Protector of Thristas: A Lisen of Solsta Novel

by D. Hart St. Martin

  He looked up as the door to the hall opened.

  “My Liege,” the guard said, “the guests are seated.”

  Korin preferred the November dinner to the one in May. It was a far less showy entrance. Stepping up to the high table from the portico had never felt authentic to him, but he had tolerated it, and continued to do so, because such a small sacrifice pleased Lisen so.

  The children rose, and they all headed out the door. The cacophony of many voices speaking at once drifted out to them, and they waited as the musicians began the Garlan flourish.

  It had been decided that Rinli, as a title holder now, should enter first. If Thristas had had a fanfare, the musicians would have played it. Instead, the Garlan theme filled the Great Hall as Rinli stepped in. Behind her came Insenlo and then Nasera. As the Heir it was his right to enter right before his mother. Korin experienced his usual discomfort at his position in this parade of royalty. He felt like a pretender, but he did possess a title. He was Empir-Spouse. He fought down a shiver. Someday he feared he might rue the moment he took that one on. Not that he loved Lisen any less than he ever had. And certainly not that he regretted joining with her and sharing children with her. But somehow his extravagant position felt fragile, untenable. All it would take was one fatal step. And they were closer to that step than they’d been since the One-Day War.

  He straightened up and silenced the muttering of his mind as he and Lisen began their march from the door up to the table. Of necessity, it was a circuitous route, looping around one table to the next. And everyone standing at Lisen’s arrival didn’t help in navigating up and down the narrow aisles. But finally they reached the steps to the high table, and with Lisen going right and Korin turning to the left, they made their way to their seats. She sat, then he sat, and finally everyone else sat. And dinner began.

  As Lisen’s Will, Holder Corday occupied a favored place directly on Lisen’s right, while Holder Tuane took up her usual seat at Korin’s left. It made talking to her difficult, beyond his usual difficulty conversing with nobility, as he had to turn in order to see her with his right eye. Korin could note her fidgeting and that she looked ready to unpouch right here and right now, but Korin knew that Bala would never arrive at an official function aware that her unpouching was imminent. Korin was also sure that this baby would arrive here in Avaret, long before the session had concluded.

  Korin tolerated the small talk, barely. Tuane, however, made it easier for him by bringing up topics of home and family, the simpler stuff, and he had no difficulty with discussing his children or his home life with her.

  “Nalin tells me the investiture went off well.”

  “It did, thank the Creators and the Maker.”

  “He said that even though he’d been involved in its planning, he hadn’t expected it to move him the way it did. Something about drawing on both the unpouching ritual of Thristas and the Garlan throning ceremony.”

  Korin wiped his mouth with a napcloth and set his knife down. “Two years to plan it, and now we’ll never use it again.”

  “I know. Nalin told me. Letters going back and forth between here and the desert. Approval and disapproval. He never thought it would happen. And then it did.”

  “And then it did,” Korin replied. “My daughter is now the Protector of Thristas, and nobody knows what that means.”

  Tuane started to answer, then stopped.

  “See,” Korin said. “You don’t know either.”

  The holder laughed lightly, and Korin remembered her sister—the young noble who had taught Lisen it was all right to question those in authority. “I guess I don’t,” she said.

  The dinner wore on, Korin wearing away with it. He and Tuane discussed Akdor Ba’s upcoming trial and her impending unpouching. “I’ve had a few rough moments with this one, but ever since Nalin returned from the desert, I’ve felt well. A little uncomfortable in these last weeks, but only a few more days.”

  “Rin was easy. Insenlo, on the other hand, left me nauseated for months. I had to take Rinli to Thristas right after I pouched. I think that long ride didn’t help at all. It’s one of the reasons Lisen came with us.”

  “I remember, but I didn’t know you had so much trouble.”

  And the talk continued until Lisen rose, signaling her desire to leave. The entire hall rose as one, and with a quick apology to Holder Tuane, Korin took his place at Lisen’s side and escorted her out, Rinli and Insenlo following. Nasera stayed, Korin assumed, to talk to Elor.

  Later, as he and Lisen prepared for bed, he found himself thinking back on his pouchings-in and on the sweetness of Rinli, his first, in the weeks and months following her emergence. The tenderness of their bond during nursing and the slurp of giggles as she held on to the teat. What ever happened to her giggles? Too soon grown.

  Don’t be sentimental. You wanted her to take on the mantle of maturity along with the title Lisen entrusted to her.

  “Our daughter is growing up,” he commented as he folded his tunic and set it where it could be picked up by a servant tomorrow for cleaning. He turned as Lisen tossed her tunic on the floor.

  “I worry about her. I worry about you.”

  Korin stepped over to where his spouse stood. He studied her face looking for a clue as to her meaning.

  “I’ve always worried, of course. Every time you’d leave for Thristas. And I celebrated your returns quietly within my heart. But this time. Creators, I found it impossible to concentrate on anything. Ever since I left you two there after the investiture. And then that night. Day in and day out I longed for your return.”

  “We’re safe.” He heard the emptiness in his words as soon as they’d left his mouth.

  “For now. How could I have sold her out?” Lisen turned from him, paced away and dropped into the chair at the small desk in the corner of the room.

  “You mean the treaty?”

  She looked up at him. “Of course I mean the treaty. She was an infant, and I used the possibility of her connection to prophecy to buy peace.”

  “It wasn’t solely your decision. I would have run with her to a place where you could never find us if I hadn’t seen the brilliance and significance of it.”

  “I wish you had.” Lisen sighed. “She was a child. She’s still a child. In so many ways.”

  “She’s just a little younger than you were when you stepped up to claim your birthright.”

  “I was nearly eighteen, two years older than she is now. Why do you think I insisted on the staging of her inheritance?”

  Korin went to her and squatted down in front of her. “I knew from the beginning that she’d face opposition when she assumed the role of Protector. I’ve prepared for it. I will keep her safe.”

  Lisen reached out and cupped his cheek in her hand. “You are the most intelligent, most vigilant warrior I know, but…”

  He waited, and when she remained silent, he spoke. “What?”

  “Even you slipped up once. In Halorin. It cost Jozan her life, remember? And I barely survived.”

  “Oh.” He stood up and walked away. He’d asked, and she was right. For a few moments, he’d turned his attention elsewhere, and he’d lost an eye for it. Even worse, the Heir Minol had lost her life. He’d vowed never to allow his attention to wander again, but what about how he’d nearly missed stopping Tinlo? Had it not been for his Bond with Lisen, he might have ended up consigning Rinli’s body to the desert rather than saving her life. He turned back to her. “What can we do?”

  “We made a commitment.”

  “I know,” he said as he sat down on the bed, his back to her.

  “But what about Rinli? I mean, what about her choice in this? We’ve been debating what we should have done back then, but we can’t change that.”

  “She’s Mantar’s Child.”

  “You believe that?” Lisen asked, and Korin heard the disbelief in her voice more clearly than the words themselves.

  He pivoted on the bed to look at her. “I have sin
ce I nurtured her in my pouch.” He’d admitted this to no one but Hozia, ever. Not even to Lisen. All these years he’d allowed her to carry the burden of accepting the prophecy as a gift to end the war.

  “But you said…”

  “You mean about how all Thristans have lost faith in the prophecy?”

  “Yes.”

  “I was one of them, until I unpouched her. But you don’t believe it, do you.” He’d done all he could not to think about this for over sixteen years, forcing himself to look on Rinli as a normal child. But now, he could no longer deny it.

  “No, I do.” Lisen took his hand and held it in both of hers. “I sat on Pharaoh, in the middle of that field, the gryl pulsing through my body, and I saw her, this fierce child of a fierce deity. She will hold the desert. If she survives, of course.”

  “Then, no choice for Rinli.”

  “She won’t be the first Ilazer sacrificed to a destiny she doesn’t want.”

  Korin smiled. “I’m not so sure she doesn’t want it. I don’t know if you’ve noticed it yet. We haven’t been back all that long. But she’s changed. Maybe the investiture? Or maybe the threat on her life? I don’t know.”

  “She asked to talk to me.”

  “I heard that.”

  “I should do it as early as possible in this session in case we need more than one talk.”

  “I think that’s an excellent idea.”

  Lisen laid her head on his shoulder. “I’m tired, Korin. I’m tired of responsibility and decisions and having to act mature.”

  “I know.” He embraced her with an arm around her shoulders. “Maybe when Rinli is settled, we can travel the coast, just you and me. Or you can go into seclusion for a few weeks at Solsta.”

  “Alone? No.”

  “So, the coast it is.” He felt her body relaxing beside him. He helped her lie down and then settled in with her.

  “I love you, Korin Rosarel,” she said so softly he almost missed it.

  “And I love you, Lisen of Solsta.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  NALIN PLAYS IT WELL

  “Oh, and Chesa, days three through six are sacrosanct. Tell people if they need something brought up early, we’ll try to get them in on the afternoon of the sixth day, if the trial is done, but no promises.” Lisen’s clerk nodded her understanding, and Lisen slapped her riding gloves against her palm. There was nothing like a good afternoon ride to top off this morning’s heavy opening session. “Good. You know where I’ll be. No interruptions.”

  “Aye, my Liege.”

  Lisen knocked twice on Chesa’s desk. “Thank you for taking charge of this.”

  “I serve at your pleasure, my Liege.”

  Lisen nodded and started out, but she ran into Korin in the hall. He took her arm and guided her out onto the portico where they could speak without interruption from the nobles wandering in and out of the Keep for Council.

  “Rin’s waiting for you in the stable.”

  “I know. I’m running late.”

  “I won’t keep you, but I want to caution you. Don’t expect much.”

  “I expect nothing,” Lisen said, wondering at his concern.

  “She’s looking for guidance, not training.”

  “In other words, don’t push the push.”

  Korin smiled. “No.”

  She touched his chest. “I promise. Not a word about what she did to Madlen or what I can do to help her never to do it again.”

  “My Liege?”

  Lisen turned to find Chesa standing right behind her and Korin. “Yes?”

  “I just wanted to confirm. No scheduling anyone’s request for three through six, correct?”

  “Yes, Chesa.”

  “Thank you, my Liege.” And the woman returned to her office.

  “That was odd,” Lisen commented; then, deciding it was nothing, she shook her head.

  “Enjoy your ride,” Korin said, then turned and headed back into the Keep.

  Lisen nodded once to herself, bolstering her determination, and strode down the stairs and onto the path to the stable. She’d sent word ahead to have Pharaoh readied, and she anticipated a relaxed afternoon of riding and talking with her daughter.

  She pulled her gloves on as she entered the stable and found Rin waiting for her beside her sorrel, Lipta. Jal stood holding Pharaoh’s reins and nodded at Lisen’s arrival. Lisen touched Rinli’s shoulder as she moved past her and then took her great black’s reins from Jal.

  “Any hazards in the park we should know about?” she asked of Pharaoh’s personal hand.

  “None reported, my Liege,” Jal replied.

  “Good. Rin?”

  Rinli nodded silently and mounted. Lisen patted Pharaoh on the neck and put one foot in the stirrup and then one over his back, settling comfortably into the saddle. And once again, she thanked the Creators that this horse kept her sane whenever the pressures of ruling threatened to undo her.

  Two guards pulled in behind them as Lisen and Rinli left the stable. Lisen turned and motioned them back. “I don’t care what my spouse told you,” she yelled. “You’re keeping well back today.”

  The sergeant saluted, and the two pulled up to widen the distance between themselves and their charges.

  “That should do it,” Lisen said with a firm nod, and Rinli’s smile in response cheered her. She kicked Pharaoh into an easy canter, and Rinli kept up on her sorrel. After a few moments of giving the horses a chance to stretch their muscles, Lisen pulled Pharaoh back to a walk and watched as little Lipta slowed down as well. “So, tell me, what can your mother help you with?”

  “Well…” Rinli hesitated, and Lisen feared she may have to drag whatever it was out of her. But then Rinli continued. “First, I have to say that bringing Commander Tanres up on the dais this morning and acknowledging her dedication to the Emperi Guard and her loyalty to three Empirs moved me.”

  “I’m going to miss her counsel. She’s always been there. Your father may be off in Thristas with you, and Nalin may be in Seffa with Bala or at home in Casille. But Tanres has never faltered.”

  “She’s not that old, is she?”

  “Fifty-two. That may not be old for those of us who do little but sit around all day, but for a guard, at least according to your father, it’s definitely old enough for a graceful retirement.”

  “And Kopol? I remember her from when I was younger, but then you sent her off to the Pass. Why choose her to replace Tanres?”

  “Ah, good. How does one know whom to trust.” She pulled Pharaoh up where she often paused to enjoy the sound of the birds and the view back to the Keep. “Here’s a good spot. Why don’t we talk here?”

  “Yes,” Rinli said. “And yes, I need to know who to trust.”

  “Let’s look at Kopol. She rode from Pass Garrison with your father when he came to rescue me at the Khared. She took charge of me, so to speak. She bathed the blood off of me in the river. And when your father and I headed out in opposite directions, she rode right beside me, making sure that in my blindness I knew exactly where we were and how far away we were from Avaret any time I asked.”

  “She proved herself to you.”

  Pharaoh tossed his head and whinnied. “And not just then. Later, she accepted an almost impossible mission and completed it.”

  “Which was?”

  “All right, honesty. She was the one I sent to procure the gryl I took on Bellin Plain. She opposed the idea—told me she didn’t like it—but she headed out to the desert anyway, found it and got back before the Thristan army made it through the Pass. She’s proven her loyalty over and over, and not once has she asked for recognition or even my gratitude.”

  “What about Uncle Nalin?”Rinli asked as Lipta moved away from Pharaoh and Lisen. Rinli reined her back beside her mother.

  “Yes. My original companions. Nalin was easy. My mother—your grandmother—told me to trust him. Now why I trusted her when I didn’t even know her, I have no idea. I was stuck with what she’d pr
ovided, and since she’d just died, I couldn’t count on her.”

  “Fa?”

  “He and Jozan Tuane came along with Nalin. Flandari told me to trust Nalin and ‘anyone he trusts,’ as she put it. Nalin didn’t precisely trust your father. In fact, he didn’t trust him at all. But circumstances were such that he himself didn’t dare stay with me. He would have led my brother and Lorain Zanlot directly to me. So, just as I had to trust Nalin based on the trust my suddenly revealed mother had in him, Nalin had to trust this captain of the Guard whose loyalty he couldn’t help but question.”

  “I don’t know how anyone couldn’t trust Fa.”

  Lisen decided it was time to shift the conversation. “One of the reasons I insisted on you spending time in the desert over the years was so you’d find people you felt deserved your trust. Madlen, for one, of course. Do you have other friends?”

  “A couple.”

  “Rely on them. And Elder Hozia. She believes in you.”

  “The other Elders don’t.”

  Lisen turned from gazing off into the distance to look at her daughter. “Why? What happened?”

  “You know, they have a court, too, but they don’t have to wait to hold a trial. They just haul all the witnesses in and have them testify in front of however many Elders they can gather together.”

  “Oh. And that’s what happened…”

  “Yes, that’s what happened when Tinlo threatened me. Fa took Madlen and me straight up to their chamber to report Tinlo. But Tinlo had already gotten there.” As Rinli said the last, Lisen ached for the child she heard in the voice.

  “And?” The best Lisen could do at the moment was listen—hear what her daughter needed to say.

  “It was horrible. Tinlo was sitting over in a corner. He’d already given his version of the story. And his grandfather, Elder Rostor, was there. And he questioned my version of what happened. It was obvious he’d already accepted his grandson’s story as the truth. How do I combat that? I’m their Protector. Shouldn’t I have a place on the Elders’ Council?”