Treason's Shore (29 page)

“Which is Dei?” Tau asked, knowing he had the last puzzle piece. The
what,
if not the
why
.

“—which I had begun to use again anyway. Once she had the name, it seemed easy enough to find me. The family has always kept track of my movements, though I did not know it.” Saris spread her hands in a graceful gesture. “I did send you a message as soon as I could contrive, which probably still lies at Parayid awaiting you.” She tipped her head, her lovely mouth curling at the corners just enough to dimple her cheek.

“I never went down that far. The harbors had no trade during the long siege by the Venn, so I didn’t think I’d find out anymore than I had directly following after the pirate battle.” Tau sat back. “I gather it’s easier for the exalted family to accept strays back into the fold when they come with titles ribboned round their necks.”

Saris did not deny it. She clapped lightly, then addressed the duke. “You see, my dear. My son has my wit as well as my taste.”

The duke spoke for the first time. “You say you were in Iasca Leror, Taumad. Is it true they threw the Venn back into the sea?”

Tau turned the cup around in his hand. It was made of thin porcelain. The painted clusters of berries gracefully dotting the edges glowed like rubies in the sunlight. Like blood . . .

He blinked away the unexpected memory. “In a sense.”

Sarias fluttered her fingers. “Please, darling boy, let us not ruin the peace of the morning with Marlovan rumors. Listening to third- and fourthhand speculations in court was tedious enough.”

“For what it’s worth, Mother, my testimony is firsthand. I was there, in my modest capacity. The Venn commander made it clear enough he had no intention of returning unless ordered to.”

The duke’s brows rose. Saris put her hands together and rested her chin daintily on her fingertips. “Firsthand, yes? The rumors did put you—in several amusing guises—at the right hand of the one they call Elgar the Fox. So do all these bloodthirsty tales really concern the little boy you brought home after your first sea journey? He was an appealing urchin, but I find it difficult to believe he could lead navies against pirates and hew down by his own hand hundreds of warriors without taking a scratch.” She tipped her head. “Are you sure you are not being too modest? That his successes might have your brains as inspiration? You were very loyal to him, as I remember.”

“Whatever brains I have do not encompass that kind of planning,” Tau responded. “I have no ability in military leadership. I was never one of his captains. Just an errand runner. But of course a good one,” he added mockingly, seeing her about to protest. He poured out more steep as he shifted the subject to one he knew she’d enjoy. “So, Mother, what is like, being a duchess?”

Saris was never boring. She did not brag or revel in triumph. Her stories about the Adrani royal court were amusing and historically astute, but Tau sensed an undercurrent of question that strengthened as the meal came at last to a close.

His impression that she was observing him for a specific purpose grew when she invited him to join the company, for Saris had several court guests staying with her to whom she introduced her son. No titles or explanations, he noticed, just his name. His real name. “This is my darling son, Taumad Dei.”

Taumad Dei
. He needed time to get used to that.

As she led him to a chair and signaled to the waiting musicians, he sensed her disappointment in his lack of surprise, of amazement. He knew that everything, from the cozy meal to this gathering, had been carefully calculated, and that his behavior was being gauged. He sat back, appreciating fine music after months of Marlovan drums as the company exchanged civilized discourse, quick and full of wit and allusion. He smiled, but made no effort to join in.

On parting for the night, Saris caressed him, her voice tender yet a little exasperated. “Sleep well. I have many delightful activities planned for your enjoyment.”

He was left feeling that she’d taken over his life again and was directing it like a play. He resented it with all his boyhood vehemence. That did not last past his thinking, with habitual self-mockery,
don’t I do exactly the same?

Tdor yawned as she opened the door to the Harskialdna suite. Late, low light slanted through the single window in the bedroom, deep in its alcove.

She walked in and up the three steps in the alcove to the stone seat adjacent to the window. She’d tried to make this window seat a favorite place, but in winter the window was too cold—the fire roaring in the fireplace did not seem to reach it—and in summer, the blazing sun would stream straight in, making it too hot.

She turned her back on the alcove and stretched her hands out to the fire. Inda lay on the bed, surrounded by a moat of papers. He looked up, his smile a blend of surprise and welcome that always filled her inner being with light.

He brandished a pile of notes. “Here are the last of ’em. By the first day, I’ll know all their names. Then all I have to do is put the names to faces.”

“What are all these other piles?” she asked, carefully moving one so she could sit on the corner of the bed.

“Reports from the north. Evred wants me to read all the patrol reports, every incident. Get a sense of what’s going on up there. Look at that! For a fellow who hasn’t read a book in almost ten years, I’m catching up fast.”

“Not books.” She touched the nearest report. “You’re not reading books. You’re reading reports.”

“The difference being?”

She flipped a braid back. “You really have forgotten, if you have to ask. Books take us outside of ourselves. Reports just detail the world we know.”

“Outside of ourselves.” He repeated it slowly, and again. “Outside of ourselves.”

Tdor sat beside him, concern escalating to worry. “Inda, what is it?”

He thumped his fist lightly on the papers. “Maybe that will do it. I need to read books again.” He shut his eyes, so he could hear her voice. Faces didn’t often tell him much—even Tdor’s, now that they were grown and he had missed so many years of seeing her. But voices were always revealing, and her quick words, the rise in her voice meant she was anxious. That made him anxious. “I feel stupid.”

“Inda! Where does that come from? How could you possibly think you are stupid?” She sounded irritated but not frantic—not as if she were hiding anything. Like a worry that he was losing his wits.

Cautiously relieved, he said, “I feel stupider than when I was young, reading with you and Hadand and Joret in the archive.”

She sat up briskly. “
That’s
easy to fix. The archive here is much bigger than at ho—at Tenthen. Read a good record. Where did you leave off?”

“Maybe I should just start over again. Do the easy ones, like that
Cassadas Atanhas
one. Meant for when you’re five or six.”

Tdor said, “That’s a great idea. You’re going to discover it’s different, reading it now. We just thought of it as tedious language lessons, Iascan on one page, Marlovan on the other. Simple history. Now you’ll get a hint of the queen who wrote it for her son so he wouldn’t forget his Iascan side as he became a Marlovan. You’ll see how words change, that she didn’t pick ‘atan’ just because it’s easy. She picked it because the sun was the Cassadas symbol, and ‘setting sun’ in the old,
old
days could mean more things than fading to darkness. She wrote another in case she had a daughter. It’s all about archives, at least the words are, but the meaning is about how ways of life can be destroyed unless you keep records.”

He heard her old enthusiasm, but there was a tightness to some words, and she spoke quickly. He opened his eyes. Tdor sat next to him, taut, almost not breathing, her entire body a silent question.

He put down his papers. “Something’s wrong. You came in because something’s wrong.”

“Children,” she said bluntly. “Have you thought about that? You and I.”

“Oh.” He looked blank. “No. I hadn’t. I mean, someday, when we’re, you know, old. Parent age.” He waved his papers vaguely. “Though I know Evred told everyone not to wait the usual fifteen or twenty years. On account of the Venn. I wonder if he still means that?”

She said, “I think we could take our direction from Hadand and Evred. Except . . .”

“What? Can’t you ask Hadand? I suppose I could ask Evred.”

“Don’t.”

It came out too quickly. He dropped his papers, and now she had all his attention.

She wandered to the fire to warm her hands, while she scolded herself for speaking without thinking. She considered what to say, and what not to say, then turned around, to find him still waiting. “I don’t think we should bring it up until Hadand and Evred say that they have a baby coming. By whatever means that works. I think it would be horrible for Hadand if we were first. Though she wouldn’t say. But I’d know.”

“You decide when,” Inda said, and returned to his papers, relieved to postpone a subject that just seemed too alien. He had enough to think about.

Chapter Eighteen

T
HE windows of Castle Tenthen had been opened for two full days, as Choraed Elgaer enjoyed its first mild weather of the year. The spring scour-out was nearly done. Fareas-Iofre had left for last the job she enjoyed most, the dusting of each of her precious books and scrolls. She’d perform that task after her morning watch at her husband’s bedside.

Jarend-Adaluin laid under a fresh blanket, his hair brushed, white against the creamy linen pillow covering. His breast scarcely moved with his light breaths. How tenuous was the connection between his soul and his body!

She stretched her hand lightly over his knobby one lying loose on the blanket. Sometimes he wakened at her touch.

There had never been passion between them, but there had been respect, consideration, friendship. He’d endured a long life full of disappointments, and she included herself among them, for she never could replace the one love of his life. But he’d said just before New Year’s Week, during one of his lucid mornings, that one learns to redefine one’s expectations when those of youth are denied. He’d come to love riding the countryside through all the seasons. He’d admired her wisdom and scholarship, balanced with unceasing care over Tenthen. And he was proud of his sons, who had been called to serve the king. Inda’s return home had definitely roused his father out of the dreamworld, however briefly. Jarend said that his Inda becoming Harskialdna was the highest honor of all.

He had repeated that several times, though he did not always remember that the king was not Tlennen. She did not remind him that Tlennen had been murdered by Mad Gallop Yvana-Vayir’s ambition. Jarend’s loyalty to Tlennen had an emotional component difficult to define, but enduring.

Where will my soul go?
he asked a few days later.
I used to want to join my Joret in death, but age sometimes clears your vision. She never wanted me. It was always my brother Indevan. He was beloved by us all . . . and loved his ease as he loved to laugh . . . I could never raise my hand against him . . .

The Old Sartorans promise peace beyond the physical world,
she had said.
Beyond sight, beyond hearing, taste, or touch, indefinable because we are bound by the limitations of life here. Some insist that once the soul escapes its physical bonds it vanishes into nothing, but if so, why would we think so often about what lies beyond, why do some catch glimpses, as if just around a corner we can barely at times perceive?

He had smiled a little.
Around a corner
, he’d repeated.
I am content with knowing they are there, my father, my mother, the others, going back and back. Just around a corner
.

It was comforting, and the unsolvable mysteries of the universe did not preclude it. But try as she might, she couldn’t see the corner. She couldn’t see ghosts like Jarend did. She’d once thought only those who loved intensely could perceive ghosts, yet she loved her children at least as much as Jarend had ever loved his beautiful first wife, but though Fareas had tried hard for years to discover a hint of Tanrid anywhere in the castle, she’d had no success.