"I did not know I had any brothers." She walked over to him with hands outstretched. "And then I discovered I had three. My name is Fabia Celebre."
He ignored her hands, looking her up and down without expression. "Who are the other two?"
"Dantio, the eldest, is dead. Benard is an artist in Kosord, a very good one." She had not minded being reunited with Benard under the acute gaze of Ingeld Narsdor, but she much resented Saltaja's snaky stare now. "You are Orlando Celebre."
"No! I am Orlad Orladson! Why are you here?"
His manner made everything seem her fault. It peeved her and yet she sensed terrible hurt behind it. She wanted to hug him until his ribs ached, as Benard had hugged her, and she suspected he would hurl her to the ground if she tried. The world was forbidden to touch Flankleader Orlad.
"How much do you know of our family?"
"Nothing and I don't want to."
Fabia knew this must be harder on him than it was on her. She had been prepared and he had not. He was on show before his lord. Flames of pain flickered behind his eyes.
"Even that name," he said bitterly. "Celebre! To be called after the traitor's city!"
"The what?"
"You didn't know? The vile Cavotti was a Celebrian."
Cavotti must be one of the Florengian partisans. "So are you, Brother. Our father is the doge."
"What's that?"
"The ruler, elected for life. He's old now, and ailing."
"Let him die. He gave up without a fight."
"He did fight! His army was wiped out. When he dies, the elders will choose one of us to succeed him. I am going back to Florengia. I am to marry Cutrath Horoldson and—"
"Who?"
"You know him?"
Orlad glanced quickly at Saltaja; then at Therek, who was leering gleefully; then at Leorth's feline smirk; then back to Fabia. "To be chosen to marry into the noble house of Hrag is a far greater honor than your ancestry justifies. Try to be a worthy wife to him." He turned to Therek. "In Celebre succession goes in the female line, my lord?"
Saltaja said grimly, "It will this time."
He must have felt that they were coming at him from all sides. "My lady? I have not had the honor ..."
"Saltaja Hragsdor."
He bowed again. "A very great honor."
"Perhaps." As usual, her face was inscrutable. "Do you speak Florengian?"
"Not at all, my lady."
Therek said, "You did fifteen years ago."
"Then I have forgotten it," Orlad said stubbornly. "I am Vigaelian—by adoption, true, but proud of it."
"Have you need or wish to talk further with your sister?"
"No, my lady ... Except to command her to be as true to your noble house as I will always be."
Therek muttered, "Quite, quite, quite ..." Then he spread his lips and gums in a predatory gape that was possibly intended as a smile. "I think you should go on Caravan Six. You can keep your sister company ... when her husband doesn't need her! You tell the huntleader I ordered it. Such touching fidelity should be rewarded, shouldn't it, Leorth?"
"My lord is kind!" Orlad exclaimed.
"Expect Leorth can make room for you in the left flank, can't you, Leorth? Find him a billet for the night."
"We don't need Fabia here any longer," his sister said. "I want her locked up and well guarded. Not harmed as long as she behaves."
"See to that, Leorth."
"Guarded on pain of death!" Saltaja snapped.
"Yes, yes, yes," her brother said. "On pain of death, you hear, Leorth?"
"On pain of death, my lord." The warrior returned the hostleader's grin.
"Good, good. I wish you an interesting journey home tomorrow, Flankleader Orlad."
thirty-seven
SALTAJA HRAGSDOR
waited until the youngsters had left, and then said, "You are crazy, truly crazy. That boy worships you."
Therek swung around, flushing. "You can't trust Florengians! He'll break his oaths as soon as he gets the chance!"
"You were not exactly encouraging him to stay loyal."
"Stay loyal? They slew all three of my sons!" He stalked across to the far side of the room, as far from her as he could get.
She sighed and wandered closer to the bell rope. Of the four sons of Hrag, Therek had been the hardest to mold. Left to his own devices, Therek would probably have grown up to be a reasonable farmer, but she and Hrag had shaped him into the son his father wanted, and in some ways Therek had become the deadliest fighter of them all. He was no strategist, but even Stralg, for all his brilliance and ruthlessness, had never matched Therek at suicidal close combat. He had always been unstable, of course—how else could he have been?—and now age and deformity were bringing insanity oozing closer to the surface.
"They slew three of mine, too, but Orlad wasn't there." The Celebre boy had been impressive. She would send him home instead of his sister if he knew any Florengian, but a doge who couldn't speak the language would be useless. Besides, the drastic Shaping needed to make him biddable would turn his wits to mush. "I haven't seen Cutrath for a couple of years. Has he improved any?"
"Erch! Poisonous little mama's brat! He's the sort who turns up dead of a broken neck after a party—if the Florengians don't get him in his first battle, his buddies will."
In Saltaja's opinion, Cutrath's problem had been his father, not his mother. "What d'you think of the Celebre girl?"
"Like to suck on her melons. What am I supposed to think of her?"
"She's a Chosen."
The satrap brayed like an onager. "What!? You're joking!"
"I'm not quite certain. If she is, she's good." Extraordinarily good for her age. Perag's death, those blatant desertions—bad things happening, but not so many that they might not be mere chance. The hussy had been too clever to try anything against Saltaja directly.
"Can't you tell?" Therek's tone implied, If you can't who can?
"Not for certain. We can test her tomorrow."
"How?" He eyed her suspiciously.
"Have you any real brute Werists, the type who have no scruples at all and look it?"
He chuckled. "Several dozen."
"We'll send the ugliest into her cell with orders to rape her. If he can, then she's clear." If he couldn't, then Saltaja would sit down with Fabia and explain the facts of life—and death—including how to Shape Cutrath into something useful. Having another Chosen in the Family again would be a big help.
"That's your nephew's betrothed you're discussing."
"He needn't know." Saltaja's wandering had brought her to the window beside the bell rope.
"Anyway, it's four!" Therek said. "Not three, four." He stalked farther away from her.
"Four what?"
"Sons. You've been missing your mail. Deeply sorry to tell you that Huntleader Kwirarl has died." His toothless sneer could not have looked less sympathetic.
Kwirarl Eideson, her youngest! For a moment she was speechless, dazzled by memories of his smile, his laugh, and racked by a sense of betrayal. Mother of Death, You test Your servant hard! After all the oceans of blood she had spilled to honor the Old One, it seemed unfair that she should lose so many of her own children so young. It was not for me, Mother, it was for the Family! A dynasty needs heirs, and You have taken too many!
She drummed her fists on the window ledge. Oh, Kwirarl, Kwirarl! None of the sons she had given Eide had made warriors to compare with the sons of Hrag, partly because Eide was not Hrag and partly because she'd had to Shape them without Hrag's help. Kwirarl had turned out the best of her second brood, probably because Eide was not his father. Gone?
"Died how?"
"It was back in the spring sometime. Stralg just said he was ambushed while on patrol. If the rebels took him alive, it would have been long and nasty."