Daughter of Blood (22 page)

M
yr's head ached from the weight of her hair, coiled and pinned tight beneath an even heavier jeweled headdress. The gauze veil, also a-glimmer with jewels, stood out stiffly to either side of her face and made it difficult to see without fully turning her head. And if I do that, Myr thought, I might swipe one of the stewards as they bend to serve us. Terror of so public a display of maladroitness turned her first hot, then cold—so she kept the painted mask that was her face turned rigidly forward.

She had protested when Ilai, a new attendant seconded from Liankhara's household, had insisted on applying the elaborate formal makeup, but was glad, now, that the watchful gathering would only see an archetypal Daughter of Blood. No one, she felt certain, could detect any sort of personality, let alone Myrathis the Mouse, beneath what felt like a porcelain glaze over her true features. At the same time, Myr knew that few of those seated in the banqueting hall would care whether a personality existed beneath the mask. She was a figurehead, that was all, a piece to be played in Blood's bid for Derai power, where only strategic gain mattered and Earl and Heir alone were not considered expendable players. Myr's reflections heightened her awareness of her father's
impassive presence, seated beside her in his great chair, but she resisted the impulse to try and read his face since that would mean turning her head. As for her siblings, she did not need to look around to know where they were.

Myr had been told that the House of Night still maintained the old Derai custom whereby Heir and Earl sat apart, but Kharalthor was seated at their father's right hand, in what Blood regarded as the Heir's place. Her own elevation to a place on the Earl's left reflected her new status as Bride, displacing Hatha to one end of the high table while Huern sat at the other. The rest of Myr's siblings were also at the Earl's table, interspersed with their leading Blood guests and the Earl of Night's emissaries. Only Liankhara was absent, but Myr knew she would be secreted somewhere close by, observing the play of events.

Besides, although Ilai had been seconded to the Bride's household, Myr felt sure that she still reported to Liankhara. Her other siblings, too, would doubtless have their agents in place, to keep them informed of the Bride's business . . . Myr kept her eyes lowered but was aware of Sardonya's cool gaze from several places away, while Parannis lounged directly opposite. Her half-brother exuded such sleek satisfaction that Myr suspected the whispers must be correct and he had been calling out those he considered enemies, killing or maiming them in secret duels.

He's cruel, she thought, and repressed a shiver, certain the supposed enmity was just a pretext—and because she had learned young that Parannis was the brother to most actively avoid. She also wondered if he was deliberately defying their father. Shortly before the Night marriage was first raised, the Earl had forbidden Parannis's duels, saying no House could afford to alienate so many retainers. Yet Myr suspected that Parannis disdained such considerations, just as he derided the Honor Code as outmoded.

Right now, he was also ignoring the Night and Blood guests seated to either side of him. At least Anvin and Sardonya were maintaining a semblance of courtesy, even if they, too, disdained this marriage and believed Blood should lead
the Nine Houses as of right. Even Sarein, who was actively establishing herself in the so-called New Blood faction, with its Haarth ambitions for the Derai Alliance, was nodding at whatever her dinner partners said.

All the same, Sarein's small smile scraped at Myr's nerves, in much the same way as one of the hairpins, inserted at too sharp an angle, was a line of pain along her scalp. Her half-sister had been wearing an identical smile when the ruling kin left the High Hall in formal procession—and she managed to step on the heavy train that trailed from Myr's shoulders. If it had been Sardonya, Myr might have accepted the misstep as accidental, but she knew Sarein's action was a deliberate attempt to humiliate her before the vast gathering of Blood. It might have worked, too, except that Myr had guessed she would be made to suffer for walking ahead of all her siblings, except Kharalthor, in the formal ceremonies. Her elevation might be dictated by tradition, reinforced by the Earl's command, but Sarein, like her twin, would not care. If she perceived a slight, sooner or later someone would have to pay.

Myr had not expected the retribution to come so publicly, though, especially when it was the House of Blood's prestige at stake, not just her own. Despite her wariness, she would have stumbled, perhaps even fallen outright, except her new attendants had been walking to either side and Ilai—under the pretext of adjusting Myr's veil—had seized her arm, counteracting the abrupt jerk on her shoulders. The attendant might be Liankhara's agent, but Myr had still been grateful for both her supporting hand and presence of mind as Ilai signaled the other attendants to gather up the sweeping train. Otherwise only Huern had appeared to notice anything amiss, first studying Ilai and the train with his most inscrutable expression, before shifting the same enigmatic look past them to Sarein.

Huern was wearing the same expression now as he listened to the dinner guests on either side. Myr had always found him difficult to read, but thought his incalculable demeanor had grown more pronounced since the Night contract
was proposed. As if Myr's thoughts had drawn his attention, Huern turned her way, so she concentrated on making a show of eating, although everything tasted like sawdust. But between Huern's scrutiny, Sarein's smile, and Parannis lounging opposite, she had to grip the utensils fiercely to prevent her fingers trembling. When she did finally look up, Sarein's smile had been redirected toward the Night guest on Kharalthor's right. Teron of Cloud Hold: Myr repeated the name from the list she had committed to memory. He was strikingly handsome, and Sarein's look had grown almost avaricious. Sardonya, too, was smiling as she studied the young Night warrior and Myr found herself hoping that Teron of Cloud Hold had well-honed survival skills.

“Are you looking forward to judging the contest in your honor, Lady Myrathis?” the guest to her left asked.

Asantir, Commander of Night, Myr told herself, although she had not needed a list to identify the quiet, keen-faced warrior who led Night's emissaries into the High Hall. The Commander was known by reputation in the Red Keep, chiefly as the Earl of Night's sure right hand and foremost envoy in his endeavors to reunite the Nine Houses. She was also said to be a priest lover, an apostate who bent the terms of the Derai Alliance's Blood Oath even if she never—quite—broke them. Since the betrothal was confirmed, Anvin and Parannis had both informed Myr that the Commander and the Earl were so close they must have been lovers in the past, if not now. Myr was far more interested in the rumor that the Commander of Night had once slain a siren worm with a black blade, but knew Anvin and Parannis would say that Night generated such tales to shore up its failing leadership. Siren worms, after all, belonged in fireside stories, the sort used to frighten children into good behavior.

Narn of Bronze Hold, on the Commander's far side, had kept Asantir engaged in discussion since they sat down, canvassing weapons and armor before he expanded on boundary patrols and tactics. But now I have to make conversation, Myr thought, conscious of the lengthening pause. Her lips parted, but before she could force words out, Kharalthor leaned for
ward. “My young sister will sit with us, Commander Asantir, but you'll find the judging falls to our lot.”

Myr's gaze slid sideways in time to catch the elegant lift of her neighbor's brows. “Indeed?” The Commander's nod acknowledged Kharalthor before she turned back to Myr. “Is that because you feel it's important you show no favoritism?”

Myr felt transfixed, aware that almost every face in the banqueting hall, not just those around the Earl's table, was focused on her—but Kharalthor's frown warned that it was time to pull herself together. “No,” Myr whispered, before swallowing in an effort to strengthen her voice. “The contest must be completely open, that is one of our oldest traditions. But I have no familiarity with war as you have, or my lord brother, our Battlemaster.” Her voice still felt faint against the weight of the banqueters' attention. “I judge it best to be guided by your experience.”

Kharalthor's frown vanished as he nodded. Instinctively, Myr looked toward the Earl but saw no visible change in his expression, although Hatha grinned at her from the far end of the table. Parannis was smiling, too, as he studied Asantir. “Mind you,” he said loudly, “given the record of Night's honor guards these days, even our youngest sister might well prove a sounder judge of warriors than their former captain.”

If the hall had been quiet before, waiting for Myr to speak, the silence now was absolute as every stare switched to the Commander of Night. Teron of Cloud Hold's hands clenched and the muscles in his neck were rigid, although however much he might want to, he did not rise from his chair. Still Myr could almost feel the strain in him from three places away, while beside her, Commander Asantir appeared unruffled. Yet surely, Myr thought,
surely
she must answer or Night's honor be forsworn.

At the same time, she saw the dilemma, for how could a guest call out the Earl of Blood's son in the Red Keep's own banquet hall? Although if the Commander of Night did not—If she doesn't, Myr told herself, she will be held a coward anyway. And if she does, then both she and this new treaty with Night may be equally dead. So Father has to intervene:
as Earl, he must be seen to act. He
has
to, Myr repeated, unable to shut out the stares, most appraising or carefully neutral, but a significant number openly malicious as the silence stretched—until finally, Earl Sardon spoke.

“Doubtless, my son, it was your zeal to support the Bride's role as judge that led you to misspeak our guest. Inadvertently, I am sure,” her father said levelly. “Nonetheless, you will withdraw your remarks and apologize.”

Many of those watching exchanged glances, or openly sat back. Myr held her breath, because she could see the gleam in Parannis's eyes, but the Commander of Night spoke before he could respond. “The Son of Blood's championship of his sister's judgment does him credit, Earl Sardon,” she said, in her quiet way. “I also applaud your concern, Lord Parannis, for the record of those who will guard Lady Myrathis once she is Countess of Night. Although I am sure that you are not questioning the searching inquiries your Lord Father”—here she inclined her head to the Earl—“made on the same matter before setting his seal to the marriage treaty.”

More glances were exchanged and several surreptitious looks directed toward the Earl, but Commander Asantir was still speaking. “If it will ease your fears, Lord Parannis, I'm happy to give both you and Lady Myrathis the same assurance now that I have already made to your father. The former Honor Captain, the one who made the guard selections that so rightly concern you, has since made the full restitution that both the Earl and House of Night, and his personal honor, required.”

Myr shivered, because full restitution could mean execution or the invitation to commit suicide, both traditional Derai remedies in such cases. But the murmur that ran around the room suggested approval, and although some might still doubt Commander Asantir's courage in private, it would not be possible to speak publicly without appearing to doubt Earl Sardon as well. Myr wondered if that was what Parannis wanted, or whether he had simply overreached himself.

“Your words, Commander, honor both Blood and Night.” Myr did not need to look to know that her father's face, like
his voice, would give nothing away. She avoided meeting Parannis's gaze, but his exaggerated earnestness jangled her nerve endings as badly as Sarein's smile.

“I assure you, sir, I am fully aware that the Commander stands as proxy for the Earl of Night in these ceremonies. And you know that I would never insult my sister's future husband.”

No, Myr thought, but I'm your
half
-sister. She wondered how many present knew that Parannis was always careful to observe that distinction. When she slanted a look at Commander Asantir, trying to discern her reaction, the Night warrior's expression was as impassive as Huern's, watching from the far end of the table.

“Your motivation, my son, is well understood.” Earl Sardon, too, was imperturbable. “Nonetheless, the honor of House and keep require that you apologize to the Commander.”

Myr, watching covertly, thought Parannis's mouth tightened, but the movement was too small to be sure. Graceful as an uncoiling snake, he rose and bowed to Asantir. “I apologize for any inadvertent insult,” he said smoothly. “As redress for my error, I shall withdraw.”

Myr could not help admiring the way his words said one thing on the surface and quite another if you listened to them another way. But Parannis was already pacing from the hall, acknowledging those along his route with a smile to one side, a lift of his eyebrows to the other. Myr wondered if some present might rise and follow him, but apparently even his New Blood adherents dared not go so far. Or perhaps the weight of their oaths to Earl and Heir still restrained them, no matter what they might think of the House of Night, its Earl, and the apostate Commander who sat, outwardly unperturbed, in their midst.

What is she thinking, though? Myr thought: she can't have missed that Parannis really made no apology at all. If Myr were in the Commander's place, one of only a small group of emissaries in the heart of another House, she would be terrified—and immediately realized she could well find her
self in exactly that situation when her Blood retinue departed the Keep of Winds. Momentarily, her hands shook, but she made herself focus on Sarein, who was leaning forward.