Authors: Tamora Pierce
Aly had no such compunction. She wanted information; she wanted it immediately.
Kyprioth!
she shrieked silently. Show yourself! Is this
your
doing?
The god remained silent.
Aly stepped back to question the palace darkings. They reported that Imajane was supervising the arrangements for Dunevon's party that night. Rubinyan met with officials and officers of the army and navy about the newest revolt on Malubesang. Aly's ears pricked when Trick whispered the holder of the lands in rebellion: Duke Nomru. Trick added that Rubinyan had snarled at his absent wife for arresting the duke in the first place. Aly nodded. All was not well with the regents. As she had observed in the case of her parents, it was hard for a man to silence a too-frank wife when she spoke in front of company. Da was usually amused, but then, the pricklier her mother, the happier her father. Aly had never understood it. She did understand that Rubinyan had to keep the peace with Imajane. She was the source of his power.
Let's see what he does when the source of his power goes bad, Aly thought, returning to her ladies. Let's see how he feels when she turns that Rittevon gaze on
him.
The mothers of the other three boys in Dunevon's court came to the docks as the rain eased, to join Winnamine's vigil. The sailors found more benches. By late afternoon, the rain and the cold had moved on. A normal summer's heat dropped on the city like a wet coverlet. Their wet clothes began to steam. The king's ship was supposed to return by sunset. People were drifting out to line the harbor walkway and the docks around those reserved for the Crown, keeping a mostly silent watch.
The Balitangs should have gone home to change—the other mothers wore their court costumes under their oiled capes in case all was well—but the duchess refused to move. Both Dove and Nuritin had to persuade Winnamine to drink a cup of tea. More tea was fetched for the other ladies. When they had finished it, Nuritin and Dove sat on either side of Winnamine, Nuritin holding Winnamine's hand, Dove keeping an arm around her stepmother's shoulders. The other mothers did not talk with each other or the Balitangs. All of them were fixed on the harbor's mouth.
"They really should dress and meet the regents for the procession down Rittevon's Lance," Ulasim murmured to Aly. "Her Highness may not be pleased to find our ladies here, not attired for the festivities. At least the others are properly clothed."
Aly looked up at him. She stifled an urge to swear at the regents and instead replied, "Do you mean to drag her?"
Ulasim shrugged. His face was impassive as he stared out at the harbor. Aly was not fooled. She knew that he had been in the Balitang household since before Elsren was born.
"He is half Rittevon," she said. She knew him well enough to be sure that he, too, believed the boys were dead.
"I know that. Don't you think I know that?" Ulasim's voice was a harsh whisper. "But we could have worked something out, for him at least..."
Aly didn't have to say that he fooled no one. She felt only a small, hard knot beneath her breastbone tighten as she looked at Winnamine, Dove, and the other boys' mothers, or when she looked at the harbor mouth. Someone was going to pay for this, she promised herself. She meant to present the bill herself.
The city's shadows spread across the harbor, which grew dark while the heights still lay in the sun. Along Dock-market Way people cleaned up debris and brought lanterns to light the watchers and the dock workers. When sailors tried to light the royal docks, the duchess asked them to wait. Light would make it hard to see the harbor mouth.
The regents arrived in gala dress, surrounded by their households. Rather than dismount, they rode halfway onto the dock. Their noble companions dismounted from their horses and walked out in their wake, dressed in their finest and followed by the rest of the court. Two of the other mothers who waited instantly rose to greet the regents. The third was urged by her servants to go to them. No one dared say a word to the duchess.
Rubinyan was the first to notice the small group of Bal-itangs waiting by the
Rittevoris
mooring-place. After a whispered conference with Imajane, he sent one of her ladies-in-waiting to approach the duchess.
"Your Grace, my ladies, what is this?" the lady asked, smiling. "You are not prepared for the evening, you did not meet Their Highnesses with the rest of us.... Her Highness is concerned."
"As are we," Nuritin said, her voice a croak after long, tense silence. "You
do
remember that storm today, do you not? It was quite severe." The lady nodded, still apparently puzzled. "We fear—Her Grace, Lady Dovasary, and I—we fear that something has happened to that ship. Our family has had more than its share of trouble of late. Should the
Rittevon
dock at the appointed hour, we will submit ourselves for the regents' forgiveness and make haste to dress and come to the palace. But we shall remain here until we are certain His Majesty and Lord Elsren are safe."
The lady favored them with a stately nod and returned to the princess. When she whispered her report, both regents nodded in understanding. Prince Rubinyan dismounted and came to see the ladies. "Winna, surely you are overreacting," he said when he was close enough, his elegant voice warm. "It was a storm. Our best seamen crewed the
Rittevon.
And our weather mages predicted fine weather for this first sailing. Violent storms in the spring rarely have much reach." He took Winnamine's free hand in his and chafed it. "So cold! My dear, you shouldn't do this to yourself."
Aly glanced at the princess. Had Imajane's face gone pale? She spoke to one of her guards, who helped her to dismount. As graceful as a swan she came to join them.
"My dear," Rubinyan said, turning to show Imajane Winnamine's white hand. "She feels like ice!"
Dove got to her feet so that the princess regent might sit. Imajane inspected the bench, then settled into place next to Winnamine, taking the hand Rubinyan had held. "While I am not a birth mother, I think I know your feelings," she said graciously. "The chance that anything may have happened to our dear little boys . . . My own blood runs cold at the thought."
After that, she kept silent. Aly was grateful. She wasn't certain that Winnamine had even heard either regent, her eyes straining toward the shadowed entrance to the harbor, but Aly had seen sparks in Nuritin's eyes. If Imajane had continued to talk, Aly wasn't at all sure that the older woman wouldn't have slapped the princess regent.
By the time the city watch cried the candle hour past sunset, people all along the docks shifted nervously. The king should have returned. When the watch cried the second candle hour past sunset, they were restless. Rubinyan walked away from the group of women and servants, beckoning to the guard captain assigned to the royal docks. Once the man trotted to his side, Rubinyan began to speak. They kept their heads close together. Between that and the flickering light it was impossible for Aly to read their lips, but it didn't matter. There was only one way for the regents to proceed if they did not want to appear guilty.
Soon horsemen galloped down both sides of the harbor. Galley drums began to pound. Sailors in the uniform of the royal navy raced to their ships. Aly was impressed by how quickly they were able to board the vessels and cast off.
At the half-candle hour, the twin beacons at the Greater and Lesser Fortresses went from gentle gleam to blazing light: they had been the destinations of the horsemen. As the mages who worked the beacons brought them to full power, Aly closed her eyes. She gave her Sight the twist that would keep her from being blinded by either the beacons or the magic in them.
When she looked again, she saw a small, two-masted ship slowly moving through the harbor's entrance. It was not the
Rittevon.
When Aly sharpened her Sight, she saw that this craft had taken a battering. One mast was broken in half; the sails were tattered. A handful of men slumped on the deck. Others worked slowly and painfully around them.
A small hand clasped her gently by the elbow. "Is it the king's ship?" Dove asked as Ulasim, Fesgao, and Junai looked at them.
Aly shook her head.
Two naval galleys moved in to bracket the mauled vessel. They were too far away for those on land to hear what was shouted between them and the newcomer, but they could see when the galleys' oars were shipped and gangplanks were swung across the distance between the vessels. Men, carrying weapons, trotted across the gangplanks to inspect the vessel. Aly nodded. That was sensible: something nasty might lurk in the hold. The navy would not allow the ship farther into the harbor until the galley captains were sure that everything was as it seemed.
At last the sailors roped the newcomer to their own vessels and returned to them. The galleys towed the ship straight to the place where the
Rittevon
was supposed to dock. Aly heard footsteps and turned. Here came the court, looking properly worried. The mothers of the other three boys gathered around Winnamine, helping her to stand or drawing strength from her, it was hard to say. Princess Imajane and Prince Rubinyan stepped up to be the first to meet the little ship. They, too, looked prepared to face bad news. Beyond the dock, on the street, the crowds waited in utter silence. The only sound in the soft night air was the mild slap of harbor waves against the land.
Finally the battered ship was tied up. The first man to come down the gangplank, bearing a small, motionless form in red satin, was Taybur Sibigat. His eyes were red and swollen. His mail was gone, his clothing ripped. There was a long gash over his left temple, and the entire right side of his face was one purple-black bruise. He limped as he carried Dunevon's corpse to the regents.
People in the crowd moaned. Someone shouted, "He's just a boy!" and was silenced.
Behind Taybur came a raka sailor. In his arms he carried one of Dunevons court, Acharn Uniunu, very much battered but alive. He wept as he strained to reach his noble parents. They ran to him, his father seizing him while his mother wept and kissed him. Aly recognized three other men who came down from the vessel that must have rescued them, two of the
Rittevoris
sailors and one man of the King's Guard, helped off by two raka seamen. He'd lost half of one leg. One of the royal sailors had a bandaged head; the other had an arm in a sling. The rescue ship's sailors were in no better condition.
Taybur turned away from the regents and came over to the families of the other three king's attendants who had not returned. He didn't seem to realize that he still held the dead king. Looking at them, his eyes overflowed. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
"What happened?" asked Lord Lelin as his lady and daughter began to weep.
"The storm came out of nowhere," replied Taybur. "Gale-force winds, waterspouts ... It was a ship killer. We weren't the only ones caught out there." His voice broke. "Forgive me. My boys and I tried to save them all, but . . ." He looked at the boy in his arms, then at the mothers of the other three lads. "We couldn't even find their bodies."
"I, too, am sorry, Captain," said one of the noblewomen who had lost a son, her voice cracking. Her husband put an arm around her and led her away.
Without saying farewell to the regents, the Balitangs left the pier, the servants and guards in a tight cluster around their ladies. Aly brought up the rear. When she glanced back, she saw something that looked like contempt on Imajane's face, and heartbreak on Taybur's. Rubinyan's face showed nothing at all.
Somehow they broke the news to the household and fumbled their way through changing clothes, trying to eat, and getting the ladies to their beds. Finally Aly could slip away into the flattened and littered gardens. The moment they were out of the house, Trick and Secret spread themselves out blanket-like over her shoulders and tightened. "Is this a darkling hug?" Aly asked with a sad smile.
"Is a friend hug," Trick said. The pair had left only their heads out of the embrace, leaning them against Aly's cheek. "No crying, but sad, Aly."
"It was a decision I didn't want to make. You'd think I'd be happier that it was made for me, but I'm not." She found a bench by a lily pond and sat down. As she did, miniature winged horses crowded around, nuzzling her.
"I'm sorry," Aly told them softly, petting one after another. "If Nawat were here, he could tell you what's wrong. I just don't speak kudarung."
A small winged mare braced her front hooves on Aly's leg and fluttered her wings. That much kudarung Aly knew, at least. She bent down to pick up the mare, cuddling her in her arms.
Secret shifted, pulling together to flow down to the bench next to Aly. There the small darking rolled and moved, shaping itself as a miniature kudarung. When the shape settled, Secret jumped down among the other miniature winged horses and went muzzle to muzzle with the stallion who governed them, to tell them what had happened to the Balitangs.
Aly looked up at the sky, blurred slightly through the spells that covered the house and grounds.
"Kyprioth," she said, running her hand over the mane of the winged horse in her lap, "I want you, my dear. And not in a happy, let-me-kiss-your-grizzled-cheek way, either."
"My grizzled cheek may wither of neglect. "The god was there, seated on the rim of the lily pond, dabbling his toes in the water. "You've been very noisy in your calls for me, I would like to point out. If I got headaches, you would have given me one."
"If you knew I was calling, why didn't you come?" she demanded.
"Because I knew you would scold, and scoldings bore me," he replied. "As if they do any good after the fact."
"Was this your work?" she asked softly, gently, that hard place under her breastbone scorching the inside of her skin. "Did you murder those little boys?"
"I? Please. I'm busy preparing for battle, mustering my fellow tricksters. I refuse to worry over what mortals are up to," he said carelessly. "And I won’t do everything for you. It's bad for your character."
Aly shifted until she had a clear view of that clever face. "What did you do? It's not like you to be evasive about your tricks. Bragging's more your style."
Kyprioth looked at her. Aly felt his power as he tried to overwhelm her. She closed her eyes and fought. "Stop it," she told him stubbornly. "You've already tried this with me, and it ages
very
fast." The force of his godhood slacked off enough that she could breathe.
"I told you, my brother and sister are near to their return to the Isles," he said, as if she were not very bright. "You and my raka have given me some of my old vigor, but it won't be enough. The only way I will be strong enough to fight my brother and sister is if you stop tiptoeing around the king and take this country back. Since you could not seem to reach that point, I made a few suggestions here and there." He eased up on his power completely.
Aly took a breath and ignored the sweat that trickled down her face. The little kudarung in her lap whickered and licked up the salt. "What kind of suggestions?" Aly wanted to know.
Kyprioth inspected his rings. "I mentioned to the regents that it's a shame they must bow to the whims of a four-year-old, when they have more experience and intelligence than any Rittevon boy king. Ludas Jimajen—Rubinyan's ancestor—"
"I know," murmured Aly.
Kyprioth grinned at her, white teeth flashing in the dark.
"He
was supposed to have been the next king, or his son." He began to juggle balls of gold light. "That was the agreement he made with Rittevon, so that both of them could claim the throne. But Jimajen was killed supposedly by a raka assassin after Rittevon's second wife gave birth to twin boys. Amazing how these things work, isn't it?"
Rubinyan Jimajen had no children by his marriage to Imajane, but he did have sons from his first marriage. He even had grandsons. Had Imajane ever wondered if he didn't want to take the throne and make the next monarch a Jimajen king?
"I love to watch you think," Kyprioth said. "Your face gets so agreeable."
"Was the storm yours?" she asked.
He shook his head, as if disappointed. "Why should I need to brew one?" he inquired patiently. "They had mages who can do it. Mages who care only that they keep their un-trusting master and mistress happy."
"Is that all you did with the regents themselves, then? A suggestion?" she wanted to know, eyebrows raised in casual interest.
"Well, I reinforced it with repetition," the god admitted. "Whenever he had a tantrum, whenever he shouted that he hated them, as children so agreeably do when they are crossed. Aly, you aren't usually so dense. Dunevon was in the way, as was Elsren. They had to go. If I waited for you tenderhearts, my brother and sister would return and wrap me in chains, then kick me off the edge of the universe. I didn't care to wait."
Aly looked at him, a mantle of cold settling over her skin. Twice she had erred very badly. The first time was when she had been too cocky to think Sarai might surprise her. The second time was at present. She had forgotten that Kyprioth was not a wildly eccentric, magically powerful human. She looked into his face and saw that those lives meant nothing to him. He was a god. He might care for a few chosen humans. He might even enjoy their company. But in the end, he could no more feel as humans did than could Stormwings. She got to her feet. "I'm sorry you can’t grieve for those people," she said quietly. "You don't know what you miss." She set her dozing miniature kudarung down and returned to the house. Once she reached her workroom, she put her head on her table. "Tell me about the dragons," she whispered to the darkings. As they talked of burning sands and fields of stars, she tried to imagine them and nothing else, particularly nothing to do with the sea.
She woke in the morning slumped across her worktable. Her head felt as if it were stuffed with cotton. Somehow she cleaned herself up and made herself eat, a ghost in a household full of ghosts. Conversations were quiet and kept to the basics. The ladies retreated to the nursery to tell Petranne and to mourn for the second time in less than a year. Finding herself unneeded, Aly retreated to her workroom. Automatically she busied herself with information, starting with the darkings.
She expected the news they gave her: The regents had summoned the chief Mithran priest to crown them, with their luarin cronies as witnesses. The official coronation, with all its pomp, would be held the day after the coming eclipse of the sun, in celebration of Mithros's victory over the dark, Trick said.
Aly turned a silver coin over in her fingers, walking it across their tops, then under them. "They have to put it that way," she said quietly. "It's that or admit their god is vulnerable for a day."
She assembled more reports, taking in information and writing it up for the raka leaders. Even if they had been able to meet that day, she couldn't have borne it. She had told Elsren stories, changed his clothes, taught him to somersault. She did not want to think of him cold and alone in Kyprioth's uncaring waters. Instead she lit a stick of incense to the Wave-Walker, the merciful sea goddess, in the hope that she would see Elsren properly to the Peaceful Realms. Aly did not know how she would attend the memorial service held when there was no body to bury, but she knew that she must.
It was almost noon when the clamor of crows drew Aly out into the garden. A cloud of them flew overhead, calling to each other, telling the native crows that they were allies, come from the north. Aly watched them, numb. Tomorrow I must get to work, she told herself. There are opportunities now, with the Crown unsettled. I must not sit here like a lump, or allow my people to do so.
At least she had custom on her side. With the announcement of the emergency coronation had come the proclamation of a week of mourning for the Isles, a week when all but the most necessary work was to be set aside. Aly did not mean to idle that entire week away, but she needed at least one day to collect herself. From the shock on all the other faces of the Balitang household, she could see that everyone felt the same, even Ulasim. Even Ochobu.
She returned to her workroom and to processing information. Someone had left a stack of reports for her while she'd been roaming. Most of her pack and their recruits had been out and about, listening to what people had to say. Except for Boulaj and Junai, they'd had little or nothing to do with Elsren. His death had less of an impact on them, and in Dunevon's death they saw an opportunity. Aly had expected them to: she had trained them for that, as she herself had been trained. It was just very hard to get excited over the opportunity when that knot of fire under her breastbone had turned to ice.
Someone opened her door without knocking. Aly looked up from her work, scowling, and froze. It was Nawat, sun-bronzed, bearing a scar on one cheekbone, wearing a loose cotton shirt and breeches, and tired boots. He set a bow and a quiver of crow-fletched arrows by Aly’s door and came toward her, an odd look on his face.
It was a look she would have known on any other man's face as he greeted the love of his life. She had seen it blaze in her father s eyes, King Jonathans eyes, and Uncle Numy's eyes, but never in Nawat's. It was there now.
Aly jumped to her feet and threw herself into his arms. It was no crow-turned-man who caught her up, but a man, confident in who he was and what he wanted. Aly had time to emit one squeak before he covered her mouth with his. She clung to him and lost herself in warmth and a melting in her belly and legs that went beyond desire. Nawat drew back, took a breath, and kissed her again, his lips sweet and moist, his arms hard with muscle as he lifted her off the floor. Aly's hands explored the muscles of his back and the softness of his black hair, but her mind could escape his mouth for only a second before it came back to his kisses. Nawat carried her to her worktable and sat her on piles of reports so their faces were at the same level.
Trick and Squeak dropped from her neck, where they were being mashed. Aly didn't see them watch with interest as Nawat kissed her forehead, her cheeks, and her palms. Finally she tugged away and rested her forehead on the V of brown flesh that showed in the collar of his shirt.
"We were fifty miles away when we got word of the nestlings," Nawat whispered. "I had to come ahead faster. I knew you would need me."
Aly looked up into his eyes. She felt her chin quiver. All she could do was hide her face against his shirt again as the tears came in a rush. Nawat held her close and preened her hair with his fingers as Aly cried herself out. She didn't even try to apologize as her head slowly cleared. She knew he understood.
"They were a problem," she whispered at last. "But I never wanted it solved like this."
"Good," Nawat replied over her head. "I would not wish you to drown our nestlings."
She laughed and sobbed at the same time, then pulled herself away. Taking a handkerchief from her sarong, she mopped her face. "I got your shirt wet," she pointed out. Then she looked at him. "If you came the fastest way, did you steal those clothes?"
Nawat's smile made her heart do funny things. "I hid some of mine away in case I should have to come home this way," he explained. "My clothes fit better than stolen ones. There are little creatures on your table."
Aly half turned and saw the darkings. "They're darklings," she explained. "And my friends. That one's Trick, and that one's Secret."
"Is this lovemaking?" Secret inquired.
"No. It is kissing. Lovemaking comes after kissing," Trick replied.
"That is true," Nawat said. There was a look in his eyes that made gooseflesh ripple over Aly's body. "Please go away, little friends of Aly."
The darkings plopped to the floor and rolled out of the room. Nawat went over and locked the door. Aly watched him with a mixture of nervousness and anticipation.
"I don't think this is the best time to do what I think you want to do," she pointed out.
"There will never be a good time until Dove is queen." Nawat walked over to put his arms around her again. "We might be dead by then." He kissed her temple, then his lips drifted until they found hers again. This kiss was long, slow, and sweet, the kiss of lovers who had all of time.
At the end of it, Nawat held Aly's face in his hands. "I am no longer a crow who turned into a man, Aly Bright Eyes," he told her soberly. "I am a man who can be a crow at need, but I am still a man, and I love you. I have seen so many people die since I left you. I do not want to wait for priests to say words or for you to want chicks. If I go to the Peaceful Realms tomorrow, or the day after, I want to go with the taste of you on my lips."
He kissed her again, slowly, folding her into an embrace that left her breathless. Aly had time to gasp when he pressed his mouth against the tender skin on her neck and collarbone. Dizzy, she suddenly realized that he'd undone her sash.
"Urn, wait," she said, her voice wobbling.
"No," he replied, gently placing the sash, and its cache of knives, out of their way. "No more waiting, Aly."
"I didn't mean that kind of waiting, exactly," Aly told him, holding him at arm's length. Nawat lifted the arm, kissing the inside of her wrist, then the inside of her elbow. I had no notion those areas were so sensitive, she thought giddily. "Nawat, stop. There's, um, a thing, for us females. . . ." He was kissing her palm. It was very distracting. "Nawat, we can’t bring chicks into the world, I'm not ready, we're not, and well, there's a thing women wear, only I haven't got one." Babbling again, observed that cool corner of her brain. "Until we have a safe nest, I can't—not without that charm."