Time of Daughters I

by Sherwood Smith

  Anred: “So he didn’t trust them?”

  Jarl: “I don’t know what he thought. All I know is, they survived the bad days under Bloody Tanrid. I like to use our people if I can, but there’s the fact that the royal runners are faster. It’s said they know old routes from the King’s Runners days.”

  Anred: “I’ll get ready.”

  The sound of the tent flap being thrust aside was my signal to pick up my saddlebag and walk around the steaming puddles to the front of the tent.

  I wondered if I had been meant to hear all that. But when I met the jarl’s gaze and saw the total indifference there, the slight pinch around the eyes as he tried for a heartbeat to place me in memory, I returned to my previous idea: no notion of tent voice. That art seems to be lost.

  He said to me: “By request from the regent, I’m sending my sons to the royal city to celebrate New Year’s Week with the royal branch of the family, so no messages. If you can wait to ride with them and show them the way, I’d appreciate it.”

  It was an order, of course. We both knew it. But his wording was far more polite than the Idegan runner had been when he handed off those letters to me at dawn, before they departed for the north.

  I said I would, and so I am currently in the Nevree castle as another storm is breaking overhead, if you have any private orders for me.

  ELEVEN

  Let’s leave the exhausted Olavayirs to recover, and shift southward to Senelaec to catch up with the tired, road-grimed Senelaec girls, who had long gotten over their triumph. By the time they neared Senelaec, they were worried sick.

  So they rode slower.

  Out loud, Calamity insisted that their sedate pace was intended as extra care not to run into any Marlovayirs while they were near the border between the two jarlates, but the truth was, they dreaded riding into the courtyard at home.

  They dawdled so much that the boys beat them back, even though they had stayed for the last meal. Wolf said out loud that this was their last chance to talk to the friends they’d made, but he’d slipped away to search for the Idegan company, who’d always been somewhere else when he’d tried to find them all week. At that last banquet, as the storm pounded through, someone finally told him that the Idegans rode out at sunup, skipping the last day of the wargame entirely.

  Wolf had never been in love with his wife, but he’d loved his little daughter, who he feared now he’d never get to see again. He rode in silence for half the journey, and by the time the boys reached home he’d made some new resolves.

  When the girls rode into the courtyard several days later, the jarl was not there—he was out riding the border himself, as the Seneleaecs were so short-handed.

  Oh, the moral superiority!

  “We’re dead,” Calamity muttered to Fuss, who was in an agony of remorse by then, as she was a peaceful, orderly soul by nature. “Dead, dead, dead.”

  The stable hands didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. The only one who spoke was Ndara’s little brother, who piped up with the righteous relish of one who’d been doing extra stable wanding for a solid month, “The jarlan’s waiting for you. Phew, I wouldn’t wear your boots for anything.”

  Fuss slunk toward the house, the image of guilt. Calamity stalked beside her, temper simmering. After all, the adults had been breaking rules for years, if it meant a good raid or sting. And she’d won!

  “There you are,” the jarlan said, arms crossed. “You seven go bathe and get to work. You’ll find plenty waiting. And the stalls to wand afterward, in trade to the stable hands who had to do all your chores. You two.” A jab of two fingers at Calamity and Fuss. “With me.”

  They reached the jarlan’s private room, with its handsome desk that she had inherited from the daughter of a queen.

  “Wolf gave me a full report. He took all the blame for your going off to skylark in Olavayir, leaving us wondering what had happened to you, as if none of you had the sense to tell him it was a stupid idea.”

  At the unhappy look on Calamity’s face, and Fuss’s genuine misery, the jarlan relented a little. It was clear that the girls, who could have been home days before the boys, had been punishing themselves a-plenty. “Though I suspect I know why you gave in,” she said to Calamity, who flushed to the ears. “Yes,” the jarlan said. “We’re going to put it about you had to get back at Knuckles for what they did to our patrol last winter.”

  She cleared her throat, then glanced at the shut door to make certain it was indeed shut, and lowered her voice. “I have nothing to say about this feud. If it stays this kind of feud, raids back and forth. The stings. If it goes no worse, it keeps us sharp, and I know it’s fun.” She met the girls’ gazes as she said, “But I do object to your adopting the boys’ outlook on these big wargames, which makes it so easy to see war itself as the greatest game, with small raids that get bigger, and bigger, until they’re battles, and then a war so terrible that for generations after we sing songs like Yvana Ride Thunder, and the Andahi Lament.”

  Fuss’s eyes rimmed with tears at the mention of the Andahi Lament. She could never hear it without her throat closing up.

  The jarlan pressed her thumbs against her eyelids, then dropped her hands, callused from years of bow practice and working with horses. “I will never understand why men go to war,” she said low-voiced. “Think about what defense means. I know you’re young. Everything to the young is a game. I know the family sees it that way. But war isn’t a game. Especially for us women. My sister, your aunt, could tell you that—if she were still alive. And that wasn’t even considered a war, because only a few died at the assassins’ hands. But they are just as dead.”

  The jarlan hit her breastbone with a fist, right above her heart. “We fight when we have to defend our homes. What the men do....” She looked away, Fuss’s tears falling when she saw the rare gleam in her mother’s eyes. “We don’t kill other mothers’ sons unless they’re attacking our own who cannot defend themselves. And yes, we can be, and are, vicious ourselves. But when men go looking for war as fun....” She sighed.

  “I don’t mean to say we weren’t wrong,” Calamity said earnestly, her vivid face as usual mirroring her emotions, “because I know we were. But, isn’t making it a game a way out of war, for those who want it?”

  “It can be. It can be, if both sides learn to let each other go home again. We aren’t going to solve that now, but we can talk about it as you both move into adulthood’s responsibilities. Which begin with not throwing over the important aspects of life in order to have fun. And yes, I know my husband, old as he is, thinks differently.”

  She sighed again, then turned to her daughter. “Fareas,” she said as Fuss silently wiped her eyes. “You know that you are expected to marry Evred Olavayir when he comes of age. That means you will be thinking for the entire kingdom. And Carleas,” she shifted her gaze to Calamity, “the jarl and I have decided that instead of waiting for Yipyip to reach twenty, you ought to marry Wolf, and now. It was Wolf’s idea. He spoke to the jarl and me, and we agreed. How about you?”

  Though Calamity had done her earnest best to keep her passion to herself, all three there knew her answer before she spoke.

  The jarlan pointed at the door. “Go get yourselves a bath, and get to work. That extra stable wanding includes you. Since we have only ourselves to please, and not some outsider family, we can make the wedding come Restday.” Then the jarlan said roughly, “Give him a girl.”

  About that same time, back in Olavayir, once again, Danet wrote to her sister Hliss:

  I don’t remember what I wrote last. I think it was before Noddy was born.

  Well, having Noddy was the most frightening thing in my life because everyone thought I was asleep, and the wargame ended, so people began to return to the castle and there I was, alone with Tesar, who turned pale as death when I let out a yelp after my water broke, and I sent her to fetch the jarlan so her worried questions that I couldn’t answer wouldn’t make things worse.

  It was still hot, but I k
ept getting cold waves, until a girl my age named Calamity Senelaec suddenly showed up with her foster-sister, I don’t remember her name. All I remember is the relief because they knew what to do. Even if they talked to me like a mare in foal. I know that voice. I used it when Firefly dropped Biscuit.

  Anyway, when it was over they left before anyone could thank them. Then Noddy and I got back to the castle and slept and slept.

  I think we slept most of three days. I only woke when he wanted suckle, or when he cried, then someone would pick him up to change him into clean linens.

  I never tire of looking at Noddy. They all insist he doesn’t see anything, that babes are as blind as kittens or pups, but I think he looks at me. I know he tries to wriggle himself around to face me when I enter a room. I don’t tell anyone that because I know they will laugh and say First Time Parent, as they did so often those first days. They said it to Arrow, too, when he came in to see us. That would send him right out again.

  When I was feeling normal again, sometimes it surprised me he was there. I think I told you when I first put on my Olavayir House Tunic as a bride, I thought I would feel like a different person. I didn’t. I felt like me wearing a new robe. It was the same when I looked at Noddy, wiggling there with his stream-colored eyes, neither brown nor blue, staring at the wall as the raindrops tapped against it. I don’t feel like a mother—like a version of Mother. I feel like me who somehow squeezed out a baby.

  I should also tell you I wrote to Mother before I wrote to you. I wrote a very long letter with a lot of questions. Then in the morning, before we left and I was going to see if some runner was going that way, I knew what Mother would write back. She’d say, You’re among the Olavayirs now. You do things the way they like. Don’t waste time and paper. So I threw it in the fire….

  By the end of a month Danet was able to send off the long letter she’d written to her sister during her recovery, detailing every minute change in Noddy’s expression. By now she was back to regular life, punctuated by Noddy’s feeding times.

  She was down at the stable grooming Firefly in preparation for a ride when Arrow turned up, eyes rimmed with tiredness as if he hadn’t slept. He smelled of stale wine, but his voice was clear enough as he said, “We’re off to the royal city. Not just you and me. All four of us. And the babes.”

  “What?” she exclaimed in dismay. “Why?”

  “It’s orders. We’re to celebrate the New Year as a family with Evred, who seems to think he can declare himself of age and take the throne. Lanrid’s Uncle Kendred, the regent, seems to think we might be able to talk him out of it, though I don’t see how, if he’s not listening to them—”

  “Wait. I thought he was my age, or maybe a little older. Not twenty-five,” Danet said.

  Arrow’s bow mouth flattened to a line, and she knew that once again, she’d managed to run into that invisible wall dividing the eagle clan from the dolphin clan. “We’ll talk more later,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at a clump of Lanrid’s dolphin-branch Riders.

  Danet took her ride, scarcely noticing her surroundings, her mind was so full of questions. On her return, Tesar was still going about with a harried, guilty demeanor, as she had all week. Danet suspected that Tesar felt badly for having left Danet when she was in labor.

  The night before they were to ride out, Jarend was missing from all three meals. He seldom spoke, but he was a large presence Danet had gotten used to. She noticed him only when he was gone; in the stairwell, she overhead Tdor Fath telling the jarlan that he had another of his sick headaches, but he promised he would be able to ride in the morning.

  The last meal was entirely taken up with Lanrid, now sitting where the randael ought to sit, loudly and forcefully arguing with the jarl that they ought to hold big wargames every year instead of every five—as if, Danet thought sourly, bellowing would convince anyone where a normal voice wouldn’t.

  “Even if it didn’t seriously disrupt the work of the other jarlates, it’s too costly for us,” the jarl said in his even voice. “And so much of the castle work has to be set aside to prepare. Surely you can learn just as much wargaming Riders against Riders, or plan castle defenses, as usual, on Restdays.”

  It was not a question.

  Lanrid sat back, his mouth tight. Sinna, his younger brother, whispered, “Won’t a castle defense be fun?”

  Danet didn’t hear Lanrid’s answer because Ranor-Jarlan turned to her and signed for her to follow.

  When they reached the jarlan’s room, Ranor indicated a mat, and they both sat down.

  Ranor-Jarlan pushed a braid loop back, adjusted a cup on the table, then said, “Danet, you have brought a child into the family. You are now one of us. There are things you ought to know, and that I want you to do, for the sake of family. And for the kingdom.” She reached behind her into the trunk where she kept household papers, and pulled out a flattened scroll, which she spread out. The hand was large and wavery, even sprawling, like a child’s, except the letters were not the rounded ones you see from children. They were narrow.

  The Jarlan said, “That was written by Gunvaer-Hesar.”

  When Danet stared in surprise, the jarlan said, “Yes, the first Olavayir queen, the eldest of the family. She is in her nineties, and she would very much like to come home. She will, once Evred is safely married—if she lives that long—but that’s the future. This is now. Read it. I’ll wait.”

  Danet bent over the text:

  I believe the boy is going to throw off the regency soon. He refuses to have the Senelaec girl, who by all accounts would make an excellent gunvaer, and he keeps sending gifts and promises north, but there has been no definite answer from the Arvandais family. He will not listen to age. For once I agree with Kendred and Mathren, who I understand will ask your jarl to send the heir. Evred might heed youth, or at least he can be kept busy. He is always idle, and idle at that age is dangerous.

  When Danet handed the letter back, the jarlan said, “I know you are kin to the Arvandais family. The girl is your age. Cousins, fourth degree cousins, can sometimes be as close as sisters. What can you tell me about them?”

  “Not much firsthand,” Danet said slowly. “I only met the Arvandaises once, when I was ten.”

  The jarlan turned up her hand, and it was clear to Danet then that the Arvandaises were not her chief subject here.

  The jarlan said slowly, “My husband is forbidden by the Eastern Alliance treaty to ride into the capital city unless it’s for Convocation, which has not been called for too many years to count. I would go, but Evred-Sierlaef would ignore an old woman only distantly related to him, and of course I have no authority whatsoever. You know Jarend by now, enough to understand that his strengths do not lie in remonstrating with an unruly cousin. I don’t like sending both my sons to the royal city—you know what happened before—but it has been quiet these many years. Mathren Olavayir, who rescued Evred from the first assassination attempt, has kept the city well-guarded ever since his own wife was killed in the second assassination attempt. So I believe you will be safe enough.”

  Danet murmured assent.

  “My sons will address their cousin, and Tdor Fath will look out for Jarend, who does not like travel, or things unaccustomed. But I have a very important task for you. I believe you are the best to accomplish it—far better than my sons. I need you to ask to see all the royal accounts, in order to be taught how they manage the tallies.”

  “The kingdom accounts?” Danet repeated, stunned.

  “Yes,” Ranor said. “Hesar is too old and too blind to act as gunvaer anymore. She is not permitted to know who is controlling the kingdom’s treasure. Because there has been no Convocation for years, we have no idea what state the kingdom's affairs are in—we only know that the northern garrisons have been cut off from receiving their share of tax benefits, and it is our jarlate that has been making up the difference as best we can. It places enormous strain on us, and is not adequate. We need to know why this situation is as i
t is. I think you are capable of accomplishing that.”

  Danet stared. “But—the royal treasury...."

  “Numbers are numbers. You have a knack for them. In truth I believe you’re better at it than I am. If you can, find out who among the jarls is actually paying taxes, and who Kendred has bought off—and what he promised. It has to be Kendred, as Mathren only concerns himself with the Royal Riders—what used to be the King’s Guard when there was a king—and castle defense. If Evred can’t help you, go to Hesar. At least she ought to know whom you should speak with.”

  The jarlan’s hand shook as she folded up the scroll again. “Will you do that?”

  Danet placed her hand on her heart. “I’ll do my best.”

  The jarlan smiled at last, and let her go.

  Later that night, when Arrow came to her room to see Noddy, he picked the baby up, and over his small round head said to Danet, “Ma told me she talked to you about Evred.”

  “A little,” Danet said cautiously.

  Arrow said, “Here’s what she probably didn’t tell you.” Then he fell silent, and looked around, though they were alone. Then he handed Noddy back and took a swig from his flask. “Look. The inside line is, the old people don’t talk much about the last generation because they all knew each other. The way they talk, thirty years ago is like last season. But there’s been bad blood in the family for a hundred years, ever since the the widow of the hero Hawkeye Yvanavayir married my great-father’s second son. She worked it so her own boy took over as jarl, but it split the family into the two branches, and the feud got worse over the generations. Da remembers how bad it got when Jasid-Harvaldar killed Haldren-Harvaldar and took over as king in ’29. There were duels and one ambush, though they always denied it. Other families got dragged in until the Eastern Alliance got the other jarls to impose a treaty on us. You know who they are, right?”