“Highness,” said Jaryd, drawing her attention. She met his gaze, then lowered her eyes for the briefest moment. The same, uncertain flicker. Then back again, with firmer resolve as princessly dignity reasserted itself. It disappointed him that she should fall back on form with him of all people. “Why are you here? Koenyg would never have let you ride here without guard. In fact, I can't imagine him allowing you to ride here at all.”
Her eyes darted away again, and he knew he'd hit the peg on the head. “I'm tired of doing everything he tells me,” she said churlishly, suddenly an eighteen-year-old again. “To say nothing of father. I've hardly seen father since the Udalyn ride. Some of us thought maybe he would assert himself more, but no, he's retreated into the temple and Koenyg seems to handle even more affairs now than he did before. I know I'm not the only one unhappy about it.”
Jaryd had often been accused of not being very bright in lordly politics, he'd hated all that pointless, puffing sophistry, and hadn't understood why people couldn't just talk straight to each other. But he thought, just maybe, he could see where this was heading.
“Did you discover something?” he asked. “Something about me?” Sofy met his gaze, sombrely, chewing slowly. “Sofy, what are they up to?”
Sofy swallowed and sipped her wine. She took a second, larger gulp, and stared into the fire. “Jaryd,” she said then, “I hear lots of things. It was always just fun before. People like me, and I've always loved gossip, I can't help it. Only recently have I started to realise what power it gives me…and how worrying that power is for someone like Koenyg. He's been worried about my love of gossip for years, when I thought it was all just a game…” she shook her head in disbelief. “Seriously, I can't believe I've been such a naive little girl.
“There was a lot of talk after your father died.” She met his gaze firmly once more. “They need Tyree, Jaryd. The lords. The rebellion was strongest in Taneryn, Valhanan and Tyree…and Tyree is central, wealthy and close to Baen-Tar.”
“And most of Lenayin's bread is made there, I know,” said Jaryd impatiently. Maybe Sofy thought he was stupid too. “I didn't spend my whole life as Great Lord-in-Waiting ignoring everything important about my own province, I do know a few things.”
“I didn't mean-”
“What are they up to, Sofy? Just tell me straight.” He said it hard and blunt. Sofy looked somewhat crestfallen at his response. Perhaps she truly hadn't meant it like that. Jaryd told himself firmly that he didn't care, even as his heart told him he did.
“Well,” she said, gathering herself, “there's a big debate amongst the Tyree lords. Some say Family Nyvar's removal was poorly done, because it's set a precedent. Many are quite upset, and not just in Tyree either. They're all suddenly watching their backs and double-checking their alliances, just to be certain their own family is not the next one dissolved by ancient clan-law.
“That debate is making Arastyn nervous. I hear he means you dead, Jaryd.” Her gaze was concerned. “I've heard rumours of hired assassins and all kinds of things. The longer you remain alive, the more you fuel the debate and ensure no one forgets what's been done.”
Jaryd smiled, humourlessly. “You're a day late.”
Sofy frowned at him, uncomprehending.
“Three men dressed as Torovan merchants tried to shoot Jaryd with a crossbow at a wedding yesterday,” Lynette explained. Sofy's hand went to her mouth. “Jaryd killed one and captured another, but the third got away. Men are searching for him now.”
“So if you rode all this way to warn me that the new Great Lord of Tyree was trying to kill me,” said Jaryd, “I thank you for the concern, but I'm already aware.” Sofy took another breath, and did not reply immediately.
“That's not the only reason you rode, is it? Tell me.”
“Your brother Wyndal,” Sofy said bluntly, looking him straight in the eyes. “Arastyn means to have him killed too.”
Sasha awoke at dawn, hearing guards out in the hall and men talking outside beneath the window. Still she was exhausted, and knew she'd had hardly any sleep.
“Sleep,” Errollyn murmured alongside. “The house is quiet. There is no hostility here.” He sounded so certain. He had no reason to trust Duke Rochel, nor her relationship with him, and yet he lay on his back, eyes closed, seeming to know that she was awake without looking.
How do you know? she wanted to ask. Who are you? And why do I feel so safe, with you lying at my side?
Sasha awoke again to find the day bright and sunny beyond the window shutters. The bed beside her was empty. Furthermore, her robe was open, and she was naked beneath. No doubt Errollyn had had an eyeful. The thought did not displease her.
She crawled over and peered through the strange shutters-thin wooden slats that opened and closed when one pulled on a string. She'd never seen their like before. Beyond, the broad gardens of Pazira House glowed in brilliant, multiple shades of green and the lake reflected sun and blue sky.
Sasha stretched, and ignored her weariness. There was nothing like a close brush with death to convince a fighter to work on her condition and technique, no matter the discomfort. Her forearm wound was scabbing over nicely, she noted as she did her taka-dans, and the big, tender lump on the top of her head no longer throbbed without provocation.
Sasha made her way through the house and then out into the bright morning. She walked down to the stables where a boy was shovelling muck from the doorway of a stall. He paused to see her coming, wide-eyed. “Lady Sashandra!”
“Hello Mikel,” Sasha said with a smile. “Did he hurt anyone while I've been gone?”
Mikel nodded vigorously, wiping sweat from his forehead. “He threw off Ralin, but he wasn't hurt bad, just a few bruises. Master Faldini can ride him, but no one else dares.”
Sasha frowned. “Master Faldini?”
“The Earl of Shashti, M'Lady. He's Captain of the Pazira Guard; for now, anyhow.”
Of course, Sasha realised, Duke Rochel had brought a good five hundred men or more to stay in Cochindel, the town on whose outskirts Pazira House lay. Pazira families owned most of Cochindel, Sasha understood, and the Pazira Guard consisted of earls and their families, as well as regular, professional soldiers. Beneath them, each province could muster militia from peasants and small landholders. Those would only be raised when the war was imminent. Their quality was not much compared to Lenay militia or regulars, but still, one did not say so too loudly in these parts.
Each of the Torovan dukes had brought forces with him to this present gathering and those forces were now barracked around Petrodor wherever the dukes held ownership. It seemed like a lot of soldiers for some simple meetings, but then this was Petrodor and paranoia spread worse than a Riverside cough.
“Is Master Faldini a good horseman?” Sasha asked. She didn't like the idea of some man she'd never met riding Peg. In fact, she didn't particularly like anyone else riding Peg. As luck would have it, neither did Peg.
“Some say he's the best horseman in Pazira,” said Mikel. Further ahead, there was a loud familiar whinny, then a crash. Peg had heard her.
Sasha saw a huge black head peering over the gate, a muscular chest shoving hard against the barrier. She hugged Peg, and her enormous, petulant warhorse snorted big, horse-smelling breaths all over her. “Oh here, look,” she said, fishing some breakfast fruit from her pocket. But Peg seemed less interested in the fruit than in her. He pushed at Sasha with his nose, with force enough to jolt her backward, and sniffed at her hair. Sasha found she had tears in her eyes. “You never realised you loved me until I left you for a while, did you?”