The Jackal of Nar (71 page)

“I want Richius at the war council,” said Tharn. “He can tell us all what to expect. I need him on our side, Dyana. Only you and Shani can convince him to join us.”

Shani made a bleating sound and a trickle of milk foamed from her mouth. Dyana lifted the babe off her lap and examined her. There were still times when she couldn’t quite manage feeding the baby, like when she was distracted. She rose from her chair and passed by Tharn without regard, then placed the infant in her ornate crib, arranging the blankets comfortably.

“This is unexpected,” she said finally. “I don’t know if I can help.”

“The choice is yours,” conceded Tharn. “I will try to respect whatever you decide.”

“You say Lucyler cannot convince him? He has tried?”

“More than once. I fear Richius no longer trusts him.”

Dyana nodded dully. “I will answer you soon,” she said. “By tomorrow morning.” She could almost hear the smile crack on Tharn’s face behind her. Under her breath she mouthed a tiny curse. Tharn always got what he wanted, damn him.

“I will wait for your decision,” he said, then turned and shambled out of the chamber, closing the door as he left.

Dyana absently did up the buttons of her garment, ignoring Shani’s cranky cries. She wanted to go to Richius, to show him his daughter again and listen to him weep about his wife. She wanted to sit down next to him and talk for hours about little things, and get to know him like she never could before. But none of these things were possible, because she was married to Tharn, and Drol love was terrible. All that she could do was tempt herself with Tharn’s mission, talking to Richius of war and councils and battles and death instead of the things she wanted to talk about. That was her bleak choice; speak to him for Tharn or not at all.

It was a surprisingly easy decision.

Just as Tharn had promised, she found Richius outside on the greens, tending to a brawny brown gelding. The “greens” were really just a collection of grassy slopes on the citadel’s south façade. More like an untended farm than a garden, they were overrun with colorful wildflowers and industrious honeybees. Because of their romantic trappings, they were a favorite place for men to take their lovers. Or, if they had no lover, to take their horses.

Richius didn’t see her as she approached. He was busily brushing the horse’s lustrous coat, taking each stroke with affectionate slowness. The steed wore a blissful expression, enjoying every moment of its master’s attention. Dyana slowed and lightened her footsteps, blocking Shani’s face from the sharp sunlight with her hand. Richius’ tall shadow wavered on the grassy earth. She stepped into it.

“Thank you for the dress,” she said nervously. “It is beautiful.”

His brush hand stopped in mid-motion, hanging in the air for a moment before falling to his side. Next his head fell. She heard his plaintive sigh.

“You got my note,” he said without facing her. “I’m sorry, Dyana. I meant what I said.”

“I have brought the baby to see you,” said Dyana quickly. At once he turned around. His serious face brightened when he saw the bundle in her arms. “You said you would come to see her. You never did, so I thought I would bring her to you.”

“Dyana …”

“You are her father, Richius. If you are going to live here you should get to know her.”

Richius looked contemplative. He dropped his grooming brush to the ground and moved closer to them, his eyes darting from one to the other and finally coming to rest on Dyana’s face.

“I’m glad you’ve come,” he said. “I’ve missed you.”

And I have missed you
, she thought. But she didn’t tell him that. Instead she held out the child for him.

“Hold her,” she directed. “You have not yet, and you should.”

Richius hesitated.

“Here,” she said encouragingly. “I will show you how.”

“No, I know how,” he said. “It’s just …”

“What?”

“I’m afraid to hold her. I’m already in love with her, Dyana. If I hold her I don’t think I will be able to let her go.”

Dyana hurriedly put the baby into his arms, not waiting for him to refuse again. He was surprised by her actions but he took the infant up quickly, fumbling with her swaddling blanket as he tucked his arm under her buttocks and neck. The entire exchange happened without a single bleat from the baby. Dyana beamed at him.

“You have done this before,” she said. “Where did you learn?”

“There were plenty of children back home,” said Richius. “Someone was always pregnant.” He laughed. “My father was constantly offering to watch the babies of the servants. The servants, mind you. He was king! He loved children, but every time they needed cleaning he called me to help him.” Again he chuckled. “God, I hated that.”

“But you learned well. Look, she is still asleep.”

They both peered beneath the blanket into Shani’s expressionless face. Only a rivulet of spittle distinguished her from a statue. Richius raised her gently to his lips and placed the smallest of kisses on her forehead. His eyes remained closed for a very long moment. When they opened again they were different.

“Thank you for bringing her,” he said. “I was wondering if I would ever see her again.”

“You had only to ask. I would never keep her from you. I tried to tell you that. Why would you not listen to me?”

As soon as she asked the question she regretted it. She knew why Richius had refused to see her. He had already explained it to her and here was the proof of it, painted all over his face. He loved her. Even being close to her was painful for him. That she did not yet share his pain so acutely only made her hate herself more. He went over to his horse, tugging on the beast’s reins just once and walking back toward Dyana. The horse followed him.

“Let’s sit for a while,” he suggested.

Together they moved through the flowering grass to the edge of a smoothed rock, its surface well worn by thousands of prior squatters. They sat down on the outcropping, the horse stopping contentedly behind them, and Richius kept the baby in his arms, rocking her gently and singing her a barely audible lullaby. Dyana listened, impressed by the simple beauty of his voice. When he was done he glanced at her peripherally, a hint of embarrassment sparking in his eyes.

“That was pretty,” she said. “What was it?”

“Just a song from Aramoor. I think my mother used to sing it to me when I was young, but I can’t remember. I didn’t know her very well.”

And I do not know you very well
, thought Dyana. There was a sudden tightness in her chest.
But I want to.

“Did she die when you were young?”

Richius frowned. “I was about five when she died. She had a cancer. My father didn’t tell me much more than that, but I remember waiting for her to come back. She never did.”

“It must have been terrible for you.”

“It was. But I think it was worse for my father. Friends of his told me he was never the same after she died. He wanted to have lots of children of his own, but she was too sick to have more
after I was born. It’s not good for a king to have only one son, you know. He always tried to protect me, but when the war came in Lucel-Lor, he had to send me.” Richius’ face tightened. “He was a good father,” he said softly. “Not perfect, but I know now that he did his best.”

“I am sorry for you, Richius,” she said. “You have had such loss. I grieve for you.” She hesitated, then added quickly, “And your wife.”

Richius looked up from Shani and stared at her. She could hardly stand the burning emotion in his eyes, and yet she was glad she had spoken the word.
Wife.
There was so much to know about this dead woman. Curiosity seized her. She didn’t even know the woman’s name. Before she could stop herself she was speaking.

“What was she like, your wife?”

Richius seemed stunned by the question. He reared back, his eyes widening.

“That’s an odd thing to ask,” he said. “But I’m happy to answer, if only so people can remember her. Sabrina was the most wonderful girl in the world. I didn’t know it, but she was. And the worst thing that ever happened to her was marrying me.”

“Was she very beautiful?”

A smile stretched across Richius’ face. “Beautiful beyond words. Every man who saw her loved her, and would have married her if they had the chance. She had blond hair and deep eyes, and her face was like something from a portrait. Yes, beautiful.”

“Did you love her?”

“Ah, well, that’s a difficult question.”

“Did you?”

“She was easy to love,” said Richius. “I think I loved her as if she were my sister, someone who needed my protection. Obviously I wasn’t any better at protecting her than I was at protecting you. But I did care about her. Maybe not as much as she deserved, but I did.”

“You are like your father then. You did your best.”

“I failed her, Dyana. Just as I failed you. It’s what I’m best at these days. Is there a Triin word for failure?”

“I will not tell you it,” said Dyana. “I will tell you a better word. Say
neensata.
”

“What?”

“Neensata,”
repeated Dyana more slowly. “
Neensata.
Say it.”

Richius grimaced. “Ninshata.” Dyana chuckled.

“Neensata,”
said Dyana, pointing at Shani. “That means daughter. Shani is your
neensata.
” She pointed at herself, then to Richius.
“Jayato
and
dayator.”

“Mother and father?” guessed Richius.

“Yes. You are good at this, Richius. You know more Triin than you think. One more,” she said, and made a circular gesture that included all three of them.
“Kafife,”
she said. She was disappointed when she saw his eyebrows knit.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Something that means all of us?”

“Yes. All of us. Mother, father, and daughter.”

He puzzled over it a moment more before his face collapsed with sadness. “Family.”

Dyana nodded. “Family. We are a family, Richius.”

“No,” argued Richius. “We are not. You’re married to Tharn.”

“That changes nothing. Shani is our daughter. We are family.
Kafife.
”

“Dyana—”

“You think you are alone here, Richius, but you are not. I am here for you. I will do what I can for you. Lucyler, too. He is your friend, no matter what you think of him now. He cares about you. He worries as I do. We are all
kafife.
”

Richius smiled lightly. “You are kind to me, Dyana. I appreciate it. I didn’t know how much I needed to talk to you until now.”

“You can come to me whenever you want,” said Dyana. “Tharn has not forbidden me to see you. Just do not come to my chamber unannounced. If you send word to Lucyler, he will arrange it, and I will tell Tharn you are coming.”

“He’s not like other men, is he?” asked Richius. “Drol, I mean. He doesn’t guard you like other Drol guard their wives.”

“He trusts me,” replied Dyana. “Or he does not want to offend me by treating me poorly. I have told you, Richius, he is good to me.”

“I see that. I’m pleased.”

Dyana glanced away then. She remembered why she was here, and she was sure her face was coloring with guilt. There was still the ugly matter of Tharn’s plans to discuss. She would have to
broach it carefully. But she was too ashamed to continue the farce, and didn’t want to complicate it with lies. She loved the honesty he had shown her and wanted desperately to reciprocate.

“Richius,” she said weakly. “I must tell you something. You will be angry with me.”

Richius looked at her. “What is it?”

“I have not come here just to show you the baby,” she confessed. “I must have words with you about something important.”

“What is it?”

“I am here for Tharn. He has asked me to speak to you for him. He wants your help, Richius, and he thinks I can get it from you.”

Richius gave a short laugh. “Your husband is persistent. He’s already had Lucyler try to enlist me, and he’s come to me twice himself. Now you? Lord, he never quits, does he?”

“He believes what you know of Nar will be valuable to him,” said Dyana. “Are you angry?”

“No,” answered Richius easily. He looked down at Shani. “I’m still glad you’ve brought the little one to see me.”

“There is something else,” said Dyana. “Tharn is organizing a war council. He has summoned all the warlords to Falindar to talk of the coming battle with Nar. All of the warlords, Richius.”

Her words didn’t seem to register. He toyed with the baby, putting his finger under the blanket and tickling her gently. Shani, who was awake now, bubbled at the attention, her little face twisting with dimpled smiles.

“So?” asked Richius.

“You’re not listening,” she said anxiously. “Voris is coming here.”

The mere mention of the Dring warlord erased all the pleasure from Richius’ face. He slowly retracted his finger from beneath Shani’s blanket.

“Voris,” he whispered. She could see his apprehension. Apart from Tharn, there were few names that had engendered such fear in the loyalists of the Daegog.

“He will be here within the week,” said Dyana. “Tharn told me so himself. When he comes, you might be in danger. You must be careful, Richius. If he bears you grudges Tharn may not be able to protect you.”

“Voris coming here,” said Richius incredulously. “It’s astounding.
I can’t believe he’d risk entering Tatterak, not with Kronin still alive.”

“Kronin will do nothing to him, and while he is here Voris will be polite to Kronin. They are at peace now because of Tharn, and will do nothing in front of him. But you are different. Voris has no reason not to quarrel with you. You are not Triin. Even if Tharn forbids it he might try to harm you.”

“Then I will be very content to stay far away from him,” said Richius. “Maybe he doesn’t even know I’m here. Frankly I see no reason to tell him.”

Dyana frowned. “But you do not understand. Tharn wants you at this war council. Voris will see you there.”

“I know what Tharn wants, Dyana. I won’t be there.”

Disappointment surged through her. She reached out and touched his arm. “You will not go to help them?”

Richius shook his head. “I cannot.”