Time of Daughters II Read online

  “The fact that you asked is enough for me,” she said, and then her breath hitched. “In any case, she’s gone.” For it had happened peacefully while the boys spoke.

  She laid her hand gently between Firefly’s closed eyes, then lifted her head. “Sage, you can lift the perimeter. If Bun comes in, let her say her farewell before the Disappearance.”

  Connar got to his feet “I’m going. I know this will be bad.”

  Noddy rose, too. “I’ll go with you.”

  “Thank you, boys,” Danet said, her hand still resting on Firefly’s forehead.

  Noddy walked out, using his sleeve to wipe tears.

  Vanadei, his first runner—assigned after Noddy left the academy—saw his expression. “It’s over?”

  “Yes.” Noddy sleeved his eyes again, then his expression eased incrementally. “Connar was there too. Ma was glad.”

  All morning, Lineas thought about Firefly. Late that afternoon word spread that Firefly had died. Lineas braced for Bunny’s tears as she carried her dinner tray upstairs at the watch change bell.

  Noddy intercepted her at the top of the stairs, his eyes ringed with dull flesh. “Lineas,” he breathed, “there you are. Bunny’s got Connar cornered. I’m afraid....” His big hand gestured widely.

  Lineas heard Bunny in the distance, almost unrecognizable in shrieking fury. “I’ll do what I can,” Lineas promised as she set the tray down inside Bunny’s door and sped toward Connar’s suite.

  She found Bunny in Connar’s outer room, trying her hardest to hit him as she screamed, “You knew! You knew and you didn’t tell me! You stupid shit, both of you, you should have told me! You’re all liars, it wasn’t fast, just like that—”

  “Bun,” Connar said, fending her off with forearm blocks, his hands stiff with frustration.

  Bunny whirled and kicked out, catching the edge of his knee.

  Fish was standing against the wall. He started toward Bunny, whose head jerked. Glaring at him with red eyes, she screamed, “Touch me and I’ll kill you!”

  “Fish, back off.” Connar raised an arm to block Bun’s flailing fist; though she wasn’t a fighter, her daily drill each day at best perfunctory, she was quite strong from lifting saddles and carrying wounded dogs, goats, and sheep almost as large as she was.

  Annoyance flared in him along with pain from his knee, and the words It’s just a dead horse were right there, wanting to be spoken. Then his gaze lifted as Lineas rushed in.

  “Bunny. Bun.” And when Bunny burst into angry tears, screaming imprecations, Lineas said distinctly, “Hadand-Edli.”

  Bunny whirled around, snot and tears smeared over her red face. “Did you know?” she demanded.

  Connar thought, Lie, and then grimaced when Lineas said, “I did.”

  Bunny stopped short, her eyes distended in fury, her mouth working.

  Lineas met that fierce gaze and said softly, “We all knew. The queen ordered us not to tell you.”

  Bun’s mouth dropped open. Then her face crumpled and tears flowed again as she screamed, “Why would she betray me like that?”

  Lineas advanced, reaching for Bun’s hands.

  Bun evaded her reach, but stopped trying to hit Connar. As she sobbed, Lineas said, “I can tell you why, but you have to listen.”

  Bunny gulped down a sob, and glowered at her as she wiped her sleeve over her face. “If you say it was for my own good—”

  “No. It was for hers.” This caught Bunny’s attention, and Lineas said calmly, “Think about it. Yes, Firefly was your first ride, and you loved her. You love them all. But she was your mother’s when she was a girl. She trained with Firefly, she was there when Biscuit was born. And you’re the gunvaer’s daughter. She couldn’t bear to see you trying to heal Firefly, and see Firefly die. She knew you’d try, because you always try, you do your best, always. But this time it wasn’t going to work.”

  Bunny was breathing fast. “I could have...I could have,” she said in a small voice.

  “No.” Lineas said it softly, and tears gleamed in her eyes. “No.”

  Bunny gulped. “I kept checking her. I knew something was wrong, but yesterday she was perky. When I left she was nosing her feed.”

  Lineas said, “I’m told she only did that while you were there. She knew what you wanted, but she couldn’t manage it.”

  Bunny choked on her sobs, as Lineas spotted Sage and Loret at the door, the queen’s runners clearly sent by her. She made the sign for Wait, and they withdrew out of sight.

  Lineas took Bunny’s hand, sweaty and slimy with snot as it was, and drew her away from where she’d backed Connar against a wall. “I wasn’t there, but Dannor told me your mother was with Firefly. It was as peaceful as it could be.”

  “We were there, too,” Connar said. “Noddy and me. It was.”

  Bunny’s chest heaved in a huge, crashing sob, but this time all the anger was gone, leaving desolate grief. She dropped Lineas’s hand and ran out. Lineas walked out more slowly, pausing when she saw Noddy lurking in the hall.

  “I think it’ll be all right,” she said softly as she passed into the princess’s room, leaving Noddy in a mixture of relief and sadness at his mother’s and Bunny’s grief. He glanced toward Connar’s suite, and heard the clatter of wood as Connar kicked upright the table that Bun had knocked over.

  Connar was mad. He’d get over it fast—his temper was a little like thunderstorms, Noddy thought as he retreated to his own suite.

  “It was just a horse,” Connar said, alone again, then caught himself: he was only alone in the sense of his family being elsewhere. He had trained himself not to talk about anything but immediate requirements in front of Fish, who he was certain blabbed every detail of his life to Hauth.

  So he regretted the outburst, but only for a heartbeat. This was a horse, among the hundreds they dealt with. “Horses die. Everything dies. At least she wasn’t killed,” Connar said, dipping a cloth in the fresh water jug and wiping Bun’s slime off his hands.

  Fish remained silent, knowing after five years that Connar would shut up immediately if he tried to start a conversation. Then Connar turned his way, his expression expectant.

  Did he actually want an answer for once? Fish’s mind caromed from his own feelings—he liked animals, and hated the thought of losing his own mount, earned when he was promoted to first runner to the prince—and what Connar probably wanted to hear. That was safest. “It was just a horse,” he said.

  Connar’s face tightened in irritation. “Shit,” he snapped—as usual. “Where’s my damned supper?”

  Fish had been on the way to fetch it when Bun slammed past him, and Fish had backed in, unsure what to do, for you didn’t pull a knife on the attacker when it was the princess crying as much as she was yelling.

  Of course Connar didn’t want his opinion. Well, he was easiest to deal with when he was predictable.

  Fish left the suite, and started toward the stair.

  Lineas stepped out of the princess’s suite. She’d clearly been watching for him. “I asked Holly to bring it up.” She indicated Connar’s supper sitting on one of the hall side tables.

  Fish picked up the tray, halfway between relief and irritation. The relief won; in five years, though she kept doing things like that, she never asked for return favors, or even stayed around to be thanked.

  Sure enough. Before he’d hefted the tray she’d vanished back into the princess’s room, from which came the sound of female voices. The princes’ future wives were obviously in there, petting the princess out of her sulk.

  Fish walked slowly toward Connar’s suite, wishing that Connar would hurry up and drop Lineas as a lover. He loathed the royal runners on principle, strutting around gabbling in that pretentious Sartoran yawp and never letting anyone anywhere near their drills, as they clearly considered themselves so superior.

  At least Connar and Noddy were leaving for their next posting soon—and this one would last the traditional two years. It was actual comman
d. Connar would forget all about Lineas in the inevitable stream of fresh toys.

  As Fish passed down the hall, locked inside his own fugue, inside Bun’s room, Ranet (no longer ‘Cousin Ranet’) said wistfully in speech and Hand, “I’ve tried offering to help Fish but he always says no.”

  A pause ensued, as the others reflected on how Ranet tended to follow Connar around with those hopeful, even pleading eyes—and how, though he was always polite, the harder she tried, the more evasive he became.

  Noren saw quite clearly in the language of the body how Connar stiffened when Ranet tried to get close to him, but she forbore commenting. Ranet, though comely, smart, and hard-working, in so many ways seemed younger than nineteen, and Connar seemed to regard her in the manner of a younger sister.

  Bun sighed. “Connar likes everything just so. He always has. Ma and Da used to get after me for coming from the stable to Restday drum, but I don’t remember him ever coming in dirty, and of course what Connar does, Noddy does. Like keeping me away from Firefly.” Her chin wobbled. “I know they meant it for the best, but....” She turned to Lineas. “Should I apologize to Fish? He has to know I wouldn’t kill him.”

  Lineas said, “He knows. However, he was put in a terrible position. He’s supposed to defend Connar, but I could see he didn’t want to hurt you.”

  “That’s true,” Bun exclaimed, and her eyes filled again, her fingers flailing in Hand. “I’m so stupid! But all I could think of was that everyone knew but me....”

  The circle listened with sympathy to the fourth round of ‘buts’ as Bun gradually talked herself through guilt and grief into tentative acceptance, and they at last began to eat their supper, now gone cold.

  Noren reflected how grateful she was that they got along so well. Bun of course was supposed to marry out, and everyone kept expecting the Jarlan of Feravayir to send for her (they all knew she ruled, and that the Jarl was no more than a consort and military commander), but until that happened, the three of them were together a lot, and enjoyed their days.

  They got along well, and even better, they worked under a gunvaer they all respected. That prompted Noren to suggest that they go see if the gunvaer needed cheering. As soon as the others saw her suggestion, she knew it was wrong, or too early.

  Bunny teared up again, turning to Lineas and flailing, “I’m so selfish! I forgot Ma is grieving, too!”

  “I think she is expecting you are also grieving,” Lineas said, her dancing, expressive hands so graceful. “But if you feel ready, why not see if she wants a memorial evening to talk about Firefly?”

  Danet had been shocked by Bunny’s outburst, audible all the way down the hall. Her daughter had them so rarely. Danet could count fewer than five in Bunny’s entire life, and three of those had been before Bunny turned six. Knowing immediately that she was at fault, she’d sent two runners, who soon returned.

  “Lineas handled it perfectly,” Sage said at the end of her report.

  “The boys just stood there,” Loret added.

  Royal runner acting chief Mnar Milnari, summoned to help the gunvaer catch up on everything she’d missed while she was in the stable, sat silently, knowing better than to comment on such personal matters unless asked.

  Danet’s head ached. She longed for her bed, and quiet, but she had to deal with as much of the day’s ignored business as she could, or she knew her mind would just gnaw at it all as she lay there. And then there was this: Lineas had been the one to remind Connar to come by.

  There was one thing she could do. “I want to reassign Lineas,” she said suddenly.

  Mnar looked up. To the chief of the royal runners, this was her business. “To?”

  “The boys. They’re about to ride to Larkadhe, for their two years of governing.”

  “There’s a full staff up there,” Mnar said mildly.

  “But the boys,” Danet said, meaning Connar, “listen to Lineas. She speaks Iascan, she gets along with everyone. And Connar in particular has only that garrison runner.”

  Mnar did not like the idea of sending Lineas to Larkadhe, though she couldn’t think of a reason against it. Maybe it was just that it was so unexpected. Also, Lineas hadn’t had proper training for such a post. But it was the queen speaking—Danet hadn’t asked their opinion, she’d said I want.

  “It surprised me, too, when Connar-Laef chose young Fish Pereth, but the garrison runners are well trained, especially in military niceties, which is Connar-Laef’s future concern,” Mnar said. “Whom would you like for Hadand-Edli?”

  “Let her pick her own. She’s certainly old enough—”

  And here were the girls flocking in to add their well-meant noise. Danet set herself to appreciate the generosity she recognized behind it, and presently they all left.

  Danet closed her eyes, grateful for the silence, but her mind promptly wrenched her back to Firefly, silent and still.

  When she opened her eyes to the fresh, herbal scent of listerblossom, here was her beloved, Garrison Commander Jarid Noth, quietly holding out a cup. She set it down, and relaxed into his arms with a deep sigh.

  TWO

  That first year after Connar was sent to East Garrison for his initial training season, Lineas had resolved firmly against expecting any attention from him once he returned ten months later. That way it would hurt less when he inevitably moved on to another favorite.

  To her surprise, the first night he returned he asked for her to rub lavender and carrot-seed oil into his scars, as she had every night after the bandages came off that terrible summer previous. And he asked her to stay with him for the night. He continued to ask for her until he was sent to winter training at Hesea.

  Because he hated any kind of personal talk, she had no idea how much he’d come to appreciate a favorite who didn’t expect to keep things in his room, who didn’t assume she had a right to his time, who followed his moods without a lot of the yammer he loathed. And who he didn’t have to hide his back from.

  He assumed this was probably why he didn’t have nightmares nearly as often when he was with her. And if he did have one, she didn’t pester him with questions or coos of pity, she just rubbed his shoulders and back until he slept again, her fingers soothing away the shards of remembered pain, the images of his own blood dripping on the parade ground, and beneath it all, Cabbage Gannan’s shrilly gleeful voice when they were both thirteen, You’re not a real prince.

  As for Lineas, to be with him made her sublimely happy, and she had no experience with anyone else. She didn’t want anyone else.

  When he rode away for his second year, he was impatient for variety, always within certain limitations, such as never permitting any of his partners to remain the night. Once the sex was over, he couldn’t sleep until they were gone, and too often, whether he’d had sex five times or not at all, sleep was broken by nightmares mirroring the frustrations of the day: garrison life was very much like academy life, with captains replacing masters. They still held command. Not him. When his sleep was broken he got into the habit of rising, and going to the torchlit practice yard to drill until his muscles trembled, in hopes his mind would release him to sleep.

  By the end of that second rotation, he was longing for the royal city again, and the sheer relief of Lineas’s light touch and calm mind. Being with her was like floating in a forest pool balanced between sun and shade, warmth and coolness.

  And so they established a pattern: when he was away, Lineas lived a single life. She was too self-conscious to flirt, and anyway could not be intimate where she didn’t love, so she kept herself busy until Connar’s return. And on his return, he always sent for her and she always came.

  After Ranet’s arrival at the palace, Lineas became more scrupulous about retiring to her room, for she believed it would be right and proper for Connar to turn to the person he was expected to marry. Ranet was the prettiest of all the royal girls, kind, and hard-working. She also adored Connar, but in his eyes she was still too young. The idea of marriage with her
belonged to a hazy future. So he kept asking Lineas to come to his larger, more comfortable room, warmed by firesticks in the fireplace those winter weeks.

  The night after Firefly died, he went looking for her, and found her standing in the hallway with a couple of the queen’s runners. At his approach they laid fingers to chest—Lineas included—as they broke up, she with a bemused expression. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing!” She turned her wide eyes up to him. “It’s...just now I was given new orders. I’ve been assigned to serve as second runner to you and your brother, when you—we,” she conscientiously amended, “go north.”

  That surprised a laugh out of him. “Good plan!”

  She smiled to see how pleased he was, and they retired, she with her quiet, polite “Good night,” to Fish, who responded with the Hand sign for good night, a perfunctory politeness at best; at least when Connar was with Lineas, he knew that he would not be needed until morning, and left for his own rest.

  “I wonder what they’re thinking,” Connar said presently, as he and Lineas lay in bed, limbs entangled in the blissful aftermath of passion. “Sending you instead of one of the other feet.” That being the academy slang for royal runners. “Or Quill, back today and stinking of horse. It must be your Iascan. I remember hearing a lot of it when I got my tour through Larkadhe. Or,” he turned to smile, his eyes reflecting the dancing flame of the one candle, “they don’t think we can defend ourselves, and we need an extra-tough bodyguard.”

  He attacked her then, and they wrestled. Every so often she managed to flip him when he wasn’t expecting it, or got a lock on him—as she did that night, causing him to laugh.

  Their usual method of surrender was a kiss, and presently they quieted again, sleep stealing over them both. For some reason, that image of Quill lingered in his mind, sliding him back into wakefulness.

  The last time Connar had seen Quill, he and his escort had ridden out of Larkadhe to the mouth of the Pass to take a look at the famous water-carved passage through the mountains. A lone figure in a dark blue runner’s coat rode down from the north, a sword strapped to his back and knives in the tops of his boots, with a bow slung at the saddle. Connar had stared in surprise when he recognized Quill, who he was used to seeing among the modest, blue-robed, unarmed feet around the royal castle. The academy boys had had a wide range of insults about the cosseted feet, who—as everyone knew—didn’t compete in the arts of war, didn’t wear weapons, and (this earned their especial scorn) didn’t get caned for defaulters.