Arrows of the Sun (35 page)

Merian waited, one brow lifted.

“You know his Olenyas,” Vanyi said. “The one who never
leaves him.”

“The one who bears the life-debt.” Merian sighed. “I know
him.”

“Have you noticed his eyes?”

“Should I?”

“Have you?”

Merian half-smiled. “You think that he is a lost heir to the
Golden Throne?”

“Couldn’t he be?”

“It is possible,” Merian said. “And if it were, would he
have slain the assassin who was striking at my son?”

“He might, if he had in mind more than simple
assassination.”

“Such as?”

“Revenge,” said Vanyi. “Payment for all the years of Varyani
rule in Asanion. That’s why your husband died, isn’t it? Because he dared to be
emperor, and to be a foreigner. Estarion has an advantage his father lacked:
the one thing, the sign that marks Asanian royalty.”

“There is somewhat more to him, and it, than that.”

“Of course there is,” said Vanyi. “And there’s more to this
blackrobe than life-debt or loyalty or any other Asian claim to virtue. He’s
shielded from magery—”

“They all are,” said Merian, cutting her off. “They wear a
talisman; they have done so for as long as anyone remembers.”

“Yes, and who makes the talismans? Who raises the wards?”

“Mages,” said Merian.

“Mages of the Guild?”

“The Guild is dead.”

“What if it’s not?”

Merian stood in front of her, eyes level upon her face. It
was not a challenge. She was not, Vanyi thought, the enemy. “Do you have
proof?”

“No,” said Vanyi. “Not yet.”

“Why do you think it, then? Might there not be mages in
Asanion as elsewhere, who may be willing, for a price, to set a simple spell?
Or they may be Olenyai themselves, those mages. Why not? It is a useful thing
for a warrior and a guardsman to be protected against magic. We do the same for
our own, when we think of it.”

“I can’t explain,” Vanyi said, though she hated to show that
weakness. “It has to do, a little, with Gates, and feelings in my bones. If I
can gather proof—if I can prove that the Guild survives, and that it is using
the Gates—will you stand by me?”

“What will you do if you find proof?”

“Confront them,” said Vanyi. “Discover their purposes. If
they mean the empire no harm, then well for them. If they’re up to their old
tricks . . .”

“You may of course be obsessed,” the empress observed.

“I know that.” Vanyi quelled her temper. “My lady, much of
magery is in the bones and the instincts. We forget that, with our training and
our tests, our rules and laws and vows.”

“You would instruct me, priestess?”

The empress was not angry. Vanyi allowed herself the flicker
of a smile. “I’m instructing myself. I have nothing more than a feeling and a
fear. I tell myself that even if there is a threat, there’s nothing at all that
would suggest the Guild.”

“Except that your uneasiness began in connection with
Gates.”

“Yes.” Vanyi rubbed her aching eyes. “And the Guild made the
Gates. I’m even hoping it’s they, and not something else—something
incalculable. There are a million worlds out there. Who knows what moves in
them?”

“And the Olenyai?”

“Maybe there I am jumping at shadows. They’re uncanny
enough, and they know it. And that boy has lion-eyes.”

“Everything in Asanion is shadow,” said the empress. “And I
am priestess of the dark between the stars, and I—even I—would give heart’s
blood to be in my own land again.”

Vanyi would give her sympathy, but she had little enough to
spare for herself. “So would we all,” she said. “Lady, if you judge it wise,
would you go to your son? Warn him. Tell him not to trust his Olenyai, and
least of all the one who clings closest.”

Merian took her time in responding. When she did, it came
slow. “I will speak to him.”

The messenger caught Estarion as he dressed for the harem.
“Majesty, if you please, your lady mother would speak with you.”

He paused. It was late, and Haliya was waiting. He had a new
tale to tell her, that he had heard in court, and a song that would make her
laugh. He was eager for her already; he had had to call off the servant who
would have eased him when he thought of her.

“Tell my mother,” he said to the messenger, “that I’ll see
her in the morning. I’ll break my fast with her, if she will.”

The messenger bowed to the floor. “Majesty, she said that it
was urgent.”

“And I have urgent business,” said Estarion with a flash of
temper. “In the morning. Tell her.”

The messenger was Asanian. He could not argue with his
emperor.

When the eunuch was gone, Estarion drew a breath. He should
go, he knew that. But he was feeling contrary tonight. He wanted, needed, what
Haliya could give. He would only embarrass his mother, or lose his temper, or
say something they would both regret.

o0o

He approached the harem with a clear enough conscience.
Haliya was not ready for him: the room in which they met was empty. He settled
there with the wine and sweets that waited, drinking the wine, toying with the
sweets. He had arrayed a whole army of sugared nuts, with banners of dried
starfruit and a honeycake general, before the door opened.

It was not Haliya. He half-rose. “Ziana. Is she—”

Ziana made obeisance with grace and composure. “My lord,”
she said.

“Is Haliya ill? Has something happened?”

“Oh, no,” said Ziana. “She’s quite well.”

Annoyance made his voice sharp. “And she sent you to keep me
busy while she sees to more important matters?”

Ziana raised her eyes to him. He would not call it hurt,
what was in them, but he had not pleased her. “Nothing is more important than
you, my lord.”

“Then why—” He stopped. At long last his mind had caught up
with the rest of him. She was wearing what a woman wore when she came to her
lord in the evening. It covered her voluminously, but it was made to come off
of a piece.

“My lord,” said Ziana, “we talked about it, Haliya and I. We
thought that you might not know. There are courtesies, you see. And prudences.
Since the harem is as it is, and women are as they are, their lord cannot
afford the luxury of a favorite. Oh,” she said as if he had spoken, “he may
have one, of course. But he can’t see her and only her. It isn’t fair to the
others.”

Estarion was speechless.

She went on bravely. “So, my lord, we decided that since you
likely might not know, and since you have never had a harem before, that we
would help you. It’s not strictly proper, mind. You should have had us all in
together, and chosen one of us again, but not the same one as before. A truly
dutiful lord would do that every night; we don’t expect that, or even want it.
Once in every hand of days is more than ample.”

And he had spent every night with Haliya for a Brightmoon-cycle
and more. “You must think me a perfect boor,” he said.

“Oh, no, my lord,” said Ziana. “You don’t know, you see. And
you do mean well. Haliya is very, very pleased with you. She’s told me
everything that you like, and I’ve thought of more that may delight you.” She
moved closer, which was great boldness, and dared to touch his cheek.

Her hand was soft and cool. He shivered. “I don’t—” he said
thickly. “I don’t think—I’m made for this.”

“Of course you are, my lord.” Her gaze was kind. “Haliya said
you could be shy. Who’d have thought it? So tall as you are, and so proud.”

“I’m not tall inside,” he said.

“But you are.” She laid her hand over his heart. “We’ve
decided, all of us, that you are beautiful. The canons deny it, of course. They
call for ivory, not ebony; gold, not raven; smooth sleekness, not nerves and
bone and angles. The lion in a cage, not the panther in his lair.”

“You are beautiful,” he said dizzily, “by any canon.”

“I was bred to be,” she said. “Haliya’s colors are better
than mine, but I have the bones. And amber is permitted, even preferred in some
of the poets.”

“I don’t know that I want to choose,” Estarion said.

“You don’t need to. You have us both. And all the rest, too.
Eluya looks like a tigress, but she has the softest touch in the world. And
Ushannin learned the high arts from a great master in Ishraan, who named her
her best pupil. And—”

He silenced the rest of her recital with a finger on her
lips. “I’m not ready to think of more than one woman at a time,” he said. “Even
two are more than I know what to do with.”

“You’ll learn,” said Ziana. “It’s not so hard. And you’re
certainly man enough to master it.”

She was not speaking in figures. Asanians were half
appalled, half fascinated by northerners’ size as by everything else about
them. And while Estarion was not a large man as his mother’s kin would reckon
it, that was still rather more than an Asanian could lay claim to.

The swift heat rose to his cheeks, but never as swift as
what rose below. He stood abruptly and turned his back on her. “I can’t do
this,” he said.

“Of course you can, my lord,” said Ziana. From the sound of
it, she was trying not to laugh. “You do want me. And I want you. Very much,”
she said.

The honesty of that, and the plea clothed in pride as in
fine silk, made him turn to face her again. “Do you really? And why?”

“Because you are ours,” she said. “You belong to us as we
belong to you. And because you are beautiful. And because . . .
I like the way you talk to me. Even when you are being rude.”

“I’m rude?”

“Sometimes,” she said. “It’s refreshing. You always say what
you think, you see. And we almost never do.”

“Haliya does,” said Estarion. “I think you do, too.”

“It’s our besetting flaw,” Ziana said.

“Don’t mend it,” he said. “I forbid you.”

“As my lord wills,” she said demurely, but her eyes were
laughing.

She was, in her way, as enchanting as her sister. He had
known that before. He had not properly comprehended the wit that inhabited the
amber beauty.

His body decided for him. It stepped forward; it found the
fastening of her robes.

He paused. She was trembling, but not with fear. She did
want him. Goddess knew why, goddess knew how, but there could be no mistaking
it.

He had taken Haliya, and she had been glad of it, and had
accepted it. Ziana took him. She was honey and fire and swift intelligence.
Such splendor as that was, to be lost in the body’s pleasure, and to look into
eyes that knew and cherished every moment of it, and every inch of him.

“I don’t understand,” Estarion said somewhere in the night,
when his body rang like the bell after the peal, but his mind was wide awake.
“I don’t see how a man can love three women at once, and equally, and treasure
them all.”

“How does a father love his children?” Ziana asked. “He may
have a dozen or a hundred. But there is enough of him for all of them.”

“That’s different,” said Estarion.

“In its way,” she said, “yes.” His hand cupped her breast.
She laid her own over it, lacing her slender ivory fingers with his long thin
ebony ones. “I’m glad you say ‘equally,’ my lord. It’s a great honor.”

“It’s you who honor me.” He kissed the top of her head.

Her hair smelled of honey and of
ailith
-blossoms. “I don’t think I know myself any more. I wasn’t
raised for this, or prepared for it.”

“I think you were,” she said. “Only you didn’t know it.”

“There’s a spell on me. I know that.” He felt it, wrapped
about him, swathing his will and his power, smothering them. “It’s in the
stones, or in the air. I don’t know which. But it’s not meant to harm me.
Simply . . . to bind me here.”

“Isn’t that what honor is, and duty? A binding?”

“Are they always sealed with magery?”

“I don’t know, my lord,” she said. “I know nothing of
magic.”

Nor did she. He clasped her to him and made himself laugh.
“You have a magic all your own. See, I’m enchanted, enraptured, enspelled.”

“Silly,” she said, but she indulged him. And yet, in a
pause: “You won’t always stay here. You’ll go back where you came from.”

“I’m lord in Keruvarion, too,” he said. “I have to travel
through my empire.” But not now. Not soon. Not while he could foresee.

“When you go back,” she said, “take me with you.”

“Your sister made me promise the same thing,” he said. “Did
you conspire in it?”

She frowned, shaking off his levity. “I know you’ll take
Haliya. She rides, and she can shoot a bow. I can’t do either. Will you still
take me?”

“Would you be willing to learn?”

“No,” she said, “my lord. I’m afraid of seneldi. I know that
makes me a great coward. But I would like to see a place where a woman can
rule.”

“Then you shall,” he said.

“Promise.”

“On my right hand,” he said, dizzy again, drunken with her.

She kissed his burning palm, a cool touch, soothing the
fire. But not the fire that was in the rest of him.

The emperor did not see the empress mother in the morning.
First he was late in coming from the harem; then there was a matter of state
too urgent to put off; and after that he was expected to sing one of the
Sun-cult’s rites in the great temple.

Korusan made certain that no more of her messengers reached
him. It was simple enough. The slow wearing of time, the Regent’s persuasions,
Godri’s death, Vanyi’s rejection, seemed to have broken Estarion’s resistance.
He closed in upon himself.

After his blue-eyed stallion was sent to run the fields and
mount the mares in Induverran, he did not go to his riding-court. With autumn
the rains had come; there was little pleasure in walking in his gardens. He
went to the harem still, but, Korusan noticed, somewhat less often than before.

As the days ran on, he took to sitting in his inner chamber
with a book unrolled on his knees, but the pointer never stirred by more than a
line. One day he did not even open the book; the next, he left it on the table
and sat quiet, staring at nothing, saying nothing.