Reign of the Eagle, page 79
The girl pursed her lips and folded her hands primly over her lap. A sixpence helped her find her voice again. “I don’t know for sure, but I heard him talking about it to that friend of his.”
“Friend?” Just saying the word made Donella feel ill.
“Yes, ‘friend,’” said Tillie, with a nauseating smirk. “If you know what I mean, and I think you do.”
Donella forced down the bile. “And did his...friend go with him?”
“No. Not that I know of.”
“So where did Andras say he’s going?”
“Pinburg. And he rode out of here on the Pinburg road, so that much was true, anyway.”
Pinburg meant going back to the war to serve under Donella’s older brother again. “I’ve lost my chance,” she thought miserably. She went back up to the castle, feeling as if she had failed her mother, and failed Andras, and failed herself most of all.
Chapter 7
“Loshadnarod would be closest,” mused Elwyn. The border was barely fifty miles to the north, up the River Darunadi. “But my family isn’t exactly popular there.”
“And I’d just as soon never go back,” said Rada quietly. “My parents would be happy to see us, but, well, I don’t think I could ever feel at home there again.”
“I know what you mean,” said Elwyn, taking her arm and giving it a reassuring squeeze.
They had been up nearly all night planning their escape over a bottle of rice wine, until they had fallen asleep, curling together on the old wicker couch in Rada’s bungalow. Now, as the sun came up, they paced the mossy brick circle around the lily pond, trying to settle the most vital question of all: where they would go.
“The Empire might be a possibility,” said Elwyn. “I went there for a year after I finished school—Presidium and Vinopolis, mostly. It might be a good place for...well, people like us.”
Rada wasn’t sure what the princess meant by “people like us.” For her part, she wasn’t sure that a half-Sahasran, half-Loshadnarodski girl would get a very enthusiastic welcome from the Immani. “You realize the closest way to the Empire is through Loshadnarod. Or Myrcia, which would be even worse.”
“That’s true,” said Elwyn. “I suppose we could go south, instead. What about Roshan?”
“Aryavarta is better. Better weather, and better food, too.”
“If we ever get away, which I doubt.” Abruptly, the princess stepped off the brick path and headed out across the grass, into the arbors under the jacaranda trees, where twilight still lingered. With a sigh, she settled onto a wooden bench there, her chin on her hands, and she fell into a moody silence.
Rada joined her on the bench, but didn’t press her friend to speak. Last night, she had heard the earl yelling at Elwyn in his office, and young King Edwin had looked pretty annoyed with her at supper, too. Edwin said he didn’t see why Elwyn couldn’t at least try to fall in love with Andras before turning down the marriage. Clearly this had put a new strain on the princess, who liked her half-brother and cared for his opinion.
After a few minutes longer, Rada ventured to put an arm around Elwyn, and she said, “Don’t worry. We’ll find a way to get you out of this.”
“And you’ll be with me?”
“Of course.”
Elwyn rested her head against Rada’s. Then she turned, eyes glistening, and said, “Thank you so much.” With one hand, she reached up and stroked Rada’s cheek, and she leaned in and kissed her straight on the lips.
Rada froze, her whole body tensing like she was in mortal peril. She couldn’t breathe as Elwyn nuzzled against her, and she felt the princess’s hands sliding over her back and hips. This was a mistake. It had to be. This couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t until Elwyn started to push her tongue into Rada’s mouth that she found the will to move again, and she jumped back on the bench, hands out to fend off her friend.
“I...I’m sorry,” stammered Elwyn, her face white and her eyes wide. “I’m so sorry. I thought....”
“You thought what?” said Rada, wiping her lips off with her sleeve.
“I guess I always hoped.” Elwyn’s eyes were tearing up again. “Or maybe I imagined it. When you asked me to run away with you, I thought maybe you felt it, too.”
“I’m sorry,” said Rada, “but I don’t like girls that way.” She knew it wasn’t Elwyn’s fault if she did, and she had to fight against her Raskolnik upbringing not to be repulsed at the very idea. “I hope I didn’t give you that impression.”
Elwyn slumped forward, head in her hands. “I’m sorry. I guess, in my mind, I had you confused with...someone else. Don’t worry; it’s all my fault. It always is.”
Rada took a deep breath. Whatever else the princess was to her, they were friends, and Rada had promised to help her. Moving a bit closer again along the bench, she said, “It’s alright. Don’t worry about it. We can talk about it later, when we’re on the road.”
She put out a hand, but the moment her fingertips touched Elwyn’s shoulder, the princess bolted up from the bench. “Pardon me, but I think I need to be alone right now.” Then she went off toward the main house, clutching her arms to herself.
“I don’t think I could have possibly handled that worse,” thought Rada miserably, as she went back to her bungalow. Poor Elwyn! Rada’s reservations about the morality of “Thessalian” love between two women were swamped under a tide of empathy and self-reproach.
Rada had never loved a woman, but she knew what it was like to love someone completely and then discover he had no interest at all in her. Not Sir Walter, of course. There was some real affection there, even if he had trouble expressing it. No, the person she thought of as she lay in her bed with a pillow over her face was her first great love, a brave and handsome Loshadnarodski captain named Misha.
She had loved him with an unreserved passion, only to find that he loved someone else: the holy sorceress Daryna Olekovna. Their affair had been a terrible scandal when it had been revealed at the Loshadnarodski court. He had died trying to defend Daryna in the war, trying to atone for his sins, and Daryna had been killed, too. Rada had been left with nothing but regrets. So she had some idea how Elwyn must feel.
Elwyn had loved Sir Alfred Estnor; she had been ready to marry him. But then he had died at the fall of Leornian, and Elwyn had been forced to flee her country. The experience must have shattered her completely. It was no wonder she spent her days now taking any tawdry remnant of affection wherever she could find it. How terrible to find someone to love, only to lose him. That was almost as bad as finding someone you thought you could love forever, only to learn the other person could never love you back!
After an hour, or it might have been half the morning, there was a knock at the bungalow door. She ran to answer it, hoping it was Elwyn coming to say everything was alright between them now. But instead, it was one of the guards from the front gate.
“Sorry to bother you, my lady,” he said, with a worried expression. She had been crying, and no doubt she looked like it. “A message came for you.”
She instantly recognized the star-and-moon seal of the Vizierate of Magy, and she asked the soldier to wait while she read it. With any luck, this was an answer to her request for help in saving the princess. Hopefully there was good news she could take to Elwyn and salvage something from this awful day.
Unfortunately, the letter was the exact opposite of what she had been hoping for.
Rada,
I completely understand your reservations about this marriage. Believe me, I’m not thrilled about the idea, either. But the Vizier and the council think this is the best chance for getting Elwyn’s brother back on the throne, and frankly I think they’re right. The least we can do is give it a fair shot, and if the young couple don’t hit it off, then we can reconsider. But for now, we need to do what we can to promote the match.
To that end, I’ve been asked to send someone to Pinburg to meet Andras Byrne and escort him to Briddobad. It’s a sensitive mission, and I immediately thought of you, not only because you’re one of our best agents, but because you’ve become Elwyn’s friend. You can get a sense if Andras would be suited for her, and you might try coaching him a bit so he makes the best possible impression.
Leave as soon as you can; the sooner, the better.
Yours,
Pallavi
If it had been from virtually anyone else, even the Grand Vizier or the king himself, Rada would probably have crumpled it up and burned it. But Pallavi Ratnam was more than a wise and powerful sorceress. She was one of Rada’s best friends. She had given her a new home and a new job after Rada had grown disgusted with the Loshadnarodski court. She was, in fact, the person had taken her away from a terrible situation, just as Rada had promised to leave with Elwyn. Rada owed Pallavi a great deal more than the mere duty of a subordinate to a superior. If Pallavi thought this was a good idea, then Rada had an obligation to go through with it.
Even so, it felt like an awful betrayal, and before she left, Rada went up to the main house to speak to Elwyn about it. The princess’s door was locked, and when Rada knocked, there was no answer. Rada stood in the hall for a minute, but still there was silence. In a few, halting sentences, then, she explained about Pallavi’s letter, and how she would be going to Pinburg to meet Andras.
“I want you to know,” she finished, “that we can still run away if you don’t like him.”
There was no reply, not even a sigh or a sniffle.
Rada leaned her head against the door. “Take care of yourself, then. I’ll be back in a few weeks.”
Chapter 8
Coming into Pinburg was always a surprise for Andras. There were no suburbs to speak of, few outlying villages, and only scattered farms beyond the long wooden palisades. The Bridweld Forest, a dense tangle of cedars, white pines, and oaks, extended right up to the gates.
One moment, you were trotting down a forest road, feeling utterly alone in a shadowy green world, and the next moment, you were in town, and your horse was striking sparks from a steep cobbled street.
Not that Pinburg was much of a town. There were a handful of larger houses, and a small cathedral, too. But most of the homes were rough log cabins with roofs of thatch or cedar shingles. The inhabitants were, by and large, equally unpolished. A lot of them were trappers and scouts and “hunting guides”—a common local euphemism for smugglers. They wore towering fur hats, like the raiders of the Loshadnarodski steppes, and only about one man in four had a decent pair of shoes on his feet. They were fiercely independent, and their city reflected that. Pinburg had no grand public buildings, no graceful parks. People kept to themselves most of the time. The city existed less as an outpost of civilization than as an incursion of the wilderness into civilized life.
In the last year, Pinburg had become a major army encampment, too. Bandits and rebels roamed the forest, and the crown prince had made the city his headquarters to pacify the district. He had been mostly successful, which was why Andras and the Keneshire militiamen had been released after only half a year’s duty. The last thing Andras had expected, when he and Geert packed up their tents and left, was that he would be returning only a couple weeks later.
He knew he ought to avoid his former comrades. His mission would be called treason if the royal family caught wind of it, and it would be no excuse to say, “My mother told me to do it.” Unfortunately, there were only so many inns and taverns, and Andras had frequented all of them with Geert during their off-duty hours. He chose one of the more obscure, a grubby little place with moldering half-timbered walls called the Cedar Bough, down by the River Telga.
Only moments after he’d taken a room, he was recognized by an old acquaintance, though luckily not one from the army. Will Laurie was the stable boy, butler, and all-purpose manservant of the house. He was also a strapping lad with a chiseled jaw and a taste for buggery. All he had to do was smile and say, “Why, it’s you again, sir,” and Andras felt himself getting hard. He took a look up and down the hall, pulled Will into the room, and locked the door after him.
Will had a jar of oil on him. Of course he did. Andras was troubled only briefly by his conscience. It seemed like a rather shabby thing to do when he was on a mission to woo and win a princess. But this thought was driven out of his head by a much more pressing concern, which was the choice of whether he wanted to give or to receive. Will, like Andras, enjoyed it both ways. They debated the issue as they undressed, hands stroking, lips searching. In the end, they flipped a coin for it, and Andras lost. Or, more properly, he won the right to get fucked by Will.
He had missed that feeling. Geert had preferred to be on the receiving end, and Andras had almost always obliged him. So it was a while since he’d been fucked.
Andras had intended to go out that evening and try to find a reliable guide to Briddobad, or at least a map or two. But he stayed in with Will and a bottle of whiskey, instead, and he fell asleep utterly exhausted and deliriously happy. “Maybe I owe it to myself to have one last, good fling,” he thought.
Will seemed to have similar ideas. The next morning, the handsome stable boy showed up with a tall, buxom young blonde on his arm. “I remembered you liked girls, too,” said the boy, and he introduced his companion as his cousin Clara.
The girl claimed to be a milk maid, though she seemed to have discovered a profitable part-time job. She was halfway undressed when she paused, hands at the ties of her underclothes, and hinted a small gratuity might be in order. Andras readily handed over sixpence. He had no idea if Clara really was Will’s cousin, or if she was a girl he’d picked up in an alley somewhere. But she was built like an Immani statue, and the way Will kept running his hands over her hips and backside made Andras want to tackle them both into bed and tear their clothes off with his bare hands.
“This is my last chance,” he thought. “Soon I’ll have to stop doing this sort of thing.” Or would he? How difficult would it be to make a trip back here to Pinburg every once in a while? Why shouldn’t he, when his mother had been screwing the king for five years? No one would really care, would they?
“Will tells me you’re getting married,” Clara said, in a low purr, as she walked over to him, swaying her hips.
“Um...I suppose so.” Had he actually told Will that? Maybe he had. They had been awfully drunk the night before.
“So who is she?” the beautiful milk maid asked, kneeling down and starting to unlace his trousers.
“No one you know,” Andras said hastily. “Just a girl I met at school.”
She reached in. “Lucky girl,” she grinned. No doubt about it, this was more than a part-time job for Clara. He was lost in the moment, and he came so fast he felt obliged to apologize.
“Why are you sorry?” she giggled, wiping her lips. “That’s what I was aiming for, after all.”
He was able to make it up to her later, though. The three of them spent almost two hours together, and by the end of it, he was pretty sure they had done absolutely everything two men and a woman could ever do, in every combination. Occasionally, Clara would feign an attack of conscience, but a few more pennies would always convince her to keep going. Andras couldn’t think when he’d felt so thoroughly spent, in every possible meaning of that word. He considered asking Clara to stay the night, but then the bells of the cathedral rang midday, and the girl got up and began dressing.
“I’ve got to go churn butter.” She mimicked the motion with one hand. “It builds marvelous grip strength, you know.”
Will said he needed to go back to work, too, and they both headed out, leaving Andras alone in bed, tired and slightly sore, but feeling very pleased with himself.
Their footsteps had hardly faded down the hall, however, when the lock of his room clicked again, and the door swung open to reveal a small, dark woman in a deep blue riding dress. There was nothing indecent or even provocative about the cut of her clothes, and yet their practical design did nothing but call attention to her slim waist and unusually long legs. As for her face, she would have been quite pretty if it hadn’t been for the hard, grim set to her jaw, and the angry crease in her forehead.
“Lord Andras Byrne?” she asked.
“Um...who wants to know?” he stammered, pulling the blankets up to cover himself. “How did you get in here?”
“I picked your lock, obviously.” Looking around, she sniffed at the air and wrinkled her long, straight nose. The room probably smelled a bit ripe, though he couldn’t tell anymore. “Been enjoying ourselves, have we?”
Her Myrcian was very good, but there was a trace of an accent. And not a Sahasran accent, either. Oddly, she talked almost as if she were Loshadnarodski.
“My name is Lady Rada Kaur,” she said, crossing her arms and coming over to stand by the bed. “I’ve been sent to guide you to Briddobad, where you will meet,” she sniffed again, “the woman who will be your wife.”
She paced around the room, and nothing seemed to escape her notice. She stopped to examine the odd stains on the chair and the handprints on the wall by the mirror. She looked into the rubbish bin, where she no doubt saw the lacy chest cloth Clara had been forced to discard after it was torn in the heat of passion and reused, first as a blindfold, and then as a makeshift washcloth.
With her hands on her hips, Lady Rada turned to face him again, one thin, black eyebrow raised. She seemed to be demanding an explanation.
“I had a bit of a party,” he said. It was starting to dawn on him that this was not going to make a good impression when Princess Elwyn heard about it. “I don’t suppose we could let this be our little secret, could we?”
She glared at him as if he were a particularly nasty louse, the kind other lice might look down on for giving the rest of them a bad name.
“Let me make one thing clear, Lord Andras. Her royal highness is a very dear friend of mine, and if I thought for a moment that you would behave this way after you were married, then I would be going back to Briddobad alone.”
