Protector of Thristas: A Lisen of Solsta Novel

by D. Hart St. Martin

  The Thristans in the chamber who possessed any knowledge of Garlan took up the cry, making it so with a total of three repetitions.

  Rinli rose and turned around to face the Thristans whose care she’d taken on. To Lisen, she appeared overwhelmed, but when she began to speak, Lisen knew she was ready.

  “I accept. I am here to learn, not to judge or serve as master.”

  “Long life to the Protector!” This time the shout was a spontaneous outburst. Lisen looked to Korin and saw a tear in his eye. It was done. Their daughter had stepped into her fate.

  “Long life to the Protector!”

  A wave of pride washed over Korin, and he looked to Lisen and saw Rinli had surprised her as well. They’d told Rinli she’d have to find something to say at the end of the ceremony, and she’d grunted her displeasure at the assignment and walked away. Korin had expected her to mumble some sort of pitiful acceptance, but “I am here to learn, not to judge or serve as master” had left him feeling sentimental, an unaccustomed reaction.

  “In accordance with the treaty signed with Empir Ariannas Ilazer at the end of the One-Day War,” Hozia pronounced, “we welcome your guidance, Rinli of Thristas, as we prepare to take our place as equals with our Garlan neighbors. It is done.”

  The members of the Tribe who had come to witness the investiture began to leave, speaking softly to one another as they moved out of the chamber, and Korin stepped forward and put his hands on Rinli’s shoulders. She accepted his attention without a flinch.

  “You did well,” Korin whispered in her ear. Standing behind her, he observed the flow of the exiting Thristans and caught one lingering, staring at Rinli, then Madlen beside her, then Rinli again. Tinlo, he thought. What is he doing? He’d noticed the young man before, hovering around Madlen, undoubtedly struck dumb by love that Madlen would never return. This time, his eyes had a vaporous look about them, as though he had something to do which his mind had already accomplished.

  Korin looked for Lisen and found her leaving the room with Nalin, and Tinlo wasn’t looking in their direction. No, he focused on Rin and Madlen, and Korin, ever a captain of the Guard, readied himself for the attack he believed was coming. Then Rinli said something to Madlen, and Madlen laughed, throwing her head back. Korin watched as Tinlo folded his soul up, his posture going slack, and forced his way through the exiting crowd.

  It’s over, Korin thought. For now, his ever-cautious, overworked instincts reminded him.

  Yesterday my cousin celebrated her sixteenth outcoming day with her investiture as Protector of Thristas. Elor sat in his bed, his breakfast on a tray on his lap. If she survived. The last he’d seen of Nasera, the boy had talked of his worries about “that stupid ceremony.” Well, Elor thought as he put a piece of buttered biscuit in his mouth, he had reason to worry. His entire family in that foul Thristas, save for him. He spread a little jam on the next bite of biscuit and reveled in the burst of flavors.

  Holder of Bedel. Holder Zanlot. He did like the sound of that, and he awoke with a smile on his face in the holder’s bed in the Zanlot castle in Tonkin each and every morning. No more living in the Keep in Avaret, forced to follow the dictates of the aunt who murdered his father, nor the hovering of her Thristan spouse, not to mention the distaste of interacting with his cousins’ “Uncle” Nalin, the man who had executed his mother. The fact that he’d survived his childhood given the circumstances…

  He’d spent a large part of the nearly two months since he’d settled in here wandering the halls, locating little secret alcoves and following stairways that took him places he hadn’t imagined existed. One or more of his ancestors had devoted much attention to the design of the Zanlot castle, and Elor felt it his duty to learn all he could about it. When not exploring, he put time into researching his family history. What a wealth of fascinating characters had contributed to his existence.

  The most interesting, excepting his mother, of course, was Ectad Zanlot, some number of great-parents back. Ectad had abandoned the old residence down in the flatlands below, now in ruins, and set his eye on the hill towering over the ocean and the small Bay of Tonkin. Ectad hadn’t even lived long enough to see the castle’s first stone set in place, but his planning had provided a healthy beginning to a multigenerational project. And even after its completion, every subsequent holder had added their own touch to the castle’s profile. The fact that it hadn’t turned into a hodge-podge of ugly add-ons confirmed Elor’s belief that he came from an artistically superior line.

  They were superior in other ways as well. Plans of any kind seemed to come to Zanlots effortlessly—his mother’s ability to shift her plans setting its own example to him. Unfortunately, the one plan she failed to think through, the one that came to her rather than her inventing it herself, had proved her undoing. Well, that wasn’t going to happen to Elor.

  A servant arrived with two letters, both from Avaret—one from his woman there keeping her eye on things for him and the other from Nasera whom Elor had carefully cultivated for just this purpose, procuring the inner workings of life in the Keep. The servant took Elor’s tray once Elor signaled he was through with it, and after the man had left, Elor settled in for a nice little read.

  He began with Maryn’s post. He had found her name on a list of trusted spies his mother had left for him. No, that was imprecise. She hadn’t left lists for him; she’d kept lists that he’d found when he’d wandered, bedazzled, through her things. The servants and guards had touched nothing, leaving everything as his mother had left it. When he’d realized this, he’d nearly cried in joy, but Zanlots don’t cry, a fact he had learned from Tazori Dors when he was maybe seven. Tazori had proved himself to be invaluable over the years, unlike his aunt and others in Avaret who’d known nothing about either of his parents. Or, what they’d known had consisted of that which they considered villainous. But Tazori—he’d spent hours every Council session tutoring Elor on the greatness of Ariel Ilazer and Lorain Zanlot.

  He read Maryn’s letter. The Empir and her small entourage had left for Thristas as planned approximately twenty days ago, the third of September to be precise. That entourage had included Holder Corday. No explanation forthcoming from Maryn; hence no explanation had been given as to why the holder, originally scheduled to go and then released from his obligation, had ridden along with the others. This meant Nasera was alone in Avaret. As alone as an Empir’s child could be. No doubt his personal mentor oversaw his activities, and nearly the full contingent of the Keep’s guards ensured his safety from outside threats. Other than that, according to Maryn, Avaret was quiet.

  Nasera’s note left Elor feeling both sad for the boy and laughing at his foolish air of entitlement. He was, indeed, all alone, though he didn’t use those words.

  No one but adults to talk to and constant assignments from Pacar. Are you sure you can’t come and visit? Mother isn’t due back for at least two more weeks.

  Elor shook his head. “No, Nas,” he said softly. “I’m sorry.” Unfortunately, the boy was full of his own predicament and said nothing that might be useful to Elor in the future, so he set the letter down on the bed. Taking Maryn’s letter with him, he got up and stepped over to the small desk his mother had placed here in the bedchamber. One couldn’t govern a holding from here, but one could certainly make a list or two and consider one’s plans.

  He sat, set the letter down, pulled out a blank sheet of paper and inked a stylus. He’d studied those lists of his mother’s, and what he’d found was a fascinating culling of the bare facts to bring the mind to an inevitable conclusion. He’d questioned Tazori about these lists before the holder had left for home after Elor’s investiture, but all Tazori could say was that Lorain Zanlot possessed an innate ability to ferret out information on which she almost always acted appropriately.

  So he wrote on the paper, “Her Will goes to Thristas.” He sat back and stared at those five words. “Why?” he added, then thought of another question. “Who or what forced him to go?”
Because Elor believed Corday would not have volunteered at the last minute.

  He set the stylus down. It was all he had for now, but he’d found several beginnings of lists in his mother’s hand in both this desk and the much larger one downstairs. Clearly there was no shame in starting a list and waiting for it to find its finish. He opened a drawer, shoved the list in and went to open his door. He called down for his servant, then waited for help dressing. He hoped for a day filled with discoveries in the old home that was new to him. Life was good.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  A TRUMPED-UP TRUCE?

  When Korin awoke, he found himself alone on his pallet. He sat up, slammed fully awake by fear—fear of the unspoken, that his spouse had been taken. Or worse, killed. But no. Hiding his heaving breaths from Lisen whom he found standing, safe, stuffing one last item into her satchel, dressed and ready to leave after breakfast, he smiled.

  “Good evening.”

  She turned. “I woke you. I’m sorry.”

  “No, no,” he replied and stood. “It gives us a few moments together before one of us has to raise Sen.”

  “Well, at least we don’t have to worry about Nalin. He stuck his head in a couple of minutes ago. He’s dressed and packed and looking forward to his last breakfast here.”

  “I can imagine.” Korin recognized the chatter she made when trying to stave off the inevitability of the unpleasant. These little things that made up the moments of their lives—these were the things he’d miss staying here with Rinli. He went to her and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind and set his chin on her shoulder. “How do we do this?”

  “How do we do what?”

  He couldn’t see her face, but he knew her ignorance was a lie, another way of avoiding what she didn’t dare see. “Face months and months apart with only Council sessions together.”

  “We will do it,” she replied, took a single deep breath and turned in his arms to look at him. Her eyes flickered gold and green in the torchlight. They indulged in a brief kiss, the kiss they wouldn’t share in front of others at her departure. Then he pulled away to change from nightshift into tunic.

  “I’ll see to Sen. You go join the holder for breakfast.”

  She nodded, her expression a mixture of sorrow and longing, and after buckling up her satchel, she dropped it on the floor and left the chamber.

  Korin sighed after she left. The walls of his little cave drew in upon him. He’d had a life before her, but he could no longer imagine it, just as he couldn’t picture a life without their children. It was as though his existence had broadened and thickened as he’d let these Garlans in. Half-Garlan himself, he still thought of himself as Thristan, but life here in the mesa, which had once satisfied him, paled when compared to the richness of his family in Avaret. The next two years loomed ahead long and difficult, but the years following, leaving Rinli here in favor of his spouse, his bonded mate, would likely prove no easier. He considered, again, a question he often pondered. Lisen had found a resolution to the One-Day War, but at what cost? It seemed only Thristas won at the end of the night.

  His sandal straps fastened, he headed up the tunnel to Sen and Rinli’s chamber. He fully expected Rinli to return to his chamber to sleep on her own pallet once her mother and sister were gone. She claimed it was quieter there, but Korin suspected a child still lurked deep within who needed all the support she could muster.

  When he stepped into the cave, torch in hand, he found only Insenlo—Rinli no doubt with Madlen out on top of the mesa where they always met before the start of the night. Engaged in packing her things, humming a tune to herself he didn’t recognize, Insenlo didn’t notice him at first. Then she looked up at his entrance and grinned. She resembled her mother—red hair like copper and green eyes like the ocean—to such a degree he always had to stifle a gasp. Had Lisen looked like this at eleven? He wished he’d known her then, but watching their daughter mature into her adolescence was almost as good.

  “Fa!” She jumped up from the floor and threw her arms around him. “I so wish you weren’t staying.”

  “I wish the same, but we must honor choices made long ago.”

  “Oh, pooh. Rinli’s come of age. She doesn’t need you.”

  “Your mother and I believe she does.”

  “Mother’s going to be impossible without you around.”

  Korin smiled. He knew Lisen tended to grow tense and thorny when he was absent. “You can usually manage her, though, can’t you?”

  “Of course I can. But it’s far less work if I don’t have to.”

  He urged her back a step and looked down on her with his most serious expression. “Now, tell me something. Just between you and me, all right?”

  “What?”

  “What do you know about Tinlo Randa?”

  “Who? Oh, you mean Madlen’s admirer?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not much, but I do know he’s been avoiding Madlen the last couple of days.”

  “Really?”

  “She told Rin she’s relieved.”

  Korin knew how Insenlo learned things. She would sit with one of her siblings—Rinli in this case—reading or writing, while the sibling talked uninhibitedly with a friend. It was easy to forget Sen was there. From everything Korin understood of this dynamic, Sen wasn’t actually spying; she sought companionship but had little to say when she found it. Hence, the distraction of reading or writing while still listening when she was in the company of others.

  “Why do you want to know about him?” the girl asked.

  “I was just wondering if you knew anything about him.”

  “Fa, you never ‘just wonder.’ Logic and motivation lurk under everything you say or do. So? Why?”

  “Do not tell your mother.”

  “Oh, secrets. I keep lots of secrets. People don’t realize how much I really know.”

  “I do. That’s why I’m willing to tell you this. Because I keep secrets, too.” Insenlo nodded, and Korin continued. “I don’t trust him. I think he’s a young man with a mad mission that he may have convinced himself is for the good of all.”

  “Given his adoration for Madlen and her adoration for Rinli, you could very well be right.”

  “Our secret?”

  “Not even Rin?”

  “Not even Rin. I’ll watch out for your sister. Now, are you ready? You should go get breakfast. You won’t have much to eat until you get back through the Pass.”

  Insenlo hugged her father again, and he embraced her. Unlike Rinli, this daughter never gave him reason to worry. Wise beyond her time, quietly brilliant, the only person other than Lisen whom Pharaoh would tolerate on his back. That alone spoke of a special spirit.

  She pulled from his arms and bounced out of the chamber, and he shook his head. Ah, to be eleven again.

  Her satchel wasn’t secured, so he buckled it up and set it beside the door. Then he headed for the dining chamber. Upon entering, he located Lisen with the holder sitting across from her already working on their chardhoosh, while Insenlo served herself. He sat down beside Lisen and scooted up close so their hips were touching. This was one of those moments when he wanted to toss all reserve aside and hold her close until the last second they had together. And yet…no. Too much at stake to allow people, especially Thristans, to know the depth of their Bond. So he kept his distance, save for the touch of her hip which would have to serve until he and Rinli returned for Council, a month-and-a-half away.

  The three travelers partook of a quiet meal, and he found himself quieting his deepest reactions to Lisen’s departure, forcing his thoughts to turn, instead, to the very reasonable purpose of their separation. Oh, it was reasonable. And logical. Everything they’d done in the last fifteen years had fallen onto the path of their treaty-dictated steps, but for once he wished the two of them could just toss Thristas and Garla aside and live a simple life.

  “Well, Sen? Nalin?” Lisen said, standing up. “Are we ready?”

  No, Korin begged
himself to say, but his disciplined mind wouldn’t allow it.

  The holder slid around to the end of the bench, allowing him to get up and move more easily. “Yes.”

  “But where’s Rin?” Insenlo asked, looking all around. “I wanted to tell her good-bye.”

  Korin reached out a hand to cover Insenlo’s smaller one. “Don’t worry. She always manages to make it just in time to the stable.” Sen nodded and rose. Korin grabbed their trays, and as he walked out with his family, he dropped the trays into the bin.

  He led them down the tunnel, taking his time to allow the holder to keep up. Someone had alerted the stable to their imminent departure because all the horses were saddled and their gear was already loaded up. Even the two guards stood mounted and ready to go. Then he saw Hozia standing there, smiling. She stepped forward to Lisen and placed her hand on Lisen’s shoulder.

  “My Liege,” the Elder said.

  “It’s been a long road,” Lisen replied, placing her hand on Hozia’s shoulder in response.

  Hozia nodded. “With many steps yet to walk.”

  “It’s all up to Rinli.”

  “You’ve done well, my Liege. Now it’s our turn.”

  Lisen nodded, but Korin heard an inner scream. Was it his? Lisen’s? A scream of caution, of “Hold back! Not so fast.” But Lisen mounted, the holder right behind her.

  “Am I late?” the familiar voice of the daughter in question preceded Rinli’s run into the stable. “Oh, good,” she managed between gulping breaths.

  “You and your sunsets,” Lisen said and smiled at the girl. Korin felt less charitable with his thoughts.

  Rinli stepped directly to her mother and gazed up at her. “Safe journey.”

  “Remember what I said about trust.”