The Fire Mages' Daughter (21 page)

“It
did
. Once, that was all, a stupid mistake on my part but I was so low after… And she was so sympathetic. Well, no excuses. But then she thought she might be pregnant and… I could hardly abandon her, so we married, but I had no thought of living with her. It was only so that my family could take care of the child. I left her at Hexmore, and came back here. But she followed me, Drina, and… and I had to do something with her, for she refused to leave me. So I set up some lodgings, and… naturally… you can guess…”

He looked so miserable, I wanted to hug him tight, and kiss away all the sadness. Of course he had shared her bed, she was his wife and I could well imagine how she’d enticed him. And so she got herself truly pregnant, as she’d always intended, that much was very clear. Poor Arran! He’d been far more deceived than me. If only he’d been open with me from the start, I could have dealt with this Silla, with her seductive ways.

Such a relief! He hadn’t lied, he just hadn’t told me the full extent of his situation. A bubble of hope rose from my chest and burst into pure happiness. He hadn’t lied!

I was too wound up to form a coherent sentence. “I see,” was all I said.

“Do you?” he said, his face brightening. “I thought I had told you everything, but I suppose I was not thinking straight. I was in such a state! I was so happy with you, everything was so perfect and then it all fell to pieces. I hardly knew what to do with myself. And then you disappeared and I…” He leaned closer and his voice fell to a whisper. “I was so afraid for you, Drina. I realised then—”

He stopped himself with an exclamation, pulling away from me.

As the silence lengthened, I leaned towards him. “You realised…?”

“How much I loved being with you!” he burst out. “And I never told you so. I wished I had. I wished many things, but that most of all.”

It was not quite the declaration I wanted, but perhaps it was enough. I hesitated, but there was one question that needed an answer. “Do you love your wife?”

“No! No. Not in that way. I was – I
am
fond
of her, I suppose. I have known her for ever. She is the stable master’s daughter, and she was always interested in me, always around to talk to. I liked her well enough, as a friend. But I never
loved
her.” He clicked his tongue. “I am sorry. I swore to say nothing of myself. I know I have lost my chance with you. My only purpose in coming here was to enquire after you, to be sure you were well – not injured in any way. And now I must go—”

He made as if to rise, but I reached for his hand and lifted it to my cheek. His touch set me tingling, my stomach turning somersaults. His fingers were so warm against my skin. Closing my eyes, I turned my face into his palm and kissed it very softly.

His intake of breath was audible, but he said nothing, waiting.

When I opened my eyes, his lips were apart, his breathing ragged. His expression was full of hope, but there was fear, too. So much fear. Not for long. It was time to set all the misery behind us.

“You are still my drusse,” I whispered.

That was all I said, but he made a little gasp in his throat and then his lips were on mine, his arms around me. He hugged me so tight I could barely breathe.

“My little flower,” he murmured into my hair.

I never did get morning board that sun. Before the servants reappeared, he had swept me into his arms and carried me through to our bedroom. There he tenderly undressed me and made slow, gentle love to me. Afterwards, I fell asleep with my legs wrapped around his, and my head on his chest.

It was blissful.

“You are an utter fool. But I daresay you know that already.” Yannassia’s demeanour was calm, as always, but there was an icy tone to her voice. She was not pleased with me.

“At least I’m a happy fool,” I said, lifting my chin.

Yannassia made a barely audible ‘tuh’.

We sat in one of Yannassia’s smaller sitting rooms, which she used only in hot weather. It faced an atrium in the centre of her private tower, with doors which folded away and a small balcony overlooking rustling treetops rooted many floors below.

It was Yannassia’s hour with her children, a tradition that she maintained even though three of us were adult now, and Hethryn almost so. Zandara fancied herself too grand for such occasions, and sat a little apart, flapping an ivory fan to cool her face. We rarely had heat sufficient for a fan, but this one had come all the way from the northern coast, imported at vast expense by her new drusse, so she liked to use it. Axandor yawned in a corner, while Windrayla and Yussia played a game of dragon stones, another import from the north.

The two girls turned big eyes on me. Windrayla giggled behind her hands – at eleven, she giggled at any mention of men or drusse or babies. Yussia, the youngest, watched and listened. She was sharp, that one.

“I think she deserves some happiness,” Hethryn said stoutly. “Drina has had a rotten time, lately.”

I smiled at him. He was sitting beside me, as he always did, although I never encouraged him to do so. I liked him, though. He was quiet and unassuming, which meant that nobody took the slightest notice of him. Whereas I, who had always done the most outrageous things and drawn attention to myself for all the wrong reasons, was courted and respected. The noble houses all had their favourites to succeed Yannassia. Axandor and I both had our supporters, although Zandara was in the ascendant at the moment, because the war was going so well. But no one considered Hethryn.

“We do not always get what we deserve,” Yannassia said, an unusually waspish tone to her voice. “Sometimes the gods choose a different path for us. But where we have a choice, it is necessary to consider every aspect before coming to a decision. Axandrina’s action in allowing a failed drusse to return will be viewed as dangerous weakness by the nobles.”

I bristled at her words. “He is not a failed drusse. He made a mistake, that is all, and he is truly sorry for it. It is not weakness to show forgiveness and compassion.”

Yannassia eyed me thoughtfully, but chose not to challenge me on the point. I could argue from sunrise to sunset if I thought I was in the right, but she seldom gave me the pleasure of a good argument. “I hope this will not interfere with your willingness to entertain the idea of a political marriage.”

My breath caught in my throat. I’d begun to think that would never happen. “Do you have something in mind?”

“For myself, no, but House Gurshmonta has found an Icthari candidate, a prince of some sort.”

“House Gurshmonta?” For a moment, I was surprised. They had always been Zandara’s supporters, not mine. But they had trading links deep in Icthari territory, and I remembered that conversation with Shallack Gurshmonta, when he had hinted that he would like to see me married and, perhaps, out of contention for heir. “Terms?”

“It is too early to discuss terms, but one thing I will insist on: he must live here. Your health will not permit you to move anywhere else. We shall see if that is acceptable to them. The young man is twenty or so, and supposedly very handsome. The Icthari are keen to strengthen the alliance that your father established. Would that be of interest to you?”

I hesitated, but I couldn’t think of any reason to refuse. It would benefit Bennamore to have the Icthari more tightly tied to us, and if I could stay in Kingswell, I could keep Arran and have full access to magic whenever I needed it.

“She prefers her lover, I think,” Zandara said, her eyes watching me above her fan. She was always trying to needle me, in her devious way.

“Naturally I do,” I said. “That doesn’t mean I’d object to a husband as well.”

“Yes, I suppose that would suit you quite well,” Zandara said. Windrayla giggled behind her hands again.

Axandor sniggered. “The more men she has, the better Drina likes it.”

It was fortunate that the servants arrived just then with refreshments, so I was spared the need to reply. I was used to the two of them, so I was in no danger of losing my temper, but I found their sniping tedious, all the same.

“So I shall tell Shallack Gurshmonta that you are agreeable?” Yannassia said.

“Why not?” I said. “I have an interview with House Gurshmonta very soon, so I can discuss it with Honourable Shallack then. But I have no objection, in principle. Let him come here to be inspected, by all means, this handsome young man, and then we shall see.”

Zandara filled her plate with pastries and began to work her way through them. She had developed a huge appetite while she was pregnant, which had not abated since her son had been born. If anything, she was plumper than I was, now. “If you do not like him, perhaps Vhar-zhin would be interested,” she said.

For a moment, I was taken aback. The mention of Vhar-zhin conjured up vivid images which I had no wish to recall. That evening had been a painful one for both of us, best forgotten.

“Why would you suggest Vhar-zhin?” Yannassia asked, lowering the cake she had been about to bite into. “Why not yourself, for instance? Or one of the cousins? There are enough of them, the Sun God knows.”

Zandara smiled benignly. “She has more in common with the Icthari than I do, or any of the cousins.”

“Nonsense!” Yannassia said. “You mean she has dark skin, I suppose. But her mother was Nyi-Harn, and, I assure you, she means nothing to the Icthari. You and Drina are the obvious candidates for an alliance there.”

Zandara made the tiniest of nods, her face blank, before turning to me. “Drina, you are eating nothing. Are you unwell?”

“She is too much in love with her guard drusse to eat,” Axandor said, then snorted at his own joke.

I rolled my eyes. “These are too sweet for my liking, that is all.”

Yannassia raised her eyebrows. “I think they are no sweeter than usual.”

But I could not explain how much I missed Ly-haam’s simple food and way of life. Those few suns on his island had been idyllic, in a strange way. After the perpetual rush of my life at Kingswell, the rich foods and endless meetings and the need to be always on the alert, it had been such a pleasure to have no one wanting anything from me, nothing I had to do, no place I had to be. I could sit and watch his delicate fingers chopping and trimming, or shaping dough, and think my own thoughts. If I could take Arran there, and a good supply of books, it would be perfect.

~~~~~

“You are very quiet,” I said to Arran, as we lay on the bed that evening. It was still hot, and we had generated some of our own heat, too, so we were stretched out naked on top of the bed. I liked the musky smell of his skin, warm under my fingers, while beneath us the silk cover was cool. “Are you concerned about this proposed marriage? You need not be. It will not affect you very much. You will still be my drusse.”

He shifted position so he could see my face. “It is not quite as simple as that, Drina. For a man with a wife and a drusse… there is no problem. But this man will want you to have his children. We cannot be together while… well, while you are working on that aspect with him.”

It was stupid of me, but I hadn’t worked that out. “Oh. So we won’t be able to…? Oh. Of course.”

“He will want to be sure of his own children. Are the Icthari strange about having sons, like the Ghar’annish?”

“No, if anything they prefer female children. But it will only be a moon or two, won’t it? When I am pregnant, we can be together again, can’t we?”

“Of course.”

But he pulled me closer and held me very tight.

~~~~~

My interview with House Gurshmonta was part of the endless series of meetings to determine my suitability as heir. Every noble House, from the grandest to the lowest, was entitled to see me privately, to raise any issue they wished. This was the third meeting with the Gurshmontas, and although the other attendees varied, I knew that Shallack Gurshmonta would be there. I knew, too, that the meeting would be formal, and the atmosphere prickly. The Gurshmontas did not like me.

This sun, however, Shallack was all affability.

“Do come in, Highness. We are in the green room this sun – a little cooler, you know, in this stifling air. But it may break soon, the sky-watchers say. Then we shall have storms, I daresay.” He chuckled amiably. “A little wine? I have two kinds of Vilkorani red, or a Trellian, if that is your fancy, or you may care for a green wine, from the eastern hills. Quite an Icthari delicacy, you know. We keep it cool in the cellars, with ice from the ice-house. It is very refreshing. Will you try a little, Highness?”

It amused me, to see him attempt to be friendly. I liked him better when he was overtly hostile towards me.

We got to the Icthari marriage very speedily. “The Drashona has apprised you of the situation, I believe? It would be an excellent match, not just for you but for Bennamore too. Sealing the alliance, you know.”

“Does the alliance need to be sealed?” I asked mildly, sipping the green wine and trying not to pull a face. It was strangely sweet and yet sour at the same time. Quite nasty.

“Alliances tend to drift, unless reinforced,” he said.

“I thought we were reinforcing our alliance with the Icthari quite well through trade. House Gurshmonta has been most assiduous in that direction, and deserving of our unending gratitude.”

He threw me a sharp glance, and for the first time the jovial mask slipped a little. “Quite true, but that is… a lower level of alliance, if you follow me. A marriage agreement between two such great nations – that would ensure the alliance continues smoothly for many years to come.”

“And he is such a pleasant young man,” one of the others said, a plump, middle-aged lady so over-painted she looked like a brothel woman.

“Yes, indeed,” Shallack said, smiling benignly on the woman. His sister, perhaps. Or aunt. It was hard to tell. “Very handsome, very charming, very intelligent. A perfect match for you, Highness.”

“Your thoughtfulness astounds me,” I said. “I cannot express my gratitude.”

“Your happiness is the only thanks I require, Highness. And you will adore the Icthari culture, I am certain. You will be returning to your roots, you know. Your father would be proud of you.”

“Oh, do you think so? My father was born and raised here. He was Bennamorian to his core. I am not certain he had much attachment to Icthari culture.”

“Ah, your father!” He laughed, a harsh sound after so many unctuous sentiments. “Your father was one of a kind. Yes, he was very special, your father.”

And again he laughed raucously. To my ears, he sounded just like a crow.

~~~~~

The Icthari arrived in a flurry of delays, altered arrangements and mis-communications. As a result, they turned up unannounced at the Keep gates, and had to be kept waiting while the gate guards scurried round for authority to admit them. Meanwhile, the formal receiving party sent to greet them on the outskirts of Kingswell missed them entirely, and was unable to escort them with the proper ceremony. My suspicious side wondered if that was a deliberate tactic to throw us off. Could an official delegation really be so disorganised?

But when I saw them, I decided that they could. They were an unprepossessing group, just six men on horseback, with a couple of pack horses. Their clothes were the same sort of ragged affair I’d seen on other Icthari, with little sign of wealth or status, the only decoration painted leather, silver buckles and buttons, and slender dangling chains.

Since we had no warning of their arrival, and Yannassia was holding an assembly at the time, they were simply brought into the gallery. Not the way we’d intended to receive them, but the alternative was to make them wait. Yannassia was not one to disrupt a prior engagement because a visitor descended on her unannounced.

The Icthari had no sense of formal behaviour or respect for the Drashona, so they entered in a milling group, chatting amongst themselves, drifting down the room and stopping to discuss a wall hanging along the way. Yannassia waited without impatience.

The steward slammed his staff against the marble floor, and announced loudly, “Honoured visitors from the Icthari nation to pay court to the Most Powerful Lady Yannassia, the wise and enlightened Drashona of all Bennamore and its dominions.”

“You are welcome to Bennamore,” Yannassia said, a little louder than politeness dictated to be heard above their chatter.

They gathered around her in a loose group and made their bows. Which one was mine? Three of the men were too old, and the others were too similar to distinguish.

One of the older men stepped forward.

“Greetings, Highness. I am Hal Torghesh, son of Hal Frimast dushat Marranfashat. I had the opportunity to attend this court as ambassador some years ago.”

“I remember you, Prince Torghesh,” Yannassia said, with an inclination of the head. “It is a pleasure to see you here again.”

It was a courtesy to translate the honorific as ‘Prince’, but in truth Hal was a modest title, perhaps equivalent to Master or, at a stretch, Lord. The Icthari had no single ruler, as we did. Their decisions were taken by lengthy discussion at a large gathering every winter. It was not even as organised as the Nobles’ Council, being more like a village, where the point was carried by whoever shouted loudest. Or so our books described it, anyway.