The Complete Horse Mistress Collection, page 52
There was a hint of amusement in his voice at odds with the dire pronouncement, but all I could manage in response was, “Eh?”
“You appear to have slept on, oblivious, through whatever event it was that successfully woke Andoc this morning.”
I craned around, looking at the empty expanse of mattress behind me. “Shit,” I said conversationally. “Seriously?”
“Indeed. I’m afraid you may never live this down,” Senovo confirmed. “He came and got me just before dawn. I don’t think he wanted you to wake up alone.”
I pondered that for a moment, the words pulling a warm woolen blanket over my mind once again. I nuzzled back into Senovo’s lap and closed my eyes as his hand continued to play across my scalp, ruffling the hair with each pass.
“That’s nice,” I said.
“I can understand his concern, now that I’ve seen you. You’re not really back yet, are you?”
“Jus’ woke up,” I said. “Gimme a minute, yeah?”
“Minutes—certainly,” Senovo said, still stroking. “Hours—I’m afraid not, sadly. We’ll be expected before too long.”
Something inside my chest sank slowly. “Don’t you ever find it difficult to come back from this feeling?” I asked.
“Frequently,” Senovo replied.
I started the unpleasant process of rejoining a world where the people around us kept slaves and hurt Senovo and had disdain for all of us simply because we were northerners.
“Where did Andoc go so early?” I asked.
“Chief Volya called a private meeting with the warriors, I gather.”
I drew in a deep lungful of air, and let it out slowly. Stretching, I glanced at the window again. The light looked wrong, somehow.
“Wait,” I said, and straightened into a sitting position. “What time is it?”
“Mid-morning.”
“What!” The little jolt of shock was infinitely more effective at bringing me to full awareness than Senovo’s infernal slow stroking of my hair had been. “You should have said something!”
“I believe I just did.” The amusement was back in Senovo’s voice.
“I need to—” I faltered. Someone else was taking care of our horses. “I need to…”
“Yes?” Senovo prompted, his raised eyebrow communicating clearly that he was still laughing at me on the inside.
“There’s nothing I need to do this morning, is there?” I finally said, resigned to being the butt of his amusement.
“Not quite yet, no,” he confirmed. “Although you did miss breakfast.”
“I’m still full from last night’s supper.”
“Well, then. No harm done, and I daresay you needed the rest.” Senovo rose briskly from the bed, but I stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“What about you?” I asked. “Was your brooding productive?”
Senovo stilled, his head dipping. “Brooding is never productive. However, I am as well as might be expected while we are in this place, amongst these people. I will do my best to seek help should I need it—you have my word.”
“All right, then,” I said, and let his arm go. I rose and started dressing, blushing a bit when I had to go searching for various items around the room. “I’m not surprised I wasn’t invited to Volya’s meeting, but why weren’t you? Seems like the High Priest should be there.”
Senovo reached down and tugged one of my boots out from under the bed frame. “I don’t believe our esteemed Chief has any more interest in my opinions regarding strategy than he does in yours,” he said, tossing me my errant footwear.
I frowned. “Then why bring you along in the first place? High Priest Jyrrel didn’t come with the Mereni contingent.”
“My presence is an implicit threat, or at least, a demonstration of power, in Volya’s mind. He is happy enough the lead the tribe boasting a shape-shifter as High Priest, though I imagine he wishes it was embodied in someone a bit more respectable than me.”
“Someone more tractable than you, you mean,” I said darkly.
“Rhystel knew how to play the games of leadership and politics,” Senovo said. “I don’t.”
I scoffed and pulled on my other boot. “Horse shit. You may not like playing games of leadership and politics, but you sure seem to be doing all right so far.”
“We shall have to agree to disagree, I think.”
When I straightened, a question that had been percolating in the back of my mind came to the forefront. “Volya may have been smarter than I gave him credit for, bringing you here. The people in Rhyth know you.” Senovo looked up sharply and I shook my head. “Not your face, I mean, but they know your story. The delegation that came to Draebard basically said as much. Those slaves, though… the ones in the field…”
I trailed off, troubled.
“What about them?” Senovo asked, though his expression had closed off as I spoke.
“They called you lupiandas. Wolf-patron. The little girl clutched you in her arms; she was completely unafraid. She asked if you’d finally come back for them. As if the slaves here have been expecting you.”
Chapter 8: Volya’s Crusade
THE PRIEST PALED. “I… don’t remember any of that.”
“I had wondered,” I said softly.
He fumbled for a chair and sat down. Part of me regretted bringing it up, but it would have been worse for him to discover that he’d become a sort of symbol to the slaves of Rhyth during the middle of a delicate negotiation or important meeting.
“If the southern slaves have put their faith in a desperate boy afflicted with a dangerous curse, I fear they will be deeply disappointed,” he said in a hoarse voice, his eyes staring at nothing.
Senovo’s hands were clenched into fists in his lap. I crossed to kneel in front of him and clasped one of his hands between mine until it relaxed, and he looked at me.
“You’re not a desperate boy any more,” I told him.
He raised a derisive eyebrow. “You think not? Perhaps Andoc is correct—you do not look deeply enough, Carivel.”
“Actually, my eyes are just fine, thanks,” I said. “And they see the High Priest of Draebard, one of the two bravest and kindest men I’ve ever met. They see the spirit of the wolf, who protects his pack from danger at all costs.”
Senovo scoffed, an angry noise.
“Andoc would agree with me,” I pressed.
“Andoc is hopelessly biased by sentiment,” Senovo said. “And so are you.”
I sat back on my heels, regarding him. “I’ve upset you. I’m sorry.”
A muscle in Senovo’s jaw ticked. “No. It was important that I know about this. You told me. Now, unfortunately, we are both expected at the King’s meeting. We should go.”
I sighed, knowing when I’d lost a battle, and rose to my feet. Senovo stood and ushered me out of the room, his impassive facade firmly in place. We picked up Favian from the room next door and headed toward the main wing of the palace. Senovo stopped the first servant we met and requested an escort to the site of the meeting. The boy bowed and hurried to direct us through the hallways to a different wing of the building, where the corridors were filled with unfamiliar men wearing northern dress. He indicated a grand entrance with people coming and going in a steady stream before leaving us to our own devices.
“I didn’t expect so many people,” I said, staring at the crowded corridor. Favian was looking on with wide eyes beside us.
“Most of the tribes will have sent someone,” Senovo replied. “Ambassador Derenza was not exaggerating when he said that these meetings could decide the future of Eburos as a whole.”
Not for the first time, I found myself overwhelmed by the scale of what was happening around me. How could it be that mere months ago, my biggest concerns were whether Jorun was happy with my work at the horse pens or not, and if someone would catch me crouching down to piss and realize I was female? Now, chieftains and warriors mingled around me, not giving me a second look in my nondescript breeches and man’s jerkin. A shape-shifting High Priest walked with me side-by-side as we entered to meet with a king.
The meeting room was the single most impressive indoor space I’d ever seen. Where much of the palace consisted of two or even three stories of rooms stacked on top of each other, this chamber had nothing above it except for the distant ceiling. Five tall men standing on each other’s shoulders could not have reached to touch it.
Stone columns like giant tree trunks dotted the room at regular intervals, the only thing that kept it all from collapsing down on our heads, I suspected. The floor was polished granite, slick as oil beneath the soles of my boots. One end of the room held a raised dais with an ornate chair sitting on it. The frame of the thing was covered in beaten gold, and the seat and back held cushions colored in a deep red. Ermine and fox fur draped over the arms.
The rest of the room was filled with numerous tables laid out in a grid so that people could easily pass between them. I gathered that each tribe would sit at a different table, while the leaders of Rhyth presided over the meeting from the raised dais. This was confirmed a moment later when Senovo touched my arm and gestured to a table near one corner, Where Volya, Andoc, and the other Draebardi warriors sat.
The three of us crossed the crowded space to join them.
Volya was engaged in a spirited discussion with an old man I didn’t know when we arrived. Even this close, I could not make out their words over the general hubbub of so many competing conversations. A shiver of claustrophobia overcame me for a moment despite the size of the room—to have this many people crowded together in such a way seemed unnatural, and I didn’t like it at all. Particularly when many of these tribes had fought with each other in the past.
Andoc looked up at our approach, and I could not help my double take at his appearance. His expression was pinched and unhappy; his face, pale. I wondered with sudden trepidation what had happened during the early morning meeting that Senovo and I had missed. The other warriors looked grim, but I could gather nothing else from their faces. I shot Andoc a questioning look. He pressed his lips together and shook his head minutely.
Senovo’s sharp eyes surveyed the scene and met mine. A brief flicker of one expressive eyebrow showed that he’d noted the same things I had. He seated himself directly across from the Chief, and motioned Favian to stand behind him, at his right shoulder. I took the empty chair on his left, somewhat unsure of the protocol in this situation. No one objected, though, so I settled back to wait and watch.
People continued to circulate around the room, speaking loudly to each other. Several of them stopped to talk to Volya, and I was able to make out enough to understand that the various tribes were attempting to feel out their neighbors’ positions before the meeting officially started. This continued long enough that I found myself growing bored despite the novelty—at least, until a gray-haired priest in light dun-colored robes approached Senovo and dipped his head in greeting.
Senovo straightened in his chair beside me.
“Forgive me,” said the newcomer. “You are the High Priest of Draebard, yes?”
Senovo’s features could have been carved from marble. “I am.”
Across the table, I felt Andoc’s attention fall on us.
“I am Mabios, assistant to the High Priest of Venzor,” said the old man. I looked at the priest with new interest—Venzor was where Andoc had been born.
“Mabios!” Andoc said, his worried expression from earlier lifting slightly. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Mabios smiled, his eyes crinkling. “Hello, Andoc. It appears that the years have been good to you.”
Andoc leaned forward. “You as well, sir. How is Mother faring?”
“Ah—she caught a fever toward the end of the winter that was rather hard on her, but she has recovered for the most part,” said Mabios. “She misses you.”
Andoc’s expression turned wistful. “I will try to get home for a visit before the weather turns,” he said. “Please tell her that I think of her often, and give her my love. Tell her, too, that I was handfasted this spring.”
My cheeks warmed.
“I would be pleased to do so, of course, Andoc,” the old priest said. His expression sobered and he returned his attention to Senovo. “High Priest, I had hoped for a chance to speak with you. There are several… stories… that have been making their way from village to village in recent weeks, but I do not wish to presume…”
“The stories are true,” Senovo said. “I am a shape-shifter.”
His expression was still the distant, guarded one that I hated so much, but his eyes flashed gold for a moment, the wolf shining through.
Mabios’ expression was that of a man who had never expected to be gifted with such a thing in his lifetime. “Extraordinary,” he said on a low breath. “I am honored to make your acquaintance, Brother. You must forgive me for approaching you about such a thing when Eburos is embroiled in her own troubles, but this is a situation with which you would seem to be uniquely positioned to address.”
Senovo frowned, confusion breaking through his facade as he looked up at the Venzori priest. “Of what situation do you speak?”
“There is a young man from a small village north of Venzor,” said Mabios. “He, too, is a shape-shifter.” I caught my breath in surprise. “His ability manifested only a few months ago, when bandits attacked his family on the road. His older sister survived the attack and brought him to the temple, but he is a very troubled boy. When it was suggested to him that it might be best for him to join the Priests’ Guild, he ran away. Needless to say, his sister is very worried for him, as are we all.”
There was a moment of shocked silence. Another shape-shifter? It was Favian who spoke first, his eyes wide and fascinated. “Excuse me, Elder Brother, but what form does he take?”
Mabios looked at the acolyte with a kind and tolerant expression. “He takes the form of a lion, Little Brother. That is part of the reason we in the temple are so concerned, both for his safety, and the safety of others.”
Senovo’s utter shock was hidden behind his customary impassive expression, but still visible to one who knew him well. “In… what way do you think I can help with this situation?” he asked carefully. “Particularly if no one knows where he is?”
Mabios made a small gesture of frustration. “We hope that he will return. Or, failing that, perhaps he will be located and brought back to Venzor by someone else. I wish only to get help for the lad, and get him to understand that he will be better off within the temple. You would seem to be the most qualified person to offer that help, assuming he reappears.”
“And what makes you think that being in the Priests’ Guild is best for this boy, if the mere prospect terrifies him so?” There was fire behind Senovo’s eyes now.
The Venzori priest looked taken aback. “It has been the custom for many generations, High Priest. I would have thought you would agree that it is the best way for him.”
I held my breath, exchanging a glance with Andoc.
“Would you?” Senovo said in a mild tone. He laced his fingers together on the table and examined them for a moment. “Well. As a priest, it is, of course, my duty and my desire to help all of the gods’ children as I am able. If this boy surfaces and is willing to speak with me, I will certainly do so. You may assure him that I will listen to whatever he wishes to say without judgment or preconception.”
The old Venzori priest looked at Senovo for a long moment, clearly hearing and understanding what was left unsaid. Eventually, he dipped his head in respect. “I thank you for hearing me out, High Priest Senovo. Andoc, I will deliver your message to your mother. May the gods look kindly upon you all during this time of strife.”
“I do believe you’ve shocked him,” Andoc said to Senovo once the old eunuch left to return to his tribesmen.
“I will not see anyone bullied into the priesthood,” Senovo said. Anger was still simmering under his cool exterior.
“I would expect nothing less, my friend,” replied Andoc. “Think, though—another shape-shifter on Eburos…”
“Another reason to make sure that the Empire never holds sway in the north,” I added, grim. “They would see this boy burned at the stake. Senovo, too.”
The Empire’s religion dealt cruelly with anything that did not fit neatly within its framework, and magic was certainly one such thing. When we had been his prisoners at the hill fort, the Alyrion commander had taken great pains to describe to Senovo in detail what would happen to him if he were discovered to be a shape-shifter.
“They will not hold sway as long as the last northern warrior draws breath,” Andoc vowed. His eyes moved to Volya, deep in conversation with another chieftain at the far end of the table and oblivious to our discussion. “I only hope it does not truly come down to that.”
Again, I wondered what Senovo and I had missed this morning. Whatever it was, I got the impression that, once we found out, we wouldn’t like it very much.
My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a wooden staff striking stone, coming from the direction of the dais. The noise level dipped as people turned to look. At the front of the room, Rhytheeri officials were mounting the stone steps. Elsewhere in the room, people were returning to their tables as the meeting appeared ready to get underway. When the room had quieted for the most part, the sound of horns rang out from the entrance.
A tall, thin man wearing ridiculously ostentatious clothing entered, flanked by two burly warriors. This, I gathered, must be the King of Rhyth. He made his way down the central passage between the tables, strutting past as if he owned the place. Which, to be fair, I supposed he did. Like many of the Rhytheeri men I had seen, he shared Senovo’s high cheekbones and dark hair, but unlike Senovo, his eyes were hard. Cruel. I disliked him immediately.
As he approached the ornate throne, the officials on the dais bowed almost to the floor while the northern guests looked on, unimpressed. If this was the man that the Emperor had installed as a figurehead, I couldn’t help thinking that the Emperor could probably have chosen better. The King of Rhyth looked as though he would have a hard time even picking up a sword or an axe—much less wielding one. He had clearly never been a warrior, and I wondered what sort of background or quality of character had landed him in this position.
