Wind Over Bone: The Estralony Cycle #2 (Young Adult Fantasy Romance) (21 page)

Sarid’s throat pricked. She thought of Rischa
.

“
Executed?” she said.

“
No.” Leva shook her head. “Could’ve been, though. He did something very stupid. When Rischa took the hall away from his family he tried to kill Yelse.” The corner of her mouth turned up—it wasn’t a smile. “With a sword. Never very subtle, was Vanli. Rischa didn’t bother with a trial––he killed him as soon as he heard. The Countess had a breakdown, and the Pashes left the next day. No one knows where to.”

Sarid sat down on a footstool. “He killed him? With his bare hands?”

“No. Rischa’s a string bean.” Leva tucked her hands between her knees.  “It was a saber.”

Sarid put her hands up to her head, and was surprised for a moment at the shortness of her hair. She fought for the proper words. “He’s not in his right mind.”

“As good an excuse as any,” said Savvel.

“
He’s under enchantment. My sister’s done something to him.”

“
You did something to me, and I didn’t fall madly in love with an insane witch.”

Leva snorted, and Sarid said, “You’re every bit your brother. You would’ve done exactly the same.”

“No, I wouldn’t. I’m not so soppy.”

She ignored him and turned to Leva. “Do you despise Rischa, too?”

“I certainly don’t love him.”

“
You must have felt something for him, or you wouldn’t have hated me.”

Leva tangled a hand in her hair, and shrugged. “You’re right, he’s not in his right mind.”

Nineteen

Mari and Corban Eianhurt slept for two hours. Then the group restocked provisions, and Sarid bade Gryka go back to wherever she had found a home before, as a three weeks’ journey was too long on foot for a wolfhound. And the group set off.

They traveled south alongside the slow Nolak River. The weather grew milder, and the land greener, with black patches of new-tilled earth and yellow splashes of wheat and rye sprouts. They stayed in inns and houses, changing horses every so often, keeping their identities a secret.

A week in they circled east to avoid the Gagethene, a treacherous stretch of bog and fen, and then they circled back
––the river had become wider and browner––and came to the city of Dirlan.

The city had been built on a group of islands right before the Anvar Falls, where the river poured off a shelf onto the plains of Miryev.  Dirlan had a network of canals and waterways, though not so many as other cities; the people of Dirlan walked and rode more than punted and paddled.

Though she was higher on Savvel’s horse than the people crushing round them, Sarid was overwhelmed. The fashions were bright, and the folk angry and loud, and the falls roared always in the distance. She thought she understood why horses had blinders and hawks wore hoods.

She tried to keep control, but sharp winds whistled before them, ruffling the water, ripping awnings away, and carrying off hats. Savvel called her a hellish nuisance and put her in front of him, twisting her head to the front whenever she turned to look at something.

Corban Eianhurt wanted to wear his family colors. “We don’t need a rally,” snapped Savvel. He was the only one with his hood up.

“
I believe you’re as anxious as Sarid,” said Leva.

Sarid looked behind at Leva, who bounced on her bay palfrey and shrugged.

“For light’s sake.” Savvel turned her head back. “No hurricanes.”

They crossed a bridge to another island, and their mounts clopped up many steps to the ducal palace, which shone white in the sun, higher than anything else in the city. They were stopped by two guards with wolves on their breastplates and vambraces. The guards saluted, and they went on a high terrace. Grooms came forward to take their horses. Savvel helped Sarid down, and she turned toward the falls. Not meaning to, she pinched Savvel’s arm.

“What?” he said. “Is there a dragon?” He squinted south; his eyes seemed almost clear in the sun. He smiled. “You’ve never seen the ocean.”

Mist rose in a wave where the river plunged from sight. Then came wide yellow plains, and at the edge, right before the curve of the horizon, the sun made a white star on a great blank of what must be water.

The sight made her feel insignificant. It was a nice feeling. Savvel took her hand and they went into the palace.

Servants came forward to take their baggage, and the chamberlain said, “Madam Haek.” He bowed to Mari and turned to Savvel. “May I inquire––?”

“We’ll keep our names to ourselves,” said Savvel.

The chamberlain eyed Savvel’s ring. “His Highness may be as discreet as he likes, but his servants won’t forget who he is.”

“I hate the south.” Savvel turned to Sarid. “Want to share a room?”

“
No,” said Leva. “People shouldn’t know you’re intimate.”

“
How is that anyone’s business?” said Savvel.

“
She’s right,” said Sarid. “With Rischa acting like he is––I’m sorry.” He looked spectacularly deflated.

It was decided that Sarid would stay with Mari and Leva, and the three girls followed a maidservant to a large apartment on the second floor. They peeled off their traveling clothes and splashed water on their dusty skin (Mari poured the pitcher over her head), and changed into gowns. Sarid wrapped her hair in a scarf. Mari said she looked like a Virnrayan dancer, and Leva said she would always look like a ghost no matter what, and then a page came to take them to the receiving room.

They were the first ones there. They sat and looked at a table with a bubbling silver samovar and a plate of little tarts.

They stood up when Duke and Duchess came in. Caveira was a man who might have been handsome once. He had heavy black brows, and his dark face contrasted markedly with his wife’s pale skin and yellow hair. Mari pointed out the enamel broach pinned to his collar––a rose and gold circle with a spotted cat. His grandmother was Savvel’s great aunt, she whispered to Sarid, and he wore the Eliav Suncat when he wanted to throw more weight around than a duchy allowed for. Sarid wondered why he had occasion to wear it now.

“Welcome ladies,” said Caveira. He kissed the hands of Mari and Leva, and avoided Sarid entirely. “Dinner is in an hour. You can dine in your quarters if you wish.” He sat down, and everyone followed suit. “I’ll wait to debrief you about aught else until––”

Savvel came in and looked first at the tarts on the table. “Are you all fasting?”

Sarid saw that everyone had stood up again, except her.

“
Lady Hyeda,” he said, “thank you for your sincerity.” Savvel smiled at Leva, and threw himself down beside Sarid in a way that made it clear he wasn’t going to be nitpicked about it.

As everyone sat a second time, he took two tarts and ate them in one mouthful. The Duke and Duchess were staring at Sarid. Savvel took up a third tart. “Did Lady Hyeda not bother to introduce herself?”

“I’m sorry,” said the Duke to Sarid. “I mistook you for a lady’s maid.” He turned to his wife, and she nodded agreement. “A Rileldine.”

“
Does she look Rileldine to you?” said Savvel.

“
If it would please His Highness to know it,” said Leva, “we were about to hear a debriefing before His Highness burst in and started stuffing his face.”

Savvel took one more tart and put it in his coat pocket. “Starving. Carry on.”

“In three days’ time the others shall have arrived,” said the Duke. “Our objective––” He hesitated, looking vaguely uncomfortable. “What to do with our misguided heir apparent.”

Savvel’s leg shuddered against Sarid’s.

That evening he showed up at the girls’ apartments and ate with them.

***

They spent the next two days wandering the gardens, Sarid examining the unfamiliar, waxy plants, and Savvel yawning and glancing every few minutes toward the city’s giant water clock.

On the third day it dawned bright and cool, and a bored-looking footman came after breakfast.

“Bet we’re the first ones there again,” said Leva to Mari. The footman was walking very fast, as though he’d more important matters to attend to than escorting them around the palace. “They’ve got to keep order in these troubled times.”

“
You are a low rank for a prospective Ravinya,” Mari said.

“
How did it happen they chose Leva?” said Sarid.

“
I wasn’t their first choice,” said Leva.

“
She was the highest ranking eligible woman,” said Mari.

“
Eastern,” Leva clarified. “The Duke’s probably cursing his luck Rokal was born male. He would’ve thrown a sister so hard at Savvel the two would’ve been united in the flesh years before the wedding.”

“
You
are
a low rank for a prospective Ravinya,” Mari said again. The footman, acting stubbornly deaf, opened a door onto a wide, marble terrace, and ushered them outside.

The sun shone and the air had grown warmer. The city glinted red and gold below them, and a purple haze hid the ocean and hinted at rain.

In the floor was a rectangular pit with three terraced rows of seats running along the sides, probably used for plays and entertainments. The chamberlain walked over and sat them along the bottom.

Then the Eianhurt men came in: Cai, Corban, and Usta. Their mother, Dame Grete, marched after them, a formidable-looking woman with a mustache. Duke Caveira and his wife came next, and with them was the Duke’s younger brother, Rokal.

Savvel was last again. Everyone stood up, Sarid included; she noticed Savvel watching her.

“
What’s everyone waiting for?” he said as they sat back down. “Don’t hesitate on my account. I’m sure you’re very excited to discuss my brother.”

“
And you, Your Highness,” said Caveira. “We must determine who is the madder.”

The Eianhurt boys laughed. The dame put her hand around the youngest boy’s neck and shook him.

Savvel shrugged. “Who will make the better Ravyir, you mean? Probably Rischa. Or he would’ve had Yelse Hyeda not bewitched him.”

Duke Caveira said, “It seems to me he’s given over to whims. Stripped the Pashes of their land, killed their boy, all without a trial.”

“Under the influence of Yelse Hyeda,” said Savvel. “We have only to do away with her.”

Dame Grete moved forward in her seat. “And have another woman take her place? The firstborn would make the more natural Ravyir.”

Savvel shook his head. “I’m the madder. Arrogant, crabbed, bitter, given to mood swings, and even if my hallucinations are a thing of the past, which they probably aren’t, it would be irresponsible of you to make me Ravyir.”

“
Perhaps, then, neither of them will do,” said the Duke. “Perhaps the next closest kin––”

“
You are impotent, Olan,” said the dame.

The Duchess made a little gasping sound, and Caveira’s dark face grew florid. His brows turned to fierce knots. “My brother is not.” Sarid noticed he was wearing the broach with the Eliav Suncat again.

The dame laughed. “How are we to determine that?”

“
He’s sired a girl on Edloiva Duhn.”

Rokal went as red as his brother and gave him an angry look.

“Her father must be proud to have Eliav blood in the family at last,” said the dame. “We should put your brother on the throne immediately, such exemplary virtue has he.”

“
She could’ve taken pennyroyal like they all do,” said Rokal. “She wanted it.”

“
Rischa’s not mad or an idiot,” said Leva sharply. “A bit impulsive, maybe. But he never got a child on anyone.”

Caveira said, “But of course she is in love with him.”

Leva said, more to the Duke than anyone, “And Mari should be Ravinya.”

Mari looked at her sister in consternation. “I’d thank you not to remind me of Vanli by suggesting I marry his murderer.”

“Mari’s a fetching girl,” said Savvel, who’d slouched so low in his seat he was almost lying down. “But”––he slapped hands on his stomach––“you and Rischa would make a formidable pair.”

“
Formidable how?” said Leva. She wiped her palms on her skirts, leaving damp marks on the silk.

He sat upright. “You compliment each other. He is a soggy clay, and you are all fire.”

“You’re mocking me.”

He smiled. “Perhaps.” He said to everyone else, “And just to make it perfectly clear, I won’t be your figurehead in a war against my brother.”

“We’ll see about that,” said Dame Grete.

“
What,” interrupted Cai Eianhurt, “does Yelse Hyeda want?”

There was a silence. Everyone turned slightly toward Sarid, and her stomach gave a flip when she perceived the question was for her.

She decided to cut straight to the bone. “To see you all dead.” Nobody laughed. Caveira wiped sweat off his forehead, and Dame Grete turned to one of her sons and began whispering. “If she marries the Ravyir,” continued Sarid, “she may have the power to give the country over to the saebelen. She’s threatened it, but I don’t know. She hates Lorila, she’s made that clear enough.”

Cai Eianhurt cleared his throat. “And so you see, my lord,” he said to Savvel, “Your brother can’t be Ravyir. It may have to be war.”

“He can be Ravyir,” said Sarid. “But he can’t marry my sister.”

“
All right,” said the dame acidly. “Perhaps he doesn’t know. Who wants to tell him?”

Cai said, “Or knock the sense back into him?”

“We don’t have to,” said Leva. “Sarid simply has to kill Yelse.”

Sarid looked into her lap, pictured Yelse. The Yelse with the laughing black eyes, who used to wrap hawthorn around Sarid’s wrists to drive away nightmares.

Sarid opened her mouth to say there was nothing simple about it, but Dame Grete interrupted: “Understand that if neither happens we’ll have to make war, so that Yelse doesn’t become a legitimate Ravinya.” She turned to Savvel. “And you’ll be our Ravyir whether you want it or no.”

Olan Caveira made a small protesting noise, and the dame said, “The west won’t stand under a Caveira, Olan, not while there’s an Eliav around. And neither will the east. We all have our claims to the throne.”

No one said anything, and everyone looked underhandedly at everyone else.

They gave a collective start when Rokal said, “Someone should go to Meliona. To treat with him,  find out what he’s doing.”

“It won’t be you,” said the Duke.