Errollyn awoke to the sounds of the courtyard camp beyond the windows. It was louder than previous mornings. Cattle were lowing. Hooves clopped on stone. Tent straps rattled, and there were voices, gruff with sleep. He could smell campfires. A rooster crowed.
“Sounds like the whole damn countryside moved in to town,” Sasha murmured.
Errollyn knelt up in bed to peer through the shutters. The Tol’rhen courtyard was grey with smoke. Across its stones sprawled many campsites. The number had grown during the night.
There came a knocking at the door. Sasha groaned. “Go away,” she said, burrowing back into her sheets.
“Enter!” Errollyn called. The door opened, and a serrin girl of no more than twelve entered. She had white hair, a slender face and pretty grey eyes. She wore pants rather than robes, identifying her as a talmaad in training. However, she wore no blade.
“Errollyn!” exclaimed the girl, coming to the bedside. “You must attend the Council of Ythemen this day at the lunch hour.”
“Must I?”
“Yes.” the girl insisted. She looked familiar, though Errollyn could not recall an introduction. “Ythemen is visiting all the way from Umal’ester’han, and she has much ra’shi!”
“And what shall Ythemen be doing at the Mahl’rhen today at the lunch hour,” Errollyn asked with amusement, “that shall require my attendance? Juggle flaming balls? Swallow a whole cow? Perform some sexual trick with a candle?”
Beneath the sheets, Sasha whacked his leg.
Being serrin, and largely unshockable in such matters, the girl barely blinked. “But Errollyn, she came all the way from-”
“Umal’ester’han, yes, I know. Girl, have you ever been to Umal’ester’han?” The girl shook her head. “It’s a series of boardwalks atop a muddy bog. You’ll find greater native wisdom here.”
“Lesthen requires your presence,” said the girl, more sternly.
“Will Lesthen swallow a cow?” said Errollyn. “I’d turn up to see that.”
“Spirits forbid he tries the trick with the candle,” Sasha murmured. Errollyn grinned.
“Girl, I’m busy,” he said. “Try another day.”
The girl frowned at him. Serrin could never figure him out, whatever their age. Before she could leave, Sasha flung out her hand and grabbed the girl by the jacket. She pulled her closer, and slitted open her eyes.
“Serrin truly have no concept of privacy, do they?” Sasha said.
The girl blinked at her. “Should I have waited outside? It was not my intention to cause offence.”
Sasha sighed. “No. No, of course not. Damn serrin. What’s your name?”
“Letish.”
“Letish. In some parts of Tracato, if you rush in on a man and woman abed, you’ll be sorry for it. Be aware.”
“I’m sorry,” said Letish with a small bow, looking anything but. She was gazing at Sasha with intense curiosity.
“I’m not offended,” Sasha said with exasperation. “Others might be. Where are your parents?”
“In Saalshen.”
“How long since you’ve seen them?”
“Two years.” As though nothing could be more normal.
Sasha smiled. “You go home now, and you tell Lesthen to stop pestering Errollyn.” She gave the girl a kiss on the cheek, and burrowed back into her pillow. The girl began to leave, astonished and pleased. Halfway to the door, she dashed back, kissed Sasha on the cheek in kind, then left with a smile. Errollyn saw Sasha was smiling too.
“You’ve confused her,” said Errollyn. “She thinks that’s some kind of custom now.”
“Perhaps it should be,” said Sasha. “It never hurts to be nice.” She closed her eyes. “I’m always nice to serrin, I can’t help it. Maybe too nice.”
“I’d never say that,” said Errollyn. Sasha kicked him beneath the sheets, but gently.
Errollyn got up, stretched briefly and wrapped himself in a robe to visit the privy. The Mahl’rhen had been trying to lure him back since his arrival. Word had spread from Rhillian, on her passing through, of his odd behaviour in Petrodor. “Traitorous” was not a word serrin would naturally use. But he had them alarmed. Rather than deal with the problem directly, serrin did what they always did-they talked. Endless talking, endless councils, endless lectures and halfhearted attempts to understand. He’d given up trying by the end of the first day. Now, they sent messengers pleading with him to return to the fold.
Sasha appeared to have gone back to sleep. Errollyn stood and looked at her for a long moment. There was something vaguely wild and untamed in the muscles of her arms and shoulders, the way she sprawled on the mattress, the way her hair stuck up against the pillow. The sight of it set free something wild and untamed in him, too.
He crawled overher, and sat straddling upon her backside. Then he dug his fingers into her shoulders and neck, just the way she liked. Sasha smiled and winced. She worked hard at those muscles, perhaps harder than a man needed to. After some bad strains she could barely turn her head.
“You have classes today?” she asked him.
“I promised Ulenshaal Timar I’d take a Saalsi class,” said Errollyn. “After that, I have Aemon to visit.”
“You be careful with Aemon; the Tracato nobility may look very tame but underneath I’m certain they’re no different from elsewhere.”
“I know,” Errollyn said mildly. He slid his hands down her back, then up her bare sides.
“That doesn’t do my stiffness any good at all,” she said, smiling.
“Does wonders for mine,” said Errollyn. Sasha laughed. She threw off the sheets and rolled over.
“Come on then,” she dared him, with her irresistible, mischievous smile. “Wake me up properly.”
After morning training, and a wash, Errollyn walked to the Tol’rhen courtyard to see the camp. There had to be a thousand people, he guessed. Some made tents from wooden frames, others strung ropes between statues upon which to drape canvas, while others slept under carts. Now there were fires, and farm animals gathered amidst piles of hay. Banners hung, several draped over statues-the sickle-and-scythe flag of the Civid Sein.
Tol’rhen Nasi-Keth walked amongst them, handing out food and blankets. A cart was making the rounds, unloading firewood, also supervised by Nasi-Keth. Errollyn saw several youngsters he knew, talking amiably with rough-dressed rural folk. All the rural folk seemed to be armed, some with tools, some with genuine weapons. About the courtyard perimeter, Blackboots were watching, with grim expressions.
By the foot of a grand statue of some famous general, Errollyn spotted Ulenshaal Sevarien and Reynold Hein, in conversation with several Civid Sein men. He walked to them, and wondered what cityfolk would make of these outsiders using their historical statues for tent posts. Sevarien spotted him, and waved him over.
“Master Errollyn!” he boomed. “These are farmers Stefani and Dujane, leaders of our gathering.”
Our gathering? Errollyn wondered to himself.
“Where is your satellite?” asked Reynold, looking around.
“Presently eclipsed in a class of Lenay history,” said Errollyn, flexing a shoulder where Sasha had struck him at training.
“Ah, Sashandra would make an excellent Ulenshaal!” exclaimed Sevarien with a laugh. “It might help the meaningful discussion of Lenay history if she could do so without waving her sword around midlesson, mind you.”
“Sasha believes that history should never be dull,” Errollyn said, shaking his head. “The camp has grown considerably.”
Farmer Stefani nodded. “Soon it will be bigger,” he assured them. He was a large man, with a moustache, and smelled of animy N “We heard what General Zulmaher is doing in Elisse. This cannot be allowed-Elisse cannot become a stronghold for the Rhodaani nobility’s feudalist allies.”
Sevarien beamed, and slapped Stefani’s shoulder. “And nor shall it be allowed. We’ll show those nobility that Rhodaan belongs to the common folk, not the entitled wealthy.”
Reynold excused himself and made off through the crowd.
“What kind of demonstration do you intend?” Errollyn asked. He made his tone conversational, betraying no concern.
“Whatever it takes,” said Stefani, with dour certainty. “The nobility debate in council, how to restore taxation to the landed men. Maldereld made it illegal two hundred years ago, and now they try to bring it back. To remove the power of the Council, and replace it with the money of nobility and their paid men-at-arms.” He glowered in the direction of the Blackboots. “In Enora they’d cut off their heads for daring to suggest it.”
“My friends at the Mahl’rhen are certain it won’t go that far,” Errollyn offered. “They say the debate in council is more about relieving some overburdened nobility from too much taxation, not about granting nobles the power of taxation.”
“Dear Errollyn,” said Sevarien, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You of all people should know better than to place much store in the analysis of the Mahl’rhen. Yours are a gentle people, they do not understand the viciousness and brutality of such folk as the nobility. Only a du’jannah such as yourself can understand.”
Errollyn thought he understood quite well. Exactly what he understood, about gatherings like this one, and some of the Nasi-Keth’s recent infatuation with them, he did not think wise to share.
Sasha was talking to Ulenshaal Martinesse when Reynold appeared at the door. The class had been overflowing, with students standing in alcoves and sitting against the stone walls to fit in. Martinesse had interrupted frequently, and the two women had argued for much of the class, to the delight of onlookers. Sasha had been quite alarmed at just how wrong Martinesse’s interpretations were of the reasons for Verenthanism’s spread through Lenayin. Now the silver-haired lady continued the debate, as perhaps twenty students clustered about to hear.
“Ladies, please excuse me,” Reynold cut in, walking from the doorway. “Ulenshaal, could I borrow Sashandra for a moment? She is much in demand, I know.”
The students looked disappointed. “We shall continue this at lunch,” Martinesse told them.
“Assuredly,” said Sasha.
“Come students!” Martinesse announced, clapping her hands. “I know you have other classes to get to.” They departed, some with a final, appreciative thanks to Sasha.
“Martinesse is an excellent Ulenshaal, yes?” Reynold said.
“She’s very smart,” said Sasha, trying to be polite. That much was true at least, and she hated lying.
“But?”
“I don’t know, some of the people in this place…I mean, they’re very clever, but they have these favourite ideas. And instead of accepting that they’re wrong when evidence proves their favourite ideas silly, they refuse to, and twist all evidence to try to make it fit their opinion.”
“Ah,” said Reynold. “But you cannot deny the passion for ideas in this place.”
“Ideas, yes,” said Sasha. “But ideas are not facts. Any fool can invent a crazy idea and be passionate about it, I don’t see that counts as wisdom.”
Reynold laughed. “Oh, come, surely we’re not that bad?”
“Not all of you, no,” Sasha conceded, stretching. She needed to get outside for a while, and clear her head. “Not most of you. I don’t know…. I’m from a land of simple, straightforward people, Reynold; they say what they think and accept facts as they appear obvious. They’re not as sophisticated as anyone here, but I don’t think education and wisdom are necessarily the same thing.”
“Or perhaps you’re just homesick.”
Sasha shrugged, and smiled at him. “A little,” she admitted. “Did you wish to speak to me about something?”
Reynold thought for a moment. “I was wondering of your relationship with Errollyn.”
Sasha gave a puzzled smile. Reynold would not be the first to be curious about that. Hells, she was curious herself. “Yes?”
“Do you foresee marriage?”
Sasha laughed. “To a serrin?”
“It does happen, in Tracato,” Reynold insisted. “Initiated by the serrin themselves.”
“I’d never thought that far. Foresight and planning aren’t my strong points, as Kessligh’s always telling me.”
“So you don’t foresee marriage?”
“Reynold, I honestly couldn’t say.”
“He is very handsome,” Reynold pressed. “Most girls would be jealous of the chance to bed a man like him each night.”
Sasha was amused, but didn’t find the conversation reason enough to stay away from the sunlight. “Yes, well, the many jealous girls of Tracato will just have to deal with it. I have to get outside, I can’t stay inside for long.”
She headed for the door, expecting him to walk with her. Reynold stepped backward instead, facing her, partly blocking the way. “I mean, if I were bedding some stunningly beautiful girl,” he continued, “then I might prolong that situation for as long as possible, even if I did not intend to marry her.”
“Um, sure,” said Sasha, slowing down.
“But such a relationship could not continue forever,” he continued. “At some point, don’t you think, the flesh might tire of such simple pleasures?”
He reached for her cheek. Sasha was astonished, but mostly at herself, for being so dense. She was so unaccustomed to being courted. In Lenayin, most men desired a picture of feminine domesticity, and she was certainly not that.
She took a step back. “Reynold, I’m truly flattered. But Errollyn is more than my bed partner, he’s my best friend. Please understand.” She tried a smile, and hoped that worked. Spirits knew what went on in the minds of men, in such situations.
“Oh, come, you’re Lenay,” Reynold said easily. “The women of Lenayin are adventurous, surely?”
“Passionate,” Sasha corrected. “And loyal.”
“Next you’ll be trying to tell me that Errollyn is the only man you’ve bedded.”
Sasha opened her mouth to reply in the affirmative, and stopped. None of his damn business anyway. Now she was getting frustrated.
“Reynold, look. You seem a nice man, but the answer is no. I’d like to go outside now.” She gestured him out of the way. He advanced another step instead.
“Sashandra, you are an amazingly beautiful woman. I am not an inexperienced man, I am certain you’d not be disappointed.”
Sasha realised that she was retreating. She stopped, and he drew very close. “Look,” she began angrily, “let me make this very plain for you-”
Reynold tried to kiss her. Sasha sidestepped quickly. Reynold grinned, and pursued. In desperation Sasha threw a punch at him, and missed. He grabbed her arm and wrestled her close, and suddenly her arms were pinned, and his hands were on her, and there was no leverage at all. She couldn’t reach her knife, let alone her sword, and he was pushing her against a wall-not an enormously large or strong man, but a swordsman all the same, and infuriatingly she’d missed her opening chance. How many times had Kessligh warned her never to let a man get this close? She was a strong girl but against fighting men it was not enough; with her it was blades or nothing.
He had her off balance against the wall. In a flash of inspiration, she kissed him hard. She could feel his surprise against her body, his momentary flutter of excitement and astonishment…he grabbed her and kissed her back harder. That freed her arm, and she grabbed his balls, and squeezed tighter than she’d ever squeezed anything.
His face contorted, his grip slackened. In sheer fury for the taste of his mouth in hers, she smashed him with her forehead. He fell to his knees, clutching his nose, and Sasha drew her sword in a flash and put it to his neck. She felt unsteady, seeing stars, and her head hurt. That had been stupid. What the hells was she going to do, kill him? This shining intellect of the Tol’rhen, who until now had been nothing but pleasant and civilised? This unarmed man, who had never drawn a blade against her?
She sheathed the blade, and resisted the temptation to kick Reynold senseless while she had the chance. She strode out into the hallway, putting a hand to her head to check for blood. She found none. Still she couldn’t think straight, and doubted that was the blow to her head.
Who should she tell? Errollyn would kill him. Or not…but he’d finish what she’d started, and produce a lot moreeigeding. Kessligh would…hells, she had no idea what Kessligh would do. Much of the Tol’rhen would undoubtedly side with Reynold. He was their man, their esteemed leader. She felt unclean. Damn him for doing this to her. What the hells had possessed him? The desperate need of a fuck? Surely not-Reynold was charming, not unattractive, and many women swooned after him. Why her?
The more she thought about it, the more furious she became. A few more strides down the hallway and she nearly reversed and drew her blade, to do what she should have done in the name of Lenay honour and cut his head off. But it was too late now-Lenay custom dictated that hot blood was fair and just, but now the moment was passed. Damn him.
She entered the great hall, one of Tracato’s many architectural marvels. There was a commotion at the far end, amidst the usual student bustle. People had gathered in numbers and voices were raised. Sasha strode that way, in a perfect mood for trouble. Hopefully someone would need killing. Someone evil.
A group of students were booing. Sasha pushed through the crowd and saw a small cluster of well-dressed men in argument with several black-robed Ulenshaals. Very well-dressed men, Sasha corrected herself, eyeing the jewelled sword pommels, the intricate embroidery on their jackets and pants, the feather tufts in wide brimmed hats. Nobility.
High nobility, she corrected herself further, seeing the woman in the blue gown who accompanied them, with a pair of servants in close attendance. The gown was more understated than some Sasha had seen, yet tasselled and embroidered to an extravagant extent for a journey into territory beyond comfortable noble grounds….
The beautiful young woman noted Sasha, and her eyes widened. “Sasha!” Sasha’s jaw dropped.
“’Lyth?”
Alythia crossed to her with unladylike haste, and embraced her. Sasha hugged her back. Her sister smelled of perfumes beyond Sasha’s experience to describe. Alythia pulled away and grinned at her.
“I told you I’d come!” she exclaimed, daring Sasha to contradict her.
She had told her. They’d exchanged letters, a ludicrous contrivance for two sisters living barely a morning’s run away, but it had been the only way for more than two weeks now. Once within the fold of Family Renine, Alythia had vanished. Sasha had worried, and accosted several noble messengers to insist they delivered her concerns into important hands. Finally there had been a letter, in Alythia’s script, insisting she was well, and happy, and of increasingly good fortune. Sasha had not been surprised, but suspicious. Further correspondence had convinced her that Alythia’s words were genuine. They could not meet. Alythia was always “engaged,” and nobility did not visit the Tol’rhen in these times.
“Dear Lord Elot,” said Alythia, turning back to her group, “you do recall my sister Sashandra?”
“Indeed,” said Lord Elot, and Sasha recalled the lord from the night of their arrival in Tracato. That had been the last time she’d seen Alythia, until now. “We meet again, Lady Sashandra.”
Sasha returned his bow. “Lord Elot.”
“And Master Alfriedo,” said Alythia, takig Sasha’s hand and walking her over. Sasha realised that she was addressing a boy of no more than fourteen-she had overlooked him entirely, his head came barely to Lord Elot’s wide midriff. His young face was very fine and pale, he wore a small sword at his hip, and carried himself with lordly dignity.
Alfriedo, Alythia had said. This must be Alfriedo Renine. The rightful heir to the long dormant throne of Rhodaan. If one still believed in that nonsense.
Alythia curtseyed low. “Master Alfriedo, may I introduce my sister, Sashandra.” She presented Sasha’s hand to the boy. Alfriedo, with impeccable etiquette, took Sasha’s hand and kissed it.
“Dear Lady,” he said, his voice high and clear. His eyes were very blue. Sasha had heard a scandalous rumour that the boy king had serrin blood. Seeing him now, she wondered. “Is it true, as your sister tells me, that you prefer not to be addressed by the royal title of your birth?”
Sasha gave him a bow of respect, but no more. Behind the boy, several lords’ faces darkened with displeasure. “I do,” she said. “And more to the point, my father disapproves that anyone should use the title.”
“Perhaps then we should start calling you Princess?” Alfriedo suggested. “It would not do to please the King of Lenayin.” The nobles laughed. The surrounding gathering was largely silent, all shouldering each other to see. “I have come, at your sister’s encouragement, to tour the Tol’rhen. I have always desired to, and now I have the opportunity.”
Sasha was astonished. So were most of those around them. She spared a quick glance at Alythia, and found her sister’s gaze trained very firmly upon her. Alythia was up to something.
“I see no reason why that should be a problem,” Sasha recovered herself to say.
“I can think of several,” said one of the Ulenshaals drily. Garen, Sasha recalled the man’s name. “Feudalism is a disease of the mind; we exorcised it from Rhodaan two centuries ago. Feudalists and their ilk are not welcome in the Tol’rhen.”
There was some loud agreement from the crowd. Lord Elot looked stonily unsurprised. As though, Sasha thought, he expected this exercise to fail, and was pleased with the prospect.
“Exactly what kind of intellectual are you?” Sasha asked Garen sharply.
“The discerning kind,” said Garen, and several in the crowd tittered.
“You’re a bigot,” she told him.
Garen’s eyes widened. “I beg your pardon?”
“Can you show me one passage in all written works of serrin philosophy that states that a person with an alternative point of view should be turned away, without engagement?”
“Feudalism is a plague upon the land!” Garen said angrily. “Everything that held humanity back for centuries was swept away when Maldereld abolished feudal powers in Rhodaan, and now these characters wish to bring it back!”
“Well, I think that’s a fine argument!” Sasha said grandly. “Make it!” She indicated to the ting nobles. “You call yourself Nasi-Keth, yet you refuse to debate! What have the serrin taught us if not to advance knowledge through congenial argument?” Garen’s look was sullen. “Show them around your marvellous institution! How ridiculous is it that the highest nobility have rarely seen it with their own eyes. Here’s your chance, show them what they’re missing, or admit that you’re either too feeble an intellect to make your case persuasively, or too cowardly a man to engage your foe upon the field of intellectual battle.”
There was a silence in the hall. Then, an isolated applause. Another joined it, and another. There was little enthusiasm in it, but no one shouted the applauders down. Ulenshaal Garen took a deep breath, seeing that he’d lost. Lord Elot also looked displeased.
“Very well,” said Garen. “People, guests, if you will follow me?” He gestured down the hall, and the crowd parted.
Young Alfriedo paused before following, and looked up at Sasha with respect. “Lady Sashandra. Your sister told me that you were formidable. I see that she has told me only the truth.” He glanced at Alythia, who smiled and bowed her head gracefully.
“Smart kid?” Sasha suggested.
“Oh, you have no idea,” said Alythia. “He is a proper little lord, Sasha, smart well beyond his years. More so than most of his elders, I think.”
They sat at a study table on the balcony overlooking the Tol’rhen library. They had followed the guided tour as far as the library, before taking their leave to talk in private. The touring party had attracted quite a crowd, and were thus far all well mannered. Kessligh’s arrival had ended any further chance of trouble, despite the continued displeasure of several Ulenshaals. The last Sasha had seen, Kessligh and Alfriedo had been engaged in an animated discussion on various points of Tol’rhen learning.
“What about his mother?” Sasha pressed. “I hear stories.”
“Oh everyone in this city tells stories,” Alythia scoffed. “Lady Renine is an amazing woman. She’s well educated, she speaks five tongues and knows so much of the history of these lands, yet the Civid Sein speak of her as though she were stupid. She’s the reason Alfriedo has had such a good education. She is a fine mother to her son.”
“And what of you?” Sasha pressed. “What is your situation with them?”
“Family Renine have been very kind,” said Alythia, with measured satisfaction. “I have been granted my own quarters, with a staff of five. I am a guest of the noble household.”
“I can think of several other words for it.”
“Such as?”
“Hostage. Bargaining piece.”
“Sasha, all institutions shall seek power and leverage,” Alythia said impatiently, “including this one. You don’t think the Nasi-Keth seek similar advantage from you and Kessligh?”
Sasha opened her mouth to retort, then thought of Ulenshaal Sevarien and Reynold Hein, their efforts toward the Civid Sein and their attempts to drag her and Kessligh into it. She looked away in frustration.
Alythia frowned at her. “Sasha, is something the matter? You seem a little…tense.”
“I’m all right.” She was actually pleased that Alythia had noticed. “Unwanted male attention,” she admitted.
Alythia smiled broadly. “Ah,” she said wisely. “You can’t kill them all, can you?” Sasha scowled at her. “It’s someone of status, yes? Someone well regarded within the Nasi-Keth? Difficult when there are no clear lines of good and evil, isn’t it?”
“I’m glad it amuses you.”
Alythia clasped Sasha’s hand. “I’m sorry. It’s just that you’re finally in my world. I cannot be the blunt instrument all the time that you are, Sasha. Or the sharp one, more correctly. I can’t just fight people who offend me, there is too much etiquette at play, too many conflicting loyalties. If I have been short with you in the past, it is perhaps because you seemed to have so much success taking the easy way out, and fighting. I’ve had to tolerate fools, Sasha, and unwanted advances, and all kinds of demeaning nonsense. You never did, and I envied that.”
Sasha smiled at her, and grasped her hand tightly in return. They had been enemies for so long, and now, they were friends. It was the discovery of long-lost family.
“So, how do you see it?” she asked. “What do Family Renine want from you?”
“It’s difficult to say,” Alythia said. “I’m not entirely certain they are themselves sure. But consider the options from their perspective. First, the Army of Lenayin wins, and marches on Tracato. They have me for a hostage, or at least for a negotiator, perhaps to put in a good word for them with our father.”
“If you were wed to one of them…” Sasha added, and did not need to complete the sentence.
“There have been leading questions,” Alythia admitted. “But no firm offers for now. Under Lenay law the marriage would not stand without the king’s first prior approval…”
“Unlikely,” Sasha agreed.
“But it bears thinking on. The second option is that the Army of Lenayin loses, in which case they may expect to see members of our family fall.” Sasha nodded grimly. “In that case, there is no telling where I would stand within the succession-”
“Nowhere, as women cannot sit the throne.”
“But if wedded, what of my husband?”
Sasha stared at her for a moment, thinking that over. “No no no,” she said. “I’m not that far gone from noble circles that I don’t know at least the basic rules of succession. Foreign husbands can’t inherit, men have to be true born Lenays. It’s Koenyg, then Wylfred-”
“Who has taken the oath of brotherhood and cannot stand,” said Alythia.
“Then Damon and Myklas,” Sasha finished. “You’re older than Damon but he and Mykas still come before you as men…”
“And if they all fall?” Alythia said sombrely.
Sasha didn’t like to think about that, but circumstance demanded she must. “I’m not sure anyone knows. Our family’s only sat the throne for a hundred years. The circumstance has never arisen.”
“This is the point, Sasha. I’m not sure that anyone knows.”
“But surely…I mean, Great-Grandpa Soros must have written it down?”
“Oh, yes,” said Alythia, “the rules of succession are set, as you said. But they’re old, Sasha, and untested. You know Lenayin, you know the battle to get the lords to do anything the way it’s supposed to happen. Lenayin today is a vastly different nation than Grandpa Soros thought it would be, a hundred years since the Liberation.”
Sasha nodded. Alythia made a lot of sense. “If all our family’s men fall, what’s supposed to happen?”
“Sons of the oldest heir,” said Alythia, “in descending order of course.”
“Little nephew Dany,” Sasha said distastefully. “A Hadryn inherits the throne.”
“He’s not actually Hadryn.”
“His mother is. And if Koenyg were dead, she’d rule his choices, the Archbishop would control his education…”
“Yes,” Alythia conceded with a shrug. “It would be like the Hadryn acquiring the throne of Lenayin, certainly. Which would upset so many Lenay lords, to say nothing of Lenay people, that likely war would result. Which is why I don’t think the lords would allow it to happen, and Grandpa’s rules of succession be damned.”
“So who would have an equal competing claim? Surely not a son of yours with some Tracato noble?”
“Sasha, think about it.” Alythia leaned forward, eyes deadly serious. “What has been the single greatest advantage our family has had in ruling Lenayin the last century? The reason why the lords don’t just get rid of us, as they so easily could?”
“We don’t get involved in lordly disputes.”
“Exactly. Baen-Tar is not a true province, and the royal family has no provincial loyalty. We’re independent. The lords abide by Father’s decisions because they know he is impartial. However much they disagree with any decision he makes against them, they’d still rather keep the king on the throne because they know the one to replace him would be a provincial great lord, and that would be intolerable.”
“Like having a Hadryn on the throne,” Sasha said slowly.
“Exactly,” said Alythia, knocking the table for emphasis. “Half of Lenayin would rather tear the land apart than see it happen, because they know the chances of impartiality from a Hadryn king are precisely nil. And the Hadryn know the same of them.”
“You think that an outsider, born in Tracato…”
e HC;As Grandpa Soros was educated in Petrodor,” Alythia agreed, “to the extent that he was practically a Torovan when he ascended to the throne and barely spoke a native tongue…”
“Oh,” said Sasha.
“It’s not without precedent in Lenayin,” Alythia concluded. “Most of the great lords would rather see a son of mine, raised in Tracato, ascend to the throne than any son of Koenyg’s.”
“Wait, there’s Petryna, she’s older than you.”
“And her son is heir to the Great Lordship of Yethulyn, same problem as with Hadryn. And Marya’s older than us all, but the chances that any in Lenayin would let sons of the new King Marlen of Torovan ascend are unlikely, given it would simply make Lenayin a province of Torovan, beneath the command of King Marlen Steiner.”
“And a son of Sofy would be beholden to the commands of Larosan nobility,” Sasha added.
“Besides which, I’m older,” Alythia agreed. “But yes, the very advantage of it being a son of mine, if the Army of Lenayin lost its fight, is that Family Renine are relatively powerless outside of Rhodaan. If the Army of Lenayin had lost, it would certainly suggest the current order here would still stand, which precludes Family Renine from assuming any greater feudal power. Meaning a son of mine would be a true outsider, with no unwanted connections. Perfect for Lenayin.”
“You’ve thought about this a lot,” Sasha said warily.
“Aye, well you think about sword fighting, and I think about noble politics. It’s our lot in life.”
Sasha was unconvinced. She no longer hated Alythia, if she ever truly had, but some of her previous assessments of her sister, she did not doubt. Power drove Alythia. Obsessed her, in every waking moment. It was not necessarily a flaw; as Alythia said, Sasha knew what it was to be obsessive in competitive matters, and that it did not always equate with evil. And yet…
“Sasha, I’m thinking of Lenayin, as are you,” Alythia said firmly, as though reading her mind. “The armies of the Steel have not been defeated in two hundred years. If Lenayin suffers a catastrophic loss, royal ranks could be decimated, and then Hadryn takes the throne. We need options.”
“Who would you wed?”
“I haven’t decided. It would take a long time to raise a son to rule, if the great lords agreed to his legitimate claim. There would need to be a caretaker. A regent, of sorts.”
“All right, this has now become too hypothetical for me. ’Lyth, we have more short-term problems than Lenayin’s succession. What’s General Zulmaher doing in Elisse?”
“You’re the soldier. You tell me.”
“Many around here are saying he’s a puppet of the Renines, that he’s more interested in making noble friends in Elisse than destroying feudalism there.”
Alythia sighed. “Sasha, I am a new guest in the Renine household. I have leverage there, but not yet trust. I know nothing of the Renines’ schemes.”
p height="0" width="20"›“Do you think that there are schemes?”
“It’s a noble household, of course there are schemes. I know that everyone’s quite alarmed at these Civid Sein fools suddenly pouring into town.”
“The surest way to rouse the Civid Sein is to set up Elisse as a feudal ally to the north,” Sasha said with certainty. “I don’t know…why do the nobles want to tear down everything that’s been built here? Had you ever imagined a city such as this, before you came here?”
“It’s very impressive, yes,” Alythia said wryly.
“It’s the wealth, and the ideas!” Sasha was almost surprised at her own enthusiasm. “I’ve been thinking a lot since I’ve been here, and there are many ideas we could take back to Lenayin. I’d love to see a Tol’rhen like this in Baen-Tar.”
Alythia smiled indulgently at her younger sister. “You forget yourself, Sasha,” she said. “The Army of Lenayin is marching to burn this place down.”
“No.” Sasha shook her head. “I can’t believe that. If our army wins, Father would never order all of this destroyed.”
“He would not wish to, no,” Alythia agreed. “But, Sasha, look at what’s happened here. All these institutions, this learning and invention that impresses you so much, this is the nobility of Rhodia’s worst nightmare. This is a vision of the world without them. What was that old tale, about the king whose death is foretold by the fortune teller, and he orders every fortune teller killed? Why do you think this place has been so endlessly attacked the last two hundred years?”
“So why do the Renines want to pull down everything that’s made Rhodaan a success in that time?”
“They don’t want to pull everything down!” Alythia insisted. “They’re proud Rhodaanis, but…have you been following the council deliberations lately?” Sasha sighed, nodding reluctantly. “They bicker and bribe and betray. They call themselves the elected representatives, yet in truth barely one in five has earned his seat with a fair vote. Rhodaan shall fall if she does not have a firm hand. You’re a soldier, you know that an army cannot win without firm leadership.”
Sasha stretched back, hands in her hair. “It’s so frustrating. Every side has a piece of the puzzle, yet they refuse to share.”
“Sasha, you should meet with Lady Renine,” Alythia insisted. “You have heard only ill of her since you have been here, where everyone hates her. You will be astonished, I promise you. She loves everything about Rhodaan that you do, as does Alfriedo. And she despairs at the inaction of the council.”
“’Lyth,” Sasha said, “I’m not about to take sides in this.”
“I’m not asking you to. On the contrary, you could be the perfect neutral mediator. Someone who can bring the sides to talking, instead of fighting.”
Sasha stared across the library. She could not help the terrible feeling that she would be betraying her nation. The Army of Lenayin was marching to war aga Rhodaan, and here she would be trying to help Rhodaan put its house in order.
Lenayin and Rhodaan were not yet at war, she told herself. Sofy was yet to marry. Larosa and Lenayin were a poor match, anyone could see it, and if those two sides came to blows in a fit of mutual outrage at the other’s appalling behaviour, Sasha would not be surprised. The die was not yet cast, and until then, her loyalties, and indeed her duty, lay with Kessligh.
The Torovan maps called it Panae Achi, or Harbourtown, but the locals called it Reninesenn, or Renine’s Town, in Rhodaani. Errollyn walked the cobbled streets, past wagons loaded with cargo, and wholesalers crowded with buyers. The haggling spilled onto the streets.
Blackboots chatted easily with a barber before his shop, cleaning a razor on his smock. A tavern did a rowdy business of sailors and dockers. In front of a bakery, women piled fresh bread into a handcart.
The Civid Sein liked to paint Tracato’s divisions as entirely of class, the wealthy against the poor, but Reninesenn showed otherwise. Noble families had always controlled the trade in Tracato. Today the old ties lingered, and the Dockside folk had not embraced the idea of a future without the nobility, preferring instead the old ties of patronage and wealth. Noble families owned most of the ships and nearly all of the warehouses, and any merchant or trader looking to move goods had to establish good connections.
Errollyn did not sense any hostility toward him but, equally, he knew he should be careful what he said.
Questions on the docks took him to a tavern opposite a grain warehouse, where carts crowded three deep, and men heaved heavy sacks onto waiting shoulders. Errollyn walked straight to the barkeeper, past tables of loud-talking men.
“I’m looking for Duchess Teresa,” he said to the barkeep, who waved him toward a table by the windows. Errollyn saw a table of sailors, rough looking yet not quite as disreputable as popular myth. Some had good coats, though hard wearing, and many wore braids in the fashion of seafarers. All looked as though they’d bathed in the last day or two.
“Welcome, sir!” said one man in Torovan as Errollyn approached the table.
“I thank you,” said Errollyn.
“And what can I do you for?” Conversation at the table ceased, yet Errollyn sensed no ill will. Serrin business on the docks was common and, for the most part, welcomed.
“I’m looking to buy raw silver and gemstone,” said Errollyn, hooking his thumb into his belt by a money pouch. “I’d heard the Duchess Teresa was in the business this run?”
“Ah,” said the man, “I was the quartermaster for that run, but I’m afraid we’re all pledged to other customers; my apologies, sir.”
“Not at all. Might I buy the table a drink and ask of the conditions of trade?”
“Absolutely!” beamed the quartermaster, and his mate pulled Errollyn a chair from a neighbouring table.
Errollyn asked the usual questions, of wind and currents, but also of Larosan naval activity and what news of ships lately sunk or in action.
“So you’ve been in Voscoraine then?” he asked the quartermaster.
“Oh no, sir,” said the sailor, sipping the ale Errollyn’s coin had bought. “Poscadi.”
“I wasn’t aware there was good silver and gemstone in Poscadi.”
“A new mine,” the sailor replied easily. “Up in the northern Ameryn hills.”
“Council won’t allow us in Telesian ports anyhow,” said a second man. “There’s a war on, you know.”
“Telesia has not declared for one side or another, the last I’d heard,” said Errollyn.
“And the Torovan army’ll be marching straight through Telesia on their way to Larosa,” said the sailor, waving to an acquaintance who entered the crowded inn. “Excuse me, I spy a friend. Thanks for the drink.” He got up and left.
“I heard they charge a tariff to enter Poscadi these days,” said Errollyn, edging his chair aside as more sailors crowded onto a neighbouring table. It was hard to hear above the din of conversation. “Three per cent of cargo value, what impact does that have on the silver trade there?”
“That’s a terrible thing,” the quartermaster said. “Damned inspectors, they overestimate our cargo value then pocket the extra for themselves. I’ve made barely enough to feed my children on this run, the next won’t be any better.”
Errollyn talked until the man’s ale was nearly gone, then thanked him and his companions and left, to empty-mug salutes from the sailors. But he already knew what he wanted to know. The Duchess Teresa had been in Poscadi Port in Ameryn. He knew from many conversations with Petrodor sailors that the Poscadi Port harbour tax had recently gone up to five per cent, not three, giving the quartermaster another chance to whine about how high his expenses were, if he’d known about it. The quartermaster had definitely not been in Poscadi Port recently.
That left Voscoraine, in Telesia. Telesia remained an independent kingdom, having at various times been a part of Torovan or Algrasse. Now they attempted to maintain neutrality, being greatly dependent on Saalshen and Rhodaani trade, yet squeezed on land between neighbours determined to wrest the Saalshen Bacosh away from Saalshen’s influence by force. Telesia’s port of Voscoraine was not far by road from Larosa and Sherdaine. The Rhodaani Council had barred Rhodaani flagged vessels from berthing there, knowing the port to be full of Larosan agents, and fearing a trade of spies, or the loss of vessels. For the Duchess Teresa to have been in Voscoraine Port would have violated the Council’s order. They must have remained there a long time, to simulate the time it would have taken to reach Ameryn.
Further questions directed him to a laneway, in search of the Duchess Teresa’s captain, the man the quartermaster had professed not to know. The building was clearly a brothel-red lanterns hung between cramped tenements. Errollyn entered, and pushed past several drunken sailors in the hall. It opened onto a main room, where girls dressed like noble ladies coiffed and preened-another of Tracato’s strange tastes, every ale-drenched, salt-stained sailor wanted to bed a noble lady.
“My, my,” said the madam, leaving another customer in female hands to come to Errollyn, looking him up and down. “Dear sir, welcome. Can I interest you in…”
“I’m looking for someone.”
The madam sighed. She wore much jewellery, all fake. “I should have guessed, you serrin never did appreciate the business.”
“That’s because we fuck for free,” Errollyn said drily. “I was told the captain of the Duchess Teresa might be here?”
“My customers’ business is strictly confidential,” said the madam airily. Errollyn pressed a large coin into her hand. “Second floor, the third room on the left,” she said, pocketing the coin.
He walked up the cramped stairs, edging past customers and working girls. At the room, he rapped on the door. It swung open. Errollyn was fairly certain such doors were supposed to be locked. He pushed it wide, a hand straying to his belt knife-the walls were too close for swords, he could barely spread his elbows. On the bed he found a naked man, face down and unmoving. The sheets beneath his upper body were soaked in blood. Somehow, Errollyn was not entirely surprised.
The windows were closed, but the small room had a closet. Errollyn flung open the closet doors. Within huddled a girl, dressed like the others. Her hands were flecked with blood. Errollyn grabbed her, and slammed her against the wall.
“That’s the captain of the Duchess Teresa, yes?” The girl remained mute, eyes flicking back to the bed. “Why kill him? What was the Duchess Teresa doing in Voscoraine Port?”
The girl tried to drive a knee into his groin, but Errollyn had played rough games with a far more dangerous girl than this. He blocked her with his leg, and slammed her harder back against the wall.
“An honourable serrin gentleman wouldn’t hurt a girl, surely?” she taunted him. Errollyn was getting tired of humans who thought behavioural codes could excuse all evils, and hit her in the face. He picked her back up, her nose bloody, and slammed her back against the wall.
“Murderers don’t get to plead delicacy,” he told her. “Why kill him?” Her stare was defiant.
“Family Renine aren’t playing fair,” Aemon had told him. There had been a courier on the Duchess Teresa, heading for Voscoraine Port, bearing the Renine Family seal.
“There was someone on the ship, wasn’t there? Someone carrying letters for people in Telesia?”
The nobility of Algrasse? Algrasse was an ally of Larosa, they had stood with the Regent Arrosh when he had been but a lord of Larosa, and assisted him in his rise to regent of all the Bacosh. Their position was strong, there was no chance they’d be scheming with the Renines against their sworn feudal lord. Which left just one serious option. “Lady Renine is negotiating with Regent Arosh, isn’t she? Behind the Council’s back?”
“I’ll not say anything to foulblood scum like you!” the girl hissed. “Murderer!” she screamed. “Murderer, come quick! Save me!”
Shouts came from the neighbouring rooms. Then a scuffling under the bed itself. Errollyn spun, and saw a man scrambling from beneath the mattress, and cursed himself for a fool.
The door crashed in, and Errollyn flung the girl hard across the room. A man rushed him, knife in hand-a house guard, protection for the girls. Errollyn caught the man’s thrusting arm, broke it, and threw him back into the face of the second guard. Behind him the windows crashed open and the man from under the bed leaped out. Errollyn sheathed his knife and leaned out the window. Below was a canvas awning, protecting the brothel’s rear entry in a narrow lane. Beneath the awning, the jumping man was scrambling to his feet.
Errollyn got a foot out for leverage, and jumped. Somewhat heavier than the first man, he hit the awning hard and it tore…he crashed to the ground in a tangle of canvas, scrambling to extricate himself while thankful it had at least broken his fall.
Finally up, he ran after the other man in time to see him vanish around a corner. Errollyn dashed around it, struggling against the stiffness of a bruised thigh. Down the next lane, past an unloading cart and tethered horses, he saw the man run into a crowded main street.
Errollyn followed, sunlight suddenly bright to a serrin’s sensitive vision. Errollyn shielded his eyes and peered up the street. Was that him? He had spots in his eyes, and nothing was clear. There were crowds around him, some looking at him, others evidently startled by the recent passage of a sprinting man. Even if he caught the man, what could he do, in this crowd? These were feudalists, some of them even royalists, or restorationists, or whatever fancy term the clever scholars in the Tol’rhen liked to apply. Serrin were welcome so long as they did not swim against the stream. A serrin accosting a local in the street would be mobbed.
Errollyn took a deep breath, wincing as the bruises from his fall began to hurt.
“Everything okay there, sir?” a local man asked him.
Errollyn shook his head. “A murder in the Fletcher Street brothel,” he said loudly enough for others to hear. “The captain of the Duchess Teresa, a man of a noble family.” He pointed after the escaped runner. “That man cut his throat. Pass the word and have him caught, I can’t do it myself. Reninesen shendevan soni Reninesen shendevan. Renine’s Town business is Renine’s Town business,” that was, in Rhodaani.
The local nodded warily, and rushed to tell others. Soon, the Blackboots would be summoned. Errollyn turned and walked down to the docks, figuring he could do little more here, and satisfied that whatever Family Renine thought to gain by killing the captain, they could lose in having killed one of their own.
Soon he found one of the few people in Renine’s Town he could trust to give him a straight answer.
“Captain Aimer was a renowned drunk and gambler,” a red-coat drily informed him, sipping tea outside his customs house. “Frankly I’m not surprised he’s dead. In a brothel, did you say?”
Errollyn nodded.
The red-coat shrugged. “I’ve heard he was in debt, then out of debt, then in debt again. Possibly someone got tired of constantly bailing him out. Then again, he also had a very big mouth, wch is never a good thing.”
Errollyn recalled his conversation with the quartermaster at the inn, and the sailor who had risen from the table to go and talk to a “friend.” Had that been the same man as had been hiding under the bed? He hadn’t got a close enough look. Either way, he thought it reasonably clear what was going on.
“Thank you, sir,” he told the red-coat. “I have to head back to the Mahl’rhen.”
“What do you think is going on?” the red-coat asked him.
“Noble games, my friend,” said Errollyn.
“Those are the least entertaining kind,” the red-coat said, and sipped his tea.
When Errollyn returned to the Tol’rhen, he found Civid Sein rallies being held upon the square. Leading them were Tol’rhen Ulenshaals, black robed and shouting, to massed cries from the thousands-strong crowd. If the philosophies of his people spoke of anything, it was the supremacy of one person’s rightness to think alone. Here on the square, before the walls of the institution dedicated to the teaching of serrin thought, thousands of individual minds concentrated as one, and yelled in unison. They yelled for justice, yet it was emotion that spoke, not reason.
He left the square before some well-meaning fool spotted him and tried to make him a part of their dangerous game. Tracato was supposed to be above such human nonsense, yet here he could feel it slipping toward a precipice. His own people were supposed to embody the final word in enlightened thought yet, too often, in their own gentle way, behaved just like the mobs outside.
He found Sasha in the training courtyard, blade in hand and covered in sweat. Spirits, she was beautiful. He watched her for a moment, the shapes her body and blade made in the air. To watch Sasha train was to observe the primal and the civilised, the thinking and the unthought, the beautiful and the ugly, all in one.
She was so human, and in her humanity, described a world he recognised far more intimately than his own people had ever managed.
He saw something else, too.
“Sasha!” he called at a pause in her strokes. She turned to him, and her eyes lit up. Even now, his heart leapt. “Something’s bothering you?”
“How can you tell?” she asked. She was sensitive about her moods.
“You always train when you’re angry.”
“You’ve seen the mob outside?” Errollyn nodded. “Kessligh’s trying to talk to them. I told him he should just tell them to fuck off, but he refuses.”
Errollyn sighed, flexing his sore leg. “Kessligh has great hopes for this civilisation, Sasha. He’s been in the wilds in Lenayin for a long time.”
“What’s wrong with the wilds of Lenayin?” Sasha said indignantly.
“I’m not certain he’s sure what he’s achieved. He comes to a place like this, and he wonders if he could have done more; Sasha stared at the pavings. Errollyn put his hands on her shoulders. “I’ve offended you.”
“No. No, you’re right. But damn it, he should be able to see where this is going! These people are lunatics, haven’t we all had enough of lunatics after Petrodor?”
Errollyn searched her face. “That’s not all that’s bothering you.”
Sasha’s eyes didn’t quite meet his own. That was very unusual. “I’d rather not say.”
Errollyn frowned. He thought about it. Sasha was prickly over her Lenay honour, but could typically deal with such things, sometimes in ways he truly wished she hadn’t. She was embarrassed by little-in that, they were alike. But here, she almost seemed…
He raised his eyebrows. “Some man asked to fuck you?” Sasha aimed a kick at him, and missed on purpose, scowling. Worse than that, then. “Some man tried to fuck you.” She looked elsewhere, exasperated. Damn. “Does he live?”
“Yes!” Sasha retorted, angrily.
“Do you still have one of his ears?”
“Errollyn, this isn’t funny!” Errollyn couldn’t help smiling, against his better judgement. The look she gave him nearly made him fear for his safety. “It was Reynold Hein!”
“Oh,” said Errollyn, not especially surprised.
“What do you mean ‘Oh’?” Sasha fumed. “That’s the one form of attack I can’t raise a blade against! And if I can’t raise a blade, I’m left with fists, and I can’t beat up a man his size! Or your size!” She knocked his hands from her shoulders. Errollyn folded his arms.
“Sasha,” he said calmly, “you know as well as I do that if he’d tried to rape you, you’d have stuck a knife in his throat.”
“It’s not honourable!” Sasha snapped. “He never raised a blade against me!”
Oh, thought Errollyn, realising. That was it. “Well, you can hardly just let him overpower you and take you, can you?”
“Rather than stick a blade in a man not wielding one?” Sasha retorted. “I can’t cut a bare-handed man!”
Errollyn rolled his eyes. “It’s hard living to a code of honour, yes?
“You wouldn’t know, you could have beaten him up.”
“I’m quite sure Reynold Hein would not have been trying to rape me.”
“Good spirits,” Sasha muttered, striding back toward the Tol’rhen. “Men!”
Errollyn grabbed her arm. “Don’t use that on me. Of all the men in your life, exactly how many times has this happened?” Sasha stared at him. Then her gaze fell.
“I’m sorry,” she said. Suddenly the anger was gone and she was sombre. Vulnerable, even. “I was scared for a moment, I couldnx2019;t think. That almost never happens. I…I couldn’t think of how I’d explain it to you, or…”
Errollyn shook his head in exasperation. “Sasha, if you know anything about serrin, you know that we don’t place any credence in this human notion of female sexual virtue. If he had succeeded, it would make absolutely no-”
“I know, I know.” Sasha held up her hands. “It would make a difference to me, though.”
Errollyn put a hand to her face. “And to him. I’d have killed him. And still may.”
“Don’t,” Sasha said sombrely. “We can’t afford it. Kessligh can’t, Reynold’s too important.”
Errollyn smiled. “When did you get so mature? Not long ago you’d have been demanding the right to split him from nose to groin and devils take the consequences.”
“I know,” Sasha agreed, a smile ghosting upon her lips. “I can barely believe it myself. Now kiss me, because I’ve had that shit’s smell in my mouth all day, and I’d rather yours.”
Errollyn did as she asked. It occurred to him as he did so, that she rarely asked for anything more than this, and his company. It only made him want to give her more.
They walked back to the Tol’rhen, holding hands.
“You didn’t seem very surprised when I said it was Reynold.”
“Powerful men, Sasha. I’ve seen human men relish the thrill.”
“But a man like Reynold could have any number of women.”
“And that’s the point. He only demonstrates his power to himself by conquering the most unlikely. The grander the dragon slain, the greater his glory.”
“Lovely choice of metaphor,” Sasha said, bumping him as they walked. “How did you hurt your leg?”
“Small encounter in a brothel.” Sasha looked at him, eyebrows raised. Errollyn grinned. “Let me tell you about it.”
“Really, Errollyn. I know I’m not as experienced as some women, but a brothel?”
He cuffed her lightly on the head. Sasha returned one of her own, and they scuffled and laughed toward the rising wall of the Tol’rhen.
Errollyn found Reynold at the Great Hall during the evening music recital. Five Tol’rhen students, two Ulenshaals and a pair of serrin were playing pipes, strings and drum in strange combination. Perhaps two hundred people gathered about the hall to hear, across dining tables soon to be filled for dinner.
Reynold sat to one side near the kitchens, munching from a bowl of nuts. His usual friends were seated about the table, discussing politics in low voices. Reynold seemed more interested in the music, casting the others only an occasional glance. He saw Errollyn coming and smiled.
“Errollyn!” he whispered, with no apparent trepidation. That did not surprise Errollyn either. “What do you think of this compostion? Isn’t it wonderful?”
“I like the larger strings,” Errollyn said. “These smaller ones sound like a cat being strangled.” Reynold’s nose, he saw, seemed swollen, with a trace of dried blood at one nostril.
“Ah yes, but the fusion of rhythm and melody. Like the fusion of human and serrin thoughts in one.”
“Are we melody, or are you?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” said Reynold, watching the musicians. “A question for my morning lecture, perhaps?” It was so like the man, Errollyn thought. So determined to demonstrate to all his intellectual fascination in all points of culture.
“Reynold, I need to speak with you,” said Errollyn. He indicated to the kitchens. Reynold nodded, entirely unworried, and went with him. That was expected, too.
Behind the heavy door grand fires blazed, and cooks laboured over benches piled with food. Reynold turned to Errollyn expectantly. Errollyn punched him in the stomach, very hard.
Reynold doubled over, and fell to all fours. Above the shouts and commotion of dinner, cooks turned in astonishment to look.
“The only reason you’re still alive,” Errollyn said calmly, “is that Sasha’s honour precludes her from killing you. She has the honour of a warrior-not of a woman, or you’d be dead. I’m trying to talk her into a new interpretation. If you try it again, you may discover if I’ve succeeded.”
“What did she tell you?” Reynold’s voice sounded odd, beyond the shortness of breath. He was laughing, Errollyn realised. “Not the truth, obviously. I have to say, I was surprised. I’d thought a virile man such as yourself could satisfy even her, but no, she threw herself at me like she hadn’t been fucked in weeks. She was quite upset when I said no. I don’t envy you her temper my friend.”
“I dislike fighting Sasha’s fights for her,” Errollyn continued, unbothered, “but she can be stubborn in her Lenay honour. If she won’t do it, I will. Stay away from her. Or better yet, next time, come at her with a weapon in hand, I dare you.”
“Friend Errollyn,” Reynold sighed, getting one foot carefully beneath him, and making to stand. “I can see why your people have disowned you. Truly, you leap to unfounded conclusions, and you come to violence as your first resort. How you must alarm the gentle serrinim.”
“I’m a scholar, Reynold,” said Errollyn. “Like you. I learn my subjects well. I learn how they respond, and what motivates them best. It is my scholarly judgement that if you touch Sasha again, one of us will gut you like a fish.”
He kicked Reynold in the stomach, and the man went down again. Errollyn left him lying there, as cooks rushed to assist. Disconcertingly, despite the obvious pain, Reynold only seemed more amused.