by J F Rivkin
Jehamias half smiled. “My father once said that you were the only Edonaris with a sense of humor.”
Nyctasia laughed, but she felt a stab of sorrow for her old friend. “I loved him, Jehame,” she said simply. “Here, we’ll have a toast to his memory. That would have amused him-I who always warned him against drink. Bui you look as if you could do with a little wine.” She went to the table and filled two small goblets, mixing her own till it was half water.
Jehamias had never in his life wanted a drink as he did then, but he refused the goblet Nyctasia held out to him. She had not touched her own. “Oh, come, use your sense,” she said. “If I intended to kill you, you’d have been dead days ago.”
It was not poison Jehamias feared, but a drug to loosen his tongue. All the talk of his father must have been meant to put him off his guard. “Why would you let me live?” he countered.
“Does this city need another corpse?” Nyctasia demanded. She sipped from his goblet herself, then offered it to him again. This time he accepted it. “Jehame, you could be very useful to me, alive.”
“Why should I be useful to you? If you think I’ll betray-”
“Not to me, then,” Nyctasia said impatiently. “Not to the House of Edonaris. To Rhostshyl! You can help me to save the city if you choose. Or you can go forth and gather the remnants of the people still loyal to your House, and lead them against me. They’ll be killed, of course, probably you’ll be killed, most likely more innocent people will be killed, but if that’s what you want I’ll see that you have the chance. And then I’ll destroy you, with a free conscience and clean hands. ‘They left me no choice,’ I’ll declare. ‘I offered them peace, but they demanded the sword.’ Will that satisfy you?”
Jehamias sat with his head bowed, looking at the floor. “No,” he said softly, “I don’t want more war in the city. We couldn’t win it, I know that, and even if we could, I’d not be the one to declare it. But I will not help you hunt down those of our people who’ve escaped, or give you the names of those still loyal to us-not even in the name of peace. Nor do I think that you can force me to it.”
His jaw shook slightly, and he clenched his teeth to hide it.
But Nyctasia merely dismissed his words with a wave of her hand. “Oh, I could, you know,” she said indifferently, “if I had any use for such information. But you mistake me, my friend. I have a much crueler fate in store for you. I want you to marry my sister Tiambria.”
Jehamias could only stare.
“She’s a vixen, I admit, but perhaps time will mellow her temper. Think of it as a sacrifice of your personal peace in the interests of municipal peace,” she suggested.
Jehamias found his voice at last. “But-but-” he gasped, “marriage between a Teiryn and an Edonaris! It’s impossible, you’re mad-”
“You know what they say. Jehame-all the Edonaris are mad, and all the Teiryn are stupid. I may be mad, but I don’t think you’re stupid. Are you? Are you too stupid to see what such a marriage-alliance could mean? Think of it-true peace, not this worrisome waiting for the next blow to fall, and the next act of vengeance. You’ll be head of the House of Teiryn when you come of age, and Tiambria too will serve on the Rhaicimate. If you both declare that our two families are united, who is to withstand you?”
“That’s all very well, lady, but nothing would make my elders consent to this, even though it might be the last hope of our House. They’d die rather.”
“I know. The Teiryn aren’t the only fools in the city. My own kin will oppose the plan just as blindly. The matriarch Mhairestri will never forgive me.”
“The Edonaris have the advantage. Surely you can’t expect them to give it up?”
“I demand that they do so! This is no time to consider the advantage of our House. Only the good of the city matters now. I have the authority to overrule your kin and act on your behalf myself, in the name of the Rhaicimate. Tiambria is already my ward, by law, and the others have no say in the matter. It’s your consent that concerns me.”
Jehamias looked more wretched than ever. “I can’t, Rhaicime. It’s not that I scorn to wed an Edonaris, but if I did it I’d become an outcast, I’d be nameless, a ghost… My family would disown me, and yours would despise me.”
“I know what I ask of you, believe me. I too have been called a traitor. One grows accustomed to it, however.”
“Worse, lady, I’d be called a coward. Folk would say I did it only to save my life.”
Nyctasia nodded. “You’re right, I’m afraid. It will be hard, yes, but duty generally is.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Oh, you’ll not be put to death-nothing so merciful. If you won’t help to save the city, you will have to live to see it die.”
“It’s true, then, that you mean to issue a general pardon?”
So the rumors had somehow reached even to the prisoners of war. That was well.
“There is precedent for it,” Nyctasia pointed out, “on occasions of extraordinary celebration-such as this wedding will be.” She paused, letting Jehamias realize the weight of his own responsibility. “At the ceremony, you and Tiambria will declare a number of pardons, with my authority, and later-perhaps at the birth of your first child-certain others will be freed. By then perhaps they’ll be resigned to the union of our Houses, and at least the affairs of the city with be more settled. Once order has been established it will be more difficult for them to make mischief.”
“And so the fate of my kin rests with me,” he said, his voice accusing.
Nyctasia shrugged. “Yes, in a way. I’ll not tell you that the general pardon will only be granted if you fall in with my plans, but it will take place much sooner if you do. And if you don’t… then I fear that the pardons will be in vain. Unless a bond is first forged between the ruling families, those who are spared will only turn to the attack, again, and be crushed-you know it well. If your kinsmen and their followers were at liberty now, they would seek to avenge themselves on the Edonaris before the day was out. Can you deny it?”
Jehamias couldn’t, and didn’t try. “But do you believe that this marriage can prevent that?”
“I believe that nothing else can prevent it,” Nyctasia said slowly. “Mhairestri and her party would solve the problem by killing all of you, and”-she paused in her pacing and fixed Jehamias with her grey gaze-“it may yet come to that. But we can try first to establish a marriage-alliance, a dynasty that shares Edonaris and Teiryn blood. If the next generation of heirs to the Rhaicimate belong to both Houses, there is at least a chance that both Houses will accept their rule.”
“And a chance that neither will.”
“Yes, curse you! But a chance is better than certain doom. I’m afraid, Jehame.
Afraid that if I’m forced to put down a rebellion now the city will be crippled beyond recovery. Let us give Rhostshyl this chance-if it fails, we shall be no worse off than we are. All who are willing to let the past lie will be permitted to take part in the city’s future. I know there will be those on both sides who will continue to foster the feud, but I have hopes that they will be too few to prevail, and I shall take no steps against them unless I must. But if they threaten the peace…” She shrugged again. “Perhaps they could be sent into exile, but I expect they’ll eventually force me to kill them. Rhostshyl has suffered enough for our families’ pride, and I’ll have no more of it. You too, Jehamias, may have to condemn your own people for the good of the city. I hide nothing from you. You will be cursed by your kin, as I have been, but one day they will see that you were right, I swear it.” Jehamias wiped sweat from his face, but still said nothing. Nyctasia drew a long breath. “And it would have been your father’s wish that you do as I bid.”
At this he looked up, seeming almost hopeful. “How do you know that?”
“You will not believe me, I daresay, but I was nearly your stepmother. For years I sought to persuade Rhavor to marry me, and at the end he saw that there was no other way. Had he lived, I b
elieve we would have married.”
“I do believe you,” Jehamias said unsteadily. He was like a man suddenly wakened from sleep. “Do you believe in dreams, lady?”
Nyctasia did not find the question strange. “You’ve dreamt of your father?”
He nodded. “He said, ‘Greet your sister for me. It seems she’s to have her way at last.’ And he laughed. I have no sister, lady. But if you’re to have your way, then that message is for you.”
“He laughed at everything,” said Nyctasia, smiling.
“He’d have thought it a fine joke to marry an Edonaris. He’d not have cared what the whole city thought of him. Why did he refuse, then?”
“Because he cared what the whole city thought of me. He wished to spare me the sacrifices-and the dangers-that I shall bring upon you, his son, and upon my own sister. And I would spare you both if I could, but there’s no time for such scruples now. There is only time to act, and act without hesitation, before it’s too late.”
Jehamias’s sigh was almost a groan. “I wish I had your faith that it is not already too late, my lady.”
Nyctasia was sure of him now, but she offered her final argument nevertheless.
“You ask if I believe in dreams,” she began, “and that is a matter that does not admit of certainty. But I can tell you this: I dreamed of this marriage before the idea had ever occurred to me. I saw a wedding-procession wend through the scarred streets of Rhostshyl, and it seemed to me that Rhavor and I were the newlyweds, though I knew that this could never be. Only long afterward did I begin to see the truth of it. You were the groom I took for Rhavor as a youth; the bride I took for myself as a girl was Tiambria. And, Jehame, wherever they passed, stone walls stood as if they had never fallen, and wooden walls were as if they had never burned.”
Jehamias listened, spellbound.
“You understand, then,” Nyctasia concluded, “that I will do anything I must, to make that dream a reality… But I needn’t threaten you. I think.”
“No,” said Jehamias, with a rueful grin much like his father’s, “you needn’t send for the thumbscrews, Rhaicime. I shall be honored to accept the Lady Tiambria’s hand, if she’ll have me.”
“Well, my sister has not yet given her consent, not altogether,” Nyctasia admitted. “But she will.”
“I won’t! Nothing could make me marry a Teiryn! I’ll not oppose you over the pardon, ’Tasia, but I’ll never agree to this, never! Why, it might have been he who killed Emeryc, for all that we know.”
“That is not at all likely,” Nyctasia said quietly, “Jehamias fought bravely, they say, but by all accounts Emeryc was set upon by several at once. It is of no consequence, however, whether he did or not. War is war. Emeryc would certainly have killed him, given the chance.”
“That Emeryc would have killed him hardly seems a reason for me to marry him!”
As Nyctasia had expected, her sister was proving far more difficult to deal with than Jehamias ar’n Teiryn had been. After all, it was in many ways to his advantage to accept the alliance, but Tiambria could only lose prestige by marrying a vanquished enemy. Nyctasia would willingly have locked her in a tower and kept her on crusts and water, had she not known-being an Edonaris herself-that such treatment would only make Tiambria more stubborn. The only way to influence her would be to harness that Edonaris pride in the service of duty.
“This is my own fault, Briar, I suppose,” Nyctasia sighed, deliberately using her sister’s childhood nickname. “I spoiled you when you were a child. Before Mhairestri turned you against me. You and ’Kasten were always afraid of her, and you still are. You may have defied her to side with me, but you’re afraid to break with her completely, aren’t you? You know that if you take this step there’ll be no appeasing her, no getting back into her favor.”
“I see now that I was wrong to defy her at all. But even Mhairestri never dreamed you’d betray your own blood like this. If I’d known, I never would have taken your part.”
“Of course not, my dear. That’s why I didn’t mention it before. But I am head of this family now, and ruler of the Rhaicimate, and it’s my displeasure you should fear, not the matriarch’s. You’ll obey me or suffer the consequences, I warn you.”
But Tiambria paid no attention to her threats. “It’s past belief that even you,
’Tasia, could expect us to enter into kinship with the Teiryn. The very idea’s degrading. It’s indecent.”
“Briar, I am aware that you were raised to regard the Teiryn as a breed of detestable vermin. So was I. But you’re no longer a child. You’re of an age now to understand that we were taught a great deal of malicious nonsense. The Teiryn line is as old and noble as our own-you may consult the City History if you doubt my word. I grant you that there are fools among them, but every family has its share of fools. And I don’t propose to marry you to Lord Ettasuan or to any other who’s unworthy of you. Jehamias Rhavor is not only your equal in rank, but your superior in good sense and good breeding. You could do far worse.”
Corson was bored with the argument, which she’d heard so often of late that she could recite it almost as well as Nyctasia. She secured the doors, bowed, and went into the next room, where she could at least sit down without committing a breach of court etiquette. She pulled a bench over to the curtained doorway and settled down to wait out the dispute.
Nyctasia had been arguing for days, with everyone from Teiryn prisoners to her own closest allies, but she had so far avoided confronting Tiambria directly, preferring to wait for the girl to come to her. Corson could well understand her reluctance to face Tiambria. If anyone was a match for Nyctasia, will for will and word for word, it was her young sister.
Corson was growing bored even with the luxurious life of the court. She trailed after Nyctasia all day, rarely letting her out of her sight, and regarding nearly everyone as a potential assassin. But except when Ettasuan ar’n Teiryn attacked Nyctasia with his bare hands, there had not been much for Corson to do.
She occasionally caught people lurking about the grounds who couldn’t account for themselves to her satisfaction, and these, if they were armed, she turned over to the guards. Those who tried to bribe her met with the same fate. She never heard any more about them afterward.
Nyctasia was always hard at work and had little time for Corson, though she was always with her. When she wasn’t defending her plans, she was dictating letters, receiving petitioners, settling disputes, or studying reports on the spring sowing or the repairs to the city walls. She often rode into the city to inspect conditions in various quarters for herself, and to see that her orders were being carried out. When Corson tried to persuade her to go to Chiastelm for a few days’ rest, she said grimly that there would be no occasion for rest till after the wedding.
The only diversion she allowed herself was to go out now and then with the hunters who scoured the countryside for game, to help feed the city. Hunting was not one of Corson’s favorite pastimes, but it made for a change from the court, at least, and she dared not let Nyctasia go without her. She’d not be the first of the nobility to meet with a stray arrow in a hunting accident. Corson insisted that she wear a shirt of fine chain mail beneath her jacket, Nyctasia complained that it hindered her bow-arm, but she brought down her share of game nonetheless.
The hunting-parties had so far been peaceful. Indeed, there had been far less trouble since her return than Nyctasia had anticipated, “People have begun to believe that I bear a charmed life, that I can’t be killed,” she told Corson,
“and that my enemies inevitably perish. It’s a most expedient reputation to have. I encourage it.” Corson had begun to think about traveling up the coast for a while. She wasn’t needed here now.
Greymantle jumped noisily down from the bed and came to join her, nudging her hand with his nose. Corson scratched his head and muttered, “You’re restless too, aren’t you, Grey? You’re no palace lap-dog. You need room to run.” Grey laid his head on her knee and dozed conten
tedly. If he was dissatisfied with court life, he never gave any sign of it.
“You yourself refused to be married against your will!” Corson heard Tiambria shout. “You renounced Thierran, and yet you expect me to marry a Teiryn!”
Corson peered out at them from behind the curtains. The little she-wolf might try to push Nyctasia off the balcony, after all.
“I was willing to marry a Teiryn myself,” Nyctasia was saying. “One reason-one among many-that I refused Thierran was that I hoped to establish a marriage-alliance with Lord Rhavor before he died. I failed, but I tell you, you and Jehamias are destined to succeed.” Earnestly, she related her dream of the joyous wedding-procession.
But Tiambria was scornful of her visions. “Dreams show us what we wish to see,” she said with a sneer.
“Briar, in that dream I saw Emeryc and Lehannie among the dead, with Thierran and Mescrisdan and Brethald. I was far away in the Midlands then. I’d had no news of them.” (And in that dream she had seen Erystalben among the living, but of this she did not speak.)
Tiambria frowned. “You’re lying.”
“No, my dear, if I were lying you’d believe me without question. Rhavor too appeared to me, and said that it was not too late for our marriage-vows. That can mean only one thing.”
“Very well then, you marry his wretched son.”
“That wouldn’t do, I’m afraid,” Nyctasia said, sounding amused. “Jehamias is an appealing young man, certainly, and no doubt he’d make a pleasing consort. It is I who am unfit for this union, sister. I am barren. This marriage-alliance must provide heirs to both Houses-I believe that the future of the city depends upon it.”
“If the future of the city depends upon my bearing brats of Teiryn blood, then let the city perish!” Tiambria cried, and for a moment the two stood face to face, both white with anger, grey eyes blazing. Their features were much alike.
Then Nyctasia turned away to the window, looking just as she had when she’d stood there like a statue on the first evening of her return.
