Path of the Sun: A Novel of Dhulyn and Parno (11 page)

Alaria went early down to the Tarkin’s stables. The sun was not yet up, and the night’s chill clung to the air, but even so people were there before her. It was strange to see so many women and girls among the lower servants, but, she supposed, there were just as many men and boys. It was one thing to be told that here in Menoin she would find the division of labor more equally distributed between the sexes; it was quite another to see it with her own eyes. She could only hope she’d get used to it.

“You’d be the lady companion to the new Tarkina?”

It was the sharpness of the voice that startled her, but Alaria managed not to jump. This was the tone and, when she turned to view the man, the stance of authority. A man in charge of the horse stables. Something else she would need to get used to. Alaria cleared her throat and drew herself up; as Cleona would say, she might as well begin as she meant to go on and make her position clear right from the start.

“Only in a manner of speaking,” she said. “I’m Alaria of Arderon. The Princess Cleona is my first cousin, once removed, and I am here to have the care of the horses she has brought as her bride gift. To see to their breeding and to manage the new herd.”

“Then you’re welcome, lass—I mean, my lady, very welcome.” Alaria drew back a little, blinking, as the man grasped her hand and moved it up and down as though it were the handle of a pump. “I’m Delos Egoyin. If I spoke a bit sharp, it was only that I wondered where your grooms were. I looked after your four beauties myself this morning, but I wouldn’t have time every day, you see.”

“There are no grooms,” Alaria began. She hesitated when she realized she was explaining herself to what was essentially a servant—and a male servant at that—but then she remembered what her mother had always told her. Courtesy costs nothing and purchases goodwill. “Only myself, and the queens were fine when I looked in on them before sleeping.”

“Queens? Is that what you call your mares in Arderon? Well, I’m not surprised. Here they are.” Alaria followed the man through a door much wider than she was used to into the stable building proper. The first section of the interior was brighter than she expected, with oil-paste lamps standing before well-placed rounds of highly polished metal. Beyond this lighted area, however, the barns were dark and empty, large enough that their voices echoed.
Of course
, Alaria thought with a shiver. Cleona had said the royal herd was dying out.

“You’ll see I’ve moved them into the large front stall, as they’ll be wanted this afternoon for the ceremony.”

The sides of the stall were higher than Alaria was used to, but there was a step that enabled her to look over the top. Four long white faces turned to look at her. The stall was clean, each mare had been brushed already, and fresh hay and water had been placed in the feeders.

“They are beautiful,” Delos said. “I’ve only ever once seen their match, and that was when I went with a caravan to the west as a lad. It’s a pleasure even to touch them.”

Alaria smiled, unable to resist the warmth in the man’s voice. “This is Star Blaze,” she said, stroking the first long nose that presented itself. She pointed to the others in turn. “Moonlight, Sea Foam, and Sunflower. They represent the best of our Tarkina’s stable.” She looked at Delos Egoyin out of the corner of her eye. “I thought you might be afraid I was here to displace you.”

“Not a bit of it,” he said, almost laughing. “There’ve been Egoyins in the Tarkin’s stables, parent and child, seven generations. It was my aunt before me, and it’ll be my son after me, since my daughter’s gone into the Tarkin’s Guard.”

“Parent and child,” he’d said. Not “mother and daughter,” as they would have said in Arderon, nor “father and son,” as she had expected. Very curious. But he was still speaking.

“No, the way I see it, my lady, is that you’re in charge of the new blood, the management of the new line of Menoin horses—that’s your plan, isn’t it? To restore the line?”

Alaria found herself warming to what was so obviously a kindred spirit. “Exactly,” she said. “My grandmother used to tell me that horses from Menoin were once the most valuable in Boravia, and even in the west, in the lands of the Great King. But it was generations ago ...”

“Not quite in the times of the Caids, but some people think it’s that far back, indeed.” Delos scrubbed at his hands, dislodging a bit of straw.

“And are there still wild horses in the hinterlands that might be descendants of those ancient lines?”

Delos rubbed his chin. “That’s your thinking, is it? There
are
some wild herds out there, that’s certain. But whether they’d be of any use—well, there’s no time for that now, more’s the pity. You’ve things to do today to get ready for the ceremony. Come down here when it’s time, and I’ll have the queens ready.” He grinned and winked at her. “And I’ll pick out a couple of likely assistants for you to have a look at in the next few days. You’ll have your hands full trying to do everything yourself, especially once the foals come.”

But having her hands full was exactly what Alaria wanted, she thought as she walked back across the stable yard to the doorway that would lead her back to the central portion of the palace. She didn’t come to Menoin just to stand behind her cousin at court events. Alaria nodded at the pleasant-faced young guard who fell into step behind her. The young woman wore the Tarkin’s crest of black, blue, and purple on her shoulder and had been waiting outside Alaria’s door this morning. She wondered . . .

“Are you Delos Egoyin’s daughter, by any chance,” she asked.

The woman grinned, revealing a gap between her front teeth. “I am,” she said. “Julen’s my name. I traded another guard all my desserts for two moons to get your assignment, Lady. When we heard there were horses coming, I knew my dad would want me looking after you.”

Alaria smiled, noting the sidelong glances of the servants and pages they were passing. She strode forward with confidence until she suddenly found herself in an unfamiliar hall. Alaria looked around, momentarily disoriented. She’d never thought of Arderon as a small country, but there seemed to be more corridors and turnings in Falcos’ palace alone than there were streets and alleyways in the whole of Arderon’s capital.

“If you wanted to return to your rooms, Lady Alaria, you should have turned left at the last corridor.” Julen stepped to one side and gestured in the direction they’d just come.

“Yes, thank you.” A little flustered, Alaria retraced her steps, recognized the staircase she’d been looking for, and ran up to the second landing. Julen, she was pleased to note, had no trouble keeping up with her. The young guard rejoined her counterpart as Alaria threw open the doors to the large suite of rooms that were the Tarkina’s and crossed to the door of the private sitting room. She frowned when she saw that Cleona’s bedroom door was still closed. Alaria had not heard Cleona return from her ride, but given the thickness of the walls, she hadn’t expected to. Just how late had her cousin been? Surely Cleona wouldn’t pick this day of all days to start lying in.

Grinning, Alaria flung open her cousin’s door, but the derisive comment she had been ready to make died on her lips. The bedchamber was empty, the bed made. Alaria crossed to the door of the dressing room. The elaborate dress that Cleona was to wear for this afternoon’s ceremony was hanging on a long pole against the wall farthest from the door. And there, arranged in the order in which it would be put on, was Cleona’s wedding jewelry, her hair combs, and the high-soled sandals with their delicate gold-painted straps. The wedding dress itself was still in its box, though the box was open.

“Don’t be silly,” Alaria told herself, trying to ignore the pounding of her heart. “Cleona’s here, she’s just in the privy or ...” Telling herself to stay calm, Alaria searched through every corner of the suite, finally startling two girls who were bringing hot water into the bathing room. Alaria hesitated. She’d look like a fool if Cleona was only out admiring the gardens. She swallowed. Better to look like a fool than to let some danger pass by unremarked.

“Have you seen the Princess Cleona?” she asked the two maids.

“No, Lady.” The girl set down her container of water and looked at her companion, who shook her head without speaking.

Alaria ran for the main door. Julen spun around, her hand going to her weapon when she saw Alaria’s face.

“The Princess Cleona,” she said. “I can’t find her, she’s not in the rooms.”

Julen turned to her fellow guard. The man raised his eyebrows. “Who did you relieve?” she asked him.

“No one,” he said. “I didn’t expect to, the rota wasn’t changed until this morning.”

But Julen was shaking her head. “Essio should have been with the princess. I’m sure I heard him say he had the duty.”

Alaria looked from one stiff face to the other. “Take me to the Tarkin,” she said. “Now.”

 

Alaria paced up and down in the Tarkin’s morning room, twisting her hands, not seeing the ganje and pastries that sat on their silver plates on the table near the window. She was an idiot. She should have asked for the guard commander—the Steward of Walls as the position was called here—not the Tarkin himself. Precious time was being lost.

The outer door opened, and a slim man with a dark beard walked in.

“Princess Alaria,” he said, holding out his hand to be shaken. “I am Dav-Ingahm, your Steward of Walls.”

She shivered as she took his hand and shook it. Nothing to worry about. Just because the Steward was a man, it didn’t make him any less competent. She was in Menoin now. Men had been ruling here since the time of the Caids, and things functioned.

“I’ve started a search of the palace grounds,” Dav-Ingahm said. “If we have no luck we’ll widen into the city.”

“How ...?”

“Julen Egoyin sent me word as soon as she delivered you here,” he said. “Even if it turns out the Tarkina is only in the garden or gone for a walk on the hillside, her guard should have reported it.”

That’s right,
Alaria thought. They’d had guards at their heels since they’d arrived, though they wore so many different colors she’d found it bewildering. The Steward of Walls, for one, dressed like any noble but had the black, blue, and purple Tarkin’s crest on his shoulder. Julen and the other fellow, the male guard, wore the same crest but on black jerkins with purple sleeves, colors she
thought
were those of the Palace Guard—and she thought she had also seen blue tunics with purple sleeves. Julen and the man had been outside in the hallway when Alaria went out this morning. And they thought that Cleona must have had a guard with her as well. Perhaps there was nothing to worry about after all.

Except the Steward of Walls looked worried. Before she could ask him anything further, the inner door opened and Epion Akarion came into the room, followed by two pages. He was handing a scroll to one of them as he crossed the threshold. He came directly to Alaria and put out his hands. Before she knew what she was doing, Alaria had put her hands in his.

“The palace is being searched now,” he said, glancing quickly at Dav-Ingahm and getting a nod before proceeding. “We will find her. I’m sure she’s well.” But there was an opaqueness in his eyes, in the way he looked at her, that told Alaria the man was far from sure.

“Is she,” Epion pressed his tongue against his upper lip. “Forgive me,” he said. “But of course I really know neither of you well, do I? Is Princess Cleona likely to—” he waved one hand in a circular motion. “Wander about on her own?”

“I cannot say no, Lord Epion, not exactly. But you must be aware that our customs are not yours. What might be commonplace for our high noble ladies may be much otherwise for yours.” And
that
was putting it gently, Alaria thought. “Lord, could I, that is, would you ...” Alaria hesitated. What she was about to ask might be considered an affront.

“You must actually ask the question before I can say yes or no.” A gleam of humor shone in Epion’s eyes.

“May I have the Mercenary Brothers sent for?” Alaria asked. “As you said, you don’t know us. And I know no one here except Cleona. No insult is intended to the Tarkin or to his guards, but the Mercenaries are the only people in Menoin who are not strangers to me.”

Epion searched her face, a small frown causing a line to form between his brows. He nodded. “Of course, I’ll have them sent for. I’m sure Falcos would agree.”

And where
was
Falcos, if it came to that? Alaria wondered what the Tarkin found more important than his missing bride.

While they were speaking, a junior guard had come into the room to whisper to the Steward of Walls. Now the older man came nearer to them.

“My lord? News from the stables. The Tarkina took out a horse last night and had an escort with her.”

“Last night? It’s true the moon was full, but—” Epion turned to Alaria. “What about midnight rides? Is that something Cleona would do?”

Alaria shook her head, but slowly. “But it was long before midnight—the sun had hardly set. She thought—” Alaria hesitated, everyone seemed to be staring at her. “It was something you had said, Lord Epion, that put the notion into her head. It would be a way to relax,” she said. “Cleona wanted to be sure to sleep well.”

“We spoke of riding, that’s true,” Epion began, his brow furrowing. “But I advised against it, and she seemed likely to heed my advice.”

“But she returned?” Now it was Dav-Ingahm’s turn. “You waited for her?”

“The Princess Alaria is not a servant,” Epion said before Alaria could speak in her own defense. “There would be no reason for her to await her cousin’s return. The safety and security of the Tarkina is the concern of the Tarkin’s guards.”

Perhaps so, but Epion’s words did nothing to dispel Alaria’s guilt. How had she fallen asleep so quickly? She’d been tired, but why hadn’t she waited for Cleona? Better, why hadn’t she insisted on going with her? Regardless of what Cleona may have said about wanting to be alone, Alaria should have gone.