Hunting Page 8

  "I've better manners," Ash said, wondering if he truly thought her such a numb-wit.

  "Not that I've seen."

  "If the Rhoi gave me leave to speak to him plainly, I might ask him something like that, unless I thought him likely to get offended. But I'm obliged to be polite to him. Too many people about who'd make a point of protecting his dignity."

  "There's a very practical interpretation of 'better manners'." As they rounded Westgard's curve and rejoined the Milk, Thornaster frowned and shifted in his saddle. "Is Arun well-regarded by those in the Commons? By those less, ah, full of manners than you?"

  "Right now people are impatient for him to marry. But there's a lot of talk about his review of the laws, and all the Aremish ways he's picked up. A few say that you and the other foreign Luinsel have some sort of power over the Rhoi, that it's your will that's law in the land, not his."

  Thornaster sighed. "Unsurprising, I suppose. He is not certain of his ground, yet, and that might seem to people to be weakness. And it's true enough that he wishes to follow Aremal's lead, not least because he, too, feels Montmoth is out of Balance in some way."

  "Does he plan to make a lot of changes?"

  "From what I've seen, Montmoth's laws aren't precisely the problem, though he will do what he can to strengthen them. It's like that teaching text you had – the interpretation is the problem. For instance, that house you and your guardian lived in – the land there isn't bonded. It's only covered by the Rhoi's wider protections."

  "Landhold Dunn hasn't enough property yet to become a Visel."

  "But that's no reason to leave the land unbound. Luin spoke a great deal on the responsibility of Visel, Setsel and Decsel because large tracts of land require more management, but Montmoth ignores the clear implication in Luin's words that all land should be bound and kept so far as possible in Balance. It's so bad here that an entire district of the city is clearly direly under managed." He nodded in the direction of Mockhold Valley and the Shambles. "It's all smallholdings, without a single Luinsel bound over even the public paths and roads. That needs to be corrected as soon as possible."

  "The Rhoi's going to make all the Smallholders be judged?" The idea of Charity Dunn being tested by Luin made Ash giddy. "What if they all fail?"

  "Luin rarely judges Smallholders harshly, especially since the holding is often only house, without garden or well. The important step is the binding, in giving them an awareness of the state of the land they occupy."

  "Still going to cause an almighty flap," Ash said appreciatively.

  "Another glaring issue is Luinhall's Mern," Thornaster continued. "Luin requires that an understanding of the Balance is taught. Montmoth has piecemeal teaching in all quarters, but the Mern is the only place that undertakes formal, in-depth instruction. No promising students from outside the Kinsel attend, and even among the Kinsel there's an obvious and complete absence of half of those with heir's right to be first judged."

  "Girls?"

  "A situation certainly not as Luin intended. And again there is no express law which requires or forbids, just an interpretation which no other Rhoimarch has taken. And the reasoning is so..." He shook his head. "The question Arun is debating there is whether to merely permit girls to attend the Mern, or if he needs to require them to, given the limited number whose parents will voluntarily send them."

  "Because they'd be shamed by their daughters acting manly?"

  "Exactly the problem. What is 'manly' about the Balance? Even Arun, who wants very much to improve the situation, keeps finding himself using words like 'unseemly' and 'indelicate'. I can't say whether this strange...binding with impropriety is part of the reason Montmoth is out of Balance, but it's certainly unlikely to help."

  "You sound like Genevieve," Ash said, hoping strongly that the Rhoi introduced girls to the Mern while she was there to watch. And help. "My aunt was always scathing about what she called Montmoth's culture of incompetence. Though it's not nearly so bad outside the Kinsel. Is this something that really matters to the Rhoi? Because the fuss over binding Smallholders will be minor in comparison, and it wouldn't be fair to try half-heartedly."

  Thornaster nodded. "It has become a matter of pride for him. The first thing Arun did on arriving at Crown of Stars was get himself rescued from a would-be robber by the Rhoi's daughter. She is, ah, everything Montmoth teaches its women they are incapable of being, and he fell into a heap at her feet. She liked him well enough, for a short while, but not enough to come to a Rhoimarch which would treat her as so much less than herself."

  "That's why he's so anxious to bring reform? Will she accept him if he makes progress?"

  "No and no. Her refusal is final and he knows that. That is not where Arun's determination came from. Arun's wish is to be a truly great Rhoi, worthy of Luin and Astenar's trust, and he has become convinced that to do so he must overcome...even himself." Thornaster tilted his head to one side, as if evaluating his own words, then nodded.

  Ash had heard no gossip about the Rhoi's failed romance, let alone any hint that he intended to open the Mern to girls. But plenty of talk all the same, and as they headed into the Deirhoi Valley she thought through where this might lead them.

  "Does anyone else know he plans this?"

  "He's made no secret of the review of Montmoth's current laws. There's a handful with which he's discussed specific changes. The Master of the Mern. Setsel Enoren, Decsel Enderhay, Decsel Carlyon. I would say that only Setsel Hawkmarten and myself have seen the whole of his plans. He hasn't even taken his brother into his confidence, though that is out of some ingrained belief that the boy is delicate."

  Four people. Who could well have told anyone. But they would make useful first suspects, and Ash promised herself that this designation had nothing to do with the name 'Carlyon'.

  ooOoo

  Ash had an opportunity to observe Lauren Carlyon for signs of guilt that night, when Thornaster decided it was time she took on another duty of seruilisi.

  "Now the idea here," Thornaster said, as she trailed him into the Rhoi's own quarters, "is for you to stand around doing very little unless I should indicate some need. Don't join in the conversation or even seem to listen to it, but don't look bored either. You'll probably be asleep on your feet by the end of it, but bear up. I expect you'll find it instructive."

  Standing around doing little was far from Ash's idea of a useful occupation, particularly when she wanted to keep her mind from tomorrow's funeral, but she did want to get a look at both the Rhoi and the other foreigner said to have influence over him. In theory, standing attendance on a Luinsel was an opportunity to learn how they conducted their duties, but since Thornaster led their way into a room dominated by a trigle table, Ash doubted any serious business was on the schedule.

  Two men were already seated at the three-sided table. One, short and wiry, with a close-trimmed beard and skin a touch darker than Thornaster's, was obviously Hawkmarten, the Setsel from Nyreem. The other, gold-haired and blue-eyed, smiled at the Visel before turning to study Ash.

  "So I'm finally allowed to meet your latest acquisition, Thorn!" he said, amusement competing with curiosity. "Well, lad, what do you think of being a seruilis?"

  Ash hesitated, suspecting Thornaster of having described her in highly coloured terms, and intensely aware of two gold and black-clad figures standing attendance behind the Rhoi. One had a face blank of any expression, the other, Veirhoi Heran, glanced briefly at Carlyon, and then frowned at Ash. If she was going to get anywhere with her fellow seruilisi, she needed to keep hold of her tongue.

  "It's very different from anything I have ever done, Ser Rhoi," she replied, sticking to quiet obedience. She was a little disappointed that the Rhoi's eyes, while a nice shade of blue, were neither glowing nor mesmerically compelling.

  "And what's Thorn like as a master?" Hawkmarten asked, his voice deep, mouth curling with mischief. "Not too strict, I should hope?"

  That was more difficult to answer and she gla
nced at Thornaster's faintly smiling profile before responding. "I have never had better, Ser," she said solemnly.

  Thornaster laughed. "So I'm the best of a group of one? Fulsome compliment indeed. Leave be, Hawk. Ash has a decided tendency to answer honestly when asked for his opinion and I doubt he will be able to continually produce non-answers if you press him. I came here to play trigle, not have my character dissected."

  "We can do both," Hawkmarten replied, equably. But he turned his attention to the three-sided gaming table, asking what layout they should use that night, and Ash was relieved to be able to fade into the background and only have to deal with the two pairs of eyes facing her over the Rhoi's shoulders. There was no third pair, so it seemed that Hawkmarten did not keep a seruilis.

  Carlyon looked away, focusing his gaze on nothing, but Veirhoi Heran continued frowning at Ash. To match his stare would probably be construed as a challenge when the serious young Veirhoi obviously already considered her an intruder, so Ash copied Carlyon, gazing at nothing and listening attentively to talk of a hunt arranged to rid the Rhoi's Preserve of a stag which had taken to savaging does. The Rhoi's Preserve was unfamiliar territory for Ash, who had had no right to ride there, but the Rhoi helpfully described much of its terrain over the course of a half-dozen games.

  Her own hunt was less simply arranged, and could progress only fitfully unless her quarry was flushed from cover by the Guard's surveillance. She was unlikely to be taken into the confidence of anyone in the Mern, even if she undid her misstep with Lauren Carlyon, and she was too rarely in the Veirhoi's presence to be an effective guard for him.

  But as she listened to the men's light-hearted conversation, other possibilities opened up to her.

  "What did you think of Arun?" Thornaster asked, when they were back in the privacy of his room.

  "He doesn't like being Rhoi."

  "True." Thornaster kicked his short boots off, then quirked an eyebrow at her. "Is that the extent of your observations? I was expecting an unsparing dissection."

  Ash shrugged, more interested in other matters. "Do you three talk like that all the time? In front of those two?"

  "We don't generally discuss the changes to the laws while they're in attendance, if that's what you mean."

  "Is Pembury extremely important politically? Or made up completely of diamond mines?" she asked.

  "No." Startled blankness in the man's voice. "Why?"

  "Did you once save Rhoi Arun's life? Or were you rescuing him constantly from unfortunate situations?"

  "Once again I have an unaccountable feeling that I've missed a large part of our conversation," Thornaster murmured. "No, stripling."

  "Oh." Ash pondered, aware of the man's gaze on her frowning profile. "Are you sure you're the Visel of Pembury, then? You're not someone else?"

  "Are you accusing me of lying again?" The voice wasn't quite chilly, but the man wasn't amused any more.

  Ash sighed, and sat cross-legged on her sleeping pad, eyeing her so-called master with faint exasperation.

  "I'll tell you what I saw tonight. Three friends. One, Hawkmarten, is full of jokes, irreverent, with an ache in his eyes when he looks at the friend he followed to Montmoth. And that friend is, well, earnest and serious, not too different from the Veirhoi. Whether or not he succeeds in being a great Rhoi, he's obviously weighed down by his duty, and finds relief in the time he spends on lighter matters. And then there's you." She paused. "Are you older than them?"

  Frowning now, Thornaster shook his head. "Hawk and Arun both have a couple of years on me."

  "And yet, every time there was some question or dispute, they looked to you to settle it. Deferred to your opinion. Over and over." She shook her head. "I have no idea whether Lauren Carlyon or the Veirhoi have ambitions on the Rhoimarch, but tonight showed me they would both be overjoyed to see the last of you. And if you three behave like that in front of anyone else, I've found not a possible suspect, but a likely target for this maybe-assassination."

  Thornaster sat down on the end of his bed, clearly startled. "I'm not driving these changes, stripling. Killing me wouldn't make any difference."

  "And how many people know that? Your opinion of the Rhoi hasn't stopped everyone from worrying that you've influenced him into Aremish ways. Why wouldn't they think that if they got rid of you, the Rhoi could be made to see sense?"

  "I–" Thornaster blinked, tilted his head to one side, and gazed at the ceiling for a while, finally straightening when Ash shifted restlessly. "Perhaps they do defer to me," the man admitted. "Though when it's a question of trigle rules, that's only natural, since we're playing the Aremish version of the game. And the Estarrel blood often gains me some not necessarily warranted respect. But most of it comes from me shepherding them around the Collegium and Crown of Stars when they were new to Aremal."

  "It doesn't matter if their attitude is misplaced. Just that people see it."

  He'd recovered his smile. "With you around, I can at least be assured that I won't suffer from any overweening pride. And I don't see any need for these preliminary deaths if I'm the target. But you make a fair point. Be careful with any food intended for me: you don't have my constitution."

  As if she wasn't already watching what she put in her mouth.

  During preparation for bed, Ash considered Thornaster's likely ability to survive any serious poison. It was possible, she supposed – the descendents of the gods were supposed to be hard to kill.

  But she would watch his back, all the same.

  Chapter Eleven

  A particularly cruel visitation from Comfort left Ash with less grit than she needed to face Genevieve's funeral. Even Thornaster's morning display failed to distract her from the possibility of damnation, and she was filled with a strong desire to find a way to knock herself out until evening. Things she couldn't change were always the hardest for Ash to deal with. If only she could simply run away, as she had from Eward Carlyon.

  Focusing on small tasks, she fetched fresh water, then washed herself in the sluicing room. On her return she discovered Thornaster dressed in the most formal of his robes, eyeing himself in his small shaving glass.

  "Want me to see about finding you a proper preening mirror? We could fit one on the wall."

  Her over-bright tone prompted the Aremish man to look her up and down. "If you're going to be ill, perhaps we should skip breakfast."

  "I'm not going to be ill. And why would that make you skip breakfast?"

  "The green colour of your face would likely put me off. Never mind, lad. It's not a bad idea to fast before a funeral."

  She appreciated that he led the way to the stables without prying questions. Sympathetic silence, and the increasing tightening of her stomach as they rode through the palace grounds, pushed her to talk despite previous intentions.

  "Have you ever killed anyone?"

  Comprehension lit his eyes. "Yes. Two Beldranian border raiders."

  "Do you worry that Astenar will not accept your soul back? Or does your bloodline help?"

  "If anything, Astenar judges direct descendents against a higher standard. But I don't believe my actions were unjustified, or without cause."

  Ash studied Cloud Cat's dark mane, knowing there were no solutions to be found in this discussion. The gods did not forbid killing in defence of self or Rhoimarch, but after a person's death the Sun weighed their whole life's actions. Damage to Luin and unwarranted deaths counted as the strongest negatives, a taint which might lead Astenar to send the soul to Luin to be washed – scoured – clean. In the worst cases, both gods might refuse the soul, leaving it damned, trapped in a rotting body. When that body decayed to bone or was burned, the soul was left adrift, until time shredded it to nothing.

  It was said to be agony: voiceless, unrelenting.

  "Who did your aunt kill?" Thornaster asked. And when Ash didn't respond, added: "Astenar is not unreasonable. And from everything I've heard of her, your aunt gave deeply of herself. If she genuinely strove t
o balance any wrong she had committed, you should not fear the Sun's regard."

  You couldn't buy Astenar's mercy, but you could try to balance wrongs. Save lives, help others, offer genuine regret and changed action.

  "I don't think Genevieve ever thought that would be possible," Ash said, wearily. "She helped people because she liked it. She didn't believe anything would spare her from damnation."

  The Aremish man's usual light good humour dropped away entirely, but though startled he didn't speak, waiting until Ash was ready to go on.

  "After she left Cadoken, Genevieve...I don't know where she lived, or what exactly she did. She said she worked for someone who abused her trust. A situation she barely escaped from. Montmoth's so out of the way that she could start again here, be herself." Ash took a deep breath, trying to ease the heavy ache in her chest. "Genevieve – Genevieve knew a great deal about killing people."

  How many, Ash didn't know. Too many had been all Genevieve would say, and the only life Ash could put with any certainty to her account was Eward Carlyon's. Who had been the last person in Luinhall whose soul the gods had refused.

  To have Genevieve placed in the same category as Eward Carlyon! Whatever Genevieve had done, it could not be comparable, and it was the worst kind of injustice to have people think of Genevieve the way they did the Black Carlyon. But there was no way to stop Astenar's judgment.

  "Is there any chance that your aunt's employer traced her here?" Thornaster asked. "Could she have been the target of this series of deaths?"

  "What reason would they have to hide that she was the target? The only person who obviously benefits from Genevieve's death is..." Acid rose to sear her throat, and Cloud Cat stuttered to a halt as Ash sat back in the saddle, hands clenching to fists. "She couldn't have. She – I'll –"