Daughter of Lir (27 page)

Emry shrugged. He never had concerned himself with the moods
of children.

Rhian was where Emry had hoped to find her: in among the
horses, brushing the grey mare’s coat with a twist of grass and picking burrs
out of her tail. She looked like a servant with her ancient breeches and her
imperfectly disciplined hair. She was also, in the reckoning of these people,
half naked, which had its usual effect. The king’s son did not know where to
look.

Emry’s lips twitched. “O chosen one,” he said, “this man
would speak with you.”

Rhian raised a brow, but greeted the king’s man courteously
enough.

“You are summoned,” the boy said to his feet, “to the king’s
wife.”

Both brows went up. “Take me there, then,” she said, mild
enough that Emry eyed her suspiciously. When she suffered the king’s son to
lead her, Emry followed. Neither of them tried to stop him.

o0o

The king’s wife waited as she had before, but the king was
nowhere to be seen. She was alone but for the boy who had been her messenger.
The drone of chanting came from a little distance, overlaid with the murmur of
the king’s women.

Emry’s nose wrinkled. The air was full of sweet pungent
smoke. It made him dizzy.

Rhian had drawn stares all the way from the traders’ camp,
but the king’s wife barely acknowledged her. The dark eyes were fixed on Emry.
Were they surprised? Glad? Avid?

Even so, it was to Rhian that she spoke. “You are welcome in
my lord’s tent.”

Rhian bent her head, and then her knees, till she sat on her
heels. “I am honored to be so welcome,” she said.

“You speak for the traders, yes?” Etena asked her.

“No,” she said.

Etena’s breath drew in with a hiss. “I shall throttle that
boy,” she said as if to herself.

“Lady,” Emry said—rude, if he had been in a Mother’s house
in his own country, but here a man could venture great liberties. She listened,
as he had hoped, and did not cut him off for his presumption. “Lady, he only
did as he was told. The caravan-master speaks for the traders. Shall I fetch
him?”

The king’s wife paused a moment, frowning. Then she said,
“No. Not yet.” She glanced at Rhian. “He will do as you bid him, yes?”

“I can ask,” said Rhian. “He can choose to obey—or not.”

Etena did not seem pleased by that, at all. “Have you people
no leaders?” she demanded sharply. “No kings? No one who speaks and you obey?”

“Certainly,” Rhian said. “We have the Mother. She speaks for
the Goddess.”

“Is there no Mother in your caravan?”

Emry’s jaw clenched. Rhian betrayed no apprehension. “There
is the caravan-master,” she said.

“And you? What are you?”

“I am the White Mare’s servant,” Rhian said. “I go where she
carries me.”

Etena swept up her hand as if to cast aside Rhian’s words.
“You—guard. Fetch the caravan-master.”

“While he does,” said Rhian, “will you tell me what you
wanted of me?”

Etena had the look of one on a raw edge of temper. She was
not accustomed to uncertainty, Emry could see. “I wished to offer a trade. But
if you have no power over the traders, you can be of no use to me.”

Emry had begun his retreat, but something in her glance made
him pause. Her eyes were on him again, fixed in a way that tightened the skin
between his shoulderblades.

“I have power over the traders,” Rhian said. “Tell me.”

“I wish to trade,” Etena said. “Give me the captain of your
guard.”

Rhian’s eyes went wide—but no wider surely than Emry’s own.
“For what would you trade him?”

“I will trade,” said Etena, “for one of our own. I can give
you the king’s son.”

“The king has many sons,” Rhian said with more presence of
mind than Emry would have had.

“You know which I mean.”

Rhian made no attempt to deny it. “How do you propose to do
it?”

“That shall be my secret,” Etena said, “but be assured that
I will do it.”

“And then? We leave, with the king’s heir loaded among the
baggage—and the whole tribe comes after us with chariots?”

Etena’s eyes barely flickered. “I will see to it that the
tribe does not follow you.”

“For how long?”

“For as long as is needed.”

Rhian tilted her head as if she could seriously consider
such a thing. “Very well,” she said. “I’ll speak with the caravan-master.”

Etena accepted that. More: she let them go, even Emry, and
made no move to stop them.

It was all Emry could do to keep his tongue between his
teeth, and almost more than he could do to walk from the tent and not bolt onto
the steppe. Rhian’s pace was leisurely—wise, but it came close to driving him
mad.

He was trained as prince and warrior. That saved him. It
kept him on his feet, silent, striding in Rhian’s wake through this camp that,
if the king’s wife had her way, would be his prison.

o0o

“This is the Goddess’ gift,” Rhian said.

They were gathered in Emry’s tent: Rhian, Emry, Bran and
Conn, Hoel the caravan-master and a handful of Emry’s young men. Those last had
not been invited, but they had seen Emry’s face as he followed Rhian into the
camp. Nothing short of brute force would have kept them away.

Mabon and Dal busied themselves in rolling up and binding
the sides of the tent to let in the light and air. It was maybe not wise, for
then everyone could see their conference, but it prevented listening at tent-walls,
and above all it gave Emry space to breathe.

He needed a great deal of it. He was glad to sit, take the
wine that someone handed him, drink so deep and so fast that his senses reeled.

The hand had been Rhian’s. She sat at his feet, arm across
his knees, and said, “You look ghastly.”

He was incapable of coherent speech. She rose, swaying
dizzily in his wine-blurred sight, and vanished. After an instant he felt her
hands on his shoulders, working into knots that had tightened to pain, and
easing them out one by one.

While she did that, Hoel said, “This is the truth? The woman
asked to buy one of us?”

“They do that among the tribes,” Conn said. “They trade
things of value for battle-captives. Usually it’s women. Usually,” he said,
“they kill the men.”

“Supposing she wants him dead,” said Dal, “why doesn’t she
just kill him?”

“He’s a king’s heir,” Mabon said. “The gods may take revenge
on her for killing him—and it will be worse for him if he’s sold away as a
captive. She’ll keep his body alive, but kill his pride.”

“And mine?” Emry had found words at last. “What about mine?”

“Obviously we won’t be trading you,” Mabon said.

“Why not?”

They all gaped at Rhian.

“Did we ever promise that he would stay?” She regarded them
all as women often did, with patience sorely taxed by the dullness of male wit.
“Here is our chance. We can take the one we want, thank the Goddess profoundly
for her gift, and escape without any of the danger we feared. And you, prince
of Lir: you may linger a while, take pleasure with this woman, learn more of
the tribe. Then when we’ve had time to return to Lir, you can escape. The
Goddess will protect you. This is all her doing; she’ll never let you be
harmed.”

“We can’t do that,” Mabon said before Emry could open his
mouth. “We can’t leave our prince with these savages.”

“Not so savage,” she said. “Think what he can learn—what
knowledge he can bring back to us.”

“You don’t know, do you?” Mabon demanded. “You don’t know
what it means that a king’s wife wants a man to serve her.”

“She wants him for her bed,” Rhian said. “That’s obvious.”

“King’s wives don’t take men for their beds,” Mabon said.
“Not men entire. They geld them, lady, and keep them to look at.”

“No,” said Rhian. “Not that one. Not with those eyes. She
wants a man, not a gelding.”

“A man of his age,” Conn said, “like a stallion gelded late,
would be enough for her purpose. It’s how it’s done, lady. It’s the only way
she’ll be allowed to keep him, and not be killed herself for betraying her
husband.”

“I don’t believe that,” Rhian said stubbornly. “She has
power enough, and strength of will enough, to do as she pleases. She may
pretend that she’s done the necessary, but she won’t. She’ll want the full
power that he has, and the danger that goes with it.”

“We can’t risk it,” said Mabon, who seemed to have decided
that if Emry would not speak, then he must. “We can’t lose our prince. He’s too
valuable to us and to Lir.”

“I may be of more value here.”

Emry had some of his wits back. His voice was his own again.
He could think, after a fashion.

He went on steadily, with almost his usual firmness. “I
think Rhian sees the truth. The king’s wife wants all of me. If I let her have
me, and watch and listen and do my best to seem harmless, I’ll serve Lir better
than if I simply ride away. Who knows? I might even be able to turn the
chariots aside, keep them from crossing the river. I may be able to prevent the
war altogether.”

Mabon was not listening. “We had a plan,” he said. “If we
follow it—”

“We’ll be pursued sooner rather than later.” Emry cut off
his protests. “No, cousin. Think! This lets you go all the way to Lir under the
queen’s protection. By the time I come back, you’ll be making chariots and
training horses. The war will be well begun.”

“If you come back,” said Mabon. “They’ll kill you, cousin.
This is your death you’re chasing after.”

“I hope not,” Emry said. “But it does seem that the Goddess
asks this of me. Should I refuse her?”

“She will guard you,” Rhian said.

He looked at her, remembering who and what she was. Mother’s
daughter. White Mare’s servant. He might be mad to trust her, whom the
priestesses had called the doom of Lir. And yet she was of his blood. The same
womb had borne them. He could not believe that she would condemn him to death
or worse.

“This is why I came here,” he said. “To win us this. It’s a
fair trade, yes? Prince for prince.”

“It is fair,” Hoel conceded, “though we’re not given to
trading human souls. If we offer treasure, particularly gold—”

“She does love gold,” said Rhian, “but if we offer her that,
she may wonder why we want her husband’s heir so badly. She may begin to
reflect on what he knows, and what he can teach us. We can’t give her time to
do that. Much as she loves gold, it can’t keep her besotted. It can’t talk sweetness
to her in the nights. Nor can it convince her to turn the war away from our
country.”

“I will do it,” Emry said in a tone that silenced them all.
“Hoel, go. Play the trader. Gain us as much as you can. Win from her a surety
that you will not be pursued. Let her be concerned with capturing and securing
the prisoner.”

“I think,” Hoel said, “that you should come with me. Best
she see what she lusts after, even as she haggles with me for it.”

Emry’s privates tried to crawl up into his belly at thought
of entering that dim and smoky place again. But if he would do this, he would
live there for Goddess knew how long. He stiffened his spine and firmed his
spirit. “Go on, then. Let’s get it over.”

For a moment he feared that Hoel would bid them wait, but
the caravan-master nodded. “Yes. This one we end quickly.”

That, Emry thought, was a mercy. There would be little
enough of it hereafter.

Etena of the Windriders bought Emry prince of Lir in
return for the living person of Minas the prince and for a quantity of gold
that would, she assured Hoel, convince her people that it was a fair exchange.
She was getting, as far as he would let her know, a captain of guards from his
caravan—and a young and handsome one, too.

They made the bargain in the secrecy of the king’s tent,
well guarded against spying eyes. It would be complete when the caravan left
and Emry stayed behind. As to how Minas would be delivered to them, the king’s
wife said, “You will receive it all together on the day after tomorrow, in the
morning. See that you are ready by then to leave us. Need I bid you keep silent
as to the particulars of this trade?”

“I think not,” Hoel said dryly.

“Good, then it is done,” said Etena. “Go. We shall not speak
again.”

But as Emry moved to escape in Hoel’s wake, she stopped him.
“Guardsman,” she said.

He turned to face her. He kept his eyes on his feet,
although she was veiled.

She rose from her heap of cushions. She was a small woman,
round and full-breasted—what he might in Lir have reckoned a delightful morsel,
a plump partridge. But this was no toothsome bird. She was as dangerous as a
starving she-wolf.

She had to stand on tiptoe to span the breadth of his
shoulders with her hand, and run her fingers through the curls of his beard. He
willed himself to stand still and not shy away. This he must endure. This the
Goddess had laid on him.

Etena lowered her hand and stood looking up at him. He had
seen men look at horses so, with pride and possession. “You are even more
beautiful than I remembered,” she said.

He did not know what to say to that.

It seemed he need say nothing. “Go,” she said. “Until your
caravan leaves, you belong to them. Let us both remember that.”

He bent his head and let himself be dismissed.

o0o

When Rhian found him, he was standing by the riverbank,
upstream and out of sight of the camp. He had been swimming in the water. His
clothes were in a heap beside him, and his hair was a wet tail down his back.
He had shut his face tight, and his heart, too.

“Is it that unbearable?” she asked him.

He sank down on his heels, hands fisted on his thighs. “I
can learn to bear it,” he said.

“If you truly can’t,” said Rhian, “we’ll do as we planned
before.”

“No.” He rolled the tension out of his shoulders, and drew a
long shuddering breath. “Then she’ll come hunting me as well as her own prince.
What’s done is done. I consented to it. I’ll not go back on my word.”