Treason's Shore (43 page)

After a drill that left them sweat-drenched and panting, Fox put them in pairs to spar. At the last the two commanders sparred as the others circled around, yelling and hooting.

Fox saw Inda’s style in Cama’s attack. What Cama hadn’t had time to learn in trickery he made up for with speed, strength, and an unrelenting determination to win.

After a particularly bone-rattling fall, as Fox helped Cama to his feet, the latter pinned him single-eyed. “Ever lost?”

Fox huffed out a laugh. “There’s always someone better. Always.”

The evening passed congenially, the talk mostly sea battles as opposed to land warfare. Fox enjoyed himself. He was only aware of irony as he rowed back to the
Death
to sleep—he had felt at home among these fellows.

The next day was spent unloading the
Death
. Fox had bought up every barrel on the islands, most labeled for coffee, others for wine. He spotted at least three suspicious glints from the heights round the castle as guards and sailors alike rolled the barrels—coins packed with sand so they wouldn’t clink—up the shore to firm ground, to be piled on wagons and driven into the castle, then thumped down into the newly redone cellars.

By nightfall Fox’s ships were asail again, Barend with them. They would stop at Bren before continuing down the strait on the last of the western winds. There they’d join up with Fangras and the rest of the Fox Banner Fleet to discover who was going to control the strait.

Tdor could always tell when Tau was spending the night with Hadand by the scent of hot chocolate that lingered in the hallway outside the queen’s suite.

Tdor paid attention to the royal castle’s ways in her effort to make it home. During the summer, if she opened certain windows in the Harskialdna tower, a northwest wind could be sent all the way down the long, long hallway of the residence’s upper level, cooling the air.

In winter, though, no one wanted a bitter wind, so the windows were shut and the air moved more slowly. She could sniff the hallway watches after people had left and name what they had been eating. She could even figure out who had been there, if the air had stirred little, and the person used bath herbs. Like Tau. The air always smelled faintly like summer wherever he was or had been.

She paused outside the old schoolroom, which had become Inda’s office, and also outside the dining room.

She paused with a hand on the door latch, listening to the voices inside. Two male, one female. Tau’s laugh, so musical. He sounded like he was singing when he wasn’t. No, that was wrong, he didn’t warble, or talk like he was a Herskalt giving orders. The quality of his voice had music in it, somehow.

Then there was Evred’s quiet voice. It sounded so different now, he didn’t cut his words off, and it had been a long time since he spoke in that frightening whisper. He even laughed. The first time Tdor heard that, she was surprised.

Evred laughed now. Inda had said, “Tau’s good for Evred.”

Tdor could see that, but she couldn’t understand how showing up with bruises at breakfast could be good for anyone. She still didn’t understand how some liked rough sex, but she already knew that Whipstick and Noren had also liked it that way—she had even heard laughter as well as crashing furniture back in Tenthen, when the summer caused all the windows to be open.

Sex. She lifted the latch and opened the door, hoping to leave the subject behind her.

Three faces looked up in welcome. Evred spoke with his habitual courtesy, but his gaze seemed distracted; Tdor wondered if Evred was already missing Inda as much as she was.

Sex again. Or rather, passion. That reminded her of Signi, and she turned her attention to Hadand, who had also been so much happier since summer. From the number of chocolate-scented mornings outside Tdor’s office, it seemed like Tau spent most of his nights with the queen.

How did Hadand manage? How did they all manage without anyone getting jealous? Tdor bit into a warm biscuit, eating mechanically as she considered love. Evred was not in love with Hadand, though he loved her; Tau didn’t seem to be in love with either of them. If he loved anyone, it was Jeje, judging from how his voice changed when he referred to her. Evred didn’t love Tau like he loved Hadand. Passion? Not like he had for Inda, not nearly as intense, you could see it just in the way he turned his head when either of them spoke.

Signi and I love Inda, and he loves us both
. Tdor squirmed, hating the thought that love was the cause of jealousy, because that made love the enemy.
The same thing that is wrong with me when I look outside the window, and my heart eases when Signi is not seen on the road. I hate that thing, I repudiate that thing. I just wish she’d get back soon, so we can settle how our lives will be. How long does it take to go from castle to town to bridge? Everyone says we have fewer of them than other kingdoms—

Inda banged through the door. Once again the three looked up in welcome, their expressions so characteristic. Evred’s quick smile that then smoothed out, Tau’s careless grin, Hadand’s fond, abstracted welcome.

“Everything’s ready.” Inda dropped down next to Tdor. “Horses being packed now, men forming up. I’m here to grab a bite.”
Plunk!
His spoon splashed into the porridge.

The others talked around Inda, as usual. The conversation became general, mostly about travel with winter nigh, as Inda bent over his bowl and ate as fast as he could.

Tdor turned back to Evred, who had resumed his polite face. She thought about those quick, almost hidden smiles at Inda when he ate, head down, like a puppy. Tdor wondered if she had the same smile. Did love make people’s habits dear? And did liking make them invisible? Because Hadand and Tau looked away, but it wasn’t deliberate. They just did not seem to notice the familiar soft clack and slurp of Inda at a meal, so very much a contrast to Tau’s neat manners.

So did that mean, if you didn’t like someone, would their habits make you begin to hate them?

Inda ate as fast as he could, his thoughts galloping headlong. He couldn’t believe the treasure plan had actually worked. Pleasure, question, annoyance—he had given up on writing to Fox. He didn’t even know if the damned scroll case had survived being pitched into the fire. He’d just have to wait until he reached Cama to hear news about the Fox Banner Fleet.

As soon as the last bite of porridge was inside him he grabbed up his honey-smeared rye biscuits to eat on the long walk to the stable, and cut into the others’ chatter. “I’m ready to ride.”

Evred rose. “I’ll meet you in the stable. I’ve something to give you. Let me get it.”

He left, and Hadand followed him out.

Tau reached across the table and clapped Inda on the shoulder. “Keep a sharp eye. You sure you don’t want me riding with you?”

“Tau, Evred’s sending an entire wing of his toughest dragoons with me. If eighty-one dragoons can’t keep me alive, nothing can. Unless you’ve learned some tricks I don’t know.”

Inda looked around in what completely failed to be a covert manner, but since his sister and Evred were gone, it didn’t matter. He lowered his voice. “Besides, I think you are making them happy.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” Tau’s light gaze drifted Tdor’s way, then he raised a hand in salute and left.

Inda wondered what he had missed, then forgot that when Tdor leaned toward him. “I will miss you, Inda,” she said. Her voice had hurt in it.

He mumbled, “I’ll miss you, too.” He felt awkward. It felt so stupid to say things they both knew so well. Did other people feel better after saying obvious things? Damned Wafri and his torture—the days of his efforts to pry out Inda’s thoughts and memories were long gone. No one was doing that now—he was surrounded by people he trusted and loved—but sometimes he felt . . . pried. He couldn’t even say how.

Then Tdor bumped her forehead gently against his, and all his thoughts fled. She only did that when something was important, and she knew he might not like it.

“Inda,” she whispered. “Will you do something for me?”

“You know I will. If I can.”

“When you’re with the Idayagans, will you remember manners? Your mother taught us well. You didn’t have to remember when you were a pirate, and you don’t now. Because you are home. But all those people will be watching you. You are being all of us. You see?”

Inda flushed. “I—” There was nothing to say. It would be a lie to protest that he ate with manners when he didn’t remember how he ate. He never thought about how he ate, except what a waste of time it was when he was so busy. How often had he wished you had a door in your stomach so you could unlock it, shove the food in, and lock it up again, and go on your way. “I will.”

“Thanks. Let’s go.”

Hadand was waiting outside. Inda said, “Hadand, I’m taking that book with me,
Cassadas Atanhas
.”

“What? But I thought . . .” Hadand shrugged as they walked downstairs, Inda between his sister and his wife.

“I’ve been falling asleep over it for half a year. Don’t the guilds have a rule, no work after Daylast bells?” Inda joked. “Wish that extended to kings and their shield arms. I figure there’s no work waiting in a tent at night, so I’m going to try reading then.”

Noise filled the stable yard as Inda’s column formed up behind the banner bearers, horses flicking ears and switching tails and whickering at one another as men walked around and talked. The only one aware of this double layer of communication was Inda, who was still trying to catch up with learning horse ways after his long absence. How instinctively the men communicated with the animals while gabbling with the other men.

Then Evred was there, his fist held out, fingers curled down. Puzzled, Inda held out his hand, and looked down in surprise when Evred dropped something onto his palm. Oh. One of those magical locket things.

“Use that to communicate with me,” Evred said, and gave him the catch words.

There were five lockets all told: two had belonged to the former Harandviar, and the king had had three. Signi had changed the magical catches, so all five could communicate.

Evred had never used the bloodstained one Captain Sindan had worn until his death until now.

Inda flung the chain over his head, dropped the locket inside his shirt, and forgot it as he took hold of Tdor and kissed her, hard. She responded just as hard. Their noses bumped and they laughed unsteadily.

Tears made his form glimmer. She blinked them away as he mounted his horse. Inda looked back, grinning as he lifted his fist, then pointed.

As the horns blared and the thunder of hooves rumbled all around them, Hadand turned to Evred, lips parted.

But what she saw in his face as Inda rode out stopped the words, stopped light and sound and sense, cold.

Chapter Twenty-seven

L
IGHTNING hissed overhead.

The violet glare branched across Signi’s vision in a reverse image of her eye’s veins.

She shivered, stretched out her arms, and when cold water trickled inside her sodden clothes, she shivered again, and forced herself into hel dancer breathing. Her hands must be steady . . .

The sun’s daily retreat to the north had begun to bring the bitterness of winter again, here in the southernmost reaches of Iasca Leror.

She had saved the south for last because of its relative proximity to Sartor. If she were to receive any word or sign from Brit Valda, Chief of the Sea Dags, she must carry on with her original quest.

But there had been no word. There had been no sign.

There had only been increasing evidence for the past couple of weeks that she was being followed. No,
hunted
.

She had learned how to travel silently, at night, to do her magics within doubled wards out of the sight of locals. She liked thinking of people waking to the surprise of renewed heat for their baths, the cleanliness of their water, of bridges strengthened. But she had to get food, so she limited her contacts and always told outright lies, claiming each time to be a trader, a weaver, a potter.