Limits of Power (22 page)

“We'll be careful,” Camwyn said. Another few bites of stirred eggs and he said, “I … do understand now, sir king, why you took Egan away.” He looked up to meet Mikeli's serious gaze. “He was making me not like some people … lying about them.”

“Yes,” Mikeli said. “I hated the necessity—he was only a boy, and maybe a boy could learn to change, but the danger was too great.”

“I don't think he would have changed,” Camwyn said. He dropped his gaze to his plate and stared at the last two sausages. “I think … I think he was one of those with someone else inside them.”

“Why?” Mikeli asked.

“One time…” Camwyn had not been able to bring himself to tell anyone about it before; he had tried not to remember it in the days he thought of Egan Verrakai as his best friend. “One time he was close to me … very close … and his eyes … and his voice … he was saying things I could scarcely hear, just a murmur…” He shivered at the memory, the sudden jolt of fear, the instant of revulsion so strong that he'd jerked away from Egan. And Egan had grinned.

“Just a trick his brothers used to play on him, he told me,” Camwyn said. “But I was cold—I shivered and shivered, and you remember the physicians said I had taken a chill.” He looked up and saw his brother's face white as salt, a look of stark horror.

“Cam! And you told no one?”

“I—I was afraid. And I didn't know—”

“Bless Gird and the High Lord for protecting you,” Mikeli said. “For I believe what you describe was an intent to take you over—to kill you, the real you, and insert a false you—whichever ancient Verrakai inhabited Egan—instead.”

A sudden thrill of fear ran through Camwyn. “Could there be … anything left? Of them—him—it?”

“In you? I'm certain not,” Mikeli said. “And Egan—his body and whatever lived in it—is very thoroughly dead.”

Camwyn was not so sure. What if Egan had been trying to insert magery—just that? Or if the insertion or wakening—whichever it was—of magery had been only the first step in taking him over?

If it came from Verrakai, it was definitely evil. If not … maybe not. Beclan's had been awakened during an attack by Verrakaien … but was it by the Verrakaien or, as Mikeli had told him, by Gird allowing its use for his protection? Camwyn took that confusion to his lessons and wished he dared ask the Marshal-Judicar directly. Inattention earned him a rap on the head in the Marshal-Judicar's class and two bruises in weapons practice.

“I don't know where your head is today, my prince,” the armsmaster said, “but if you go fluff-minded like that when beset by an enemy, you'll be dead. Feel that—” He tapped unerringly on the bruised spot under Camwyn's banda on the left side. “Tell me now if you remember what lies under it.”

Camwyn recited the relevant organs and admitted he would likely be dead after a while.

“And not soon enough, in that pain,” the armsmaster said, scowling at him. “It would be a miserable sweating, groaning death you'd have, amply long enough and far too late to repent ignoring your lessons. You've improved this year, but it's no time to be letting your mind wander.”

“Yes, armsmaster,” Camwyn said. That was all one could say in such straits, and his rib still hurt.

B
y the end of the first few days of formal meetings, receptions, and dinners, Arian felt stuffed with new knowledge about Tsaia, its people, and its history. She very much needed a quiet day among trees and flowers where she could think and try to make sense of it all. But the palace complex had no quiet gardens, not even a tree-shaded walk. How could people live this way?

When she mentioned her desire for time outdoors, among trees, the king quickly arranged a picnic with peers' wives and children. The party, already a little boisterous, rode out to a grassy field bordered by trees, just off the main south road. Arian relaxed in the open air, smelling grass and trees instead of stone and fabric. She laid her hands on one of the trees … but it had no root-connection to others beyond the stone-paved south road, no communication with the eastern forest.

Family groups gradually dispersed in the shade of the trees, leaving Arian with her Squires. No one intruded on her privacy but the servants who replenished food and drink. After a while, Arian noticed two girls shepherded by an elderly woman: Mahierans, she overheard. Silence fell whenever they neared one of the groups sitting in the shade, and they looked miserable, not joining any of them.

“Ask them to come here,” Arian said to Lieth. “They might sit with us awhile.”

“Are you sure?” Lieth asked.

“I'm sure it's not fair for those girls to be so miserable.”

Lieth walked down the field, spoke to the old woman, and then walked back with them. Arian rose to meet them.

“Queen Arian,” the old woman said. She had a wary look in her faded blue eyes—as well she might, Arian thought. “I am Maris Mahieran; as a widow, I chose to take back my family name. You wished to meet my great-nieces?”

“Yes,” Arian said. “Thank you for coming—you know I met your father in Lyonya?” She looked at the girls. One seemed to be near Beclan's age, and the other younger. Neither answered but looked to the old woman.

“This is Naryan,” the old woman said, touching the older girl's shoulder. “And this is Vilian,” she said, touching the younger. The girls curtseyed and murmured a polite greeting.

“Please, let us sit down,” Arian said. “Have you eaten?”

“Yes,” said the old woman, and “No,” said the younger girl. Vilian … Arian tried to imprint the unfamiliar names in her mind. It took but a glance at the serving wagon for one of the servants to approach with a tray and another with mugs and a pitcher of chilled water.

Both girls glanced at their aunt and at her nod piled food on plates and began to eat. The old woman accepted water but ate nothing.

After a sip, she put the goblet down and folded her hands in her lap. “What do you want, Lyonyan queen?”

“At the moment, to be here among green things,” Arian said. “I miss the forests of home.”

“Ah. It is the elf blood, no doubt. You're not as young as you look. They say you are your king's age: is that true?”

“Yes. Did you know Kieri when he was Duke Phelan?”

Maris blinked. “I knew Kieri when he was a brash young soldier come to beg a commission from our king's grandfather. Hair like a flame, cocky as any barnyard rooster. I was married then; my husband died on that campaign. Not your Kieri's fault, so I was told.”

“Did you think so?”

A shrug. “I know only that my husband died. Kieri Phelan was very young to end up in command, I thought. Many thought. And so many more experienced died.”

“Old grudges grow stale,” Arian said.

Maris's face relaxed into a grin. “Ah, my dear, there is no grudge. But you looked so like a picture painted on a plate—cool on such a warm day, not a hair out of place. It came on me to disturb that smooth surface if I could. You will say badly done, when you were kind enough to speak to us, but … it is my nature to prod immobility.”

Arian stared for a moment and then laughed. “So you are
not
a poisonous old lady?”

Maris shrugged again. “That is not for me to say. I am old, no gainsaying that. I've been told my tongue's too sharp. But Barholt was willing to marry me—he enjoyed it, he said. He told me once it was like a currycomb, working the mud out of his mind. I've told these girls—” She patted Naryan's shoulder. “Told them many times not to copy my bad example. Dip your tongues in honey, I tell them: men want the honey, not the sting.”

“Nobody's going to want me anyway,” Naryan said, scowling. “Not now.”

“Not with that look on your face, no,” her great-aunt said sharply. “And if you can't smile when you're miserable, you'll have a life as miserable as you now imagine.”

“You sit your mounts very well,” Arian said to the girls, desperate to turn the conversation. “Do you ride often? I know your father breeds horses for the royal stud.”

“We did,” Vilian said. “But now we're in the city—”

“I used to ride with Gwennothlin Marrakai,” Naryan said. “We sneaked into this field a few times, raced up and down, set up stakes, and tried to knock sticks off them with swords.” She sat up straighter.

“Until you got caught,” Vilian said.

“Until you watched us instead of the road like we'd told you,” Naryan said.

“What happened then?” Arian asked.

“I would have ridden right out the far end,” the older girl said. “There's a wall behind those trees, but it's not very tall and I knew my horse could jump it. Gwenno wouldn't leave the sprout behind, though, and her pony couldn't manage it.” She shook her head. “They caught us. Escorted us back to the city, to our fathers. No more riding out without an official escort. Boring.”

Arian could sympathize with that. At Naryan's age she'd been free to run loose in the forest whenever her chores were done.

“Did you also want to train in arms?” she said.

“We all
do
train,” Naryan said. “In the family grange. Of course that's Girdish fighting: training with hauks and marching in lines. I like a longer sword better.” She glanced at Arian's sword. “Like yours.”

“Will you, then, continue your training?”

“I don't know.” Her shoulders slumped. “I don't know if they'll let me.”

“May we join you?” That was Lady Marrakai and a Serrostin girl of about Vilian's age.

“Certainly,” Arian said.

“Gwenno wrote us about meeting you at Duke Verrakai's estate,” Lady Marrakai said. She greeted Maris and the Mahieran girls, then turned to Naryan. “She also said she missed you, Naryan.”

“Did she really?”

“Yes, indeed. You and she used to share secrets, did you not?”

“She didn't write
me
any letters,” Naryan said. A mix of resentment and misery both in that, Arian thought.

“I understand she's being kept very busy, Naryan. For a time she was the only squire Duke Verrakai had.”

“I know I'm not supposed to ask, but—but I have to—” Naryan looked at Maris, then at Arian, and finally at Lady Marrakai. “Do you think Duke Verrakai
really
tried to have my brother killed?”

Lady Marrakai's brows went up, but she answered calmly. “No, Naryan, I do not. Someone else has wished her and your family both evil and wanted her to have the blame. It is easy enough to get a bad reputation if you're not like everyone else.”

“But my mother—” Another wary glance at Maris, who said nothing. “My mother isn't a bad person, milady. She's not. And they're lying about her—”

“And if they're lying about her, Naryan, do you not see that they could be lying about Duke Verrakai? That your mother could be mistaken, without being bad?”

“I want to go home,” Vilian said suddenly. A tear ran down her face; her voice was choked. “Our real home. We can't visit Mother—we can't see Father—our friends won't speak to us.”

“I will,” the Serrostin girl said, putting an arm around Vilian's shoulders. “Vili, I'm still your friend. They told me I couldn't visit, is all, but I wanted to come over here, and Mama said I could come with Lady Marrakai.”

Lady Marrakai turned to Maris. “You know, Maris, you could bring them to our house. It's true Gwenno's not there, so Naryan would not enjoy it as much, but at least they'd be around
some
young people.”

“Charity,” muttered Maris.

“Yes,” Lady Marrakai said. “And you don't fool me, Maris: I've seen you extend hospitality to others in hard times. Whatever happened is not these girls' fault.”

She turned to Arian. “My pardon, Queen Arian, for intruding our concerns on your space. I would have come earlier, but I find having five of my own to supervise—” She looked up, and her brow furrowed. “Oh, dear. I could always count on Gwenno to help me, and there they go—pray excuse me. Tiran, dear, just stay here; I'm sure your mama won't mind. I see that Julyan's about to run off with one of the cart horses.”

“By all means,” Arian said. Lady Marrakai was already up and moving toward a cluster of younger children around the horses. The servants, busy carrying trays of food and drink back and forth, hadn't noticed yet that a black-haired boy had swarmed up the harness and now leaned down to offer a hand to another.

“I never wanted to like her, but I always did,” Maris said into the sudden silence that followed, nodding toward Lady Marrakai.

“Why not?” Arian asked.

“You will credit my sour nature with envy of her energy and competence,” Maris said, but a smile shaped her mouth. “She has been like that—as if she were born entirely Marrakai, which she is not—since girlhood. Everyone thinks her children favor their father, but that so-called Marrakai character comes as much from her.”