Hunting (22 page)

"You're doing this deliberately, aren't
you Lenthard?"

"You'd find being afraid of heights
terribly inconvenient, Heran. Don't convince yourself that you
are." She dangled her legs out the window, drumming the heels of
her boots against weathered stone.

"Brilliant advice. How do you suppose I
go about it?"

"Sit down." Ash gestured at the
remainder of the sill.

Heran looked at it, then at Ash, then
gingerly lowered himself to sit legs inside, keeping a
white-knuckled grip on the stone. Leaning against the folded
shutter, he closed his eyes, and then cracked the lids enough to
see her and her alone.

"The way Arun was acting last night, I
know your Visel Thornaster was out doing something interesting.
What was it?"

"Ha, so that's the reason for your
invitation. Doesn't that fall under the heading of gossip about my
Luinsel?"

"I don't give a damn if it's gossip or
not."

She cocked an eyebrow at him, not
surprised by the frustration. And then, after glancing at the
nearest windows to reassure herself that they were firmly closed,
she told him, not quite everything, but more than enough.

"Thornaster and Verel's faces were a
picture when they found those rings. Total shock from him, and
Verel like a shutter had slammed down. Then they lined up the
possibilities, all neat together. That Thornaster and Hawkmarten
were behind the murders. That someone intended to make it seem that
way. That either Hawkmarten or Thornaster had hired the assassin
with the intention of implicating his fellow. That both of them
were the assassin's next targets, after she'd run out of
herbalists. That last is the one Thornaster
wants
it to be.
I haven't seen much of Hawkmarten outside these trigle games, but
Thornaster considers him a friend, and he really didn't like when
Investigator Verel pointed out the man could be preparing the
ground for Nyreem to invade."

Heran scrubbed his hands through his
golden curls. "Why doesn't Arun tell me these things? I knew there
were murders, and the rumours about poisoning. But for Father to
ask Aremal for help! For – for
Karaelsur
to somehow be a
threat?"

"You'd certainly be left floundering if
someone does succeed in killing Rhoi Arun. Do you think he doesn't
trust you?"

"No." The dismissal was immediate,
total. "It's just I'm his baby brother, always getting chills, not
ready for responsibility. Prone to falling off cliffs."

"And busy suspecting Thornaster of
everything under the sun, because the Rhoi hasn't told you why he's
here. Does knowing more about what's going on help you at all
guessing who shot you?"

Heran shook his head, staring out the
window. "None of them seem like killers to me. Lirindar? Vendarri?
Marriston? Frog? I'm so glad Lauren was ahead of me – no matter how
well he behaves, always there's this expectation he'll follow his
father's path."

Hiding a wince, because she was guilty
of that herself, Ash said: "Don't forget Gibrace."

"Gibrace is too well-mannered to shoot
me," Heran protested. "Frog too much a joker. Marriston would gain
nothing from it. None of them would benefit. If both Arun and I
were dead, Decsel Enderhay is by far the most likely to be put
forward as candidate for Rhoi, and I can't imagine Astenar
rejecting him – or any of the seruilisi being so attached to him
they'd be willing to kill. And his sons aren't even old enough to
be in the Mern yet."

"Have any of the seruilisi been
behaving strangely, lately? Differently?"

"Different from what? Most of the
differences started because of you. Marriston's been acting right
in character there, I assure you. Vendarri's annoyed about having
to teach you archery. Lirindar's been given a couple of demerits
for lateness, but everyone thinks that's because he's in the middle
of a love affair. It's all just–" He lifted his hands.

"A mystery. Problem is, I'm not sure
we're clearing the thing up, or making it murkier."

Ash left him sitting on the windowsill,
lost in thought. And, she barely resisted pointing out, entirely
unconcerned about the drop.

ooOoo

An afternoon in the Mern learning a
tactical game called skarrance brought Ash no closer to answers,
try as she might to guess the thoughts of those around her. Frog
invested the pieces he moved around the map with names and
characters. Pelandis blossomed, abandoning jitters for an absorbed
progress to victory. Lirindar was subdued, and Marriston annoyed
with him. Vendarri kept frowning at Carlyon – perhaps in concern,
because the first seruilis barely seemed to pay attention to those
around him, his eyes shadowed.

Gibrace had been given the task of
explaining the game to Ash, and she made quiet progress toward
being able to chat with him, all the while trying to see behind the
surface. Mild, observant and intelligent, he rarely offered his own
opinions, but listened keenly as the other boys discussed the lack
of support for the Rhoi's new law regarding smallholdings, which
had yet to be passed by the Landsmeet. The Rhoi's laws could be
overturned if two-thirds of the Rhoimarch's Luinsel objected, and
the senior seruilisi were totting up numbers.

"I don't really understand the
objections to it," Ash confessed to Gibrace as the seruilisi, with
a great amount of clatter, packed away the dozens of intricately
carved skarrance pieces. "Maybe there will be a tiny number of
people who don't pass, but they'd have to be truly failing to
maintain the Balance to do so. Where's the harm?"

"Administration costs and favours,"
Gibrace said with a shrug. "There's a significant expense in not
only arranging for every smallholder to be judged, but also to
maintain that process into the future. And unbound smallholdings
are a useful place to drop problems you want cleared out of your
own lands." He gave Ash a hint of a smile. "Of course, there's also
the matter of making Montmoth over in Aremal's image. You won't
find many who support that."

A word from Carlyon sent the seruilisi
clattering out the door, a process that involved a few too many
elbows for Ash's tastes. She ducked her head, slipping out of the
crowd, then paused on the threshold. Something had been out of
place.

Stepping mentally back through the
tangle of movement, from the elbow to the skull, to the shoulder
banging against hers, there had been the tiniest tug.

Sliding hands into trouser pockets, she
brought out the day's accumulation. A fresh kerchief. One of
Larkin's notes. Two walnuts. And a General. Creamy, gold-shot
quartz carved in the shape of a bearded man, and mounted on a
silver base.

Her breath hissing out between her
teeth, Ash turned on her heels, marched over to Carlyon, and
dropped the skarrance piece into his hand. Then she stalked off to
her swordcraft lesson, cursing annoying pests and the necessity of
spending any longer in their company.

But with the assassin dead, there was
little choice. Investigator Verel was attempting to track the mage,
the money, and the origin of the two signet rings – and no doubt
thoroughly looking into the backgrounds of Setsel Hawkmarten, and
Visel Thornaster. Ash wondered whether Thornaster had fed Verel the
same half-truth about his mother being a cousin of the Aremish
Rhoi, and if the woman would find any other connections between the
two foreign Luinsels and the spate of deaths.

Ash refused to rule it out. Like the
man as she might, partiality was not the same as real certainty
that Thornaster was innocent of involvement. She could not trust
her instincts on someone who amused her, and so would continue to
afford him the limited trust common sense prescribed, while keeping
an eye out for developments.

Her activities in the Mern followed the
same approach. Some of the seruilisi were starting to warm to her,
and she was slowly gaining a better sense of their personalities,
but showing off and chat would not get her inside their heads.
Instead she watched them for suspicious activity, hoped to overhear
careless conversation, and held herself ready to follow any lead
that came her way.

While not being so thick-witted as to
have one of them set her up as a thief.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Heran made his official return
appearance at the Rhoi's Spring Celebration, which was a garden
party held in the last month of spring each year. It was, the boy
said, a perfect opportunity for everyone to gawk at the 'poor
little injured Veirhoiling', and his expression of endurance was
clearly mistaken for suppressed pain by the Landsmeet host
wandering through the extensive palace gardens.

"We're here as seruilisi," Heran said,
following Ash behind the spiral of topiaried greenery she'd sought
for respite. "They're supposed to treat us like furniture while
we're in uniform, not make conversation."

"Furniture? As in sit on us, or put
their little plates of cakes on our heads?"

"Statues, then."

"That would involve them standing
around discussing what we looked like. Though I admit that would be
better than having the same conversation over and over and over.
Describing what it was like to rescue you and talking about how
wonderfully heroic I am was only fun the first dozen times."

"What do you say when people ask you
what it was like to rescue me?"

"That depends on who's asking. I told
Lark and Cassia it was cold and boring. Anybody important, I say
that I was very relieved to find that you were alive. And all the
rest I just say 'nerve-wracking' and they seem to like that as an
answer."

"Lark is one of your Huntsmen, yes? Is
Cassia as well? You have girls who run around on roofs?"

"Lark is more or less the leader of the
Huntsmen, and we include two girls among our number. Cassia's one
of the palace laundry maids, though, oh Veirhoi of the ivory tower.
She's about the only person of my acquaintance who hasn't asked me
what it was like to rescue you as if it were all a great
adventure."

"You're romancing a laundry maid? Be
careful, or you'll find yourself tripping over the Mern's code of
conduct."

"She's just a friend – she keeps me up
to date on the gossip." Though Ash suspected Cassia had begun to
consider a flirtation with the gutter seruilis. Romance was a
complication that Ash had had to learn to sidestep the last couple
of years, and it always left her feeling guilty for the deception
which bought her so much freedom.

Through the gaps in the topiary spiral,
she spotted Carlyon against the hedge opposite. With his upright
stance and blank expression he appeared entirely oblivious to the
mix of admiring glances and speculative whispers directed his way.
The shadow of Eward Carlyon made it unlikely any Carlyon would be a
contender for the Rhoi's position, but that had not prevented
Lauren Carlyon from becoming a prime suspect in the attempt on
Heran's life – for all that the official position was that no such
attempt had occurred. Rumour had triumphed over all their
precautions.

Frog strolled into view and took up a
position at Carlyon's side, clearly trying to tease him into a
smile. But then his broad grin faded, his attention fixing on
something in the centre of the square of hedges. Curious as to the
cause of his almost reverential expression, Ash stepped out from
behind the topiaried tree to see the Rhoi, nodding polite greeting
to...Kiri Arpesial.

Tall, elegant, her early promise of
beauty fulfilled and surpassed. Masses of soft black hair reached
her waist, bound loosely by a long rope of beads and framing skin
of cream and roses, with no flaw or blemish to distract from
feathery lashes, clear grey eyes and a high brow. The curves Ash
lacked were set off wonderfully by a dress of muted simplicity, the
lack of ornamentation somehow making every other female seem garish
or fussy.

Most of all, she was 'wearing her
reserve'.

Kiri had been practicing her reserve
for as long as Ash had known her, ever since they were neighbours
in stiff little dresses, allowed to visit each other so long as
they were on their best behaviour. Ash had taught Kiri how to climb
from her bedroom window into the Arpesial's attic, where they
played dress up among Kiri's great-grandmother's expensive gowns.
In return Kiri had tried to teach Ash her reserve. The ability to
be attentive and remote, lips never quite curving to a smile, but
with no air of hauteur – as if she existed on a slightly different
plane, untouchable – was something Ash had never really needed or
mastered. For Kiri it was the core of her daily defence.

"Don't go falling for The
Incomparable." Heran peered around the edge of the tree. "Not that
there's usually any choice about it, I admit. But look at
Frog."

Glancing back at the two seruilisi, she
found Carlyon practicing his own reserve, and Frog stilled. Without
his usual animation he seemed older, and there was deep pain in his
stance, a weary ache lacking all hope of ease. As she watched, his
eyes widened, and a complicated tangle of emotion made him briefly
ugly. Ash found her own face stiffening, and the breath she took
was a cold knife, her entire body tensing around sudden, unexpected
hurt.

The Rhoi had moved on, and another
stood before Kiri. And she smiled. Only a slight shift of
expression, but with a genuine warmth that made her transcendent.
If the attention of the garden had not already been fixed upon her,
now it was entirely riveted as Thornaster, the shining wings of his
hair gleaming in the sunlight, bowed over her hand. Together they
were magnificent.

Years of daily comparisons to Kiri had
long ago prepared Ash for a moment such as this. While they'd been
neighbours it hadn't bothered her at all, because Ash liked
climbing and horses, and did not care that her braids were
inadequate rat-tails, her skin sallow, her figure sturdy. Only in
the last year of their friendship had Ash begun to recognise that
there might be a day when Kiri's beauty would cost Ash dearly, and
back then she had thought she could philosophically accept
inevitable defeat.