Firewalk (34 page)

Kayli drew in a sharp breath. To see her family again, perhaps even Kairi!

“Oh, Randon, it would be wonderful,” she said softly.

“Then I’ll call a council session,” Randon said. “This news shouldn’t wait.”

The advisers were pleased by the news from the border garrison, but to Kayli’s surprise, they showed less enthusiasm for her father’s suggestion for the midsummer meeting.

“Forgive me, High Lord, High Lady,” Lord Kereg said cautiously, “but this moves far too fast. Why, we’ve not sent nor received the first trade caravan, and now High Lord Elaasar wants to drag the entire royal family and retinue to the border, where there’s not so much as a civilized hostel!”

“I’m not proposing to drag anyone anywhere.” Randon laughed. “No, what I’m contemplating is a small affair, just our two families. We won’t need much of a retinue for that. I doubt any of us will begrudge the rough conditions for a few days in exchange for the first meeting between Agrondish and Bregondish royalty since—well, since Agrond came into being.”

Gazing at Lord Kereg’s face, Kayli realized with a shock that he simply did not want Randon to meet directly with her father—and glancing at the others, she saw the same reluctance echoed in their eyes as well.

“And what about the High Lady?” Lady Aville said. “Are you prepared to endanger her life hardly a month after she was nearly assassinated?”

“The High Lady can well answer for herself,” Kayli said sharply. “Was I safe here in this very castle, at my own table? And if I and my unborn child are not safe with my husband and my own parents, and the combined troops of Agrond and Bregond, there is no safety to be had in this world.”

That produced a momentary silence while the lords and ladies eyed each other uneasily, and in that moment Kayli saw Randon’s eyes sharpen. Good; he had seen it, too.

“We’re not asking
permission,”
Randon said with deceptive mildness. “What I want is your suggestions on the best and safest way to do this. We’ll need guards, of course. We’ll need servants, tents, food, gifts. In fact,” he added, “this might be the opportunity to send the first trade caravans into Agrond and invite the first Bregondish traders here, both with plenty of guard escort to accompany them.”

More confused glances. Kayli thought Randon’s suggestion more than canny; it was a stroke of genius. This was perfect opportunity for the caravans to return to the capital cities under heavy guard and in the presence of the High Lords and Ladies of each country.

“I think the idea has merit,” Lady Tarkas said smoothly. “I’ve no shortage of merchants who would line up with their best goods for the first caravan.”

After some urging the remainder of the advisers accepted, if not approved, the idea of the meeting. When he felt he had wrung all the cooperation out of the ministers that he was going to get, Randon turned the conversation to a more difficult subject.

“Ynea’s funeral,” he said quietly. “I want her to have full state honors and a place in the family tomb.”

“I would have suggested the same, High Lord,” Lady Aville said quietly. “It’s a difficult matter because of Terralt’s—the circumstances of his birth, and for that very reason such kindness on your part will mean a great deal to the people.”

Kayli was glad to hear that Ynea would be given full respect in the Agrondish death rituals, but as she learned more, she was astonished and a little disgusted. Why should the whole city mourn when none of them even knew Ynea? A city sharing in that grief as a mere obligation somehow cheapened it, and the idea of giving the dead no permanent rest, of interring the body in a stone box so that it could never return to the elements that had given it life, seemed selfish and cruel. But these were the beliefs by which Ynea had lived, and Kayli could not object.

There was other business, far more routine, to be discussed, but between her grief over Ynea’s death and her joy at the prospect of seeing her family again, Kayli had no interest in such matters. She was glad when they all adjourned for dinner, and Randon was easily persuaded that there was no need for further work that afternoon. After stopping by the kitchen to order a private dinner, however, when they returned to their quarters, Kayli and Randon found Terralt standing awkwardly at their door.

“I can’t hide in my rooms forever,” he said, not meeting their eyes. “So I thought I’d see if you needed help.”

“Yes, come in and dine with us,” Randon said a little awkwardly. “We’ve ordered our meal sent up. It’d be good to have the chance to—to talk.”

Terralt hesitated, glancing from Kayli to Randon, but followed them into the rooms. Over rich venison stew, soft buns, and wine, he listened to the news of the two messages more calmly than Kayli would have expected.

“So your plans are going well, little brother,” he said rather indifferently when Randon had finished. “A midsummer festival at the border. I’d never have imagined the like. Your caravan idea, that’s a good one. So. Do you want me to go?”

Randon’s eyebrows shot up.

“I didn’t think you’d want anything to do with it,” he said.

“I don’t.” Terralt sighed. “But at the moment I can’t manage to care very much. So if you want me to go, I’ll go.”

“As it happens, it’s probably best that you stay here,” Randon admitted. “If the citizens react to this festival the way they reacted to the border garrison, I’d rather leave you here to see to things while we’re gone.”

Kayli carefully schooled her expression to impassivity despite her astonishment at Randon’s words. Trust Terralt with the throne of Agrond while Randon was so far away, when Terralt might well have been the one to poison Kayli? At the very least he openly contested Randon’s claim to the throne. There was no doubt that in Randon’s absence, Terralt’s ruler-ship of the city would lead only to renewed controversy when Randon returned.

Terralt gazed narrowly at Randon.

“What game are you playing now, little brother?” he asked slowly. “I’m not up to it today. I tell you, I’m not.”

Randon squeezed Kayli’s hand under the table.

“Rein in your gut for a moment, Terralt,” he said. “What else am I going to do? There’s no one else qualified to keep the country running while I’m gone. And with me at the border of Bregond, sitting at table with the High Lord of Bregond himself, this city’s going to boil like a kettle of tea over a hot fire. What if there’s another riot? I need somebody here to keep my people from killing each other. Besides, you need something to occupy your time and attention. This once, I think our interests coincide. Is that a game?”

Terralt stared at Randon a moment longer, then shook his head wearily.

“Whatever you say,” he said. “I’ll nursemaid your throne while you consort with our enemies. But I’m damned if I have any notion what you think you’re doing.”

“Well, you’ll have nearly a month to puzzle it out,” Randon said patiently. “In the meantime we should discuss Ynea’s funeral.”

Once again, Kayli was appalled. How could Randon even think of discussing Terralt’s wife’s funeral at the table as a casual follow-up to political maneuvering? To her surprise, however, Terralt seemed untroubled, even pleased by Randon’s arrangements.

“That was kind of you,” he said, and his voice had lost some of its distance. “Ynea’s family will be honored, too.” He smiled a little. “You should’ve told me this first.”

Randon made a little apologetic gesture.

“I didn’t want it to seem like a bribe,” he said. “You’ve already done more than I’ve had a right to expect.”

“Hmmm. I won’t dispute that,” Terralt said with a hint of his old insolence. “All right, then.” He rose and bowed. “By the way, I’ve told Ynea’s maids that they’re to serve Kayli now. Ynea left a letter about it. And her books. I’ll have them sent over.” His voice roughened on the last words, and he hurried out the door, closing it a little too hard behind him.

“Oh, Randon, what will I ever do with more maids?” Kayli said unhappily. “Mine already sit idle more often than not.”

“Well, then they’ll all have a little more idle time for the present, anyway,” Randon said resignedly. “We have a duty for the welfare of our servants. Anyway, you might find the extra girls useful when you grow larger, and especially when the baby’s born. The Bright Ones know you work too hard already. But is that really what’s bothering you? I can’t imagine a few extra maids occasioning the scowl you gave me.”

Kayli sighed.

“I had no wish to protest in Terralt’s presence,” she said quietly. “But how can you entrust him with your throne as matters stand? Can you be certain that when you return, your seat will still await you?”

Randon waved his hand negligently.

“Terralt wouldn’t have the seat if the only way he could get it was to usurp it from me,” he said. “I agree that the notion of Terralt taking my place, for however short a time, will only incite more uproar in the city—some hoping he will simply keep the throne, others afraid that he will, still others simply outraged that I’m meeting with your father. But there’s no avoiding it if we’re to go, and I don’t see how we can miss this opportunity. What do you think?”

Kayli could not quite dismiss the feeling that indeed Randon was playing another of his political games—not only with Terralt, but with her, his advisers, and even the very people of his country.

“I think this meeting is important,” she agreed cautiously. “Of course I wish to see my family, but even more importantly, they should meet you. My father always said he could not wholly trust a man until he had looked into his eyes.”

“Well, if we’re going to do it, midsummer’s the time,” Randon told her. “Once the harvest starts, I don’t see how we could leave the city, and the weather’s unpredictable after that. Next spring there’s planting season and spring floods, and besides, you’ll be getting unwieldy yourself by that time. No, if we can’t make midsummer, I don’t see how we can arrange it until after the baby’s born, and we’d lose a whole year.”

“Then we will go, and worry no more about it,” Kayli said with a sigh. Her father would be subject to the same problems, though for different reasons—in autumn, the herds were brought in for culling, and that was the season in which the clans were most likely to fall to squabbling. No sizable caravan could cross Bregond in winter, and in spring, foaling season for the horses and fawning season for the
ikada,
the clans would once again need close supervision. No, Randon was right; there really was no alternative.

“Then before we go, best you make your peace with Master Weaver Odric,” Kayli told him. “You will need the support of all your friends at home.”

“And how do you suggest I do that?” Randon asked wryly.

Kayli smiled.

“I have a thought,” she said.

****

Master Weaver Odric’s normally ruddy face was pale when he stepped out of the barracks.

“I had no idea,” he mumbled. Then he turned to Randon and met his eyes squarely. “I tell you, I had no idea.”

“The slaves who came from the Weavers’ Guild weren’t as bad as that,” Randon said kindly. “But Kayli and I wanted you to see a little of what these people had been through. Remember that they’re not prisoners of a war, nor condemned criminals; these were free people stolen from their homes, their families either killed or sold.”

Odric sighed and shook his head.

“I never thought much about it,” he said. “All I knew was that I was sparing the lungs of our own people. And then when you demanded they be freed, it seemed like you cared more for the welfare of outlanders than our own folk. That draught didn’t go down easy.”

“Well, the next dose may taste a little sweeter,” Randon told him. “Have you seen the cloth samples I gave Lidian?”

Odric grimaced.

“You call that sweeter?” he said. “The fibers are good—better than some of our domestic stuff—but that weave’s going to push my guild out of the market in time. Our looms won’t produce anything like it, and I have no idea how to build one that will.”

“Then you’re in luck,” Randon said, grinning. “Because I happen to have three freed slaves who used to be weavers, and they’re sorely in need of board and employment. Under a properly appreciative guildmaster, I don’t doubt that they have a lot to offer. And maybe a few things to teach, too.”

In fact, fewer slaves appeared at the castle now. Randon believed that many owners were now placing their former slaves as apprentices in the guilds, or simply mollifying them with a fat purse. Kayli wondered how slaves in other parts of Agrond fared, but Randon waved aside her concern.

“Tarkesh is the largest city near enough to the border to make the slave trade profitable,” he said. “This is the guild seat, too, so most of the merchants would bring their slaves here. Whatever slaves may be scattered around Agrond, where Tarkesh goes, the smaller cities and villages will follow.”

Kayli hoped that was true in many senses. In the few days since she and Randon had decided to accept High Lord Elaasar’s invitation to meet at midsummer, word had somehow swept through the city; she wondered whether one of Randon’s advisers had spread the rumors. Now every merchant in Tarkesh congregated on the castle steps, each convinced that he or she
must
accompany the High Lord to the border.

Preparation for midsummer had filled Kayli’s days. Besides sitting with Randon in audience and in council, she was soon pressed into the role of tutor to Randon and his advisers, who were suddenly all a-hunger to learn proper Bregondish language and manners. Kayli found this sudden change ironic; certainly they’d had no interest in learning Bregondish customs to accommodate
her.

And certainly some Agrondish customs mystified her. In the week that the city had mourned Ynea’s death, no musicians could sing or play; all dancing and gambling was forbidden; no whore could ply her trade, and, strangest of all, every man and woman of the city was expected to wear a cap or scarf on their heads and refrain from strong liquor. Kayli understood none of it. What mattered it to Ynea now?

Kayli herself made time to mourn Ynea properly, burning the bedding from her deathbed in lieu of Ynea’s body in the forge and meditating on the life of her friend while the fire consumed the cloth. Later she rode to the open fields where Ynea’s beloved wildflowers bloomed, and scattered the ashes on the wind, bidding Ynea’s spirit farewell as the flakes drifted away.