Alythia climbed the stairs with more energy and purpose in her legs than she recalled since her wedding day. Finally, she had a reason to go and see her father-in-law. Only a little thing, to be sure, but perhaps that was best… and, besides, the patachi doted on Tristi. If brave Tristi had befriended the wolf, then surely his father would find some pride in that.
Perhaps Gregan would be in his father's chambers, she thought as she walked the polished boards of the ornate upper hallway. She'd barely seen Gregan for a week. For some of that time, he'd gone to pay respects to the various dukes gathered in their properties neighbouring Petrodor. The short while he'd been home, he'd slept in a separate room and spent his time at great luncheons for Halmady and Steiner allies, or plotting in his father's chambers. Alythia began straightening her hair as she walked…and considered the grass stains on the sleeves of her dress. She nearly turned for her room to change, but she dared not lose this opportunity. And besides, soon word would spread that the barbarian daughter-in-law had dangled dear Tristi's head in a wolf's jaws for sport, and she preferred to be the one breaking news of events, instead of always reacting to them. That lesson, she'd learned long ago.
Arriving at the patachi's chambers she made a final adjustment to her hair and necklace, and knocked on the twin wooden doors. There was no reply. No footsteps either. Perhaps he was out…but there was typically a commotion when the patachi left the residence and there had been none tonight.
It frustrated her, to have such an opportunity, only to turn back now. She knocked again. Come to think of it, there was usually a guard outside this door. Where was he? Concerned, she opened the door. At the far end, glass doors opened onto a balcony, and a broad desk faced the view. Candles and lamps were lit. How odd that it should be empty. Perhaps the patachi was in his adjoining bedchambers…but if he were preparing for an early night, where were the private servants?
She walked forward past the table…and saw something odd on the floor beneath the desk. Only when she was nearly at the far windows did she recognise the shape in the shadow cast by the chandelier. It was a body. The body of Patachi Halmady, his face to one side, staring at her. Face down in a spreading pool of blood.
A hand clamped over Alythia's mouth before she could scream, and a knife pricked at her throat. “Not a word!” hissed a voice in her ear. “The signal's been given. It will be over soon!”
The man dragged her backward into the patachi's bedchambers. She was thrown onto the bed, and recovered to find herself staring at a man she recognised as a servant, in black tunic and lace collar, levelling a wicked looking knife. “Make a noise and you're dead,” he snarled. He was sweating, and seemed highly agitated. Through her terror, Alythia realised there was a weight on the bed to one side. She looked, and found Lady Halmady, her face pale and expressionless, eyes wide with shocked disbelief. Beneath her, the bedcovers were soaked red. On the floor beyond lay a maid, likewise unmoving.
Another man entered the patachi's chambers, giving a small whistle for recognition. He talked with the first in low, hushed tones, giving quick glances in Alythia's direction. Alythia saw that they had both armed themselves with sword belts-most unservantlike. Assassins.
Suddenly she could hear yells from beyond the balcony. Her heart leapt, hope and fright in equal measure. Someone had discovered the treachery. Any moment there would be armed men battering down the door and she'd be in the middle of the fighting. But, as hard as she listened, she could hear no running footsteps in the hallway. Instead, there came a faint metallic sound then a shriek of pain. The yells and clashes grew louder, seeming to come from all about the house. A battle, Alythia realised. Halmady was betrayed. The entire house was falling.
Alythia lay on the bed, frozen with fear. Only a few times in her life had she been truly frightened for her safety, but those had been nothing compared to this. She could not bring herself to move, barely even to breathe. Her left elbow was wet with Lady Halmady's blood. As much as she'd hated the old lady, she'd never wished upon her anything like this. Or if she had, she surely hadn't meant it. Nor imagined it so horribly, gut-wrenchingly awful a sight. Inexplicably, her frantic eyes fixed upon an ornate, golden sword in its sheath above the doorway. She'd seen such swords in her father's chambers in Baen-Tar and knew that, for all their decorative value, they were as sharp as any armoury weapon. But what could she do with a sword, even if she could retrieve it? Against two well-trained, professional murderers?
Footsteps rushed along the hall outside. A hammering at the door to the patachi's chambers. “Patachi! We are attacked! You must get to safety!” Alythia heard the door open, followed by a scream of pain. Then yelling in the chambers and the clashing of weapons. More screams and yells of rage. Through the doorway, Alythia saw a man fall, crash and roll. He struggled to rise, but seemed to register a helpless horror, for the sight of all the blood that poured out of him. Then to panic, tears in his eyes, a young man sobbing at the prospect of his own death, slashed from breast to navel and soaking in blood. Alythia nearly vomited, and then the world went black.
She awoke barely a moment later, for now the screams and howls of combat rang in her ears. Beyond the balcony windows, she could hear fighting in the garden. Vansy and Selyna! The thought of her maids thrust her from the bed and she leapt for the decorative sword above the door. It didn't come down the first time, so she knocked it upward instead, and it clattered to the floor. She picked it up and stared into the chambers beyond. There were bodies on the floor, Halmady soldiers, perhaps five. A bookshelf had collapsed, chairs overturned and the floor awash with blood. Beyond the central table, a struggle continued on the floor with desperate gasps and shouts. There was a final, horrifying scream, then a gurgle, as an arm thrust a knife repeatedly into a body.
A man rose-one of the assassins, his black servant's tunic bloodied and torn, a dripping knife in his hand. He turned, surveyed the carnage, and saw Alythia. Alythia's heart nearly stopped. The man's eyes were wild, yet cold. He saw the sword in her hands and snickered.
“You're not your sister, little Princess,” he said. “Put it away. I'll not lose my reward so easily.”
“I'm a princess of Lenayin! My father will double any reward you've been offered!” The words were out of her lips before she could think. She was aghast at herself.
Something hit the bedroom window behind from the outside, a shatter of falling glass. “What good is Lenay gold to me?” said the assassin, limping about the end of the table. He held his bloody thigh with one hand. “I live in Petrodor. So do you, Princess. The favour of Patachi Steiner will carry me further than your father's ever shall.”
Alythia stared at him. Patachi Steiner? They were attacked by Steiner? Their great and powerful ally? Marya! was her first thought. Her sister would save her. Marya would not see her harmed. But the roar of battle came loud and near from all about the mansion now and she was scared for her maids, and scared for Tashyna, and scared for little Tristi and Elra, and Halmady were so powerful, and there were so many guards, and surely they could not lose this fight in a direct assault…
She tore the sheath off the sword and circled the table, about the motionless body of the dying boy. She tried to hold the sword as she'd seen Lenay soldiers hold them, but this was a Torovan sword, thinner and lighter, made more for stabbing than cutting. There was only really room on the hilt for one hand, but she held it with two anyway, having no idea how it was done, otherwise.
The assassin blocked her way to the door. He held only a knife against her sword, yet to get past, she would have to go through him. It was clear from the look on his face that he didn't believe she could do it. Neither did she.
Suddenly there were new footsteps in the hall and a figure appeared in the doorway. The assassin half turned and Alythia saw a lithe man in embroidered tunic and tight leggings surveying the scene with horror, a sword in his hand. Gregan. In an eye blink, the assassin scooped up a fallen blade and threw the knife at Gregan. Gregan ducked aside before Alythia could scream, the knife slashing his sleeve, and charged the assassin. Blades clashed and Gregan half stumbled on a body, struggling to defend himself as he staggered sideways. Before she knew what she was doing, Alythia had charged, her blade upraised. The assassin cut at her and she jumped back just in time. Gregan took that chance to slash, taking the assassin across the forearm. He spun away with a strangled yell and Gregan was on him before he could recover, hacking once, twice, three times before the fourth finally exposed the man's defence and the fifth stabbed him clean through the ribs. The assassin fell into a wall and slid down, leaving a bloody trail behind.
“Papa!” cried Gregan, dashing immediately for the body behind his father's desk. He stared down at it, then spun and ran into the bedchamber as Alythia stood in helpless tears. When Gregan reemerged, he was ashen-faced. He stared at Alythia with haunted eyes.
“I'm so sorry!” Alythia sobbed. “I just came to talk to him about Tristi. Tristi wanted me to ask him if he could spend more time with the wolf, and I found that…that man here, and them already…already…”
Gregan embraced her. He looked her in the eyes and Alythia was surprised at the strength she saw there. And the fury. “He nearly had the better of me,” he said, jerking his head toward the dead assassin. “Your attack saved me. Today, I am Patachi Halmady. And you are Lady Halmady.” Alythia could only stare through tear-filled eyes. “Come, my love. We shall fight and defend our home.”
Petrodor was burning. Errollyn stood on the balcony and watched the flames and smoke rise from across the lower north slope. The house was a nondescript residence, humble for its position, upon the upper stretch of the Corkscrew, hemmed in on either side by crowded neighbours. But the balcony afforded a good view of the great houses of the upper ridge and a figtree ensured some privacy.
The door opened behind, but he knew it was Rhillian well before she spoke. “Word from Family Velo,” she said softly. “Mari Velo fished a body from the waters off the Cliff of the Dead this morning. It was Yulia Delin.” Errollyn recalled young Yulia from the Riverside raid. Strangely, he could not recall her from the fight itself. Rather, he saw her now in his mind as he'd found her that following day at House Rochel, curled in a chair, reading a book. His hands tightened on the railing. Rhillian stood against his side, a gentle warmth. “I'm sure they won't harm Sasha. I've not heard from Kessligh whether he's received a ransom demand or not. He's not talking to me.”
Errollyn gazed into the night. He felt no presence at his side, beyond the immediate warmth. Only emptiness. Such was the world of the du'janah. He did not feel it. He could not. Rhillian could not understand. Only Sasha could. He wanted her back so badly it hurt.
“Halmady's allies burn,” he said. “I count six fires. You've done your work well.”
“The northern stack turns on itself,” said Rhillian. “The predominant alliance of Petrodor is weakened. We are safer now.”
“No,” said Errollyn grimly. “They consolidate, that is all. The loss of six houses will weaken the Steiner alliance only a little. All you've done is give them an excuse to eliminate their internal divisions. They will rise from this stronger than before.”
“This is not all my doing.” Rhillian's emerald eyes were cool as she gazed out at the fires. “The divisions were real. Do not blame me because Sasha took a risk. I love her like a sister, but in truth, she is reckless. Probably her capture had something to do with this assault. But I can't be responsible for Sasha's wild urges, Errollyn.”
“This isn't about Sasha. It's about you not seeing what you've done.” Rhillian folded her arms and leant against the balcony railing. With her eyes, she challenged him to explain himself, as she'd done so many times before. “The Princess Alythia. What happens to her?”
Rhillian shrugged. “Events will tell. More importantly, the Steiner alliance shall be weakened from within and take many casualties.”
“No, not more importantly,” said Errollyn, frustrated. “She is royalty, Rhillian. Only Lenay royalty, but even that counts for something in Petrodor, however little the families like to admit it. Steiner already have Princess Marya, and Steiner's heirs have Lenay blood. Steiner has forged an alliance with Lenayin for at least three generations, and likely well beyond. Lenayin is the greatest fighting force of Rhodia, save for the Saalshen Bacosh. I've fought in Lenayin, and I've seen it. Warrior for warrior they are formidable, and if Lenay kings ever manage to bring the provinces to heel, they will grow more powerful yet.
“Rhillian, it's not just the serrinim who have miscalculated. King Torvaal miscalculated in wedding Princess Alythia to House Halmady. One daughter married to the powers of Petrodor did not seem sufficient, as power in Petrodor is spread so wide. He judged that wedding Alythia to Halmady, the second most powerful of the Steiner alliance, would strengthen those bonds further. Instead, he created a rivalry.”
“There are rivalries everywhere in Petrodor. Everyone assumed Halmady and Steiner were friends…what surprise that it turns out otherwise?”
“No.” Errollyn shook his head firmly. “Alliance to Lenayin could be the single most significant possession any great house of Petrodor holds. Alliance to Lenayin grants power with the priesthood, who are in search of an army, you may have noticed. And lately, priests have been disappearing. Primarily those from Halmady-allied families.”
“The thought had crossed my mind,” Rhillian admitted.
“We've been looking the wrong way,” Errollyn insisted. “This is not just another Petrodor power game, this is about Lenayin. Rhillian, we cannot allow Steiner to have possession of both Lenay princesses. Surely Steiner will take Alythia alive, and probably then find some way to wed her to one of their own…”
“That would run against all the Verenthane traditions of marriage,” said Rhillian, frowning.
“Who cares? They don't, not when there is this much power in the wind…”
He was interrupted by noise from within the house. He pushed through the door, Rhillian following, and found Aisha leaning against the fireplace, gasping for breath and covered in sweat. A woman of the local family who owned the house poured her a cup of water from a jug. Aisha drank thirstily.
“Halmady Mansion's gone,” she said, as her breathing recovered. “The fighting ends. They have not put the house to fire. I think they mean to keep it.”
Errollyn pictured what he knew of Halmady Mansion's layout. He added the length of time since the fighting had started, and the time it must have taken Aisha to run here with the news…“That was fast,” he concluded. “Well planned.”
“It's not as though they don't know Halmady's defences,” Rhillian reasoned. “Friends are easier to spy on than enemies.”
“There were Danor soldiers involved,” Aisha added, wiping blonde hair from her forehead. “And Vedichi. Adele reports seeing Coroman soldiers involved further down the slope against Family Ragini, but I did not see those myself.”
“How many would you estimate?” asked Rhillian.
“Oh…I think there's at least four hundred provincial soldiers in the city tonight,” said Aisha. “They play their hand early.”
“They are confident,” said Errollyn. “They do not fear Maerler, nor us.”
“Or desperate,” Aisha cautioned. “Halmady has many friends. Six houses were struck, the bulk of the force against Halmady Mansion, but the total force looks to me perhaps two thousand or more. That is no small commitment.”