Who should she tell? Errollyn would kill him. Or not…but he’d finish what she’d started, and produce a lot more bleeding. Kessligh would…hells, she had no idea what Kessligh would do. Much of the Tol’rhen would undoubtedly side with Reynold. He was their man, their esteemed leader. She felt unclean. Damn him for doing this to her. What the hells had possessed him? The desperate need of a fuck? Surely not-Reynold was charming, not unattractive, and many women swooned after him. Why her?
The more she thought about it, the more furious she became. A few more strides down the hallway and she nearly reversed and drew her blade, to do what she should have done in the name of Lenay honour and cut his head off. But it was too late now-Lenay custom dictated that hot blood was fair and just, but now the moment was passed. Damn him.
She entered the great hall, one of Tracato’s many architectural marvels. There was a commotion at the far end, amidst the usual student bustle. People had gathered in numbers and voices were raised. Sasha strode that way, in a perfect mood for trouble. Hopefully someone would need killing. Someone evil.
A group of students were booing. Sasha pushed through the crowd and saw a small cluster of well-dressed men in argument with several black-robed Ulenshaals. Very well-dressed men, Sasha corrected herself, eyeing the jewelled sword pommels, the intricate embroidery on their jackets and pants, the feather tufts in wide brimmed hats. Nobility.
High nobility, she corrected herself further, seeing the woman in the blue gown who accompanied them, with a pair of servants in close attendance. The gown was more understated than some Sasha had seen, yet tasselled and embroidered to an extravagant extent for a journey into territory beyond comfortable noble grounds…
The beautiful young woman noted Sasha, and her eyes widened. “Sasha!” Sasha’s jaw dropped.
“’Lyth?”
Alythia crossed to her with unladylike haste, and embraced her. Sasha hugged her back. Her sister smelled of perfumes beyond Sasha’s experience to describe. Alythia pulled away and grinned at her.
“I told you I’d come!” she exclaimed, daring Sasha to contradict her.
She had told her. They’d exchanged letters, a ludicrous contrivance for two sisters living barely a morning’s run away, but it had been the only way for more than two weeks now. Once within the fold of Family Renine, Alythia had vanished. Sasha had worried, and accosted several noble messengers to insist they delivered her concerns into important hands. Finally there had been a letter, in Alythia’s script, insisting she was well, and happy, and of increasingly good fortune. Sasha had not been surprised, but suspicious. Further correspondence had convinced her that Alythia’s words were genuine. They could not meet. Alythia was always “engaged,” and nobility did not visit the Tol’rhen in these times.
“Dear Lord Elot,” said Alythia, turning back to her group, “you do recall my sister Sashandra?”
“Indeed,” said Lord Elot, and Sasha recalled the lord from the night of their arrival in Tracato. That had been the last time she’d seen Alythia, until now. “We meet again, Lady Sashandra.”
Sasha returned his bow. “Lord Elot.”
“And Master Alfriedo,” said Alythia, taking Sasha’s hand and walking her over. Sasha realised that she was addressing a boy of no more than fourteen-she had overlooked him entirely, his head came barely to Lord Elot’s wide midriff. His young face was very fine and pale, he wore a small sword at his hip, and carried himself with lordly dignity.
Alfriedo, Alythia had said. This must be Alfriedo Renine. The rightful heir to the long dormant throne of Rhodaan. If one still believed in that nonsense.
Alythia curtseyed low. “Master Alfriedo, may I introduce my sister, Sashandra.” She presented Sasha’s hand to the boy. Alfriedo, with impeccable etiquette, took Sasha’s hand and kissed it.
“Dear Lady,” he said, his voice high and clear. His eyes were very blue. Sasha had heard a scandalous rumour that the boy king had serrin blood. Seeing him now, she wondered. “Is it true, as your sister tells me, that you prefer not to be addressed by the royal title of your birth?”
Sasha gave him a bow of respect, but no more. Behind the boy, several lords’ faces darkened with displeasure. “I do,” she said. “And more to the point, my father disapproves that anyone should use the title.”
“Perhaps then we should start calling you Princess?” Alfriedo suggested. “It would not do to please the King of Lenayin.” The nobles laughed. The surrounding gathering was largely silent, all shouldering each other to see. “I have come, at your sister’s encouragement, to tour the Tol’rhen. I have always desired to, and now I have the opportunity.”
Sasha was astonished. So were most of those around them. She spared a quick glance at Alythia, and found her sister’s gaze trained very firmly upon her. Alythia was up to something.
“I see no reason why that should be a problem,” Sasha recovered herself to say.
“I can think of several,” said one of the Ulenshaals drily. Garen, Sasha recalled the man’s name. “Feudalism is a disease of the mind; we exorcised it from Rhodaan two centuries ago. Feudalists and their ilk are not welcome in the Tol’rhen.”
There was some loud agreement from the crowd. Lord Elot looked stonily unsurprised. As though, Sasha thought, he expected this exercise to fail, and was pleased with the prospect.
“Exactly what kind of intellectual are you?” Sasha asked Garen sharply.
“The discerning kind,” said Garen, and several in the crowd tittered.
“You’re a bigot,” she told him.
Garen’s eyes widened. “I beg your pardon?”
“Can you show me one passage in all written works of serrin philosophy that states that a person with an alternative point of view should be turned away, without engagement?”
“Feudalism is a plague upon the land!” Garen said angrily. “Everything that held humanity back for centuries was swept away when Maldereld abolished feudal powers in Rhodaan, and now these characters wish to bring it back!”
“Well, I think that’s a fine argument!” Sasha said grandly. “Make it!” She indicated to the waiting nobles. “You call yourself Nasi-Keth, yet you refuse to debate! What have the serrin taught us if not to advance knowledge through congenial argument?” Garen’s look was sullen. “Show them around your marvellous institution! How ridiculous is it that the highest nobility have rarely seen it with their own eyes. Here’s your chance, show them what they’re missing, or admit that you’re either too feeble an intellect to make your case persuasively, or too cowardly a man to engage your foe upon the field of intellectual battle.”
There was a silence in the hall. Then, an isolated applause. Another joined it, and another. There was little enthusiasm in it, but no one shouted the applauders down. Ulenshaal Garen took a deep breath, seeing that he’d lost. Lord Elot also looked displeased.
“Very well,” said Garen. “People, guests, if you will follow me?” He gestured down the hall, and the crowd parted.
Young Alfriedo paused before following, and looked up at Sasha with respect. “Lady Sashandra. Your sister told me that you were formidable. I see that she has told me only the truth.” He glanced at Alythia, who smiled and bowed her head gracefully.
“Smart kid?” Sasha suggested.
“Oh, you have no idea,” said Alythia. “He is a proper little lord, Sasha, smart well beyond his years. More so than most of his elders, I think.”
They sat at a study table on the balcony overlooking the Tol’rhen library. They had followed the guided tour as far as the library, before taking their leave to talk in private. The touring party had attracted quite a crowd, and were thus far all well mannered. Kessligh’s arrival had ended any further chance of trouble, despite the continued displeasure of several Ulenshaals. The last Sasha had seen, Kessligh and Alfriedo had been engaged in an animated discussion on various points of Tol’rhen learning.