The Chernagor Pirates (48 page)

He opened the door. Sosia was standing by the bed, about fifteen feet away. “Hello, sweetheart,” he said, smiling.

Instead of smiling back, she picked up a cup and flung it at him. “Sweetheart!” she screeched. The cup smashed against the wall, six inches to the left of his head. A sharp shard scored his cheek.

“What the—?” Lanius yelped.

Sosia grabbed another cup. She let fly again. This one smacked against the door, about six inches to the right of Lanius' head. “Zenaida!” Sosia shouted. She had one more cup handy. She threw it without a moment's hesitation.

This one was aimed dead center. But Lanius ducked.

Now he knew what the trouble was. “Stop that!” he said, straightening up. He hoped Sosia would. She was, after all, out of cups. But the brass tray on which they'd stood remained handy. A moment later, it clanged off the wall. She didn't aim well.
“Stop
that!” Lanius said again.

“I told you to stop that after Cristata, and see how you listened to me,” Sosia retorted. Now the closest available thing to throw was a table. Sosia looked tempted, but she didn't try it. She said, “Why did I ever let you touch me?”

“Because we're married?” Lanius suggested.

“That hasn't made any difference to you. Why should it make any to me?” Sosia said. “I thought you weren't going to wander around like a dog in heat anymore, and—”

“This was different,” Lanius said. “It wasn't like what it was with Cristata.”

“Oh? How was it different?” his wife inquired acidly. “Did you find a posture you hadn't used before?”

Lanius' ears heated. “No,” he said, which happened to be the truth, but which wasn't the part of the truth he wanted to get across. “I meant, I didn't fall in love with Zenaida, or anything like that.”

Sosia stared at him across the gulf separating men and women. “Queen Quelea's mercy!” she exclaimed. “Then why did you bother?”

“Why did I bother?” Lanius stared back; the gulf was as wide from his side as from hers. “Because …”
Because it's fun,
came to mind. So did,
Because I could.
Even from across the gulf, he could see neither of those would strike her as a good enough explanation. “Just because,” he said.

His wife rolled her eyes. “Men,” she said in tones that wished half the human race would tumble into the chasm separating the sexes and never be seen again. “And my own father is the same way.”

“Yes, he is a man,” Lanius said, although he knew that wasn't what Sosia had meant. He also knew, or at least had strong suspicions, that Grus had found company for himself while campaigning in the south. He didn't say anything about that. If Sosia or Estrilda found out about it, he didn't want them finding out from him. He had to get along with his father-in-law, and didn't want the other king to think he'd told tales out of school.

But Sosia only snapped, “Don't you play the fool with me. You're a lot of different things, and I'm not happy with any of them, but you're not stupid, and you don't do a good job of acting stupid. You know what I meant. You both lie down with sluts whenever you find the chance.”

Lanius stirred at that. He didn't think of Cristata as a slut, or Zenaida. He also didn't think of Alca the witch as one, and he was sure Grus didn't, either. If you lay down with a woman who would lie down with anyone, what made you special? The other side of that coin was, if you lay down with any woman yourself, what would make you special and worth lying down with to some other woman? To that side of the coin, Lanius remained blind.

“I'm sorry,” he said, later than he should have.

It might not have done him any good even if he'd said it right away. “You've told me that before,” Sosia answered. “You're sorry I found out. You're not sorry you did it. And I thought I could count on Zenaida!” She didn't say anything about counting on Lanius. That stung.

“I
am
sorry,” the king said, and more or less meant it. “I didn't want to hurt you.” He did mean that.

“You didn't want to get caught,” Sosia said. “But how did you think you wouldn't? Everybody knows everything that happens in the palace, and everybody usually knows it in a hurry, too.”

“I'm sorry,” Lanius said for the third time. If he kept saying it, maybe she'd believe him sooner or later.

Or, then again, maybe she wouldn't. She said, “Are you sorry enough to promise me you'll never do it again?”

“With Zenaida? Yes, by the gods, I promise you that,” Lanius said at once. He'd begun to tire of the serving girl anyhow.

“Oh, I've taken care of Zenaida. She's not in the palace anymore,” Sosia said. Lanius wondered if she'd sent Zenaida to the Maze, as he'd threatened to. He didn't think she meant the maidservant was no longer among the living anymore. He hoped it didn't; his quarrel with her hadn't been anywhere near bad enough for him to want her dead. Meanwhile, though, his wife went on, “That wasn't what I meant. I meant, you'll never run around again with
anyone
else. Promise me that.”

Had he been Grus, he would have promised right away, knowing that his promise didn't mean anything if he saw another pretty face. Lanius almost made the same sort of promise himself. He almost did, but a sort of stubborn honesty made him hesitate. He said, “How can anyone know the future?”

Sosia looked at him as though she'd found him smeared on the bottom of her shoe. “Do you know what your future will be like if you fool around with another slutty little maidservant?” she asked.

“Nasty,” Lanius answered. He had no doubt Sosia could make that kind of future very nasty indeed. Of course, if life with the queen turned nasty, didn't the king have all the more reason to look for consolation with someone else? So it seemed to Lanius. Somehow, he didn't think Sosia would agree.

She said, “It's not as though I haven't given you whatever you've wanted from me. When we
are
together, you've tried to please me. I know that. And you can't say I haven't done the same for you.”

“You're trying to shame me,” Lanius muttered, for she was telling the truth. She wasn't the lover he would have picked for himself, but the King of Avornis didn't always have the luxury of such choices. She did everything she knew how to do, everything he'd taught her to do.

And he still looked at, still looked for, other women every now and again. He didn't know why, except for variety's sake. He did know he was far from the only man who did. He also knew some women acted the same way.

He knew one more thing, too—he was glad Sosia wasn't one of those women (or, if she was, that no one had caught her at it). If she were, he would have been even more upset with her than she was with him now. He was sure he would have.

With a sigh, he said, “I'll try, Sosia.”

How would she take that? She didn't seem to know how to take it for a little while. Then, slowly, her face cleared. “That's as much as I'm going to get from you, isn't it?” she said. “Maybe you even mean it.”

“I do,” he said, wondering if he did.

“You'll try,” she said bitterly. “You'll try, and every so often you'll do what you please anyway. And you'll be sorry afterwards. You're always sorry afterwards, when it doesn't do anybody any good. What should I do the next time you're sorry afterwards? Practice my aim so I hit you with the first cup?”

Lanius' ears burned. He looked at the broken crockery by his feet. Whether or not Sosia had hit him with a cup, her words had struck dead center. She saw what lay ahead the same way as he did. If he admitted as much, he delivered himself into her hands.

Instead of admitting it, he said, “I am sorry. I will try.” His wife nodded, as though she believed him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

In the years since Grus first met Prince Vsevolod, the exiled lord of Nishevatz's beard had grown whiter. His craggy features, always wrinkled, were now gullied like steep, bare country after hard rain. And his hands put the King of Avornis more in mind of tree roots than ever.

The one thing about Vsevolod that had not changed was the fire in his eyes. As winter reluctantly gave way to spring, the Prince of Nishevatz came up to Grus and said, “You get rid of Vasilko, yes?”

Grus had his problems with Ortalis. Set against Vsevolod's problems with
his
son, they hardly seemed worth noticing. Ortalis, after all, had never tried to usurp the Avornan throne. Vasilko had not only tried to steal Nishevatz from Vsevolod, he'd succeeded. Grus replied, “We will go north this spring, Your Highness, yes.”

“This is good. This is very good. I go back to my own city. I rule in my own city. I do not have to live on charity of strangers, on charity of foreigners,” Vsevolod said.

“We have not kept you here out of charity, Your Highness,” Grus said.

“No. This is true. Charity is to help someone out of goodness of your heart,” Vsevolod said. “You do not do this. You help me because of what I can do for you.” He strode away, his back still straight—if stiff—despite his years. Grus stared after him, feeling obscurely punctured.

Regardless of his reasons for harboring Vsevolod in the city of Avornis, Grus did want to return him to the throne of Nishevatz. He assembled men and horses and supplies outside the city of Avornis, ready to move as soon as the weather turned mild and the roads dried out.

With extra men in the south in case the Menteshe decided to fight Avornis instead of among themselves, with sailors filling the growing fleet of Chernagor-style seagoing ships protecting the kingdom's east coast, Grus' army was smaller than it had been on either of his two earlier moves up into the Chernagor country. That didn't unduly worry him, for he thought it would be big enough.

Lanius and Sosia came out from the city to wish him good fortune. His son-in-law and daughter were wary around each other. He understood why. Their quarrels through the winter had hardly stayed secret. Grus wished he were in a position to give Lanius good advice. With one of his own partners waiting in a provincial town to bear his bastard, he wasn't, and he knew it.

To his surprise, Ortalis and Limosa also came out to wish the army luck. Grus couldn't remember the last time his legitimate son had cared enough to bid him farewell. Maybe it had been Limosa's idea. In spite of her irregular marriage to Ortalis, she seemed to be making him a good wife.

Or maybe Ortalis was just interested in looking at men who hunted other men for a living. Grus had sometimes wondered if his son would try to turn into a soldier. That would have given Ortalis a way to let out his thirst for blood without having other people give him strange looks. But Ortalis had never shown any interest in going to war. Of course, in war the people you hunted also hunted you. That might have dampened his enthusiasm for soldiering.

Now he said, “Good fortune go with you, Father.”

“My thanks.” Not even Grus could find anything wrong with that.

“Good fortune go with you indeed,” Lanius said. “May you return Vsevolod to his throne.” He looked around to make sure the Chernagor was nowhere nearby, then quietly added, “May you get Vsevolod out of our hair for good.”

“May it be so.” Grus and Lanius shared a smile. No denying the Prince of Nishevatz had made a difficult guest in the city of Avornis.

Lanius said, “I will also pray for peace inside the kingdom.”

“Good. You do that,” Grus said. He glanced toward the other King of Avornis. Lanius wasn't looking south toward the Stura. He wasn't looking east toward the coast. He was looking straight at Sosia. Grus nodded to himself. He'd thought Lanius meant that kind of peace, not the sort that came with armies staying home.

“I know you'll win, Your Majesty,” Limosa said. “Time is on your side, after all.”

Was it? Grus had his doubts. She might as well have said,
Third time's the charm
—not that it had been. Vasilko had had plenty of time to consolidate himself in Nishevatz. How many people there still longed for Vsevolod's return? How many people who had longed for Vsevolod's return had Vasilko disposed of? A lot of them—Grus was sure of that. It wouldn't make reconquering the Chernagor town any easier.

He shrugged. Nothing he could do about it. He said, “If the gods are kind, we'll come back with victory—and without Vsevolod.”

“That would be perfect,” Lanius said. Ortalis didn't seem so concerned—but then, he'd paid as little attention to Vsevolod as he had to anything else connected to actually ruling Avornis.

Grus turned away from his family and back toward the army. “Let's move!” he called. A trumpeter echoed his command. The horsemen who'd go out ahead of the rest of the force as scouts urged their mounts into motion. One piece at a time, the remainder of the army followed.

“I'm off,” Grus said when he had to ride or fall out of place. As he used knees and the reins to get his horse moving, Lanius and Sosia and Ortalis and Limosa all waved. He waved back. Then, for the fourth time, he set out for the land of the Chernagors.

Twice, he'd failed to take Nishevatz. Once, he hadn't even gotten up into the Chernagor country before bad news forced him to turn away. Oddly, those disasters heartened him instead of leaving him discouraged. He'd seen every sort of misfortune when he went north. Didn't that mean he was due for good luck sometime soon?

He hoped it did. Maybe it meant he'd see no good luck against the Chernagors no matter what happened. He refused to believe that. If he did believe it, he wouldn't have sent forth this army. He didn't think he would have, anyhow.

Not far away, Prince Vsevolod rode toward his homeland. Like the rest of the beasts in the army, the Prince of Nishevatz's horse went at a walk. Vsevolod had to know he couldn't take back Nishevatz all by himself. Even so, he gave the impression of heading north at a headlong gallop. That impression might have been—was—false, but seemed real all the same.