Kerida’s mouth fell open, and she missed what the gate guard said next. How could Tel just blurt out that she was a Talent, after what she’d said to him at Temlin Hall? They’d reached Oste, but they weren’t inside yet. And what made him think it was safe to announce it to the whole countryside?
She squeezed her eyes shut. Bad enough how the soldiers were going to treat her. At best, she’d be seen as a useful tool, but she’d be ready to wager that “best” wasn’t going to happen.
“Did you say a Talent?” The guard’s tone had changed radically, however, sounding far warmer than it had a moment before. There were other voices, and then the sound of the gates moving.
“Why did you tell them?” It was hard to talk around the tightness in her throat.
“We may be lucky I did.” His tone was tired, as if he’d been arguing this point with her for hours. “Did you hear him? Looks like they might not have let us in otherwise.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better? You promised you wouldn’t tell, that you’d wait until I said it was all right.”
“Our Talents weren’t with us Bears,” he said. “What if the ones stationed here crossed into the Peninsula? Did it never occur to you that you might be the only one left?”
Ker opened her mouth and shut it again. No, it hadn’t occurred to her. What had happened to the Talents that normally traveled with the Bear Wing? She scrubbed at her face with her filthy hands. So Tel had a reason to break his promise—a real reason, that the more sensible part of her brain recognized as a good reason. Tel was a soldier, and he had to put the needs of the Polity first. But he hadn’t even discussed it with her. This was exactly the kind of treatment she feared—and hadn’t expected from Tel. Under the blazing heat of anger, all she could feel was a hollow emptiness. She squeezed her eyes shut. “You’re going to tell them everything, aren’t you?” Because if he wasn’t going to keep his promise to her, why would he keep his promise to the Feelers?
As usual, the gate had no person-sized door to give it a weak spot, and it took a few minutes longer for the guards to roll it to one side enough to let them through. They were met by three soldiers wearing the purple tunics of the Bear Wing. The man in front carried his short sword and wore a horsehair-trimmed helmet marking him as the commander of the Company which had wall duty today. Behind him stood two others, both armed with crossbows aimed directly at Ker and Tel.
“Thank you, Gate Commander.” Against her will, Ker had to admire the calm in Tel’s voice.
“You did say Carnelian Cohort, Third Officer?”
“Yes, Gate Commander. Tel Cursar.”
The older man turned to Kerida. “And you, you’re the Talent?”
“Not a Full Talent.” Kerida cleared her throat. They might believe it was the dust of the road that roughened it. “I’m still a Candidate.” It had been a long while since Kerida had spoken to a military commander, and suddenly she remembered she shouldn’t volunteer information, just answer the questions.
The man nodded, and the crossbows were lowered. Maybe Tel had been right. Maybe they wouldn’t have been let in if she hadn’t been a Talent. “Leave your packs here,” the commander said. “Follow me. This way please, Candidate Nast.” He gestured to her as he turned to go, and Kerida found herself falling into step at his side while Tel walked behind them. It appeared she was going to be treated as a useful tool, at least by this man.
“Where are we going, Commander?” she asked. She heard Tel’s quick intake of breath behind her, and smiled. The officer had treated her with the formal courtesy accorded a Talent, so her question wasn’t the severe breach of discipline it would have been if she’d been a soldier. Even so, she was sure she’d never have had the nerve to ask if she hadn’t been so angry with Tel.
“Fort Commandant’s office, Candidate. It’ll all be explained there.”
Which was the nicest way any military officer had ever shut her up.
The Gate Commander escorted them up the short avenue that led from the rear gate, around the quarters usually assigned to visiting Wing Faros, and over to the administrative offices. Facing the square, two-story administrative block across a wider avenue were the buildings that housed senior officers, visiting officials, and guests—even royalty. As they went, they passed other soldiers who saluted the Gate Commander, but Ker thought the place quieter than she would have expected, given that close to three thousand people should have been living, eating, and drilling here.
Even if she’d wanted to speak to Tel, they were around the corner and into the administration building before she could think of anything to say. The anteroom had the usual desk, with the Fort Commandant’s aide sitting behind it, getting to his feet as they came in the door. From the speed they were passed through to the inner office, it seemed that news of their arrival had preceded them.
Kerida didn’t know what it was that made Tel hesitate halfway through coming to attention, until she saw the bearskin military cloak lying tossed over one of the chairs. The aide’s harness, she now noticed, was also adorned by a strip of bear’s skin.
So, this wasn’t merely the Fort Commandant, this was the Faro of Bears. The woman lifted her stone-gray eyes from the paper she’d been studying, looking first at Tel Cursar, then at Kerida before she leaned back, rested her elbows on the arms of her chair, and entwined her fingers in front of her. She must have been about the age of Kerida’s own mother, but she’d let her hair go to its natural gray, and cropped it short to accommodate the helm with its horsehair crest that hung on the wall behind her.
Kerida cleared her throat and tried not to lower her eyes or look away. She’d faced Matriarch, when she was being punished. This had to be easier.
“Welcome, Candidate Nast. I am Juria Sweetwater, Faro of Bears. Will you please sit, and I will speak with you in a moment.” She turned back to Tel. “You are Tel Cursar, Third Officer, Green Company, Carnelian Cohort of Bears?”
“Yes, my Faro.”
“And the rest of your Company? What can you tell me of them?”
Tel’s faced stiffened, and Ker would have felt sympathetic if she was still his friend.
“My Faro? We were totally routed at the capital. We were in full retreat. There was only myself and a mixed squad of Eagles—from different Cohorts let alone different Companies—the Eagle’s garrison at the capital was completely overwhelmed, my Faro, and those of us who escaped were sent to report here.” Tel licked his lips, but before he could continue, the Faro interrupted.
“Sent to report here? Everyone?”
“Yes, my Faro.”
Juria Sweetwater leaned forward, her forearm on the table, her hand a fist. “And the Luqs?”
Tel swallowed, and Ker fought the urge to reach out and touch him. “Our mission was not successful, my Faro. The Luqs is dead.” This was followed by a silence so complete Ker’s ears hurt.
“I will need to hear more about that. But tell me, Third Officer Cursar. How is it that with the pass closed, and the enemy roaming this valley in sufficient numbers to attack this fort twice, you and you alone of all my Bears have managed to return to me?”
Tel’s mouth fell open, and this time Ker’s sympathy prompted her to speak.
“We came through the mines, Faro Sweetwater.”
“The mines?” The woman leaned back again. “I must hear more of this.” She waved at the others in the room. “You people may return to your duties. Jak, fetch me my Laxtor immediately. See that we’re not disturbed.”
THE smell of roasted almonds was almost too much to bear. Jerek pushed the kitchen door open enough to slip in sideways. The large fragrant room looked deserted, except for the trays of almond cookies cooling on racks next to the courtyard door. Jerek was stuffing one into his mouth when a noise made him turn.
“No need to ask what you’re up to, young man, as I can see you chewing.” Antuni the cook came
out of the storage room wiping his hands on a small towel. A tall, thin man, his thick hair had been gray as long as Jerek could remember. Antuni cast a cold eye over his trays. “I suppose I should be grateful you didn’t take more.” He hung the towel on a drying rack close to the stove before crossing his arms and looking Jerek up and down. “Enjoy them while you can. There’ll be no more of my almond delights when I’ve gone to cook for the Salcias.”
Jerek almost choked on his cookie. “What? When did this happen?”
The man shrugged. “They’ve been making me offers since your mother died.”
“Sure.” This was common gossip among the staff and servants. “But you’ve never taken any of them.”
“The old lord’s retiring, and his daughter, the Lady Ekian, will take his place as Lady of the holding.”
Jerek paused to think. Ekian was the heir, she would have inherited anyway. So why—unless Lord Salcia thought she might not, if he waited too long. There were so many changes, now that the Halians were here. It was hard to know what might happen.
“And since the Salcias are a much larger family, and the Lady Ekian is known to entertain a great deal, why, where else would a cook of my talent and ambition go?”
That made sense. Or it would have if Antuni had ever shown any signs of ambition. “I’ll miss you,” he said, a little surprised to find how true it was. The cook was a familiar presence, but Antuni was more likely to chase him out of the kitchen with a well-thrown pot than to seat him down at the table with warm treats and hot chocolate.
“You’ll miss my baking,” the tall man pointed out, his lips twisted to one side.
“Then I’d better take advantage.” Jerek scooped up a handful of warm cookies and fled, hearing the clatter of a wooden spoon hit the wall next to the kitchen door as he ran through it. Antuni could have been laughing.
Jerek walked around through the outer yard, chewing. The temperature had dropped overnight, though not dangerously so for the vines, and the morning sunlight glinted off the frost that still edged the cobblestones. The whole yard had been frosted earlier, when he’d gone out to check on his new horse, but the sun was burning the sparkle away.
Shoving the stolen cookies into the front of his tunic, Jerek let himself into the narrow corridor that led to the business rooms of the holding. Here were offices and workrooms for anything that had to be done indoors, from keeping accounts to distilling. The Factor’s office was first, and Nessa liked almond cookies as much as he did. He hoped this morning’s baking would sweeten his welcome. Nessa had been so busy since the morning their fencing lesson had been interrupted, that he’d hardly seen her at all.
Jerek stopped short in the doorway of Nessa’s office, his tongue frozen in the act of licking a crumb from his lips. Her worktable had been moved from its spot under the window, and the cold sunlight now shone on the shrine table, where a strange man was setting up small redwood statues of the Mother, Daughter, and Son.
“Something?” The man moved the little red Son a fraction to the left before turning to Jerek with one fair eyebrow arched high.
“This is—where’s Nessa?”
The stranger moved away from the gods’ shrine and sat against the edge of the worktable, crossing his arms and looking at Jerek from underneath frowning brows. “And you are?”
Jerek felt his face grow hot. He became aware of the crumbs on the front of his tunic.
“I’m Jerek Firoxi,” he said finally, his voice choosing that moment to crack. He resisted the urge to brush himself off.
The man straightened to his feet, and a warm smile transformed his face. “You’re the young lord? A pleasure.” He gave Jerek a bow that was exactly correct. Like Nessa, the man would have come from a long line of holding staff—professionals, only a step or two away from the minor nobility. “My name is Trien Petain, and I’m your father’s new Factor.”
Jerek coughed to clear the sudden obstruction in his throat. My Factor, is what he didn’t say aloud. I’m the lord here, not my father. But he’d never actually had to tell anyone that before, and he felt awkward to say it now. Besides, there wasn’t any real need. The other staff would soon let the new man know. If Jerek said something now, it would only embarrass them both.
“What—” Jerek cleared his throat again. “Where’s Nessa?” This time his voice stayed low.
“Your father very kindly gave her the day to move her things from the Factor’s rooms. You’ll likely find her there. Unless you would like me to have her summoned?”
It wasn’t this man’s fault, Jerek reminded himself. Whatever had happened, this man hadn’t done it. This was his father’s doing.
“No. Thank you,” he remembered to add. That was one of the courtesies he’d been taught. “That won’t be necessary.”
The man smiled again, and Jerek tried to smile back before turning away, placing his feet carefully one in front of the other. Once in the hall, Jerek slowed down even more, suddenly not trusting his balance in the dark hallway. He didn’t run until he reached the stairs leading to the upper floor, and the rooms of the house staff. A shaft of light, bright and sharp as a blade, struck through the window slit high up in the stone wall at the end of the corridor, and showed that one of the doors stood open.
Nessa’s quarters were just at the top of the stairs, and once again Jerek stopped in the open doorway, heart thumping. He’d been here before, of course, though not for a long while, he realized now. Not since his voice had started to change. Now Nessa met him in her office, or in some other part of the house. The layout of these rooms was simple. There was this small sitting room, with its window that gave onto the stable yard; a brazier table, two chairs, and a set of shelves. Of the other staff, only the house steward also had a private sitting room, and, like Nessa, a carpet on the floor. The door in the far wall that led to the bedchamber swung open, and Nessa herself appeared, holding a pair of boots in her hands.
It was only then that Jerek saw the pack sitting open on the table, and the saddlebags hanging over the back of the chair. The cold place in his chest that never went away grew larger.
“Ah,” she said. “I would have found you. I wouldn’t have left without saying goodbye.”
Left? “What’s happened?”
Nessa folded the boots and tucked them into the top of the pack. “Your father has hired a new Factor.”
“But why? This is your place. Your father was my mother’s Factor, and your grandmother before him.” Jerek turned back to the door. “I’ll fix this.”
Nessa was across the room in time to grab him by the elbow. “Don’t, Jerek, it’s too late. Don’t put yourself in jeopardy for me.”
“But my father—”
“Is within his rights.” Nessa tugged him over to the nearest chair and pushed him into it. She removed the saddlebags from the other and sat down herself. “He’s your guardian. It’s for him to make decisions about the property until you become of age.”
And that wouldn’t be until he was seventeen, after any chance that the Talent might make its appearance. Another four years. Where would Nessa be in four years?
Jerek pressed his lips together, feeling the corners of his mouth turn down. He blinked away the sudden stinging in his eyes, scanning the room for something—anything—to distract him. The real meaning of the pack and the saddlebags sank in. “You’re leaving.” Not just moving to other rooms. Leaving.
“Yes. I said so.”
“But why? I mean, I know you won’t be Factor anymore, but why do you have to leave?”
The look on Nessa’s face was one Jerek had seen many times since his mother had died. He felt his own face harden. “Tell me,” he said.
“I was not given the option to stay.”
Jerek’s head felt full of dust and cobwebs. “He can’t dismiss you without cause. You must report him!” The enormity of the suggestion almost st
opped him from continuing. “The Halls . . .” The words dried up in his throat.
“Yes. Exactly. The Halls. I went to Gaena last market day and asked the magistrate there what my rights were, and it appears I haven’t many. Not anymore.” Nessa took a deep breath. “I’ve decided not to stay and find out for certain,” she said. “The magistrate’s an old friend, with old friends of his own at Farama the Capital. His advice was not to take my case to the Law.” She shrugged and looked sideways at her pack, hands gripping her knees. “Maybe if I was a holding lady, it would be worth the attempt. But when all’s said and done, I’m just staff. So, I’m going while my clothing and my coin and my horse still belong to me.”
Jerek pulled the almond cookies out of his pocket and placed them with care on the edge of the table. They were cold now. “Antuni is going as well,” he said.
Nessa blinked and sat up straighter. “Really? He promised your mother he would never leave.”
Jerek shrugged. “Where will you go?”
She leaned back in her chair and looked at him for what felt like a long time. “Do you remember old Bedeni Soria?”
• • •
Despite what Nessa had said, Jerek decided to speak to his father—if there was any chance at all, he had to take it. There had been times when his father had listened to him, and the older man had been in good spirits lately, since the soldiers and the Halian had visited.
Dern Firoxi was usually in a better humor after the midday meal, particularly if lamb had been served, but past experience had taught Jerek that if he waited, he might not say anything at all. It wasn’t that he’d lose his nerve, exactly, it was just that, well, other things would interfere. He did wash his face and hands, however, before tapping on his father’s partly open door. Had the door been closed, no one would have tapped on it. Not more than once.
Dern Firoxi glanced up from his desktop and smiled, picking up his cup of chocolate and taking a sip. “Finished looking after your horse, have you, son?”
Halls of Law Page 19
