“I have to admit I’m relieved to hear that.” Sharpfield sipped brandy, then set the glass down. “I couldn’t fault a single decision he made, and I’d far rather worry about our people’s aggressiveness than that they might avoid a fight! And Langhorne knows the last thing we need is to hammer a good officer who damned well wouldn’t deserve it. If nothing else, the effect on the next flag officer who has to make a hard call probably wouldn’t be very good.”
“That’s almost exactly what Sir Domynyk said, My Lord.” Darys nodded. “And, obviously, everyone in Old Charis was elated when we got word Sir Dunkyn had rescued our people. Archbishop Maikel proclaimed masses of thanksgiving throughout the Empire.
“Now, I’m sure the High Admiral’s dispatches to you will cover exactly what he had in mind when he sent us out, but he asked me to give you a brief overview of his thinking before you get to them.
“It’s his thought that deploying as much of our strength forward as possible would have to have an … efficacious effect on Admiral Thirsk’s thinking. Towards that end, it occurred to him that—”
.VII.
Rydymak Keep,
Cheshyr Bay,
Earldom of Cheshyr,
and
King Tayrens Chancellery,
City of Cherayth,
Kingdom of Chisholm,
Empire of Charis.
Rydymak Keep was spectacularly beautiful, in an old-fashioned, drafty-icehouse, freeze-one’s-arse-off sort of way.
Karyl Rydmakyr, the Dowager Countess of Cheshyr, still remembered the way the keep had struck her to the heart the first time she saw its steep-pitched, red-tiled tower roofs and sheer, storybook walls from the deck of the ship bearing her home to Cheshyr with her newlywed husband. She hadn’t known Styvyn well—indeed, when she came down to it, she hadn’t known him at all—before the wedding, but he’d been handsome, athletic, considerate of his young and very nervous bride, and unswervingly loyal to the House of Tayt. As a daughter of a cadet branch of that house, she’d understood how important that was. She’d also known how unusual it was among the Chisholmian aristocracy of her youth, for she’d been raised to be sensitive to the treacherous currents which swirled among the kingdom’s nobility. And because of that, she’d realized very clearly that Styvyn was a far greater matrimonial prize than the lord of an impoverished holding like Cheshyr might normally have been … especially then.
King Irwain had been a good man, and she’d respected him as her king, but he’d lacked the steel spine to stand up to the kingdom’s great nobles. His son, though … Prince Sailys had been a different sort. Young she might have been, but there’d never been anything wrong with Karyl Tayt’s brain, and despite the distance of their relationship—fifth cousins normally weren’t extraordinarily close—she’d strongly suspected her crown prince had plans he wasn’t discussing with his future adversaries.
More to the point, perhaps, her father had cherished the same suspicions, and when Prince Sailys had casually expressed himself as favoring the proposed match, Sir Ahdam Tayt had found it in his heart to accept the young earl’s offer for his second eldest daughter’s hand. It hadn’t been the sort of dashing, wealthy marriage young Karyl had dreamed of, but given the penurious fortunes of her branch of the Tayt dynasty, it hadn’t been anything to turn her nose up at, either. And he had been good-looking, her Styvyn. Better still, he’d had a sense of humor and a brain almost as good as hers. And even more than that, he’d had a heart that dearly wanted his new wife to be happy and to love him … in that order.
With all of that going for him, she thought now, smiling as she drew the shawl more tightly around her shoulders while she sat very close to the hearth, how could she not have done both?
The memory of his presence wrapped itself about her more warmly than any shawl, and her hazel eyes softened, gazing into the flames at something only she could see. They’d had thirty good years, she and Styvyn, years in which he’d risen to general’s rank in the Royal Army and stood foursquare by first Prince Sailys’ and then King Sailys’ side.
And he’d died by his king’s side, as well.
Her smile faded, and she huddled deeper into the shawl, turning away from the pain of that memory, choosing instead to remember again that first glimpse of Rydymak Keep against a spectacular summer sky of crimson coals and smoke-blue cloud banners. The Sunset Hills upon which it stood weren’t much, as hills went, compared to the lofty Iron Spine Mountains in whose shadows she’d grown to young womanhood. But in low-lying Cheshyr, they’d amply deserved the title, and she’d fallen in love with the stone cottages of her new husband’s capital city even before she’d finished falling in love with him. Even today, she made it a point, weather permitting, to walk Rydymak’s streets, personally visit the school built close up against the church, and chaffer with the vendors in the farmer’s market at least once every five-day. She often thought she knew every inhabitant by name, and if she didn’t, it certainly wasn’t for want of trying!
Yet for all its scenic beauty, Rydymak Keep was a monumentally uncomfortable place to live. Styvyn had built her a beautiful little solar as a fifth-anniversary wedding gift. Given the state of Cheshyr’s exchequer, it had been ruinously extravagant of him, but he hadn’t cared. And the bedroom of their suite had been carefully draft-proofed. He’d even installed an enormous Harchong-style tiled stove, despite her protests, and she’d scolded him mercilessly for that indulgence. After all, she’d grown up in Tayt! A Cheshyr winter was a mere trifle to an Iron Spine girl. Besides—she smiled again—she’d never needed a stove to keep her warm whenever Styvyn was home.
The rest of the keep, however, was just as drafty, cold, and thoroughly miserable in winter as it looked, and she wondered why she was sitting here in the library in the middle of the night. The high-backed, thickly cushioned chair was comfortable enough, but that could scarcely be said of the shadowy, high-ceilinged, frigid chamber in which it sat.
You’re sitting here because you’re lonely, you’re worried, and you’re frightened, she told herself tartly, looking up to watch the fire-flicker dance on the exposed beams overhead. And because this is the chair where you used to sit in Styvyn’s lap while the two of you read the same book. Because sitting here, with a little piece of him, you don’t care if you’re cold … and you’re just a little less frightened than you are lying awake in that big, warm, lonely bed.
She snorted and jabbed irritably at the single tear that leaked its treacherous way down her cheek. Feeling maudlin never solved a problem, she reminded herself sternly. Unfortunately, she didn’t know what was going to solve the one she found herself facing this time.
If only that miserable, unmitigated son-of-a-bitch hadn’t gotten his hooks into Young Styvyn, she thought bitterly. Or if only Young Styvyn had half the brain his grandfather and his father had! Bédard knows I love the boy, but—
She chopped that thought off. It wasn’t her grandson’s fault he wasn’t the most brilliant young man ever born, and maybe it was at least partly her fault that he’d fallen so readily into Zhasyn Seafarer’s hand. She did love him—she truly did—but she’d always been … disappointed by her inability to interest him in the books, the poetry, the history she and his grandfather—and, for that matter, his own father—had loved so much. Perhaps he’d sensed that disappointment, decided it meant she didn’t love him, or—even worse—that she thought poorly of him. Could that be why his glamorous second cousin had found it so easy to worm his poisonous way into the boy’s affections?
Doesn’t hurt that the slick bastard’s a duke and as rich as Cheshyr is poor, either, does it? she reflected. And he is family, whether I like it or not. Somehow that whole marriage didn’t work out the way Styvyn and Sailys hoped it would, and, oh, how I wish I hadn’t found myself in a position to say “I told you so” to the pair of them! I truly did love Pahtrysha, though. Of course, she couldn’t stand Zhasyn either. A brief, fond smile flitted across her lips. Always did have good taste, Pahtrysh
a did, especially for a Seafarmer. Look who she married!
The smile vanished as completely as the hope she’d once cherished that Pahtrysha Seafarmer’s marriage to her son Kahlvyn might open at least a small crack in the Dukes of Rock Coast’s adamantine opposition to the Crown’s dominance of Chisholm. The only Seafarmer they’d won to their cause in the end had been Pahtrysha herself … and she’d died in the same carriage accident which had paralyzed Kahlvyn and left him incapable of speech.
Sometimes I wonder what we did to draw Shan-wei’s hatred so strongly, she thought bitterly. Why has the world gone so far out of its way to demolish my family? Not even Father Kahrltyn can explain that one to me! It’s not like we haven’t always—
“Excuse me, My Lady.”
Karyl Rydmakyr bounced out of the chair with an agility at odds with her seventy-six winters. She landed at least a yard from it and whipped around, heart pounding, to stare at the blue-eyed young woman who couldn’t possibly be there. She opened her mouth, but before she could speak—or shout for help—the intruder raised a swift hand.
“Please, My Lady!” she said quickly in an accent that never came from Chisholm. “I’m a friend. In fact, Her Majesty sent me.”
Lady Karyl closed her mouth with a snap as she took in her impossible visitor’s blackened chain mail and the black-and-gold kraken and blue-and-white checkerboard blazoned across her breastplate. The mere fact that the intruder wore the accoutrements of the Imperial Charisian Guard didn’t guarantee one damned thing, but it certainly bore thinking upon.
“Friends don’t creep uninvited into locked rooms in someone else’s house, young woman!” she said acidly, instead of shouting for help.
Which might be just as well for the any servants in the house in question, she reflected as her pulse slowed and she took in the curved sword and what had to be a pair of the newfangled revolvers holstered at the intruder’s waist.
“They do if Her Majesty’s impressed them with the importance of making contact with you without anyone else knowing about it,” the young woman said respectfully, and Lady Karyl’s eyes narrowed.
“That’s an interesting assertion.” She settled her shawl around her shoulders. “I trust you’ll understand that I’d like some verification that it’s also a truthful assertion.” She smiled with very little humor. “I’m afraid I’ve become somewhat less trusting of late.”
“According to Her Majesty, My Lady, you’ve never been exceptionally trusting where enemies of your house are concerned.” The younger woman’s smile was much warmer than Lady Karyl’s had been. “She tells me that her father spoke to her often about your husband’s loyalty to the Crown … and yours. In fact,” those blue eyes, so dark they were almost black in the lamplight, met Lady Karyl’s levelly, “she told me to tell you she hopes the doomwhale is still hidden in the cliff lizard’s mouth.”
Lady Karyl never actually moved a muscle, yet her spine—as steely straight as the Iron Spines she’d grown up among—seemed to relax ever so slightly. She stood for several more seconds, gazing at the interloper through narrow hazel eyes. Then she stepped back to her chair and pointed imperiously at a corner of the library’s enormous hearth.
“Move where I can see you,” she said, settling back into the chair she’d shared so often with Styvyn. “Besides,” she added with a small, crooked smile as the other woman obeyed her, “you’ll be at least marginally warmer!”
“Yes, My Lady.”
Lady Karyl studied her more carefully. Cheshyr couldn’t afford to waste first-quality kraken oil on its lamps, even in the library, and her eyes were no younger than the rest of her. The brain behind them was still capable of careful observation, however.
The other woman was perhaps half a hand shorter than her own five feet and seven inches, with extraordinarily dark brown hair touched with auburn highlights. She was slim and graceful, almost delicate looking, yet there was nothing fragile about her. She stood very straight, despite the obviously heavy saddlebags over her shoulder, waiting patiently, sapphire eyes level, enduring Lady Karyl’s meticulous inspection with complete composure. Indeed, she was almost too composed for comfort, Lady Karyl thought. That sort of calm wasn’t normally the property of someone as young as she was.
“Very well, young woman,” she said finally. “Suppose you tell me what that nonsense about doomwhales and cliff lizards was all about.”
“I’d be happy to, My Lady … if I knew.” Her visitor, Lady Karyl discovered, had dimples. “From the way Her Majesty made sure I had it straight, I assume it’s some sort of recognition phrase. And if I had to guess, I’d guess it goes back to your husband’s relationship—or perhaps yours—with King Sailys. Unfortunately, a guess is all it would be.”
“I see.”
Lady Karyl gazed at her for another moment, then pushed back up out of her chair. Her father-in-law had disdained anything as effete as books, and in his day the room which had become Styvyn Rydmakyr’s library had been the keep’s trophy room. Since neither Styvyn nor Lady Karyl had wanted to shelve their precious books against an exterior stone wall, the trophies which had looked back into the room from between the windows during Truskyt Rydmakyr’s day looked back still, and she paused beside one of them.
The cliff lizard had been a giant among its kind, probably over three hundred pounds, and its mouth was open, displaying teeth equally apt for chewing meat or grazing. She laid a hand affectionately on it for a moment, then reached into that gaping mouth and extracted something that gleamed faintly in the lamplight. She carried it back over to the hearth and held it up, and it was the other woman’s eyes’ turn to narrow.
It was an exquisitely rendered doomwhale, about five inches long and cast in solid silver … except for the golden crown no true doomwhale had ever worn. That crown gleamed more brightly than the tarnished silver, and Lady Karyl turned it deliberately to catch the firelight on its thorny points.
“King Sailys gave this to Styvyn,” she said softly. “I believe there were less than twenty of them, and anyone who received one was charged to keep it hidden and keep it safe. Unless it was needed.”
She met those shadow-darkened blue eyes, and the other woman nodded.
“Tokens of his authority,” she said slowly, her voice soft. “From what Her Majesty told me, I knew your husband had been high in King Sailys’ confidence, but I hadn’t realized how high.”
“Few people ever did.” Lady Karyl’s long, still-strong fingers tightened around the small statue. “He and the King were careful to keep it that way, for a lot of reasons. And that fool thinks I’m going to forget everything Sailys—and Styvyn—fought and died for?!”
Her lips worked as if she wanted to spit, and the young woman laughed. There was very little humor in the sound. Indeed, if doomwhales had laughed, one of them might have owned a laugh very like it.
“That question I already knew the answer to, My Lady.” She bowed deeply, then straightened. “With your permission, I’d like to finish introducing myself.”
“Of course.” Lady Karyl seated herself once more, holding the doomwhale in her lap, clasped between both hands. “And when you’ve done that, perhaps you could explain how you got into this locked library without any of my admittedly understrength staff seeing you on your way here? Or, for that matter, without alerting me when the hinges shrieked like a soul in hell?”
“The introduction is easy, Lady Karyl.” The younger woman touched her breastplate in formal salute. “Men call me Merch O Obaith.”
“Ah.” Lady Karyl nodded. “I hope you’ll pardon my saying so, but your name seems rather … outlandish. In fact, it reminds me of a few other names I’ve heard. Would it happen you’re familiar with a gentleman named Athrawes?”
“As a matter of fact, I am.”
“Fascinating.” Lady Karyl leaned farther back and crossed her legs. “It would appear his reputation for coming and going as he wants despite any silly little things like locked doors is well deserved. And it would als
o appear seijins are coming out of the woodwork, as Styvyn would have said.”
“I wouldn’t go quite that far, myself, My Lady,” Obaith corrected politely. “Although, if pressed, I would admit they’ve become rather more visible. I believe The Testimonies say that seijins will appear when they’re most needed, though.”
“And at this moment, I need one very badly,” Lady Karyl said somberly.
“Perhaps the services of one, at least,” Obaith acknowledged. “I’m afraid that tonight I’m only a messenger, however.”
“And what sort of message do you bear?” Lady Karyl’s eyes were intent in the flickering firelight.
“My Lady, Her Majesty wants you to know her agents are aware of what’s happening here in Cheshyr, not to mention in Rock Coast and Black Horse. Those agents are keeping a very close eye on the situation, and I regret that it’s taken so long for her authorization to share that information with you to reach Chisholm. We know about Duke Rock Coast’s efforts to ensnare your grandson, and we also know they’re in communication with Lady Swayle. Unfortunately, there’s very little we can do about the Duke’s machinations where your grandson is concerned. It would be … awkward for Her Majesty to rely on the sort of evidence we could provide in a court of law, particularly given the way Zhaspahr Clyntahn and the Inquisition have branded all of the ‘false, so-called seijins’ demons and servants of Shan-wei. The fact that everyone with a working brain knows that’s a lie wouldn’t prevent the Duke’s supporters from fastening on it as a means of discrediting evidence procured by such … irregular techniques.”
“I can see that.”
Lady Karyl succeeded—mostly—in keeping the disappointment out of her tone. It wasn’t easy, but the decades she and Styvyn had spent working circumspectly on King Sailys’ behalf stood her in good stead.