Time of Daughters I

by Sherwood Smith

  The two boys saluted. Ran just stood there, not sure what to do with his hands; Senelaecs didn’t bother with saluting. As the Headmaster spoke with someone else, Marda squinted against the sun at where the runners were busy hauling all but four of the targets away, and others rolled out carts of wooden weapons. “Well, now’s when we get hammered.”

  Baldy rolled his eyes, shoved wisps of his nearly white hair out of his eyes, and elbowed Ran. “You should run with us some day.”

  “If I survive today,” Ran muttered, the back of his neck prickling; everywhere he turned, people stared.

  Baldy snickered, still convinced that his distant Senelaec cousins had pulled a ruse for the fun of it.

  They relinquished their now unneeded horses to the stable hands. The two boys turned toward their classmates in the academy, already discussing the results in cryptic academy idiom, and Ran separated off and rejoined the Senelaecs. The prickling worsened with every breath as he tried to imagine how much trouble he was in.

  Tdor and her cousin, future runners, had gone off to fetch food while the others stood in a tight pack. During the sword fighting, distance shooting, standing knife and spear throw, and hand to hand events they endlessly speculated, watching sporadically. Ran’s desire to compete in the long distance standing archery had withered; all he could think of was how much damage he was going to bring home.

  No one noticed Noren’s intent assessment of the hand to hand fighting, any more than they noticed the row of royal runners in training behind everyone else, watching closely.

  The sun had begun to drop toward the western horizon when the last of the awards were given out. These turned out to be tiny discs of gold with the Olavayir eagle worked into them. Boys could sew theirs down the left arm of their House tunics (right sleeve being reserved for military honors only), and the girls down the front edging of their House robes.

  Andaun gave Ran a slightly pained glance as the latter stepped up to win his gold for the ride and shoot, a look that Ran tried to interpret as he walked back to the girls.

  He wasn’t left to wonder long. When the last award had been given, the academy was dismissed, jarls’ offspring to bathe and ready themselves for the banquet to be held in the feasting hall opposite the throne room, and everyone else to rec time or to pack for home.

  The Senelaecs were standing in a circle wondering what to do next—poor little Cousin Ranet with tears running silently down her dusty face—when a runner approached. Not one of the headmaster’s small boys, but an older royal runner in dark blue. He said to Ran, “Please follow me.”

  “Why?” Ink said, looking wary. “If you’re dropping him in some dungeon, we’ll all go together.”

  “To an interview with the king and queen,” the royal runner said, studying those nine worried faces. “Ranet, Ran?”

  “I’m more used to Ran,” he whispered.

  “Ran Senelaec. You are the only one whose presence is required.”

  The girls exchanged questioning glances, but even Ink didn’t quite have the courage to attempt forcing herself into a royal interview. “Hold this,” he said, handing her his little gold eagle.

  Ink took it and bent a glare on the royal runner as she stated with dire import, “We’ll be waiting for you.”

  SEVENTEEN

  Up in the royal chamber, Danet and Arrow faced each other. He crossed his arms. “There are two reasons for a boy to turn into a girl. Unless that boy comes up here and tells us he got born into the wrong body, and I know it happens, then someone made him do it. And there’s only one reason why that makes sense. I never expected a stab in the back like this from Wolf Senelaec.”

  Danet let out a short sigh. “I thought so, too, when I first heard about it.”

  “Wait. What?” he demanded sharply. “How long have I been kept out of this secret? And who else is in on it?”

  “Only me,” Danet said, deciding to leave Hliss out, as Arrow was still sore about Andas’s disappearance. “It was accidentally found out by a runner. I was angry at first. I thought it was a strike at my betrothal plan. At me. But over time, I began to see it differently.”

  “How is it anything but the back of the hand at us?”

  “Think about our history,” Danet said. “Not ours, especially. No, even that’s not true: Think about how we became king and queen. When that child was born, it was not long after Mathren killed Evred and Kendred. And if you look back farther, around the time we were born, the previous king and queen were killed, the queen being the Jarlan of Senelaec’s sister. And so on, back several generations.”

  Arrow grimaced, and dropped his gaze.

  “So, back to us. At the time that boy was born, you declared that second sons were to come to a new academy.”

  “Which means Wolf thinks I’m incompetent,” Arrow muttered. “Both of them.”

  “At the time,” she said, “neither you or I knew if we’d last a day. A month. A year. We couldn’t see our own future. Everyone knew we weren’t brought up to it. Anyway, I waited to see what they would do, and sure enough, they’ve sent us a perfectly acceptable girl to marry Connar. They call her Ranet. It might even be her name. She looks exactly like Fuss, which is most appropriate, considering that Fuss ought to have been standing here with Evred right now, instead of you and me.”

  “That’s true enough,” Arrow said, massaging his jaw. “Yet here I thought Wolf would regard it as an honor, their girl marrying Connar. I was damn wrong.”

  “Rather than assume motivations, why don’t we ask this boy? Alone. Everyone else is talking about it. That can’t be helped. I really think, given the fact that there are no actual laws spoken before the jarls about requiring their sons to attend—” When Arrow began a heated comment, she raised her hand. “Let me finish. And half of the spectators heard you laughing when that lout yelled out his discovery. All told, I think handling this situation quietly, whatever you do decide, is the better part of wisdom.”

  “All right. Have it your way,” Arrow said, sighing. The truth was, he wanted that young rider in his army: Given a year or two of practice and strength, boy or girl, Ran would probably be the best shot among the new generation.

  Ran sloped along behind the royal runner, covered in sweat-streaked dust, his braids filthy and tangled. He was too inexperienced to perceive that Danet had sent mild-mannered Ivandred as the least threatening person to summon him. Ran might as well have been marching with his hands tied, surrounded by a fierce wing of guards armed to the teeth. Guilt was his worst enemy, as he knew that his parents had not wanted him on this escapade.

  And this was the reason why.

  When they reached the door to the interview chamber at last, he braced his spine.

  The door opened, but no execution squad awaited him. No one was there but the king and queen, the latter seen the once on their arrival, and the former only glimpsed in the royal seat among the spectators at the parade ground.

  That was frightening enough.

  It was the king whom Ran watched anxiously. On seeing Arrow’s irritated frown, his heart sank even further, while Arrow scrutinized the boy. If he’d seen a smirk, much less insolence, nothing Danet could have said would have stopped him from tossing that skinny ass into the lockup for a day or two until his temper cooled. But Ran’s expression was nearly green with sick dread and guilt.

  In times of stress, Arrow reverted to the truculent youth bullied by Lanrid and his rough Riders. “Was this one of your Senelaec practical jokes?” he demanded abruptly.

  “No!” Ran’s face drained completely of color, then he flushed from the neck to the ears. “I sneaked away. Da was gone, they’re trying to catch those horse thieves out east, and Ma said I should stay home. But....”

  “I want to know why this.” Arrow indicated his braids. “Are you or are you not a girl?”

  “Yes—that is, no. I grew up as one.” Ran looked around wildly, tugging at his shirt collar beneath his robe, which unaccountably seemed too tight, thou
gh the shirt laces had become loose. As the royal pair regarded him in silence, he groped for words. “I was going to have to give it up anyway. Cub—Mardran, my brother—thinks I’ll have to do the Beard Spell in a year at most, and so, they brought out Cousin Ranet to be me, and I’ll be Rana, and go with Da when the Tlennens call.”

  “Do you fight with a sword?” Arrow asked in a much easier voice—it was clear that this masquerade was not Ran’s idea. That stupidity lay solely with his parents.

  Ran sighed. “No—the girls don’t drill with swords. We’re, they’re, scouts, and if there’s trouble, we shoot, and run for reinforcements. Cub started teaching me a year ago, but he doesn’t always have time—he rode out during spring with Da. Promised to find me a swordmaster when Cousin Ranet takes my place.”

  Arrow’s eyes narrowed with interest. “Would you go to the academy if you could?”

  It’s difficult to say how this interview would have gone if Ran had expressed anything else but the honest longing that he’d been feeling all day. “Would I?” he exclaimed. “I’d give anything to go!”

  Arrow’s expression cleared. “Run along, then. I’ll have a letter for you to carry to your father by the time you leave.”

  Ran backed up, fist to his chest, a flush of happiness glowing in his filthy face. As he pivoted, poised to decamp, Danet said, “Remind Cousin Ranet that, as my son’s future wife, she ought to attend the banquet. She may sit with your Sindan-An or Tlennen connections if she likes. She can sit with us next year.”

  Ran flattened his palm as he faced her, then he backed hastily to the door, and fled.

  The others visibly relaxed when they saw him pelt up, apparently still in one piece. They hirpled toward the barracks as Ran filled them in on the conversation.

  Relieved that they were miraculously saved from summary execution, they vented the long hours of intense emotion in high-pitched sniggers and wild talk about what they would have done to rescue him if he’d been slammed into the royal dungeon.

  At the barracks door, they fell silent when they saw Pony standing with her feet braced against the frame on either side, fists on hips. Three Marlovayir girls crowded behind her.

  “You,” she pointed at Ran, “can go bunk with the boys.”

  “Drop it,” Ink said. “Unless you want to take it outside.” She shook her sleeve back, revealing a knife sheath on her left forearm.

  The Marlovayir girls, mindful of their jarlan’s dire warnings, stood silent, poised to mix it up with the Senelaecs if the latter started anything. A fake girl was as good an excuse as any other; one girl bit chapped lips, silently urging Ink to make the first move so they could claim self-defense.

  Henad Tlennen stepped up in front of them, turned, and faced the Marlovayirs. “He’s not going in the baths with us, so who cares?”

  “I don’t,” Shendan Khanivayir said with false cheer, annoyed with Pony Yvanavayir having summarily chosen herself as speaker for the barracks. “And he could go in the baths with me any time.”

  “I’m there first,” called a Fath.

  Ran had heard the older girls joking about sex for a year or two, but he still blushed, as another girl he didn’t know ranged herself alongside Henad, and said pleasantly, “Isn’t it a little late to start squawking about modesty, seeing as he’s been with us since we rode in?”

  Genis Fath, betrothed to Mardran Tlennen, added, “Do you really think you’re so tight he’ll look twice at you?”

  Ink shoved past Pony, knocking the shorter girl back and ignoring the Marlovayirs, and the rest of the Senelaecs streamed behind her. The girls trooped off to the baths, while Ran slunk around the back of the barracks and made his way to the back barn, where the big tubs of water for the cows were located. No one was there, so he stripped to the waist and plunged his upper half in the magic-protected water, feeling all the grime vanish in that effervescent sensation, a little like bees running all over your skin.

  He cleaned up fast, dunked his clothes to be spread out to dry with the others’, and rejoined the group, giddy with joy now that a miracle had happened. He was not only saved, but he’d get to go to the academy!

  Pony was left complaining to her followers, who paid lip service as they got ready for a night of fun. At least they didn’t have to go to the banquet hall with Pony, who had been getting more bossy by the day, not less, though she hadn’t won a single event. No one really cared one way or the other about a younger boy living among them as a girl.

  Pony discovered that the other jarlate girls had gone in a pack straight from the baths, leaving her to walk alone the long distance to the banquet hall next to the throne room, where she found her older brother Manther sitting with their Tlen cousins. She had to join them, but she looked around for the Faths. Who were busy talking to the Tyavayirs. Ghost did look over twice, smiling. Of course he was smiling at her, she thought, and smiled back.

  As soon as the banquet finally was over, she raced out after Ghost, ahead of the younger folks streaming toward the city center. It was filled with young people, singing and dancing already in full force in five different places.

  With the sun’s disappearance and cool baths, everyone’s spirits had lifted. Pony caught up to Ghost before he could vanish into the crowd, and in her flirtiest voice cooed, “Show me where I can get the best root brew.”

  He looked around for his friends, but they all backed off, leaving him with Manther’s sister.

  “All right,” he said.

  Behind them, Noren walked with Bunny and Lineas. They had invited Cousin Ranet to join them, suspecting that the younger girl would be lost on her own, until she could be restored to the rest of the Senelaec girls. They worked through a laborious conversation about the horses and their performance, Lineas interpreting, until they found the rest of the party.

  Cousin Ranet listened silently, nearly dizzy from the whipsaw emotions of the day. Now that Ran was truly safe, she could secretly revel in the fact that she had been picked to marry the prettiest boy in the entire royal city. She would one day be a princess, which meant all the girls’ games would be run by her. She could not imagine a better life, ever, ever, ever.

  Connar had said very little to her, but that was fine. She was far too shy around strangers to expect anything more. Buoyant with happiness, she skimmed lightly through the crowd when she spotted Young Pan, and she waited to join in the girls’ dances.

  On the other side of a huge circle, Ran sat cross-legged, robe puddled around him and braid loops flapping on his shoulders as he pounded on a borrowed drum for a group of boys twirling and leaping and stamping, horsetails and coat skirts swinging.

  It was clear that nothing was going to come of his masquerade. Keth Eveneth, primed by Salt and Pepper Marlovayir, sauntered up. Ran ignored him and kept playing a galloping counterpoint to the five other girls and boys on various-sized drums.

  Keth nudged Ran with his toe. “Why don’t you dance?”

  “I don’t know the boys’ dances,” Ran said, without missing a beat.

  “Are you a girl or a boy?”

  “Boy,” Ran said.

  “Why did you come as a girl?”

  “Because I did.”

  Tdor and Young Pan approached with linked arms. Young Pan thumped Keth hard with her hip, forcing him back a couple of steps. “Ooops,” she said over her shoulder as she took his place.

  Keth, who found the whole thing hilarious, laughed and retreated to report the exchange to the watching Marlovayirs. They turned away, disappointed that no one seemed ready to make a scene.

  Ran drummed in a flourishing finish as the boys finished their dance, sending shrill yips rising to the starry sky.

  “Our turn!” Maddar yelled.

  “Come on, Ran. This is your last dance,” Fnor yelled, pulling Ran to his feet.

  Another person readily took the drum, so Ran joined hands with the forming circle and matched steps with the girls. Since the days of remaining unobtrusive were over, he could not resi
st clowning, dancing with exaggerated swings of his scrawny hips as the watchers whooped and laughed.

  While the young people danced and flirted and carried on as if they hadn’t exerted themselves in the hot sun all day, inside the banquet room, adults lingered at the long tables, appreciating the cooler air, for those thick stone walls warded the heat effectively.

  Arrow and Commander Noth stood against the wall, each sipping dark beer brought up from the deepest cellar. Arrow had already filled Noth in. He ended, “About that Senelaec boy. Maybe I’d better talk to Andaun first. He’s going to have to fit him in somewhere—what is it?”

  A young stable runner had appeared at his elbow. “The Jarl of Senelaec just rode in,” he said. “Stable chief said to come to you direct.”

  Noth whistled, and Arrow said, “I thought he was riding with Sindan-An.” To the stable hand, “Bring him in. No. Not here. Up to the interview room.” And as the youngster raced off, he said to the commander, “Want in on this?”

  Noth hesitated, then turned his palm down flat. “He’s alone, certainly no threat. My guess is, he’s ridden for days, hot on his boy’s trail. You don’t need me there.”

  Arrow turned his palm up in acceptance and made his way to where Danet was talking to a Fath cousin. His expression caused her to excuse herself.

  She and Arrow reached the interview chamber. Arrow said to the two duty guards, “The Jarl of Senelaec is on his way.”

  One of the guards said, “Is he armed?”

  Danet spoke before Arrow, “Probably, but leave him be.” At Arrow’s scowl, “But stand guard in case.”

  They walked inside and sat side by side on the mats. Moments later a runner brought in Wolf, exhausted and filthy.

  Wolf ranged himself before them, his dark-ringed eyes shifting between the two. He registered their lack of surprise, and said huskily. “I got back from chasing those horse thieves east, and Ran was gone....”