The two men exchanged glances. 'Why should it?' Pater asked. His voice was smooth, his features relaxed, yet I caught an undercurrent of something I didn't altogether like. I could have deliberately opened my mind to his emotions – I could have listened for a lie, but I didn't. I never did with him. It would have been disloyal, dishonourable even. He was my father and I
loved him. The rules were of my own making, but I kept them.
"Why indeed?' agreed the Magister Officii. T have nothing against the Kardis. In fact, I admire them. A fine people from an interesting land!
That was a lie so blatant the blast of it almost made me choke, and it was followed by a churning blackness of rage and hate. For a moment I thought the emotion was directed at me, but once I gathered my wits together again, I realised it was not me he despised; on the contrary, he was quietly pleased with me in an amused, self-satisfied fashion. What then had aroused a rage so irrational in its intensity? Kardis? Kardiastan? Or had mention of the place just conjured up some unpleasant memory? I had no way of knowing. I sensed the emotion, never the cause.
I looked back at Pater, and he was now the one who was smiling, as if he were aware of the depth of the Magister Officii's sentiments and was amused by it. He said, 'You must work hard at this, Ligea. One day you'll be a compeer; make sure you're the best.' He was serious now, almost cold. 'You're my daughter; you bear my name. Live up to it. The Magister Officii is going to take a personal interest in your progress, and perhaps one day-'Hegave a half-smile. 'Perhaps one day you will be a heroine ofTyr, and of inestimable service to us.'
I stood a little straighter, and felt the swell of pride.
That night I dreamed of the kind of services I could perform to make my father proud ofme…
The scent of blossom was gone from my nostrils and I was lying back on the sleeping pelts, Temellin's arm flung carelessly over my body, his breathing even and peaceful. I rolled away slightly, unwilling to be distracted.
Think, Ligea, think. Think about who it was who loved you?
^HF Not Salacia, certainly. I'd never believed that. It had been Aemid who had been mother to me and I'd never thought otherwise. Aemid – of Kardiastan. Aemid the slave. Aemid, who now put her love of her country before her affection for me. Who would rather see me dead than have me betray her people. (Hardly the kind of love Brand wanted me to think about!)
Who had loved me?
Brand? Yes, certainly. The slave boy – from Altan. The eighteen-year-old who had looked up at me in concern from the back of the roan, worried I wouldn't be able to control a half-broken stallion. (He'd been right, too, damn him; the animal had thrown me more than once and I'd been lucky to escape with no more than bruises and a broken collarbone.)
I thought of Rathrox Ligatan, mentor, but never friend.
About him, I'd never had any illusions. He'd used me, again and again, but then, I'd been willing enough to be used. Willing enough to learn from him and in return to use my abilities to bring him the traitors, the criminals and the enemies he sought. Until one day he'd learned to fear me and sent me to the one place where there was no Brotherhood to help me.
To Kardiastan.
To get rid of me? Perhaps. Or perhaps because he wanted me to exact revenge on the people he hated… With the sudden cold of realisation, I knew why I had been remembering that sixteenth anniversary day of mine – because that was the day Rathrox had shown – me his intention. That was the day he'd told me I was nothing to him but the future instrument of his revenge on Kardiastan. Perhaps he hadn't used words to say it, but he'd told me nonetheless. I just hadn't listened.
And Gayed had been there that day. Gayed, General of Tyrans, the only father I could remember.
Perhaps one day you will be of inestimable service to us -
The cold tightened its grip in my chest. Those had been Gayed's words…
But Gayed had taken me into his home, given me his name, made me a citizen of Tyrans, shared his wealth with me. He had raised me, educated me, given me everything he would have given a true daughter.
Would he have given a true daughter to the Brotherhood? An unbidden, unwanted thought, and suddenly it was impossible to think of any child of Gayed and Salacia's becoming a Compeer of the Brotherhood. Gayed would never have allowed such a thing… Would never have even contemplated it.
Had he loved me? That proud man who'd given a sixteen-year-old daughter a horse too tough for her to handle because he'd wanted her challenged? The man who'd urged that same sixteen-year-old into the Brotherhood, into the manipulative hands of Rathrox Ligatan, to be trained and hardened and taught how to kill? A proud man who had once been part of a defeated army, an army humiliated by Kardiastan. The only time he'd been on the losing side. The only time treachery rather than military might had provided the ultimate victory.
Would such a man have taken a three-year-old enemy child into his family for reasons of love or compassion?
Of course not. Delusion.
Then what was the truth?
A far-sighted man, he'd taken a child of Kardiastan and made her a woman of Tyrans. A man of vision, he'd taken one of the Magor and made her a
Brotherhood Compeer. A man of foresight and planning, he had moulded me, the malleable, eager child; wrought me into his instrument of revenge. One day you'll be of service to us…
I'd mourned him when he died. I'd wept at his burial griefs.
I lay there, and my blood froze witii the betrayal of memory.. ' ' A r‹
I had been betrayed by a man I'd loved as my father. By the man who had been my father. Whom I had loved. Who had used me. Who had doubtless despised all I was…
Tears trickled unbidden down my cheeks. Tears from Ligea Gayed? She never cried. But I'd never been so utterly bereft before. I'd never felt that choking in my throat, that crushing sense of betrayal turning my whole life into a lie.
Yet they'd forged their weapon well, those two brutal men of Tyr. I was still a woman of Tyrans… wasn't I?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
My clothes weren't made for those nights. The still air was cold and the bitterness of it seeped into my bones. Under the feet of the shleths, the sands were hard with ice; ahead the last of the Rakes clawed at a purple sky pricked through with stars, stars as bright as sparkles of sunlight on the sea. The Shiver Barrens: a land that burned with vicious heat by day, and stole the warmth from our bodies by night, a land that killed so easily, yet possessed a beguiling beauty destined to linger on in memory.
A land frightening in its mysteries.
My head pounded. Yesterday's strangeness had been real; I had the sword to prove it. And those visions, they must have been real too. I had walked under these killer sands, and lived. Something non-human had spoken to me. Something had shown me a vision of unspeakable brutality. And something had told me that thing I didn't want to think about.
I felt sick. Confused. Afraid.
And then those memories Brand had coaxed out of me with his taunting words… Had he any idea of what he had done to me? He had scoured my life of its
illusions. What did I have now to replace the mockery of destroyed childhood dreams? The love of a slave, perhaps? I thought not. Or the love of an enemy, a man destined to marry another? Hardly that either. No, all I had in that empty space was the blight left behind by the deepest of betrayals.
I shivered.
'Are you cold?' Temellin asked.
We were walking our mounts, because apparently this last band of the sands was narrow, and there was no need to hurry. Garis and Brand were ahead of us, leading the pack shleth, and having their own conversation. By the sound of it, Garis was being amusing.
'Cold? Yes, a little.' In the vast emptiness of that landscape, my voice seemed frail, the whimper of a worm before the might of a god.
He fumbled in one of his saddlebags, and tossed me a blanket woven of shleth wool. 'Put this around you.'