Through Wolf's Eyes (38 page)

"What was her name?" Firekeeper asked, sitting back on her heels, a weed dangling from her hand.

"Sarena, Sarena Gardener. Her husband was Donal Hunter. They had a little girl named Tamara."

She looked so expectant that Firekeeper felt almost
ill, for those names meant nothing to her. She hated to disappoint the
old woman, but she shook her head slowly.

"I'm sorry. I don't remember. I was very small when the fire came."

Holly wiped away a tear that had somehow appeared on her withered cheek and smiled bravely.

"That's all right, dearie. I didn't expect that you would."

Firekeeper knew that her friend was lying and that truth made her feel all the worse.

"
AND AS I STAND here on the border between life and death,"
sang the minstrel, his coat of feathers and twine as marvelous as the soaring reaches of his voice, "
as here I stand, one hand clutching the sword blade and the other pressed against the heart of my love,
pushing her back, saving her from death, in the wash of blood across my
face at last I see the truth, dark truth, black as dry blood . . ."

The minstrel's voice rose, became sweeter still,
"She loves me not at all!"

Elise knew by heart the story of which the minstrel
sang. It was as old as the kingdom, the tale of a man whose fingers
were sliced off one by one as he defended his faithless lover.

She hated the first part of the song, always found
herself holding her breath as the man catalogued the cold realities
that sliced his soul far more cruelly than the sword did his hand.
Breath trapped aching in her chest, she waited for the second verse,
where the man, accepting truth in place of the lies that had been so
dear to him, watched his fingers regrow again one by one.

"Red baptism, dripping from my brow, through the
rose of new vision, I see her laughing at my pale offering—bent fingers
on our cottage floor . . ."

Seeking to distract herself until the hopeful verses
began, Elise glanced at Jet, wondering how he was responding to this
classic story of love and betrayal. In the several days
that
had passed since she had visited with Firekeeper and Sir Jared in the
castle gardens, she had found herself giving Jet many such glances:
wondering what he thought and dreamed, dreading that he was hollow but
for ambition.

Elise had always imagined herself in the place of the
man in the song, the faithful one, believing in love despite all
obstacles. Now she dreaded that she might be more like the faithless
lover than she had ever dreamed. She shoved these thoughts away in real
terror, discovering that she had become a stranger even to herself.

Now as she looked upon her betrothed's black-browed
face, she thought he looked bored. Then she realized that Jet was not
watching the minstrel at all, that what she had taken for boredom was
carefully guarded neutrality. Following the direction of Jet's gaze,
she saw that a soldier had mounted the king's dais and was handing
Tedric a letter many times folded and secured with bright seals. The
woman's uniform was dusty and her face expressionless—or was there a
touch of pity on those dirty features?

Gamely, the minstrel continued his verses, but no one
heard him and only Kenre Trueheart, too young to have wondered what
messenger would dare interrupt the king at his meat, patted his hands
together in applause when the entertainer made his awkward bow and
gratefully ducked behind a curtain concealing a door out of the banquet
hall.

Afterward, Elise remembered this unfinished ballad as a bad omen.

K
ING TEDRIC AND QUEEN ELEXA
departed the hall almost as soon as the packet was placed in the king's
hand and a few words were exchanged with the weary messenger. The
gathered nobility was courteously invited to remain and continue
enjoying the entertainment, but no one had ears for
the music. Hands reached for goblets of wine by reflex rather than to savor the fine vintages.

Steward Silver escorted the messenger from the hall
with a swiftness that made any cross-examination impossible, but this
did not keep conjecture at bay. If anything, it added to it. Fragments
of information were welded into improbable theories.

Elise listened to the scattered scraps that drifted up and down the long tables:

"The stablemaster said that she came in without escort and her horse was blown. It may be ruined."

"They have the messenger sequestered in a private
room. Steward Silver herself is waiting on her. No one else is being
permitted close. I wonder what they fear the messenger will say?"

"My maid just happened to be passing down the
hallway when a servant came by carrying the messenger's soiled uniform.
She said that she's certain that it bore signs of a battle. One sleeve
hung as if nearly sliced off."

"Did you see the king's expression when he spoke with the messenger? There must have been some terrible tragedy!"

Initially, Elise was as eager as any of the others to
gather scraps and piece them into a crazy quilt of possible event. Then
a sudden weariness and unnamed sorrow seized her. Making her excuses,
she left the hall. She was heading for her rooms when she remembered
that Ninette would be waiting there, eager to continue the cycle of
gossip and conjecture.

Although the evening was dark, Elise slipped out a
side door into the garden. The moon was half-full and bright enough to
navigate by, though the garden seemed robbed of color. By moonlight,
Elise found refuge among the roses, their scent heavy in the hot, damp
summer air. She bent her head to breathe deeply of their perfume. When
she raised her head, she discovered that she was not alone.

A slim figure leaned against an arched trellis overgrown with pale roses. Even in the dim light, Elise could tell the
figure was another woman, dressed in a long, formal gown. When the woman moved, Elise knew her.

"Firekeeper," she said softly.

"Yes," came the equally soft reply. "I saw you come out. What is happening?"

"News from the army, I think," Elise said. "I don't know any more than that. I don't think anyone knows any more."

"Oh." A long silence, then Firekeeper asked, "I don't understand."

"Neither," Elise admitted, "do I. How can they build such elaborate pictures out of guesses?"

She glanced around. "Where is Derian?"

"Inside, making guesses." Firekeeper's laugh was
throaty. "He doesn't worry about me in the darkness, especially since
Blind Seer is always near. He said he worries about those in the
darkness who might meet me!"

Elise laughed in turn. "Shall we walk then? My head is muzzy with wine and too much talk."

She saw the pale oval of Firekeeper's face nod
agreement. Side by side, they strolled down the curving paths. More
than once, Elise felt Firekeeper's hand on her arm, steering her away
from a collision with a bush or other obstacle.

"Can you see in the dark?" she asked.

"See, like in daylight?"

"Yes."

"Not really." Firekeeper shook her head.

Elise heard rather than saw the motion, felt the breath of air against her bare shoulders.

"I cannot see in the darkness," the other continued.
"More I know how to see the dark, to know what is there. Wolves hunt
much at night, so I must learn darkness or I must starve."

Elise heard Firekeeper stumble, heard a soft curse, smiled, wondering if Derian had taught it to his charge intentionally.

"Why," Firekeeper asked plaintively, "do women wear these dresses?"

Elise might have laughed, but she could hear the frustration in the other woman's voice.

"Because," she offered slowly, "dresses make a woman look attractive and graceful."

Firekeeper snorted. "I am not graceful in a dress."

Having seen Firekeeper treading on her hem on the
dance floor, Elise could not deny the truth of this statement.
Moreover, Elise had learned that the other didn't understand polite
social lies.

"No, you are not," she admitted, "but that's because
you have never learned to walk in a skirt. You must shorten your stride
just a little, not step out like a soldier on parade."

"I am not so noisy as a soldier," Firekeeper protested.

"No, you are not. You're even graceful in your own way— like a panther or a wolf—but not like a woman."

"But I
am
a woman," Firekeeper responded in
the tones of one to whom this was still a matter for debate. "How can
what I do be not like a woman?"

Unlike her cousin Sapphire, who rode well and enjoyed
hunting, Elise had always preferred quieter pursuits. Still, she
recalled some of Sapphire's loudly voiced frustrations when Melina had
moderated her daughter's wilder behavior. Although she disliked Melina,
Elise found the very arguments Melina had presented to Sapphire rising
to her lips.

"You cannot escape that you are a woman," she began.

"I wish I could," Firekeeper muttered, but Elise continued as if she hadn't heard.

"Since you cannot, you cannot escape the expectations that our society and our class places upon women."

"Why?" Firekeeper said querulously.

"Just listen to me for a moment," Elise insisted.
"Since people will expect a young woman of a noble house—and you are of
one ever since Duchess Kestrel permitted her son to adopt you—to know
certain manners of behavior, you must know them."

"Circles," Firekeeper complained, "like a pup biting
its tail. I am this so I must be that. I am that so I must be this.
Tell me, how will this little foot walking keep me alive?"

Elise resisted the urge to reply, "By keeping you
from falling on your face." She already knew that the literal-minded
Firekeeper would respond that this problem could be
avoided by letting her wear what she wanted.

"Consider," she offered, "what you told me about
learning to see at night so that you could hunt with the wolves.
Learning to wear a gown, to walk gracefully, to eat politely . . ."

"I do that!"

"You're learning," Elise admitted, "but don't change the subject. All of these are ways of learning to see in the dark."

"Maybe," Firekeeper said, her tone unconvinced.

"Can you climb a tree?"

"Yes."

"Swim?"

"Yes!" This second affirmative was almost indignant.

"And these skills let you go places that you could not go without them."

Stubborn silence. Elise pressed her point.

"Why do you like knowing how to shoot a bow?"

"It lets me kill farther," came the answer, almost in a growl.

"And using a sword does the same?"

"Yes."

"Let me tell you, Firekeeper, knowing a woman's arts
can keep you alive, let you invade private sanctums, even help you to
subdue your enemies. If you don't know those arts, others who do will
always have an advantage over you."

"All this from wearing a gown that tangles your feet?"

"If you know how to wear it," Elise leapt onto a
stone bench, her long skirts swirling around her like bird's wings,
"you can seem to fly."

T
HE NEXT DAY
, King
Tedric summoned into private conference those heads of the Great Houses
who were in the capital or their representatives. He also included his
brother and sister, Grand Duke Gadman and Grand Duchess Rosene. Anyone
else was denied entrance, a thing that forced several
of
the competitors for the throne to swallow their rage when Earl Kestrel
was admitted as representative for his absent mother, the duchess.

Some hours later, the conferees emerged, uniformly
somber. Yet, despite the solemnity, the same inner glow lit the eyes of
Earl Kestrel, the grand duke, and the grand duchess, leaving observers
to comment that the king must have said something decisive regarding
the appointment of his heir.

As soon as the conference had ended, Earl Kestrel
summoned Firekeeper and Derian to him. At his orders, Ox mounted guard
at the door and Race was sent to linger near the entry from the
gardens, just in case someone tried to slip in from that direction.
With his usual tact, Jared Surcliffe had made himself politely absent.