Echoes of Betrayal (62 page)

“Grateful?”

“She saved my life and Beclan’s—she saved the king’s last summer and healed Marrakai from his head injury. Reason enough for gratitude. And yet … my wife never liked her.”

“Ah. I suppose the court ladies found her intimidating.”

“Unnatural, is what they said. You know she wore male court attire at the coronation—?”

“I heard, yes,” Kieri said. “Seemed sensible to me.”

“And no one’s ever seen her in a skirt.”

“I haven’t,” Kieri said. “But what of it? The Marshal-General never wears a skirt.”

“It bothers the women,” Mahieran said. “We’ve all seen women in trousers, of course; women ride astride, after all, and train in arms. But—she’s different.”

“What does your wife think now?” Kieri asked. “Dorrin saved your life, Beclan’s, the king’s … Surely she’s softened her opinion.”

Mahieran paled; for a moment Kieri thought he was angry and wondered why. “Then you have not heard all the gossip, sir king.”

“I’m certain I have not. What troubles you now?”

“Celbrin,” Mahieran said, tight-lipped. He told the story of the attack in the remote cottage in more detail than Kieri had heard before. “And when we got back to the house, Celbrin would have attacked Duke Verrakai if Beclan had not intervened. I was too weak. Next morning she left before I was aware, riding to Vérella to complain to the king about Duke Verrakai.”

“Mmm,” Kieri said. “And her complaint would have been—?”

“That Duke Verrakai was unnatural, a man in a woman’s body, invaded in childhood and thus a tool of evil.” Mahieran scrubbed at his face with both hands. “I didn’t know—I couldn’t have known—she was Konhalten, you see, but a branch that wasn’t so attached to Verrakai. My father hoped by our marriage to wean more of them away … She’s never shown any sign—”

“She hates Verrakai? Including Dorrin?”

“No! No … that’s not it. She’s—she must be—the source of Beclan’s magery. She must have it herself—untrained—Duke Verrakai said she might not have known and never used it.”

“Dorrin says your
wife
has magery?”

“No, no. She hasn’t detected it, but—when I looked more deeply—Celbrin’s father’s grandmother was Verrakaien. It could be there. And Celbrin, since—since we asked—she’s—she’s not like she was.”

“And of course that presents concerns not only about Beclan but about Rothlin as well,” Kieri said, without inquiring what “not like she was” really meant. “And your daughters.”

“Yes. Roth’s third in succession. He doesn’t think he has any magery, but neither did Beclan before this. The only person who might detect it is Duke Verrakai. And worse—this is not the first marriage that brought Verrakai blood into Mahierans. What if somehow
I
have the taint and never knew it? If my brother Beclan’s children—if all the Mahierans—are tainted? It could bring down the throne, Kieri.” Formality had vanished in Mahieran’s distress.

“Who knows all of this?” Kieri asked.

“Mikeli, of course. The Marshal-Judicar—he’s new since your time: Donag was killed in the assassinations last spring. Oktar’s knowledgeable, but I’m not sure he’s as committed to the realm as Donag was. He’s insisting we must all be tested—all the peers who have intermarried with Verrakai any time in the last ten generations. Essentially all of us. And Mikeli and Camwyn.”

“That will upset applecarts all over Tsaia,” Kieri said. “Not a good time for that, with the trouble in the south I’m hearing about.”

“No. What’s odd is that Oktar has defended Duke Verrakai—said Beclan’s capture wasn’t her fault, for instance. You’d think he’d condemn her first. But again—he can’t detect magery that’s not being used, so it comes back to Duke Verrakai to test them.”

“And you sent your son to her.”

“Mikeli commanded it. The only way, he said, to save Mahieran’s claim to the throne and not throw the whole realm into chaos was to disclaim Beclan and ensure he was where his magery would do no harm. He’d thought of condemning him for oathbreaking, but that would mean spilling all in public.”

“How is he, do you think?”

“Better than I could have hoped. Alive, sane, and far more mature than a year ago. We’re forbidden contact while in Tsaia. I can send messages to Duke Verrakai—transfer funds and so on—but Beclan may not speak nor write, nor receive letters directly, at least for now. All my communications with Duke Verrakai must be screened by the king and the Marshal-Judicar.” He paused. “But I came here, instead of Mikeli, so that Beclan could meet with me and his brother. Mikeli told me so himself.”

“He always had a generous heart, that young man,” Kieri said.

“Yes. I am, however, to have a witness at such meetings—not within earshot, necessarily, but in sight.”

“That’s hard. But here, Sonder, we have many who can be witnesses and not talk later.”

“You’re suggesting—?”

“Only that I will make it as easy for you as possible. This was not your fault, or Beclan’s, or Dorrin’s … not even Celbrin’s, if she didn’t know of her magery.” Kieri paused; when Mahieran nodded, he went on. “What about Dorrin’s former heir, that other Verrakai? What does he think?”

“Ganarrion Verrakai, yes. Says he’s delighted; he never wanted to run an estate anyway. He was acquitted of treason, you know; he’s serving again in the Royal Guard, and that’s what he wants to do.”

“But doesn’t that mean he also knows about Beclan’s magery? Do you really think you can keep that a secret?”

Mahieran shook his head. “Not forever, certainly. We’re saying publicly that because there’s the barest chance Beclan was contaminated by the renegades, he had to be cast out. That we believe his being able to defeat all those grown men was by Gird’s aid but we’re taking no chances. It’s proof that the king is as hard on his own family as on anyone else.”

“And your wife—what about her?”

“She’s … confined right now in our house in Vérella. She’s angry, of course. And though my father made the match for me, as hers did for her, I loved her. She’s the mother of our children; she’s been a good wife, a good consort. I don’t want to hurt her, and I already have.”

“As she hurt you, Sonder. I doubt she wanted to.” Celbrin had
been one of those who thought Kieri unworthy of his ducal rank—he’d overheard her, years back, telling someone he was an upstart from nowhere—but he’d also known her fierce loyalty to her husband and children.

Mahieran shook his head; his shoulders had slumped. “And if she proves to be more than just the bearer of magery to Beclan? If she is inhabited, or … I don’t know what …”

“What does your new Marshal-Judicar say?”

“That she must be tested. That is all he will say. Oh, and he would bring the Marshal-General into it, which Mikeli—and I—would rather not.”

“You must,” Kieri said. “Sonder, the Marshal-General will know in the end—better from you than from your enemies. With her on your side—”

“If she is on our side—”

“She is on Gird’s side, and though I am a Falkian I honor the old man with the club. Some of his followers have gone far astray but not, I think, this Marshal-General. Will Celbrin listen to her?”

“Yes, I think so. She wants nothing to do with a paladin, however, and that frightens me.” Mahieran stared at the floor a long moment, then lifted his gaze again to Kieri. “So much has happened since your paladin came and proclaimed you heir to this realm. Every life she touched has changed, and not all for the better.”

“So my wife’s father said—and predicted that we have not seen the end of it.”

“Another elf?” Mahieran asked.

“Another elf,” Kieri said, nodding. “And in the best tradition of so many families, Arian’s father is at odds with my grandmother.”

Mahieran chuckled at that. “My mother and Celbrin’s were never best friends either. I wish you more joy of the elven conflict than I had of the human one.” Then he sobered. “What are we to do, then, Kieri? How are we all to get past this and into a season of peace?”

“Tell your king, Sonder, that we will do all we can to help—assure him that although I am now king in another realm, I respect and care for him as I always did, though my people are now my greater responsibility. You and I will go on doing the best we can. There is no other way.”

“You are right, Kieri. Sir king, I should say.”

Kieri waved his hand. “You and I can use titles to cool our tempers if we must, but for me you are the friend you were when I was first at court. I cannot solve your problems, nor you mine, but let us be friends.” He offered his hand, and Mahieran shook it.

When Mahieran had left the room, he went up to his own chamber and looked out the window to the south. Far up the Royal Ride, he saw a group riding a pattern, the horses weaving in and out of a ring. Rothlin, Beclan, and a bevy of young women, he was sure. Ganlin and Elis rode the two Pargunese Blacks.

Y
oung ladies of good family being deemed sufficient witness by their father, Rothlin and Beclan took advantage of the fine day after the wedding to canter up the Royal Ride on horses borrowed from the king’s stable, surrounded by those young ladies who felt their riding skills sufficient to make a show.

Ganlin of Kostandan stayed close to Rothlin—stirrup to stirrup—on a big Pargunese Black her older brother had brought from home. She rode superbly, and sunlight favored her golden hair. Elis of Pargun also rode a Pargunese Black but made little attempt to approach Rothlin or Beclan; she seemed absorbed in the riding itself. Beclan found himself surrounded by Siers’ daughters and grand daughters—Halveric, Belvarin, Tolmaric, Davonin. His original intent, to beg his brother for news from the family, proved impossible.

Skilled young riders on such a day … they must race; they must ride dance figures; they must leap the logs set so handily along one side of the ride. They challenged one another; they admired one another’s horses—and, as they were all well aware, they admired one another. They came back in the afternoon, sun-flushed and laughing, the horses properly cooled out before being handed over to the palace staff. Roth, Beclan noticed, helped Ganlin dismount from her tall horse. Elis of Pargun did not wait for assistance, nor did any of the Lyonyan girls. Elis took her own horse into the stable, clearly not part of their group. He knew she was Pargun’s ambassador to Lyonya—that her father was king of Pargun—and did not understand her lack of interest in Rothlin.

But he had no interest in Ganlin or Elis, both older than he; he
thought the Lyonyan girls, with their lilting accent and their interest in him, by far the prettiest and best.

On their way to bathe and dress for dinner, Rothlin said “You’re doing well, brother.”

The misery came back for a moment, but after that day in the sunshine and the company of those who admired him, it vanished again. “I hope to do better,” he said.

“Those are fine girls, Beclan. You need to start thinking—”

“I’m too young to marry!” Beclan said.

“Yes, but not too young for your duke to be thinking of succession. If you have a favorite, tell her now.”

“And you?”

Roth grinned. “Well … you saw Ganlin. A princess, which means sufficient rank for anyone. Her father would like her to make a good marriage, away from Kostandan. Her brother told me that. I suspect her father would like her to marry Mikeli, but Mikeli’s not likely to marry outside the realm. And Ganlin likes me. She’s at Falk’s Hall now, but she may not stay to get her ruby. She might rather have a husband. She said that.”

Beclan opened his mouth to remind Roth that other girls had befriended him as a way of getting close to Mikeli, but his brother looked too happy and he could not bear to start a quarrel.

A
rvid Semminson fingered the familiar pockets in the black cloak he’d taken from one of the thieves, checking each blade and the Thieves’ Guild icon on its chain he’d put in the narrowest. Dattur thought he was being a fool. But Dattur did not fully recognize the danger the letter from the Marshal-General presented in the wrong hands. With the letter, the Valdaire Guildmaster could send a real thief to a grange, and the Marshal would probably trust him.