David Coe - Bonds of Vengeance

Brave words. But her hands still trembled as they had when he first threatened to take Bryntelle. A voice in her head screamed for her to take the baby and flee, but her body wasn’t ready for a walk through the corridors, much less flight through the highlands. Which actually worked to her advantage. It would be several days before the herbmaster would let her leave for the City of Kings, and the journey would have to be a slow one. That gave her time.

Grinsa might have been allied with the Eandi now, but he was a Weaver. And who had more to gain from the Qirsi movement than a Weaver?

A Weaver with a child.

Curlinte, Sanbira

Diani rode swiftly along the edge of the headlands, her mount’s hooves so close to the precipice that when she looked down past the horse’s left flank, all she saw was the drop to the cliffs below, and the Sea of Stars frothing and pounding at the dark stone. Her black hair trailed loose behind her and she closed her eyes, trusting Rish to step true.

There was still snow in the northern highlands and even atop the highest ridges of the Sanbiri Hills a mere two days’ ride to the south and west. But here in Curlinte, where the wind blew warm off the sea and the sun shone upon the headland moors, it seemed that the planting had come early. She wore a cloak yet, and a heavy blouse below that. Nonetheless, there could be no mistaking the sweet hint of the coming thaw carried by the mild breeze, or the exuberant singing of the sealarks that darted overhead and alighted to sun themselves on the boulders strewn across the grasslands.

Her father had not approved of her decision to ride today. Her mother had been dead but a turn and a day, and though the castle banners flew high again, and those living in the duchy were permitted once more to open the shutters on their windows, it was, he told her, still too soon for Curlinte’s new duchess to be taking frivolous rides across the headlands.

“The people will look to you now,” he had said, appearing weary and old, as if grieving for his wife had cost him years. “You lead them. You must help them through this time of loss.”

“I understand,” she answered, knowing that he would think her childish and irresponsible. “And this is the way I see through. Mother was ill for more than a year. Curlinte has had her shutters closed for too long. I ride to end the mourning.” She stepped forward then and kissed his cheek. “It’s what Mother would have done.”

His eyes blazed, and she thought for just an instant that he would berate her. Instead, he turned away. She could see from his expression that he recognized the truth of what she had said. He would be angry with her for a time, but he would forgive her.

Her father had been right about one thing. The people of the duchy needed her now. Diani was two years past her Fating, old enough to assume command of the castle and Curlinte’s army. But she had yet to prove herself. Her grandmother had lived to be nearly eighty, so that when her mother became duchess, much of the duchy already knew her. Dalvia had been mediating disputes and joining the planting and harvesting celebrations for many years. Diani had started to do the same when her mother became ill, but there hadn’t been time to visit all the baronies, not with the more mundane tasks of accounting the tribute and paying tithe to the queen intruding as well.

Normally her father would have helped her, but as duke, it was his duty to train the soldiers, and as husband, his place was by Dalvia’s bed, watching as she wasted away.

If this weather held, Diani decided, she would spend the early turns of the planting visiting all the baronies to oversee the sowing of crops. It was important that she be seen, particularly now, and not just in the courts but in the villages and farming communities of the Curlinte countryside as well. Even her father could not find fault with such a plan.

Diani reined Rish to a halt at the promontory, swinging herself off the beast so that she might walk out to the edge. There she sat on the stone and closed her eyes once more, feeling the sun on her face. There would be less time for these rides in the turns to come-the demands of the duchy would tether her to the castle, or force her to ride away from the sea. Either way, these rides to the headlands were about to become a rare luxury. She knew it was foolish, but she begrudged the loss.

It was here that she and her father had scattered her mother’s ashes just a turn before. Dalvia had loved this spot as much as Diani did. Often, before her mother grew ill, the two of them, mother and daughter, duchess and lady, had ridden out together to discuss matters of state, or just to escape the burdens of the castle.

Their last ride together had come on a cold, clear day near the end of Kebb’s turn more than a year before. Her mother had been more talkative than usual that day, perhaps sensing that her health was beginning to fail, and she had offered a good deal of counsel.

“A duchess must marry well,” she had said. “Your father will want you to marry for an alliance-one of the brothers Trescarri I would imagine, or perhaps Lord Prentarlo.”

“I prefer one of the twins to Prentarlo,” Diani said, smiling.

Her mother had glanced at her, a smile tugging at her lips and her dark eyes dancing. “As would I. But my point is this. A marriage based on military might is as fraught with peril as one based solely on your mate’s good looks or skill with a blade. With luck you’ll lead Curlinte long after his hair thins and his muscles begin to fail him.” She stared out at the sea, brilliant blue that day, like a gem. “Marry a man you trust, a man with whom you can share your fears and doubts as well as your triumphs. Your father is still a fine swordsman.” The smile returned briefly. “And I still think him handsome. But I value his friendship above all else. You would do well to marry as fine a man.”

Diani glanced sidelong at her mother. “Choosing a husband seems more complicated than I realized,” she said lightly. “Perhaps I’d be wise to claim both the Trescarris as my own.”

Her mother laughed long and hard. At times it seemed to Diani that this was the last she had ever heard of her mother’s strong, deep laughter. She knew it wasn’t in the turns that followed they managed to share small precious moments that shone like gold and then vanished, as if illusions conjured by festival Qirsi. But it might as well have been the last. Grief had consumed Castle Curlinte ever since. And as much as she wanted to order an end to their sorrow, to banish her mother’s ghost with some sweeping ducal decree, she knew that her father clung to the pain, as if he thought it better to mourn than to live without his love.

She would ride to the baronies to reassure her people. But she couldn’t deny that she rode also to seek refuge from Sertio’s despair.

She heard a falcon cry out, and opening her eyes, saw a saker soar past her, following the contour of the cliff. It was the color of rust, of the rich soil in the hills. Its wings remained utterly still, its tail twisting to direct its flight. The Curlinte crest bore an image of a saker-seeing one, it was said among her people, was a portent of good tidings. Diani watched the bird as it glided up the coast, until she lost sight of it among the angles of the rock face.

From behind her, Rish snorted and stomped.

“I know,” she said, climbing to her feet. “Father will be expecting us.” She stepped to her mount and tightened his saddle before starting to swing herself onto his back.

The first arrow embedded itself just above her breast on the left side, knocking her to the ground. No warning, no sense of where the archer had concealed himself, though she guessed that he must be in the jumble of hulking grey stones just off the promontory.