“I do. He served in my army for years, and earned his epithet well. What promise?”
The last line was so evenly slipped in, Elia hardly noticed it at first, and nearly spoke unfettered truth. Ban had promised to tear her father down.I will prove it to you, how easy it is to ruin a father’s heart.
The full truth was that Elia was not certain exactly what Ban had so furiously sworn. Heat grew in her neck, in her cheeks, and Elia was glad it could barely be seen, not in the same indecorous way she could see the gentle pink flush reaching up from Morimaros’s beard, the longer it took her to answer his question.
Elia said, “He promised to do what he could for me, from Innis Lear.” Truth, but not all of it.
“To fight for you?” Morimaros said quietly. A tension pained his voice, and Elia remembered what her sisters had said, that this Aremore king would take Lear for himself if he was allowed to. Elia stared at Morimaros and realized it was not nations or war at the fore of the king’s mind.
An answer stuck in her mouth as her eyes stuck on his.
Kayo broke the silence. “The young man is angry at the world, sir. I’ve spoken with Ban, and he carries a fire that will burn down whatever he sets it upon. If he will put it to Elia’s cause, she would benefit.”
The king did not look away from Elia. “You need your friends,” he said.
Though Elia was not entirely sure what had passed in Morimaros’s heart, unbidden relief cooled her own. She did not take the scrawled note back from Kayo; instead she broke the seal on Errigal’s letter to finally read for her uncle, in concession to the king of Aremoria.
But she did not need to be holding the note to feel its weight, or to remember perfectly the fast, flawed lines of Ban’s writing, the deep cuts in the paper where he’d pressed too hard. Only a few words of the ancient language, and yet they might as well have been cut into her skin.
I keep my promises.
AEFA
THE ROYAL KENNELwas tucked into the northeastern curve of the secondary wall of the palace. A two-story structure built with pale wood and shingles, with a round grassy yard, it was warm all the time and smelled of hay, hairy beasts, mud, and the leavings of hectic but well-trained dogs. Aefa loved it, for kennels were the same in Aremoria and Innis Lear, so she found homesickness alleviated. And besides, dogs were a refuge of loyalty, love, and honesty in a world that nurtured the opposite.
Though Morimaros kept his raches and bloodhounds comfortably, as befitting their status as the king’s dogs, it was his nephew, Isarnos, who adored the animals. And as Isarnos was the reason the king could delay marriage as long as he had, Morimaros gave his heir almost complete run of the kennels.
It had been Aefa’s flirtation with one of the young prince’s tutors that led her to the knowledge that there was a litter of puppies, and Aefa’s considerable charm applied to royal grooms gained her access to the whelps. She’d visited every other day this past week.
The litter’s arrival was one of several pieces of intelligence Aefa had collected, with nothing more than the casual acquisition of friends. Another week in Aremoria and she’d determine who to pursue for more dedicated personal cultivation, based on a prioritized list of Elia’s needs. After all, Aefa understood charm to be her best tool for acquiring a web of allies and informants, as she’d learned last winter at the Dondubhan barracks. She’d let the adorable legitimate Errigal son seduce her, and in return she pinned him to his pillows to interrogate him on how he made everybody like him so rotting much. He was good looking, and so was Aefa; he was charismatic, and so could she be. Therefore, what could he teach her?
Plenty about sex, it turned out, and then even more about Lear’s retainers and the state of politics under the king. But he had been unable to teachher how to gain access where she was lacking. Rory Earlson had never had to learn. He simplyhadaccess; he’d been born with it, and he rarely noticed its effectiveness as a tool or a weapon. Aefa was not an earl’s son, or even an earl’s daughter. Her parents had been seasonal servants at Dondubhan until her father’s humor caught Lear’s attention; because of that and the lucky virtue of sharing a rare birth star with the king, the Fool was raised high. Though the king himself promptly forgot his Fool had ever been less than the equal of, say, a valued, honored retainer, the vast majority of the king’s household certainly remembered. Here in Aremoria, Aefa was again fettered by status, even elevated as a princess’s most trusted companion.
Aefa shook her head, hoping to shed the bitter taste in her mouth. She crouched down in a pool of her own skirts, surrounded by fluffy, slithering puppies, each large enough now to argue and snap over space on the girl’s lap. Aefa smiled and teased them, rotating the little creatures as fairly as she could manage: they each got a verse of poetry along with some scratching. The mother of the litter, a beautiful chestnut dog, leaned nearby, watching with sleepy brown eyes, her feathery tail thumping slowly against the wooden floor. She was sleek and long-legged, with a wide head but a longer snout, and not nearly so rangy and shaggy as the deerhounds preferred for hunting on Innis Lear. A little page boy swept the length of the smooth wooden floor, humming along with Aefa’s hushed rhymes. The windows were grated, but open to the afternoon, and a fine cool cross-breeze blew through smelling of river and crisp city fires.
The only two things marring Aefa’s happiness were missing the island under her feet and her inability to decide how—and who to use—to best curry favor for Elia. In terms of pleasurable seduction, La Far would have been Aefa’s personal choice, though he was more than ten years her elder. The way he moved, and the vast heaviness peering out of his eyes, intrigued her to the point of distraction. Consequently, he was a poor choice, if her purpose was Elia’s benefit, not merely that of her own loins.
Then there was Ianta, the Twice-Princess and King Morimaros’s sister. The woman was fat and delightful, and she’d winked at Aefa three days ago, and she was rich and in a perfect position to influence the king. But she, too, was old, and a widow, and the way she flirted with the lord of Perseria gave Aefa pause. Her sights, perhaps, should be set lower.
One of the younger sons of the Lady Marshal, maybe, or that cousin of Lord Ariacos who worked so closely with the Third Kingdom trade commander. Or the Alsax heir, if he was as unencumbered as his Errigal cousin. Any of them could provide valuable intelligence to aid Elia’s cause first in Aremoria, and then on Innis Lear.
Aefa only needed to narrow down exactly what that cause might be. Elia herself would not say, which was usual. Though, her companion thought, it had to be one of two things: return home alone, or marry Morimaros and establish herself outside Lear. Aefa’s instincts told her Elia would never agree to marriage before settling her father, before returning home to see everything on the island put right. Though marrying the king here might be the safer choice, it would not allow Elia to pursue what had before seemed her only goal: a life of contemplation and peace, close to the stars.
Aefa could not put down the gut feeling that Elia had to go home. That her fate could not be found here, but only submerged in the rootwaters of Innis Lear.
“Aefa?”
“Elia!” Aefa said, lifting a dun-colored puppy in both hands so its round little paws flailed like it might run through the air. “Come sit with me, and tell me what the king wanted.”
The princess climbed the rest of the way onto the second floor. She nudged aside the puppies, allowed their mother a good long sniff at her skirts, and settled beside Aefa, legs curled beneath her. Elia snuggled a smooth, dusty puppy to her neck, and while it pawed at her breast and nuzzled her earlobe, Elia told Aefa about Kayo’s arrival, his news, and the letters he’d brought. She read aloud the letter from Errigal first (“Patronizing old dog!” Aefa spat), then Gaela’s (“Terrible as always, and you cannot marry Rory Errigal, for so many reasons!”) and Regan’s (“Pitiless and yet almost kind; she must be pregnant again!”), and finally they read together Aefa’s own letter from her father.
“Oh, Dada,” Aefa moaned softly.
Elia set the Fool’s letter into her lap with the others. “He means that my father truly believes I betrayed him; either that or the stars did. The stars showed him I would do one thing, and I did another, therefore one or the other of us must be false.”
“How can he think that it’syou?” Aefa asked, viciously enough the mother dog lifted her long head.
“Because the sun sets every day and rises again at the proper time. The tides sway and shift in exact patterns; the moon and the stars do not vary. So of course it must be his daughter, because daughters—and sons, and fathers, and all men—have inconstant hearts.” Elia said the last sadly.
