by E D Ebeling
Fear fogged her mind. Finally she became exhausted and slept.
***
When she woke the air had changed, become more lucid. She smelled roses. She looked down: she was dirty and naked and sore. She started crying––she didn’t know why.
She tried to move her arms––they were tied behind her.
She was in a little hut: the sod roof had collapsed in places, and sun streamed through, making golden chutes in the dusty air.
“What I wouldn’t give for a cold, wet cloth,” she said. Nothing happened. “Water,” she shouted, just to see. Dust and straw rained from the ceiling.
A girl came in with a waterskin. She had a ragged tunic and trousers on. Her face was tired, and she was as dirty as Sarid.
“Hold your head up and drink,” she said, and put the skin into Sarid’s mouth. Sarid drank a few gulps, then stopped and looked more closely at the girl. She’d rough brown hair and a nose with an exquisite little hook.
“Leva,” Sarid said.
Everything else rushed back into her mind. She went rigid. Some tears came first, and then she started screaming.
Leva dropped the bladder and ran outside.
By the time she came back with Savvel Sarid had managed to put words together: “May she turn into a tree, may her womb be a hornets’ nest and her breasts gnawed away by termites and her eyes bored out––”
“Are you sure?” said Savvel to Leva.
“Let me go,” said Sarid. “Let me go, I will blow her to hell.”
“Who?” said Savvel.
“Yelse,” screamed Sarid.
“You see?” said Leva. “She’s come to her senses.”
“If you’d call it that.” Savvel squatted in front of Sarid. “If you promise not to harm anyone I will let you out of my head directly.”
“That’s rich.” Sarid’s throat hurt from screaming. “I’m stuck in your head?”
“Yes,” he said, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. “You’ve been there all week.”
She took five deep breaths. “Your talent is prodigious.”
“I can do what I like with my head.”
“Really?” Tears dripped off her chin.
“Are you sane?”
“Rischa will think I kidnapped you and kept you like an animal all winter.”
“Get out of my head,” he said.
He opened a door for her and she went out.
Her arms turned into a wind, and her bonds hung loose against the post. Her hands rematerialized in her lap. Savvel smiled. “You must still be a little mad, to be able to do that.”
***
Leva found Sarid a smock to wear, and they went outside and ate the fish Savvel had caught earlier––licking and blowing on their fingers because this time it had been properly cooked. Sarid asked Savvel, “How did she find you?”
“An ice cutter found him.” Leva held her hand out to Gryka, and the dog gnawed on her sticky fingers. “Wandering near the Nolak.” She wiped her hand on the grass. “Naked. Mari and I were staying with Eianhurts—they’ve a place in Ederul––when we heard they’d found a tall madman with dark hair. We went to the cutter’s cottage, and he wasn’t mad anymore. We took him back to Ederul. After a while, we decided we’d better look for you.”
“That was stupid of you,” said Sarid. Leva still had bruises on her neck.
“What else could we’ve done?” she said, ripping a clump of grass from the ground. “After Rischa drove you out, the Pashes were next, and my family. And then a whole host of eastern nobles split from the duma, and now he’s got only sycophants and lunatics giving him advice. Since you’re the biggest lunatic of all, I thought maybe you could tell him Dirlan and Garada are collecting men. And perhaps you could kill your sister, too.”
“I haven’t heard any of this,” said Savvel. “Why are they collecting men?”
“To scare the sense into your brother,” said Leva. “And if that doesn’t work they’ll put you in his place.”
Savvel spat a fishbone from his mouth. “An ice cutter found me naked in the woods.”
“And your front hasn’t cracked since,” said Leva. “Perhaps you learned something, in the woods.”
“How did you get up here?” Sarid asked them.
“Goyinik horses,” said Savvel.
***
These were small, sturdy horses from the northern steppes, so stoic Leva’s curse had had little effect on them (though Savvel and Leva had walked rather than ridden, and laden the horses with provisions).
It was half a day’s ride to Ningrav, the closest town with a posting station.
There Leva sent a letter to Mari, asking her to meet them in Amarstad. They traded the little horses for big, swift ones––just two of them after Sarid reminded Leva that she was no rider.
Then they set off towards Amarstad, Sarid sitting behind Savvel on his black gelding. After the first day her posterior was sore and her back stiff. She could still turn to a wind, and would have done so, but there was a suspicious desperation in Leva’s actions that discouraged Sarid from separating from them, even for a little while.
When they reached Amarstad they took rooms at an inn to wait. They all took baths, and Leva broke two brushes in Sarid’s hair. In a fit of frustration she cut it all off. Savvel’s hair must have met with a similar fate––it was scarcely long enough to curl over his ears.
Mari came on the third day. “Oh, Sarid,” she said when she stepped into the parlor, and she stood back, gaping. Sarid felt small and awkward, like a shadow of her real self.
She must have made a ferocious impression, though, because the man who had come in after Mari edged to a corner of the room. “That’s the sister?” he said. He was stocky and dark, with curly black hair.
“This is Corban Eianhurt,” said Mari. “We’ve been staying at his older brother’s house in Ederul. You probably remember his younger brother from Charevost. One of Vanli’s friends.”
“The one who tried to tie you to the bed,” said Savvel helpfully.
“You’ll come with us?” said Mari. Sarid was surprised. No one had asked her that yet.
“Yes,” she said. “Where are we going?” And what, she thought, do you want me to do?
“Dirlan,” said Mari. “The city. Olan Caveira wants a council.”
Olan Caveira was the Duke of Dirlan. Rokal, Rischa’s friend (and another of the boys who had cornered her in her bedroom), was his younger brother.
Savvel glanced at Sarid’s face. “I’ll be there,” he said. “And they’ll be frightened enough to respect your opinions.”
“I don’t want to frighten people.”
“Then put a scarf over your head.”
The middle Eianhurt cleared his throat. “It’s three weeks’ ride to Dirlan.”
“Let’s not be so hasty,” said Mari. “I want a rest first.” She sank with a sigh onto the couch next to Leva, who was bent over the table, counting coins. “And I want to rinse the dust out of my hair. I look like an old dame with a powdered wig.”
“Is Mother coming to Dirlan?” said Leva.
“No. She’s an ache in her head from me and an ache in her stomach from you, she says.”
“And an ache in her neck, where she thinks Rischa will chop her head off.”
“Don’t be unkind.” Mari got up. “I’m taking a nap in your bed.” She went into an inner room; Sarid heard a bed creaking.
“Lord Corban,” said Savvel. The man gave a start. “Stop acting so nervous. Rischa’s not hiding under the couch. And I’ve trained Lady Hyeda well.”
Corban Eianhurt’s neck went a splotchy red. “My lord, we really should go. The Amar family live close.”
“Vassals to Pash?” said Savvel.
“They’re loyal to your brother––if they catch you, they’ll take you straight to Meliona, where he is.”
“And he’ll give me a padded apartment and chicken soup.”
“Which my sister will doubtlessly poison,” said Sarid.
“Sarid’s dangerous,” said Leva. “Don’t make her angry. Go get some sleep, Corban, you look like a corpse.”
Savvel got up and showed him the closet bed in his room.
“Idiot,” he said, when he came back.
“He’s got a point,” said Leva. “We should leave today. We’re right on the eastern border of Anefeln.”
Sarid plucked at her elbows. “Does everyone think I’m dangerous?”
“They’d better,” said Leva.
Sarid laughed suddenly. “Will Vanli be at this council?”
There was a thick silence. Savvel and Leva exchanged heavy looks. Leva said, “Vanli’s dead.”
Sarid’s throat pricked. She thought of Rischa.
“Executed?” she said.
“No.” Leva shook her head. “Could’ve been, though. He did something very stupid. When Rischa took the hall away from his family he tried to kill Yelse.” The corner of her mouth turned up—it wasn’t a smile. “With a sword. Never very subtle, was Vanli. Rischa didn’t bother with a trial––he killed him as soon as he heard. The Countess had a breakdown, and the Pashes left the next day. No one knows where to.”
Sarid sat down on a footstool. “He killed him? With his bare hands?”
“No. Rischa’s a string bean.” Leva tucked her hands between her knees. “It was a saber.”
Sarid put her hands up to her head, and was surprised for a moment at the shortness of her hair. She fought for the proper words. “He’s not in his right mind.”
“As good an excuse as any,” said Savvel.
“He’s under enchantment. My sister’s done something to him.”
“You did something to me, and I didn’t fall madly in love with an insane witch.”
Leva snorted, and Sarid said, “You’re every bit your brother. You would’ve done exactly the same.”
“No, I wouldn’t. I’m not so soppy.”
She ignored him and turned to Leva. “Do you despise Rischa, too?”
“I certainly don’t love him.”
“You must have felt something for him, or you wouldn’t have hated me.”
Leva tangled a hand in her hair, and shrugged. “You’re right, he’s not in his right mind.”
Nineteen
Mari and Corban Eianhurt slept for two hours. Then the group restocked provisions, and Sarid bade Gryka go back to wherever she had found a home before, as a three weeks’ journey was too long on foot for a wolfhound. And the group set off.
They traveled south alongside the slow Nolak River. The weather grew milder, and the land greener, with black patches of new-tilled earth and yellow splashes of wheat and rye sprouts. They stayed in inns and houses, changing horses every so often, keeping their identities a secret.
A week in they circled east to avoid the Gagethene, a treacherous stretch of bog and fen, and then they circled back––the river had become wider and browner––and came to the city of Dirlan.
The city had been built on a group of islands right before the Anvar Falls, where the river poured off a shelf onto the plains of Miryev. Dirlan had a network of canals and waterways, though not so many as other cities; the people of Dirlan walked and rode more than punted and paddled.
Though she was higher on Savvel’s horse than the people crushing round them, Sarid was overwhelmed. The fashions were bright, and the folk angry and loud, and the falls roared always in the distance. She thought she understood why horses had blinders and hawks wore hoods.
She tried to keep control, but sharp winds whistled before them, ruffling the water, ripping awnings away, and carrying off hats. Savvel called her a hellish nuisance and put her in front of him, twisting her head to the front whenever she turned to look at something.
Corban Eianhurt wanted to wear his family colors. “We don’t need a rally,” snapped Savvel. He was the only one with his hood up.
“I believe you’re as anxious as Sarid,” said Leva.
Sarid looked behind at Leva, who bounced on her bay palfrey and shrugged.
“For light’s sake.” Savvel turned her head back. “No hurricanes.”
They crossed a bridge to another island, and their mounts clopped up many steps to the ducal palace, which shone white in the sun, higher than anything else in the city. They were stopped by two guards with wolves on their breastplates and vambraces. The guards saluted, and they went on a high terrace. Grooms came forward to take their horses. Savvel helped Sarid down, and she turned toward the falls. Not meaning to, she pinched Savvel’s arm.
“What?” he said. “Is there a dragon?” He squinted south; his eyes seemed almost clear in the sun. He smiled. “You’ve never seen the ocean.”
Mist rose in a wave where the river plunged from sight. Then came wide yellow plains, and at the edge, right before the curve of the horizon, the sun made a white star on a great blank of what must be water.
The sight made her feel insignificant. It was a nice feeling. Savvel took her hand and they went into the palace.
Servants came forward to take their baggage, and the chamberlain said, “Madam Haek.” He bowed to Mari and turned to Savvel. “May I inquire––?”
“We’ll keep our names to ourselves,” said Savvel.
The chamberlain eyed Savvel’s ring. “His Highness may be as discreet as he likes, but his servants won’t forget who he is.”
“I hate the south.” Savvel turned to Sarid. “Want to share a room?”
“No,” said Leva. “People shouldn’t know you’re intimate.”
“How is that anyone’s business?” said Savvel.
“She’s right,” said Sarid. “With Rischa acting like he is––I’m sorry.” He looked spectacularly deflated.
It was decided that Sarid would stay with Mari and Leva, and the three girls followed a maidservant to a large apartment on the second floor. They peeled off their traveling clothes and splashed water on their dusty skin (Mari poured the pitcher over her head), and changed into gowns. Sarid wrapped her hair in a scarf. Mari said she looked like a Virnrayan dancer, and Leva said she would always look like a ghost no matter what, and then a page came to take them to the receiving room.
They were the first ones there. They sat and looked at a table with a bubbling silver samovar and a plate of little tarts.
They stood up when Duke and Duchess came in. Caveira was a man who might have been handsome once. He had heavy black brows, and his dark face contrasted markedly with his wife’s pale skin and yellow hair. Mari pointed out the enamel broach pinned to his collar––a rose and gold circle with a spotted cat. His grandmother was Savvel’s great aunt, she whispered to Sarid, and he wore the Eliav Suncat when he wanted to throw more weight around than a duchy allowed for. Sarid wondered why he had occasion to wear it now.
“Welcome ladies,” said Caveira. He kissed the hands of Mari and Leva, and avoided Sarid entirely. “Dinner is in an hour. You can dine in your quarters if you wish.” He sat down, and everyone followed suit. “I’ll wait to debrief you about aught else until––”
Savvel came in and looked first at the tarts on the table. “Are you all fasting?”
Sarid saw that everyone had stood up again, except her.
“Lady Hyeda,” he said, “thank you for your sincerity.” Savvel smiled at Leva, and threw himself down beside Sarid in a way that made it clear he wasn’t going to be nitpicked about it.
As everyone sat a second time, he took two tarts and ate them in one mouthful. The Duke and Duchess were staring at Sarid. Savvel took up a third tart. “Did Lady Hyeda not bother to introduce herself?”
“I’m sorry,” said the Duke to Sarid. “I mistook you for a lady’s maid.” He turned to his wife, and she nodded agreement. “A Rileldine.”
“Does she look Rileldine to you?” said Savvel.
“If it would please His Highness to know it,” said Leva, “we were about to hear a debriefing before His Highness burst in and
started stuffing his face.”
Savvel took one more tart and put it in his coat pocket. “Starving. Carry on.”
“In three days’ time the others shall have arrived,” said the Duke. “Our objective––” He hesitated, looking vaguely uncomfortable. “What to do with our misguided heir apparent.”
Savvel’s leg shuddered against Sarid’s.
That evening he showed up at the girls’ apartments and ate with them.
***
They spent the next two days wandering the gardens, Sarid examining the unfamiliar, waxy plants, and Savvel yawning and glancing every few minutes toward the city’s giant water clock.
On the third day it dawned bright and cool, and a bored-looking footman came after breakfast.
“Bet we’re the first ones there again,” said Leva to Mari. The footman was walking very fast, as though he’d more important matters to attend to than escorting them around the palace. “They’ve got to keep order in these troubled times.”
“You are a low rank for a prospective Ravinya,” Mari said.
“How did it happen they chose Leva?” said Sarid.
“I wasn’t their first choice,” said Leva.
“She was the highest ranking eligible woman,” said Mari.
“Eastern,” Leva clarified. “The Duke’s probably cursing his luck Rokal was born male. He would’ve thrown a sister so hard at Savvel the two would’ve been united in the flesh years before the wedding.”
“You are a low rank for a prospective Ravinya,” Mari said again. The footman, acting stubbornly deaf, opened a door onto a wide, marble terrace, and ushered them outside.
The sun shone and the air had grown warmer. The city glinted red and gold below them, and a purple haze hid the ocean and hinted at rain.
In the floor was a rectangular pit with three terraced rows of seats running along the sides, probably used for plays and entertainments. The chamberlain walked over and sat them along the bottom.
Then the Eianhurt men came in: Cai, Corban, and Usta. Their mother, Dame Grete, marched after them, a formidable-looking woman with a mustache. Duke Caveira and his wife came next, and with them was the Duke’s younger brother, Rokal.
