Trickster's Choice (20 page)

Aly glanced at Dove. The twelve-year-old held her book open to a detailed map, but her eyes were on Bronau and her sister. Mequen and Winnamine had also seen the exchange between their oldest daughter and their friend.

A footman collected the books, doll, and marionette as kitchen servants brought out the food. Aly poured wine into the cups of everyone on the dais, then took up the water pitcher. It was customary to dilute supper wine. She used less water for the prince, duke, duchess, and Sarai, and a good bit of it for Dove, Petranne, and Elsren, then took her position behind the prince and the duchess.

The servants passed along the dais, starting with the prince and ending with Elsren, offering a loaded tray to everyone. The older diners selected the things they wanted, while the healer Rihani chose Petranne’s and Elsren’s meal. The offerings were a mixture of foods of the Eastern Lands, Southern Lands, and raka kitchens. Aly recognized the salad of long beans, chilies, coconut, shrimp paste, and garlic, having sampled it in the leftovers from a meal back in Rajmuat. There was a noodle salad, another favorite raka dish adopted by the luarin, this one with garlic, chilies, cashews, peanuts, and celery. There were chicken dumplings, dates stuffed with curried jackfruit, and pickled asparagus.

Looking at it all, Aly shivered. She had eaten a great deal of rice since her arrival in the Isles, to the point where she was beginning to feel a bit grainy. It was hard to trust local fare when there was always a risk that some bright bit of red or green would set her mouth afire, but the diners here, luarin and raka, ate this strange selection as easily as her own family consumed meals of apple fritters, fish pasties, and venison. The chief change to the Balitangs’ diet since their arrival at Tanair was the absence of seafood, which was otherwise the backbone of Isle cooking. She was grateful for the lack. There were too many volcano-blast chilies in the seafood dishes of the Copper Isles.

During the meal Bronau relayed news of the capital. He described recent plays, performers, and books, and news from the Eastern and Southern Lands. Aly took it all in, noting that Scanra continued to attack Tortall, despite heavy losses and rumors of rebellion among Maggur’s lords. The luarin free servants listened to every word, as did Sergeant Veron and some of his luarin and part-luarin men-at-arms. The raka and many of those who were part raka seemed indifferent. Bronau’s people looked around at their surroundings, obviously unimpressed.

If you think we’re countrified now, Aly thought evilly, wait till they bring out the dishes made with goat’s milk. That should put a pickle up your noses!

Petranne and Elsren were soon squabbling, their bellies full. Their nursemaid had to gently scold them several times. Dove was intent on Bronau’s conversation, but what she made of it Aly couldn’t tell. Sarai, too, was listening to the prince, her lovely eyes shining in admiration. Like Dove, Winnamine and Mequen listened with polite interest but without giving away their thoughts. Aly approved. After her observation of the prince, she no more trusted him not to repeat anything the Balitangs might say than she could trust him not to repeat what other nobles had told him since the Balitangs’ departure. Though their remarks were cruel, Bronau didn’t seem to notice that his gossip upset his hosts. Sarai’s admiring mood evaporated as she listened to what their fellow nobles had said of them. She folded her napkin into small pleats, her lips pressed tightly together. The duke and the duchess toyed with their wineglasses, their eyes glittering.

As Aly was pouring the last cup of wine for the meal, Bronau half turned to get a better look at her. “I know you,” he said with a smile. “You’re the little luarin slave who opened the door, the night I brought the king’s news to my friends. You’ve risen in the world, from doorkeeper to wine pourer.”

Aly bowed. “I do all manner of chores now, Your Highness,” she murmured. “I would not have had this opportunity in Rajmuat.”

“I’ll bet it’s not as exciting here as in the capital,” the prince said. “If my memory’s right, you had more of a Tortallan accent then. Did it rub off in the jungle? And your hair has grown more. The color is most becoming.” He was teasing her, his gray eyes dancing.

Aly knew what she was expected to do. She did it, bridling and smiling at the prince. “I’ve learned ever so much more since I first saw Your Highness,” she told him, acting the flattered female. Privately she supposed that Bronau was well enough, as men went, though he was much too old for her—he looked to be in his mid-thirties. Smile as he might and wink as he did when he straightened in his chair, Aly was unmoved. He did have nice hair, charm, and elegance, but he was lipless, shallow, and direct. He would bore her within a fortnight. Queen Thayet had once teased Aly that she would never find a man who could keep her attention for very long. Aly hoped that wasn’t true. For now, she considered ways to avoid Bronau in case he invited her to share his bed.

“Sleep with him?” Chenaol asked when Aly mentioned it, once she had returned to the kitchen with the wine tray. “As I told you early on, you can say no. His Grace lets his people make their own choices.”

“I thought the nobility would bid their servants to please their guests,” Aly remarked as she sat down to a meal of leftovers.

“Not His Grace. If they’re willing, and they’re protected from getting themselves with child, they may do as they please, and His Grace will defend them,” Chenaol replied. She was greasing her favorite wide cooking pot, the one like a large bowl. “But he won’t have anyone forced.” The woman looked Aly full in the face. “Why do you think people are so loyal to this family?” she asked quietly. “Because
all
are people in this house—raka and luarin, slave and free. The first time Petranne slapped a slave and called her a lazy cow, the duchess spanked her, and took away her dolls for a month. Petranne said she’d heard it at a friend’s house, and the duke ended the friendship. There are good luarin here, Aly-who-knows-so-much.”

Aly gnawed on her lower lip, then murmured, “And of course, there are Duchess Sarugani’s heirs.” She knew it was a risk to say it, but with the household aflutter with the new arrivals, the raka might accidently reveal more than they had before. Aly hoped to catch them off their guard.

“Why do you say ‘heirs’?” Chenaol demanded, her voice soft. Her small brown eyes were sharp as she looked at Aly. “Under the luarin, only males inherit.”

Under the luarin, Chenaol had said. Aly stuffed a rice ball into her mouth and chewed as she thought. So Chenaol knew of the old law, the law under which the females could inherit—females such as Sarugani’s daughters. Aly had once heard a man-at-arms figure the population of the Isles was one white among six brown. Did that number cover the mixed-bloods? Where might they stand if the raka chose to take back their home?

She was reaching for another rice ball when a sharp knife pricked the delicate skin under her ear. She was filled with admiration. She hadn’t even seen Chenaol palm the blade. “Is that the boning knife, or a chopping knife?” she asked politely. “If you press hard and cut down, I should bleed to death quickly. Of course, I’ll make a mess.”

“You’re very calm for someone who’s about to get her corpse dumped somewhere for the crows to eat,” whispered Chenaol.

“Now, this simply will not do.” A white, bright figure in the shape of a man appeared, seated across the table from Aly. Elsewhere in the kitchen everyone froze in place, eyes and chests unmoving. Only Aly and the cook were free. “Chenaol, my dear girl, stop that.” The bright figure spoke with Kyprioth’s crisp, cheery voice, accented just now with impatience. “I send help, and how do you thank her? We won’t get very far if you kill a luarin who can be of use.”

“Bright One, she’s a royal spy,” Chenaol snapped. “Too curious by half, sticking her nose in everywhere …”

“She is
our
spy, not the Crown’s,” Kyprioth informed the cook. “Imported for your purposes with not a little trouble on my part, I might add. I’ll take that.” The knife vanished from the cook’s hand to reappear in front of the god’s light-shape.

Aly glared at him. “I was handling this,” she informed Kyprioth. “I didn’t need you.”

“Yes, but you’re so careful about asking around that our wager will be done before my people realize you can help,” Kyprioth said reasonably. “Chenaol, why has it taken you so long to realize that Aly is someone special? Think of all the things you can do with her to help.”

Chenaol glanced at Aly, then at Kyprioth’s glowing form. She held out her hand. “You and your games, Bright One. It would be so wonderful if you ever once gave a body a hint about what you had in mind. I’ll take my knife back, please.”

“She isn’t very respectful,” Aly pointed out, interested. She couldn’t be angry with Chenaol. In her shoes, Aly would have killed such a nosy slave on the road to Tanair.

“Respect is hard to get when you’re a trickster,” the god said mournfully. “People are so often inclined to think the worst of one.”

Aly propped her chin on her hand. “I can’t imagine why,” she retorted. “Give the knife back.”

“I mean to be sure that she won’t murder you when my back is turned,” argued Kyprioth. To Chenaol he said, “If you kill this spy, I’m not getting you a new one.”

“You should have told us,” the cook repeated.

“I expected you to work it out,” snapped the god. “
I
wouldn’t have let a royal spy get a whiff of our girl. Really, must I do everything?” Without so much as a flicker he was gone. The knife was back in Chenaol’s hands. The other servants and slaves in the kitchen began moving about again, unaware that they had been held captive for a short time.

Aly watched Chenaol for a moment before she said, “I’m glad he’s not
my
god.”

The cook gave her the thinnest of smiles. “As long as his eye is on you, girl, you are his. Mountains give way before that one does.”

Aly shrugged. “All gods are like that. You can’t reason with them.” Hastily she added, “Or so I’ve heard.” She knew it from her mother, the Goddess’s own warrior, and from her Aunt Daine, a demi-goddess in her own right, who had met far more gods than any human would think healthy.

Chenaol sighed. “And so you are a spy.”

Aly winced. “Please keep your voice down.”

“I’ll have to tell the others,” Chenaol pointed out, eyeing the edge on her knife. “They feared that we’d have to kill you, when all of us like you so much. Fesgao insisted we give you a chance.” She put down the knife. “At least the god didn’t steal this. He’s as bad as a crow for taking things. I got my cooking knives from my mother, and she from hers.”

Aly rubbed the back of her neck. “Then raka inheritance is through the mother’s line,” she confirmed.

“Yes, of course. And the oldest child inherits. We don’t care if it’s a boy or girl.”

Aly looked around. No one was within hearing. Most of the staff had gone back to the main hall, where Bronau’s minstrel was tuning a lute. A shimmer of bells told her some of the staff had brought out their instruments. She murmured, “So under raka law, Sarai and Dove are their mother’s heirs. And their mother
was
royalty, wasn’t she?”

Chenaol got up and poured herself a cup of arak. She sat and propped her feet on a little stool. “The last of the house,” she replied, as quiet as Aly. “You know, some of the luarin nobility have taken up the custom. The first child inherits, whatever sex it may be.”

“But not the royal line,” Aly reminded her.

Chenaol lifted her cup in a silent toast. “Anything can change,” she said, and drank.

Aly was drifting off to sleep when she heard steps approach her in the dark main hall. She waited, a hand on her stolen knife. Feathers rustled as two shadowy figures dropped pallets on either side of her. Aly caught the drift of jasmine scent from her left, and soap mixed with aloe from her right. “You’re supposed to be in your parents’ room,” she whispered to Dove and Sarai.

“But you’re more interesting, and it’s too hot upstairs,” Sarai whispered.

“Can I bear the compliment?” Aly asked. “I’m not telling Lioness tales all night.”

“It really is too hot up there,” Dove said. “And we’re not used to such close quarters. We can tell you stories, if you like. Since you’re not from here.”

Aly yawned as she thought quickly. “I’m too tired for a long story,” she told the girls. “But I’d like to know what your mother was like.”

“She came from the old raka blood, the nobility before the luarin conquest,” replied Sarai, her voice dreamy in the shadows. “She was light, and color, and fun. She had a laugh like small gold bells. Every day was a holiday with her. She and the present duchess were best friends. I suppose that made it easier for Winnamine to take her place.” Her voice had turned bitter.

“If she was trying to replace your mother, would she and your father have waited years before they wed?” Aly wanted to know. “I heard it was one of your aunts who made him remember he owed it to the family to remarry.”

“What’s
your
mother like?” asked Sarai abruptly. “You’re so cool and thinking all the time—is that how your mother is?”

Aly had wondered what she would say when this question was asked. The obvious lie, that her mother was dead, felt too much like an ill-wishing to her. Her mother walked dangerous roads too often for Aly even to lie about her fate.

Instead she told a different falsehood. “I never knew her,” she replied. “I’m told she is a traveling musician. Her company spent winters in town, and she’d live there with my father, who’s a merchant. Only, the year after she had me, she stopped coming.”

For a moment both girls were quiet. Then Sarai whispered, “Aly, I’m sorry. We never meant to pry.”

Aly put a small quiver in her voice and replied bravely, “I hardly ever think of it. Da’s so good to us.” Softly she added, “She didn’t leave because of my sisters. Only me.”

“Do you
mind
?” someone growled nearby. “We have work in the morning, in case some of us have forgotten.”

“Aly, forgive us,” whispered Dove as she lay down on her pallet.

“I’m your slave,” Aly replied. “You have the right.”