Hunting (11 page)

Thornaster nodded. "It has become a
matter of pride for him. The first thing Arun did on arriving at
Crown of Stars was get himself rescued from a would-be robber by
the Rhoi's daughter. She is, ah, everything Montmoth teaches its
women they are incapable of being, and he fell into a heap at her
feet. She liked him well enough, for a short while, but not enough
to come to a Rhoimarch which would treat her as so much less than
herself."

"That's why he's so anxious to bring
reform? Will she accept him if he makes progress?"

"No and no. Her refusal is final and he
knows that. That is not where Arun's determination came from.
Arun's wish is to be a truly great Rhoi, worthy of Luin and
Astenar's trust, and he has become convinced that to do so he must
overcome...even himself." Thornaster tilted his head to one side,
as if evaluating his own words, then nodded.

Ash had heard no gossip about the
Rhoi's failed romance, let alone any hint that he intended to open
the Mern to girls. But plenty of talk all the same, and as they
headed into the Deirhoi Valley she thought through where this might
lead them.

"Does anyone else know he plans
this?"

"He's made no secret of the review of
Montmoth's current laws. There's a handful with which he's
discussed specific changes. The Master of the Mern. Setsel Enoren,
Decsel Enderhay, Decsel Carlyon. I would say that only Setsel
Hawkmarten and myself have seen the whole of his plans. He hasn't
even taken his brother into his confidence, though that is out of
some ingrained belief that the boy is delicate."

Four people. Who could well have told
anyone. But they would make useful first suspects, and Ash promised
herself that this designation had nothing to do with the name
'Carlyon'.

ooOoo

Ash had an opportunity to observe
Lauren Carlyon for signs of guilt that night, when Thornaster
decided it was time she took on another duty of seruilisi.

"Now the idea here," Thornaster said,
as she trailed him into the Rhoi's own quarters, "is for you to
stand around doing very little unless I should indicate some need.
Don't join in the conversation or even seem to listen to it, but
don't look bored either. You'll probably be asleep on your feet by
the end of it, but bear up. I expect you'll find it
instructive."

Standing around doing little was far
from Ash's idea of a useful occupation, particularly when she
wanted to keep her mind from tomorrow's funeral, but she did want
to get a look at both the Rhoi and the other foreigner said to have
influence over him. In theory, standing attendance on a Luinsel was
an opportunity to learn how they conducted their duties, but since
Thornaster led their way into a room dominated by a trigle table,
Ash doubted any serious business was on the schedule.

Two men were already seated at the
three-sided table. One, short and wiry, with a close-trimmed beard
and skin a touch darker than Thornaster's, was obviously
Hawkmarten, the Setsel from Nyreem. The other, gold-haired and
blue-eyed, smiled at the Visel before turning to study Ash.

"So I'm finally allowed to meet your
latest acquisition, Thorn!" he said, amusement competing with
curiosity. "Well, lad, what do you think of being a seruilis?"

Ash hesitated, suspecting Thornaster of
having described her in highly coloured terms, and intensely aware
of two gold and black-clad figures standing attendance behind the
Rhoi. One had a face blank of any expression, the other, Veirhoi
Heran, glanced briefly at Carlyon, and then frowned at Ash. If she
was going to get anywhere with her fellow seruilisi, she needed to
keep hold of her tongue.

"It's very different from anything I
have ever done, Ser Rhoi," she replied, sticking to quiet
obedience. She was a little disappointed that the Rhoi's eyes,
while a nice shade of blue, were neither glowing nor mesmerically
compelling.

"And what's Thorn like as a master?"
Hawkmarten asked, his voice deep, mouth curling with mischief. "Not
too strict, I should hope?"

That was more difficult to answer and
she glanced at Thornaster's faintly smiling profile before
responding. "I have never had better, Ser," she said solemnly.

Thornaster laughed. "So I'm the best of
a group of one? Fulsome compliment indeed. Leave be, Hawk. Ash has
a decided tendency to answer honestly when asked for his opinion
and I doubt he will be able to continually produce non-answers if
you press him. I came here to play trigle, not have my character
dissected."

"We can do both," Hawkmarten replied,
equably. But he turned his attention to the three-sided gaming
table, asking what layout they should use that night, and Ash was
relieved to be able to fade into the background and only have to
deal with the two pairs of eyes facing her over the Rhoi's
shoulders. There was no third pair, so it seemed that Hawkmarten
did not keep a seruilis.

Carlyon looked away, focusing his gaze
on nothing, but Veirhoi Heran continued frowning at Ash. To match
his stare would probably be construed as a challenge when the
serious young Veirhoi obviously already considered her an intruder,
so Ash copied Carlyon, gazing at nothing and listening attentively
to talk of a hunt arranged to rid the Rhoi's Preserve of a stag
which had taken to savaging does. The Rhoi's Preserve was
unfamiliar territory for Ash, who had had no right to ride there,
but the Rhoi helpfully described much of its terrain over the
course of a half-dozen games.

Her own hunt was less simply arranged,
and could progress only fitfully unless her quarry was flushed from
cover by the Guard's surveillance. She was unlikely to be taken
into the confidence of anyone in the Mern, even if she undid her
misstep with Lauren Carlyon, and she was too rarely in the
Veirhoi's presence to be an effective guard for him.

But as she listened to the men's
light-hearted conversation, other possibilities opened up to
her.

"What did you think of Arun?"
Thornaster asked, when they were back in the privacy of his
room.

"He doesn't like being Rhoi."

"True." Thornaster kicked his short
boots off, then quirked an eyebrow at her. "Is that the extent of
your observations? I was expecting an unsparing dissection."

Ash shrugged, more interested in other
matters. "Do you three talk like that all the time? In front of
those two?"

"We don't generally discuss the changes
to the laws while they're in attendance, if that's what you
mean."

"Is Pembury extremely important
politically? Or made up completely of diamond mines?" she
asked.

"No." Startled blankness in the man's
voice. "Why?"

"Did you once save Rhoi Arun's life? Or
were you rescuing him constantly from unfortunate situations?"

"Once again I have an unaccountable
feeling that I've missed a large part of our conversation,"
Thornaster murmured. "No, stripling."

"Oh." Ash pondered, aware of the man's
gaze on her frowning profile. "Are you sure you're the Visel of
Pembury, then? You're not someone else?"

"Are you accusing me of lying again?"
The voice wasn't quite chilly, but the man wasn't amused any
more.

Ash sighed, and sat cross-legged on her
sleeping pad, eyeing her so-called master with faint
exasperation.

"I'll tell you what I saw tonight.
Three friends. One, Hawkmarten, is full of jokes, irreverent, with
an ache in his eyes when he looks at the friend he followed to
Montmoth. And that friend is, well, earnest and serious, not too
different from the Veirhoi. Whether or not he succeeds in being a
great Rhoi, he's obviously weighed down by his duty, and finds
relief in the time he spends on lighter matters. And then there's
you." She paused. "Are you older than them?"

Frowning now, Thornaster shook his
head. "Hawk and Arun both have a couple of years on me."

"And yet, every time there was some
question or dispute, they looked to you to settle it. Deferred to
your opinion. Over and over." She shook her head. "I have no idea
whether Lauren Carlyon or the Veirhoi have ambitions on the
Rhoimarch, but tonight showed me they would both be overjoyed to
see the last of you. And if you three behave like that in front of
anyone else, I've found not a possible suspect, but a likely target
for this maybe-assassination."

Thornaster sat down on the end of his
bed, clearly startled. "I'm not driving these changes, stripling.
Killing me wouldn't make any difference."

"And how many people know that? Your
opinion of the Rhoi hasn't stopped everyone from worrying that
you've influenced him into Aremish ways. Why wouldn't they think
that if they got rid of you, the Rhoi could be made to see
sense?"

"I–" Thornaster blinked, tilted his
head to one side, and gazed at the ceiling for a while, finally
straightening when Ash shifted restlessly. "Perhaps they do defer
to me," the man admitted. "Though when it's a question of trigle
rules, that's only natural, since we're playing the Aremish version
of the game. And the Estarrel blood often gains me some not
necessarily warranted respect. But most of it comes from me
shepherding them around the Collegium and Crown of Stars when they
were new to Aremal."

"It doesn't matter if their attitude is
misplaced. Just that people see it."

He'd recovered his smile. "With you
around, I can at least be assured that I won't suffer from any
overweening pride. And I don't see any need for these preliminary
deaths if I'm the target. But you make a fair point. Be careful
with any food intended for me: you don't have my constitution."

As if she wasn't already watching what
she put in her mouth.

During preparation for bed, Ash
considered Thornaster's likely ability to survive any serious
poison. It was possible, she supposed – the descendents of the gods
were supposed to be hard to kill.

But she would watch his back, all the
same.

Chapter Eleven

A particularly cruel visitation from
Comfort left Ash with less grit than she needed to face Genevieve's
funeral. Even Thornaster's morning display failed to distract her
from the possibility of damnation, and she was filled with a strong
desire to find a way to knock herself out until evening. Things she
couldn't change were always the hardest for Ash to deal with. If
only she could simply run away, as she had from Eward Carlyon.

Focusing on small tasks, she fetched
fresh water, then washed herself in the sluicing room. On her
return she discovered Thornaster dressed in the most formal of his
robes, eyeing himself in his small shaving glass.

"Want me to see about finding you a
proper preening mirror? We could fit one on the wall."

Her over-bright tone prompted the
Aremish man to look her up and down. "If you're going to be ill,
perhaps we should skip breakfast."

"I'm not going to be ill. And why would
that make you skip breakfast?"

"The green colour of your face would
likely put me off. Never mind, lad. It's not a bad idea to fast
before a funeral."

She appreciated that he led the way to
the stables without prying questions. Sympathetic silence, and the
increasing tightening of her stomach as they rode through the
palace grounds, pushed her to talk despite previous intentions.

"Have you ever killed anyone?"

Comprehension lit his eyes. "Yes. Two
Beldranian border raiders."

"Do you worry that Astenar will not
accept your soul back? Or does your bloodline help?"

"If anything, Astenar judges direct
descendents against a higher standard. But I don't believe my
actions were unjustified, or without cause."

Ash studied Cloud Cat's dark mane,
knowing there were no solutions to be found in this discussion. The
gods did not forbid killing in defence of self or Rhoimarch, but
after a person's death the Sun weighed their whole life's actions.
Damage to Luin and unwarranted deaths counted as the strongest
negatives, a taint which might lead Astenar to send the soul to
Luin to be washed – scoured – clean. In the worst cases, both gods
might refuse the soul, leaving it damned, trapped in a rotting
body. When that body decayed to bone or was burned, the soul was
left adrift, until time shredded it to nothing.

It was said to be agony: voiceless,
unrelenting.

"Who did your aunt kill?" Thornaster
asked. And when Ash didn't respond, added: "Astenar is not
unreasonable. And from everything I've heard of her, your aunt gave
deeply of herself. If she genuinely strove to balance any wrong she
had committed, you should not fear the Sun's regard."

You couldn't buy Astenar's mercy, but
you could try to balance wrongs. Save lives, help others, offer
genuine regret and changed action.

"I don't think Genevieve ever thought
that would be possible," Ash said, wearily. "She helped people
because she liked it. She didn't believe anything would spare her
from damnation."

The Aremish man's usual light good
humour dropped away entirely, but though startled he didn't speak,
waiting until Ash was ready to go on.

"After she left Cadoken, Genevieve...I
don't know where she lived, or what exactly she did. She said she
worked for someone who abused her trust. A situation she barely
escaped from. Montmoth's so out of the way that she could start
again here, be herself." Ash took a deep breath, trying to ease the
heavy ache in her chest. "Genevieve – Genevieve knew a great deal
about killing people."

How many, Ash didn't know. Too many had
been all Genevieve would say, and the only life Ash could put with
any certainty to her account was Eward Carlyon's. Who had been the
last person in Luinhall whose soul the gods had refused.

To have Genevieve placed in the same
category as Eward Carlyon! Whatever Genevieve had done, it could
not be comparable, and it was the worst kind of injustice to have
people think of Genevieve the way they did the Black Carlyon. But
there was no way to stop Astenar's judgment.