Trickster's Choice (41 page)

She kept her head down; the light of the gods’ faces hurt her ghostly eyes in any case. Glowing fingers pressed her chin up and forced her to gaze into eyes as green as emeralds, as measureless as the Royal Forest in high summer. “I can look into your heart, Alianne of Pirate’s Swoop,” the Goddess said, her voice making Aly shiver. “I can see if you lie.”

Aly stepped away from that hand, whose touch burned even her unreal body. Once again she bowed respectfully. “Great Mother, you know I speak the truth,” she said, choosing her words with immense care. “You could see the lie on me. If you know the family I serve, you understand how important it is that they know of Hazarin’s death and Bronau’s treason.” Not for nothing had she listened to Aunt Daine! “Forgive me, Great Mother. I don’t mean to be disobliging. Your divine brother Kyprioth knows the danger to the family I serve. He brought me here to see these things at first hand.”

It was hard to read the Goddess’s alabaster features in the blaze of her glory. Still, Aly could have sworn the Goddess raised her brows and pursed her mouth. Aly knew that expression from her mother: Alanna looked that way when she had a suspicion that someone was not being honest with her. “Your mother is dedicated to me,” she pointed out.

Aly bowed yet again. “That is true, Great Goddess, but I am too much like my father. I must follow his path, in service to the Trickster.”

“You are very like your father,” the Great Mother said at last, her voice shuddering through Aly. “It is the kind of prank he
would
play.”

“No prank, Goddess,” Aly assured her. “What I do here is entirely serious.”

“Enough,” said Mithros impatiently, his voice sounding in the marrow of Aly’s bones. “The Teasai on the other side of the world strike their gongs in the call for war. Their women beg you, my sister, for the strength to fight their city’s enemies.” To Kyprioth he said, “When we made peace nearly three human centuries past, you lost your eminence here. Do not think we will take it well if you break that peace.”

“Brother,” Kyprioth said reproachfully as he spread his hands, the picture of glowing innocence, “surely I know when I have been beaten.”

The universe around them wrenched. When Aly could see clearly again, Mithros and the Goddess had vanished.

She looked at Kyprioth. From the movement of his light-shape, she could tell he was stroking his beard in thought. She poked his glowing ribs with her ghostly elbow. “You owe me,” she informed him.

“I know that,” Kyprioth replied slowly. “Well, never let it be said that I do not return favor for favor. Shall I free you from our wager? Take you home and speak to your father on your behalf? Then neither of us will owe the other.”

Aly pursed her lips. “How can I trust you?”

“I owe you. Even tricksters must pay what they owe.”

Aly thought about it. To be home again, without this metal ring around her neck; to have Da give her the chance she yearned for—those would be fine things. The Scanran war was dragging to its end. Soon her mother would return, as would Aunt Daine and Uncle Numair and the baby. There would be hot baths and the newest fashions. As the warriors came home the capital would light up with celebrations. Aly could read books, laze about, dress like a girl of property once more. She could even speak her mind instead of manipulating people.

She smiled and shook her head, trying to imagine the butterfly self she was among the men of the court. Instead she saw Winnamine and Mequen, Sarai and Dove, Ulasim and Chenaol. Nawat would come back to Tortall with her, but Lokeij and Junai would not. And Kyprioth had hinted Bronau would bring danger to Tanair.

“No,” she said at last, “a bet’s a bet. You don’t wiggle out of this one that easily. And if I win the bet, you pay what was wagered,
and
you still owe me.”

Kyprioth sighed. “You drive a hard bargain, Aly.”

Before she could ask him if he was trying to pull the wool over her eyes, he swept her up in a glowing arm and shot into the air, through the palace roof. They were on their way north again.

Something occurred to her as they rose into the air over the city. Her mother was the Goddess’s chosen. Why hadn’t the Goddess known she was missing? Aly knew her mother wouldn’t have wasted all this time, knowing she could call on the Goddess and not doing so. Kyprioth, Aly realized. “Why hasn’t the Goddess come for me?” she asked the god. “What did you do? You can’t tell me that Mother hasn’t been praying to her for a glimpse of my whereabouts.”

“I wasn’t going to deny it,” replied the god. “You know I dare not let my sister find out what I’m up to. I would be
thousands
of years coming back from where she and my brother would send me. One of my friends keeps your lovely mother company. She catches your mother’s prayers and keeps them for me.”

“You’d better hope Mother never finds out, or you’ll have worse than your sister and brother to contend with,” Aly told him. “You don’t want the Lioness hunting for you.”

“I know that,” Kyprioth said. “I assure you, I am being quite careful.”

Aly said nothing more as they traveled. Instead she reviewed the various combinations of results that might come from the events she had just witnessed. Bronau had planned to ask Hazarin to recall the Balitangs. Now Hazarin was dead. How friendly would Imajane and Mequen be to the Balitangs?

She dared not underestimate Bronau. He was now more dangerous than ever, as a man on the run and in disgrace, possibly declared a traitor. Whatever had driven him to such a harebrained stunt? Surely he knew he couldn’t escape the palace with a three-year-old, even if he did know secret passages?

Why hadn’t Bronau waited? Once his brother and sister-in-law were settled in their regency, they would have been less vigilant for unrest. Bronau could have gathered and bribed followers in his own time, ensuring his ability to seize power without taking unnecessary chances. Now he would be hunted the length and breadth of the Copper Isles. The new regents would view all of his friends with suspicion. The Balitangs would be among the first to draw their attention, since they had housed Bronau only weeks before.

The raka would need more patrols at Tanair. She would have to talk to Ulasim and Fesgao about that. With Ochobu and Aly to make sure no spies were brought into their ranks, the raka could expand their unofficial army.

She hardly noticed when she popped back into her body. Her planning stopped only when true sleep washed over her.

You asked me why the king doesn’t just call on the gods for help with Scanra. We mustn’t get too dependent on the gods. On the day before King Jonathan’s coronation, the Great Mother Goddess spoke of a crossroads in time, when not even the gods can predict how things might go. At such times they must step away and let us deal with things. It’s a blessing, in a way. It evens the balance and saves us mortals from being the gods’ puppets. Still, it’s hard to think of it as a blessing when you’re frightened, you don’t know why, and all you want is for the god to tell you what the bad thing is so you can hunt it down and kill it.

—From a letter to Aly when she was fourteen,
from her mother

W
hen Aly woke at last, her muscles screamed in protest as she tried to sit up. Her mouth tasted disgusting. Her teeth felt as if they had a thick coating of slime. She was lying on a cot in a house that had whitewashed walls.

“How long?” Her question emerged from her throat as a croak. She looked around stiffly. They had brought her back from Inti and put her in Tanair’s makeshift infirmary.

Nawat, asleep on a chair by the door, was startled into wakefulness. He raced across to Aly and touched her face. “I am very angry with the god for keeping you so long,” he said, his dark eyes worried.

Aly smiled at him. “It was very instructive, though,” she whispered.

Nawat kissed her swiftly on the mouth, then raced out the door. When he returned, he brought Ochobu with him.

“How long was I away?” she asked the old mage.

Ochobu sat on the cot’s edge and lifted one of Aly’s eyelids. “Five days,” she said. She checked Aly’s other eye. “We carried you home on a litter. You need a bath.” She rose and looked down at Aly, her old eyes as unreadable as a god’s. “Is it bad, what he showed you?”

“Bad enough,” Aly admitted. “I’ll need to talk to Ulasim and the others right away. I don’t care what they’re doing. Are Their Graces about?”

“The duchess and the children help Chenaol to put up fruit and vegetables against the winter,” Ochobu replied. “The duke is in the village. He oversees all the new building here.”

“They can wait until tonight, I think,” Aly said, rubbing her temples. “But I need Ulasim, Chenaol, Lokeij, Fesgao, and you, as soon as I’m cleaned up. We need to prepare for serious trouble.”

For two weeks after Hazarin’s death and Bronau’s attempt to kidnap Dunevon Aly roamed. She covered Tanair’s castle and village on her own, then rode all over the plateau in the company of Sarai, Dove, and their guards. It was a relief to leave the keep each day. After hearing the circumstances around Hazarin’s death, Aly’s news about the change in government and Bronau’s rashness, Mequen and Winnamine seemed burdened, as if someone in the house had died. The adults understood that a nation with a child king was vulnerable to rebellion and trouble from its enemies. Sarai was furious that Bronau would frighten a child so badly. Dove’s opinions stayed behind the younger girl’s dark eyes.

Ulasim had recruited another raka patrol, but the harvest had begun, and every hand was needed to bring it in. Tanair winters were harsh. The crops had to be brought in and food laid up. Aly understood the thin line between poverty and starvation. Harvest at Pirate’s Swoop was always a scramble, one in which the baron’s entire family worked in the fields. Despite knowing that, Aly had to struggle to hide her impatience with the raka. Bronau was on the loose, with the regents searching for him. If she had an army to keep the Balitangs safe, she would still wonder if she had planned for everything.

Aly calculated the time it would take Bronau to reach Lombyn. It would be a week if his passage was as swift as the Balitangs’ had been. To that she added a handful of days on the road, assuming he landed on the western coast, or a week if he came from Dimari. When a third week passed with no sign of the renegade prince, Aly relaxed slightly. Perhaps Bronau had been captured. Or perhaps he had decided that Tanair was the first place his enemies would look for him.

Waiting for something to happen, Aly met with the raka conspirators each night to review their arrangements and hear their news. She also visited Nawat to hear what the crows had to report. Only with Nawat could Aly enjoy the summer’s calm. The nights were getting cool, but it was warm at Nawat’s side. Once he finished with the news, he taught Aly the names the crows had for the stars, the different types of cloud, and the moon. The only thing that had the same name for crows as it did for humans was the constellation known as the Cat.

“My mother knew the Cat,” Aly confided. “At least, that’s what she told me when I was a little girl. That the star-Cat became a mortal one, and taught her things as she grew up. It was my favorite story, even if it wasn’t true.”

“Why should it not be true?” Nawat asked. “The Cat is a god of sorts. He makes his own decisions to help or to hinder two-leggers.” He put an arm around Aly.

She leaned into his hold, not thinking, then tugged away. “Nawat!” she exclaimed. “What is that supposed to be?”

“Don’t you like it?” he asked. “Fesgao does it to Tulpa the miller’s daughter, and she nestles against him.”

“I’m not Tulpa,” Aly insisted. “Besides, I can’t be distracted.” She got to her feet hurriedly and thanked all the gods that she did not blush as easily as her mother did. “Nestling is
very
distracting.”

“I know.” Nawat got to his feet, resting his hands on her shoulders. “You are Aly, who guards us all.” He bent down and kissed her slowly and sweetly. Aly clung to him because she was afraid to try to stand on knees gone to jelly. At last Nawat released her. “Good night,” he said cheerfully. He walked out through the inner courtyard gate, on his way home to Falthin.

Aly remained where she was, a hand pressed to her lips, for a long time.

Realizing that if Bronau came they were as prepared as they could be, Aly threw her energies into the winter preparations at Tanair. There was plenty for everyone to do, from the duke and the duchess to the child who brought in the eggs each day. The older Balitang women and their twenty servants and slaves worked at the tasks of the season: boiling and jellying, peeling and cutting, grinding and sealing, smoking and pickling. Mequen was everywhere, helping to get the crops in, the wood cut and stored, and making sure Tanair was weatherproofed. Like the village children, Elsren and Petranne helped their families. Each night Petranne showed Aly her day’s work, presenting the wads of lumpily spun wool with as much pride as if they were the finest thread. Elsren collected baskets of pine cones to use as kindling, losing half of them on the way home.

Weapons training was the only thing to continue uninterrupted. Sarai worked on more complex battle dances. These were combinations of footwork, thrusts, blocks, and chops meant to be used until she could do the sequences without thought in response to a real attack. Winnamine still labored to master the most basic battle dance, but she practiced ferociously, ignoring blisters and aching muscles. Dove’s archery improved daily. She could now shoot a cluster of five arrows in a circle no wider than her stepmother’s hand. All the same, Dove never got so good that Nawat couldn’t catch her arrows. Aly grinned to see grizzled veterans consoling the twelve-year-old, assuring her that they, too, could not loose a shot that Nawat didn’t catch.

One morning, as Aly rode out with her young mistresses and their guards, she noted clouds along the western edge of the mountains. “Let’s make it quick,” she advised. “We take the medicines to Pohon and back. That looks like rain to me.”