“So,” she said, “I’ve been Protector of Thristas for nearly a month, and here I’m working in the kitchen. How’s that for reminding a person of their place?”
Madlen silenced her giggles. “Does that seem strange to you? Even the Elders are tasked.”
“Oh, I know. I’m just thinking about all the nobles in Garla. They do nothing but ‘noble.’ Whatever being a noble means. My mother works hard as Empir. Her hardest task, I think, is making decisions.”
“She seems like she’d be good at that,” Madlen commented. “She’s always making decisions for you.”
“Well, yes, that’s true, but I mean real decisions. Like…” Rinli scooted closer to Madlen and spoke very softly. “…there were these twins. Their mother was the holder of Terane. She died without naming her heir, and they both wanted it.”
“What did your mother decide?”
“She didn’t. That’s the best part. She implemented changes in the Garlan legal system a few years ago, but this was the first time those changes actually got used. It’s complicated, but the important thing is it worked. So it wasn’t her decision in the end; it was the decision of a panel of judges.”
“Like our Elders. That’s not new.”
“It was new to Garla.”
“Leave it to Garla to take something Thristas has been doing for hundreds of years and call it new.”
Rinli scowled. Madlen’s attitude had shifted swiftly from amusement to disdain. Perhaps it was time for Rinli to shift away from the subject of Garla and her mother. For so many years, she and Madlen had agreed on her mother’s uselessness, but watching her mother at work had given Rinli a new respect for her and an insight into the method of her ruling and her ethics. Would Madlen ever understand? Not likely.
“So, when do you begin your tour of the mesas?” Madlen asked, and Rinli thanked her silently for changing the subject.
“Fa says after we get back from this next Council session.”
“They say every mesa is different.”
“That’s what Fa says.”
Madlen nodded. “How many mesas has he been to?”
“I think he said three, other than Terses.”
Again, Madlen nodded. It seemed to Rinli that her friend was selecting her questions with care. “And when do you leave for Garla this time?”
“In two nights.”
This time Madlen looked down at her hands fidgeting in her lap. Rinli watched, silent for a moment, then reached down to quiet Madlen’s hands with one of her own.
“What is it?” she asked.
When Madlen looked up at her, Rinli saw something in Madlen’s eyes she’d never seen before. She’d seen awe and admiration, gifts she hadn’t earned from her friend at all, but this…this was different. A bittersweet sadness filled Madlen’s countenance, and her eyes brimmed with tears. Tears from a Thristan.
“I don’t want you to go.”
Rinli touched Madlen’s face with two fingers. “To Garla?”
Madlen nodded, clearly unable to speak.
“I’m probably safer there than here.”
“No, that’s not it. It’s—”
She didn’t get the chance to finish her sentence as a voice broke through her words.
“Madlen! Now that’s touching.”
Rinli looked up and saw Tinlo standing over them. Sweet Destroyer, what’s he doing here?
“Shouldn’t you be up on top of the mesa tending to something?” Madlen blurted out.
“You should be tending to your reputation, Garlan-scum-lover,” Tinlo countered. And then…he pulled out…his shindah.
A dark place, a ceiling so low she can almost touch it with her fingers from where she lies. Danger. Mortal danger, she believes. She also believes she is not alone, but she can’t see or hear anyone. Her body spasms in pain, and filled with confusion, her mind cannot fight such torture. So she screams, and that she can hear. How long, Creators? How long?
Lisen awoke.
To her bedchamber.
In the Keep.
Alone.
Her bed linens had somehow become tangled up in knots and had soaked up the sweat that left her feeling clammy. If Korin had been lying here with her, he would have lulled her awake before the dream had taken her so far. Thank the Creators she’d finally found her way to wakefulness on her own.
She sat up, gasping for breath, reaching out to Korin, not a fruitless attempt between their Bond from the Farii and his possession of power he could never acknowledge. But she needed his calm support. She’d had these dreams for the last couple of nights, but this was the worst. She’d actually come to consciousness with the pain lingering although it was gone now.
Oh, Korin. Korin, what have I done? The dream had spoken to her guilt. Korin, where are you? Danger.
She put her feet down on the floor and sat for a few minutes, catching her breath, allowing the cool fall air to dry her off.
“Korin.” A whisper, barely audible. “Korin.”
She lay down again, drained, and slipped back into sleep, back to the dream that wouldn’t release her. Back to the claustrophobic space of nightmares and visions. Korin!
All too often Korin tended to the malla plants somewhat mindlessly, but not tonight. Tonight he thought of how the paste made from the liquid within the plant’s thick, heavy stalks could draw a person in with its euphoria and hold them captive. When The People had discovered that Garlans would pay well for the “malla stupor”—an expression of Thristan contempt for this addiction—they’d quickly made an industry of its production, making it the one weapon Thristas held over Garla, a bargaining tool, their one commodity of interest to their western neighbor.
Malla had drawn Korin into its stranglehold during his years in the Guard, its awareness-heightening properties his excuse, but he’d hidden his addiction from everyone. Because neither guard nor Thristan could admit to such a thing—a guard for the lack of discipline it showed and Thristans for their pride. Then he’d pouched Rinli, and he’d left the seductive grey paste behind, never to return. So the irony of the tasker continuing to assign Korin of all people to this duty, tending a plant that needed little if any tending, was not lost on this Garlan Empir-Spouse.
He looked up from his musings, abruptly alert, all thought discarded. Lisen called out to him, and he’d jumped to his feet before he knew what he was doing. Where’s Rinli? “Danger!” Where the Destroyer is Rin?
He ran to the trapdoor, jumped down the ladder, landed safely and tore through the tunnels. In the kitchen, he thought, his breath coming hard. Yes, yes, that’s where she is. With Madlen.
Where’s the damn kitchen? He’d served duty there for a few months when he was fourteen or fifteen or something, but as he tore through the tunnels, he struggled to remember how to get there. Especially from up above. The route he’d followed in his youth had brought him up from the chamber he lived in now, so he was hard-pressed to make the quickest decisions as he flew.
Midway up and midway down. That much he recalled. The original People had settled on its location to make it as convenient as possible to every dining chamber in the mesa.
Where?
He realized succumbing to a frantic sense of doom would help no one. So as he ran, he insisted on calm. He would find the damn kitchen.
Rinli. Kitchen. Rinli. Kitchen. A gift of rhythm for the running.
And then…the kitchen entrance, and with a deep breath of relief—followed by the panting brought on by his exertion—he halted just inside and glanced around furtively, sweeping from one spot after another. One of the kitchen workers stepped up to face him in all his maniacal glory.
“Rinli. Rinli and Madlen. Where are they?” His words were rushed, pressured.
“Behind the cupboard, there,” the worker replied, pointing a finger to guide him.
He pushed past her, wasting no time thanking her, and shindah drawn, he approached the cupboard, quickly, quietly, and looked around it. Tinlo. With a weapon. Rin and Madl
en staring up at him.
Rinli snapped something at Tinlo, but with Korin’s heart drumming hard in his ears, he didn’t catch what she said. Tinlo opened his hand, and his shindah clattered to the ground. Obviously, Tinlo had heard and understood her.
“Kill him!” Madlen screamed as her eyes met Korin’s.
Tinlo whipped his head around, saw Korin with his own shindah ready to strike and took flight, tearing past Korin and out of the kitchen. Still struggling to catch his breath, Korin crouched down in front of his daughter and her friend.
“Are you all right?” He asked this of Rinli as he started patting her down as he would a comrade in the field.
“I’m fine,” Rinli said and shook her shoulders. She didn’t want him checking her over, but damn it, he would check her over anyway. “He didn’t touch us.”
“But he was going to,” Madlen added.
“We must report this to the Elders,” Korin said. He picked up Tinlo’s weapon, then rose, offering Rinli his hand to help her up, which she refused. “Now.”
“Fa,” Rinli protested as she stood up, “he didn’t do anything.”
“He drew a shindah on the Protector of Thristas. If nothing else, it’s a crime against the Tribe. Let’s go.”
With a belabored sigh, Rinli stepped in behind him, Madlen at her side, and the three of them left the kitchen.
They trudged up the tunnels, Korin and his girls. He knew they were young women now, but it was hard for him to think of them as adults, having known them for so long as children. He’d sheathed Tinlo’s shindah but kept his at the ready. Tinlo must know this would not go unreported to the Elders. The boy had acted impulsively and hadn’t thought through the repercussions of his actions. The young fool couldn’t be trusted.
They reached the alcove that flanked the entrance to the Elders’ chamber, and Korin forced the young women to sit down. He, however, couldn’t bring himself to settle. His belly burned with the fire of unrequited rage. Tinlo had tried to take the life of his daughter.
They waited. An Elder would emerge eventually, but until then, Korin paced.
“Fa,” Rinli said after what seemed like hours to Korin but probably was only minutes, “stop. You’re making me nervous.”
He stopped, looked up at the ceiling of the tunnel and sighed. Of course he made her nervous; he was making himself nervous.
“Korin?”
He whirled around toward the entrance to the Elders’ chamber and was relieved to see Hozia smiling at him.
“What can we do for you?”
“Tinlo Randa just tried to kill my daughter.”
Hozia reached out an arm to wrap around Korin’s back and started to urge him into the chamber.
“No! Wait. I’m not leaving these two alone. He could try again.”
Hozia nodded. “We know. They’re safe. He’s inside. He got to us first and just finished confessing. But we must hear what you, Rinli and Madlen have to say about it before we decide what to do with him.”
Korin’s heart pounded harder than ever, if that were possible. He could barely speak as she led him into the chamber. “How? We came up here immediately,” he asked as he pulled Tinlo’s weapon from his sheath, replacing it with his own.
“And we’ve kept you waiting while he blurted out what he had to say.”
They stopped and she stepped away to sit with three other Elders. It was a balanced representation, but the presence of Tinlo’s grandfather, Elder Rostor, did not bolster Korin’s confidence in their fair assessment. Thank the Maker for Hozia. She would advocate for Rinli whom she looked on as her own.
He bowed from the waist, first left, then right, then center. No matter how overcome with anger he might be, he must respect the ritual.
“Korin,” Elder Raakon said. “Tinlo has already spoken to us.” She nodded towards the section of the circular stone bench to his left.
“So I’ve been told.” He refused to look in Tinlo’s direction.
“I would have preferred to talk to the young women first as they were present for the full event, but Hozia overruled me.”
“So, Korin,” Hozia said, ignoring the cold in Raakon’s statement, “tell us what you know.”
“I came into the kitchen, looking for Rinli. I drew my shindah because something felt wrong. One of the workers directed me to Rinli and Madlen, to a corner behind a cupboard where they sat talking. But as I came around the cupboard, I found Tinlo there as well, his shindah drawn, threatening them.”
“Had you heard him say something to lead you to believe that he was threatening them?” Elder Rostor asked.
“No. But—”
“Then I don’t think you can comment on his motives.”
“He had a weapon on them.” Korin struggled to calm his anger. “He had a shindah trained on the child I’d pouched. This shindah.” He held Tinlo’s weapon up. “I think I have every right to comment on his motives.”
“Perhaps he was acting to protect them in some way.”
“If he were, why did he drop the weapon and run off as soon as he saw me?”
“To protect his honor by coming to us immediately.”
That damn Elder was going to protect his grandson despite all the evidence. “And I brought Rinli and Madlen to you immediately as well. The fact that it took a few moments longer was only because I had to calm them down and convince them that this was what had to be done. That boy—your grandson—has been lurking around, ogling Madlen for months. Madlen has chosen not to return his affection, and it seems, given tonight’s events, he wants to rid us of his competition. Or perhaps he has a more noble motive. I don’t know. But as a former Emperi guard and someone whom the Empir of Garla trusts in times of crisis for my insight into individuals and their possible motives, I doubt I’ve misinterpreted the facts in this.”
“But you are related to one of the alleged near-victims.”
“And you, Elder, are the grandfather of the perpetrator. How can you possibly sit there and defend him with impunity?”
Elder Rostor glared at Korin but said nothing more.
“Thank you, Korin, for your insight on this,” Hozia said, rising from her seat. She came to Korin and relieved him of Tinlo’s shindah.
She turned towards Tinlo. “Is this yours?” she asked him.
Korin finally looked to the boy and saw him nod as Hozia resumed her place.
“Thank you, Korin,” she said. “We will keep this as evidence. Send in young Madlen on your way out.
Korin nodded and silently left the chamber.
Rinli sat in nervous silence with her father. “Only the truth,” Madlen had said before she’d gone in to tell her version of the story, and Rinli believed her. But Tinlo was already in there, and her father had shaken his head after he’d sent Madlen into the chamber. What had that meant? Rinli had feared asking him and knew that if he’d intended to tell her, he would have by now. Hozia was in there. That helped, didn’t it? Hozia liked Rinli. She’d even served as a surrogate mother when Rinli had needed to talk to someone other than her father and with her mother unavailable in Avaret.
She’d never been questioned by the Elders. They’d spoken to her over the years about her duties to and plans for Thristas and such, but never had she found herself in the position of having to answer for her actions. And what were her actions? She’d shouted out an order, nothing more. Then her father had intervened, and if he hadn’t, she’d probably be dead now.
The drape drew aside, and Madlen stepped out. She didn’t look nearly as devastated as her father had. Hope?
“They want to see you now,” her friend said to her and touched Rinli on the cheek as she stepped past her, allowing Rinli to rise and enter the chamber.
Once inside, Rinli noted the four Elders who had assembled for this and saw Tinlo over on the side, looking unrepentant, smug even. What had he told them? She bowed—left, right, center—then stood quietly and waited.
“Tell us what you know,” Elder Hozia said.
“Tell us everything you know,” Elder Rostor amended. Rinli found Rostor’s presence offensive. He was Tinlo’s grandfather for Destroyer’s sake. But if her father and Madlen had answered their questions, including those from Rostor, she would, too.
“Madlen and I had finished preparing dinner, so while it was cooking, we sat behind a cupboard to talk.”
“Do you do that often?” Elder Ninal asked.
“Well, there’s usually nothing to do for a few hours.”
Ninal nodded. “Continue.”
“We were sitting there when Tinlo Randa stepped around the cupboard. Madlen asked him why he wasn’t working, and he called her a ‘Garlan-scum-lover’ and pulled his shindah out.”
“I didn’t say that!” Tinlo shouted from where he was sitting.
Rinli turned to glare at him. “Yes, you did.”
“Are you sure that’s what he said?” Hozia asked softly.
“I remember when I’m called Garlan scum, believe me.”
Hozia nodded, and Rinli was about to continue with her story when Elder Rostor spoke up.
“I’m sure he’d never say that.”
“Rostor,” Hozia cautioned, but Tinlo’s grandfather would be heard.
“You’re accusing this young man—”
“Your grandson,” Rinli interrupted him.
This time the glare was focused on her. “You’re accusing him of saying vile things, which he denies saying, and of threatening you with a shindah, which he says he only pulled out to show you. Are you sure you want that to be your version of the story?”
“Yes.” And Rinli set her lips in a hard line and thought how nice it would be if Rostor just stopped talking.
Elder Rostor made to speak but didn’t, and Hozia spoke instead. “You may continue, Rinli.”
It took her a moment to recollect where she’d been when Rostor had started facing her down. “When he pulled his shindah out, I told him ‘Don’t.’ That’s when my father arrived with his shindah out, too, and Tinlo dropped his weapon and ran away.”
“And that’s all?” Elder Raakon, who’d been oddly quiet throughout, asked.
Protector of Thristas: A Lisen of Solsta Novel Page 26
