Michelle West - The Sun Sword 03 - The Shining Court (118 page)

And never in the presence of the Tyr. Enough damage had been done that it was worth the effort of retaining a man whose passion was the landscaping of the Tor Leonne. In much the same way, Sendari would have attempted to preserve the life of a physician who had seen too much in battle and had lost his temper in front of the General.

And the General was definitely here.

The Tyr'agar, Alesso di'Alesso, the shadowy figure who had been born on the eve of the last day of the Festival of the Sun had vanished in the grim morning light.

Sendari had never understood that man; he admitted, in the scant light that came before the sun was truly risen, that he did not completely understand this one. But this one had the advantage of familiarity. Alesso di'Marente—still called, for the sake of formality, Alesso di'Alesso, as if that earlier man did not exist—was in control of the situation.

A message had arrived from Cortano. It was short but sweet, notably because it had been delivered in person. Mikalis and Sendari had been furtive in their attempts to ascertain the… magical health… of the Sword's Edge. It amused him—in a very brittle sort of way—to disabuse them of the notion that he might be controlled by the Lord of the Shining Court.

He carried word from Lord Ishavriel, who glossed over the fate intended for the Tor Leonne. Sendari was furious; Alesso was not. They had, after all, failed, and the plan had been clever. He understood Lord Ishavriel's plan and purpose, but he was not particularly outraged. He could not—yet—afford to be. The usefulness of the kinlords had not diminished with their failure.

The Festival of the Moon had given Alesso back purpose and vitality. He was as sharp as
Terra Fuerre
. Which was good; it was the only Sword that he was to wield.

The Sun Sword was gone. The Radan kai el'Sol had come with that news in the morning; he had shown neither dismay nor outrage.

After he had gone, Alesso looked across the room at his oldest friend. And then he said softly, "Sendari."

"Yes."

"Your daughter?"

"Will never marry Eduardo kai di'Garrardi, although for the sake of our alliance, I will be as horrified as you are when her disappearance is discovered."

"And who will discover it?"

"I imagine," he said softly, "that my oldest wife will be waking the Serra Diora di'Marano now, or attempting to. My cerdan will come shortly with her panicked, terrified message."

"And the Sword?"

Sendari met Alesso's gaze and held it. He said, "I am sorry, General. You were right. You should have killed her when the rest of the Leonnes were slaughtered. I think, in the end, it would have been a kindness."

"To her," Alesso asked shrewdly, "or to her father?"

"To her," her father said, "To me? I cannot say."

"Then I will be blunt. Had I killed her deliberately, it would have damaged the only friendship I rely on. We have always had our peculiar weaknesses, and we mask them, as we can, with strength. She has stolen the reminder of what I failed to do. No more. No less.

"The battle for the Tor will be decided by the Lord: we will war. And at the end of the battle, the winner
will
be the wielder of the Sun Sword."

He smiled. "There is only one Leonne left. And after his death, the Sword will be free. Come, Sendari. All choices have been made. We go to war against the North."

"It is not auspicious, if history is an example, to call for war after the Festival of the Moon."

"It is precisely because of the comparison between myself and the former Tyr that the timing is perfect. We have won a victory over our allies, and we are in control; they need us."

"Well played, Alesso."

"Indeed. And my only regret is that it was not
all
my doing."

23rd of Scaral, 427 AA

The Shining Palace, The Northern Wastes

Lord Isladar sat in the tower that had been Kiriel's home. In his arms, slumber enforced by spell—as Kiriel's had so often been until she grew into her power and developed the peculiar immunities which made her so dangerous—was the child Anya had plucked from the city streets.

She had woken twice, screaming in terror; he could taste it and he was certain that every demon in the city was drooling where it stood. But he eased her fear rather than feeding it.

He had given Anya a'Cooper his word.

And his word, given as it was to the only mage alive who had survived such an enormous transfer of power, was worth keeping. For now.

The Lord of Night had His throne; He had some portion of His gate, but although He had clawed and struggled, the Dark Conjunction had failed to produce the anchor that He needed to hold the worlds together in their drift. What He guaranteed Himself was a place in which he might reign without the constant need to feed in order to stay sentient.

Which was unfortunate, but not unexpected.

The child stirred, he shifted beneath her, the movement almost as natural to him as breathing was to her. Ironic, that something he had done for so short a span of years could still feel natural.

Kiriel had taught him many things, and all of them were complicated; he had not yet done with the lessons. Nor had he finished with the lessons he wished her to learn.

He thought about putting the child down; Kiriel's bed was as she left it, the sigils and wards still functional, although it had been many, many years since they were invoked.

Yes, he thought about putting her down.

But he was not certain how long he would have the ambivalent sensation of carrying her. She had been brought here by Anya, and most of Anya's pets or toys died of neglect or her frayed and unintelligible temper.

He wondered, if Anya hadn't already been so very damaged, if she would have the survived the ceremony intact. It was an idle curiosity; he would not be allowed to experiment. At the end of it, as if completely unaware of what had transpired, she had turned to Lord Isladar, of all people, to complain because her arms and her back hurt. The child, apparently, was
heavy
.

But his arms were not her arms, and the child that slept in them could be held forever. And forever, as Isladar knew, was a very theoretical concept.