Spear of Heaven (20 page)

oOo

Chakan did not approve at all. She took her time in
telling him all that she was doing in the stable from sunrise till nearly noon,
which was an error. He came to her, half a dozen days after Bundur first
appeared in the stable, and set himself in front of her as she debated between
a jar of honeyed wine and one of Shurakani ale to go with her daymeal of flat
bread and softened cheese. She chose the ale, filled a cup, held it out.

He refused it with a snap of the hand. “What is this I hear,”
he demanded, “of your entertaining a Shurakani noble in the stable every
morning?”

Daruya found that her mouth was open. She closed it. “What
in the worlds—” Her temper caught up with her tongue. “You of all people are
concerned for my virtue?”

He dropped his veil. His face was white and set. “Do you
know who that man is? We’ve been following him when he leaves here. He goes
directly to the king’s apartments, as often as not. And when he doesn’t go to
the king, he goes to other notables of the king’s faction.”

“Why shouldn’t he visit the king?” Daruya demanded. “He’s a
prince here, even I can see that. Princes keep company with kings.”

“Did you know that his mother is the king’s half-sister?”

Daruya stiffened. No, he had not told her. But she had not
asked. “Well then. Why shouldn’t he visit his uncle, if he’s so minded?”

“His beloved uncle,” said Chakan, “has shown himself to be a
powerful opponent of foreigners in Shurakan, and a devoted hater of mages. If
he had his way and were not restrained by the queen’s moderation, we would all
be flayed and our skins spiked to the walls.”

“Oh, come,” said Daruya. “Now you’re talking nonsense.”

“I am not. You may think that this city is a haven of
innocent goodwill, but there are powerful factions in the court that would kill
us as soon as hear our names spoken.”

“How do you know that?”

“We listen,” he said. “We watch. We stand guard. You’re
watched from sunrise to sunrise, and not only by us. Everywhere you go, you
have at least two shadows: your Olenyas and a king’s spy. You’d be dead now if
it hadn’t been for Yrias. He’s driven off more than one attack on you while you
meander happily through the city.”

“Those were footpads,” said Daruya, “or simply the curious,
trying to see how easy it would be to steal from me.”

“They were not,” said Chakan. “They were in the pay of the
king’s faction. As you can be sure this princeling of yours is. What better way
to keep you in hand than to occupy you all morning, every morning?”

“God and goddess! I’m not tumbling him in the hay. I’m teaching
him to a ride a senel.” Daruya came desperately close to flinging her ale in
his face. But she was stronger than that; and he looked as if he was expecting
it, which made it worse. “If he really were under orders to keep me busy, don’t
you think he’d outright seduce me, and stay with me all day into the bargain?
He doesn’t even try to coax secrets out of me, except the ones that have to do
with riding.”

“He hasn’t had time to do more,” Chakan said. “He will, you
can be sure of it.”

“I say he won’t. He wants to learn an art that no one else
here knows. What’s reprehensible about that?”

“Nothing,” said Chakan, “if he were not the king’s sister’s
son.”

“He is also,” Daruya pointed out, “the queen’s sister’s son.”

“No,” said Chakan. “They’re children of the old king, both.
But the queen’s mother, who was also queen, died bearing her. The king married
again to beget the canonical second child, who was the king. His wife had been
married before, and had a daughter. The daughter was this man’s mother.”

“How complicated,” said Daruya. “But he’s the queen’s kin,
one way and another.”

“Half-kin,” said Chakan. “Children of different wives seldom
love one another. And this man is the king’s sister-son.”

“He means me no harm,” Daruya said stubbornly. “I’d know if
he did.”

“Would you? They have arts here. They don’t call them
magery, but what’s a name? Who’s to say he isn’t concealing his mind from you?”

“I can read a great deal more of him than I can of you.”

He hissed in disgust. “Yes, and his face is open for anyone
to see, too. There’s a Great Ward on this kingdom that reckons itself free of
mages’ taint. Gods alone know what else it’s lying about to our faces—even to
yours, my lady of Sun and Lion.”

“He’s not lying to me,” she said through gritted teeth.

“No? You had no idea he was the king’s nephew.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“You shouldn’t have had to.”

“I didn’t need to. He’s not my enemy.”

“You know that?” Chakan asked, viciously sweet. “You know
that for an incontrovertible fact?”

Daruya could be as vicious as he was, and as nastily
reasonable. “So come and watch his lessons. Look as deadly as you please. See
if it makes any difference.”

“Oh, I will,” he said. “I promise you I will.”

Daruya hated to quarrel with Chakan. He never fought fair,
and he always turned and swept out before she could flatten him with a final
blow. He was properly rattled this time: he forgot to veil his face again with
the flourish that temper put in it. It was a victory, but a small one.

Maybe he was right. She was sure that he was not—but doubt
had a way of creeping in and gnawing at the roots of one’s surety. Mages’
courtesy kept her from reading the mind of every man she met, but she did not
go about blind, either, least of all with strangers who might be enemies.

Bundur was not an enemy. Truly, she would know. Other
motives he might have had for visiting her that first time, but he had come
back because he wanted to learn to ride a senel.

Maybe too because he wanted to observe her. Why not? She was
a foreigner. She had no easily visible function in the embassy. He would have
wanted to assure himself that she was no danger to his kingdom.

And maybe he wanted to see what kind of creature she was.
There was nothing like her in his world. Maybe he kept coming back because he
found her interesting. A man might do that, even with a woman of respectable
virtue.

A little more of this and she would be getting aggravated
because he had not ventured anything improper. She had thought about it more
than once. He was a handsome man. But he thought her ugly; he had made that
clear. Interesting, but ugly.

Goddess, she thought. Men were such maddening creatures. How
did any sensible woman stand them?

oOo

Chakan was there the next morning, standing like a stone
beside the wall of the riding-yard. Daruya ignored him as she put the mare
through her paces. She kept on ignoring him as she took first the brown
gelding, then the whitefoot black, and rode them.

Bundur was late. Very late. It was nearly noon, and no sign
of him.

Chakan had an air of grim satisfaction. She almost screamed
at him: “How could he know you were going to be here?”

She knew the answer before he spoke. “They see everything we
do.”

oOo

She had been going to visit the city. There was a
festival, she had been told, with music and dancing and a procession. She went
back to the house instead, had a bath so long she was shriveled and sodden when
she came out, and thought about cutting her hair again. In the end she let it
be, but had the servant twist it into a myriad small plaits, each tipped with a
bead of lapis or malachite or carnelian. They swung to her shoulders, brushing
them when she turned her head to consider her reflection.

Odd, by the lights of Shurakan, but becoming. It was a
fashion of the north of Keruvarion; in its honor she put on what went with it,
the kilt and the gauds. The servant was scandalized. Women did not bare their
breasts here.

How backward, she thought. It was a warm day for Shurakan,
almost hot. She was not going anywhere, or at least no farther than the garden,
where she intended to lie in the sun and brood on the faces of treachery.

Vanyi was gone, waging her war among the functionaries.
Kimeri was out playing somewhere in the palace—safe, and annoyed when her
mother brushed her with a finger of magery; Daruya would have something to say
to Chakan, when she could bring herself to speak to him again, of how he let
the daughter run wild while he overprotected the mother. The Olenyai were
either guarding Daruya or occupying themselves. The mages were inside their
circle, discovering the usual nothing at all about the breaking of the Gates.

The sun was hot and blissful on her skin. She had been
starved for it these past days, what with skulking in the house and riding
within walls, or wandering about a city that left little space for the sun to
get in. She lay on the cropped grass, basking in light. She slept a little,
lightly, dreaming of gold and of lions.

She woke suddenly. Two shadows stretched over her. One was
Olenyas, barring the second, much taller and broader. That one was taking
little notice of the obstacle.

Still half asleep, she slid behind those bright black eyes
and saw what he saw: golden body all but bare, glittering with gold, in a pool
of light as solid as water.

Malice sparked, fed by the light in his eyes. She stretched
luxuriously, as a cat will, muscle by muscle.

Ugly, did he think her? But interesting, he had said at that
first meeting. Most interesting, lying with arms stretched above her head,
grinning ferally at him.

“Go away, Yrias,” she said. “This man is safe enough.”

The Olenyas’ eyes were narrow, mistrustful. But he was an
obedient guardsman. He withdrew to the edge of the grass—near enough to leap if
he was needed, far enough not to intrude.

Daruya rolled onto her side, propped on her elbow. “You didn’t
come for your instruction this morning.”

Bundur’s breath was coming just a fraction fast. She watched
him take himself in hand. He did it very well, she thought.

“It’s festival day,” he said. “I had duties I couldn’t
escape.”

“Marching in procession? Waiting on the king?”

He did not start at that or look guilty. “Standing in court,
too, while the children of heaven bestowed gifts of the season on an endless
parade of worthy recipients. Your chief ambassador was there. She caused a
stir—foreigners have never appeared at such a function before.”

“How did she manage it?” Daruya inquired.

She hoped she sounded casual. She was seething. Vanyi had
plotted such a coup, and not brought the rest of them into it?

“She did it on the spur of the moment, I gather,” he said,
pricking her bubble of temper rather thoroughly: “heard about the event,
decided to observe it, and walked in as calm as you please. The Minister of
Protocol was beside himself.”

“I can imagine,” Daruya said. “Was she thrown out on her
ear?”

“Of course not,” said Bundur. “We’re not barbarians.
Somebody found a gift for her, and she had it from the queen’s hand—but the
Minister of Protocol got her out before she could make any speeches.”

“Maybe she wasn’t going to deliver any,” Daruya said. “She’d
made her point, hadn’t she? That would be enough for her. The queen’s seen her,
knows she’s here—the queen can do with the knowledge as she best pleases.”

“Which could be nothing,” said Bundur.

“That’s the queen’s right,” Daruya said with the certainty
of one who had been raised to be an empress. She sat up and clasped her knees.

Bundur looked faintly disappointed. He had been enjoying the
sight of her with rather too much pleasure, once he had got over the first
shock. She let a bit of edge into her voice, to call him back to himself. “I
suppose you came to beg for a late lesson?”

“Well,” he said, “no. I’ll be there tomorrow, never fear.
Today I wondered—” He looked unwontedly diffident, even embarrassed. “I should
have come much earlier, but I was being an idiot about it, I suppose. I
wondered—on festival night we have a dinner, which we prepare according to very
old custom. It’s eaten with one’s family, and a friend or two, no more.” He
stopped. She did not help him with word or glance. He let it all out in a rush.
“Would you share dinner with us in House Janabundur?”

“Just me?” she asked. She caught Yrias’ eye. “I can’t do
that.”

“No, no,” he said hastily. “You and your kin who are here,
and your captain of guards—he’s your friend, yes?”

“How do you know that?”

He was blushing: his skin was darker than usual, more ruddy
than bronze. “It’s known. One is like a brother to you. He, your daughter, your
lady ambassador—they’re welcome, and should come.”

“It’s short notice,” she said.

“My fault for that. But festival shouldn’t be spent alone.”

“I was going to go to the city,” she said, “and watch the
processions.”

“That’s done, too, after the dinner is over. Everybody takes
lanterns and puts on a mask and goes out, and dances till dawn.”

That was tempting. More than tempting.

To dine in the house of the king’s sister-son on the night
when people dined only with friends and close kin—what magnitude of coup might
that be?

Maybe it was a trick. Chakan would say so. But if Vanyi was
with her, and Chakan himself, and Kimeri who was a weapon of remarkable
potency, surely they could protect themselves against any danger Shurakan might
offer.

She looked up into Bundur’s face. It was empty of guile.
Which could of course be a sleight in itself, and probably was. But she saw no
enmity there. What she did see . . .

Ah, she thought: the power of northern fashion in a country
that reckoned women’s breasts a secret to be kept for the inner room. She was
too wise to flaunt them any more than she already had. She tilted her head,
beads on braid-ends sliding on bare shoulders, and feigned deep reflection.

Just as a shadow began to cross his face, she said, “Very
well. One dines at sunset, yes?”