal.” Typically for Jaegar, his tone held a flat, dry irony.
“Dishonourable, I say,” Cranyk replied. The two men locked stares.
Jaegar blinked, the only motion discernible on his face. “In Lenayin today,” he said firmly, “one does not charge into every grievance with swords drawn. Perhaps we did once, but Lenayin has changed. I believe it's called civilisation.”
“Dishonourable, I say,” said Cranyk, his eyes half-lidded within a maze of wrinkles and faded tattoos.
Jaegar sighed. “Civilisation comes hard to some Lenays.”
“Honour comes hard to others,” said Cranyk. Jaegar gave the old man a warning look. Cranyk snorted.
“Begging Your Highness's pardon,” said Teriyan, “but what might the king do when he notices the Princess Sofy is missing?” All eyes turned to Sofy again. She blushed. “It's four days ride from Baen-Tar.” When can we expect the armoured cavalry to descend on our heads? he meant. Everyone watched the princess, and waited.
“I didn't tell anyone where I was going,” she said, attempting an even, reasonable tone. “I took Dary out for an evening ride, just around the walls, no need for a guard. Then I just kept riding. There was a festival in town, lots of people and horses, it covered my tracks and scent.”
“Aye,” Teriyan said wearily. “I reckon we've got a day, at most. Best we decide what to do before they arrive.”
Sofy frowned. “I'm not sure they could track me through that festival…”
“You don't think they'd guess?” Teriyan asked. “Smart men like your father and brother?” Sofy looked crestfallen. “There'll be riders here soon enough, just to check, even if they don't track you directly. I'd imagine Baen-Tar is in an uproar.”
Sofy bit her lip, and looked both embarrassed and stubborn. Clearly she knew the uproar her disappearance would cause. Clearly she thought it served her father and Prince Koenyg right. And would, perhaps, serve to demonstrate why she shouldn't be bossed around any longer. Teriyan empathised, but still, it was a reckless thing to have done. It seemed a common trait that ran through more of the Lenay royal sisters than people had guessed.
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