Petrodor: A Trial of Blood and Steel, Book 2 (30 page)

Back at the wolf enclosure, she looked around, but the path between house and outer wall was empty of guards. She reached inside and undid the latch.

The gate moved slowly open. She peered anxiously into the shadow, the bone clutched in one hand—part temptation, part weapon. “Hello?” she called faintly, prepared to leap back at the slightest movement. “Hello puppy?” She was speaking Lenay, she realised, and nearly laughed, in sudden, hysterical humour. Why would a wolf pup be more likely to speak Lenay? It had lived in Torovan most of its life.

A chain tinkled. Two ears appeared, a faint silhouette in the dark. Two eyes glinted. Alythia froze, but the wolf did not move. Her eyes adjusted further, and now she could see it, lying near the enclosure's far side, as far from
the gate as its chain would allow. It wasn't really that big, she realised…and was pleased that she remained calm enough to notice such things, despite her pounding heart, dry mouth and trembling hands. In Lenayin, they grew much bigger. She remembered Jasin saying that the wolf had been brought just recently…cubs were born in the spring, and it was now nearly autumn. This one would be four, maybe five months old. Huge, for a puppy. But not for a wolf.

The wolf growled, but did not charge. Instead, it crawled further away, low on its stomach. Its tail was down, tight between its hind legs. It was terrified, Alythia realised. Perhaps it remembered her and the beating it had received afterward. Or perhaps it merely expected beatings from strangers who wandered into its enclosure on a late night, probably reeking of wine.

Shakily, Alythia sank down on her haunches, rearranging her dress. The chain would pull the wolf up short if it charged again, she told herself firmly. She was safe here. She reached back and pushed the gate shut behind her. The wolf stopped crawling. Perhaps it registered something was unusual. Or perhaps its chain had pulled tight. Its nose twitched, sniffing furiously. Alythia remembered the bone in her hand and threw it. The wolf flinched, growled…and paused, sniffing.

“Oh there, you recognise
that
smell, don't you?” Obviously someone fed the wolf, for it did not seem starved. But she doubted they gave it fresh bones.

The wolf wriggled forward, quite pathetically, straining for the bone yet held back by some invisible force. It was really quite pretty, Alythia saw with surprise as it came closer. There were some evil legends about wolves in Lenayin, but some good ones too. The latter would be Goeren-yai tales, it occurred to her now. Goeren-yai always liked wild animals, especially the dangerous ones. This wolf had thick, dark grey fur, big ears, large paws and round eyes. Still young, with the ears and paws all out of proportion.

Suddenly it lunged, and Alythia stifled a scream…but it only grabbed the bone and scampered back to the far wall. But not all the way, Alythia saw as her heart started beating once more. It settled, with some slack still left in the chain, and began savaging the bone. Surely it would damage its teeth, Alythia thought.
Crack!
went the bone. Dear lords. Just as well this half-grown puppy hadn't gotten its teeth into her when it had tried to.

Alythia sat down properly and watched the wolf eat. It was strangely relaxing to focus all her attention upon something else. Something strange, and not human. The wolf had its own problems. Alone of all the residents in Halmady House, it cared not a jot for the Princess Alythia's trials and tribulations. The wolf did not begrudge her anything, and would not pass judgment, it merely counted itself lucky to have been fed, and not beaten.

“You need a name,” she said to the wolf, smoothing the dress over her legs as she sat. “I mean, if I'm going to sit here and get grass stains on my dress for someone, they'd better at least have a name.” The wolf watched her sideways as it cracked on the bone. “I could call you Sasha. She's a bitch too.” It amused her for a moment, but it was too immature and spiteful, even for her.

But there
was
a name she recalled a palace tutor using for Sasha. “Tashyna.” The tutor had been from Isfayen and in his native tongue a tashyna meant a great commotion, or something crazy and out of control. “Tashyna,” he'd said, with a shake of the head, every time Sasha would come tearing into the room, a noisy little whirlwind in a dress. Once, Sasha had heard him mutter and had confronted him. “Why do you always call me Tashyna?” she'd shouted, stamping her foot. “My name's Sasha!”

Those in the know had laughed. Alythia found herself smiling now to think of it. But sadness came with the humour. Her old home seemed so near, she could taste it, could hear the echo of conversation in the grand stone halls, and smell the waft of flowers from the gardens. Familiar faces. Familiar routines—feasts, play recitals, Verenthane ceremonies at the temple. Her brothers playing lagand upon a broad green field at festival time, the snorting of horses, the shouting of men, and the cheers of the onlookers. Her old maids and her many dresses. The view from her bedchambers, across courtyards and flower gardens, overlooked by lovely stone walls and windows. Flowers in the vase her mother had given her before she'd died.

“Tashyna,” she said softly, with tears in her eyes. “I don't know if you're from Isfayen. I doubt it, it's too far away. But why don't we make this enclosure a little corner of Lenayin for just the two of us?”

Tashyna chomped on her bone and seemed content.

H
ALF OF
B
AERLYN'S
C
OUNCIL
sat about the dining table in the ranch's main room as morning sun spilled through the windows. The storm was gone and Lenayin was shining once more. Jaegar, Teriyan, Ryssin, Raegyl, Geldon and Cranyk all sat about the table. Princess Sofy had the head chair—a sight not often seen in Lenayin, a woman leading a village council meeting. Jaegar sat at the far end, Cranyk to Sofy's right was the esteemed elder, and Jaryd to her left. Lynette and Andreyis served breakfast, Andreyis weary-eyed from his long night in the storm, having returned at first dawn to report that the assassin was still at large. “Surely the king shall not allow the murder of Jaryd's surviving brother.”

All eyes came to Sofy. She gazed at the tabletop for a moment, a slim hand wrapped about the warmth of a mug of tea. “I'm afraid there's not much the king can do,” she said. “With war approaching, the king needs the great lords and the nobility more than ever. The last thing he needs now is more trouble in Tyree.”

“The lords claim power over their own domains,” Jaegar added. “It will cost the king a great deal to intervene in Tyree, the great lords are already smarting at what they see as the king's capitulation to the Udalyn rebellion—”

“But Princess Sofy comes to us herself with news of the other great lords’ disquiet at events in Tyree!” Ryssin insisted. “Surely there will be those who would support the king in any action against Great Lord Arastyn…”

“Precisely the problem,” said Teriyan, with a shake of his head. “This could become a fight between great lords, when the king needs everyone united. He won't do it.”

Sofy did not disagree.

“All this politicking is dishonourable,” Cranyk said. “Warriors do not seek solutions through parley. The Great Lord Arastyn means to murder the brother of a resident of this village. Clearly our honour compels us to act in his defence, as warriors should.”

“We have no proof of Arastyn's intentions,” Jaegar countered. And looked at Sofy. “Begging Your Highness's pardon.”

Sofy gave him a somewhat imperious look. “My sources are quite specific, Yuan Jaegar.”

Jaegar nodded his respect, but his hard features remained unmoved. “This village has just partaken in one grand rebellion against the king's authority. To partake in another, on a matter yet unproven, might seem disloyal.” Typically for Jaegar, his tone held a flat, dry irony.

“Dishonourable, I say,” Cranyk replied. The two men locked stares.

Jaegar blinked, the only motion discernible on his face. “In Lenayin today,” he said firmly, “one does not charge into every grievance with swords drawn. Perhaps we did once, but Lenayin has changed. I believe it's called civilisation.”

“Dishonourable, I say,” said Cranyk, his eyes half-lidded within a maze of wrinkles and faded tattoos.

Jaegar sighed. “Civilisation comes hard to some Lenays.”

“Honour comes hard to others,” said Cranyk. Jaegar gave the old man a warning look. Cranyk snorted.

“Begging Your Highness's pardon,” said Teriyan, “but what might the king do when he notices the Princess Sofy is missing?” All eyes turned to Sofy again. She blushed. “It's four days ride from Baen-Tar.”
When can we expect the armoured cavalry to descend on our heads?
he meant. Everyone watched the princess, and waited.

“I didn't tell anyone where I was going,” she said, attempting an even, reasonable tone. “I took Dary out for an evening ride, just around the walls, no need for a guard. Then I just kept riding. There was a festival in town, lots of people and horses, it covered my tracks and scent.”

“Aye,” Teriyan said wearily. “I reckon we've got a day, at most. Best we decide what to do before they arrive.”

Sofy frowned. “I'm not sure they could track me through that festival…”

“You don't think they'd guess?” Teriyan asked. “Smart men like your father and brother?” Sofy looked crestfallen. “There'll be riders here soon enough, just to check, even if they don't track you directly. I'd imagine Baen-Tar is in an uproar.”

Sofy bit her lip, and looked both embarrassed and stubborn. Clearly she knew the uproar her disappearance would cause. Clearly she thought it served her father and Prince Koenyg right. And would, perhaps, serve to demonstrate why she shouldn't be bossed around any longer. Teriyan empathised, but still, it was a reckless thing to have done. It seemed a common trait that ran through more of the Lenay royal sisters than people had guessed.

“I say we ride,” he continued, looking about the table. “I say we go and solve this one ourselves, quietly. No invoking any grand rebellion, no great
statements, just a few men on horses through the woods. We grab Wyndal, we get him out and we leave—Arastyn and his fools can kick up all the fuss they like, but Wyndal belongs with his brother. There's enough disquiet about the whole affair that Arastyn won't find many friends in his outrage, especially if we then have some kind of proof of what Arastyn was trying.”

“He just tried to kill Jaryd,” Geldon pointed out. “Don't need no more proof than that, suspicion will do just fine. No one'll blame us.”

“Aye,” said Jaegar, nodding slowly. “It'll be a regional affair, the king won't touch it and it needn't touch the king. The princess can stay here and sweet-talk the king's riders when they come, and deny she knows where we went…they can't force information from a princess.”

“No,” said Sofy firmly. “I'm coming too.” About the table, the men stared at her. Jaegar took a deep breath, but Sofy cut him off before he could start. “If Father's riders find me here, they'll know for certain I came this way for a reason!”

“They'll know for certain anyway,” Teriyan objected, “they're not daft. Some of us will be missing, there'll be tracks in and out, perhaps they'll have dogs…”

“But there'll be doubt!” Sofy insisted. “They'll have to ride back to Baen- Tar—four days—with an incomplete report, and Koenyg hates those, he likes to know everything before he acts. And he'll have no clues, no idea of why I came riding out here, if I did at all…you men, with all respect, you simply don't know Koenyg like I do! I can guess what he's thinking, but he knows me that well too. If his riders bring me back with them, he'll guess all kinds of things. I'm a good liar but not with him, and he knows it. He'll send riders to Tyree, Tyree's closer than Valhanan…he's even got birds now! Pigeons, they carry messages and—”

“Pigeons?” Ryssin looked baffled. “What are pigeons?”

“Lowlands birds,” said Teriyan, looking glum. “They can carry messages. They don't last long up here because our hawks and eagles are so hungry, but if you sent two to a target, I'd guess one might get through. Lenayin will seem like a smaller country if everyone starts using pigeons. Imagine, one day for a message to Baen-Tar. Two from here to Isfayen.”

“Lowlands nonsense,” Cranyk muttered. “I'm glad I'll not live long enough to see my land completely spoiled by their inventions.”

“I'll not want to take the future wife of the heir to the Bacosh throne on a hunting expedition,” Jaegar interrupted. “This village is in trouble enough with Prince Koenyg as it is.”

“I
am
your royal princess, you know,” Sofy replied, chin raised. “I
could
just command you.”

“I'm village headman of Baerlyn with my boots on Baerlyn soil,” Jaegar replied. “I
could
just ignore you.”

“Or,” Sofy continued as though she hadn't heard him, “I could just ride there on my own. I rode
here
on my own.”

“You don't know where Algery is,” Jaegar retorted.

“I'll find out,” said Sofy. “If I travel on my own, three or four strides behind you.” Jaegar pressed his lips thin, and looked to be repressing a mutter of something rude. Sofy smirked.