Page 7 of Night Tide


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He held up a hand to forestall her protest. “It isn’t every day you get a visit from a lady. I’ll tell your mother you’ve company. Be ready to answer a bucket full of questions when you get home.” He turned a long stare toward the sea. “Best not to be here at sundown.”

“I won’t,” she assured him, glad he chose not to mention Solyom in front of Jolen. Her sister would either panic at the idea of some man-eating sea monster swimming where she had just trawled or scoff that it was nothing more than the creation of a backwater village’s overactive imagination. Zigana didn’t didn’t know which was worse and preferred not to face either, especially now while she still enjoyed the rosy glow of reuniting with her sibling.

Odon bowed once more to Jolen. “Welcome back to Ancilar, my lady.” He left then to see to Gitta’s and Voreg’s nets.

“I’ll deliver Ziga back to you safe and sound,” Jolen called out to him before giving Zigana a puzzled look. “Why’s it best not to be here at sundown?”

The lie fell easily off her lips, and Zigana suffered no guilt from the telling. “The salt flies are especially bad this year. We’ll be swarmed if we stay too long.”

Jolen’s upper lip curled. “I’d forgotten about those nasty things. Don’t worry. I have no intention of staying to be eaten.”

While her sister spoke of salt flies instead of sea monsters, Zigana still shuddered at her words. She followed Jolen to where her horse stood hobbled among the brush, nibbling contentedly on the bushes intermingled with the salt grass. A tall gelding with a chestnut coat, elegant head and sleek body, it was as different from Gitta as a sloop was to a barge.

“Your horse is beautiful. What’s his name?”

Jolen shrugged. “I have no idea. A stable boy brought him out to me. Father still keeps prime horseflesh at Banat. This one has a canter that makes you feel like you’re flying and a trot to joggle your brains loose.” She removed the hobble and led the gelding out of the dunes toward the flat swath of beach, Zigana walking beside her. “Riding Gitta again was nice. She still the love of your life?”

Zigana laughed. “I suppose she is.”

Jolen laughed with her before she sobered. “One of the villagers working in the castle told me about your husband. What was his name?”

It no longer hurt so much to say it. Grief beat the breath out of you; time healed the bruises. “Lukas.”

Her sister’s hand on her arm was comforting. “I’m sorry to hear you lost him. Shipwreck?”

“So I’m told. It sank in a bad storm somewhere off the Huldasin coast. They recovered some of the cargo but no bodies.” She changed the subject. “And you? How is married life?” Once Jolen married and moved to the capital, Zigana lost touch with her, and she was mightily curious about the husband who had spirited her sister away from Ancilar.

Jolen’s features tightened, and the look she wore when they discussed salt flies returned. “Well enough if I don’t count the husband or the fact he’s now an exile and me along with him.”

The reason for her return. Even this far away from the center of the Gauri kingdom, they’d heard of the rebellion started by Jolen’s father-in-law and crushed by Sangur the Lame.

Jolen continued, her voice turning more and more scathing until she almost spat out the words.

“We’re lucky to still be alive, though I’m not sure if that’s due to Andras’s wisdom or his cowardice. The only reason King Sangur didn’t take his head like he took his father’s was because Andras refused to join the rebellion. Said it was a fool’s endeavor.”

“That seems more wise than cowardly.”

Her sister shrugged, her contempt for her husband’s decision palpable. “Depends on who you talk to. Either way, it did me no good whatsoever. Even though Andras didn’t fight with his father in the rebellion, he didn’t fight against him either. Sangur punished him by stripping him of his inheritance.” Zigana gasped, and Jolen growled low in her throat. “Land, keep, everything. He’s banished from court and Pricid altogether. So am I. Were it not for my father’s willingness to let us live at Banat, we’d be homeless too.”

They paused in their stroll and Zigana captured Jolen’s free hand. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’d hoped to see you again soon, but not due to such circumstances. How long will you stay at Banat?”

Jolen sighed. “Who knows? Until Andras regains favor with the king? That may be never for all I know. Sangur isn’t the forgiving type.”

“Where is Lord Frantisek now?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care.” Her mouth twisted into a humorless smile at Zigana’s start. “He said he planned to visit the demesne’s villages and introduce himself. You might even get to meet him.”

There had never been any question about her attending her sister’s wedding seven years earlier. Zigana’s presence might have been tolerated when she and Jolen were both children, but as an adult and the bastard half-sister of the overlord’s only child, she was an embarrassment to both Lord Boda and to Jolen. She had not gone as either guest or servant.

Those from the village who worked in the castle as extra help for the event returned with tales of the lavish decorations and food, the sumptuous clothes worn by the guests and the fine horses they rode. The bride had been more beautiful than the dawn, equaled only by her new husband with his fine looks and noble bearing.

Zigana had done her best to hide her envy. Jolen must have been in her element then, a queen among lesser folk who had snared a wealthy, handsome lord as her husband who likely adored every hair on her head. Her sister had the blessings and luck of the gods.

Looking at Jolen now, she wondered why those same gods had chosen to abandon this golden woman to harsher circumstances. Still stunning, with her blonde hair unfurling in the sea breeze like a banner spun of silk and the glare of the sun softened where it touched her skin, she stared down the length of beach past Zigana’s shoulder, green eyes frosty and hard as sea glass.

“He’s here,” she said, and her voice was both flat and filled with loathing.

Were they not just discussing him, Zigana might have thought her sister spoke of her worst enemy instead of her husband. It seemed they were one and the same. She followed Jolen’’s gaze to a man leading a bay horse toward them. Her stomach did a short tumble as he drew close enough for her to make out his features.