Path of the Sun: A Novel of Dhulyn and Parno (56 page)

“Pardon, my lady, oh, please, we didn’t know you were here.” Eyes round, looking from her to the guard’s blade, they paled even further, stumbling over their apologies and edging away to get a clearer shot at the open door. Mindful that anyone, even children, might be a source of news and help, Alaria forced herself to laugh and hold out her hands to the two young pages.
And surely these were too young to be suspect.

“Are you the ones who have been taking such good care of my queens?” And in response to their nods, Alaria added, hoping her smile didn’t look as false as it felt, “Then I must send you a special pastry from the Tarkin’s kitchen. Which kind do you like best?”

Careful negotiation established that it was already too late in the year for strawberries, and the two pages settled for plums.

“You may go back to your duties. I will see that the pastries are sent.”

“One for each of us—what?” said the blue-eyed page when the other elbowed her in the ribs. “The princess
said
.”

Alaria laughed. “Yes, one each, don’t worry. Now, before you go, find me Delos Egoyin; tell him I wish to speak with him.”

“I hope you’re not leaving the princess alone, you two.” Delos Egoyin arrived in minutes, drying his hands on an old bit of blanket. “Only the other day a guard was attacked, actually attacked, here in my stables. I ask you, with the Tarkin gone mad, poor boy, is there anything left for the gods to visit on us?” Delos shook his head.

“Come to see your queens, have you, my lady?” he continued. He was smiling now, but Alaria thought she could see a shadow behind his eyes just the same. His fondness for Falcos had seemed genuine, Alaria thought. Did he believe the rumors and accusations that Epion was busy circulating, or did Delos, like Alaria herself, merely play a part, hoping that circumstances would favor their side once more?

“Sunflower seems to be in fine shape,” she said. The mare thrust her head over the gate and snuffled Alaria’s hair, knowing, in the way that horses do, that she was being spoken of.

“The others are just as fine, and their foals as well. Perhaps you’d like to see?” He led her back through the barn to the inner section where mares with foals were kept. This time the guard, Alaria noticed, did not follow. He probably knew there was no escape through here. The three queens were set next to each other in separate stalls along the wall of undressed stone, which was actually the outer wall of the palace grounds, with nothing but air behind it. It was quieter here, and darker, though shutters had been left open on the roof to let in air and light.

“Tomorrow or the next day I’d like to move these ladies out of doors,” Delos was saying. He and Alaria were leaning their elbows on the top of the enclosure. They were almost the same height, Delos stooped not from age but from the necessities of his work. “I was waiting for Sunflower to foal first, to keep them together, but it looks as though she might have other ideas.”

“Where is the paddock you are thinking of?” Grateful for the distraction, Alaria was trying to remember where she had seen open-air paddocks for the royal horses.

“Ah, well now, I’ll show you right now, if you wish. But I have another plan in mind. How would it be if you came this afternoon, after the midday meal, and I’ll give you a complete tour of the whole yard, horse stables, barns, hawk mews, dog kennels, everything, so you’ll be better able to make plans for the breeding of the new herd.”

There was something in the way Delos’ eyed her that told Alaria this invitation was important, more important than an inspection of what one day might—or might not—become her responsibility.

“I’d love it,” Alaria said, her heart already lifting at the prospect of possible action. Then the memory of the part she was playing came back to her. “But let me ask leave of Lord Epion,” she said. “There may be other duties that require my presence.”

“Cara!” Delos called, and then jumped as the blue-eyed page appeared out of nowhere. “Caids, girl! Don’t sneak up on a man like that!”

Cara grinned, shrugging up one shoulder. “It’s my job to be ready, to jump when you call, and you’ve always told me to do my job well.”

“At least let me know you’re there, for the Caids’ sake; you’ve taken years off me, child, years. Now go to the Steward of Keys and find out what duties Princess Alaria has for this afternoon.”

Alaria smiled, watching the child run off. She barely remembered her own father as a handsome face, a warm laugh, and gentle hands. He’d had the charge of running her mother’s household, but he’d died when Alaria was a little girl, and her mother had hired a woman to be housekeeper and clerk. Alaria was brought back to the present by the sound of her own name.

“So far as the Steward of Keys knows, Princess Alaria has no official duties this afternoon,” the page Cara said, panting slightly from her run. “Berena Attin says she’d be hard-pressed to know what official duties she
could
have before she becomes Tarkina.” A silence fell. Alaria tried to keep her face from showing what she actually thought about that eventuality, at least as it involved Epion.

“Well, then, this would be the time then for our little tour, before the princess becomes distracted by other matters. It would take your mind off things, my lady.” Delos turned to address her directly. “Set your mind at rest, is what I thought, as to what you’ll have to deal with in the future, if you follow me.”

Alaria’s smiled stiffened. Delos had no gift for intrigue, she thought. The rats that were undoubtedly in this as in every other stable, no matter how well looked after, could probably follow him, understanding that there was something he wanted to show her and that this afternoon would be the perfect time.

“How can I resist,” she said, giving the old man a genuine smile.

 

Alaria did not get away from the head table of the dining room quite as quickly as she would have liked. Epion had been there, carefully not sitting in the Tarkin’s seat but in his own usual seat one chair to the right. They’d had Falcos’ empty seat between them, and that was a convenient excuse not to exchange more than the necessary civilities. Epion enquired as to her health and how she had slept, and he scattered a few polite enquires as to whether she enjoyed certain of the dishes. Alaria asked for, and received, his gracious permission to tour the stables and barns, whereupon she was left to herself. She couldn’t be sure, but there seemed to be more guards in blue wearing the single purple sleeve that marked them as Epion’s than there had been before—and again, no one with the Tarkin’s crest on their tunics. Many of Epion’s guards found the need to consult with their lord during the meal.

Every time one of them approached the table, she tried to react naturally, and not as if she expected each and every one of them to suddenly point at her—or bring news she was afraid to hear.

She was finished long before everyone else at the table, pushing a piece of honeyed pastry back and forth on her plate and hoping that Epion wouldn’t notice and offer to have the pages bring her something else. Alaria had always envied the head table for being served first, the few times she had been at court, but she now realized it meant you were also finished first, and that you couldn’t leave without everyone in the room noticing it and wondering where you were going.

So she waited, smiling at those who caught her eye, until Epion stood. She waited for a count of three before standing herself, which earned her a dazzling smile. By letting him rise first, she’d treated him, Alaria realized with a sinking stomach, as though he were the Tarkin.

Let it not be an omen
, she thought.

Alaria had no difficulty with the two guards who were now with her. These again were new, but she thought they must have been briefed by their brethren. It seemed that after not even two days of watching and following, the guards assigned to her were already getting bored. Epion had granted his leave for her to go on a tour of the stables and yards, and apparently these two men saw no reason to accompany her into every barn and shed, since Delos Egoyin himself would be with her.

They began in the cow barns, and, as she had expected, the old stableman led her, talking volubly all the way, through to the back where this building, like the horse stables, shared a wall with the palace.

“Would you like to see the lofts?” he asked, with his hand on the ladder. “I’m afraid there’s only the ladder,” he added, “no staircase.”

“I wouldn’t expect one.” Delos stepped aside to allow Alaria to go up the ladder first. Having some experience with barns and stables, she had changed from the gown laid out for her in the morning into her Arderon riding clothes. Though she’d been told the hay harvest had not been a good one in Menoin that year, the loft was nevertheless piled as high as Alaria could reach.

“Is every barn as full as this one?” she asked. Considering how few were the animals in the Tarkin’s barns, perhaps some distribution could be made to the people.

“Ah, no, my lady, not exactly. It’s just that we found it easier to consolidate what we had, if you see what I mean. Easier to keep track of, easier to distribute.”

Barely hearing the man’s words, Alaria nodded, examining the wall in front of her. Was this where the secret passage came out in the stables? Would she be able to access that network and somehow free Falcos? She heard Delos move behind her and started to turn.

A hand clamped down on her mouth, and a knife appeared at her throat.

The three riders appeared out of nowhere and were upon him before Bekluth could change direction. He congratulated himself that his luck had held as usual, however, since he was the better part of a day’s ride away from his hiding place. He could tell right away that he’d been seen, and to change direction now would only make it obvious that he was trying to avoid them. So he stopped and waited for them, waving greetings, just as he normally would. That had been one of the first things his mother had taught him. Do the things that people expect whenever they’re looking, and they won’t notice anything else.

When they came close enough for Bekluth to recognize their Salt Desert hair braiding, he relaxed even further. The Salt Deserts were the most numerous of the Espadryni Tribes, and he traded more with them than with the other two. They were all inclined to like and trust him, of course, he’d seen to that, but the Salt Deserts liked and trusted him more.

“Greetings, trader.”

“I greet you. Fox-Bane, is it not?” Bekluth focused his most engaging smile on the leader of the small band. “How are those arrow heads I traded you last Harvest Moon?”

“I have lost one.” As Bekluth expected, however, the other man smiled back.

“Then we are very well met, very well met indeed.” Bekluth dismounted and, letting the reins of the horse fall to the ground, went to the pack on the smaller horse. In the end he’d had to use the remaining horse from the other side, the guard’s horse, much as he would have preferred not to. But neither of the other two horses was capable of carrying him, though they were not quite as bad as the one he’d had to dispose of. He’d taken the better of the two, with a lightened pack.

As he expected, Fox-Bane also dismounted and joined him.

“This horse is almost done,” the man said, passing his hand over the beast’s neck and feeling down its right foreleg. “What have you been doing, trader, running races?” The other two Horsemen laughed.

“Is it not well then?” Bekluth asked innocently. “I just got him from the Cold Lake People a few days ago.”

“It is not a Cold Lake mount,” one of the other men said, edging his own horse closer and pointing. “Look there at its mark. That’s a Long Trees horse.”

All three men looked at him. Bekluth affected disgust, shaking his head with his lips pressed together.

“Well,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, “it appears I am not as canny a trader as I thought.” Just as he planned, the Horsemen laughed at him, and the tension disappeared.

“Perhaps I
will
trade you for new arrow heads, then,” Fox-Bane said, “since your skill is so bad at the moment—though I warn you, I have no half-dead horse to offer you.” They all laughed again, and Bekluth forced himself to join in.

“Fox-Bane, you forget we have a message,” one of the other men, still on his horse, said.

“I forget nothing.” Fox-Bane’s tone was sharp. “And you would do well not to forget who bested you the last time you spoke out of turn.”

For a moment it seemed the other man would challenge, but then he gave a slightly sardonic bow, and the moment passed. Just as well, Bekluth thought, these idiots were always fighting over nothing.

“There is a message for you, trader.” His authority established, Fox-Bane turned back to Bekluth. “You are being looked for, sir. There has been a cloud message asking that any who find you should accompany you to where the Long Trees People await you.”

Bekluth’s mind worked furiously. The Long Trees People. In all the years that he had been dealing with the Espadryni, he had never been sent for. This could be bad, very bad.