The Chernagor Pirates (23 page)

She, however, seemed able to see complications without him pointing them out. “She's King Grus' daughter,” she said. “What will the other king do?”

“He may grumble, but how could he do more?” Lanius said. “How can he fuss much about what I do after the way he carried on winter before this?”

“People
always
manage to forget what they did and to fuss about what other people do,” Cristata said, words that held an unpleasant ring of truth.

To stop thinking about that, Lanius kissed her. The medicine worked so well, he gave himself a second dose, and then a third. One thing led to another, and he and Cristata didn't leave the storeroom for quite a while.

“Tell me I'm not hearing this.” Grus' head ached as though he'd had too much wine, but he hadn't had any. “A second wife? A serving girl my own son abused? Why, in the name of the gods?”

“I said, if I can't find her a husband that suits her,” Lanius answered.

“You told
her
that?” Grus asked. Lanius nodded. Grus groaned. “What makes you think she'll find anyone else ‘suitable' if she has the chance to be a queen?”

Lanius frowned. Grus recognized the frown—it was thoughtful. Hadn't that occurred to him? Maybe it hadn't. At last, he said, “Have you paid any attention to Cristata? Say what you will about her, she's honest.”

“She's certainly made you think she is, anyhow,” Grus said. “Whether that's the same thing is a different question. And here's one more for you—why are you doing this to my daughter?”

“Who knows just why a man and a woman do what they do?” Lanius answered. “Why did you do
this
to your wife, for instance?”

Grus gritted his teeth. He might have known Lanius would find that particular question. As a matter of fact, he had known it, even if he hadn't wanted to admit it to himself. Now he had to find an answer for it. His first try was an evasion. “That's different,” he said.

“Yes, it is,” Lanius agreed. “You exiled your other woman. I want to marry mine. Which of us has the advantage there?”

“You're not being fair,” Grus said, flicked on a sore spot. He wasn't happy about what he'd done about—with—to—Alca, and wasn't proud of it, either. It had been the only way he saw to keep peace with Estrilda. That might have made it necessary, but he had the bad feeling it didn't make it right.

The other king shrugged. “I never said anything—not a word—about what you did with your, women up until now. You might have the courtesy to stay out of my business, too.”

“It's also my business, you know,” Grus said. “You're married to my daughter. I know Sosia's not happy about this. She's told me so.”

“She's told me so, too,” Lanius admitted. “But
I'd
be happier with Cristata than without her. I'm King of Avornis … I think. Don't I get to decide anything at all about how I live—Your Majesty?”

When Grus used the royal title with Lanius, he was usually being polite. When Lanius used it with Grus—which he seldom did—he was usually being reproachful. Grus felt his face heat. He held his hands a few inches apart. “Only about this much of you is ‘happier' with this girl. You're thinking with your crotch, not with your head. That isn't like you.”

Lanius turned red, but he didn't change his mind. “Well, what if I am?” he said. “I'm not the only one who ever has.” He looked straight at Grus.

He's going to do this,
Grus realized.
He's not going to pay attention to me telling him no. What can I do about it?
He saw one thing he might try, and said, “Go talk to Anser about this. He's closer to your age, but I think he'd also tell you it's not a good idea.”

“I like Anser. Don't get me wrong—I do,” Lanius said. “I like him, but I know he'd tell me whatever you tell him to tell me. And we both know he's arch-hallow on account of that, not because he's holy.”

“Yes.” Grus admitted in private what he never would in public. “Even so, I swear to you, Lanius, I have not spoken with him about this. Whatever he says, he will say, and that's all there is to it. Talk to him. He has good sense—and you, right now, don't.”

“When you say I don't have good sense, you mean I'm not doing what you want me to,” Lanius said, but then he shrugged. “All right. I'll talk to him. But he won't change my mind.”

Back stiff with defiance, Lanius went off to the cathedral. Grus waited until he was sure the other king had left the palace, then pointed to three or four servants. “Fetch me the serving woman named Cristata,” he told them. His voice held the snap of command. They hurried away.

Before long, one of them led her into the little audience chamber. “Oh!” she said in surprise when she saw Grus. “When he told me the king wanted to see me, I thought he meant.—”

“Lanius,” Grus said, and Cristata nodded. He went on, “Well, I do.” He could see why Lanius wanted her, too, and why Ortalis had. But that had nothing to do with anything. He went on, “Are you really bound and determined to become Queen of Avornis, or would being quietly set up for life in a provincial town be enough to satisfy you?”

If she said she
was
bound and determined to be Lanius' queen, Grus knew his own life would get more difficult. She paused to consider before she answered.
She's not stupid, either,
Grus thought.
Is she smart enough to see when she's well off? Or is she as head-over-heels for Lanius as he is for her?

She said, “I'll go, Your Majesty. If I stay, I'll have you for an enemy, won't I? I don't want that. Anyone in Avornis would be a fool to want you for an enemy, and I hope I'm not a fool.”

“You're not,” Grus assured her. “‘Enemy,' I think, goes too far. But I am going to protect my own family as best I can. Wouldn't you do the same?”

“Probably,” Cristata answered. “I have to trust you, don't I, about what ‘quietly set for life' means? You were generous paying for what Ortalis did.”

Grus found himself liking her. She had nerve, to bargain with someone with so much more power—and to make him feel guilty for using it. He said, “By the gods, Cristata, I won't cheat you. Believe me or not, as you please.” When she nodded, he went on, “We have a bargain,' then?” She nodded again. So did he. “Gather up whatever you need to take with you. If we're going to do this, I want you gone before Lanius can call you again.”

“Yes, I can see how you might.” Cristata sighed. “I
will
miss him. He's … sweet. But you could have done a lot worse to me, couldn't you?”

Only after she was gone did Grus realize that last wasn't necessarily praise.

“You … You …” Lanius' fury rose up and choked him. What he could do about it, however, knew some very sharp bounds. Grus was the one with the power, and he'd just used it.

“Think whatever you like,” he said now. “Call me whatever you like. If you're going to take serving girls to bed now and again, I won't fuss, though Sosia might. You're a man. It happens. I ought to know.”

His calm words gave Lanius' rage nowhere to light. Absurdly, Lanius realized he never had taken Cristata to
bed.
Coupling on the floor, even on a carpet, wasn't the same. “I love her!” he exclaimed.

“She's nice-looking. She's clever. She's got spirit,” Grus said. “And you picked her out yourself. You didn't have her forced on you. No wonder you had a good time with her. But love? Don't be too sure.”

“What do you know about it, you—?” Lanius called him the vilest names he knew.

“I think you're sweet, too,” Grus answered calmly. Lanius gaped. Grus went on, “What do I know about it? Oh, a little something, maybe. Cristata reminds me more than a little of Anser's mother.”

“Oh,” Lanius said. Try as he would to stay outraged, he had trouble. Maybe Grus did know what he was talking about after all. Lanius went on, “You still had no business—none, do you hear me?—interfering in my affairs … and you can take that last however you want.”

“Don't be silly,” Grus answered, still calm. “Of course I did. You're married to my daughter. You're my grandchildren's father. If you do something that's liable to hurt them, of course I'll try to stop you.”

Lanius hadn't expected him to be quite so frank. He wondered whether that frankness made things better or worse. “You have no shame at all, do you?” he said.

“Where my family is concerned? Very little, though I've probably been too soft on Ortalis over the years,” Grus said. “He's embarrassed me more times than I wish he had, but that isn't what you meant, and I know it isn't. I'll do whatever I think I have to do. If you want to be angry at me, go ahead. You're entitled to.”

And no matter how angry you are, you can't do anything about it.
That was the other thing Grus meant. He was right, too, as Lanius knew only too well. His impotence was at times more galling than at others. This … He couldn't even protect a woman he still insisted to himself he loved. What could be more humiliating than that? Nothing he could think of.

“Where did you send her?” he asked after a long silence.

Some of the tension went out of Grus' shoulders. He must have realized he'd won. He said, “You know I won't tell you that. You'll find out sooner or later, but you won't be up in arms about it by the time you do.”

His obvious assumption that he knew exactly how Lanius worked only irked the younger man more. So did the alarming suspicion that he might be right. Lanius said, “At least tell me how much you're giving her. Is she really taken care of?”

“You don't need to worry about that.” Grus named a sum. Lanius blinked; he might not have been so generous himself. Grus set a hand on his shoulder. He shook it off. Grus shrugged. “I told you, I'm not going to get angry at you, and you can go right ahead and be angry at me. We'll sort it out later.”

“Will we?” Lanius said tonelessly, but Grus had turned away. He wasn't even listening anymore.

Lanius slept by himself that night. Sosia hadn't wanted to sleep beside him since finding out about Cristata. He didn't care to sleep by her now, either. He knew he would have to make peace sooner or later, but sooner or later wasn't yet.

He thought he woke in the middle of the night. Then he realized it was a dream, but not the sort of dream he would have wanted. The Banished One's inhumanly cold, inhumanly beautiful features stared at him.

“You see what your friends are worth?” the Banished One asked with a mocking laugh. “Who has hurt you worse—Grus, or I?”

“You hurt the whole kingdom,” Lanius answered.

“Who cares about the kingdom? Who has hurt
you?”

“Go away,” Lanius said uselessly.

“You can have your revenge,” the Banished One went on, as though the king hadn't said a word. “You can make Grus pay, you can make Grus weep, for what he has done to you. Think on it. You can make him suffer, as he has made you suffer. The chance for vengeance is given to few men. Reach out with both hands and take it.”

Lanius would have liked nothing better than revenge. He'd already had flights of fantasy filled with nothing else. But, even dreaming, he understood that anything the Banished One wanted was something to be wary of. And so, not without a certain regret, he said “No.”

“Fool! Ass! Knave! Jackanapes! Wretch who lives only for a day, and will not make himself happy for some puny part of his puny little life!” the Banished One cried. “Die weeping, then, and have what you deserve!

The next thing Lanius knew, he was awake again, and drenched in sweat despite the winter chill. He wished the Banished One would choose to afflict someone else. He himself was getting to know the one who had been Milvago much too well.

Land travel in winter was sometimes easier than it was in spring or fall. In winter, rain didn't turn roads to mud. Land travel was sometimes also the only choice in winter, for the rivers near the city of Avornis could freeze. After Grus' troubles with Lanius, he was glad to get away from the capital any way he could. If the other king tried to get out of line, he would hear about it and deal with it before anything too drastic could happen. He had no doubt of that.

Once Grus reached the unfrozen portion of the Granicus, he went faster still—by river galley downstream to the seaside port of Dodona. The man who met him at the quays was neither bureaucrat nor politician, neither general nor commodore. Plegadis was a shipwright and carpenter, the best Avornis had.

“So she's ready for me to see, is she?” Grus said.

Plegadis nodded. He was a sun-darkened, broad-shouldered man with engagingly ugly features, a nose that had once been straighter than it was now, and a dark brown bushy beard liberally streaked with gray. “Do you really need to ask, Your Majesty?” he said, pointing. “Stands out from everything else we make, doesn't she?”

“Oh, just a bit,” Grus answered. “Yes, just a bit.”

Plegadis laughed out loud. Grus stared at the Avornan copy of a Chernagor pirate ship. Sure enough, it towered over everything else tied up at the quays of Dodona. To someone used to the low, sleek lines of river galleys, it looked blocky, even ugly, but Grus had seen what ships like this were worth.

“Is she as sturdy as she looks?” the king asked.

“I should hope so.” The shipwright sounded offended. “I didn't just copy her shape, Your Majesty. I matched lines and timber and canvas, too, as best I could. She's ready to take to the open sea, and to do as well as a Chernagor ship would.”

Grus nodded. “That's what I wanted. How soon can I have more just like her—a proper fleet?”

“Give me the timber and the carpenters and it won't be too long—middle of summer, maybe,” Plegadis answered. “Getting sailors who know what they're doing in a ship like this … That'll take a little while, too.”