Sasha (51 page)

Sasha nodded. “Father did not listen, Sofy. He took Daryd, the Udalyn boy, and confined me to quarters. Your maid sent word that Krayliss had all but declared rebellion and I suspected Koenyg might seize that chance. I tried to save the Udalyn girl, Rysha…and I nearly got away. She's alive, last I saw, but I was too late all the same.”

Sofy's eyes were incredulous. “But Sasha…you could have sent someone else! One of my maids would have carried a message! No one would have wanted the little Udalyn girl in danger…”

“I got her into it,” Sasha said stubbornly. “It was my idea to use Krayliss's camp as a hiding place for her. It was my responsibility, and I could not be certain any message would be sent in time. It was faster to do it myself…and even then, I was too late. Had I not gone, Rysha would probably be dead.”

“But Sasha, what a risk to take! Do you realise how much the Goeren-yai look to you? You are a great hope, Sasha, for so many of them…”

“And what would you know about the desires of the Goeren-yai?” Sasha snapped, in a flash of temper.

“I was talking with Anyse,” Sofy said reproachfully, wiping at her eyes. “She hears all the gossip about Baen-Tar from all the Goeren-yai staff and soldiers. They talk of you, Sasha. I think that it's largely because of you, and your known dislike of Krayliss, that none chose to follow him on the field today.”

Krayliss on his horse. The final, desperate plea across the fields. The raised sword, slowly dropping. Utterly unexpected, a lump raised in her throat for the tragedy of Lord Krayliss. It must have shattered him. A man who, above all else, desperately wished to be loved by his people. In the end, they had not returned that love. He had been selfish, brutish, bloodthirsty and, worst of all, he had misjudged the desires of the people whose hearts he had claimed to know better than any other. And yet, in that final moment of despair, he earned her pity. She knew what it was like to feel so utterly alone.

“Don't make me regret it,” Sasha muttered. “I won't kick the man's corpse while it's still warm.”

Sofy blinked. “He's not dead, Sasha.” Sasha frowned in surprise. “He lives, though not for long. They erect a stand upon Soros Square even now. Tonight, there will be executions. All the Taneryn party who survived, including Krayliss. Perhaps ten, I think.”

“He was taken
alive
?” That was even worse. At the very least, Krayliss would have wished martyrdom. For all his bluster, she could not believe he had shown cowardice. His bravery, at least, had surely been genuine.

“His horse fell,” Sofy explained. “Or at least, that's what I heard. He lost consciousness. But he dies tonight. Koenyg was very firm.” There was an edge to Sofy's tone, faintly cold and somewhat sarcastic. Disdain, Sasha recognised it. Disdain for the barbarities of what some men called justice.

“He attempted rebellion, Sofy,” Sasha said quietly. “He deserves death. Such is the law.”

“And does Master Jaryd deserve death?”

“Jaryd?” Sasha asked with a frown. “What did Jaryd…?”

“The lords of Tyree invoked an old law,” Sofy said breathlessly. “Jaryd's father died, and rather than accept Jaryd as the new great lord, they invoked this law and…and they dissolved Family Nyvar, Sasha! Dissolved it!”

“Sylden Sarach,” Sasha murmured, horrified. “That…that's an old pagan barbarity, how could a bunch of Verenthanes use…? What happened? Where is Jaryd?”

“In a dungeon, somewhere near here…I couldn't get in to see him, Sasha, the dungeon guards turned a blind eye to me visiting my sister, and one of them's Goeren-yai anyhow. But there's a couple of Tyree lordlings doing guard duty down by Jaryd's cell, I don't think they trust the guards here.” Sofy clutched the bars more tightly, her face fearful. “Sasha…they killed Jaryd's brother! Just a little boy, Tarryn Nyvar, they tried to take him, they tried to take the whole family, all the direct relations…but the boy stabbed his abductor and they killed him, right in the palace! It's so awful, those Tyree fools made such a mess of it, Sasha! And I always said it was so stupid to arm little boys with short blades, whatever the traditions say…”

Sasha was not listening. She felt paralysed. She remembered the little boy with freckles and sandy hair who'd sat on Jaryd's bed and chatted with a cheerful sparkle in his eyes. Sylden Sarach. An old Goeren-yai tradition, mostly abandoned now amongst the followers of the ancient ways. In disputes between chieftains over the line of succession, there was always the question of inheritance. Kill the father and the sons would grow up seeking revenge. Yet killing children was not honourable. Better to dissolve the family and adopt the children into friendly families, so that revenge would be all the more difficult for them when they came of age.

There were grand old stories about it, of heroes with torn loyalties, boys becoming men determined to avenge their dead fathers, only to find themselves in conflict with their adopted families. How could a bunch of noble Verenthanes invoke an old pagan law that the pagans themselves had long abandoned? The sheer, bloody-minded cynicism shocked her. And worse, her brother, and therefore her father, had most likely condoned it, given that it happened under their roof and their protection.

“What did Jaryd do?” she asked Sofy quietly, past the lump in her throat.

“An old Goeren-yai groundsman saw the murder!” Sofy whispered, as if scared the cold stones would overhear. “He found and told Jaryd before they could lead him into a trap and Jaryd went berserk! He killed the heir to Family Wyshal, whom I gather used to be an old friend of his…and he killed another man I don't know, and wounded three more before they overpowered him! I think Damon was there, I haven't been able to find out exactly, but someone found out what was happening and stopped them from killing Jaryd…some maids said it was Damon, but others disagree, and I can't find Damon anywhere! Sasha, I'm really scared…you don't think he'd be in any trouble, do you?”

“I don't know,” Sasha said quietly. “But if the Great Lord of Tyree is suddenly dead, that's very convenient.”

“Yes I know, isn't it just!” Sofy exclaimed, nodding vigorously. “The healers said he should have lasted several more moons at least!”

“The lords of Tyree must have asked Koenyg and father for permission,” Sasha said heavily. She put both hands in her hair, as if to try and hold her thoughts in order with that pressure alone. “They caved in. Or they agreed. Just like they agreed to let the Hadryn attack the Udalyn, and like Koenyg arranged to have Krayliss killed. The king finally needs the great lords for something, and the great lords demand all their dues paid at once, a full, accumulated century of them…all save the Great Lord of Tyree, who suddenly became a liability, thanks to his stubborn, brave, naive fool of a son.”

She turned away and stared at the bleak wall of her cell. All for a stupid holy war for a faith half of Lenayin didn't even belong to. And all because her poor, beloved pagans really
were
a squabbling rabble, just like the nobles claimed. Poor Jaryd. Poor, brave fool. Even if he'd known what was coming, would he have changed his course? Perhaps…but also, perhaps not. Crazy man. He was almost Goeren-yai in that. A stubbornness almost worthy of Krayliss. Or Krystoff. Or herself. All these crazy Lenays, all bent on self-destruction, and all for what? Why did they do it? Why hadn't any of them changed course when they'd had the chance?

Maybe this was what Kessligh had tried to tell her. Had struggled to drum into her thick skull, from the moment it was hard enough for him to rattle with a stanch. Beliefs are dangerous, Sasha. Be very careful what you believe in. Kessligh was gone now, headed for Petrodor. She'd cursed him for a disloyal traitor. But look at her now. Look at Krayliss. Look at Krystoff. Look at Jaryd. They'd all had the choice between pragmatism and ideals. Kessligh had taken the pragmatic option, whatever the emotional pain it cost him. She'd done what she'd always done and led with her heart instead of her head…and had ended up here.

Was this the culmination of Kessligh's last great lesson? He'd struggled to contain Krystoff's wilder impulses, but her crazy brother had alienated the north and the hardline Verenthanes, and lost his life for it. Had Krystoff in his last moments realised how he'd been betrayed, when the Cherrovan warparty had thundered down from the hills in far greater numbers than Hadryn information had led him to believe? Would she finally realise the truth of this lesson also, after the sentence at her trial had been passed, and the axe was finally about to drop? At least, she thought despairingly, she'd be in plentiful company. But that was no comfort at all.

“I hate him,” said Sofy, with sudden venom. “I hate Koenyg. It's all a game to him, like a lagand contest. He wants to win, he doesn't care who gets killed.”

“Father is king,” Sasha reminded her. Sofy's vehemence surprised her. She wasn't sure she could remember Sofy ever saying that she hated anyone, let alone family. “The responsibility is his.”

“You've seen him!” Sofy protested, anger in her dark eyes. “He's like a man lost in a storm, in a world he does not comprehend any more! When he had eyes to see for himself, when the world made sense to him, he held the reins like a true king and everyone bowed to his wisdom. But now he's a blind man, groping for support in the dark, and Koenyg is the one holding his right arm. Of course father should be wiser and stronger, but the fault is Koenyg's! Koenyg should guide better, he shouldn't be so…so…”

To Sasha's consternation, Sofy's anger began to crumple into tears. She clutched her sister's hand more tightly through the bars with increasing concern. “Sofy? Sofy, what's wrong? What did Koenyg do?”

Sofy looked away, a hand to her mouth, trying to stop her lip from trembling. She took a shuddering breath. “I found out…” she began, and lost control of her voice once more. Tears flowed down her cheeks.

Sasha's concern turned to dawning fear. Koenyg had devious plans that involved Sofy? “What did you find out, Sofy?”

Sofy gasped, trying to gain control. She managed it finally, wiping her cheeks. “I found out the real reason why the Larosa are here,” she said weakly. Her eyes focused on their clasped hands. “I…I overheard…or no, I didn't overhear, I spied. I heard them talking…oh, Sasha, I'm so sorry I snapped at you before. You were right about the Larosa—Duke Stefhan is a lying, conniving, murderous…”

Sasha tightened her grip on Sofy's hands. “What did you find out?”

“They…they were talking about some girl, like two men sizing up a cow before the slaughter, and…and talking about marriage, and at first I thought “they must be speaking of Alythia,” since she's the one getting married…but then they made reference to this girl being the youngest, and they said how immature she is, and how stupid, and how absolutely foul it would be for the heir of the Larosan king to marry her…”

Sasha stared in dawning horror, as it all, suddenly, made sense. “Oh no,” was all she could say.

Sofy saw her expression, and the control crumpled once more. “Koenyg wants me to marry a bloody-handed tyrant, Sasha,” she burst out all at once, “and Father must have agreed to it, and I'm still only eighteen, and I'm so scared because I don't want to go!”

She sobbed uncontrollably, her head bowed against the bars. Sasha tried to hold her with her hands through the bars, but it was impossible. She felt utterly, desolately cold. She had killed Lenays upon the fields before Baen-Tar and found little regret for it. Now, she felt entirely certain that if one of them had been her brother Koenyg, her regret would have been even less. Damn him to the deepest and hottest of his precious Verenthane hells. For the next time they met upon the field of battle with blades drawn, surely only one of them would walk away alive.

She awoke with a start, lying on the hard boards, and stared at the light that danced across the stone ceiling. The dream had been of Krystoff. She'd fallen off her pony. He'd been laughing at her. She'd tried to climb back on, but the pony had somehow become Peg and was far too tall for her little legs to reach the stirrup. Krystoff had galloped off, and somehow she'd managed to get up and gallop after him. And had found herself in a broad, wide valley with steep sides, cultivated lands and a wide, beautiful river that gleamed beneath the light of a full, silver moon.

From further up the hall, there came a scuffing, echoing noise. Then a clank of keys and muttering voices. Sasha sat up quickly, feet to the floor. The keys rattled some more, then the squeal of the gate opening. Several pairs of feet approached. She had no idea what time of night it was, or even if it was still night. But there would only be more than one guard if she were being moved from her cell.

Three men appeared, and none of them looked like guards. The leader held a flickering lamp which failed to illuminate his face beneath the shadowing hood. He handed the lamp to his companion and fumbled with a ring of keys, as his two companions took wary stances on either side. They appeared to be armed beneath their cloaks, and looked to be expecting trouble.

Sasha got to her feet in alarm, feeling naked without her weapons. A vigilante group come to murder her? Northerners seeking revenge? But how would they get through the guards without her having heard the sounds of battle?