The use of his name and not his title was deliberate. He opened his mouth and closed it, visibly biting back a swift retort. She was pushing things, Triad knew how hard she was pushing with this, but if ever there was going to be a chance for her to do so, this would be it. D’Eymon’s face was white with anger and shock. He took a deep breath to control himself.
‘They have been dealt with already,’ he said. ‘They are dead.’
She hadn’t expected that. She managed, with an effort, to keep her discomfiture out of her eyes. ‘There is more,’ she went on pressing her advantage. ‘I want to know why Camena di Chiara was not watched when he went to Ygrath last year.’
‘He was watched. What would you have had us do? You know who was behind yesterday’s attack. You heard.’
‘We all heard. Why did you not know about Isolla and the Queen?’ This time the bite she put into the words was real, not merely tactical.
For the first time she saw a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. He fingered his Seal, then seemed to become aware that he was doing so and dropped his hand to his side. There was a brief silence.
‘I did know,’ he said finally. His eyes met her own, a question in them like an angry challenge.
‘I see,’ said Dianora a moment later, and looked away. The sun was higher now, slanting across most of the clearing. If she moved a little along the bench its warmth would fall upon her. The harsh, unspoken question in d’Eymon’s eyes hung in the air: Would you have told the King, knowing these things about his Queen?
Dianora was silent, tracking implications to their endings. With this admission, she realized, d’Eymon was hers, if he hadn’t already been so after his failure yesterday and what she had done to save the King. She was also, she thought, in fairly immediate danger as a consequence. The Chancellor was not a man to be treated lightly, ever. Most of the saishan had their suspicions as to how Chloese di Chiara had died ten years ago, and why.
She looked up, and let her rising anger keep the anxiety from showing. ‘Wonderful,’ she said acidly. ‘Such efficient security. And now, of course, because of what I was forced to do, your pet courtier Neso simply has to receive the posting in Asoli, doesn’t he. With a wound of honour earned saving the life of the King. How marvellously clever of you, d’Eymon!’
She had miscalculated. For the first time he smiled, a narrow, mirthless expression. ‘Is that what this is about?’ he asked softly.
She bit back a swift denial. It was not inconvenient for him to think so, she realized.
‘Among other things,’ she admitted, as if grudgingly. ‘I want to know why you have been favouring him for the Asoli posting. I had been meaning to talk to you about this.’
‘I thought as much,’ he said, a measure of his usual complacency returning. ‘I have also been keeping track of some—not all, I have no doubt—of the gifts Scelto has been receiving in your name these past weeks. That was a splendid necklace yesterday, by the way. Did Neso’s money pay for it? In an attempt to have you win me over to his side?’
He was immensely well-informed, and he was shrewd. She had always known these things. It was never wise to underestimate the Chancellor.
‘It helped pay for it,’ she said briefly. ‘You haven’t answered my question. Why do you favour him? You must know what sort of man he is.’
‘Of course I know,’ d’Eymon replied impatiently. ‘Why do you think I want him out of here? I want him posted to Asoli because I don’t trust him at court. I want him away from the King and in a place where he can be killed without undue inconvenience. I trust that answers your question?’
She swallowed. Never, ever underestimate him, she told herself again. ‘It does,’ she said. ‘Killed by whom?’
‘That should be obvious. It will be put about that the Asolini did it themselves. I expect it will not take Neso long to give them cause.’
‘Of course. And then?’
‘And then the King will investigate and find that Neso was guilty of gross corruption, which we need not doubt he will be. We execute some man or other for the murder but the King declares his firm renunciation of Neso’s methods and greed. He appoints a new Taxing Master and promises fairer measures in the future. I think that should quiet affairs in north Asoli for a time.’
‘Good,’ said Dianora, trying to ignore the casual indifference of that some man or other. ‘And very tidy. I have only one thing to add: the new officer will be Rhamanus.’ She was taking another risk, she knew. When it came down to bedrock, she was a captive and a concubine, and he was the Chancellor of Ygrath and of the Western Palm. On the other hand, there were other ways to measure the balance here, and she fought to focus on those.
D’Eymon looked coolly down at her. She kept her gaze on his, her eyes wide and disingenuous.
‘It has long amused me,’ he said at length, ‘that you so favoured the man who captured you. One would think you hadn’t minded, that you wanted to come.’
Perilously, uncannily near to the mark, but she could see he was baiting her, not serious in his thrust. She forced herself to relax, and smiled. ‘How could I mind being here? I’d never have had a chance at pleasant meetings such as this. And in any case’—she let her tone change—‘I do favour him, yes. On behalf of the people of this peninsula I do. And you know that that will always be my concern, Chancellor. He is a decent man. There are not many such Ygrathens, I’m afraid.’
He was silent a moment. Then: ‘There are more than you think.’ But before she could manage to interpret either his words or the surprising voice in which they were spoken, he added, ‘I seriously thought of having you poisoned last night. Either that, or suggesting you be freed and made a citizen of Ygrath.’
‘What extremes, my dear!’ She could feel herself growing cold though. ‘Didn’t you teach us all that balance is everything?’
‘I did,’ he said soberly, not rising to her bait. He never did. ‘Have you any idea what you’ve done to the equilibrium at this court?’
‘What,’ she said with real asperity, ‘would you have preferred me to do yesterday?’
‘That is not at all the point. Obviously.’ There was a rare spot of colour in his cheeks. When he resumed, though, it was in his usual tones. ‘I was thinking of Rhamanus for Asoli myself. It shall be as you suggest. In the meantime, I very nearly forgot to mention that the King has sent for you. I intercepted the message before it reached the saishan. He will be waiting in the library.’
She shot to her feet, as agitated as he must have known she would be. ‘How long ago?’ she asked quickly.
‘Not very. Why? You don’t seem to mind being late. There are anemones in the garden, you could tell him that.’
‘I could tell him some other things as well, d’Eymon.’ Anger almost choked her. She fought for control.
‘And so could I. And so, I suppose, could Solores. We seldom do, do we? The balance, as you have just pointed out, is everything. That is why I should still be very careful, Dianora, despite what happened yesterday. The balance is all. Do not forget it.’
She tried to think of a response, a last word, but failed. Her mind was whirling. He had spoken of killing her, of freeing her, had agreed with her choice for Asoli, and then threatened her again. All in a span of minutes! And all the while the King had been waiting for her, and d’Eymon had known.
She turned, abruptly and dismally conscious of her nondescript robe and the fact that she had no time to go back up to the saishan and change. She could feel herself flushing with anger and anxiety.
Scelto had evidently overheard the Chancellor’s last remarks. His eyes above the broken nose were vividly concerned and apologetic, though with d’Eymon intercepting the message there was nothing he could have done.
She stopped by the palace doors and looked back. The Chancellor stood alone in the garden leaning upon his stick, a tall, grey, thin figure against the bare trees. The sky above him had turned overcast again. Of course it has, Dianora thought spitefully.
&nbs
p; Then she remembered the pool and her mood changed. What did these court manoeuvres matter, in the end? D’Eymon was only doing what he had to do, and so now, would she. She had seen her path. She found herself able to smile, letting that inner quiet descend upon her again, though with a stone of sorrow at its centre still. She sank low in a very formal curtsey. D’Eymon, taken aback, sketched an awkward bow.
Dianora turned and went through the doors that Scelto was holding for her. She went back down the corridor and up the stairs, along a north–south hallway and past two heavy doors. She stopped in front of the third pair of doors. Out of reflex and habit more than anything else she checked her reflection in the bronze shield that hung on the wall. She adjusted her robe and pushed both hands through her hopelessly windblown hair.
Then she knocked on the library doors and entered, holding hard to her calm and the vision of the pool, a round stone of knowledge and sorrow in her heart that she hoped would anchor it in her breast and keep it from flying away.
Brandin was standing with his back to the door looking at a very old map of the then known world that hung above the larger of the fires. He did not turn. She looked up at the map. On it, the Peninsula of the Palm and even the larger land mass of Quileia beyond the mountains running all the way south to the Ice, were dwarfed by the size of Barbadior and its Empire to the east and by Ygrath to the west overseas.
The velvet window curtains of the library were drawn against the morning light and a fire was blazing, which bothered her. She found it difficult to deal with flames on an Ember Day. Brandin held a fire-iron in one hand. He was dressed as carelessly as she, in black riding clothes and boots. His boots were muddy; he must have been out riding very early.
She put the encounter with d’Eymon behind her, but not the riselka in the garden. This man was the centre of her life; whatever else had changed that had not, but the riselka’s vision had offered her a path, and Brandin had let her lie alone and awake all last night.
She said, ‘Forgive me, my lord. I was with the Chancellor this morning and he chose to only just now tell me you were waiting here.’
‘Why were you meeting with him?’ The nuanced, familiar voice was only mildly interested. He seemed engrossed in the map.
She did not lie to the King. ‘The Taxing Master question in Asoli. I wanted to know why he favoured Neso.’
There was a faint hint of amusement in his voice. ‘I’m sure d’Eymon told you something plausible.’ He turned finally, and gazed at her for the first time. He looked exactly the same as he always did, and she knew what always happened when their glances first met.
But she had seen a riselka an hour ago and something seemed to have changed. Her calm did not leave her; her heart stayed home. She closed her eyes for an instant, but more to acknowledge the meaning of that change and the passing of a long truth than anything else. She felt that she would weep, for many reasons, if she were not extremely careful now.
Brandin sank into a chair by the fire. He looked tired, as much as anything. It showed only in small ways, but she had known him a long time. ‘I will have to give it to Neso now,’ he said. ‘I think you know that. I’m sorry.’
Some things, it seemed, had not changed: always that grave, unexpected courtesy when he spoke to her of such things. What need had the King of Ygrath to apologize to her for choosing one of his courtiers over another? She moved into the room, clinging to her resolution, and at his gesture she took the chair opposite his. Brandin’s eyes rested on her with an odd, almost a detached scrutiny. She wondered what he would see.
She heard a sound from the far end of the room and, glancing over, saw Rhun sitting by the second fire, aimlessly leafing through a picture-book. His presence reminded her of something, and she felt her anger suddenly come back.
‘Of course you have to offer it to Neso,’ she said. ‘Asoli is his prize for gallantry in the service of his King.’ He scarcely responded. Briefly his mouth quirked, his expression mildly ironic; he still seemed preoccupied though, only half attending to what she said.
‘Gallantry, courage. They’ll call it something of that sort,’ he said absently. ‘Not getting out of the way in time, it really was. D’Eymon was already arranging last night to have word spread that it was Neso who saved my life.’
She would not rise to that. She refused. She didn’t even understand why he was saying this to her.
She said, instead, looking across the room at Rhun, not at the King: ‘That makes sense, and you must surely know that I don’t care. What I do not understand is why you are putting out lies about Camena’s fate.’ She took a breath, and then plunged ahead. ‘I know the truth. It is such an ugly, vicious thing to do. If you must prepare a Fool to follow Rhun, why mar a whole man and a healthy one? Why do such a thing?’
He did not answer for a long time and she was afraid to look at him. Rhun, too far away to hear, had none the less stopped leafing through his book and was looking over at them.
‘As it happens, there are precedents,’ was what Brandin said at length, his tone still mild. But then, a moment later, he added, ‘I should probably have taken Scelto away from you a long time ago. You both learn too much, too quickly.’
She opened her mouth, but no words came out. What could she say? She had asked for this. For exactly this.
But then, glancing out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Brandin was smiling. An odd smile, and there was something strange about his eyes as he looked at her. He said, ‘As it also happens, Scelto would have been right this morning, but his tidings are wrong by now.’
‘What do you mean?’ She felt the stirrings of a genuine uneasiness. There was a strangeness to his manner this morning that she could not lay a finger on. It was more than tiredness though, she knew that much.
‘I rescinded yesterday’s orders after my ride,’ Brandin said quietly. ‘Camena is probably dead by now. An easy death. Exactly as word has been put about.’
She discovered that her hands were clutching each other in her lap. She said fatuously, without thinking, ‘Is this true?’
He only raised his eyebrows, but she felt herself flush deep red. ‘I have no need to deceive you, Dianora. I told them to arrange for witnesses among the Chiarans, so there would be no doubt. What would confirm it for you: shall I have his head sent to your rooms?’
She looked down again, thinking of Isolla’s head bursting like a smashed fruit. She swallowed; he had done that with a gesture of his hand. She looked back at the King. Mutely she shook her head. What had happened on that ride? What was happening here?
Then, abruptly, she remembered what else had occurred to him yesterday. On the mountainside, at a place where a grey rock stood beside the runners’ track. One man sees a riselka: his path forks there.
Brandin turned back towards the fire, one leg crossed over the other. He laid the point of the iron down on the hearthstone, leaning it against his chair.
‘You haven’t asked me why I changed the orders. That’s unlike you, Dianora.’
‘I’m afraid to,’ she said, truthfully.
He glanced over at that, his dark brows level now, the grey eyes intimidating with their intelligence. ‘That’s unlike you as well.’
‘You aren’t very … like yourself either this morning.’
‘Fair enough,’ he said quietly. He looked at her for a moment in silence, then seemed to consider something else. ‘Tell me, did d’Eymon make things difficult for you just now? Did he warn you, or threaten?’
It wasn’t sorcery, she told herself fiercely. Not mind-reading. It was only Brandin being what he was, aware of all the nuances that affected those in their orbits around him.
‘Not directly,’ she said awkwardly. Once she might have seen this as an opportunity, but the mood this morning was so strange. ‘He was … upset about yesterday. Afraid, I think, of balances shifting here at the court. Once word is safely out that it was Neso who saved your life I think the Chancellor will be easier. It won’t be a difficult s
tory for him to spread; things happened very fast. I doubt anyone saw it clearly.’
This time, Brandin’s smile as he listened was one she knew and cherished: equal to equal, their minds sharing the track of a complex thought. But when she finished, his expression changed.
‘I did,’ he said. ‘I saw it clearly.’
She looked away and down again, at her hands in her lap.
Your path is clear now, she told herself as sternly as she could. Remember that. She had been offered a vision of herself in green beside the sea. And her heart was her own now after last night. There was a stone holding it there, safe within her breast.
Brandin said, ‘It would be easy to tell the Neso story, I agree. But I did a great deal of thinking last night and then on my ride this morning. I’ll be talking to d’Eymon later today, after we watch the runners come home. The tale that goes around will be the true one, Dianora.’
She wasn’t sure she had heard him rightly, and then she was sure, and something seemed to reach a brim and then spill over a little, like an overflowing wineglass inside her.
‘You should go riding more often,’ she mumbled. He heard. He laughed softly but she didn’t look up. She had a very strong sense that she couldn’t afford to look up.
‘Why?’ she asked, intent on her interlocked fingers. ‘Why to both things, then: Camena’s fate, and now this?’
He was silent so long that eventually she did glance up, cautiously. He had turned back to the fire though, and was prodding it with the iron. On the far side of the room Rhun had closed his book and was now standing beside his table looking over at the two of them. He was dressed in black, of course. Exactly like the King.
‘Did I ever tell you,’ said Brandin of Ygrath, very softly, ‘the legend my nurse used to tell me as a child about Finavir?’