Wind Over Bone: The Estralony Cycle #2 (Young Adult Fantasy Romance) (12 page)

“
Give Count Pash my regards,” said Sarid.

Then they were gone, and she untied Gryka, who crept under the bed.

“And thus does the deadly butterfly flap her wings,” said Savvel.

“
Find your own way back.” She picked the broken lamp off the ground and lit it with her finger.

“
He won’t let this go. He thought you were dangerous. Now he knows.”

“
That was the idea.”

“
You want to be locked up with me?”

“
They
can’t
lock me up. They can’t make me do anything.” With quick, fierce movements she began picking up books and righting the furniture. “They can only be so terrified and nasty that it makes me want to leave. I do want to leave, I should leave, but I can’t while my sister opens her legs and beckons to your brother, who, it appears, always goes for the woman he feels the most sorry for––”

“
Ha––you’ve hit it on the head.”

She dumped a pile of books on her bed. “I was hoping you’d say different.”

“Have you heard how our mother died?”

“
No.” She pushed broken glass into a corner with a rag.

“
I was twelve.” He sat against the wall, as if telling the story would take all his energy. “Rischa was eight. It was snowing, and Mother wanted to go out and walk. Father said it was too late, but she went out anyway. When she came back he’d ordered the gate barred against her, and so off she went back into the wood. He opened it right after, but she was too stubborn to come back. She didn’t come back the whole night, and we searched and searched, and she was found the next day, dead, head bent to her knees, eyes frozen shut. It broke my father. It was stupid, stupid, stupid.”

Gryka crept from under the bed. She slinked over and put her head in his lap.

“Poor little Rischa never forgot his father’s weeping.” Savvel sank his hand into the dog’s fur. “He didn’t talk for a whole year. But when he did, he was so gentle, tender and careful that female creatures everywhere lined up to hear him. At nine he was all chivalry. At twelve, a marvel of courtly wit. At fourteen he’d bloomed the cheeks of every crying maid in Anefeln and tumbled most of them, too.”

Sarid squeezed the rag and cut her hand on a piece of glass.

“At sixteen he saw his frozen mother’s face when he espied the beautiful, wintry Sarid Hyeda. Unfortunately for Sarid Hyeda, he saw his mother even better in the Reglime princess.”

“
Savvel,” she said haltingly, “do you think my sister could––” She wiped blood on her skirt. “Do you think he’d break his trothplight with Leva?”

“
He’d better not––” He paused. “You still love him?”

She took a few heaving breaths.

“Dear gods, Ida. Don’t you know these things fizzle out quicker than candle in a witch’s armpit?”

She started to cry.

“Oh, for Ayevur’s––here, I’m nasty, I admit, but I still know what I ought to say. I used to put great stock in charm.” She made a noise in her throat. “Don’t question it. I loved quite a few girls. And I still do. Human males, we love every pretty girl we see. The Elden have it easier, with the sex drive of a sponge.”

He looked gratified when she smiled. “So when you think you’re miserable in love, remember the human boys who fall in love with Gireldine girls––like hugging an icicle naked, I’ve heard, all the uncomfortable bits getting stuck––” Her shoulders were shaking; she hid her face in her hands. “And yet we go on with it because we can’t help ourselves. We’re stupid. Despite all our pretensions to reason. Our heads turn around like tops.”

She was silent for a while, then she sighed and said, “Your guard will be getting nervous.”

“
Drunk, more like.”

“
I can’t take you back.”

“
Rischa would think the worst.”

“
He’d kill Vanli, if he knew.”

Eleven

Savvel went back alone, and no one learned anything about that night––the guard kept silent, and Vanli Pash, too, though his face was strangely devoid of smugness for the next week. Sarid scarcely saw Rischa, and she didn’t bother to look for him. She didn’t need to; when she closed her eyes he was there, walking through the gardens, ducking under the flowering trees, hand in hand with a slender girl, brown curls mingling with her white hair––and Sarid would slam her fists on her desk and throw her pen or book or pestle against the wall, and stare at the fireplace.

A week went by, and Sarid learned the real reason for Rischa’s absence.

She was walking back from the kitchens, a basket of scraps for Gryka hanging on her arm, when Leva found her. Her face was red and white, her hair standing out like a mane.  Gryka, who’d been eagerly padding after the basket, shrank back and pulled her bulk behind Sarid.

“
See? See? It’s all of them.” Leva snapped her fingers at the dog. Gryka growled. “Something isn’t right. Where’s your sister?”

Sarid shrugged. “Somewhere working her poison on your betrothed.”

“Chaos smite her head.” And then, “Rischa isn’t here. Didn’t he tell you?
You
saved him. I saw you do it. If I were you I would’ve put such a dint in her head––”

“
He’s gone?” said Sarid.

“
Called away by his uncle, or his father––I can’t remember. He’s ill.”

“
I know.”

“
His father’s ill.”

“
They’re both ill?”

“
Poison, everyone’s whispering,” said Leva.

“
Who would––?” Leva gave her a long look. “Rischa? They’re saying Rischa did it?”

“
Of course. Next they’ll be saying he drove his brother mad.”

“
All this in just a week?”

“
You’re surprised?”

“
What’s this about my sister?”

Leva went off at this. “The dogs can’t abide me, nor the horses. The cats hiss, and the hawks––”

“And the people?”

“
They couldn’t abide me anyway. But the dogs?” She waved at Gryka, who’d moved to the other end of the corridor.

“
I’m not terrified of you.” Sarid put down her basket. “She’s done something to the animals.”

“
I’m right, then?
She
did it?”

“
Probably.”

“
But why?” Leva wailed, closing her eyes. “Why?”

“
You don’t know?” Sarid pulled her into a little room off the corridor. The midday sun shone through a spate of new leaves, casting the room in a soft green glow. “You were the obvious target, right after Savvel.”

“
She-––” Leva lifted her wet face, and her eyes darted around like a spangle of light. “You think I wanted this? Or him? How could she break us up when we can’t? East Lorila won’t accept it. He’ll tear the country in half, and what does she think to do with a handful of frightened dogs? Make me look unsuitable?”

“
She succeeded with Savvel.”

Leva bit her lip. “She sent the saebel, didn’t she? That tried to kill me on the boat. She sent it. She’ll keep trying to do me in. Well. Rischa may prove a dunce, but she’ll find me tougher than she bargained for.” She brushed tears from her face and stood up straight.

“Let’s see what she’s done to you,” said Sarid, and looked out the door. “Gryka,” she called. There came a clicking of nails: Gryka peered inside the door, hackles raised. “Come in. No one’s going to hurt you. As if anything could. Come on.”

But Gryka wouldn’t move.
Gloraghllea
, Sarid whispered. The dog had to obey. She slunk into the room and leaned against Sarid’s skirts. Sarid took hold of Gryka’s scruff and dropped into the dog’s mind.

The green glow dimmed; the scent of the meats in the basket filled her insides. Above it a menacing cloud hung: the terrible hand of a master who demanded a slave’s worship. Total, writhing obeisance. Sarid felt her abdomen twisting. She removed her hand from the dog.

Leva stared at her. “Have I grown fangs?”

“
You love animals?”

“
Yes––?”

“
She’s twisted it into something else.”

“
Explain.”

Sarid thought how she might. “Think of how your father might have made you uncomfortable.”

“Don’t presume
that
––”

“
Not just your father. Anyone older. Your uncle Pash, your sister, mother, Rischa––how they think they know what’s best for you and try to make you do it. But what they’re really doing is belittling you, smothering you. Think of that, only a thousand times worse.”

“
That’s what I’m doing? Smothering them?”

“
Something like that.”

“
Your sister’s a beast.”

“
Well done,” said Sarid, preoccupied. She could see the spellwork protruding from Leva's
enna
. Like an extra limb. Withered, horrifying, useless, reaching out over the poor dog.

She lifted a finger, afraid the thing might stain her. The leaves outside rustled. She brushed the shadow away from the dog as easily as if it were smoke. It dispersed, except where it billowed out from Leva’s spirit. Gryka relaxed immediately. Her tail pumped and she withdrew her head from Sarid’s skirts and sat down. It was as if Leva wasn’t there.

“What’ve you done?” demanded Leva. “Did you undo it? Is it gone from me?”

“
No. It’s gone from the dog.”

“
Can’t you take it off me?”

Sarid shook her head. “I don’t know how. I’m afraid I’d hurt you.”

“You want me to suffer.” Veins stood out in Leva’s neck. “I’ve been horrible to you and you want me to suffer. But it’s not just me you’re hurting, and if you won’t help us, damn you. Damn you saebeline sluts––”

“
Listen to me.” Sarid shook her by the shoulders. “Why should I care about the inspired tiff you threw over your dog? I have plenty of potential grudges to choose from and you’re last of the last I’d ever consider. You’re a gnat in a swarm of wasps and right now Yelse’s the one I want to stamp on.

“
Now that trick I just did with the dog, it’ll be easy enough with the other beasts, but I’ll have to be there with you, so you’ll have to stand my company for a bit if you want to play with your beloved hounds and horses. Then perhaps at some point I’ll have loosened the thing enough to knock it off without taking a piece of your damned arrogant spirit with it. But you’ll have to be
patient
, and you’ll have to ignore my sister and act as though nothing’s wrong, which may be impossible, what with your always getting whatever you want if you scream loud enough.”

“
I––”

“
You’re right––this isn’t just about you. So could you do all that, I wonder?”

“
Certainly.”  Sarcasm sharpened every line of Leva’s body. “Lead on, Sarid. After all, only you can save us from your own kind. But if you could please work especially hard at the horses.  I’m quite set on entering the midsummer tourney. I mean to further my winning streak. If only by screaming loud enough.”

And she left, so quickly that her hair blew out and caught Sarid in the eye. Sarid wiped water from it, and shook her head. Leva’s voice came from the corridor: “When I have need of you, I’ll call.”

***

A week went by without a single call from Leva. Sarid was at her fire pit, brewing a tincture of mullein and elm for Gryka, who had somehow contracted the wheezes. It was late afternoon. Sun slanted in long streaks through her open windows.

“Sarid Hyeda?” came a man’s voice through her fireplace.

She crawled through and stood to face him. “What is it?”

He was in a soldier’s brigandine; muscles moved under his sleeves. His chest was heaving and he had blood on his hands. “There’s some trouble. You’ve been reque––you may be able to help.”

“
Oh. Am I being dragged to stand trial again?”

He wiped his wrist across his forehead, smearing blood there. “Prince Savvel––”

“What about him? I’m not allowed near him.”

“
That
to the rules.” He made a rude gesture. “He’s bloodying himself. Even in bonds, he’s hurting his head, his back. We can’t watch him every minute.”

“
No,” said Sarid, her mood now thoroughly sour. “That would be wearisome.”

“
He won’t stop, he says, but only for you. Get me the little witch Hyeda, he says.”

“
All right.” She wiped a wet leaf from her arm, and sighed. “All right, let’s go.” And because the man didn’t move, just looked around as though lost, she grabbed his arm and tugged him along.

When they finally reached Savvel’s rooms (he was tied to a chair, banging his head against the back of it and biting the hands of anyone stupid enough to reach close enough) Sarid planted herself in front of him and said: “What are you doing? What’s going on––?”

“Do you know what they’re singing in Dirlan?” He opened and closed his hands and grinned. She saw how dark his eyes were, and her heart sank. “In the slums of Dagona? In Miryev where the wheat’s already shooting up? Would you like to hear it, Ida?”

“
No.”

He sang it anyway, rocking the chair in time.

“
Grand Duke Eliav has fallen out with fate.

He’s sick abed with poison and his boys are reprobate.

The elder’s dancing naked to the charm song of a snake.

The younger hides up ladies’ skirts for fear of Leva Haek.

But Gavorian Eliav is finished hopping beds.

He’s moving on to bigger game, he wants his elders’ heads––

First his crimson-pissing uncle, then his father desperate ill,

Then he’ll push his addled elder brother down a hill.”

“That’s sick,” said Sarid.

“
Who’s sick?” He sat still for a moment, looking at her. He had red slashes up and down his arms. His palms were seared and blistering. She eyed the fire grate: the wet embers were still smoking.

“
Why are you hurting yourself?” she said.

He clicked his tongue and smiled with all his teeth. “I’m sticking a needle through a canker.”

“Someone get a medic,” she said to the soldiers. One of them left the room, and she said to Savvel, “It’s just a song. People say all sorts of stupid things to amuse themselves.”

He closed his mouth and nodded his head, and cried until his cheeks shone like a stone in a waterfall. “I didn’t want this. Didn’t choose to be the spotted cat nailed to the back of the door, the lynx, the elva who gnawed through his own flesh to escape his bonds.”

“I think,” Sarid said to herself, “the lynx will escape his bonds soon enough.”

An old, bearded man in a medic’s robe bustled in with bowls and bandages. He was followed by Count Pash and the chamberlain, both puffing and looking irritated.

“Give me the Hyeda witch,” Savvel said, and Pash hung back, his flaccid skin gone almost translucent. The medic cut Savvel from his bonds and put his hands in a bowl of water.

“
Is that a good idea?” said the chamberlain, and as if to prove him a wise man, Savvel leapt from the chair and knocked the water to the ground.

“
Give me the Hyeda witch.”

“
Sit down,” said Sarid. She forced him back into the chair, and the medic refilled the bowl and began dressing his cuts. And all the while Savvel didn’t let go of Sarid’s hand but submerged it with his own in the water.

“
Give me the––”

“
Very well,” said Pash. “You can have her.”

“
My lord,” the chamberlain said. “Prince Gavorian said––”

“
He’s not here.” Pash looked furiously at Sarid. “And I daresay she can explain it all to him herself.”

“
Explain what?” Sarid said. “I haven’t agreed.”

“
What’s agreeing got to do with it?” said Pash. “It’s my hall.”

“
It’s my power.”

Pash’s face went purple. Savvel’s hand shook so hard water slopped over the bowl.

“I’ll stay,” said Sarid, “if you let me do as I please.”

“
His guard has to stay, too,” said Pash.

“
They’re welcome to him,” said Sarid.

“
And a lady’s maid.”