Why is he playing with us like this?
It struck her that he was enjoying himself. He liked seeing the terror on her face, liked feeling so completely in control of the situation.
"You're nothing but a big bully!" she shouted angrily at him. "You just want people to be afraid of you so you can feel important!"
"Little girls should not taunt their elders," he admonished her. "And there are plenty of people who will fear me in the days to come. Think how privileged you are to be the first to taste that terror!"
In answer, she made an abortive rush at him, slashing her knife toward his face, but darted back when he reached out to seize her as she had expected he would.
At this point, she really wasn't thinking anymore. She was observing and reacting, at a level of analysis that was almost instinct, knowing that if she did this, he would respond with that. As long as she could keep this game going, they would live a little longer. As long as she could observe and react, she wouldn't crumble under the weight of her fear.
But it seemed that he was getting impatient, tired of the game, wanting to bring it to its conclusion.
"What? You dare not strike, even when you know I will kill you? Even when I swear not to defend myself?" A cruel chuckle emerged from his lips. "What a pity; I had even come to like you, a little. Oh, it would not have saved you, but I would see that you were properly buried and not left for scavengers. But since you haven't the courage of a jackal, it is fitting that you go to feed them. It is too bad that you have no stomach to use a weapon against another-"
He broke off his sentence to stare stupidly at the length of shining, pointed steel protruding through his chest.
"Fortunately," Kethry snarled, "We don't have that problem."
And as he fell, Meri and Kira ran to Tarma's outstretched arms.
"Come on, kittens," she said as she gathered them up. "Let's go home."
* * *
Children, kittens and puppies tumbled over one another in a shrieking, joyful mass in the middle of the nursery, a large room lined with shelves upon which resided the battered but beloved toys of a houseful of children. It was just as well that the toys had all been put away, for no doll or wooden horse could ever survive the melee of bodies in the middle of the room. At the moment, it was difficult to count how many there were of each species, but there was no doubt of how happy they all were. Warrl reclined at the sidelines, an indulgent and benevolent presence standing in for adult authority.
"Well, I don't think they're going to kill each other, and I do think your Midwinter present is a success, Tilden," Kethry laughed, as three of the mastiff pups together broke from the mass and attacked Warrl's tail. Warrl ignored them, and after a few futile attempts to make the tail do something, the pups galloped back to the larger pile. Even the Archduke's eldest girl, the quiet scholar who considered herself an adult at thirteen, had joined in the romp.
"I was afraid you might be annoyed when I descended on you with more livestock," their old friend replied, eyes twinkling. "But I could hardly have given the girls their pets and not have brought identical offerings for your brood."
Tarma laughed, and slapped him on the back. "You show a fine grasp of diplomacy in your old age," she told him. "And since the manners and morals of the nobility often resemble those of children, I predict you are going to go far in your political career. Let's go off to somewhere where we can talk without having to scream at each other. We can leave Warrl in charge of maintaining a pretense of order and let them sort out which animal belongs to who by themselves."
Tilden's chief Midwinter presents to all of the children consisted of one Brindle Mastiff puppy and one Arborn Hunting Cat kitten for each child old enough to appreciate and care for their pets. With sound judgement, he had left the animals in the nursery and brought in the children, but had not parceled out particular animals for each. Hunting Cats and Mastiffs were about the same size and strength, were often kenneled and trained together and would be perfectly happy paired up together.
"Good idea," seconded Jadrek, who winced as a particularly piercing shriek split the air.
The adults returned to Kethry's solar, which was just large enough to seat all of them without anyone feeling crowded rather than cozy. The furniture was of good quality, but with the touch of shabby comfort about it that furnishings often acquire in a house where there are many well-loved children. Tilden looked around and nodded -- with satisfaction, Tarma thought.
"You know," said the Archduke, when they were all settled -- and in some cases, sprawled -- comfortably in front of the fire, "this has been such a pleasant Midwinter, I'm tempted to ask you to invite us again next year."
"In spite of the circumstances?" Tarma asked, arching an eyebrow at him.
"Absolutely." Tilden nodded his handsome head, and his wife gave silent agreement. "The twins have no real friends at home, and to be brutally frank, I dread Midwinter Court -- it's when every social-climber and bore in the Kingdom shows up to rub elbows with the great and the pretenders, then goes home to drop names to impress his provincial friends. I'd be just as happy to have an excuse to come here instead of bringing the twins home for the holidays every year. It wouldn't be any more difficult to get up a caravan for us to come here. Easier, in some ways -- my guards would only be making one round trip instead of two."
Unspoken was the clear and obvious fact that no one in his right mind, however bold and fanatic, would attack the Archduke and his retinue. Not with Tilden's reputation as a warrior.
"Tilden!" his wife laughed. "How can you say that about our worthy peers?"
"Our worthy peers are so preoccupied with sucking up to the King that he could set them on fire and they'd thank him for the honor," Tilden replied brutally. "And I'm glad to be among friends with whom I can speak my mind for a change, instead of mouthing polite idiocy and trying not to feel as if I ought to be scraping them off my boots." He turned to Tarma, and she shrugged.
"Don't look at me," she declared. "I'm just a barbarian nomad with no sense of rank or decorum, remember? You can keep your Courts; I don't want any part of them."
"You're well out of it, and I wish I'd had your sense and declined the damned title," Tilden grumbled, yet with a smile. "You have no idea what those of us who actually do some work have to put up with from the drones. Listen to this, will you-"
She sat back and enjoyed Tilden's witty, acerbic commentary on the current crop of Rethwellan nobility, as his wife added sweetly pointed asides and Jadrek commented on the lineage (or lack of it) where each was concerned. It was wonderful to have Tilden and his family here; she'd forgotten how much she enjoyed his sharp tongue and razor wit. And of course, Jadrie was thrilled, for she not only had her best friends here for the holiday, but she had a new friend in the shape of Tilden's eldest daughter Arboli. However scholarly Arboli might be, she was also the daughter of a bodyguard and a Horsemaster -- she rode like a Shin'a'in and could hold her own in rough games and contests. She couldn't match even Kira in swordwork, but she was wickedly accurate with a snowball and was endlessly inventive in coming up with new amusements to act out.