Sasha (74 page)

Sofy joined her on the bench with a cup of water, but no food. “You've eaten?” Sasha asked her about a mouthful.

“It's late,” Sofy said with mild amusement. “You keep missing breakfast.”

Sasha restrained another yawn, and stretched her legs. “I haven't slept this well in years,” she conceded.

“Father will ask about me,” Sofy said then. Gazing out across the Udalyn wall, and the opposing armies. The sound of drums drifted on the golden air. The Udalyn messengers had been disappointed that she refused to countenance wiping out those Hadryn who remained. They'd offered to coordinate an attack, pouring from their gate into the Hadryn's rear as Sasha attacked from the front. From the sound of the drumming, however, it did not seem as if they'd allowed their disappointment to get in the way of a good celebration. “He'll want to ask about the marriage.”

Sasha chewed for a moment as the porridge seemed to lose its taste in her mouth. “What do you want me to say?” she asked.

Sofy sighed, and adjusted her ponytail. It seemed to Sasha that she might have even had it cut a little. Barely seven days ago, such a decision would have been monumental. “Say that I'll do it,” Sofy said quietly. “Say that I'll marry that bastard. If it's what Father and Koenyg have truly decided.”

Sasha said nothing. She wanted to protest. Badly. But then…She placed a hand on Sofy's arm and gazed at her closely. “Are you certain? I have some bargaining power here, Sofy. We have much of the Hadryn army trapped, Father's most loyal supporters. Several of his closest northern lords also. Father and Koenyg will need such men if they wish to join the war in the lowlands.”

Sofy met her gaze, in sombre earnest. “I know,” she replied. “I know you have bargaining power, Sasha. And that's just why you can't waste it on me. I've…I've been doing a lot of thinking. This is just…” and she waved a hand at the view before them. “The things that I've seen in the last few days just make everything look different to what it did before. I mean, when I heard the word ‘marriage’…my head was so full of all the things Alythia has been fretting about, wedding preparations and ceremonies and whether or not she'd like her in-laws.

“But it's so much more than that, isn't it?” She shook her head in disbelief. “Seriously, I can't believe I've been so selfish. All these men who live and die by the decisions people like us make. All of their families, deprived of fathers, brothers and sons. You've led a rebellion, Sasha. You've trapped the Hadryn, but now Father's forces have
us
trapped. You'll need all your bargaining power to gain clemency for these men, for the sake of their families. You'll need it to ensure the Udalyn are safer in future. Lenayin cannot remain so divided, or all this bloodshed will be just the beginning, won't it?

“You can't put that at risk for me. When I found out Koenyg's plans I thought it was the worst thing in the world that could possibly happen to me. But now, to think that I might be responsible in some way for
more
of what I saw on those battlefields…” Sofy shook her head, adamantly. “It's the least I can do, Sasha. If I need to marry someone I dislike to help keep Lenayin whole, it shall be a vastly smaller sacrifice than the alternative. I won't be the first to suffer such a fate. I'll survive.”

Sasha held Sofy's hand, tightly. There was no sign of tears in her sister's eyes. It was clear that she had given this much thought, and had arrived at some kind of peace with it. Past the sadness, Sasha felt a pride so intense she thought she might burst. “Koenyg might have changed his mind, Sofy,” she said gently. “Father too. Their plans haven't worked out anything like they'd anticipated.”

Sofy gave a sad smile and shook her head. “You don't know Koenyg or Father as well as I do. These preparations are far advanced. Lenayin would lose face to back out now. In Koenyg's eyes, to lose face is to die. And Father…has not changed his mind on anything since Krystoff died.”

“We can hope,” Sasha offered.

Sofy squeezed her hand tightly. “We can hope,” she agreed.

After breakfast, Sasha rode to the cottage her father's men had selected, further back along the valley. Ahead and to the rear rode the men of her vanguard who had protected her through both battles, and now sat astride with the hard-edged pride of those who had earned great honour and respect amongst their peers. Directly at Sasha's rear rode Jaryd, in the full colours and armour of Commander of the Falcon Guard, and Captain Akryd, likewise resplendent as Captain of the Red Swords.

It was midmorning and the sun was threatening to break clear of the ridges above, sunlight now falling golden upon most of the valley floor. Encamped across the valley floor and up either sloping side massed the king's army.

She gazed across the trees and fields along the terraced slopes as they rode, marvelling at the wide variety of crops, the ingenuity of downhill irrigation ditches and the profusion of trees that kept the soil stable. Here and there were talleryn posts, engraved with the curling script of Edu writings. Colourful flags flew like streamers above long terraces of grain…to keep the birds off, Sasha guessed. And they were beautiful, swirling in the valley breeze. Along fence posts there were windchimes, making gentle music of the breeze.

Soon the small column of riders came upon a cottage, with many horses tethered by a bend, guarded by soldiers. Flags flapped, the royal flag most prominently of all. The lead rider halted them short of the other horses, and they dismounted.

Jaryd and Akryd walked with her along the road toward the path that led up to the cottage, as the vanguardsmen remained behind.

A Verenthane Royal Guard lieutenant stopped the trio at the base of those steps, resplendent in full colours and gleaming helm. “M'Lady,” he said, with a very faint bow. “You must surrender your weapons to enter the king's presence.”

Sasha eyed the horses tethered further up the road. They were splendid indeed, and several were of various shades of white or grey, a colour favoured by breeders from the royal stables. “No Lenay commander yet has come to parley between armies without weapons,” she replied to the lieutenant.

“M'Lady, it is the king,” the lieutenant replied sternly. “You must disarm.”

Sasha repressed a snort of disgust, and gave a signal to her companions. Together, they turned about and began to walk back to their horses. “M'Lady!” From behind there were footsteps and mutterings of consternation. The three were halfway back to the horses when there came another call from behind. “M'Lady, we have reconsidered!”

Sasha stopped, turned about, and gave the gathering of soldiers a very displeased look. “Told you it would work,” she murmured from the side of her mouth at Jaryd, as they began their walk back.

“M'Lady is truly insightful,” Jaryd muttered. Sasha gave him a worried look. Probably it was not a good idea to have him here. But then, such talks required the presence of the most senior and, with Tyrun dead, that meant Jaryd. Lord or peasant, he was still Commander of the Falcon Guard.

Sasha allowed Jaryd to take the lead up the stairs. There were flowerpots at the cottage entrance, where several more Royal Guards stood at attention. Several long-stemmed flowers were bent. Sasha stepped across to them, with a disapproving cluck of the tongue at the guardsmen.

“We are guests in these houses, gentlemen,” she said sternly, straightening the flowers. “Kindly look after their property as you would your own. Or else the house spirits will become upset with the mess, and haunt your sleep.”

And with that, she walked inside, satisfied with the disquiet on several faces at that last remark. Even Verenthanes could become superstitious of Goeren-yai spirits, in the land of the Udalyn.

The house was plain and simple like the many others that dotted the valley. Men stood about a dining table and turned to observe the new entrants. Sasha saw her father, slim and dark in a black cloak against the morning's chill. He wore mail beneath, with leather shoulder guards and heavy boots. Sasha's gaze lingered. She could not recall the last time she'd seen her father in mail, with a sword at his side. A childhood parade, perhaps.

Koenyg, of course, was similarly attired. A king in waiting. Damon leaned against the far wall, a cup in hand. While the others looked grim, Damon's expression was sour. From his posture and expression, and his place at the back of the room, Sasha guessed that he did not feel himself to be in good company. She hoped he'd been making a pain of himself.

Of the others, well…here was Great Lord Kumaryn, stiff as a poker. Spirits knew why anyone thought him important enough to include in this gathering. And there was Great Lord Rydysh of Ranash no less. Also present was Lord Arastyn of Tyree…no, Sasha corrected herself,
Great
Lord Arastyn of Tyree. His handsome gaze, fixed on Jaryd, held a curious, expressionless intensity.

The last two great lords were Lord Faras of Isfayen and Lord Parabys of Neysh. The south, Sasha thought darkly. The other large piece of the Verenthane puzzle. The south had harboured Verenthanes long before they became popular in the rest of Lenayin.

“My Lords,” Sasha said by way of greeting. She did not, she was surprised to realise, feel particularly anxious. There were nearly seven thousand men under her command. Her forces could be destroyed if attacked, but the catastrophe would not be hers alone. Hers was a position of power. However her father and Koenyg might desire it, she would not grovel or plead. “We are all known to each other, I'm sure. Shall we sit?”

King Torvaal gazed at her for a long moment. Everyone awaited his command. Koenyg, Sasha noted, seemed to be grinding his teeth. As Commander of Armies, and protector of the realm, surely it grated to be outranked in such a setting. Even by his king. The tension in the air felt different than she'd expected. Men held their tongues and their tempers. They stood with a faintly awkward manner, as if uncertain of their standing. King Torvaal had not needed to ride forth from Baen-Tar and deal with a military matter for quite some time. Since the Great War, in fact, when he'd been barely more than a lad. No doubt the lords wondered if the king was truly up to the task.

Well. Sasha wondered herself.

“Sofy is with you?” Torvaal asked.

“Concerned, were you?” Sasha nearly remarked, but refrained. “She is,” she said instead.

“Did she discover the wedding plans?” Sombrely.

Sasha stared at him for a long moment. “You don't sound surprised.”

“It was necessary,” said Torvaal, closing his eyes briefly. “It remains necessary.” The eyes opened and fixed on her directly, with more than their usual impassivity. Brooding. “The marriage remains as arranged. It shall proceed because Lenayin requires it. On this point I shall brook no argument.”

“Sofy tells me she no longer objects,” Sasha replied. “You make no decisions for her. She goes of her own free will.” At the back of the room, Damon stared at his boots. Great Lord Rydysh of Ranash looked severely agitated.

Torvaal indicated to the table. There were only two chairs set, one on either side. Sasha nodded and stepped to her seat, waiting first for the king to sit. Then sat, directly opposite her father. It occurred to her, looking at him now, that they had never sat together like this before. Krystoff, Koenyg or Damon might have chanced a moment with their father, but the girls did not warrant such attention.

The old anger resurfaced, cold and hard. Tempered now, by the circumstances, but real enough. He'd ignored her before, all her views, values and opinions. Now, finally, she would not be ignored.

There was a pitcher of water and two cups on the table. Torvaal took the pitcher himself, and poured into both cups. Raised his cup to his lips, inviting her with his eyes to do likewise. “Don't drink it, M'Lady,” said Jaryd from behind. “There's poisons that can be put on the cup, not in the water.”

Torvaal stared up at the young man with genuine anger. “Master Jaryd,” he said coldly, “I would never poison my own daughter.”

“Then you'd be the only man amongst you who could say that for truth, Highness,” Jaryd said darkly.

“You have no standing here, Jaryd,” Lord Arastyn told him, very coolly. “You are a traitor to Tyree. Family Nyvar is no more, all its properties and titles are barren. I have no idea why Sashandra brought you, you are less than a landless peasant.”

Sasha hoped Captain Akryd would restrain Jaryd before he tried anything stupid. But she made certain that her chair remained a suitable distance from the table, her feet braced upon the floor, rehearsing in her mind a fast grab for her blade.

“I am Commander of the Falcon Guard,” Jaryd replied. There was no apparent tension in his voice, which only made it all the more ominous.

“And I just told you that you are not,” Arastyn replied.

“The men of the Falcon Guard tell me I am,” said Jaryd. “There are men of the Tyree White Talons who say so as well, and will tell any others of the commonfolk in Tyree who care to listen. How long will the noble families of Tyree survive should both their vaunted companies and most of the commonfolk, Verenthane and Goeren-yai, decide that you have outlived your usefulness?”