Petrodor: A Trial of Blood and Steel, Book 2 (29 page)

“I agree,” said Rhillian. How surprising, Errollyn thought bitterly, with a stare at the low, rock ceiling. “I gained this post because I demonstrated to the councils that I could act, and act fast. As did we all, to varying extents. We follow the course, Errollyn. Should Steiner continue these preparations, he shall pay.”

“You dress up these ignoble thoughts with pretty words,” Errollyn muttered. “Your independence is just another word for bigotry.”

Rhillian not only stopped, but came back up the stairs at him. Errollyn stopped as Rhillian put her nose to within a hand's breadth of his own. Her gaze was hard. “That's one hell of an accusation,” she said, putting a finger against his chest, all trace of subtlety vanished from her tone. Further down the stairs, their guard paused with his lamp, surprised to have lost his charges. “You think I don't care about these people? I'm hoping to
save
these people. Kessligh is right. Saalshen is a good influence on humanity, we've demonstrated it often. If we don't survive, humanity's future is bleak. Worse, if we and they end up locked in constant war, we may well destroy each other. But I will not sacrifice Saalshen's greatest hope for survival because your objections make you uncomfortable!”

“And if we gain victory at the cost of everything that makes serrin serrin?” asked Errollyn. Finally, Rhillian looked troubled. But whether that was at the fact of his objection, or its content, Errollyn could not tell. “Will we truly have won?”

“Failure is annihilation,” Rhillian said softly. “Anything better than that is serendipity.”

Alythia entered her father-in-law's private chambers with trepidation. Patachi Elmar Halmady, her husband Gregan, Gregan's brother Vincen, and their uncle Raymon watched her enter, food half eaten on their plates. Alythia had heard loud voices before she'd knocked on the door. Now, the air seemed strained, and Gregan looked uncomfortable.

“You asked for me, Father?” said Alythia, with a curtsy before the men. Elmar Halmady's usually calm face now wore a frown. Vincen's look was unpleasant, almost leering. Alythia pitied Vincen's wife Rovina and was glad she'd been wed to Gregan instead.

“Daughter,” said Elmar. He was nearly blond, with a lean face and blue eyes beneath drooping eyelids. “Are you well this evening?”

The question made Alythia uncomfortable. Uncle Raymon's eyes bore into her, as if suspecting her of something. He was a big man, with a beard covering his second chin, and heavy, dark brows. “Quite well, Father,” she said. She'd been dining in her own chambers with her maids, feeling angry, and lonely, in truth. She'd been almost relieved to receive this summons, if only for some insight into the events that caused turmoil in the hallways of late.

“Do you like this family, Daughter?” asked Patachi Halmady. “Are you happy here? Or do you regret your wedding day?”

Alythia blinked, astonished. “Father?” The patachi was usually reserved and intellectual, preferring to discuss the arts or trade, rather than engaging in anything emotionally taxing. But his lips were pressed thin and sour, and he seemed displeased. Alythia tried her best, disarming smile. “Have I done something wrong, Father? I may speak the language, but I am still very recently from Lenayin—I'm never entirely certain when I've offended someone. Please tell me if I do. I am trying very hard, I assure you.”

“Jasin Daran has been released of his service to House Halmady,” said Uncle Raymon bluntly.

Alythia frowned. “Jasin…?”

“Of House Daran. Handsome lad. Patrolled the walls for us.” Alythia's breath caught in her throat. Surely they could not have…She held her composure with an effort. “You were passing him messages to take to Patachi Daran. You met at his sister's wedding feast, but a week ago. You were observed to make eyes with him.”

“I did nothing of the sort!” Alythia exclaimed, genuinely outraged.

“Jasin confessed,” Raymon continued, his eyes dark with suspicion. “He took your correspondence to Patachi Daran, who would reply in turn.”

“Patachi Daran is an ally of this house and of House Steiner!” Alythia exclaimed. “He and I had an interesting conversation at the birthday feast, and he insisted we should correspond…”

“Oh-ho, is
that
all it was?” said Vincen, with amusement.

Alythia glared at him. “I'm never allowed to do anything, I've been cooped up in my room for the better part of the last week, and I'm only allowed out of the house for formal occasions…what do you expect? I want some friends! I want some company! At least I'd like to entertain some of the other ladies…and I could be so useful too, you've no idea how much information there's to be had from women's chatter! Why won't you let me be a full part of this family?”

“You sneak behind my back,” Gregan said quietly. He sounded hurt.

“Oh no, my love! I just…”

“They say you are a whore.” Still Gregan did not look at her. “My mother has always said so, and now it seems her words are true.”

“You think I
bedded
Patachi Daran? How would that even be possible, given that I'm never allowed from the house?”

“You are disobedient!” Gregan shouted, his voice trembling. “A woman of virtue shall always obey her husband.” Dear gods, Alythia thought to herself in despair, I've married a child.

“Who else have you been contacting behind our backs?” asked the patachi.

“Who else?” She was missing something here. Suddenly, she could feel it—the cold, creeping sensation that something was going on that she did not entirely understand. Something dangerous. “What…why do you suddenly accuse me?” She forced a laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. “What do you think…?”

“Cousin Gilbrato is missing,” said the patachi. “It seems almost certain that he has met some foul end. Someone seeks to damage us. Someone with knowledge.”

Gilbrato…the priest? Alythia recalled the man at the wedding feast. A young Halmady man, groomed from childhood to represent the interests of his family in the most powerful institution in Petrodor. The priesthood took men from each of the families, and was influenced by each in turn. Now…Gilbrato was dead? How could that possibly concern her? Unless they thought…unless they thought…Alythia stared at them in horror. “Surely you don't think that I…?”

“You show disloyalty. You pass messages beyond our walls. Someone seeks to undermine us. There is a rumour that Lady Marya Steiner has recently been in contact with your feral sister, the Nasi-Keth. Have you been passing messages to her also?”

“To Sasha? Good gods no! Sasha and I have always hated each other! We can barely stand in the same room without a fight breaking out!”

“You claim to be nothing like her,” Gregan said hotly, “yet you both come from the same highland stock! Treacherous, uncivilised and lacking in womanly virtue!”

Alythia swallowed hard, and stared at the wood-boarded floor. “You accuse me unfairly, my husband.” She struggled to keep the emotion from her voice. This was not going at all the way she had planned. “I am hurt.”

Gregan looked away, tore a piece of bread and wiped his plate with it to cover his emotion. For a moment, Alythia thought he might apologise. “Jasin will live,” Uncle Raymon said darkly. “He is Patachi Daran's nephew, and they each have uses. But the scars will take a time to heal. Have a care, dear niece. It would be a shame to tarnish so royal a beauty.”

Alythia swallowed hard. For one of the few times in her life, she felt fear, cold and hard in her gut. “As you say, Uncle.”

Alythia wandered the garden, the grass cool beneath her bare feet. She breathed deeply and tried to dispel the awful memory of fear. She was born
into Lenay royalty and she knew what power was. Baen-Tar had always been full of armed men, but she'd never been afraid. Home was the place where a person felt secure and comforted. She'd hoped that House Halmady could be such a place, but her dreams were turning to dust.

She'd dismissed the attentions of Selyna and Vansy—she did not wish to explain what had happened. It was humiliating. In Baen-Tar, she'd been so popular. It was usually so simple to wind men and women around her little finger. She'd assumed that the exotic charms of a Lenay princess would be enough to win popularity in Petrodor. But, instead, there'd been whispers of “easy virtue,” and the attention of men at feasts, which had inspired envy from women in Lenayin, gained only evil stares from the ladies of Petrodor.

She stood behind her favourite garden bench for a moment, gazing out at the nighttime view of the harbour below. There was a lump growing in her throat, a great, inescapable despair. It advanced on her like a dark wave, threatening to drown her within its cold, churning depth.

She'd never meant for Jasin to get hurt. He'd rescued her from the wolf that night. Ever since, he'd been friendly. Evidently it had suited him to be on terms with the beautiful Princess Alythia. No doubt he'd boasted about it to other men, and implied something more intimate. She'd found it amusing. He'd introduced her to his Patachi at the wedding feast, and…and, well. Perhaps she'd simply wished an adventure. Or perhaps she'd truly been seeking companionship. Or, she admitted now to herself, she'd done it simply to get back at her new family.

But they'd harmed Jasin. Possibly tortured him. Whatever she tried, it turned out wrong. She wondered how Marya had managed to become the very image of a devoted Torovan mother so soon after her arrival. Marya had become pregnant, for one thing, she realised. Not immediately, but soon enough. Perhaps she should think about a child. Her maids kept the serrin's white powder for her, safe from Lady Halmady's pryings—it would keep her belly from swelling for however long she wished. But Lady Halmady had not even spoken to her about a son. Perhaps the Halmadys considered there to be no rush.

Or perhaps, the cold thought occurred to her, this was merely a marriage of convenience, for the duration of the war. Halmady secured its ties to Lenayin and the Lenay army until the Saalshen Bacosh was once again free, and then she'd not be needed any more. Perhaps they'd dispose of her, like refuse after some great feast.

The fear returned. She was going to cry any moment now. She'd cry like a little girl, here before the garden guards. Most of them had surely known Jasin, and some probably blamed her for his fate. Her own weakness sickened
her. For the first time in her life, she felt truly helpless. None of her talents would help her here, and she did not know what to do.

She turned from the view and walked back toward the house. Guards watched her beneath their broad hats—the stares that had seemed so playful just weeks before now seemed intrusive and unfriendly. After a short walk, she found herself at the gate to the wolf enclosure. Her heart thudding, she peered over the gate, but could see nothing inside. She reached over, feeling for the latch…and withdrew her hand in sudden fear of a lunging grey shape. But no such shape emerged.

Frightened little girl! she thought to herself, furiously. Coward. Sasha would laugh at you. That made her angry. What did she care what Sasha thought? She never had before. But then, Sasha had
always
thought her a coward. She remembered Sasha laughing at her in the stables when she'd been scared to get close to the horses. And again, when she hadn't liked the kennel dogs any better. In fact, she'd never liked animals very much at all. It had not bothered her then that Sasha thought her a coward. It only bothered her now, when it seemed events might finally prove Sasha right.

She had an idea. She made her way briskly to the kitchen. Even late, there were meals being prepared, an entire bench full of ingredients being chopped, a vast pot of soup bubbling over a flame, the delicious smell of baking bread. The kitchen hands did not pay her much attention—there were always family wandering through the kitchens, investigating tomorrow's meals, or in search of a snack.

Alythia found a bone largely stripped of its meat, but still with some good chunks attached. She took it and walked from the kitchen with no attempt at concealment. It was a trick she'd learned long ago in the halls of Baen-Tar Palace—if you looked like you knew where you were going, no one would question you. And a princess
always
knew where she was going.