"Sahshi, what's the matter?" Lydiell asked, seeing her and her distress at once, and motioning for the others to let her through.
"You said only one," Sahshi whispered imploringly. "But I like vi'lets—"
"Oh dear—children, do you think it's fair for Sahshi only to have one tiny violet?" Lydiell applied to the rest of the children— and had they been pen-born and nursery-raised, where it was
every child for himself, Rennati knew what the answer would have been. But not here.
"No!" came the clamor, instantly, and without prompting, several of them ran to nearby gardens, bringing back bunches of violets that they pressed into Sahshi's hands until the child couldn't hold any more.
Her face glowing with happiness, Sahshi held up the violets for Lady Lydiell to transmute—and then gave Rennati a further surprise (as if she needed one at this point) by sharing out her sweets with the others as they waited in their turn for Lady Ly¬diell to get to them. This was probably just as well, for had she eaten them all herself she would surely have earned herself a bellyache, but never before had Rennati seen a child of the low¬est, field worker class who would not have immediately shov¬eled a treat into her mouth with both hands and devoured it as fast as she could, stuffing herself until she was sick because it would be ages before she might taste any other good thing.
It was all, in a word, impossible.
When Lydiell had finished with the last flower, the children thanked her and streamed back to their playground, a small square surrounded by rough-hewn logs enclosing an area of soft sand that held stumps and bars to climb on, a board with seats on either end poised on a hewn block of wood that al¬lowed the ends to rise and fall with children balanced on seats there, and other things that the children seemed to enjoy swarming over.
These things all showed signs of a great deal of wear; they hadn't been placed there recently. This was no artificial setting made for her benefit, to sway her opinion.
As if my opinion, the attitude of a mortal, actually means something! But to Lady Lydiell it did, it patently did.
Lydiell turned back to face Rennati with a quizzical smile on her face. "Well?" she said, pointedly.
Rennati felt cold and hot at the same time, and there was a faint buzzing in her ears. "What—is—this—place?" she asked, thickly.
"Ah. That is a very good question." Lady Lydiell took Ren-nati's arm, as if she was Rennati's oldest friend. "Come back to
the manor with me. I think, when you have had something to drink to steady you, you will have a great many more questions, and I will try to answer them."
In the end, Rennati thought she would never come to an end of her questions. Lydiell answered each and every one, with infi¬nite patience as they sat in elegant chairs on either side of a lit¬tle table on one of the outdoor terraces. Here she was—eating dainties that, in her excitement, she did not truly taste; drinking something that might just as well have been water for all the at¬tention she paid to it; and arranged across from a highborn el-ven lady on one of the private terraces as if she, too, was Elvenborn. The sun shone down on the gardens below them, al¬though they were shaded by a fine cloth canopy of tapestried linen. A few women worked in the gardens below, the very pic¬ture of bucolic contentment—well-clothed in practical leggings and long, loose linen tunics, protected from the sun by broad-brimmed straw hats, and no supervisor in sight.
Slowly she began to really understand just what it was that Lord Kyrtian's family protected here. That was when the enor¬mity of her own treachery dawned on her, hitting her with the force of a blow. If she had still been able to weep, she would have, then; she'd have broken down and howled with the pain of what she had done to these amazing Elvenlords and their hu¬man charges. She wanted to; her throat closed and she nearly choked on her unshed tears, but weeping had long since been trained out of her, and she could not cry, not even for this. Con¬cubines did not weep; it spoiled their looks, and only annoyed their masters.
But the depth of her despair could not be measured, and she could not simply sit there and bear it invisibly.
She slipped from her seat and sank down to her knees, then prostrated herself on the stone of the terrace, not daring to look at the Lady lest she crack into a thousand pieces.
"Ah," said the lady softly. "Now you understand."
It was hard, hard to speak; hard to get words around that lump of guilt and pain in her throat. "Yes." It was all she could manage.
"Now I have questions for you," Lady Lydiell said, in a voice that warned she would insist on answers.
Rennati could not bear to look into the face of the one she had so vilely betrayed, and she remained where she was, pros¬trated on the stone of the terrace, speaking brokenly to the soft grey slab just below her nose. The lady's questions went on as long as Rennati's had, every detail of her life, of her bargain with Lady Triana, pulled from her gently, but inexorably.
It seemed to go on forever, and when she was done, she felt drained of everything except pain. There was nothing that Lady Lydiell did not know about her now, and surely, surely, the pun¬ishment she so richly deserved would be forthcoming.
The lady finally made a sound—a weary sigh. "Get up, child, and sit down so that I can talk to you properly."
Rennati couldn't move—but a moment later, she found her¬self being moved, as Lady Lydiell took her elbows, lifted her to her feet and replaced her in her seat, as effortlessly as if she weighed nothing. Perhaps, for the Lady, she was near-weightless; she was clearly a past mistress of Elven magic, and how could Rennati know what was and was not possible in magic?
"Now," the Lady said, her eyes boring into Rennati's as if to stare into her very thoughts. "You understand what you have done to us. Are you prepared to make amends?"
By now Rennati had exhausted all emotions but one—hope. And underneath all that heavy, black despair, hope stirred and eased the constriction of her throat enough to let her breathe a little. Numbly, she nodded.
Speaking carefully and exactly, Lady Lydiell outlined what Rennati was to do. And Rennati agreed to it, without ever once making a single objection or asking what would happen to her when the inevitable moment came when she was no longer useful.
It had been a long, very hard day, most of it spent in the saddle, and Kyrtian was already wearied when his mother called him.
So far, the campaign against the Young Lords was turning into something other than the hard-slogging battle he'd been
led to believe it would be. In fact, if it wasn't for the evidence of the devastated estates he'd seen, with manors half-burned and fields left to weeds, it would have been something of a farce.
Because the moment he took command of the army—quite literally from the moment he took command of the army—the Young Lords' direct opposition melted away. Quite simply, they turned and ran.
Now, as a commander, he had to agree with their tactics. He brought with him his own people, who would have strength¬ened the line as nothing else could have. The next pitched bat¬tle would have been a conclusive one. The Young Lords' army was not near any area that could be used as a secure base, and supplies had to be problematic, even with the use of magic. If he had been in their situation, he'd have done the same.
But now he was in pursuit, which meant that when they did take a stand, it would come as a surprise to him, and would be on ground of their choosing. And very probably he would be facing their rested force with his own weary one.
Kyrtian stared down at the tiny image of his mother in the teleson-screen set into his campaign-desk, with Gel watching over his shoulder making interested noises.
"Triana?" he said, finally. "Aelmarkin I could understand, but why would Triana want an agent in our household?"
Gel snorted, before Lydiell could answer. "That's simple enough. They're working together. Or Aelmarkin thinks they are. From all I've heard, that b—" he coughed. "—ah, female is an even nastier piece of work than your cousin, if that's pos-
sible. Sneakier, anyway. What do you think about this girl? Can you trust what she says? Can you trust what she'll do, now that you—"
Lydiell smiled. "Oh, come now, Gel. This is the Lady you're talking to. How many of our people have the human magic? And how many do you think were keeping watch on the girl's thoughts while I questioned her besides the ones I asked to— just to make sure that the others didn't miss something?"
Gel had the grace to blush. "Shouldn't try and teach my grandam what mushrooms to pick, you mean. Sorry, m'lady. So she's safe?"
"More than safe. I think we should keep her," came the rather surprising reply. "She's very intelligent, she's clever—which is not at all the same thing as being intelligent—and she's got a kind nature. I'd be very happy to see her make her home with our people. She could be very useful to us—we haven't got many people who've been raised in the slave-pens; she gives us a look into that world that is beyond price."
"Not as my concubine—" Kyrtian blurted, and flushed when Gel chuckled.
"I rather doubt that by the time she's learned to take her place among our people she'd be willing to be anyone's concubine," Lydiell replied dryly. "And after all, that would be the point, wouldn't it?"
"I take it that your plan is to have her send dearest Triana as much disinformation as you think she'll swallow?" Kyrtian said, hastily changing the subject.
"It seems a pity to waste the opportunity," Lydiell agreed, her eyes twinkling a little, or so Kyrtian thought, although the im¬age was so small it was difficult to tell. "If it seems that the ploy is working, perhaps you might want to have her with you. I un¬derstand that many officers have a concubine or two with them—"
Before Kyrtian could object, Gel replied. "That's a good idea, when you're sure beyond a shadow of a doubt that we can trust her, Lady," he enthused. "If Triana is reporting back to Aelmarkin, we can feed her nonsense leavened with just enough truth to make it seem that the girl is doing more than the b—woman ever expected."
"I wouldn't call Triana a 'bitch,' Gel," Lydiell said mildly. "It's a terrible insult to all female canines, which are, on the whole, rather nice creatures."
Gel nearly choked on his laughter, and Kyrtian felt his face grow hot. What had gotten into his mother lately?
Or was it only that now his mother considered him enough of an adult not to mince words around him?
"In the abstract, it sounds like a good idea to me, provided that bringing her out here doesn't put her in any danger," he temporized. "And I don't mean danger from the fighting; that's
turning out to be rather—well—tamer than I thought. For now, anyway. Someone's convinced the Young Lords to run, rather than stand and fight. I can't say I'm unhappy about that—it cer¬tainly makes me look like a brilliant commander. But while this girl is within the walls of our estate, she's safe enough from Triana—if she comes out here, and Triana decides that she wants more than a few words over a teleson-ring, it would be no great chore to find some way to kidnap her. Human slaves and Elvenlords are coming and going from my quarters all the time, Gel is the only person I'd trust to keep her safe, and he and I can't have her on the battlefield with us."
And I really don 'twant a female complicating things around here, he added, but only in thought. He really did not want his mother- worrying about the danger. There was, of course, a great deal more of that than he was going to tell her about. When the inevitable happened, and the Young Lords turned at bay—
Lydiell pursed her lips in thought. "That hadn't occurred to me," she admitted. "For that matter, it wouldn't take a great deal of effort on Triana's part to send someone to your quarters to intimidate the girl, and we can't have that. Well, let's hold that ploy in reserve for a while, in case Triana starts urging it on her. It may be that concocting a story that I've made her into my private maid while you're gone and she can 'overhear' my con¬versations with you will be enough."
"I should think," Kyrtian said firmly. "Ancestors! For once, you have been the one with all the interesting news! All I can tell you is what I have before; that, and I'm nearer to Lady Moth's estate and I think I can push the lines back far enough to put her in our hands again within the week."
"Assuming she wants to be," came the thoughtful reply. "All things considered—do you think you might be able to push just far enough that she can send a message or come to you herself, without cutting her off from the Young Lords?"
Again, Kyrtian was surprised by the question, but he saw im¬mediately why his mother had asked it. "No one is likely to question me as long as I push them back-somewhere," he re¬sponded. "You think she has worked her way into their confi¬dence, don't you?"
"Yes. And I'm not entirely sure you should be working so hard to defeat them." Lady Lydiell frowned slightly. "There is this: while the Great Lords are concentrating on the rebels, they aren't paying any attention to us."
"Or the Wizards," Gel added.
"Or the Wizards," she agreed. "But if you defeat the Young Lords, they are certain to want you to lead an army against the Wizards next."
The very idea made Kyrtian's heart sink, and he felt a little sick for not thinking of that himself. Of course they would! And while he didn't in the least mind bringing the young pups to heel for the old dogs, the very idea of pitting an army of slaves against their fellow humans—
"I'll resign first," he said hurriedly. "I'll find an excuse. Or Gel can break my leg."
"Or your skull," Gel growled, but there was approval in his voice. "We'll worry about that when the time comes. In the meantime—"
"In the meantime, I'll say goodbye, and you can think about what to do about Moth," Lydiell said firmly. "If we talk any longer, someone is bound to try and mirror this sending. Watch your back, my love."