“Rikardon? Why did you not answer? Why are you sitting here in the dark?”
“Dark?” I echoed, then realized I could hardly see Tarani as she walked across the room. As she passed in front of me, I heard a silky, whispering sound.
Tarani threw open the latticed shutters. The light that entered was already touched with evening dimness, but it brought Tarani into clear focus. She was wearing a long gown of a pale golden color. The fabric was soft and sheer, and shimmered when she moved. It was simply cut to drape softly at the neckline and fall in a clean, straight line to brush the floor, and it had full sleeves that tied at her wrists. The shape of the dress accented her unusual height; its color complemented the paleness of her complexion and made the darkness of her headfur more striking; the effect of the outfit was to accentuate her regal bearing. Tarani looked like a queen.
She came toward me, smiling. “The dress is a gift from Thymas,” she said. “He traded for the fabric, and asked Jori to make it for me. He called it a replacement for my dancing gown, but it seems much more elegant to me. Do you like it?”
I stood up to meet her, and took her hands. “You look magnificent in it, Tarani. Who is Jori?”
“Thymas’s sister, the one who married Solenin. Have you not met her?”
“No, though I do recall the name, now.”
“She is a good person, dotingly fond of Thymas, and I am grateful to her.” Tarani’s voice turned flat, “Shola, too, gave me a gown to wear this evening.”
When she didn’t go on, I said: “One of Shola’s gowns would be too large and too short for you.”
“Her gown is an ill fit in more ways than one, Rikardon. It was a bitter and grudging gift.”
“When did she give it to you?” I asked.
“She met me on my way to the bathhouse and told me she would leave it in my room,” Tarani said. She squeezed my hands. “Rikardon, even in this gown, I do not anticipate this evening with pleasure.”
“I understand how you feel, Tarani,” I said. “I want to ask a favor of you.”
“A favor?” she said, frowning slightly. “Of what sort?”
“Silence,” I answered. “When it comes time, this evening, to talk of Eddarta and Gharlas and Yayshah, I want to be the one to tell the story, and I’d like your permission to use my own judgment as to how much to tell.”
She lowered her eyes. “Tarn’s cellar?”
“Maybe,” I said. “Who you are. What the Ra’ira is. Our plans. I may not tell all of it, but I want to feel free to make that choice without fear of surprising or hurting you.”
“I am grateful for your consideration,” she said, looking up at me again. Even with the light behind her, there was a glow in her dark eyes. She smiled. “I would like to say you need not have asked, but I fear you know me too well. You have my promise; I shall not interrupt you. You do not require my consent to reveal any matter relating to the Ra’ira; that is your choice, as leader of the Sharith. I give you the permission you ask, to share your personal knowledge of me.”
“Thank you,” I said, feeling humbled by her trust—and guilty, as usual. “Aren’t you going to ask me why?”
She laughed and put her hands on my shoulders. “It would spoil my evening,” she said. “I am so intrigued, now, that I am actually looking forward to the dinner I dreaded only moments ago.”
I put my hands on her waist and pulled her a little closer to me. “There’s something else I need to tell you,” I said. She only tilted her head. “The reason it was dark in here when you came in—I knew Thymas was in your room. I closed the shutters to avoid eavesdropping.”
“Why do you tell me this now?” she asked.
“Because of my promise—to be honest with you whenever possible. I came in here arguing with myself and fighting jealousy. I reminded myself that the last time I jumped to a conclusion—when I saw you kiss Thymas goodbye in Stomestad—I landed flat on my face.”
She laced her fingers together behind my neck. “Would you have told me this,” she asked, “if I had not mentioned Thymas? After all, this fine dress might have been Shola’s.”
“I would have told you anyway,” I assured her. “I can’t seem to help feeling jealous of Thymas and suspicious of his motives whenever he’s around you. I want you to know that I have those feelings—and that I am learning to control them. This time, I didn’t jump to any conclusions.”
“Oh, but you did,” she said, smiling. “You assumed he was inside my room, did you not?” I nodded. “He came to my window.“
It was a small point, since Tarani’s window was like mine—knee-low and ceiling-high, and plenty wide enough for Thymas to step through, had he wished. But in Gandalara, as in the world Ricardo had known, there are different degrees of privacy. A man and a woman talking together in full view of any passerby—whether or not anyone was, at that particular moment, passing by—was less suggestive of intimacy than that same couple holding their conversation enclosed within the walls of a room.
It made enough difference to me that I blurted out an admission that I had checked for the more welcome possibility. “But—when I closed my shutters, I didn’t see … Oh.”
“I see you remember that my room is at the corner of the house, and has two windows. And there is another item of information you do not have,” she said. “The gift of the dress was second priority for Thymas. He told me that he had come to talk with you, but that you were not in your room.”
“To me? Did he say what he wanted to talk about?”
“No. And I did offer to bring you a message. He is … different, Rikardon. There is a sadness in him, and little of the easy friendship we once shared. He seemed uncomfortable while we talked.” She sighed. “Has Thagorn changed so much, Captain, or is it we who have changed?”
“The world is changing, remember?” I said. “Otherwise, would there be a female sha’um in Thagorn? How is Yayshah, by the way?”
“Rather cranky, I fear. Her mind is seeking a lair that her instincts will accept, but so far she has not achieved that compromise. The terrain in Thagorn is very different from what she knew in the Valley. And, unlike Keeshah, the Valley is all she has known. She will settle down in time.”
“The cubs? Do you have any closer idea of when they are due?”
She shook her head. “There is no pain, only a heaviness that grows, day by day. I cannot say.” She pulled me close and put her head on my shoulder. “It is not only Yayshah’s relief I feel in being here, Rikardon. I am weary of traveling. I welcome the chance merely to be still for a time. I could wish for only one thing more—that we be accepted as friends here, and not—”
She broke off and pulled back suddenly.
“That is the difference I sensed in Thymas,” she said, her eyes sad. “Distance. Almost a shyness. Courtesy with an undertone of fear, not at all the simple respect of one person for another.”
“The respect of a follower for a leader,” I said gently.
“Because he thinks of me, now, as yours? The Captain’s woman?”
I almost laughed, but I could see Tarani was hurting. I had learned this lesson weeks ago, when I had swung violently between my commitment to become Captain and a deep need to be only one of the group. The look on her face brought back that pain.
“Because Yayshah came with you from the Valley,” I said. “It’s only here, among the Sharith, that the enormity of that simple act can be truly appreciated.”
“But that is not an achievement, in the sense of planning and accomplishing a difficult task,” she protested. “It—it merely happened.“
The way, I thought, that it “merely happened” that Ricardo Carillo woke up in Markasset’s body.
Tarani’s arms tensed against my shoulders. “Among the Lords of Eddarta, I should welcome this … acknowledgement of difference. There, only power commands respect, and only fear assures obedience. Among the Sharith, people whom I respect and care for as friends, this distance is disturbing, Rikardon. I am—it frig
htens me.”
“Good,” I said.
“Excuse me?” she said.
“I said, ‘good,’” I answered. “You understand that when people treat you that way—sincerely, not out of fear as might be the case in Eddarta—it means they believe that you are wiser or stronger or more capable of being right than they are. Because you care for them, you don’t want their trust in you to hurt them. If that responsibility didn’t scare you, I’d be worried.”
A frown crossed her face. “I hear contradiction in your words, Rikardon. First you say that it is not my association with you that brings me this special respect, and then you speak as though I have some role as leader among the Sharith. I do not.”
“Not yet,” I amended. “Because you’re a Rider, you have a place in Thagorn. Because you’re a woman, the first woman Rider, nobody’s sure what that place should be.” I smiled at her. “Don’t be too concerned, darling. One thing we’ll do this evening is make it clear that you’re only a guest here, on your way to Eddarta.”
“Perhaps that is why Shola seems so hostile toward me—she fears I will take her place of authority over the women in Thagorn. If that is so, then I need only assure her—”
“You need only let me do the talking, as you promised,” I reminded her.
Her eyes glowed as she looked up at me. “This is part of the reason you asked my silence, is it not? To spare me the burden of confronting Shola to regain her friendship?”
“It is part of the reason,” I admitted. “Not the only one. It must be nearly time for dinner,” I said, and realized that I was getting anxious to have this done. “Shall we go?”
“In a moment,” she said. My anxiety faded as her arms slipped around my neck and her face tilted up to meet mine.
Dharak and Shola were waiting in the dining room, already seated. Dharak stood up and came to the door to greet us when we arrived, his pleasure genuine, his admiration for Tarani obvious—to us and to Shola.
Dharak’s wife was dressed in a tan sleeveless gown embroidered with gold thread at hem and neck. Jewels glittered at her wrists and throat. I surmised, from the quick flash of hurt in Tarani’s face, that the gown Shola had given her would have compared badly against Shola’s elegance.
Tarani said nothing to Shola, but turned to Thymas, who was arriving right behind us, to thank him again for his gift.
Dharak looked at Thymas suspiciously.
Shola glared at Tarani.
Thymas, whose capacity for subtlety seemed to be expanding, acknowledged Tarani’s thanks with a smile, then announced: “Dinner smells wonderful.”
I sighed and pressed the boy’s shoulder as he passed me.
It is always hot in Gandalara, but it was frosty around the dinner table that night. The meal was delicious: strips of well-roasted glith served with savory vegetables, a richly grained bread with a creamy spread, and spiced fruit for dessert. It had Shola’s expert touch, to be sure, but it was served by Yena and two other girls, who looked mainly at the dishes they carried, with an occasional sidelong glance at Tarani.
Conversation was little more than sincere compliments to Shola on the quality of the meal, to which she responded with a smile and a nod. It seemed to me she was trying to imitate Tarani’s regal and composed manner, with little success. It was clear that, even had she worn the plainer, ill-fitting gown, Tarani would have outclassed Shola, and both of them knew it. Tarani proved it by being gracious but aloof, betraying none of her feelings. Shola proved it by projecting an air of resentment and defeat.
Dharak and Thymas, at opposite ends of the largish table, sat with their shoulders hunched, their neck muscles tense, and said very little. They might have been sensing the undercurrents across the table—I was sitting at Dharak’s right with Tarani beside me and Shola across from me—and deliberately staying clear of them. They might have been caught up in their own tide of competition.
One things sure, I thought. This meal is being wasted on this group. I’ll be very surprised if we don’t all get indigestion later.
The meal finally ended, and the girls began clearing away the dessert dishes. It was the host’s place to suggest an after-dinner drink at this point, and it had been Shola’s habit to excuse herself from what was usually the “business end” of an evening such as this. I had thought that Tarani’s presence might change things, but Shola stood up to help the girls—whether out of habit or in eagerness to escape the tension in the room, I couldn’t say. I stood up with her, and she stopped in surprise.
“Please stay, Shola,” I said. “I have promised a full accounting of what has happened since I left Thagorn. I know Dharak would share it with you, later, but I prefer that you hear it from me.”
She stared at me for a moment, then dropped her eyes. “As you wish, Captain,” she said.
Dharak cleared his throat. “Perhaps, Captain, we would be more comfortable in the sitting room? Would you care for some barut?”
“Later, perhaps, Lieutenant. For now, I feel the need of a clear head.”
I walked around the table and offered Shola my arm. She took it with an air of surprise. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Thymas extend his hand to Tarani, who smiled, shook her head, and followed us on her own.
Good for you, I thought.
7
When the others had found places in the large room—Tarani on a padded ledge, Shola and Dharak in free-standing chairs, Thymas on a fluffy rug in the corner—I found myself wondering how to start what I had to say.
I’m the Captain, I reminded myself. If I want these people to communicate clearly, I guess I need to set an example.
“The Ra’ira is more than it seems,” I said.
Thymas’s whole body jerked in surprise, and I turned to him.
“There will be no secrets among the people in this room, Thymas,” I said. “And there will be only honest answers to any question I may ask. Is that understood?”
I looked around the room, and everyone nodded. Dharak looked grim, Shola a little frightened, Thymas angry but resigned. Tarani alone was totally composed, because she had expected something like this.
“Thymas, I know that you have told the Sharith very little about our time together—only enough to clear Tarani of blame, and assure them that our purpose was accomplished. I believe you kept silent because you felt the story—and the decision of how much to tell—was mine to make. Is that true?”
“Yes,” Thymas said.
“I also think you kept silent because to tell the entire story would have been to reveal what you believe to be your own failure and disgrace. Is that true?”
Thymas moved, crossing his legs, sitting up straighter, finally looking right at me. “Yes, I was ashamed to tell—”
“We’ll get to that,” I interrupted. “Since you came back, you’ve been trying to make up for that failure, haven’t you, by relieving your father of some of his tremendous responsibilities, by trying extra hard to be a leader?”
Thymas only nodded. I whirled around to face Dharak, who was leaning forward in his chair.
“This seems to surprise you, Dharak. What did you think your son was doing, trying to take command of the Sharith from you?”
“No,” the Lieutenant exclaimed. “That is—not really …”
“Not really?” I echoed, raising my eyebrows.
“Well, yes” he blurted out—to his credit, less angry than confused. “We disagree frequently, and many of the Riders side with him. I have been afraid of a division among the Sharith and—yes, I thought Thymas wanted such a thing.”
Thymas made a wordless sound and rose up to his knees, but I didn’t give him a chance to say anything.
“If it came to a choice between you and Thymas, who do you think the Sharith would choose?” I asked Dharak.
“Captain!” Shola said. I ignored her.
“Dharak? Answer. Do you believe they would choose Thymas over you?”
“Yes!” the white-haired old man shouted. “Why would they
not? He is young, dedicated, strong—”
“Everything you’re not?” I prompted. “He knows what he wants, while you’re confused, is that it? When we talked about my becoming Captain, you as much as admitted that you see change coming but can’t predict or control it, and it scares you. And you think Thymas is younger, more adaptable, more sure of himself. Look at what happened the night Tarani danced—you got yourself hurt, and Thymas killed the man who hurt you. That’s proof, isn’t it, that he’s the better man? Isn’t that true?”
“No!” Thymas shouted.
“Let him answer!” I snapped.
Dharak lowered his gaze. “It is all true,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “It is all true.”
“Captain,” Shola said. I turned around; she was standing up. “You cannot keep me silent, Rikardon. You have shamed a fine man in front of his son—I thought no one could be so cruel.”
“Did you think you had exclusive rights to cruelty?” I asked. She gasped. “What else would you call the games you’ve played with Tarani—doing everything you can to make her feel inferior and unwelcome, while meeting the ‘letter’ of courtesy?”
“I would call it the treatment she deserves!” Shola fired back.
“Why?” I demanded.
“She never loved my son! She tried to kill my husband! Her deceit and treachery have driven them apart. I have no cause to treat her with honor!”
“Not even if doing so would heal the break between Dharak and Thymas?” I asked.
She looked surprised, then her lips thinned. “It would not help.”
“You’re right,” I said. “It wouldn’t help, because Tarani didn’t cause this separation in the first place. Dharak did it, because he failed as a leader.”
“He is a fine leader!” Shola cried.
“Then it is Thymas’s fault, because he has been sneaking responsibility away from his father.”
“He has only tried to help!” Shola protested.
“Then it’s your fault, Shola. If you had been more perceptive, more caring, quicker to act, you could have kept your family together.”
It was very quiet in the room for about half a second, while Shola stared at me, caught up in horror and guilt. Then it erupted in noise. Dharak and Thymas were on their feet, shouting at me; Shola was screaming accusations at Tarani, who was still sitting, but visibly shaken by what had just transpired.
The Search for Kä Page 6
