Trickster's Choice (21 page)

Sarai murmured, “No, we don’t.” The sisters fell silent.

And that should be the end of
that
kind of question, Aly thought, satisfied.

Essence spells. We carry our essence everywhere, in our skin, in our hair, our nails. This means that everything we touch picks up some of ourselves. The longer the contact, the more essence is transferred. Thus, if you get clothing someone has worn when he or she has been active, or hot, or upset, that clothing will supply you with more than enough essence to work a spell. Mages favor essence spells for things such as locks and keys, because such spells can be linked to the owner alone. They are foolproof. They work if the owner touches something in a hurry, while under stress, in the cold. And there are ways to go around such spells.

—From a lecture on basic magical theory
by Numair Salmalin at the Royal University at Corus, attended by the thirteen-year old Aly

A
ly rose before dawn, as usual, since the duchess had not suggested that she give up her daytime work. She emerged from the kitchen wing to find Nawat seated on the rim of the well that served the cooks. He was surrounded by crows. The birds had found seats on the well’s cover, Nawat’s shoulders, the ground, the kitchen garden fence, and even the archery targets set up between the barracks and the garden. All of the birds looked as pleased as any human to be up so early, with the sun just showing above the eastern horizon. They sat or stood or walked, feathers ruffled against the early morning chill, eyes half shut with sleep. They stirred as Aly moved through them. Nawat turned to look at her.

“My clan has come,” he explained. “We will mob the Bronau hawk if you ask it. He is a danger to humans and their nestlings.”

Aly scratched her head. What was she supposed to say to
that
? Certainly she agreed. Her wager depended on keeping the Balitang nestlings alive this summer. Bronau was one of the factors that put them at risk.

“It’s not so easy among two-leggers,” she explained, wondering how she could explain human politics to her feathered allies. “We can’t drive him off. We’ll put the nestlings in more danger if we do.”

One crow made a croaking noise that sounded like a variation on the call to attack and kill.

“Then let us kill him and his flock,” Nawat said brightly. “He cannot kill or steal anyone if his bones are scattered between here and the mountains.”

Aly sighed. “Nawat, it’s not just Bronau. These soldiers who follow him? They are not his entire flock. He has a vast flock that will come to destroy everything where he was killed, understand? His brother, his sister-in-law, the king …”

Nawat regarded her with puzzlement, head cocked to one side. The other crows had the same expression and tilt to their heads.

“Humans do these things differently.” Aly knew she sounded feeble, but she was unsure how to explain matters so that they would make sense to them. “They aren’t as consistent as crows. Rank and alliances change among humans all the time, inside the flock and outside. And if you hurt one of their kin, they’ll punish whole families, even whole towns. You are here to help me, and I am here to keep the Balitang nestlings alive all summer, yes?”

Nawat smiled. “Yes, Aly.”

“Then you must trust me when I say that mobbing the prince would place them in even more danger,” Aly told him, now feeling weak and peculiar. She wondered if Aunt Daine ever felt this way, and if being able to speak animal languages made times like this easier for her aunt. “If we are vigilant with the nestlings, if we never let them stray from our eyes, we can hold them safe without mobbing anyone.” She rubbed her forehead, which had begun to ache. “Will you tell your friends, Nawat?” she asked. “And I will explain to you about humans and royalty later.”

“Yes, Aly,” Nawat told her with that particularly sweet smile. It was a smile that could divert her attention from Kyprioth’s wager, so she thrust all thought of it from her mind and went to collect her goats. She was leading them through the village gates when she heard the crows take flight from the castle. For a while she turned and walked backward to see the birds soar above Tanair, delighting at the sight of their iridescent blue-black feathers in the early light, and the graceful sweep of their wings. Soon they were gone, some to the trees among the eastern rocks, others to the fields that supported Tanair. She only hoped they hadn’t left large, white, streaky signs of their presence for the household to find when they went outside.

Aly walked on, savoring the fresh morning air and the promise of warmth to come. The weather here was nearly perfect: warm to hot days, and cool nights. She walked among fields that showed signs of crops coming in, down roads lined with wildflowers and the occasional tree. There were worse places to spend the summer, she decided as she led the goats into the rocks about the Dimari road. With Bronau’s presence to keep her alert and with the understanding that Kyprioth would not have troubled to involve Aly and the crows if he’d anticipated a peaceful summer, she knew she could pass a few interesting, pleasant months here. She
did
like a challenge.

Aly settled the goats in the rocks above the road to Dimari. Once they were happily grazing, she sat to peel the casing from her morning’s cold sausage. “Kyprioth,” she called teasingly. “I’ll share my breakfast with you.”

“Spare me.” The god appeared atop a nearby boulder, dressed as a raka with his usual scrambled collection of jewelry and sparkling ornaments. He sat casually, his arms looped around one bent knee, so the jewels in his bracelets caught the morning sun. “Sausage has no appeal for me whatever.”

Aly sighed. “It’s cooked, silly.”

Kyprioth turned his face into the wind. “Cooked or raw, sausage is not the food of the gods. Why are we talking? My brother and sister won’t stay occupied with other wars forever, you know.”

Aly examined her fingernails as if she weren’t interested in her next question: “Are you looking to start a war here, sir?”

Kyprioth grinned, white teeth flashing against brown skin. It was a grin that was the essence of mischief, with none of the sweetness of Nawat’s smile. “A fine effort and well executed. May I remind you that you never call me ‘sir’?”

Aly grimaced. Tiny slips like that betrayed an impersonation.

“Why should you care?” the god went on. “You have but one task between now and the autumn equinox: to keep the Balitang children alive. War isn’t a concern for you.”

Aly leaned back against a tree, her eyes on the goats rather than the god. “You see, that’s what I wanted to ask you about,” she explained in her friendliest manner. “It’s just that I worry Chenaol will believe I am here for a bit longer than the summer. I would hate to disappoint her when I go. She might even believe that
you
might keep me here.”

“Oh, no, I will do nothing of the kind,” Kyprioth said. “I doubt that Chenaol takes it that way.”

Aly sat up on her knees and looked at the god. “Good,” she said. “A wager is sacred in the Divine Realms—anyone knows it. If you try to change the terms we’ve agreed to? I’ll bring the matter before your fellow gods, including the two whose attention you least want to draw. The two who kicked you off your throne. Don’t even think of pulling the wool over my eyes.”

He vanished from his rock to reappear in front of Aly. “The thought never crossed my mind,” he said, and kissed her on the forehead. “A wager’s a wager.” He vanished, making the air pop where he had been.

Aly shook her head, then stood and stretched. “I should feel relieved,” she mused aloud. “And yet, somehow, I don’t.”

She dozed for a while in the sun. When she woke, it was to a crow’s announcement of riders on the road south from Tanair. Aly sharpened her Sight and saw a noble riding party below her: Prince Bronau, Duke Mequen, Duchess Winnamine, Sarai, and Dove were out riding. The prince called a mocking challenge, which Sarai accepted with a whoop, nudging her horse into a gallop as the prince spurred his own mount. They thundered down the southern road, Sarai like a warrior out of legends, her hair springing from its pins. Two bodyguards followed the racers at the gallop, while Mequen, Winnamine, Dove, and their guards kept to a lively trot. They waved to Aly, who waved back, as they rode on.

Aly stretched out her leg tendons, touching her toes as she turned things over in her mind. Did Bronau think Sarai might be a bride for him? The prince was a younger son, which meant his pockets might not be very deep. Did he think Sarai had money? Through enthusiastic eavesdropping, Aly had discovered that Balitangs inherited by luarin law. Elsren would get the bulk of the duke’s lands and wealth at his death. Sarai and Dove would split their inheritance from their mother, Tanair and a few other small estates. They would not be wealthy brides.

She heard footsteps, quiet but not noiseless, among the rocks to her left. Aly bent casually and picked up two of a small pile of stones she had made before her nap. Back at home she had learned to throw rocks from the village boys, until she could kill rabbits or dent heavy wood with the force of her throw.

“She rides well, our Sarai.”

Ulasim stepped out from between the rocks. Aly looked him over. Today he wore homespun and moved as easily in the rough garments as her own father moved in his clothes. Aly noticed something else: the outlines of dagger sheaths against his sleeves and on his breeches where they fell over his calf-high boots. Ulasim hadn’t worn blades before.

“She does ride well,” Aly said. “I suppose you’ve talked to Chenaol.”

“Of course,” said Ulasim. “We are all in this together.”

“This,” Aly said musingly, guessing that he spoke of the conspiracy among the Balitang raka. “Tell me, did you ever want to put Sarugani on the throne?”

Ulasim shook his head. “The time wasn’t right.” After a moment’s hesitation, he added, “And she wasn’t right—more heart than head, when everyone knows the head is what matters when dealing with the luarin. It matters, too, that she had no royal blood through the luarin line, which will bring more of the part-raka to our cause. Our lady has the Rittevon blood as well as the ancient Haiming blood, and she is wiser than her mother. The people will love Sarai as queen.” He fell silent for a moment, then said, “We have waited a very long time for this. We shall have only one chance—if we fail, the luarin will see to it that we cannot rise again. That is why so many came to see her. They know what is at stake. They have prayed for this chance for generations.”

The head hostler Lokeij rode up on Duke Mequen’s hunter. The old raka used no saddle, Aly realized, and no bridle. Her estimation of the tiny man rose several notches. She would have shrunk from riding such a big horse with full tack, let alone with none.

Lokeij dismounted easily and set the horse among the goats to graze. Then he lay down atop a rock, apparently there just to bask in the sun. Ulasim picked up a stick and whittled on it. It seemed they were waiting. Aly put her rocks back in their pile and practiced head and handstands on the soft grass.

She had just progressed to walking on her hands when Chenaol arrived through the rocks, panting from the exercise. “I told them,” she informed Aly as she collapsed beside the girl.

“I noticed,” Aly said with a grin. “Who else did you tell?”

“Fesgao,” replied Chenaol, fanning herself with one hand. “Veron’s got him in charge of the watch today, and he dares not leave.”

Somehow Aly wasn’t surprised to hear that Fesgao was part of the conspiracy. She hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. Time to get my feet wet, she thought, and said, “Veron is the king’s spy. He keeps his papers and coding materials in a box set on the lintel over his door. Have you someone who can watch him, and intercept any reports he might try to send out? Not Fesgao—he’s too obvious.”

“One of my stable boys will do well at such work,” said Lokeij. “Boys are less obvious than men, and these boys are forever trailing behind the men-at-arms when I’ve no work for them. It will be easy.”

“Should we tell His Grace?” asked Ulasim.

Aly shook her head. “The duke and the duchess do not need to know,” she replied. “I will tell them when it is necessary.”

Lokeij turned his head to stare at her. “They listen to you?” he asked, plainly startled. “But they only know you as a slave.”

Aly grinned. “Your friend appeared to them as Mithros and told them to listen to me,” she explained. “They think I’m his messenger.”

“That explains …” Chenaol’s voice trailed off as she considered what this information did explain.

“Fesgao said that you suggested he check the forest for bandits on the way here,” Ulasim remarked. “He wasn’t sure if there were people abroad, having been in the city so long, but you convinced him.”

Aly shrugged.

“Well!” Chenaol said, more pleased than she had been the previous night. “Things should go better, now that we have a proper spy. We’re ready for anything.”

“Anything but a mage,” Aly pointed out, lying back and linking her hands behind her head. As clouds scuttled by, she added, “The healer Rihani is good only for healing, and only a certain amount of it, at that. A true mage, come here on King Oron’s behalf, could crack us wide open. Speaking of the king …”

Lokeij leaned over and spat to one side.

“Satisfying, but not useful,” Aly said. “If spit made a difference, you raka would have had the Isles back as soon as everyone got to know the luarin. With regard to the king, if he has one of his bad twitches, Veron and his boys won’t be enough to hold off a royal assault. And you can’t count on Veron. Like as not, he’ll just open the Tanair gates like a good dog. Have you raka made your own provisions for warriors? Patrols of the plateau? If outsiders infiltrate this area, you should stop them before they reach Tanair.”

“But why?” Ulasim wanted to know. “Surely it’s enough to retreat to the castle. We’re safe inside the walls.”

Aly shook her head. “If they trap us in the castle, then we are well and truly
trapped
,” she explained. “It would be far better for any assassins the king sends to vanish before they reach Tanair. That way, when the king asks what happened to his soldiers, His Grace can say, ‘What soldiers?’ without even needing to lie. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”