Trickster's Choice (3 page)

All of the young men she had not flirted with and discarded were as busy as her brothers were. They prepared to march north when the mountain passes opened, as they would any day, or else they had left to guard the realm’s other borders. None of her family would allow Aly within coughing distance of the war. So back home Aly had gone, feeling restless and in the way. At least Da would use her for paperwork, which was
something
.

Sometimes she thought she might scream with boredom. If only Da would let her spy! As she decoded reports and summed them up for him, she tried to work out a plan to change his mind.

On Aly’s third day home more reports arrived. One of them was sealed in crimson, for immediate review. She deciphered it: the code was one of many she had memorized, so she required no book to translate it. Once done, she read what she had written and whistled.

George looked up. He sat at his desk, reading letters from Tyra. “Somebody would tell you that’s unladylike,” he pointed out. “Not your dear old common-born Da, for certain.”

“No, not my dear old common-born Da,” she replied, smiling at him. “But this is worth whistling over. Somehow our man Landfall’s made it to Port Caynn. He’s hiding out there, with important messages for you.”

George’s brows snapped together. “Landfall’s supposed to be in Hamrkeng, keeping an eye on King Maggot,” he replied slowly, using the Tortallan nickname for Scanra’s King Maggur.

Aly reread the message, noting the apparently insignificant marks that marked it as coming from one of their agents, not a forgery. “It’s Landfall, Da,” she said. “I taught him this code myself, before we got him into Maggur’s capital four years back. He kept saying it was a hard day for the realm when a little girl was teaching code.”

George thought it over, rubbing his head. “Landfall. Either he was found out and escaped in time, or …”

Aly finished the sentence for him. “Or what he has is so important he could only carry it himself. Maybe both. He must have come down by ship.”

George got to his feet. “Well, I’d best see what it’s about.” Landfall was one of a handful of agents smuggled into Scanra in the years before the war. He was vital enough that he reported only to Aly’s grandfather Myles or to George. “Be a good lass and handle these papers for me? I shouldn’t be gone more than a day or two—I’ll fetch him back here. Have Maude get one of the hidden bedchambers ready.”

Aly nodded. “You’ll get muddy, riding to Port Caynn now,” she pointed out.

George kissed her forehead. “It’ll do me good to get out in the field, even if it means getting some of the field on me. I’m that restless.”

Aly waved goodbye from the castle walls as her father rode out of Pirate’s Swoop, two men-at-arms at his back. The ride
would
do him good. She only wished he could go all the way to her mother’s post at Frasrlund in the far north, where he clearly longed to be.

Aly returned to his office in a gloomy mood. Would she ever find someone to love as much as her parents loved each other? She would miss such a partner dreadfully if they were separated, she supposed, just as her parents did. At least she would have someone to talk to, someone clever who didn’t gawp at her and ask her what she meant or, worse, be shocked by her. It wasn’t much fun when the only people who could keep up with her were either related or at least ten years older than she was.

The day after her father’s departure Aly heard the horn calls that signaled the arrival of a friendly ship in the cove. Normally she would have run to the castle’s observation platform to see who the new arrivals were, but she was in the middle of a particularly difficult bit of translation: code entered as pinholes in a bound book. If she was not careful, she would flatten the delicate marks, ending up with gibberish instead of a message. She stayed at her task until she heard hooves in the inner courtyard. Gently she set the book aside and went into the main hall, then out through the open front door.

Whatever she had expected, the scene in the inner courtyard was not it. Hostlers gently led her mother’s warhorse, Darkmoon, toward the stable. The big gelding limped, favoring his left hind leg. Aly eyed the rest of the arrivals. Ten Swoop armsmen who had gone north with her mother the year before helped the servants to unload their packhorses before taking them to the stable. The horses looked thin and salt-flecked, as if they’d been at sea. The men-at-arms looked much the same. So did Aly’s mother.

Alanna of Pirate’s Swoop and Barony Olau, King’s Champion, watched Darkmoon as he was led away. The Lioness wore loose, salt-stained buckskin. There was salt in her copper hair, and she had lost more weight than the men. Aly knew her mother hated ships. She would have been sick throughout the voyage.

Aly trotted down the steps and kissed her mother’s thin cheek. “What brings you here so unexpectedly?” asked Aly. “Is Darkmoon all right?”

Her mother looked up at her: even wearing boots, she was slightly shorter than her daughter. Fine lines framed the Lioness’s famous purple eyes and her mouth, marks of long weeks in the open air, summer and winter. There were a few white strands in her mother’s shoulder-length copper hair that Aly could not remember seeing before.

“He pulled a tendon,” Alanna replied wearily. “Our horse healers did their best with him, but he needs rest. His Majesty gave us a month’s leave. Where’s your father?”

“Off,” replied Aly. It was the family’s code phrase that meant her father was on spymaster’s business. “He should be back soon—it was just a quick trip to Port Caynn.”

Her mother nodded, understanding, and gave Aly a brief hug.

“Why didn’t Aunt Daine heal Darkmoon?” Aly demanded. Daine, the Wildmage, spoke with and healed animals as easily as she took their shapes.

“Your aunt is having a baby shape-shifter within the month,” replied her mother as the men carried her packs into the castle. “If she doesn’t change below the waist whenever the child does, it might kick its way out of her womb.” Alanna shuddered. “It wasn’t even worth asking her, not to mention it made me queasy to see her go from bear to donkey to fish every now and then, while her upper half remains the same. Darkmoon will be fine with rest.” She walked toward the castle steps, limping slightly.

“What happened to you?” Aly demanded, keeping pace. “You’re hobbling like …” She’d been about to say, “You’re old,” but her throat closed up. That wasn’t so. Forty-two was not old, or at least not
that
old.

“I took a wound to the thigh last autumn,” Alanna said tersely. “It troubles me some yet.”

“But you’re up to your ears in healers!” Aly protested. “You’re one yourself!”

Alanna scowled. “When you’ve been healed as much as I have, you develop a certain resistance. You know that, or you should.
What
have you done to your hair?”

Aly tossed her head. “It’s the latest fashion in Corus,” she informed her mother. “It’s the height of sophistication.”

“It’s as sophisticated as a blueberry,” retorted Alanna. “Aren’t you a little old for this kind of thing?”

“Why? It’s fun, and it washes out. It’s not like the world revolves around my hair, Mother,” Aly said sharply. Why did this always happen? Home not even half a day, and her mother had already found something to criticize about her.

“Fun,” Alanna said, her voice very dry. “There ought to be more to your life than fun at sixteen.”

Aly rolled her eyes. “
Someone
has to enjoy themselves around here,” she pointed out. “It certainly isn’t you, forever riding here and there for
serious
work. You’re always so grim!”

“You’re
sixteen,
” retorted Alanna. “When I was your age, I was two years from earning my shield. I knew what I wanted from my life, I knew the work I wanted to do—”

“Mother, please!” cried Aly. They hadn’t seen each other for a year, but already they had returned to the last conversation they’d had before Alanna left. “Must you be so
obsessed
? I know all of this already. When you were my age you’d killed ten giants, armed only with a stick and a handful of pebbles. Then you went on to fly through the air on a winged steed, to return with the Dominion Jewel in your pocket and the most beautiful princess in all the world for your king to marry. I’m not you. If you were here more, you might have seen that much for yourself.” She wished she hadn’t made the accusation, but if anyone could make Aly lose control over her tongue, it was her mother.

Guilt pinched the girl as Alanna’s shoulders slumped. “That’s not what I meant,” Alanna said. “That’s not what I want. At least, it would have been nice, to have you do as I did, as far as getting your shield is concerned, anyway. But the whole point to doing as I did was so you could do something else, if you wanted to. It’s just that you don’t seem to want to do anything.” She massaged one of her shoulders, watching her daughter. “Look, hair is, is hair, I suppose. If you want it blue, or green, or leopard-spotted … Who am I to say what’s fit for a girl?”

She walked into the castle. Aly turned to see the hostlers and men-at-arms regarding her with reproach. “She’s not
your
mother,” she told them. “You try being the daughter of a legend. It’s a great deal like work.”

Aly didn’t expect to see Alanna at the supper table that night, but the servants did. A second place had been laid, and Alanna was already seated when Aly entered the smaller family dining room.

“My first solid meal in days,” Alanna informed her daughter as Aly took her seat. “I threw up all the way here on that cursed ship.”

“It’s still too wintry to ride?” asked Aly, accepting a bowl of oysters in stew from a maid.

Her mother had already begun to eat. Once she’d emptied her mouth she replied, “Not if I didn’t mind getting here by the time I’m supposed to be back at Frasrlund.” She ate with quick, efficient movements. “Seasick or no, the boat was faster. It’s going to be a long summer. I admit, I will be the better for some time here.”

“Then King Maggur means to fight on, despite losing his killing devices?” Aly inquired.

Alanna mopped out her bowl with a crust of bread. “He’s still got his armies and his ship captains. If all there was to Maggur was that disgusting mage of his, we’d have beaten him like a drum last year. Could we not talk about the war? I’ve done nothing else for months.”

Aly stifled a sigh. There were so few subjects she could safely discuss with her mother. Unless …

It had been over a year since their last talk. In that time she’d honestly tried to find something to do that would please her father, without success. Perhaps she had gone at it the wrong way. It had never occurred to her before to enlist her mother’s help.

“You know what you were saying before, Mother?” she asked as the maid set a roasted duck between them.

Alanna carved it briskly, serving herself and Aly while Aly dished up the fried onion pickle that went with the duck. “I barely remember my own name at the moment,” Alanna replied. “What did I say before?”

“That I needed to find work.” Aly arranged her onions in a design on her plate. “As it happens, there is work I like, work I’m good at. And it’s as important as warrior’s work; I think you’d be the first to say as much.”

Alanna looked up from her plate, her purple eyes glinting with suspicion. “Out with it, Aly,” she ordered. “You know I have little patience for dancing around a thing. What’s as important as a warrior’s work?”

Aly put down her knife and folded her hands in her lap, where her mother couldn’t see them. Making sure the proper casual spirit was in her voice and face, she said, “I would like to serve the realm as a field agent. With the war making a hash of things, I bet I could make my way into Scanra. We need more agents there. Or Galla, or Tusaine. We’re about to lose one of our Tusaine folk—well, not lose, gods willing”—she made the star-shaped sign against evil on her chest—“but we have to pull him out of Tusaine, and we’ll have to replace him—”

Alanna set down her knife so hard that it clacked as it struck her plate. “Absolutely not,” she snapped. Her face was dead white. Her eyes burned as brightly as the magical ember-like stone she always wore around her neck.

Aly leaned back in her chair, startled by Alanna’s vehemence. “I beg your pardon?” she asked politely, buying time until she figured out what she’d said wrong
this
time.

“No daughter of mine will be a spy.” Alanna’s tone made the word
spy
into a curse.

“But Da’s a spy,” Aly pointed out, shocked.

Her mother fingered the glowing stone at her throat and replied slowly, “Your father is a unique man, with unique talents. They are put to better use in the service of the realm than in his old way of life. I am grateful for that. He also has people of like mind, training, and background to help him in what he does. People better suited than his daughter.”

“You’re trying to say Da’s no noble, no blueblood of Trebond,” Aly said, finding the point that her mother tiptoed around. “You’re trying to say spying is not a noble’s work. But Grandda is a spy, too—what about him?”

“Your grandfather distills the information your agents gather. He serves as the visible spymaster so your father may work undisturbed,” said Alanna. “That’s different.”

“You wanted me to have work that means something to me,” protested Aly.

“Not
this
work, Alianne. I have to endure it when your father does it. I don’t have to accept it from you.” Alanna sighed and leaned back in her chair. “Spying is not fun, Aly. It’s mean, nasty work. One misstep will get you killed. If you were hoping I’d talk your father around, you were mistaken.”

“But that’s what I want!” cried Aly, frustrated. “You’re always after me to do something with my life. You tell me, make a decision, and I have! I help Da with it all the time and nobody objects!”

“Then I should have done so,” Alanna said. “And I should have done it years ago. You’re right—I was never around for your growing up.” She pushed her chair back from the table. “While I’m here, I’ll try to make up for it a little. We’ll use our wits, see what we can do.” Wincing, she got to her feet and walked past Aly. She stopped, hesitated, then rested a hand on Aly’s shoulder. “I’ve been a bad mother to you, Aly. But perhaps I can help you find your way, at least.”