I took a deep breath, then hit the table with sudden violence, scattering hapless chess pieces on the floor. "Hah!" I bellowed. "Do you call that a game! My grandmother's dog played better on its deathbed. Fifteen moves! Teach you to believe it when someone claims to play a little chess!" I subsided slowly.
Tisala had flinched at my first move, but it had been reflex only, and even when I loomed over her, she was relaxed in her chair. It had taken me weeks to get my father's warhorse to trust me that much—but Tisala had only been abused for a short time.
"Subtle, Hurog, subtle like a battle-ax," she said. "My father taught me better manners than that—but I suppose we must take into consideration that you are a Shavig barbarian and given to fits and starts."
I collapsed back into my chair and put my hand over my heart as if she had wounded me.
She'd been here for five days and looked much better than she had at first. Her left hand was healing well. Though it would never be as strong as it had been, she'd be able to hold a shield or use a bow with it.
Giving up my pose, I reset the board, having to scramble under the bed to find the dark rook, and we started again. This time I was playing for death. Lunch came and went, and the early shadows of the shorter winter days necessitated the lighting of candles before the game was over. I beat her this time, but I'd had to work at it.
"Hah!" I bellowed, hitting the table, and she laughed.
Better than the healing of her body was the easing of her spirit. She hadn't talked about what had happened to her, and I hadn't pushed. I knew from experience that some wounds heal best in silence. Later, when the experience wasn't so fresh, I'd press her on what had happened, and in the meantime I worked on helping in other ways. She didn't even flinch at my aggressive gloating.
When she quit laughing, she said, "Not that I don't appreciate the game, but don't you have other duties here that call for your attention?"
I picked up the scattered pieces from the floor again, and said, "The harvest's in and stored. My aunt needs no help keeping the Guard busy. I could help lay the floor in the main hall, but it's not necessary."
As I set the pieces back in their case, I asked her something that had been bothering me. "What were you about in Estian? I thought your so-public fight with Haverness was staged, but I've never figured out the reason for it. What did your exile to Estian accomplish?"
"What was it supposed to accomplish?" she asked.
I scowled at her. "No one who plays chess like you would do such a stupid thing without reason."
"How was it stupid?" she asked. "I fought with my father. He tried to tell me how to think, and when I refused to agree with him, I was asked to leave—I think he believed that would make me give in. So I left."
"And went to Estian," I said.
"Where else?"
I laughed. "That might work with Tallvenish folk, my lady. But I've seen how your father dotes upon you. Like me, he might understand that Alizon's rebellion hasn't a chance of succeeding, but he'd never toss you out for that. What took you to Estian?"
She was silent, but it was a challenging silence. I'd grown up with a sister who couldn't speak and communicated by expression. Figure it out yourself, Tisala's folded arms and superior expression said.
What makes Tisala unusual enough that Alizon's cause would pull her to Estian? I wondered.
I smiled at last, getting it. "A man, even a man of high rank, whose support of Alizon became common knowledge would be taken in for treason."
She smiled back, but didn't say anything.
"But a highborn woman would be safe because of Tallvenish custom—at least you should have been. They would need a single woman—otherwise her husband would be expected to stop her. But to what purpose … " I stared at her and she stared back blandly.
This woman, something whispered deep inside my heart, this woman is for me.
The bruises on her face were yellow and green. She was too thin, making her nose stand out even more. She wore one of my oldest robes and one of the pieces of chicken we'd eaten at lunch had left a greasy spot on the material over her arm. And none of it mattered at all.
"Perhaps," I speculated, hoping she hadn't read what I was thinking in my face. "Perhaps there is a nobleman who would like to see Jakoven fall. Maybe this nobleman has money to support Alizon, perhaps it is information, or even just a message. Perhaps he wants to be completely anonymous. If there were someone who could be trusted to pass things on, an anonymous servant or even a street child could be sent to this supporter of Alizon—if people knew who he—or rather she was."
She raised her eyebrows. "Truly you have an active imagination, Ward."
"Accurate, too," I said. "How did you contact Alizon?"
She opened her mouth, then shut it. When she spoke, she said, "I'm not a fish to rise to your bait. Suffice it to say that your casting is in the right area and we'll leave it at that."
But it wasn't so easy to leave the information I'd gotten from Tisala alone. Jakoven was moving against Beckram, my cousin—my responsibility. The king's gambit with Tisala had failed, but he had many other arrows in his quiver.
Over the next few weeks as the first snows left the mountains white and frosted the air, I pondered Jakoven's next move. But the only thing I settled upon was that it would be disastrous to wait for Jakoven to play his own game. I'd have to make a move of my own.
"I'm going to Estian," I said over supper.
The guardsmen ate in their quarters, but there was enough tile done in the great hall that my family took our meals there, my family and our guest. Tisala had been mobile enough to take the stairs for the last week, so she'd begun to join us for meals. We sat close to the great fireplace that tried to make up for the open doorway, where soon the great doors would hang. The armorer's first attempt at hinges had been beautiful, but not strong enough to hold the doors, so he was trying again.
"Estian? You are mad," said Oreg with conviction, though not disapproval—more as if he were delighted with the discovery. He'd finished eating and was settled back watching the rest of us.
I grinned at him.
My aunt Stala, seated next to him, shook her head—but I think it was at Oreg and not at me. She was my captain of the guards and my mother's baseborn sister, a Tallvenish woman who'd taken her destiny in her own hands and shook the world. She bore the scars of those battles gracefully and there was not a man in the Blue Guard who would not die willingly for her, including me.
"You forced me to stay here," said my brother, "by following me to the capital every time I tried to go, threatening to expose yourself to the possibility that he would decide to enforce his own writ and have you caged in his zoo for unwanted nobles—"
Tosten had been intent on supporting Alizon—something I'd determined was both dangerous and useless. But Tosten was still young and hotheaded; he'd been very close to both of the twins, and Erdrick's death had hit him hard.
"Unwanted crazy nobles," I murmured, taking a bite of stew and relishing the taste of fresh carrots. By the end of winter we'd be out of vegetables. I glanced at Tisala and she sent me a strained smile in return. She obviously agreed with Tosten.
"Unwanted crazy nobles," Tosten snapped with a wave of his hand. "Now you want to hie off and see what Jakoven's been up to? You might do well to remember that the last Hurog who stuck his nose in Jakoven's business got his throat slit."