Tracato: A Trial of Blood and Steel Book Three (14 page)

Errollyn thought he understood quite well. Exactly
what
he understood, about gatherings like this one, and some of the Nasi-Keth’s recent infatuation with them, he did not think wise to share.

Sasha was talking to Ulenshaal Martinesse when Reynold appeared at the door. The class had been overflowing, with students standing in alcoves and sitting against the stone walls to fit in. Martinesse had interrupted frequently, and the two women had argued for much of the class, to the delight of onlookers. Sasha had been quite alarmed at just how wrong Martinesse’s interpretations were of the reasons for Verenthanism’s spread through Lenayin. Now the silver-haired lady continued the debate, as perhaps twenty students clustered about to hear.

“Ladies, please excuse me,” Reynold cut in, walking from the doorway. “Ulenshaal, could I borrow Sashandra for a moment? She is much in demand, I know.”

The students looked disappointed. “We shall continue this at lunch,” Martinesse told them.

“Assuredly,” said Sasha.

“Come students!” Martinesse announced, clapping her hands. “I know you have other classes to get to.” They departed, some with a final, appreciative thanks to Sasha.

“Martinesse is an excellent Ulenshaal, yes?” Reynold said.

“She’s very smart,” said Sasha, trying to be polite. That much was true at least, and she hated lying.

“But?”

“I don’t know, some of the people in this place…I mean, they’re very clever, but they have these favourite ideas. And instead of accepting that they’re wrong when evidence proves their favourite ideas silly, they refuse to, and twist all evidence to try to make it fit their opinion.”

“Ah,” said Reynold. “But you cannot deny the passion for ideas in this place.”

“Ideas, yes,” said Sasha. “But ideas are not facts. Any fool can invent a crazy idea and be passionate about it, I don’t see that counts as wisdom.”

Reynold laughed. “Oh, come, surely we’re not that bad?”

“Not all of you, no,” Sasha conceded, stretching. She needed to get outside for a while, and clear her head. “Not most of you. I don’t know…. I’m from a land of simple, straightforward people, Reynold; they say what they think and accept facts as they appear obvious. They’re not as sophisticated as anyone here, but I don’t think education and wisdom are necessarily the same thing.”

“Or perhaps you’re just homesick.”

Sasha shrugged, and smiled at him. “A little,” she admitted. “Did you wish to speak to me about something?”

Reynold thought for a moment. “I was wondering of your relationship with Errollyn.”

Sasha gave a puzzled smile. Reynold would not be the first to be curious about that. Hells, she was curious herself. “Yes?”

“Do you foresee marriage?”

Sasha laughed. “To a serrin?”

“It does happen, in Tracato,” Reynold insisted. “Initiated by the serrin themselves.”

“I’d never thought that far. Foresight and planning aren’t my strong points, as Kessligh’s always telling me.”

“So you don’t foresee marriage?”

“Reynold, I honestly couldn’t say.”

“He is very handsome,” Reynold pressed. “Most girls would be jealous of the chance to bed a man like him each night.”

Sasha was amused, but didn’t find the conversation reason enough to stay away from the sunlight. “Yes, well, the many jealous girls of Tracato will just have to deal with it. I have to get outside, I can’t stay inside for long.”

She headed for the door, expecting him to walk with her. Reynold stepped backward instead, facing her, partly blocking the way. “I mean, if I were bedding some stunningly beautiful girl,” he continued, “then I might prolong that situation for as long as possible, even if I did not intend to marry her.”

“Um, sure,” said Sasha, slowing down.

“But such a relationship could not continue forever,” he continued. “At some point, don’t you think, the flesh might tire of such simple pleasures?”

He reached for her cheek. Sasha was astonished, but mostly at herself, for being so dense. She was so unaccustomed to being courted. In Lenayin, most men desired a picture of feminine domesticity, and she was certainly not that.

She took a step back. “Reynold, I’m truly flattered. But Errollyn is more than my bed partner, he’s my best friend. Please understand.” She tried a smile, and hoped that worked. Spirits knew what went on in the minds of men, in such situations.

“Oh, come, you’re Lenay,” Reynold said easily. “The women of Lenayin are adventurous, surely?”

“Passionate,” Sasha corrected. “And loyal.”

“Next you’ll be trying to tell me that Errollyn is the only man you’ve bedded.”

Sasha opened her mouth to reply in the affirmative, and stopped. None of his damn business anyway. Now she was getting frustrated.

“Reynold, look. You seem a nice man, but the answer is no. I’d like to go outside now.” She gestured him out of the way. He advanced another step instead.

“Sashandra, you are an amazingly beautiful woman. I am not an inexperienced man, I am certain you’d not be disappointed.”

Sasha realised that she was retreating. She stopped, and he drew very close. “Look,” she began angrily, “let me make this very plain for you—”

Reynold tried to kiss her. Sasha sidestepped quickly. Reynold grinned, and pursued. In desperation Sasha threw a punch at him, and missed. He grabbed her arm and wrestled her close, and suddenly her arms were pinned, and his hands were on her, and there was no leverage at all. She couldn’t reach her knife, let alone her sword, and he was pushing her against a wall—not an enormously large or strong man, but a swordsman all the same, and infuriatingly she’d missed her opening chance. How many times had Kessligh warned her never to let a man get this close? She was a strong girl but against fighting men it was not enough; with her it was blades or nothing.

He had her off balance against the wall. In a flash of inspiration, she kissed him hard. She could feel his surprise against her body, his momentary flutter of excitement and astonishment…he grabbed her and kissed her back harder. That freed her arm, and she grabbed his balls, and squeezed tighter than she’d ever squeezed anything.

His face contorted, his grip slackened. In sheer fury for the taste of his mouth in hers, she smashed him with her forehead. He fell to his knees, clutching his nose, and Sasha drew her sword in a flash and put it to his neck. She felt unsteady, seeing stars, and her head hurt. That had been stupid. What the hells was she going to do, kill him? This shining intellect of the Tol’rhen, who until now had been nothing but pleasant and civilised? This unarmed man, who had never drawn a blade against her?

She sheathed the blade, and resisted the temptation to kick Reynold senseless while she had the chance. She strode out into the hallway, putting a hand to her head to check for blood. She found none. Still she couldn’t think straight, and doubted that was the blow to her head.

Who should she tell? Errollyn would kill him. Or not…but he’d finish what she’d started, and produce a lot more bleeding. Kessligh would…hells, she had no idea what Kessligh would do. Much of the Tol’rhen would undoubtedly side with Reynold. He was their man, their esteemed leader. She felt unclean. Damn him for doing this to her. What the hells had possessed him? The desperate need of a fuck? Surely not—Reynold was charming, not unattractive, and many women swooned after him. Why her?

The more she thought about it, the more furious she became. A few more strides down the hallway and she nearly reversed and drew her blade, to do
what she should have done in the name of Lenay honour and cut his head off. But it was too late now—Lenay custom dictated that hot blood was fair and just, but now the moment was passed. Damn him.

She entered the great hall, one of Tracato’s many architectural marvels. There was a commotion at the far end, amidst the usual student bustle. People had gathered in numbers and voices were raised. Sasha strode that way, in a perfect mood for trouble. Hopefully someone would need killing. Someone evil.

A group of students were booing. Sasha pushed through the crowd and saw a small cluster of well-dressed men in argument with several black-robed Ulenshaals.
Very
well-dressed men, Sasha corrected herself, eyeing the jewelled sword pommels, the intricate embroidery on their jackets and pants, the feather tufts in wide brimmed hats. Nobility.

High nobility, she corrected herself further, seeing the woman in the blue gown who accompanied them, with a pair of servants in close attendance. The gown was more understated than some Sasha had seen, yet tasselled and embroidered to an extravagant extent for a journey into territory beyond comfortable noble grounds….

The beautiful young woman noted Sasha, and her eyes widened. “Sasha!” Sasha’s jaw dropped.

“’Lyth?”

Alythia crossed to her with unladylike haste, and embraced her. Sasha hugged her back. Her sister smelled of perfumes beyond Sasha’s experience to describe. Alythia pulled away and grinned at her.

“I
told
you I’d come!” she exclaimed, daring Sasha to contradict her.

She
had
told her. They’d exchanged letters, a ludicrous contrivance for two sisters living barely a morning’s run away, but it had been the only way for more than two weeks now. Once within the fold of Family Renine, Alythia had vanished. Sasha had worried, and accosted several noble messengers to insist they delivered her concerns into important hands. Finally there had been a letter, in Alythia’s script, insisting she was well, and happy, and of increasingly good fortune. Sasha had not been surprised, but suspicious. Further correspondence had convinced her that Alythia’s words were genuine. They could not meet. Alythia was always “engaged,” and nobility did not visit the Tol’rhen in these times.

“Dear Lord Elot,” said Alythia, turning back to her group, “you do recall my sister Sashandra?”

“Indeed,” said Lord Elot, and Sasha recalled the lord from the night of their arrival in Tracato. That had been the last time she’d seen Alythia, until now. “We meet again, Lady Sashandra.”

Sasha returned his bow. “Lord Elot.”

“And Master Alfriedo,” said Alythia, taking Sasha’s hand and walking her over. Sasha realised that she was addressing a boy of no more than fourteen—she had overlooked him entirely, his head came barely to Lord Elot’s wide midriff. His young face was very fine and pale, he wore a small sword at his hip, and carried himself with lordly dignity.

Alfriedo, Alythia had said. This must be Alfriedo Renine. The rightful heir to the long dormant throne of Rhodaan. If one still believed in that nonsense.

Alythia curtseyed low. “Master Alfriedo, may I introduce my sister, Sashandra.” She presented Sasha’s hand to the boy. Alfriedo, with impeccable etiquette, took Sasha’s hand and kissed it.

“Dear Lady,” he said, his voice high and clear. His eyes were very blue. Sasha had heard a scandalous rumour that the boy king had serrin blood. Seeing him now, she wondered. “Is it true, as your sister tells me, that you prefer not to be addressed by the royal title of your birth?”

Sasha gave him a bow of respect, but no more. Behind the boy, several lords’ faces darkened with displeasure. “I do,” she said. “And more to the point, my father disapproves that anyone should use the title.”

“Perhaps then we should start calling you Princess?” Alfriedo suggested. “It would not do to please the King of Lenayin.” The nobles laughed. The surrounding gathering was largely silent, all shouldering each other to see. “I have come, at your sister’s encouragement, to tour the Tol’rhen. I have always desired to, and now I have the opportunity.”

Sasha was astonished. So were most of those around them. She spared a quick glance at Alythia, and found her sister’s gaze trained very firmly upon her. Alythia was up to something.

“I see no reason why that should be a problem,” Sasha recovered herself to say.

“I can think of several,” said one of the Ulenshaals drily. Garen, Sasha recalled the man’s name. “Feudalism is a disease of the mind; we exorcised it from Rhodaan two centuries ago. Feudalists and their ilk are not welcome in the Tol’rhen.”

There was some loud agreement from the crowd. Lord Elot looked stonily unsurprised. As though, Sasha thought, he expected this exercise to fail, and was pleased with the prospect.

“Exactly what kind of intellectual are you?” Sasha asked Garen sharply.

“The discerning kind,” said Garen, and several in the crowd tittered.

“You’re a bigot,” she told him.

Garen’s eyes widened. “I beg your pardon?”

“Can you show me one passage in all written works of serrin philosophy that states that a person with an alternative point of view should be turned away, without engagement?”

“Feudalism is a plague upon the land!” Garen said angrily. “Everything that held humanity back for centuries was swept away when Maldereld abolished feudal powers in Rhodaan, and now these
characters
wish to bring it back!”

“Well, I think that’s a fine argument!” Sasha said grandly. “Make it!” She indicated to the waiting nobles. “You call yourself Nasi-Keth, yet you refuse to debate! What have the serrin taught us if not to advance knowledge through congenial argument?” Garen’s look was sullen. “Show them around your marvellous institution! How ridiculous is it that the highest nobility have rarely seen it with their own eyes. Here’s your chance, show them what they’re missing, or admit that you’re either too feeble an intellect to make your case persuasively, or too cowardly a man to engage your foe upon the field of intellectual battle.”