by Ellyn, Court
“Not too extremely, I hope, Rygg.”
“Extreme enough that I’ll take to drinking me rum a bit slower, aye.” He turned to his oarsmen, “Speed it up, lads! Her Ladyship’s had a long journey. Let’s get her home.” As one, the oarsmen picked up the tempo, and the ferry sliced across the Liran’s current. Rygg swiped off his stocking cap and added, “If I may, m’ lady? Evaronna is to send out her ships, aye? To fight, I mean?”
“His Majesty has commanded the building of more ships, yes. As to how many and where they will go, I’ve not yet received word.”
The man’s rough features softened into a wistful smile. “Ah, wish I could go with ‘em. Not that I mind my duty to you and His Grace, m’ lady, but to sail the Big Water again. Like I did as a cabin boy aboard His Grace’s flagship. A long time ago that were, but there were an honor in it, I remember that. And what greater honor than sending Fierans to the bottom of the sea?”
“I understand you, Rygg,” Rhoslyn said, smiling with affection. “When the time comes, I’ll do my best to get you a position aboard one of the ships. Only, you must promise to come back to us.”
Rygg beamed like a schoolboy and twisted the cap in his big hands. “Ana bless you, m’ lady. I hadn’t intended to ask you like this, certainly not as when you’re tuckered from your journey, but I thank you greatly. Windhaven wasn’t the same without you, and we’re all pleased you’re safe among us again. Ana bless you.”
Rhoslyn touched him lightly on the forearm, and the sailor blushed and turned his eyes on the face he didn’t recognize. “Lads yer age all over town are rearin’ to head south.”
“I’ve little interest in this war,” Kieryn replied in an even tone. “Except that my family survive it.”
“And who be they?” ferry-master pursued forcibly.
“Just soldiers, sir.”
Rhoslyn made a small sound of surprise at Kieryn’s decision to distance himself from his family. In his defense, she said, “The Lord Kieryn is to be an honored guest in my father’s home, Rygg, and he is to be treated with the utmost respect.”
Having taken Kieryn for a new squire or servant, Rygg fidgeted wildly with his cap and bowed his head. “Pardon me, m’ lord. I’m a forward man and weren’t flogged enough.”
Kieryn pitched into the man as the ferry’s prow collided with the north bank. The planks shuddered, and the horses whickered indignantly. Rygg set Kieryn on his feet and cursed his oarsmen, “Daft buggers! Do I have to keep watch every second? Do I have to command yer every move? Are ya too brainless to know when to reverse oars? Buggered dolts!”
One of the men jumped ship and guided the ferry a few feet downriver to the dock and moored it securely. With a gentle hand, Rygg guided Rhoslyn up the ramp. Kieryn followed closely, glad to set foot on stable ground.
Clanging a brass bell that hung from a post at the end of the dock, the ferry-master explained, “To summon an escort. No need to worry ‘bout the bell in the daylight, but at night, you ought not ride to the palace without a torch to see by. The cliffs is treacherous high. And it’s good to know, m’ lord, if you wish to cross to the south bank, you’ve only to ring this bell, and we’ll come fetch ya.”
After only a brief delay, a dozen riders with as many torches thundered down the cliffside road. The rider in the fore leapt from his mount and bowed before Rhoslyn.
“Welcome home, my lady,” he said, catching his breath.
“Thank you, Captain Drael. How’s my father?”
“No need to worry about His Grace,” he replied, raking a dark forelock from a wind-weathered face. “Your aunt tells me he’s no worse than when you left, except he misses you terribly.”
The relief in Rhoslyn’s smile were immeasurable. She tugged Kieryn’s sleeve. “Come, let’s go to him.”
He hadn’t time to complain of exhaustion and lack of proper attire before Rhoslyn was in the saddle and cantering up the road into the deepening dusk. Following her to the top of the cliff, Kieryn saw why the duke’s residence was called a palace rather than a fortress. Though its curtain wall was thick, its gatehouse tall and sturdy, the residence itself boasted story-high windows, clearly meant to let sunlight in rather than keep enemies out. The sea and the river provided the most effective barrier, and the sentries in the towers looked not toward the city or the mountains, but west to the sea, where all but the most daring pirates kept well outside the range of four enormous ballistae stationed on the ramparts.
The last of the entourage dismounted in the courtyard, and the massive doors of the palace swung open. From a pool of light emerged a woman who must’ve once been as golden as Rhoslyn. “Ha, so you survived, my dear,” she said, her voice as sharp and direct as that of an infantry sergeant.
Rhoslyn embraced the woman and replied with a weary sigh, “Yes, of course, Aunt, but only because I found an ally.”
Kieryn tucked his bandaged hand behind his back and bowed. “Lady Halayn.” On the long road, Rhoslyn had reminded him that her mother had died after suffering a miscarriage, just before Rhoslyn’s sixth birthday. The rearing of the next Duchess of Liraness had been given to Harac’s younger sister Halayn. Unlike her siblings, Halayn had never married, preferring, in Rhoslyn’s opinion, to direct people’s lives rather than take on a husband who believed he directed hers. Despite this uncompromising facet of her character, Halayn had lovingly ministered to Rhoslyn’s mother when her health deteriorated, and later did the same for her oldest sister, Rhorek’s mother, when the pneumonia took hold. Now she watched her remaining sibling, the once strong duke, slowly waste away in his bed.
With one look at the shy-eyed, beautiful youth at Rhoslyn’s side, Lady Halayn might as well have transformed herself into a second gatehouse, complete with iron portcullis and murder holes. Her smile was deceptive. “You have the advantage, young lord.”
“Forgive me, Aunt,” Rhoslyn intervened. “I forget you’ve not met Kieryn of Ilswythe.”
“My dear, you forget nothing,” Halayn said, never abandoning her inspection. “So we are to receive one of the sons of the War Commander himself? Under what circumstances have we the honor?”
Kieryn opened his mouth to answer, but Rhoslyn surged ahead, “He is here to meet Zellel. We must convince him to take Kieryn on as apprentice, Aunt.”
The stone wall in Halayn’s face collapsed. “You … are … ?” she stuttered. Kieryn raised his eyebrows matter-of-factly, ignoring the heat rising into his cheeks. “Well, Mother be damned,” Halayn declared.
“Aunt Halayn!” Rhoslyn exclaimed.
The older woman waved her niece aside, and startled Kieryn by taking his arm and escorting him up the front steps. Somehow he’d discovered the key to the gatehouse. Halayn whispered for him alone, “Zellel is a cantankerous old goat, much like myself, so be warned. I haven’t seen him in several days, but I do know he has returned from one of his prolonged journeys. His mule is in the stables, which means he’s probably locked himself in the library.” She indicated a series of windows on the second floor. “He’s probably watching us right now. He watches everything. Knows more about what goes on in my brother’s house than I do, curse him. But ignore the way I speak of him. We depend on Zellel and can’t imagine Windhaven without him.”
Inside, a steward took Kieryn’s satchel and cloak. Windhaven’s lofty interior was of the same airy, pale yellow sandstone, polished to reflect the lights of silver lamps shaped like breaching seamaids. The Grand Corridor, a staggering seventy-five yards in length, ended in a pair of doors, ornamented with silver ships on a silver sea. The ceiling rose in a parade of ribbed vaults where mosaic gulls wheeled among pink and white clouds.
Awed, he stared in silence.
Rhoslyn sighed with waning patience. “My lord avedra, the duke awaits.”
“Yes … ,” Kieryn stammered, “I never expected …”
“Of course, you didn’t,” Halayn put in. “Windhaven is still a distant outpost to most Aralorris, but I assure you, we’re the center of the w
orld.” She shot him a wink, and Kieryn suddenly felt outmatched by female wiles.
“Listen, Rhoslyn,” she went on, “your father was awake when I left him, but don’t over-excite him. He doesn’t hear a word I read to him, but I thought he’d leap out of bed when he heard that bell ring.”
“I understand, Aunt. Don’t worry—”
“But see to your guest first.”
“Oh. Certainly.” She cast Kieryn an apologetic smile. “Too tired to think clearly.”
“Too anxious,” Halayn corrected.
Rhoslyn grit her teeth in her aunt’s face, then requested of the steward, “Sadév, have the Blue Room made ready for—”
Halayn cleared her throat and plastered the semblance of a smile onto her face, which gave the creases around her eyes a harsh twist. “Don’t you think the Galleon Room would be more appropriate, Rhoslyn? It’s closer to the library and next to Zellel’s rooms.”
Rhoslyn’s face, frozen with her words still on her lips, thawed, but a chill remained in her eyes. “Of course, you’re right, Aunt. The Galleon Room, Sadév.” Rhoslyn turned her back to her aunt and asked Kieryn, “Shall we?” Her lips mimicked Halayn’s fake smile, but whereas it had made Halayn appear older, it leant a spark of enticing wickedness to Rhoslyn. Kieryn dared not tarry longer. Accompanying her down a narrow passage that broke from the Grand Corridor, he asked, “What’s wrong with the Blue Room?”
Rhoslyn giggled and said, “It’s across the corridor from mine. My aunt must think I mean to seduce you.”
“Ana forbid.”
The duke’s suite took up most of a south-facing wing. Tall windows, now heavily draped, allowed the duke a falcon’s view of his city and much of Windy Coves. A large fire kept the bedchamber stiflingly warm and provided a wan orange light. Despite the bittersweet fumes of Ixakan incense, the overpowering odor of old age and illness hung as heavily as a seaside fog.
Rhoslyn lit a lamp, and from a large four-poster bed, a voice rasped, “Daughter.”
Kieryn recalled the duke having been almost as tall as his own father and three-times as broad about the belly with a rolling laughter and a large hand quick to ruffle hair and jostle a shoulder, rocking little boys off their feet. The shrunken figure, nearly swallowed by down pillows and comforters, could hardly be taken for the same man.
Struck by the reality of human frailty, Kieryn had to force his feet to follow Rhoslyn. She sat on the edge of the bed, embraced her father, and kissed his brow. “The wolves … took you in, did they?” Harac asked, breathing labored. Only half his mouth complied with the command to move. One eyelid drooped unresponsively, and his left cheek sagged.
“They did,” Rhoslyn said, sounding smug.
“Treated you fair?”
“Father, you’ve no need to worry about me. I’m the daughter of a wolf, you see. I might’ve done a bit of biting of my own.”
At this, Harac gasped with laughter, and the hollows of his face filled, and he seemed a semblance of the man Kieryn recognized. When he grew quiet, Rhoslyn announced, “Father, you have a guest.” She stood so Harac could see past the end of the bed. “You remember Kieryn, one of Lord Keth’s sons?”
Harac tried to sit up, though was finally unable and grew still again. “This?” Looking Kieryn up and down, he said, “Yes, yes … of course … only Keth’s sons so tall … image of his father. Damn me, but it’s … been a long time.”
Kieryn bowed. “You are kind to remember me, Your Grace.”
“Forget … that formality,” Harac ordered and feebly patted the place Rhoslyn had vacated. “Sit here, young man.” Kieryn obeyed, trying not to breathe too deeply of the stale, sickly air. Harac’s right hand closed lightly around Kieryn’s burned fingers, but the duke took no note of the bandages. “You must give me … a moment, son. If … logic serves, you are … the scholar. A warrior would have … ridden the other … direction these days. Yes?”
Kieryn nodded.
“I am sorry … my daughter gave me no … warning. I could’ve prepared … for you.”
“Lady Rhoslyn gave me no warning either. I still wear dust from the road and am certainly the worst for show.”
Harac snorted and gave Rhoslyn a surprisingly quick, indignant eye. “Little deters my Rhoslyn … once she’s decided something, despite the trouble … it causes others. But she has a good heart, and I love her for it. Keeps me from becoming … too miserable.” He inhaled deeply. “Mmm, horses. The smell of horses I miss. Your shame, therefore, is my treat.” He patted Kieryn’s hand, then grew abruptly still. His balding head tilted as if listening to a distant, undetermined sound, and he asked, “Why have you come, young Kieryn?”
He gave the duke the same answer that Rhoslyn had given Lady Halayn.
“Ah.” Harac nodded, as if he should’ve guessed on his own. “Avedra. That is what I felt when I took your hand. Whenever my daughter is with me, I am happy. I feel years younger. But when I took your hand, it was almost as if the infirmity in these old bones had washed away. I feel that when Zellel is here, too.” The duke’s breathing came easier and the words with it. “Does that frighten you, Kieryn?”
“I’m not certain,” he answered, wanting to retrieve his hand and hide it in his pocket, but Harac held him fast and studied his face for a long moment.
“Your words and your face are an honest pair,” the duke said at last. “You are welcome to stay at Windhaven as long as you like. And if Zellel gives you trouble, come to me, and we’ll set him straight, eh?”
Leaving the duke to his sleep, Rhoslyn whispered to Kieryn, “Your rooms won’t be ready yet. Are you hungry? I’m famished. Cook should have something in the kitchens for us.” Winding down a stairwell, Rhoslyn chatted happily about how strong her father looked, but Kieryn only half listened. The audience had disturbed him more than he’d expected, and the duke’s words caused him to ponder: He could feel what I am? Felt the stronger for it? What am I really capable of?
Rhoslyn halted at the bottom of the stair. “Zellel!”
The man standing in the foyer might well have stepped off the pages of Tales from the Green. Though he was a head shorter than Kieryn, something about Zellel imparted the impression that he filled the foyer wall to wall, floor to ceiling. In a heavy robe the color of summer leaves, he leant on a staff carved of dark andyr and crowned with a crystal sphere that sent rainbows skittering against the walls. Behind a full, plaited beard, his skin, still smooth despite his age, was the pale, opaque bisque much prized by the Hereti people. Silver laced black waist-length hair, and two stark white stripes streaked back from his brow, in a manner reminiscent of a skunk’s tail. But the intensity of Zellel’s almond-shaped eyes gave one the desire, not to laugh, but to cower. He held one eye wide, the other squinted almost shut, and both were fixed on Kieryn.
“We were wondering where we might find you,” Rhoslyn began, smile uneasy. “Zellel, this is—”
He lifted a silencing hand. “I know who he is.”
Rhoslyn’s mouth pursed. Apparently, this rude manner of speaking was uncustomary. Kieryn longed to shrink to the size of a gnat and fly away. He’d offended a true-to-life avedra, and he waited for the lightning to strike. Zellel glided forward, the rustle of the robe and the click of the staff the only sounds of his approach. The squinted eye was mesmerizing; Kieryn couldn’t blink away. “Saw his azeth long before he rode through the gate.”
“Azeth?” Kieryn managed to ask.
“Don’t know much, do you?” Zellel accused, eastern accent sharp. “Azeth. The lifelight. The soul. Emanates from us like a halo. And yours one of the brightest I’ve seen. Bespeaks great potential. But you can’t see it, so who told you, boy?”
“No one told me. I …”
Zellel’s glare dropped to Kieryn’s burned hand. The fresh wrappings he’d applied that morning at Vonmora were now only a precaution against collisions. Before Kieryn could explain, Zellel gripped Kieryn’s temples between thumb and little finger. Zellel’s eyes rolled back i
n his head, and his lids fluttered shut. Kieryn’s thoughts were no longer under his control. He felt a pulling on his mind, a sifting, as one sifts through the pages of a book. Finally, the information Zellel sought came to the fore: the assassin racing for Rhorek, dagger in hand, and Kieryn’s own hand reaching, hurling a spear of white fire. Zellel’s eyes sprang open and his hand leapt away. He stepped back and stroked a braid in his beard. His hand paused, his eyes darted to the left, and he exclaimed, “Aye, you should have told me.”
Kieryn and Rhoslyn exchanged glances.
Zellel frowned at a space of empty air. “Not yet…. No, I tell you!” He swept the head of his staff at an apparent nothing and demanded of Kieryn, “You want to be trained, aye?”
“Yes, sir,” he answered, reluctant.
“Why?”
A blunt question deserved a blunt answer, but Kieryn stammered before finding the right one: “To control it.”
Zellel’s thick black eyebrows peaked. “You could’ve said, ‘To rule the world’, ‘To become king’, ‘To kill my father’s enemies.’ But you say simply, ‘To control it’?”
“I don’t want to be king, certainly not of the entire world, and my father can take care of his own enemies. I just … want to be able to … not do what I did, ever again … or, at least, to be able to choose to do so.”
Zellel sucked his teeth, braced a fist on his hip and leant his weight into the staff, while he scrutinized Kieryn in the manner an executioner might scrutinize a new neck to be cut. “An intelligent enough boy,” he said, “but brave enough, determined enough, is another matter. We won’t begin unless you promise to finish.” He wagged a finger in Kieryn’s face. “For I tell you, boy, instructing anyone, much less a half-heart, is hardly how I wish to waste my time. So you decide—will you learn only to hide it, or to be it.” Black eyes darted aside. “Aye, you will help, but … let me finish, if you please! … If he is to be my pupil, you will do as I say. I know he is yours, but he won’t learn if you—ach … Thank you!” When he looked at Kieryn’s perplexed face, Zellel shaped his bitter mouth into a grin. “He thinks we talk to ourself, that we are addled, eh? If you would learn different, boy, be in the library at dawn.” He chuckled, a stony humorless sound, and climbed away up the stairs, the staff clicking beside him.
