Echoes of Betrayal

  “I’m not interested in—” He paused. “I thought I couldn’t marry because no one in Tsaia would want to risk it—but—”

  “Lyonya does not have the same attitudes to magery,” Dorrin said. “Falkians don’t. Elves don’t.” She watched that idea seep in, producing a flush of color to his face and then the first genuine smile she’d seen on the journey. “And you’ll need an heir yourself someday.”

  Already he sat taller in the saddle.

  In the days approaching the Spring Evener and their wedding, Arian found time, even with the wedding preparations demanding her attention, to visit the ossuary several times. She no longer feared the place or Kieri’s sister’s spirit. She had walked the perimeter—dry whitewashed stone walls, the stone floor cleaned of the muddy footprints Kieri had made. The Seneschal answered her few questions and left her alone as long as she wanted.

  She wasn’t sure why she found the ossuary so attractive or why she took the time to listen to his sister’s cryptic utterances. But she knew exactly why she stared at his sister’s bones and those few pathetic shards that had been her child. In her own body … another child …

  Beware.

  She was being careful. Two Squires now followed her everywhere and guarded the door of her chamber at night. She wore mail under her clothes, though how that could be done as the child grew, she was not sure. Carrying a child was one thing, but the extra weight of mail … well … that was later. For now, she had not changed in size, and she practiced daily, as Kieri did.

  The day before the Evener, she came out of the ossuary, looked around in the sunshine of an early spring day, and spotted Aliam and Estil Halveric coming across the courtyard.

  Estil grinned. “There she is—well met, Arian. And you’re with child!”

  “Indeed,” Arian said.

  “You know,” Estil said, “I thought it would be you from the time I saw you ride that horse for him.”

  “And you were miffed that he looked at the horse,” Aliam said. “I remember that.”

  “Not miffed, exactly, but which is more important to the realm—the right horse or the right wife?”

  “If the wrong horse throws you and breaks your neck—” Aliam began; Estil swatted his shoulder. He laughed; so did she.

  “What did you see, Estil, that you thought I was right for him?” Arian asked.

  “I have daughters and granddaughters,” Estil said. “And some amount of taig-sense. I flatter myself that I can recognize a young person of character. And one in love.” Arian felt her cheeks heating. “And yet, one mature enough to wait … not a youngster grabbing for what she wanted.”

  “Thank you,” Arian said.

  “Who will be your midwife?” Estil asked.

  “Estil!” Aliam said.

  “It’s never too early,” Estil said.

  “I don’t know,” Arian said. “And I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings—”

  “The only hurt to worry about is you, yourself, and your child,” Estil said. “My daughter Martyl’s quite good, but she’s never helped a half-elf … do you know if there’s anything special about birthing in the half-kin?”

  “No,” Arian said. “I never thought to ask.”

  “Well … Kieri’s first wife had no problems, I understand, but she had no elven blood herself. We must find you some half-elven mothers, Arian, to talk with and find out.”

  “Not before the wedding, though,” Aliam said. “Enough talk of birthings. There’s a wedding to celebrate and feasts to eat. And I see the steward’s by the entrance wishing we’d either come or go.”

  “Come, of course,” Arian said. “I know where your guest room is; don’t think you can escape staying here!”

  They met Kieri coming out of his office in the lower main passage. “You made it!” he said. “I was afraid the rains these past five days had mired you in mud to the horses’ bellies.”

  “Not so bad,” Estil said. “And I would not have missed your wedding if I’d had to swim in mud to get here.”

  “Did the other kings come?” Aliam asked.

  “No. Torfinn sent congratulations and a heap of furs to make us cloaks. Elis is here, as her father’s representative.”

  “I was half expecting the old lady,” Estil said.

  “She died in their war,” Kieri said. “A loss; I think she was honest, and she was also a link to the Kostandanyans. However, their king sent his eldest son, wedding greetings, and a jar of something that stinks abominably.”

  “Are Ganlin and Elis still so close?”

  “No, as I suspected. They had different aims when they went in, and after Torfinn came to assassinate me and Elis became the nominal Pargunese ambassador, her focus shifted to that—to her father and to Pargun. She’s a brilliant student, the Knight-Commander says, completely focused on her work. Sure to be knighted, in time. The Knight-Commander’s comment on Ganlin was, ‘She may or may not get her ruby, but she will definitely get her man.’ ”

  “May I see your dress, Arian?” Estil asked.

  “Of course,” Arian said, glad of a chance to see Estil alone. Though not more than a decade older, Estil had been wife, mother, grandmother … and Arian had no one close to talk to about that. Up in her chambers, the wedding dress on its stand gleamed in the sunlight streaming in the windows, stiff with embroidery.

  “A queen’s robe indeed,” Estil said. “Where did you have this made?”

  “I didn’t—my father sent it. I suppose it was elf-made.” Arian touched one of the embroidered flowers, the brilliant colors shown off by the silvery sheen of the underlying fabric. “I expect he won’t be there—the Lady doesn’t like him—but I’m touched that he thought of me.”

  “Were you close to him, Arian?”

  “When I was little, he stayed with us at times—for as much as a year. I loved him; I love him still. He sang to us—to me in particular—and he took me out in the forest and introduced me to the trees and ferns and so on. I had inherited more taig-sense than most half-elven, he said. He could call birds from the trees—it was wonderful, I thought.”

  “And then he left?”

  “Not all at once, but in the longest absence … I thought he had gone forever, and my mother died …”

  “You were still a child?”

  “No—old enough to go to Falk’s Hall. I blamed myself for not being home, but I knew even then it would have made no difference. But my father—he’s the one who suggested I go to Falk’s Hall, not stay in the village. He paid my fees. He had been gone—a year? Two?—around the time I was twelve. But then he was back for a couple of years, and then less and less. He looked worried from time to time. When I got my ruby, he showed up again and gave me a sword.”

  “That one?” Estil asked, pointing.

  “Yes. He was happy, you know, when Kieri and I—when we discovered we were both—well. But then the Lady was angry, and she closed me off from the taig—”

  “She had done it to me,” Estil said. “Though my taig-sense was never as strong as yours … She apologized after the daskdraudigs; she thought it was her doing that I didn’t sense it. But I’m not sure—I was so worried about Aliam, I might not have.”

  “How is your house now?”

  “Strange,” Estil said. “The elves helped … and the Lady … but it feels uncanny at times. It was better after Cal put Old Halveric’s skull back in place in the attic. It’s not that I don’t like elves, you understand, but Old Halveric is one of us … the old people, I mean.”

  “I know,” Arian said, thinking of the ossuary. “Have you ever seen the royal ossuary?”

  “No. I thought it wasn’t open to outsiders.”

  “You’re not outsiders. Kieri says you’re family. And the ossuary has become very important to him.”

  “His father’s and his sister’s bones, of course.” Estil nodded.

  Arian wondered whether to broach the subject she had not mentioned to anyone else.

  “What is it?” Esti
l asked. “What’s wrong? Kieri?” She put her hand on her chest as if it hurt her.

  “No—he’s fine. I think. But … but at Midwinter …”

  Estil moved to the window seat and sat down. “Come, tell me what troubles you on the day before your wedding to the best man, bar Aliam, I ever knew. And you with child—is it that? For women do have strange feelings sometimes, especially with their first.”

  Arian perched on the bed. “I do not think it is being with child. In fact, I know it’s not all that. Midwinter, you see, the king spends the night alone, fasting, in the ossuary, with the door closed. Kieri was not afraid, of course, but something happened in there. In the morning, when it was time to greet the sun’s coming, and the Seneschal opened the door, he wasn’t there.”

  Estil’s brows went up. “What do you mean, he wasn’t there? How big is the ossuary? Could he have fallen asleep behind something?”

  “No. I had come behind the Seneschal. The ossuary was empty, silent … dark. No sign of him. The Seneschal called again and then again. I called—I felt my heart pause.” Arian heard the upward shift of her voice, expressing the horror and panic she had felt. She took a deep breath before going on. “There’s no other entrance that anyone knows about, but somehow … Kieri said it all changed, in the dark. And he was walking about, blessing the bones, when he felt along a wall, and instead of dressed stone he felt dirt and roots.”

  Estil stared. “But … he didn’t feel any kind of entrance? Lintel, threshold?”

  “No. He said perhaps he was not really attending, but he realized he was standing on dirt. With … with things crawling on him. He tried to feel his way back to the ossuary, but for a long time all he found was dirt and roots and creatures of the dark. Then he came to stone again—the outside of the ossuary, we think. At first he could find no way in, but then the stone yielded and he fell into the same room he’d left. But he looked—he was filthy, his feet all muddy and bruised and his clothes stained.”

  “Gods above,” Estil breathed. “He told you all this?”

  Arian nodded. “That night, after the betrothal.”

  “Have you been in there?” Estil asked.

  “Yes—several times. It feels … friendly. Kieri’s sister’s bones … speak. To both of us.”

  Estil frowned a little. “I think we need to have a longer talk, you and I—and with Kieri, too, most likely. But can you tell me what your worry is about tomorrow, if not the things brides usually worry about?”

  “The Lady is coming. I do not know what … what she might do …” Arian realized then that Estil probably knew nothing about where the Lady had been early in the war or any of the rest of it, busy in her own domain trying to repair the damages of the daskdraudigs and reorder her household. “We do need to talk, Estil Halveric, but let me set aside my worries for a day of joy. I feel better for being with you even this long.”

  “You’re wearing mail, you and Kieri both,” Estil said, leaning back to glance out the window into the palace forecourt. “So you think there is danger? Is the border not safe, after all?”

  “His sister’s bones warn of treachery,” Arian said. “I will wear mail even under my wedding dress.”

  “Will Kieri tell Aliam, do you think, or must I convince him to stand close? And who is to be your maid?”

  “I have no sisters—the other women Squires who are here drew lots, and Suriya is to be my senior attendant. Then three Siers’ daughters and granddaughters of appropriate age.”

  “With respect … have you someone to stand as your mother if your father will not be here?”

  “N-no,” Arian said. “I think, because I’m Kieri’s age, no one thought I needed one.”

  “My dear, every bride needs a family. I know Kieri has taken Aliam as his ceremonial father. Would you do me the honor of allowing me to stand as your mother?”

  Arian felt tears stinging her eyes and blinked them away. “I—yes. Yes, I would. You do remind me of her.”

  “Good, then. I do not know the full protocol for a royal wedding … but I do know Kieri. He will have pared the ceremony to the bone and left marks on the bone.”

  Arian laughed as suddenly as she had cried. “I should have run to you when the Lady put the geas on me to leave; you knew him as boy and man.”

  “We could spend days,” Estil said. “But I hear voices in the passage. We have had all the privacy we shall have for the rest of today and tomorrow. There’s a reception this evening, I suppose.”

  “Yes, indeed. As before the coronation.”

  “Then I must go and change into something suitable,” Estil said, and stood.

  “And I,” Arian said.

  A soft tap at the door. “My lady? It is time—”

  For the next several turns of the glass, Arian was immersed in the preparations for the reception.

  Kieri waited for her at the head of the stairs; they came down into the entrance hall together, flanked by Squires. The steward, old Sier Hammarin, and several Squires were still organizing the line of guests. Arian glanced around. Siers and their families … a scattering of elves, most unfamiliar to her … Elis of Pargun, standing with the Knight-Commander of Falk, wearing once more the pale blue gown she’d worn last summer as a princess. Ganlin of Kostandan, also in last summer’s dress, on the other side of the Knight-Commander with the Kostandanyan representative, her older brother.

  Other foreigners she did not recognize, though she knew that among them were a delegation of senior Girdish from Fin Panir, the Sea-Prince of Prealíth, and a woman from Dzordanya who bore the title of Mother of Mothers of the Long Houses. Members of the Council, including those Kieri had added in the past year—two merchants, now, and Aliam as military advisor.

  And from Tsaia, in Mahieran rose and silver, the king’s uncle, Duke Mahieran himself … and in a far corner Dorrin, Duke Verrakai. Arian felt the sudden tension in Kieri’s arm. He said nothing, but she heard a soft rumble in his chest.

  Missing, so far, was the Lady—or any other senior elf. Well. Nothing to do but smile and hope this was the worst of the evening. She and Kieri took their places at the foot of the stairs, and the line began to move toward them. The foreigners were ushered to the fore … Dorrin lagged Duke Mahieran by what Arian thought of as a sword-safe distance.

  “Sonder, Duke Mahieran of Tsaia,” announced Sier Hammarin, “bearing his king’s honors. And his son, Kirgan Mahieran.”

  The Duke bowed to Kieri, then to Arian, and handed over a box wrapped in rose satin tied with silver ribbons, with two silver bells dangling from the ends. “My lord king,” he said. “King Mikeli sends greetings and wishes for your joy and prosperity.” He nodded to his son. “My son and kirgan, Rothlin.” For a moment his eyes twinkled. “Roth heard from Kirgan Marrakai about the beauty of Lyonya’s daughters.”

  “Be very welcome here,” Kieri said. “You will convey to your king my greetings and hopes for his health and prosperity. I hope your journey was easy.”

  “Indeed, it was, sir king.” He dipped his head again and went on into the next room.

  “Dorrin, Duke Verrakai of Tsaia,” Hammarin said. “And her heir, Kirgan Verrakai.”

  Dorrin bowed as low as Mahieran had, but when she stood again, she was smiling broadly. “Sir king—Arian—I am so happy for you both. You do not perhaps know my squire and also my kirgan, Beclan.”

  Arian kept the formal smile on her face with an effort. Beclan … Verrakai? This must be the same Beclan, Beclan Mahieran … and now Kirgan Verrakai?

  “Be welcome here,” Kieri said, as if he had expected them both. “We must talk. There are concerns about the border. The day after tomorrow?”

  “As it pleases you,” Dorrin said.

  “Then that morning,” Kieri said.

  The rest of the line surged forward when Dorrin moved away, and for the next turn of the glass Arian accepted bow after bow, hand after hand. Elis of Pargun, Arian noted, was a very different young woman now that she had purpose and a st
ructure in which to exercise it. Perhaps her gravity came from knowing all but one of her brothers were dead and her father had been gravely wounded, but it suited her. Ganlin, too, had changed: she walked without any hint of a limp and seemed completely relaxed and happy. The Sea-Prince had green and blue ribbons in his three long dark braids and a curved dagger thrust into a jeweled sheath. The Dzordanyan Mother of Mothers of the Long Houses was a tiny woman swathed in dark green. Her face, what little could be seen of it, was heavily wrinkled, but when she took Arian’s hand, her grip had strength.

  By the time the guests had paid their respects, the other rooms were buzzing with conversation over a background of music. Arian and Kieri circulated among the rooms and guests, pausing to compliment the musicians. After a time, Arian’s feet hurt and she sat down among a group of older women, Siers’ wives, and Sier Davonin.

  At once one of the servants brought her a plate of food and a goblet of water flavored with cherry preserves. Sier Davonin leaned over. “My dear, forgive an old woman’s presumption, but are you ensuring you eat enough roots?”

  “Roots?”

  “Didn’t your mother tell you? Just as trees form strong root systems before they grow tall, so children must root deeply before they grow larger. The first days are most important.”

  “I ate plenty of redroots all winter, Sier Davonin.”

  “That’s good,” Davonin said, patting Arian’s shoulder in a motherly way. “Now, am I right in thinking this child must have been engendered near Midwinter?”

  Arian nodded.

  “Then you know to eat spring greens.”

  “Yes.”

  The Siers’ ladies chimed in then, and she felt trapped in a maze of maternal advice, but Kieri, who had been talking to Duke Mahieran some distance away, suddenly excused himself and came to her rescue.

  “At least we do not have to begin our wedding at dawn,” Kieri said. “Come, Arian, we should make another triumphal round, don’t you think? You ladies will excuse us …”