The Storm Witch (25 page)

“There will be feasting tonight,” the Tarxin continued. “It would please me that you join us, if you are rested.”

“I will attend.” Dhulyn bent forward once more to touch her palms to the floor and turned to follow the Steward.

A feast? Just the place one could meet with the Storm Witch.

“But, Lionsmane, we know nothing about attacking on land.”

“These maps are accurate? These bluffs here no higher than is shown?”

“Believe so.” Malfin caught his sister’s eye even as he nodded.

#Yes#

“Then should be able to land small forces here—” Parno tapped a spot on the coast to the west of Ketxan City that showed where the mouth of a large creek cut into the coastal bluffs. “And here.” He tapped another spot to the east where there was a rocky beach. “Reading the symbols correctly? There’s depth enough there and the ships can get close enough?”

“At high tide, in those two areas, yes,” Malfin said. “But still don’t see . . .” His voice trailed off as his sister wrapped her hand around his upper arm, her eyes fixed on Parno’s face.

“Let him explain, Mal,” she said. Parno wasn’t sure that he was entirely comfortable at the confidence in her voice—nor at the glow in her face. He turned his eyes back to the map.

“If land here, and here,” he said, once again laying his index fingers on the maps. “Should be able to make our way overland to the walls of the city here, and here.” He moved his fingers. “Avoiding the cliff face of the city entirely. From what you tell me of your usual tactics, no one will be expecting an assault from the land, and there will be minimal guards along the walls. To make doubly sure of that, after dropping off the assault teams, the ship will return to sea, enter the harbor in the usual way, and bombard the city front with water bolts.” He looked up at them. “See now? Will concentrate their soldiers against what they believe to be your usual frontal assault.”

Mal was nodding. “But how will we coordinate the attacks?”

Parno smiled. Amazing how people couldn’t see a tactical use for something they’d had their whole lives. “Pod sense.” He saw the light dawn over both their faces.

#Amusement# Parno felt not only the amusement of the Crayx, but of Mal and Dar as well. #Pod sense or no# the Crayx continued #You cannot lead both expeditions and no one on board the Wavetreader has sufficient knowledge to maneuver on land, to tell directions for example# #You must have only one landing party, or do you wish us to summon other Pods#

Darlara nodded. “True, won’t take the city with just our crew, no matter how well you train them.”

Parno looked from one captain to the other. It was lucky they had him. “Don’t want to take the city,” he reminded them. “What would we do with it? Want to kill the Storm Witch.”

With a sinking in his stomach, Parno wondered if either of
them
had noticed he’d said “we.”

It was not the first time Dhulyn had attended a feast of this exalted kind. It was not even the first time she had been seated at the high table. But it was the first time she had been alone, without Parno. She forced herself to push those memories away, not to wish for his familiar grin and his ingrained knowledge of the manners of Noble Houses.

Not that even Parno’s knowledge would have been of much use here, since the court of the Tarxin bore little resemblance to that of any other court Dhulyn had ever seen. It was the first time that Dhulyn had ever seen the seating order determined not merely by rank, but by gender. Here the women were seated at a separate table, set centrally and perpendicular to the high table, and presided over by a young girl who could not have seen her birth moon more than ten or eleven times.

The Stewards must have received special orders to treat Dhulyn as though she were a man, since she had been seated at the same table as the Tarxin. There was an empty chair on either side of him, something Dhulyn had never seen done in any court in Boravia, but she had been given what amounted to the place of honor, the next seat at his left hand. On her other side was his son, Tar Xerwin, the heir.

The Tar had inclined his head, a little grimly, when the Hall Steward introduced them in the anteroom, and Dhulyn had given him exactly the same degree of bow in response. She’d had the sense that his grimness had nothing to do with her, however—or at least not directly. She wondered whether she should try the Two Hearts
Shora
. The Tar would make a useful ally.

Once at table, Dhulyn was careful to observe the manners of the others, and to copy them insofar as it was possible. Everyone at the high table had their own attendant standing behind them, and though Remm Shalyn stood behind her chair, he had very little to do besides signal to the servers when he saw her plate or glass empty. The service at their table was done by young girls, their hair covered with veils and much bedecked with bangles and pendants. The ladies’ table, Dhulyn was amused to see, was served by young boys, severely dressed in a manner that mimicked the uniform of the guards.

A nervous reflex caused Dhulyn to smile at the first girl who approached the table in front of her. The girl’s hand shook, almost dropping the small tidbit she was placing on Dhulyn’s plate with a long pair of silver tongs. Dhulyn glanced sideways and saw the Tar lifting the morsel to his mouth with his right hand. She did the same.

A slice of cured ham so thin it was like the finest parchment, wrapped around a sugared date. Her mouth watered and she wondered whether there were any more. But what the girls were bringing now were tiny cups of clear glass, filled with a bright green liquid. Wiping her hand on the napkin to the right of her plate, as she saw both the Tarxin and Tar Xerwin do, Dhulyn lifted the glass and tossed the contents down her throat. She covered her mouth politely and coughed.

“It’s unexpected, isn’t it?” Tar Xerwin said. Though his tone was just as cool, his voice was a warmer, more musical version of his father’s. “Pureed apple, olive oil, vinegar, and garlic.”

“We are allowed to speak, then?” The man was slim, and well-muscled, not at all the type to be so precise about his food. Then again, the Tarxin himself was also slim which, given his years, meant that great attention and care were being paid to his diet.

“Indeed, though most women are more likely to faint than to talk to me.”

Dhulyn cut short her laugh. “Oh. Your pardon, Tar Xerwin, I assumed you were joking.”

“And yet, you are not afraid.” He did not look at her when he spoke, however. His gaze appeared directed toward the ladies’ table.

“Why would I be?”

“Because you see now that I was not joking.”

Dhulyn shrugged. “What is the worst you can do to me?”

Now he turned to look at her. He lifted one shoulder and let it fall. “I could have you killed, or worse.”

“Possibly.” She looked him directly in the eyes, and smiled her wolf’s smile. He did not move, only blinked, but for a moment Dhulyn thought she saw something more in his face than a bored and offended noble. “Possibly you
could
have me killed. But I’ll tell you what you cannot do, Tar Xerwin. You cannot frighten me to death.”

The Tar didn’t exactly smile, but his eyes brightened, and his countenance seemed warmer. “To answer your question, then, yes, we are allowed to speak, but my father prefers to eat his meal in peace. If and when he wishes to discuss something with someone, he will call them up to sit next to him.”

“A great honor.” Dhulyn eyed the platter of thinly sliced cold meats that had been placed between her and the Tar. Evidently they were to be shared.

“It is. Don’t be surprised if you’re called over yourself. My father is very pleased with you.”

“I saw that at my audience with him.” Following Xerwin’s lead, Dhulyn rolled up a slice of meat and popped it into her mouth. A cured sausage, spicy and piquant in its flavors. “Tell me, Tar Xerwin, is your father, the Light of the Sun, pleased with me as a man is pleased with a woman?”

Tar Xerwin looked startled and, for a flashing instant, younger than his polished manners and self-assured air had made him seem.

“You are direct,” he said finally, with his first genuine smile. “I forgot that you are a Paledyn. To be equally direct, my father’s tastes in women run differently. You would be too tall, too thin and,” here his smile widened, “too dangerous for him.” He waited while the platter was removed, and individual dishes set down in front of them bearing toasted slices of bread no bigger than the palm of Dhulyn’s hand, covered with thin slices of something pale, and decorated with loose berries.

“Don’t tell me,” Dhulyn said, lifting one to her mouth and taking a bite. “Mmmm. Goose liver. I’ve never seen it so pale.”

“Try some with the berries.” When her mouth was full, Xerwin continued. “No, I would say my father thinks of you as a Paledyn, not as a woman. Note that you are seated here, and not at the women’s table with my sister.”

“He
is
pleased that I am female, however,” Dhulyn pointed out. It seemed that the Tar, at any rate, was excused from the constant repetition of “Light of the Sun.” Without turning to study the women’s table more carefully, it was impossible to know which woman was the Tara Xendra.

“He is, but I think that is because the Storm Witch is also female.” He glanced toward the women’s table, and Dhulyn thought his lips might have hardened a little.

She nodded. It was difficult to be sure; all the seated women had their hair covered in the same type of veils worn by the serving girls, though of much richer fabrics and more expensive colors. There were several of the right age, but Dhulyn was fairly certain she had not seen the fair-haired woman of her Visions. Caution and Schooling told her it might be best, for the moment, not to ask after her. Better that she not show too much interest just at first.

“And what of you, Tar Xerwin?” she asked, careful not to let her lip curl again as she smiled. “How do you think of me?”

As she had been talking to him, Dhulyn had been careful to control her respiration, until the breaths came slower, and deeper. Slowly, her skin had grown warmer. Now she looked directly into Xerwin’s eyes, parting her lips, and his breathing also slowed. The color came up into his face, and then he paled again.

“In whatever manner you would wish me to think, Dhulyn Wolfshead.”

It was the first time he had said her name, and Dhulyn thought she could let it rest there, for now. The Two Hearts
Shora
had done its work.

They kept up their dance of words through the rest of the feast. Through the fish, grilled with melon sauce and mushrooms, through the inglera tenderloin topped with more goose liver and pureed apple, through the tiny individual legs of lamb, whose creamy sauce had still more apple and garlic in it. Each dish had come accompanied with a decorative edible, potatoes cut to resemble lace and deep fried, or miniature tarts of a pale yellow color and buttery taste that Xerwin told her were made from corn.

Xerwin slowly became a different person from the one who had sat down, and Dhulyn found his attitude strange altogether. Unlike the behavior she had seen in the court of the Great King to the West, Xerwin now appeared to treat her as in every way his equal. She had gathered from the Long Ocean Nomads that the Mortaxa revered Paledyns, but she had not understood that the reverence was sufficient to outweigh the ingrained prejudices of the culture. At the same time, the Two Hearts
Shora
had made her certain that Xerwin was aware of her as a woman. His heart rate had remained faster than normal, and he had managed to brush against her several times.

Dhulyn eyed the latest platter as it was set down between them. It appeared they had at last arrived at the sweet course, and the end of the meal was in sight. There were two small bowls of almonds, chocolate and ganje beaten into egg whites, a torte of chocolate layered with a green nut, and another made of quince jelly layered with fine slices of a sharp sheep’s milk cheese.