The Iron Ship (16 page)

“Be away, good master! This is true magic, not slippery hands of charlatans. Not good for you.”

“Of course it is true magic,” murmured Guis. “My father would pay for nothing less today.” There was more to it than that. A quickening in his own veins. His heart ached in sympathy, his mind burgeoned with possibilities sexual and magical. When a flamescape of distant Aranthiya disintegrated with a demonic laugh, leaving the witches perturbed, he knew it was time to leave.

He tore his eyes from the display and moved away while the witches searched the crowd for the mageborn who had disrupted their art. Affecting boredom, he examined fruits arranged in yard high stacks on silver platters, and watched a troupe of acrobats build pyramids of their bodies. Their skills were entirely of the mundane kind, and he became bored in earnest.

Greater Tyn, dressed in clothes to match the human servants’, moved among the crowd. Guis had never seen so many in one place, but of course the Morthrock clan were known for their Tyn. Half the height of a man, broad shouldered in the main, far larger than the creature that shared his life, but Tyn nevertheless. Their unlovely faces were made more grotesque by the finery and make-up they wore. Iron collars were at the throats of every one. They waddled around the party, offering drinks and dainties to the guests. Guis stopped one. It was impossible to tell if it were male or female, or indeed tell one individual from the next. They all looked alike. The Tyn looked at him oddly as he took a glass of wine. It could smell its own kind on him, he was sure. Guis’s creature seemed timid of its larger cousins and remained hidden from them. The Tyn nodded hesitantly, and moved on.

A horn sang too close to him. He turned around in startlement and nearly spilled his wine down the front of his sister’s wedding dress.

“Hello, brother. Doing your best to ruin my dress, I see.”

Katriona embraced him, and he held his glass out awkwardly. He fought down vile, unwanted images of him lying with her, of gouging out her eyes. There was a tug in his hair as Tyn unknotted a braid. He relaxed, and carried on as if he had not seen such things in his mind. What else could he do?

“Not you, not you. They are not your thoughts,” whispered Tyn in his ear. “Peace, good master, peace.”

He took a deep breath, stood back, and smiled genuinely. Now he was grown, and Katriona had ceased to be an annoyance, Guis could see she was beautiful.

“Sister, you look amazing.”

She smiled, proud and bashful. “Thank you, brother.”

“I mean it, unfashionably slender but athletic and delectable in a manner that, in realms other than ours, is regarded as the very acme of attractiveness.”

“Now now, you’re spoiling it,” she said, still smiling.

“No, really,” he joked, “you should put some weight on. Excess weight speaks of wealthy indolence. You’ll appear worryingly active to many men. They’ll wonder what they might do with you, if you are dashing about all over the place and getting in the way.”

“I try my best.”

“You do look fantastic. I mean so genuinely. As beautiful as the handmaids of the gods themselves.”

She grinned, displaying even teeth. Katriona had never suffered a blemish.

“A fine party,” he waved his glass around.

“A time to strike deals and reaffirm alliances,” she said. “You can thank father for all this. It is precious little to do with me. And anyway,” she added sharply, “you would know a lot more about it if you had been present for some of the planning of it.”

“That’s why I wasn’t present,” he said. His sister raised her eyebrows. “Ah, ah, I’m teasing you, sis. I’ve been away in the north.”

“Your play. It has been doing well?”

“Reasonably well. I’m not rich, but I no longer fear that I will be on the street by winter. And it is warmer there. You heard it was playing?”

“Some of my brothers still speak to me, even if you don’t,” she said. Her admonishment was undone by her pleasure at seeing him.

“I am sorry,” he said, and meant it. “You do look beautiful.”

She smoothed her dress down. “If you are going to turn your dubious charm on me, I should be flattered. You are forgiven then. But why are you all alone?”

“Drinking quietly and trying to stay out of trouble. Obviously it wouldn’t do to get too close to father, but I bumped into Trassan and Garten before Rel left, and I am afraid I behaved like an arse.”

“What happened?” said Katriona. “Oh Guis, I thought things were better with your nerves.”

“They are, they are. Don’t worry. Tyn here does his job well. Why, I am almost sane. No, this was entirely down to me, I’m afraid. Trassan and Garten are up to something, Trassan wouldn’t tell me what, I got in a snit about it. The usual.”

“Oh Guis.”

“I know, I know, I was drunk. I am working my way up to apologising.” He paused, and asked sheepishly, “I don’t suppose you know what Trassan is up to?”

“I haven’t a clue,” she said. “Not that they’d tell me, I’m just a girl.”

“You know it’s not like that.”

“Exactly, and so should you. You are too hard on yourself, and that makes you hard on the rest of us. Loving you is difficult, Guis, but it is worth it.” She took his arm. “It truly is. Arvane always spoke highly of you. A lot of people do, if only you would see it.”

“I am sorry he is not here with us any more, Katriona.”

“If he were, I would not be marrying again would I? Arvane was a good man, but he was also a good soldier. And good soldiers often die. I am not the first young widow in the world, and I wish dearly I could be the last. But I am one among many.” A touch of fragility entered her voice. Her kohl-lined eyes moistened. She blinked her tears back and smiled. “Look at me! Weeping on my wedding day. If you’ve five minutes to spare for me, will you walk with me?”

They relaxed into each other’s company and talked of this and that, greeted relatives both loved and disliked, they watched Irricans play tunes upon silver trumpets that stirred the heart, they took drinks from Tyn, and clapped at several clever
tableaux vivants.

After a time, Katriona had to go. “I have a bride’s responsibilities, brother, and I am neglecting them,” she said. She kissed Guis on each cheek.

“Who is that strange woman, the one in the mannish clothes with the pipe?” asked Guis.

“Her?” said Katriona, looking around. “I’m surprised at you. That, dear brother, is the Countess Lucinia Vertisa of Mogawn.”

“She’s the Hag of Mogawn?” said Guis, mildly surprised.

“Yes. Her father and Demion’s were close. There are good relations between the Morthrocks and the Vertis. Relations, brother, I wish to keep in good order,” she tapped him on the arm with her fan. “I would appreciate it if you were not your usual offensive self around her.”

From anyone else but Katriona, Guis would have fallen into one of his traps of despair. Frankness defined their relationship, and he took no offence.

“I have no intention of saying anything unpleasant to her. I’ll willingly mock a man for his foibles, but it is the worst thing in the world to mock someone for their physical characteristics. They cannot help them.”

“Saying that to her would be precisely the level of bold tactlessness I wish to avoid,” she said reproachfully.

“I won’t even allude to it. She is not a beauty by any yardstick, and her clothes and manner are a little out of the ordinary, but I think ‘hag’ is unwarranted, sister. I have heard some colourful descriptions of her. I do not recognise the woman from them. She seems... lively.”

They watched her awhile, as she laughed without restraint.

“People are cruel, and foolish. They call her that because she does as she pleases, and will take no man as a husband. She is thirty-five and not yet married. She was educated at the academy of Goodlady Halyonaise in Perus, apparently she was quite the favourite.”

“A yellow sash?”

“A frightful one!” said Katriona mischievously. “Rumour has it they were lovers. Half the stories they tell about her are nonsense, but the other half are true. Generally the more shocking they are, the greater the truth, so says Demion.”

“He told you that? I thought the man never spoke around you.”

“He is rather awkward, but he did ask me to marry him.”

“He must have worked up to that over months!”

“Guis!”

“Come on, he’s been besotted with you for years.”

Katriona frowned a little. “Leave him be, Guis. For today, if you can. He is a good man.”

He is not Arvane
, thought Guis. He felt compelled to say it, to speak the truth no matter how hurtful. He fought to keep it in.

“What do you think of her?” he said, returning his attention to the Hag.

“I find her fascinating. I intend to get to know her.”

“Kindred spirits, and all that,” said Guis. “But I’d advise against the pipe.”

Katriona gave him a sisterly shove.

“Watch the wine!” he said.

“I’ll spill it if I desire. It’s my wedding.”

“She’s fascinating.” The hag joked with a pair of young blades, all dressed in ribbons at the principal joints of the body, as was the fashion for the youthful this year. Guis was disdainful of them, he doubted they could use the swords at their belts. His disdain grew as they laughed with her, only to speak to one another behind their hands once she moved on. “Tell me sis, how are you going to preserve your independence?” He nodded at Morthrock. “I see him there politely listening to Great Aunt Cassonaepia, he’s managed five minutes and his smile is yet to crack. There’s steel in that man. Even you might not be able to master him.”

She elbowed him sharply. “Don’t you worry about me, brother,” she said sweetly. “Nobody may rule the mind of this woman, no matter how much steel he has.”

“A certain steeliness is a man’s friend on his wedding night.”

“Behave yourself,” said Katriona. “Show a little decorum.” She gave him a peck on the cheek. “Thank you for everything.”

“For what?” he said, taken aback. “What have I done?” Guilt clouded his mood. He had done very little for his sister in recent years.

“For being my brother, you arse!” she said, sotto voce. “All of you, the whole brawling, arguing, stupid gaggle of men I had to grow up with. I love you all. You better find fitting wives or I shall be most unpleasant to them.” Her face softened. “And you particularly. Were it not for you I do not think I would have survived Arvane’s death. I thought my life over before it had begun. You showed me it was not.”

“Well,” said Guis. “He was my friend. I miss him too.”

She touched his cheek softly.

Guis forced jollity into his voice. “And now perhaps you should attend to your other guests. I am going to introduce myself to the countess.”

“Be good!” she called after him.

He turned back to face her and gave a self-deprecatory bow.

“G
OOD DAY, COUNTESS,
” he said.

The young men courting Lucinia Vertisa’s attention looked daggers at him, but she turned and welcomed him warmly. “And here comes the eldest son! Guis, is it not?”

Guis nodded. “It is. You know your Kressinds well.”

“Your father is a man of great repute.”

Closer to, the Hag was even less hag-like. She had an unfortunately masculine face, square shoulders and a thick waist. That she was dressed in barely feminised male clothing of garish colour with a matching fan in a man’s style did not help her. She lacked many womanly charms, but she was not repulsive. He had seen far uglier women pursued ardently, ordinarily those attached to large fortunes, and no one called them hags. Despite her plainness there was a vibrancy about her that was attractive.

“I thank your family for inviting me,” she said.

“On behalf of my family, I am glad you came. In truth, I lack the authority to make any representation on their part.”

She smiled. “Naturally. I hear of your estrangement from your father.”

“We are all gossiped about, countess.”

“That we are!” she agreed. She took a fresh glass of wine from the tray of a passing Tyn and handed it to Guis. “I trust you do not mind me defying convention, but you appear to be running dry.”

“And I trust you refer to my glass and not my conversation.”

“My my! Are they all as dry as you?”

“Not quite. Katriona is drier.”

“She has it all then, I see,” the countess said. “She is quite the beauty. The breasts, the lips, the hair... All those attributes that so trouble the gaze of men.”

“Quite. She is well aware of all that, but refreshingly reluctant to abuse her gifts. Do not judge her by her looks, she is a modest woman.”

“We are all judged by our looks, goodfellow.”

“That we are, countess.”

She looked at him curiously.

“She is—I have often remarked—the perfect balance of our mother and father’s humours and intellects. Beauty ensnared, I am sorry to say. I fear marriage will be hard on her. Morthrock dotes on her, but she never had any time for him before his proposal, although he has been besotted with her since we were children. She is very spirited. I cannot quite puzzle out why the change in heart.”

“Perish the thought! What will they say?” The countess watched Katriona for a while. “She will be well. She lights this room. Look at her husband.”

“Morthrock? What of him? Tell me what you see. I am intrigued.”

“A sound fellow. Our fathers were friends, you know. But he has always been a mild sort. Observe how he is less noticeable than your sister.”

“It is only right, it is her wedding day.”

“Ah, but his charisma is of a meaner measure. She’ll outshine him any day of the week. Let us look at him.”

They drew together like spies. Guis was a head taller than the countess, and had to bend a little. She leaned scandalously close to him.

“See now,” she whispered behind her fan. Demion was still stolidly absorbing Aunt Cassonaepia’s viperish conversation. “He is not ugly, nor is he handsome. He has a passable enough physique and face. He is a little thick around the middle, perhaps, but no more so than others of his generation.”

The countess was correct, he thought. “Morthrock has always struck me as flabby, not so much in body, but in mind and habit.”