Family groups gradually dispersed in the shade of the trees, leaving Arian with her Squires. No one intruded on her privacy but the servants who replenished food and drink. After a while, Arian noticed two girls shepherded by an elderly woman: Mahierans, she overheard. Silence fell whenever they neared one of the groups sitting in the shade, and they looked miserable, not joining any of them.
“Ask them to come here,” Arian said to Lieth. “They might sit with us awhile.”
“Are you sure?” Lieth asked.
“I’m sure it’s not fair for those girls to be so miserable.”
Lieth walked down the field, spoke to the old woman, and then walked back with them. Arian rose to meet them.
“Queen Arian,” the old woman said. She had a wary look in her faded blue eyes—as well she might, Arian thought. “I am Maris Mahieran; as a widow, I chose to take back my family name. You wished to meet my great-nieces?”
“Yes,” Arian said. “Thank you for coming—you know I met your father in Lyonya?” She looked at the girls. One seemed to be near Beclan’s age, and the other younger. Neither answered but looked to the old woman.
“This is Naryan,” the old woman said, touching the older girl’s shoulder. “And this is Vilian,” she said, touching the younger. The girls curtseyed and murmured a polite greeting.
“Please, let us sit down,” Arian said. “Have you eaten?”
“Yes,” said the old woman, and “No,” said the younger girl. Vilian … Arian tried to imprint the unfamiliar names in her mind. It took but a glance at the serving wagon for one of the servants to approach with a tray and another with mugs and a pitcher of chilled water.
Both girls glanced at their aunt and at her nod piled food on plates and began to eat. The old woman accepted water but ate nothing.
After a sip, she put the goblet down and folded her hands in her lap. “What do you want, Lyonyan queen?”
“At the moment, to be here among green things,” Arian said. “I miss the forests of home.”
“Ah. It is the elf blood, no doubt. You’re not as young as you look. They say you are your king’s age: is that true?”
“Yes. Did you know Kieri when he was Duke Phelan?”
Maris blinked. “I knew Kieri when he was a brash young soldier come to beg a commission from our king’s grandfather. Hair like a flame, cocky as any barnyard rooster. I was married then; my husband died on that campaign. Not your Kieri’s fault, so I was told.”
“Did you think so?”
A shrug. “I know only that my husband died. Kieri Phelan was very young to end up in command, I thought. Many thought. And so many more experienced died.”
“Old grudges grow stale,” Arian said.
Maris’s face relaxed into a grin. “Ah, my dear, there is no grudge. But you looked so like a picture painted on a plate—cool on such a warm day, not a hair out of place. It came on me to disturb that smooth surface if I could. You will say badly done, when you were kind enough to speak to us, but … it is my nature to prod immobility.”
Arian stared for a moment and then laughed. “So you are not a poisonous old lady?”
Maris shrugged again. “That is not for me to say. I am old, no gainsaying that. I’ve been told my tongue’s too sharp. But Barholt was willing to marry me—he enjoyed it, he said. He told me once it was like a currycomb, working the mud out of his mind. I’ve told these girls—” She patted Naryan’s shoulder. “Told them many times not to copy my bad example. Dip your tongues in honey, I tell them: men want the honey, not the sting.”
“Nobody’s going to want me anyway,” Naryan said, scowling. “Not now.”
“Not with that look on your face, no,” her great-aunt said sharply. “And if you can’t smile when you’re miserable, you’ll have a life as miserable as you now imagine.”
“You sit your mounts very well,” Arian said to the girls, desperate to turn the conversation. “Do you ride often? I know your father breeds horses for the royal stud.”
“We did,” Vilian said. “But now we’re in the city—”
“I used to ride with Gwennothlin Marrakai,” Naryan said. “We sneaked into this field a few times, raced up and down, set up stakes, and tried to knock sticks off them with swords.” She sat up straighter.
“Until you got caught,” Vilian said.
“Until you watched us instead of the road like we’d told you,” Naryan said.
“What happened then?” Arian asked.
“I would have ridden right out the far end,” the older girl said. “There’s a wall behind those trees, but it’s not very tall and I knew my horse could jump it. Gwenno wouldn’t leave the sprout behind, though, and her pony couldn’t manage it.” She shook her head. “They caught us. Escorted us back to the city, to our fathers. No more riding out without an official escort. Boring.”
Arian could sympathize with that. At Naryan’s age she’d been free to run loose in the forest whenever her chores were done.
“Did you also want to train in arms?” she said.
“We all do train,” Naryan said. “In the family grange. Of course that’s Girdish fighting: training with hauks and marching in lines. I like a longer sword better.” She glanced at Arian’s sword. “Like yours.”
“Will you, then, continue your training?”
“I don’t know.” Her shoulders slumped. “I don’t know if they’ll let me.”
“May we join you?” That was Lady Marrakai and a Serrostin girl of about Vilian’s age.
“Certainly,” Arian said.
“Gwenno wrote us about meeting you at Duke Verrakai’s estate,” Lady Marrakai said. She greeted Maris and the Mahieran girls, then turned to Naryan. “She also said she missed you, Naryan.”
“Did she really?”
“Yes, indeed. You and she used to share secrets, did you not?”
“She didn’t write me any letters,” Naryan said. A mix of resentment and misery both in that, Arian thought.
“I understand she’s being kept very busy, Naryan. For a time she was the only squire Duke Verrakai had.”
“I know I’m not supposed to ask, but—but I have to—” Naryan looked at Maris, then at Arian, and finally at Lady Marrakai. “Do you think Duke Verrakai really tried to have my brother killed?”
Lady Marrakai’s brows went up, but she answered calmly. “No, Naryan, I do not. Someone else has wished her and your family both evil and wanted her to have the blame. It is easy enough to get a bad reputation if you’re not like everyone else.”
“But my mother—” Another wary glance at Maris, who said nothing. “My mother isn’t a bad person, milady. She’s not. And they’re lying about her—”
“And if they’re lying about her, Naryan, do you not see that they could be lying about Duke Verrakai? That your mother could be mistaken, without being bad?”
“I want to go home,” Vilian said suddenly. A tear ran down her face; her voice was choked. “Our real home. We can’t visit Mother—we can’t see Father—our friends won’t speak to us.”
“I will,” the Serrostin girl said, putting an arm around Vilian’s shoulders. “Vili, I’m still your friend. They told me I couldn’t visit, is all, but I wanted to come over here, and Mama said I could come with Lady Marrakai.”
Lady Marrakai turned to Maris. “You know, Maris, you could bring them to our house. It’s true Gwenno’s not there, so Naryan would not enjoy it as much, but at least they’d be around some young people.”
“Charity,” muttered Maris.
“Yes,” Lady Marrakai said. “And you don’t fool me, Maris: I’ve seen you extend hospitality to others in hard times. Whatever happened is not these girls’ fault.”
She turned to Arian. “My pardon, Queen Arian, for intruding our concerns on your space. I would have come earlier, but I find having five of my own to supervise—” She looked up, and her brow furrowed. “Oh, dear. I could always count on Gwenno to help me, and there they go—pray excuse me. Tiran, dear, just st
ay here; I’m sure your mama won’t mind. I see that Julyan’s about to run off with one of the cart horses.”
“By all means,” Arian said. Lady Marrakai was already up and moving toward a cluster of younger children around the horses. The servants, busy carrying trays of food and drink back and forth, hadn’t noticed yet that a black-haired boy had swarmed up the harness and now leaned down to offer a hand to another.
“I never wanted to like her, but I always did,” Maris said into the sudden silence that followed, nodding toward Lady Marrakai.
“Why not?” Arian asked.
“You will credit my sour nature with envy of her energy and competence,” Maris said, but a smile shaped her mouth. “She has been like that—as if she were born entirely Marrakai, which she is not—since girlhood. Everyone thinks her children favor their father, but that so-called Marrakai character comes as much from her.”
Arian did not want to think what Maris had been like as a girl. She turned to the girls of the day. “Naryan, you said you liked swordplay with longswords. Do you practice?”
“Not since … Beclan…” the girl said.
“Lady Maris, would you permit Naryan to engage in a brief lesson with my Squires and me?”
“Here?” The formidable brows rose.
“Here. We have blades enough. I know Naryan has riding gloves…”
“But no mail. Not even a banda. I do not choose to see her spitted and sliced.”
“Please,” Naryan said, her face alight.
“We will take great care,” Arian said.
“My lady, we do have bandas,” Lieth said. She grinned. “The thought came to us that you might enjoy a bit of swordplay out in the sunlight, on natural ground.”
Maris threw up her hands. “Well, then, Naryan, if you choose to set yourself against those who are far better than you—take your chances.”
“You?” Arian said, looking at the younger girls. Vilian and the Serrostin girl were head to head, whispering as fast as they could. They shook their heads.
The impromptu sword practice drew others to the area they’d marked off. Naryan, tense and serious, did a few preliminary stretches, then a few paces forward and back as Arian and the Squires put on bandas. The girl was stiff at first, but soon excitement took over. She had had, Arian decided, a little good instruction but not enough. She would benefit from more, but at the moment she would benefit most from being seen as both competent and acceptable to the foreign visitors.
Soon some of the other young people were eager to join in. Arian quickly assigned two Squires to serve as armsmasters—to have no more than two bouts going on at once, while another supervised footwork drills. Within the next two turns of the glass, more women and children moved closer. Lady Marrakai and Lady Serrostin had merged their broods, asking Vilian and Tiran to supervise the younger children so the eldest could take part. Other peers’ wives chatted with one another and approached Arian when she was not fencing to ask questions about Lyonya and customs at that court.
By the time the shadows had lengthened and it was time to return to the city, Arian saw that Maris and the two Mahieran girls were no longer isolated at all—several peers’ ladies were chatting with Maris and suggesting plans for including the girls in activities with their children.
A good outcome. She rode back to the palace beside a baron’s wife, a tall angular redhead. “Did you have weapons training as a girl?” the woman asked.
“No, I grew up on a farm,” Arian said. “Lyonyans are mostly Falkian, and Falkians do not train as young as you Girdish. I may suggest it when I return.”
“Which of your parents was an elf?”
“My father was an elf,” Arian said. “My mother wasn’t. My mother died years ago; my father died recently, trying to protect the Lady of the Ladysforest.”
The woman looked confused but then asked, “Are all the Lyonyan forest rangers knights?”
“By no means. My father paid my fees to attend Falk’s Hall, where Knights of Falk train. That, in fact, is where I learned most of my weapons skills, that and in my years as a ranger. I’m a better archer than fencer: archery is the main weapon of Lyonyan rangers.”
“I have used a crossbow,” the woman said. “But that’s not the same, is it?”
“No,” Arian said. “I don’t have my bow with me on this trip or I would show you.”
“I’m from the northwest,” the woman said. “Not so far from where Paksenarrion the paladin came from. We raise sheep, mostly.” After a pause, she said, “You’re not what I expected. Or most of us, I imagine. I was thinking half-elf, queen, she’ll be haughty and hardly speak to us, but you’re not like that.”
“I should hope not,” Arian said, laughing.
“Does your husband—the king—mind that you’re half-elf?”
“Hardly. He’s half-elven, too,” Arian said. Surely the woman knew that. But it turned out this was only her second visit to Vérella and she had no real friends at court.
“It’s a small domain,” the woman said as they came into the city. “But I wanted to see you—” She grinned suddenly, and her face no longer looked bony and plain. “And I have. I’ve been to Vérella and heard the bells and met the king and a half-elf queen from a distant land … I’ll never feel trapped again.”
“You could visit us,” Arian heard herself say. She had not meant to invite any of them.
“Oh, no. I could never be away so long. Once in a lifetime is enough for the likes of me. And I love our hills and streams. You understand; you grew up on a farm. I miss it in the city. But I thank you, Queen Arian, indeed I do.”
“You’re very welcome,” Arian said.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Fintha
Bad news.”
Marshal-General Arianya looked up. Marshal Kerivan held out a message tube.
“I’ve read this, Marshal-General. There’s been a child found not a day’s ride from here with magery—undeniable magery.”
“And?”
“And he’s dead. The people killed him. Girdish—all yeomen of a local grange. The yeoman-marshal led them, said it must be done.”
“Killed … a child? What had the child done?”
“Made light with his hand, this says. And attacked the yeoman-marshal who held him. The light was true mage-light and hot; the man claims a painful burn.”
Arianya clenched her jaw on the first words that came to her.
“There’s more,” Kerivan said. “They blamed the child’s mother—she’s not from there—so they beat her and drove her away.”
“And what did the Marshal do?” Arianya asked in as level a voice as she could manage. From the glance Kerivan gave her, he was aware of her anger anyway.
“Marshal Sofan was away, he says, but he feels the actions were justified under the circumstances, as use of magery has always been considered evil, an offense punishable by death. He adds that he warned the child’s father against marrying an outlander and that he always knew no good would come of the Marshal-General’s new policies.”
A second wave of anger roared through her. Arianya waited until the crest had passed and folded her hands, making sure not to clench them. “Did Marshal Sofan bring this himself or send it?”
“Sent it, Marshal-General.”
“That’s a mercy. For him.” She could not sit still; she rose and paced her office. “So: we know nothing about the family except that the father was bred there and the mother not. We know nothing about the child except he made light. Gird’s cudgel, paladins make light! Surely these people know that!”
“A child isn’t a paladin.”
“But paladins were once children,” Arianya said, following that trail instead of the one that had a Marshal blaming her. No, she must deal with the real issues, and quickly. “I need to know exactly where this place is—we’ll need maps—and everything about their Marshal you can find out. He’ll have to be replaced, of course, and the yeoman-marshal as well. And we need to find the mother, if
she’s alive and not dead in a field.”
“I’ll send a patrol—and someone to the grange there?”
“Yes. Six knights. I want the Marshal and yeoman-marshal under guard here as quickly as possible. Perhaps I should go—” She stopped, considering. “If magery returns here—if it already has—have there been other children killed? I must send word to all the granges—”
“To … to let mages go?” His brows rose.
“To kill no more children, at least,” Arianya said. “I’ll write: you get those knights on the road and make sure they understand they’re to bring the Marshal and yeoman-marshal here under guard.”
She would have to convene a council of Marshals, she realized. Anger roiled her mind; she tried unsuccessfully to put herself into the minds of those who would kill a child for having a lighted hand. Magery was wrong, of course. No one wanted a return of the magelords—gods grant the sleepers in Kolobia never woke up—but even Gird had recognized that children with mage ability could be innocent of evil. He had hoped for a reconciliation between the peoples, mages using their powers for good.
She could not finish the letter. Not yet. She had to know why that Marshal had chosen to approve killing a child. Where did such hatred come from? Her mind threw up the memory of Marshal Haran and her hostility to Paksenarrion. Haran had seemed contrite, though she had resigned as Marshal less than a year later and left Fin Panir. What if she had kept the same opinion secretly? What if many of the Girdish Marshals were that angry underneath, that stubborn in their condemnations? The histories told of such, all the way from Gird’s time—a strand of mingled envy, resentment, bitterness that Arianya considered evil. She had hoped her leadership had diminished its force … but Haran’s behavior and now this proved her wrong.
She walked down through the back corridors, thinking of Paksenarrion and Arvid Semminson, of her own mistakes with Paks and the mistakes she hoped she had not made with Arvid. Through the kitchens and dining hall, out into the little garden that—they had learned from notes found in Kolobia—had been the favorite of a magelord priest who had known Gird.