Michelle West - Sun Sword 01 - The Broken Crown (90 page)

"Then you have asked me no question; instead, you have laid a
problem at my feet." He smiled at that. "Old times."

"Allen."

"I wanted you to know what you were asking of me, but I see
that neither of you are going to understand it. How unsatisfying. And
how," he smiled sharply, "expected. Or it would have been, a decade ago.

"I know of the kin, Ellora. I know what happened here the last
time the kin were involved—although I wasn't in the city at the time."
He lifted his cloak, and in the sun's light, they saw that he was
girded round with a sword, and the sword was familiar to both of them.
"I have not forgotten duty. And I will not lie. If I have done other
things for eight years, I have been apprentice in all of them, and
master of none; they were enjoyable, but they were not what I was made
for." He let the cloak fall. "But I would not lose them either. I
dislike the loss of something I have struggled so hard to achieve." The
seawall carried the weight of his hands for a moment; the weight of his
arms and his shoulders. Then he straightened out, and as he did, he
seemed taller. "Are you answered?"

"Yes," The Kalakar said, as The Berriliya nodded.

"Good. Had either The Kalakar or The Berriliya chosen to
remain in Averalaan, I would not have allowed it."

"What, you don't think that the army survived our absence?"

"It survived well enough," the Commander said, "when there was
no war." His smile was as sharp as the words themselves, and for the
first time that day, the Kestrel and the Hawk smiled with him.

"How long do we have?"

The Hawk and the Kestrel exchanged glances.

"Intelligence is being gathered and consolidated. General
Alesso di'Marente seems to have been prepared."

"And his aim?"

"We do not believe that he intends to declare war upon the
Empire. He will certainly take Averda if he can; we believe he will
also attempt to bring down clan Lamberto in Mancorvo."

"Internal affair," the Eagle said softly.

"Yes."

"Our angle?"

"We have," The Berriliya said neutrally, "the surviving member
of the clan Leonne."

"Dangerous," the Eagle said, "but possible. When will we know
for certain?"

"Either war will be declared at the height of the Festival of
the Sun, or it won't; I think the Festival of the Sun, politically,
will decide the course of the war for the Annagarians."

"And for us."

"Allen—"

"The levies?"

The Kalakar rolled her eyes; the man who had mourned the loss
of a gentle man's life had already been buried. "We wait the Kings'
orders. Speaking of which, I have an interview that I must attend."

She knew, the moment she entered the large, empty hall—or
rather, the large hall that
should
have been
empty—that there was going to be trouble. The Ospreys were that type of
weapon; double-edged, with a grip that grew slippery when the blade had
drawn too much blood.

Sentrus Auralis, cocky as ever, stood at an indolent ease, his
eyes so artfully narrowed he looked as if he'd fall over if touched.
Sentrus Alexis—a soldier determined to keep that rank in spite of the
best intentions of her superior officers—stood with her arms crossed,
her fingers tapping her upper arms. She usually stood with a dagger at
hand—but not even Alexis would have been quite so bold where The
Kalakar herself was concerned.

Cook stood beside the long table, arms crossed just as Alexis'
were, sword girded. He did not wear armor, or a helmet, but of all the
soldiers present, his presence did the least disservice to her House
name. But he stood beside, and slightly behind, the young woman whose
presence The Kalakar had requested.

Kiriel.

Duarte sat beside her until The Kalakar entered the hall; he
rose at once to greet her, the motion a command to the Ospreys present.
She knew that, until the interview was over, he would not sit again.
But she wondered, idly, what he would do when she ordered him out of
the hall.

Ordered them all out.

She came alone; they saw that, and she knew it served her well
in their eyes. Not even Korama accompanied her, and in matters of both
import and delicacy—although the combination of anything to do with the
Ospreys and delicacy was almost beyond the bounds of comprehension— she
never left him behind. He was not just a Verrus, but
her
Verrus; as close to domicis as The Kalakar would allow.

The Kalakar would never trust an outsider—and at that, a
nonmilitary man, to see to her protection or her personal needs. She
knew that many of The Ten employed the domicis, through either short-
or long-term contract, and although it had been pointed out, with more
or less heat depending upon who had started the age-old argument, that
she certainly paid the House Guards—and especially the Verruses—in
coin, she could not shake the feeling that gold or no, they were loyal
to
her
.

Which didn't quite explain the Ospreys. Or why she tolerated
them. In times of peace, she could barely defend them herself—but war
was looming on the horizon; she could almost taste it in the winds.

The Kings would return the only right answer, and the
gathering would start.

"Primus Duarte," The Kalakar said softly.

"Commander."

"You provide more of an escort for a young Sentrus than one
normally sees."

His eyes flickered ever-so-slightly to his left, glancing off
the steely profile of Sentrus Alexis. So.

"Kiriel," The Kalakar said, willing to bend slightly to the
ill-humor of this particular company, "do you require the presence of
the Ospreys for our interview?"

Kind's eyes turned to Duarte, but she was far less subtle than
her superior officer. Ellora could see the whites of Duarte's eyes as
he rolled them.

"Kalakar," he said.

"Primus. This is not the time or the place."

"There is no other," Alexis replied, and The Kalakar took a
very hard look at the single sword across her right shoulder.

"Sentrus," Duarte said, and the woman fell silent.

"Primus," The Kalakar continued, as if there had been no
interruption, "this is not a torturer's session. This is an interview."

"It's more than just an 'interview,'" Auralis said, in that
wonderfully attractive drawl that made him so popular among the less
discriminating young of either sex. "It's an interrogation on the eve
of the biggest war we've seen in twelve years." His lovely eyes were
still lidded, but he'd straightened up to his full height. It made him
look slightly more dangerous—and marginally more respectful.

This was the real reason why Ellora had elected to leave both
of the Verruses behind. They could not tolerate obvious disrespect, and
she did not wish to have to defend it when she found it distasteful
enough herself.

She did not respond, but instead continued to meet the eyes of
the one man she was sure of: Duarte AKalakar, fledgling mage, leader of
the Ospreys.

"You know what's at stake," she said softly.

"And you," was his quiet reply. "Commander, may I speak
freely?"

Ellora snorted with genuine amusement. "And I'm to stop you
when I can't even keep a bunch of your sentruses in line?"

His smile was rueful, but beneath the smile of both of these
leaders was steel; they knew the people who served them; they knew the
promises that had been made.

Neither knew, and neither wished to know, what would happen to
the service when the promises themselves were compromised. But neither
wished to go to war against not only the Dominion, but some shadowy
cabal that seemed to work beside it and within it, with less knowledge
than they could easily have.

As if they knew what the only clean answer to their
predicament was, they both turned to Kiriel. The girl, cool and pale
and somehow darker than cloudy night, said nothing, and there was a
quality to her silence that made Ellora realize, for the first time,
that although the young Sentrus did not understand what exactly the
difficulty was that she posed to the House Guards, and therefore to
Kalakar, she understood, in some way, that it
was
a difficulty.

And she found it amusing.

There are times
, Ellora thought, as she
met, unblinking, the young woman's gaze,
when Devran's right
.
Then, as if such a concession, unspoken though it was, galled her, she
said, "You are required to attend the interview itself. You are not
required to respond to questions that pertain to your past. While you
remain a member of the House Guards, you are under my protection, and
your past is not at issue."

But her voice was clipped, even cool, as she spoke, which had
not been her intent. There was something about Kiriel that provoked
her; something about the girl that made her, attractive and extremely
competent though she was, very difficult to like.

Turning to Duarte, some of that coolness remained. "You are to
leave, with the men and women under your command. Any Osprey that
chooses to disobey that order—and it
is
an order,
make no mistake—will find themselves debarred from House Kalakar, names
stripped. Do I make myself clear?"

It was not what she had intended, but once she had set foot on
that path, she could not turn back; she understood the rules of
leadership.

Still, Sentrus Alexis hesitated a moment, seeking something
from Primus Duarte.

Find it soon
, Ellora thought, ill-amused.

The woman apparently found enough of what she sought to tender
The Kalakar—the Commander—a sharp salute.

They left, and they left her alone with Kiriel di'Ashaf, a
girl who had not yet served the mandatory probation required to make
her Kiriel Ashaf AKalakar.
I gave her my word
,
Ellora thought, as she met the girl's black eyes. Thinking of Evayne
a'Nolan, and the massacre in the Averdan valleys. Thinking of what it
meant, to return there now.

Thinking of demons, of darkness, of a city racked by the
screams of the dying.

And Kiriel di'Ashaf's smile widened slightly, as if those
screams, attenuated and distanced only slightly by years and time, were
a song she could hear, could conduct.

The Kalakar rose, shuttering her face, setting the memories
firmly aside. And then she opened the door to the hall.

"Gentlemen. Time is of the essence."

Before Kiriel could rise or speak, five men and two women
entered the great hall. The Princess of the blood, Mirialyn ACormaris,
Devon ATerafin, The Berriliya, Commander Allen, Member Meralonne
APhaniel of the Order of Knowledge and the little known, but greatly
respected, Jewel ATerafin.

She knew that she would be true to the word that she had given
when she had accepted the service of Kiriel di'Ashaf, but her lips
turned up in a slightly triumphant smile as she caught the surprise
that made Kiriel seem, for just a moment, a sixteen-year-old girl.

She did not understand these people.

For a moment, fear held her; she touched her sword, pulling
what shadow she could find into a tight, near impenetrable web around
her body—armor that only the mage would find easy to pierce. But
although her hand was on the haft of her blade, she did not draw it,
and the moment passed, leaving her with a dryness in the mouth and
throat. Frustration settled around her shoulders as if it were the only
mantle she would ever wear again.

The mantle.

"Member APhaniel?" The Berriliya said quietly.

"It is already done," the mage replied, quick with the words,
as if he did not wish to appear to be following the commands of
another. Strands of platinum hair flew a moment in the absolutely still
room, and then he bowed sardonically to Kiriel. "Kiriel di'Ashaf," he
said softly.

"Meralonne APhaniel," she replied.

"You have a good memory, Kiriel," The Kalakar said, as she
took a seat at the long table, and motioned for their visitors to do
the same. They could not shed power, but they could shed the formality
of it, if they so chose.

"Too good a memory." It was Member APhaniel who spoke. "I do
not believe that my given name was ever used in your presence."

"You are well enough known, Member APhaniel." It was the
youngest woman in the room, save Kiriel, who spoke, tossing her dark
curls out of the fringes of her lashes and binding them with a swathe
of red cloth. "If she was curious, she could have asked. Devon said
that the first thing you did was practically order King Cormalyn to
execute her."

"True enough." Gray eyes met black ones; a platinum brow
lifted. "And is that what happened?"

Kiriel shrugged coolly. "No. I did not know who you were until
someone spoke your name—but I knew of you." Let him wonder. It was,
after all, the truth.

"I… see."

"Did she do it to you, as well?" Kiriel said, the bitterness
in her voice adding years to her face.

" 'She'?"

"Evayne. Did she take you from your home and bring you here?"

"From my—" He froze, and she knew at once—the
blood
knew—that he was, for a moment, afraid. It was gone before she could
hold it long enough to twist; gone before she could make a weapon of it
that she could use. If she could; that had never been her art, thanks
to Ashaf.

Ashaf's life had cost her much.

But her death had been worse.

"No, Kiriel," the mage said gravely, "Evayne did not bring me
to Averalaan; I was here long before her birth."

They don't know
, she thought suddenly.
They
don't know your secret. And they don't know mine. But they know
I
have one
.

She did not reveal what he had not revealed. Because a secret,
like a concealed dagger, was only useful once, and this was not the
time for it.

"How do you know of me?"