Wardrobe.
Now why hadn’t she thought of that in the beginning? She’d only been here a day. The pile on the floor was what she’d come home with, none of it clean. But her wardrobe would likely be well stocked in preparation for her return. The only question that would remain would be which of the tunics hanging in the wardrobe would be the least offensive to her personal sensibilities and yet meet the requirements of an Heir to the Empir of Garla and future Protector of Thristas.
She chose her favorite color, red. Like all of her tunics, it carried no pouch slit, but the minute she hit sixteen, she would personally rip the slits in herself if need be. She was eager to showcase her fertility.
A knock on her door came as she pulled the tunic on, and clearing a path on the floor, she stepped through to answer it.
“Good morning.” It was her father, his hair freshly braided. He glanced at the room and shrugged. “I see you’ve unpacked.”
“Please don’t start, Fa.”
Her father held up his hands in surrender. “Never. May I come in?”
“Of course.” She shoved a few things aside to allow him to step to a chair unimpeded, and she sat down on her bed. She watched as he settled into that posture—leaning forward, elbows supporting him just above his knees—the posture that said he was about to get very serious with her. When she was little, it had meant she’d done something requiring discipline of some sort; now, it meant she was in for a lecture.
“Tell me how you feel about your mother’s magic.”
Rinli popped up from the bed and paced to the wardrobe. There she paused, back to her father, her shoulders set firm. “You know how I feel.”
She heard her father sigh, and she risked turning back to look at him. His gaze had risen to meet hers, with his head angled ever so slightly to the left.
“I left her once.” He raised a hand to wipe the air between them. “But you know all about that, now, don’t you.”
“She pushed her brother, and he killed himself. So you headed back to Thristas with me in your pouch. Yes, I know all about that. What I don’t know is why you came back. Hadn’t she broken a promise to you?”
“She had. But I softened. You’re young, so it’s hard for you to understand. But her magic—that thing we Thristans fear—kept a half-day battle from turning into a war that could have lasted years.”
“And gave me away in the process.”
“Ah, there it is.” Her father nodded.
“There what is?”
“The truth. The reason you reach out for her love one moment and reject her in anger the next.”
“She’s been manipulating me my entire life. And she hasn’t even tried to like me.”
“Now that’s unkind. And untrue. She loves you. And that manipulation you speak of has kept the peace between Thristas and Garla for fifteen years.” Her father’s tone remained patient.
“And kept me away from her. I’ve spent more time traveling back and forth than I have living in either place. I never see her, even when I’m here. Nas and Sen get time with her I never get.”
“And you get time with me that they never get. It wasn’t a sacrifice your mother and I made with joy.”
“She bartered my life away in the name of peace.”
Her father sighed. “You can’t see it,” he said. “You can’t see her. She was manipulated, too. That damn sooth moved her around and kept the truth from her for seventeen years. At least we’ve never lied to you.”
“Small consolation.”
“Come with me.” He slapped his hands on his knees. “I have something to show you.”
She watched her father unfold from the chair, each muscle falling into place as he’d disciplined it, and he offered her his hand. She slipped into a pair of old slippers, took his hand and followed him out, slamming the door behind her. The servants knew better than to sneak into her room when the door was closed.
They trotted down the curved staircase together, but when they turned right instead of left, she balked. “No breakfast?” she asked.
“After,” he promised as they slipped beneath the stairs they’d just descended and out onto the portico.
“Where are we going?”
“Fresh air and privacy,” her father said. “Two of my favorite things.”
She halted at the top of the stairs leading down into the garden. “What’s going on?”
“Let’s go this way,” he replied, took her hand and urged her down the steps. She followed, reluctantly, the pit of her stomach arguing caution.
She balked the second she saw Commander Tanres standing at the entrance to the Sitting Garden. Her stomach had been right; this was not merely a walk in the park.
“Fa?”
Her father stopped and looked back to where she’d taken her stand.
“Rin, your mother and I need to talk to you privately, and this is one of the most private places in- or outside the Keep.”
“No.”
“Rinli, please.” Her mother had appeared at the entrance to the garden, and Rinli decided she didn’t want to be forced into submission so she stepped into the garden on her own.
“What about her?” Rinli asked, nodding towards the commander just beyond the entry.
“Tanres?”
Rinli watched as the woman acknowledged her Empir’s command with a nod and moved away, presumably out of earshot.
“All right, then. What do you want?” Every sense screamed a warning.
“Why don’t you sit,” her father said and gestured to one of the benches. It was a fragrant and colorful space, fully enclosed by trellises and great vines, flowers blooming everywhere in a celebration of spring. It was called the Sitting Garden, Rinli presumed, because it boasted three massive, carved stone benches, not terribly comfortable for sitting, but survivable. She didn’t want to sit, but she did so anyway, into the bench closest to her, hoping her mother would sit on one of the other benches. She didn’t care where her father sat. She trusted him. Her mother, on the other hand, could do things, and at the moment, Rinli couldn’t trust her. She dreaded what was coming.
Lisen studied her daughter. She was so changeable—one moment laughing and filled with fun, and the next, suspicious and fired by anger. And the trap she and Korin had set had left Rinli embroiled in the latter. Lisen closed her eyes, took a couple of deep breaths to center herself, then opened them again.
“Don’t even try it, Mother,” Rinli warned. “I know what you’re capable of.”
Lisen wanted to slam back with a retort pointing out the girl’s impossible ignorance, that she—Rinli—was capable of a great deal as well, but Lisen deferred to Korin to begin the discussion as they’d planned.
“Rin, she’s not going to try anything. That’s not why we’re here.”
“Then why?” the girl asked.
“We need to talk to you without intrusion. We observed something in Thristas that must be addressed.” Korin’s voice possessed a soothing warmth as he guided their daughter through what was likely to be a difficult and contentious conversation.
“What?” Rinli asked, and Lisen heard the girl’s defenses settle into place.
“In the stable, when you and Madlen were saying farewell, you did something. Do you remember?”
“I remember trying to get away from her. I remember her clinging while we were trying to leave.”
“Do you remember what you said? What you did?”
“I ordered her to stop, and she did. What’s this about?”
Lisen watched in hard-won silence as Korin’s expression exposed his even discipline in facing a fear ingrained since early childhood. “And did she? Stop, I mean?”
“Yes. What…is this…about?”
“Have you ever known Madlen to respond to someone else’s idea of what she should or shouldn’t be doing? Ever?”
“Well…”
“No. She does what she wants to do, and she doesn’t care what anyone thinks or how anyone feels about it.”
“Yes.” Rinli drew the word out as she stared at her father.
And Lisen realized, She really doesn’t know what she did.
“Rin,” Korin said, his voice even softer than before, “you pushed her.”
“I didn’t touch…” She stopped, put her hand up to her mouth as she realized what her father meant. “No. That’s not possible. I would have known.”
“Rinli,” Lisen said, stepping in at the agreed-upon moment, “you’re at an age where this often manifests. The fact that you didn’t know simply means that it’s a power you haven’t yet learned to control. Knowing and admitting that you have it is the first step.”
“No. That’s your trick, Mother.” She said “mother” in such a way that Lisen’s heart constricted. Clearly, Thristan thinking in regards to the magic that hermits cultivated had predetermined Rinli’s view of it. This was the wall Lisen would have to grapple over to reach her daughter directly.
She and Korin had agreed that they had to remain firm, united and as impersonal as possible in this discussion. She was reminded of the interventions she’d seen on television on Earth—friends and family rallying around an addict in the hope of convincing their loved one to get the help the addict desperately needed. In this case, however, the help Rinli needed could only come from the one person in the world Rinli refused to trust on this subject—her mother.
“Rin,” Korin said, and Lisen thanked the Creators she had him on her side, “I have been present and experienced the peripheral effects of the push. I know how it feels. It’s unmistakable. You pushed Madlen.”
“No! I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.” She turned on her mother. “I know what you want. You want me to be just like you.”
“I want you to be you, but you need to be trained,” Lisen replied. “The only way you can control it is to learn how to use it. If you slip again, in front of other Thristans, it could destroy…everything.”
“You and that damn treaty. Where am I in all of this?” Rinli popped up from the bench and tried to leave, but Korin stepped between her and the opening in the vines.
“It could destroy you,” he said with a sadness that defied grace.
“And your life has always been more important to me than any treaty,” Lisen added, standing up beside him.
“Why? Why now?”
“Don’t you mean ‘why me?’” Lisen marveled at how much softer her voice sounded than she’d intended.
“No point,” Rinli said, her shoulders slipping into a slump and her head down. “None of those questions have answers anyway, do they.”
Lisen shook her head, surrendering the match, and Korin reached out to the young woman. But Rinli pulled away, refusing his touch.
“It’s magic and it’s forbidden. You can’t force me to learn how to use it. If I actually possess this so-called gift. Which I seriously doubt.” She punctuated the end of her declaration by shoving past her father and out of the garden.
“Well,” Lisen said with a sigh and sat down, “I wish that had gone better.”
“Maybe with a little time,” Korin said as he sat down beside her.
“I don’t think she has time. What is it, three months until you two return to the desert?”
“About that.” Korin picked a pink flower from the bush beside the bench, leaned his elbows on his legs and stared at the bloom as he spoke. He looked off to the opening through which Rinli had vanished. “Couldn’t you…oh, I don’t know…encourage her to do it?”
“Creators, Korin. Are you asking what I think you’re asking? Are you serious?”
He shook his head. “No. Not really. Just grasping for hope in the midst of hopelessness.”
“But there has to be something…” Lisen trailed off into thought. She would have to take the hardest path of all and do nothing, for a while at least, allowing Korin to assert his concerns to Rinli while she herself maintained her distance. What else could she do? “Why can’t she trust me?” she asked, the sadness of this truth depleting her.
Korin put a hand on her shoulder and looked straight into her eyes. “She feels manipulated.”
Lisen nodded. “I know how that feels.”
He dropped his hand and turned to look forward again. “You should make your peace with Eloise.”
She bristled. “That’s different. Eloise didn’t just manipulate me; she manipulated everyone.”
“And if she hadn’t? You’ve said it yourself. Without the time you spent in that other world, Rinli might not exist. And everything that followed wouldn’t have followed.”
“But now it’s all coming apart. Did Eloise see this?”
“Go to her.”
“To find out what to do? That’s a joke. She’s never answered my questions before.”
“No. To see if there’s a way to heal the wounds.”
“Why? You don’t even trust hermits.”
He tilted his head to look at her again and smiled that smile, the one she could never resist. “Well, there’s one slightly tarnished hermit I am a bit enamored with.”
Lisen stared up at the sky. “Make my peace with her, huh?”
“Just say hello. You can decide how much more you’re willing to do once you’ve seen her.”
“And you really think this will help me reach Rinli?”
“I think you can’t seek forgiveness from others until you’re willing to forgive those you feel have harmed you, including yourself.” He handed her the flower he’d picked and stood up. “And that’s my thought on the subject. Now, I am going to go see if I can find our daughter and talk to her about nothing.”
“Nothing?” Lisen looked up at him, his head surrounded by sunlight.
“For now.”
Lisen nodded in agreement and watched as her spouse left her in the Sitting Garden. She leaned back in the bench. Eloise, she thought. Is Korin right? Do I have to forgive her for manipulating me and everything she forced on me in the process—the death, the killing, the pain I inflicted on others—in order to reach Rinli?
She shook her head. No. Never.
The stem of Korin’s flower pressed between her right thumb and forefinger, she rose from the bench and headed for her office. The rest of the family had undoubtedly already gathered in the private dining hall for breakfast, but right now she required silence. Nalin wouldn’t arrive for another hour at least, so she’d inform Jazel to allow no one but him or Korin in, and then she would spend some quiet time meditating or reading or something. Anything to rid herself of the bitter taste of an unforgiving child.
Storming up the portico steps, into the Keep and around through the Great Hall, Rinli ended up in the dining room, her heart thundering in her ears and her lungs fighting for breath. She’d overreacted—she knew it—and her father would call that a sign of weakness. But perhaps there was nothing wrong with overreacting. Perhaps overreactions were simply a manifestation of deeper feelings and nothing more than that.
“Well, there she is, our Thristan sister.”
Rinli pulled up short and glared at Nasera where he sat at the table, a plate filled with a leg of some sort of fowl and a chunk of bread in front of him. “No more Thristan than you, Brother,” she countered.
“Welcome back, Rin,” Insenlo said, and Rinli gave her ten-year-out sister a smile, turning her head away from her brother.
“Thanks, Sen. What’s for breakfast?” She plopped down in her chair. A servant would enter momentarily and offer her toasted bread or meat of some kind or maybe even pastries, or all three, if she so desired.
“The usual,” Insenlo replied. “You’re out of breath.”
“I ran out into the park to greet the flowers,” Rinli lied.
“Not many of those in the desert,” Nasera commented. His tone reeked of his disdain for all things Thristan.
“No, but there are other things. Like deadly snakes!” Rinli lunged at her brother, imitating a striking snake, but Nasera took no note.
“You’re fifteen, and you still act like a
child,” he said.
Rinli pulled back. She’d never known her younger brother to appreciate having his own nastiness turned back on him.
As expected, the servant arrived with a plate, and having anticipated Rinli’s usual taste in breakfast, the woman had brought her a length of sausage, a chunk of warm bread and some butter on the side. Rinli nodded her acceptance of this choice and then looked up as her father entered, his eye on her and no one else.
“Father!” And Insenlo jumped up from her chair, ran to the man and grabbed him, the girl’s head just above her father’s pouch. Their father leaned down and lifted her up, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. “I’ve missed you,” she exclaimed.
“I missed you, too,” their father said, and still his eye remained on Rinli.
“Father,” Nasera tossed out. Why did he always sound like he was speaking to a servant when he spoke to their father?
“Nas?”
“Fa, about—” Rinli started.
“Enough,” her father said, dismissing her. He sat down, bringing Insenlo into his lap. “You and your mother must find your own way. Now, you…” he urged his youngest back to her chair “…must sit there.”
As Insenlo resumed her seat, Rinli glared at her father. “She can’t force me to do something I refuse to do.”
“Ah, Rinli and Mother. At it again, Rin?”
“And that’s enough from you, Nas,” their father ordered, but Rinli could see the flash of a glower that Nasera quickly veiled as their cousin entered the room with a flourish.
“Beloved cousin Rinli,” Elor noted as he took his place at the table. “Back from the desert, I see.”
“Good morning, El,” Rinli replied.
“I’ve asked you not to call me that,” the near-pretender to her mother’s throne said. “It’s demeaning.”
“We’re cousins,” Rinli said. “What does it matter?”
Elor opened his mouth in what Rinli expected would be a nasty retort, but her father spoke first.
“It matters because he will be the Holder of Bedel in a few months. Now stop it, both of you. I don’t know why the breakfast table has to turn into such a battleground.”
Protector of Thristas: A Lisen of Solsta Novel Page 4
