Sons of the Falcon (The Falcons Saga) (44 page)

“Is it true his queen was murdered?
When it happened, it was all the girls could talk about at Assembly.” Carah had
been eleven at the time, and the news had filled her with delicious dread. “Of
course, they could only speculate, and they had the stupidest ideas. Maeret
proposed that the White Falcon killed her himself, then blamed everybody else
for it.”

Da grunted, disgusted with the
entire subject. “He wouldn’t be the first king to tire of his queen, but Laral
vouches for him. That’s enough for me. But like I said, nothing will surprise
me.”

For the next hour, the walls loomed
closer, the towers grew taller, and Carah tried to forget the nightmare in
which those stones had been as red as blood and as dark as shadow.

When they had ridden within a mile
of the city, Thorn dismounted and gave the golden pony’s reins back to Carah.
“We don’t want the king taking issue with his cousin breaking a sumptuary law,
now, do we?” He let out Záradel’s stirrups again, and as soon as he mounted up,
he disappeared. His voice floated out of nowhere: “I’ll be right behind you,
brother. And hopefully no one notices horse tracks without a horse.”

“Now I’m nervous,” Kelyn bit. “Did
you have to add the last part? Don’t tell me everything that’s on your mind.”

“Oh, I don’t.”

“And stop talking to me when I
can’t see you. Gives me the chills.” Kelyn nudged his courser to a trot, and
all too soon Carah found herself gazing straight up the sheer height of
Bramoran’s walls. The rains had darkened the red striated stone to a dark rust
color. More sentries than usual walked the battlements. Da led his party across
the moat to the unassuming north gate, the gate he and Carah always used when
they visited, but the gate was shut. Sentries wearing city watch uniforms waved
them away. One of the half dozen men was helpful enough to inform them, “All
convention traffic is to report at the main gate.”

“ ‘Report’ or ‘be made welcome’?”
Kelyn asked.

“Whichever you prefer.”

Kelyn cocked his head. “My lord.”

“Pardon?”

“Whichever you prefer,
my lord
.”

The sentry cleared his throat and
bobbed his head in a cursory bow. “M’ lord.”

Starting around the curve in the
great circular wall, Kelyn glanced back at the sentry. “He doesn’t know who I
am. Worse, he doesn’t care. Where the hell did Captain Tullyk dig up these
people?”

“What’s the world coming to,
indeed, when a highborn isn’t given his due?” Thorn said, sarcasm plain. Long
ago he’d told Carah that it was odd coming back to Ilswythe and being milorded
right and left. The Elarion afforded such styles to their Lady alone. The pearl
fisher certainly didn’t bother calling him “Lord Dathiel.”

Carah found Rhian riding close on
her right flank; the luggage horse was lathered and forced to trot to keep up
with the black’s longer stride. Surely all her jewelry, powder, and lip dye had
spilled out of their cases by now. Far more worrisome was Rhian’s expression. He
was actually frowning. A deep, hard frown as he scrutinized the lifelights of
the sentries in the towers and the guards lined up outside the main gate. For
once his emotions were as plain to Carah as the clouds in the sky.

He caught her staring, and the heated
suspicion melted from his face. At least Carah wasn’t the only one who had a
hard time thinking past the images of the nightmare. Thorn seemed to have
forgotten it altogether. “I haven’t been here since we were kids,” he said,
sounding wistful. “The outer wall is Elaran, no doubt about it. Look at the
carvings in the frieze.”

“I’m no longer acknowledging you,”
Kelyn declared, even as he raised a hand to wave at Lady Genna and Lord Davhin
who arrived on the Lunélion road. Their daughter rode behind them, looking as aloof
and humorless as ever. Carah still couldn’t decide why the other daughters and
granddaughters of the noble houses had elected her to head the Lady’s Riding
Society.

“Fine, ignore me. I was talking to my
niece anyway.”

“Talk silently, then.”

Carah laughed at their bickering;
it distracted her from her fears. Humoring her uncle, she looked closer at the
wall. In the broad band beneath the battlements, graceful dragons flew, spouting
jets of smoke and flame. She’d never noticed them before. They were smudged by
time and weather, untended for centuries.

Three enormous banners snapped and
rustled over the gatehouse. The white falcon on green and the orange sun on
indigo flanked the crowned black falcon on blue. Quite a sight, the three of
them billowing in the wind together and all flying in the same direction. Carah
hoped it was a good omen.

The Ilswythe party reined in behind
those from Lunélion. While Lady Genna announced her party to a perfumed
minister with a ledger, Lord Davhin greeted Kelyn. “You know how I feel about
war, Commander. Besides that, I haven’t the shoulders to play archer anymore. Let’s
hope those banners wish us as peaceful a departure as they do a welcome, eh?”
He was a quiet, gray man, who never demanded attention or recognition; his
daughter was dull and mousy and easily overlooked, as far as Carah was
concerned. Maeret seemed to be a far cry from the famed berserker women of her
Lunélion heritage.

Carah tried forcing an empty
platitude from her mouth, but Maeret spoke first, as flat and colorless as the
rainclouds: “I haven’t received your dues. Remember, you can’t ride for the
prize at the midsummer competition if you don’t send me your dues.”

Carah hoped a lightning bolt slapped
her atop the head and spared her the effort of swallowing the unladylike
remarks crowding her tongue. But as the sky was not cooperative, she spouted
the niceties. “How lovely to see you, Maeret. I thought we might miss each
other in the crowd. Do you think there will be dancing?”

“I was hoping for horseraces. I
might’ve won this year.”

Carah gritted her teeth.

“Maeret darling,” called Lady
Genna, “hurry along.”

Though Da did not appear to
recognize the minister, the minister recognized Da and checked his name off a
long list and Carah’s, too, then asked how many manservants and maids the party
would require. Carah might have her hair done and dresses pressed after all. The
minister handed Da a pair of keys. “You will occupy these two rooms in the new
wing, and remember, m’ lord, no weapons will be permitted at any time in the
King’s Hall. Er, for obvious reasons.”

The half-mile expanse of the Green stretched
out inside the gate. Apple and cherry orchards bloomed, looking almost cheerful
despite the heavy gray sky; herds of blue roans munched the grasses contentedly
in their paddocks. The pastures, trees, and fencing looked … shinier … somehow.
Doubtless Bramoran’s groundskeepers had worked frantically during the past
weeks to ensure everything looked picturesque for Valryk’s guests.

The town, clustered beneath the
inner wall, was spotless as well. The gutters had been cleaned, new golden
thatching laid on the roofs, and new whitewash applied to plaster walls. There
was not a beggar to be seen on the street corners, and the townspeople wore their
finest.

Riding through the inner gate,
Carah saw that the castle courtyard was packed with people. Dark blue surcoats
and orange suns were everywhere. The Leanian party must have arrived as one
great horde, inundating the staff and corridors all at once. Stableboys sweated
as they darted past, leading yet more horses and carriages to the livery. Red-faced
pages pushed small carts weighed down with luggage. Carah searched for a spot
of Fieran green but saw not one.

Behind her, Thorn hissed, “Kelyn,
why didn’t you tell me? Look at what he’s done!” The castle no longer followed
a circular plan. The eastern side had been expanded by thirty acres and the
grand new wing, with five floors surrounded by marble verandas, gilded
balconies, and gushing fountains, extended all the way to the inner wall. The dilapidated
Tower, where newly initiated knights spent their first night at Bramoran, had
been torn down. The rose garden with its trimmed hedges and winding paths where
King Rhorek had enjoyed taking his walks, now lay under the foundation of the
new wing. As boys, the Ilswythe twins had played ‘slay the dragon’ and ‘break
the gate’ in that garden. There they had met Rhoslyn, and Thorn was never the
same again. “You should have warned me!”

Kelyn sighed and ignored his
brother. “Ah, there’s Lander. Looks like he left Ruthan at home again.”

“I’m glad you’re not like him, Da.
You know, I’ve never met his daughter?”

“You’re almost as strange as she
is,” Kelyn said, winking. “But I’m more tolerant of avedrin.”

“Is that why he hides her?” Thorn
asked. “Hnh, of course. Now, listen to me, both of you. Rhian, you too.”

Someone called out to Kelyn, and he
answered, waving, right over Uncle Thorn’s request.

“We’ll dismount here, and I’ll take
the Elaran horses back outside the walls. They mustn’t be seen in Valryk’s
stables. Carah, you’re to stay outside in the grounds until your da and I have
investigated things inside. Rhian will stay with you. You’re not to come inside
the castle until I come get you myself. Understood?”

“Yessir,” she said, careful not to glance
toward his voice. She made a show of gawking at the Leanian entourage instead.
She swung down from the saddle; blood rushed into her hips and knees, and she
sighed, grateful.

Rhian handed Dúindor’s reins to an
invisible hand, and the Elaran black disappeared. In this press of people and
horses no one noticed; even so, the pearl fisher rolled his eyes at what he
must’ve interpreted as carelessness. A page ran to them and untied the trunks.
Rhian helped the boy with the fancy knots.

“Lord War Commander,” greeted
Lander, nudging his way over to them. Brown and silver curls lay heavily upon
his shoulders. The sharpening creases around his gray eyes made him look grouchier
year by year. “Were you privy to this nonsense? It’s like you to support such a
maneuver.”

“Is it?” Da’s voice sounded wooden
suddenly.

Lander wagged a finger. “I’m not
happy to share a table with Fierans, I assure you. The king had better not seat
me near one or I shall be forced to insult his guests.”

“Yes, no doubt it’s wise to forbid
weapons in the King’s Hall.”

Lord Tírandon didn’t like that
remark one bit; he huffed and shrugged his way back through the crowd.

“Right, I’ll go inside and look
around. You’ll be all right out here?”

Carah nodded, keenly aware of Rhian
giving orders to the pageboy to be careful with the lady’s trunk. “I’m
desperate for a walk. Maeret may pride herself on her calloused, rock-hard
arse, but I don’t.”

Laughing, Da pressed his way toward
the keep and was soon lost in the sea of Leanian blue.

Fingers gave Carah’s elbow a
squeeze, and Rhian said in her ear, “Let’s find a corner where we won’t be
trampled.” He carved a path through the jostling crowd and led her to the far
side of a circular fountain; water jetted through the mouths of three rearing
stallions. Rhian scrubbed his hands and neck, and while Carah stretched her
shoulders she noted that even while Rhian splashed his face, his eyes were open
and scanning the crowd, the windows, the rooflines.

“Ha, look what I found,” exclaimed
a man’s voice. “My most beautiful grandniece.”

Uncle Allaran must’ve had the same
notion of finding a quiet corner until the crowd cleared. He still had the
strong shoulders and powerful stride of a young man, but his whitening hair and
deepening jowls reminded Carah of how long it had been since she’d seen him.
Since Grandmother Alovi’s death he had made the journey east only once. He
blamed it on rheumatism, but everyone understood that Ilswythe had lost its
charm for him, with his sister gone from her garden.

“At least, I
think
you’re
the Duke of Ilswythe.”

Carah laughed and returned his
embrace.

“You’ve grown up these past ten
years. Why would you want to do that?”

“It couldn’t be helped, I’m afraid.
Is your family with you?”

“Only Ni’avh and my grandson.
They’re getting settled.” Had Cousin Athna traded her inheritance for the sea?
Is that why he brought along his middle daughter? “Oh, you must see Lassar.
He’s four, but bold and spirited, much like me.” Allaran’s eyes crinkled at
that. “My youngest is looking after your Aunt Klari. Islinn begged us not to
come without her, and Klari begged us not to come at all. But we must do as the
king commands. The Black Falcon requested the presence of my heirs, and Ha’el
insisted I be among his retinue. What’s a man to do?”

“You’re not sorry you came.” Carah
didn’t believe it for a minute.

“Both Falcons under the same roof?
I wouldn’t miss it, and what swordsman prefers to die in times of peace?”

“My father fears it will end in war
as well.”

As much as Allaran seemed to
dislike the idea of dying in an old man’s sickbed, he saddened at Carah’s
statement. “Your father’s instincts rarely failed us before. But forgive me,
you’re not alone.” His glance raked the livery Rhian wore and clung for a
moment to those aquamarine eyes. “Not a suitor, is he?”

Carah huffed. “Hardly. He’s a pearl
fisher and avedra, an apprentice of Uncle Thorn. He’s in disguise as Da’s
squire. Isn’t it exciting?”

Rhian glared at her.
Blabbermouth.
You trust this man entirely, I hope
. He was not gentle with the assault of
words. Dizziness forced Carah to sit on the edge of the fountain.

“A west coaster or an Islander?”
Uncle Allaran was saying. “My eldest is fond of the Pearl Islands. Are you
acquainted with Captain, Lady Athna of the
Pirate’s Bane Two
?”

“Oh, she’s
your
daughter,”
Rhian drawled, then followed with a dry chuckle. “Only by reputation, m’ lord.
Wild stories came out of the war.”