"That may be true," he said. "But Henas'amef is stronger than Anwyfar."
"A great deal stronger. And have they come for you? Is thatthe cause of the army outside these walls? There were Ivanim we spoke to last night. I saw Sovrag's pirates."
"You did see Olmernmen," he said, letting her shafts rain about him, none landing, for she knew nothing, and struck none home. "And Ivanim. But none of these have to do with the nuns and Essan's men."
"The rumor reached us," Orien said haughtily, with her hands on her sister's shoulders, "even in our rustic exile, it reached us— that Cefwyn has married the Lord Regent's daughter and intends war against Elwynor this spring. And is thatwhat we see outside the walls? Will you wage his war for him? Tristen, the innocent? Tristen, the wizard, Tristen, Mauryl's heir, the defender of the king? Does the Marhanen not wield his own sword, these days?—Or does he wield magic, through you? And is thatwhat came down on us at Anwyfar?"
It was a fair question, however unkindly put.
"What he calls on me to do, I'll do. And I've wished nothing against you."
Barbs had flown. Now Orien seemed to pause for thought, and heaved a sigh and walked a few paces from Tarien's side. "And do you wish anything against us?"
"Not for yourselves. Not except as you wish harm here, or to Cefwyn."
"Have we sanctuary here?"
Sanctuary was a Word. It meant safety no matter what, justice and all other considerations notwithstanding. It was a strong Word, and Unfolded with magical force.
"Do you wish harm to Cefwyn?"
"Am I required to wish him well?"
"No. Nor would I ask it, nor would he. And I don't offer sanctuary, but if you deserve safety, I promise you'll be safe in this room." A coldness wafted to him out of the gray place, fraught with time, and change. "No more can I do."
"What? You have limits?" Scorn edged her voice. "Or do you set them for yourself?"
"If you work mischief here or anywhere, Lady Orien, I will prevent it. If you work any mischief against Cefwyn or anyone else, you won't be safe here, or anywhere."
"I am your prisoner."
"Yes."
"I demanded my rights of my liege lord, my rights by oath, and Cefwyn denied me them and sent me and my sister away in a common cart in the mid of the night, like offal from the kitchens! Was that just? Was that justice? Better he had killed us!"
"He thought it mercy," he said in all honestly. "And said it was a risk."
"And how long will this arrest go on?" Orien cried indignantly. "Are we to live here forever?"
"As long as you wish to oppose Cefwyn. I won't ever permit that. And I knowthat you do."
Clearly this had taken a turn the ladies Aswydd did not like. Tears brimmed in Tarien's eyes.
"And shall we never leave this room? Shall we not at least have the freedom of the halls?"
He had pity on them in that regard, if not his sense of the danger in them were not so great. He had had his own fill of locked doors and silent guards.
"Not while you intend harm. Think and change your minds if you can. Intend better if you can."
There was a moment of silence, in which Lady Orien gazed at him with heaving breast and fire in her eyes. But then the glance lowered, all but a bowed head, a meek clasping of hands—an implied acceptance he did not trust.
"We have no choice," Tarien said in a low voice. "And we have no chance if we go on as we are." Orien's anger flared, scenting the very air of the room, but Tarien persisted: "Good sir, we did hear in the convent that you had been given Henas'amef, else we wouldn't have dared come here. You were the kindest of the Marhanen's friends. I expect nothing good of him, but you would never harm us."
"Cefwyn didn't harm you," he returned. "And you tried to kill him."
"To win him," Tarien said, but he knew that for a lie, and Tarien perhaps knew he knew, for the gray space grew dark and troubled.
"Emuin's here, too, isn't he?" Orien asked. "I heard him quite clearly."
"He's here."
"Dry old Emuin," Orien said. "Hypocrite."
"He says very ill things of you, too," Tristen said, "and I regard his opinion as far more fair."
It was perhaps more subtle a sting than Orien had expected. Her nostrils flared, but she did not glare. Rather she seemed to grow smaller, and more pliant.
"We shouldn't quarrel. I never held any resentment for you, none at all. You never had a chance but to fall into the Marhanen's hands, the same as we, and you have far more right to be here: I shouldn't chide you."
He felt a subtle wizardry as she said it, and he wondered what she was attempting now.
He broke off the blandishments and the weaving of a spell with a wave of his hand, and she flinched. So did Tarien, for that matter.
"Don't," he said, to Tarien as much as to Orien. "Don't press against the walls. You're in danger, and you're far safer here than anywhere else if you'll accept it."
"Accept it!" Orien said in scorn.
"Accept safety here. It's my best advice."
"I need nothing from you orthat dry stick of a wizard!"
"But you do," he said. "You need it very much." Orien turned her shoulder to him, but he went on trying to reach her, in the World and in the gray space alike. "Lady, you didn't only open the wards and the window, you opened yourself and your sister to Hasufin. You thought it might give you a way to rule here and berid of Cefwyn, but all Hasufin wanted was a way inside the wards."
"And an end of the Marhanen!"
"Lady Orien, the truth is, if you had died and if everyone had died, Hasufin didn't care. It didn't matter to him. It doesn't matter to him now—if there's anything left of him. If sorcery finds a way inside the wards, it won't give you back what you had. Cefwyn might have, but Hasufin Heltain never would and never intended to. If you don't know that, you don't know what he was."
She was angry at what he said, but she might think on it. Perhaps she had already thought on it. Doubtless she had had ample time to think, sitting in a Teranthine nunnery in Guelessar with no fine gowns, no servants, no books, and no one who cared to please her.
And in this moment of her retreat, he pursued, with a question which had troubled him since summer.
"You tried to kill Emuin," he asked her, for someone at summer's end had attacked Emuin and left him lying in a pool of blood. He could think of no one more likely than Orien Aswydd, who had commanded all the resources of Henas'amef. "Didn't you?"
She gave him no answer, but he had the notion he had come very near the truth: Orien or someone sworn to her. And he could think of many, many connections she had had among the servants and the nobility of the province, one of whom had perhaps stayed more loyal than most.
"Lord Cuthan's gone to Elwynor," he said. "Did you know that?"
Perhaps she had not known it. Perhaps she was dismayed to learn that particular resource was no longer within her reach, when he was sure Cuthan had something to do with Orien Aswydd. Perhaps through Cuthan she had even known about the proposed rising against the king, and the Elwynim's promised help.
But she said nothing.
He tried a third question. "Did youbring the attack on the nuns?"
It was as much as if to ask: Did you wish your freedom from the nuns, and, Did you grow desperate because the plan had failed?
And: Did it work finally as you wished?
It all might have shot home, but Orien never met his eyes, and he somewhat doubted she heard… or that she knew any other thing. He only wished that if it were possible she could find another path for her gift, she would do differently. He wished it on her with gentle force, and with kindness, and she stepped back as if he had grossly assaulted her. The white showed all around her eyes.