The Tears of the Sun

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

THE WILD LANDS

(FORMERLY HUMBOLDT-TOIYABE NATIONAL FOREST,

NORTHWESTERN NEVADA)

HIGH KINGDOM OF MONTIVAL

(FORMERLY WESTERN NORTH AMERICA)

AUGUST 14, CHANGE YEAR 25/2023 AD

Ritva shivered. Ian put an arm around her shoulder, and she leaned into it gratefully as the dry wind flicked around them, its hooting the only sound besides the spitting crackle of the torch, its scent heavy with the smell of the cut pine logs. Astrid Loring-Larsson looked inhumanly peaceful as she rested on the pyre, hands clasped on the hilt of her sword. Though they were yards away, the downslope put her on their eye-level.

The crossbow bolt was gone, and they’d found a spring of good water here at the edge of the wooded mountains that stretched north and west during their day’s labors. The body had been washed and dressed again in the war-gear and then wrapped to the shoulders in her dark cloak; the long white-gold hair lay over her shoulders, stirring in the breeze beneath a thick wreath of crimson columbine whose blossoms attracted a hummingbird of iridescent green. There was a vulnerable look to the moon-pale face that Ritva didn’t recall seeing before, like a shy wild child lost in dreams.

She shivered again.

“What is it?” Ian repeated, whispering next to her ear.

She wasn’t crying anymore; he knew it wasn’t just grief.

“It was what she said at the end,” Ritva said.

“I didn’t understand it,” Ian said.

And he’d been well back in the gondola when Astrid died in her husband’s arms, with Eilir’s tears falling on her face and John Hordle wringing great paws that suddenly looked so helpless. He didn’t understand the Noble Tongue all that well either yet, of course, and Astrid had been gasping.

“It was. .” Ritva thought. “She was hurting a lot and she said good-bye to us all and told Alleyne to teach the children she’d loved them and hadn’t wanted to leave while they were still so young, and then. . I thought she was gone and she opened her eyes and said: Like silver glass. . green shores. . the gulls. . a white tower. . home, home, at last. .

“And then she died,” Ritva whispered after a moment. “One by one they go, the heroes, the legends.”

The surviving crew folk of the dirigible were grouped at a little distance, the ones not too badly injured to stand. Major Hanks spoke a command and they came to attention, their hands following his to a salute. Behind them the burnt wreckage of the Curtis LeMay was smeared across a scrubby hillside, parts of the brush it had set afire still smoldering though the tall plume had dispersed over the course of the day. The Thurstons stood nearer, but Cecile and her daughters were a little apart from Juliet; and they stood on the side of her that put her son between them. The boy was sobbing from the swirl of emotions around them, but he was too tired to be loud about it.

The Dúnedain were closer still, and Ritva was near the leaders; she was Astrid’s niece, after all. Alleyne had invited Juliet into the party, since it was to save her or perhaps her son that his wife had lunged forward, but there had been an icy politeness to it, and she had declined in a half-heard murmur.

“Farewell, beloved,” Alleyne said, his eyes locked on the body. “Wait for me, until my work here is finished.”

Farewell, anamchara, sister of my soul, Eilir’s fingers said. The threads of our lives are spun together forever.

Together they stepped forward, their hands on the torch. The pine logs were stacked crisscross in six layers, and the gaps between them had been stuffed with branches and needles and bone-white fallen timber. The wind from the north was still brisk, even though the storm had blown itself out. The kindling caught with an eager rick-rick-rick sound, and then the whole pyre seemed to explode into a pillar of flame and smoke that rose and bent away from them towards the southwest. The summer-dry sap-rich wood burned with a dragon’s hissing roar, almost instantly hot enough to turn bone to dust. Ritva felt her eyes water and brushed at them again.

Eilir was crying once more as they backed away, weeping quietly, her tears trickling down past a silent sorrow; she and Astrid had met in the first year of the Change, and sworn the anamchara oath not long after. They had spent a generation together. John Hordle wept as well, with the harsh jerky sound of a man unaccustomed to it. Alleyne’s handsome face looked as if it were carved from ivory; his lips moved silently in words she couldn’t make out for a moment, and then he bowed his head.

One thing’s changed, Ritva knew suddenly.

Uncle Alleyne had never taken some things about the Rangers altogether seriously, though he’d been scrupulously polite and never made a fuss even as he gave all his considerable skill and ability to their affairs. The Dúnedain had already been refounded by Astrid and Eilir when he arrived fifteen years ago with his father and John, though not long before that. Now. .

Now he’ll live her dream, she realized. And he’ll do it perfectly. For her.

They waited silently until the logs collapsed inward and the roar of the fire died down to a crackle that would last all night. Then he raised his head and gave the note. Ritva joined in on the beat, and every one of the Dúnedain as well. Eilir swayed to the rhythm, her hands dancing:

When they were finished, Ritva whispered again to herself: “Thy starlight on the Western Seas.”

Then she shook herself. You had to be able to put things aside and go on. They were in a dangerous wilderness and there was a great deal to do. The ashes would be carried home in Astrid’s helm, and by her long-standing will be scattered in Mithrilwood by the falls whose beauty she’d loved, but that was her husband’s work and her anamchara’s. Caught in the storm’s giant fist they had hopelessly overshot their rendezvous south of Boise, where helpers were supposed to be waiting.

They knew in a general sense where they were; it wasn’t all that far from where the Quest had passed through going east two years ago, just before they ran into General-President Thurston the elder’s column. They could locate themselves on a map as soon as they hit a marked roadway or abandoned town. What they weren’t likely to find was people, or any of the things people would have with them.

Ian Kovalevsky looked around. “Looks a bit like the Rockies, only lower,” he said.

Ritva snorted. “That’s because it is the Rockies, more or less, sweetie,” she said.

Sometimes she forgot that Ian had never been more than a few hundred miles from the place he’d been born. Most people traveled far less than that, of course, but you thought about them as the ones you rode by when you passed a farm or village. It had been all travel since they met. She’d never had the slightest impulse to farm, but she was beginning to feel that two years of rarely sleeping in the same spot for more than a day running was taking mobility too far.

The western horizon was jagged; the plain of sagebrush and yellow-brown grass heaved up into rocky heights, gray striped with red, and woods of aspen and bristlecone and lodgepole in sheltered spots. They had no food with them, but that wasn’t the problem it would have been later in the year. They did have their bows and game looked to be available if not plentiful and Rangers learned how to forage for nuts and roots and edible greens. More serious was the lack of all camping gear; no tents, no bedding, no salt, nothing to cook with, only a few axes and hatchets. And. .

“No horses,” Ian said succinctly. “Plus we’ve got wounded and carrying them’s going to slow us a lot. Not to mention a two-year-old.”

Ritva sighed. “We’ve done what Operation Lúthien was supposed to do, more or less,” she said. “All those people in Boise heard Cecile. . and Juliet. . and we’ve got them and Martin doesn’t. That was real important, it’s why this was such a high-priority mission. It would be a lot better if we could get them back to Montival quickly and completely out of his reach, of course. I suppose he’ll have a cavalry brigade headed this way as fast as he can.”

A long whistle split the air from the east, where the sentry was stationed. She read its modulations as she would speech or Sign: horsemen in sight.

The stillness dissolved in a rush for weapons and gear.

“No, I do not think it was an accident we met you,” Rimpoche Tsewang Dorje said later that night, after the rising of the moon.

He leaned forward to pour himself a cup of the herb tea from the pot that rested by the campfire. More glowed across the rolling plain, hundreds of them. The folk of Chenrezi Monastery and the Valley of the Sun that looked to it for leadership and the ranches and tribes allied to it had sent their riders to war, across the wilderness to join the High King’s host. That was partly because the questers had lived among them for a whole winter; and more because they trusted the Abbot when he told them it was necessary.

“But then, there are no accidents,” Dorje went on. “We are all pilgrims on the Way; taking different paths, but eventually the paths will meet. Is it then a surprise that the pilgrims do likewise?”

The Abbot of Chenrezi Monastery looked exactly as Ritva remembered in her last sight of him when the questers left the Valley of the Sun in the spring of the previous year. The shabby wrapped orange robe might have been the same one. It left one shoulder bare, and the skinny knotted legs that ended in gnarled sandaled feet. His head needed no razor, and his face was a mass of wrinkles and yet somehow like a boy’s, with a flicker of humor in the dark narrow eyes. The hard travel he must have gone through in the mountains and deserts had left no mark that she could see. You could feel the tough mountain peasant he’d been born beneath the bonze still.

Nor had the task of turning a panic-stricken resort community and a gaggle of quarrelsome Buddhists of a dozen different varieties thrown together by circumstance into a living community made him any softer in the years since the Change. She leaned back against her borrowed saddle and sighed with something that was not exactly pleasure. .

More like relaxation, as if I were back at Stardell in one of the chairs by the fire and wine were mulling and snow falling against the windows. I don’t know why, because we aren’t home and lot of what the Rimpoche says isn’t exactly comforting.

Lawrence Jr. scampered over, with his mother in pursuit; there had been wolf-howls in the distant hills, and it was not the sort of place you wanted a child to wander away from light and people. He took a look at the monk and then crawled into his lap. The man settled him comfortably, and then beckoned to his mother.

Ritva scowled slightly as she turned to her second bowl of stew; it had venison in it as well as dried vegetables and cracked barley and it had been quite tasty, for camp food. A lot of the folk from the Valley of the Sun didn’t eat meat, but a lot did, and the ones who didn’t weren’t the sort who got in your face about it. It tasted less good with Juliet Thurston in the circle, and she wasn’t the only one who felt like that.

“A fine boy,” Dorje said, and smiled at the mother. “You are brave, to undertake the responsibility of raising him.”

Juliet’s face was usually hard and reserved, but the lines of grief on it were visible now. She made a small sound and seemed to shrink into herself at the glares she would once have ignored.

The lama sighed and looked around at the others; the firelight picked out his wrinkles, like the hills and valleys of a mysterious country. Beyond gleamed the peaks of mountains where bear and cougar and tiger roamed, and men as savage as either.

“My friends,” he said gently, “self-righteousness is the fumes of decomposing vanity; it is the means the Devil’s Guard use to cloud the vision of those who truly love virtue. If someone is far along a journey to destruction, shall you hate them for waking to their situation, and turning about, and taking even a single halting half step back? Will that encourage them to take a second step, and a third? Or will it minister only to the darkness in our own souls?”

Ouch, Ritva thought, wincing; and again she thought she wasn’t the only one. Yup. He really does make you see things too clearly.

Dorje went on to Juliet Thurston, his voice mild and implacable:

“He who puts his hand into the fire knows what he may expect. Nor may the fire be blamed. He who intrudes on a neighbor may receive what he does not expect. Nor may the neighbor be blamed. The fire will not be harmed; but the neighbor may be. And every deed of every kind bears corresponding consequences to the doer. You may spend a thousand lives repaying wrong done to a neighbor. Therefore, of the two indiscretions prefer thrusting your own hand into the fire. But there is a Middle Way, which avoids all trespassing.”

“I. .”

Whatever else she might be, Martin Thurston’s wife was no fool. Ritva could see her fair brows turn down in thought, and she believed there was a tinge of genuine gratitude there.

“What exactly do you mean, sir?” Juliet asked carefully.

“You have caused much harm, through vicious selfishness, and it turned on you.”

“Yes,” she said softly.

“You are fortunate it did so quickly; this is an opportunity. But do not fancy yourself uniquely guilty, a monster who is a wonder to the world; that too is vanity, and leads back to the same errors. You cannot undo the past by regret; nor can you avoid the painful consequences of your actions through fear. Both these things are equally impossible. Do not dwell on the past or deny it; do not fear the future.”

“Regrets and fears are about all I have now,” she said.

“No. You have a son; and you have amends to make to others. You have a task to do now, and virtue consists of doing it.” Sternly. “So get to work, child!”

Ritva felt the force of that spear-sentence, even though she was not the target. Juliet blinked, gaping, and then nodded and sank down in a bit of a heap. Dorje inclined his head back to her and turned his glance away, in respect for privacy rather than dismissal. His hand continued to stroke the dark bronze of the boy’s curls, and the child snuggled closer and dozed.

“You said that we’d meet again, guru,” Ritva said.

Dorje grinned. “You and the others,” he said. “I understand that you need to return quickly, not at the pace of this great mass of people?”

Alleyne nodded; he seemed to be a little less tight-wound now. “Yes, sir. Our mission was to rescue Mrs. Thurston. . the elder Mrs. Thurston. . and her children and reunite them with Frederick, who I understand you’ve met.”

Dorje nodded. “A most earnest young man, for good and ill; but more for good.”

Which is a great capsule description of Fred! Ritva thought.

Alleyne went on: “Partly because they were in danger; but also, frankly, because we need to get the truth of what happened out more widely. We’ve made a start on that in Boise, but it will be extremely helpful if we can get them. . and the younger Mrs. Thurston and her son. . back to Montival quickly. Living evidence, as it were.”

Though technically we are in Montival, Ritva thought.

She knew what he meant, though; it was people that made a kingdom, not geography, and what few inhabitants there were in the wildlands probably hadn’t heard that the current war was going on, or who the contending parties were. A fair number had survived the Change in this thinly populated wilderness, as numbers went in the modern world. But the reason it had been so empty back then was that there wasn’t much in the way of water or good land. Almost all of the survivors had relocated afterwards, moving to where life was easier in places emptied by the great dying and where hands to work and fight were always welcome. There was a very thin scatter left, Rovers who lived by hunting more than herding. Most of them were people you wouldn’t want to meet, especially if you were alone.

Still, it’s sort of beautiful here. I like deserts, though I wouldn’t want to live in one, she thought, looking up at the aching clarity of the sky, where sparks from the fires were scarcely brighter than the stars. And it’s certainly reassuring to see another twenty-five hundred good cavalry headed our way.

“I will accompany you,” Dorje said, and laughed at his polite dismay. “My son, when I was five years old I walked four hundred miles across the Himalayas to reach Nepal. I know this scrawny old carcass of mine, and I do not delude myself as to what it can and cannot do. It will serve me as long as needed.”

“Ah, Hîr i Dúnedain. .” Ritva said. “If he says he can do something, believe him. Really.”

“I agree with you, roquen,” Alleyne said. To Dorje, in English: “Certainly you won’t slow us down more than a two-year-old, sir.”

Another of the Sun Valley folk leaned forward. He had an Eastern face too, but of a different stamp than Dorje’s, smoother and the color of pale ivory, and he was about a generation younger, in a lean fit middle-age where every visible muscle showed like an anatomical diagram beneath the skin. He was clad in a set of lamellar armor linked with cords, a dao saber at his belt and a bowcase and quiver beside him.

“This is Master Hao,” Dorje said. “He will make the practical arrangements. He is one of our brotherhood who has sought Enlightenment through the development of certain skills of mind and body.”

Eilir Signed, and Ritva translated automatically: “You don’t look much like my idea of a Buddhist monk, Master Hao.”

She smiled when she Signed it. Hao didn’t, but there was a knowledgeable respect in the glances he gave all the Dúnedain, and in the ones that returned. Ritva’s muscles twinged as she recalled the months they’d spent in the Valley of the Sun; to let Mary and Rudi heal from their wounds, but they’d all trained under Master Hao and his acolytes as well. It had been. .

Somewhat rigorous, she thought. And the Pacific Ocean is somewhat large, rather wet and a bit salty.

“Mine was a different path along the Way than the Rimpoche’s,” Hao said.

Dorje chuckled. “Many different schools came to that convention on Buddhism on the World Wide Web. This has made life more. . interesting. . since, after the Change converted our hotel into a monastery.”

Hao snorted. “I must remain with the army, of course,” he said.

Well, alae, duh, Ritva thought. You’re the commander, Mr. Shaolin.

“However, we have a very large selection of horses and gear,” he went on. “You may of course take your pick.”

Ian gave an almost inaudible whimper, and she elbowed him discreetly.

Another relay race on horseback, she agreed. Then: It’s going to be hard on Cecile and the girls. And Juliet. Good thing we’ll have liniment and some experienced fieldmasseurs, like me and Aunt Eilir. We can rig a carrier cradle for Lawrence Jr., but he’s not going to be a happy camper after a while either, poor little guy.

Alleyne brought out a map. “We’re here,” he said, pointing to a spot near Winnemucca. “We need to get here.”

His finger came down on Ashland, in the Rogue River Valley south of the Willamette.

“The rail line was cleared and repaired that far three years ago, just before the war started. We can catch pedal cars from there, and then be anywhere on the rail net quickly, with a maximum priority to clear the track.”

Hao looked, intent. “Your route?”

He traced it. “Dúnedain explorers have covered most of this area south of Ashland, from a bit west of here to the ocean and down into California, and this should be the least troublesome-the distance is about three hundred miles as the crow flies. About seventy to a hundred more as we’ll be traveling, mostly along the old Route 140, but in summer and with plenty of horses, I wouldn’t say it’s too hard. A bit strenuous, perhaps. Seventy to a hundred miles a day.”

Ian unconsciously rubbed at his buttocks. Ritva nodded, but then she looked at the face of the Lord of the Folk of the West. Something like this was just what he needed right now.

CHARTERED CITY OF GOLDENDALE

COUNTY OF AUREA

PORTLAND PROTECTIVE ASSOCIATION

(FORMERLY CENTRAL WASHINGTON)

HIGH KINGDOM OF MONTIVAL

(FORMERLY WESTERN NORTH AMERICA)

AUGUST 25, CHANGE YEAR 25/2023 AD

“Oh, by Saint Bernadette, that’s awful!” Yseult Liu said, at the end of the story of the escape from Boise.

The Thurston girls looked at her solemnly, as they rolled the bandages and she contemplated their story of treachery and exile. They had a table to themselves in the city guildhall; apart from that, they were all doing pretty much the same work, making neat bundles of the clean linen. Nearly all the workers were women, but there was everything from gentlewomen to laborers’ daughters here, supervised by the experts from the Sisters of Compassion. It was hot and stuffy despite the size of the room and the high ceiling and the tall open windows, and her hands felt a little sore from the frequent dips into disinfectant.

The bandages went onto wheeled trays that others pushed around, taken off to the ones who’d sterilize them in autoclaves, seal and label them and then pack them for shipment to the warehouses where they awaited the need.

Soon, Yseult thought with a slight shiver. The Grand Constable is already fighting in the east. It’s getting closer. Huon will be there soon.

“Uh. . yeah,” Shawonda said. “The Cutters are awful. They. . they sort of warp things around them. Like contagious miserable badness. It’s scary!”

Yseult nodded vigorously, though she didn’t add the thoughts about demonic influences that naturally occurred to her. She wasn’t under any illusions about why it had been suggested that she take the Thurston daughters under her wing. It was a first installment on her future status as lady-in-waiting to the High Queen, even if she still wore her oblate’s robe and worked at a medical task.

Mathilda’s feeling out what I can do and how well I can do it. Which is exactly what she’s supposed to do. And maybe Shawonda and Janie will be ladies-in-waiting with me. . which would be fun, I think.

A whistle sounded. “Shift change!” the guildmistress of the weavers who was overseeing the whole affair called.

Everyone rose and filed out; Shawonda blew out her cheeks in relief as they went into the courtyard. The walls on either side gave shade, along with tall cottonwoods, and there was a garden-at least, a fountain in the center and several banks of flowers in raised beds between gravel walkway. The building was new since the Change; there hadn’t been anything in the little town suitable for meetings of craft and merchant guilds and the Lord Mayor and Council of Aldermen and the Confraternities.

The Crown had subsidized it, as part of the Regent’s Compassionate Feudalization program. She’d heard the High Queen sigh over that term; then she’d acknowledged that it was perfectly sensible to give people positive incentives to act the way you wanted them to. Hence the three stories of stuccoed ferroconcrete gothic tracery around them, with the arched gateway that gave out onto the main square. They all drank from the cool water that sprang down in streams from the central spindle of the fountain and shook out their hands, laughing.

Yseult exchanged curtsies with others of those streaming out of the workroom; going first and sinking deeper to ladies of higher rank, returning those of her inferiors, and nodding and smiling instead when it was a non-Associate woman. The Thurstons looked on, a little puzzled at the ritual of precedence; she thought that Shawonda at least sensed that she was seeing the steps of a dance she didn’t know.

Janie spoke as they walked back towards the castle; that took them along the town square, which was nearly packed, slowing their walk as they dodged around clumps of soldiers and clerks and clerics, craftsmen and peasants and laborers.

“You look a little like your brother,” the younger Thurston girl said. “I liked him a lot. He made me laugh and he was so. . so elegant.”

The children’s trousers attracted some eyes, but there were enough folk from outside the Association present that it would pass even in this little backland quasi-city-she could see three Mackenzie kilts and a couple of Bearkiller outfits at a glance, plus someone who was probably from Corvallis. There were political reasons for them not to wholly adopt Association ways.

Her oblate’s robe was plain, but it got more deference and effort to let them through than an escort of crossbowmen might have, though she still had to navigate carefully around porters and the preoccupied. It took her a moment before she realized that Janie meant Odard, not Huon; time dulled grief, and it had been months now since she learned of his death.

“And he was so handsome,” Shawonda nodded, her eyes looking a little dreamy for a moment. “Not as handsome as Rudi. . I mean the High King. . but really cool. He had such beautiful manners, he made you feel special.”

The elder Thurston girl had a round face; she wasn’t overweight, a little gaunt if anything, but that seemed to be the way her bones went. Her sister was much prettier and she thought always would be, though still a child rather than a maiden.

And they’re the sisters of a ruler, of course, so it won’t matter that much for them, Yseult thought. They’re both clever, which is more important.

“Thank you,” Yseult said. “He was a gallant knight and a good man and a wonderful brother. . except when he was being a jerk; you know how brothers are sometimes.”

They both nodded, and she went on: “He saved our family after. . well, after what my mother did.”

“Like our brother Martin,” Shawonda said bitterly.

Janie took her hand consolingly. “It’s good to see Fred again, though, isn’t it?”

“Yes!”

They passed a knot of men-at-arms drinking outside a tavern that had spilled out to encroach on the way with trestle tables; they ignored the girls, sitting with their arming doublets half unlaced and intent on the tail end of a song:

And then the tune turned to a shout as fists pounded hard enough to make the tankards and baskets of bread jump:

The castle gate was even more crowded than the town; they barely crept in along the chained-off pedestrian edge of the drawbridge, but the squire who commanded the guard knew her face.

“My lady Liu,” he said, thumping fist to breastplate and bowing his head. Then he turned and called, “Make way for the Lady Liu and her guests! In the High Queen’s name!”

Nobody recognized the Thurstons yet, and it was uncertain how they fit into the Table of Ranks anyway; Yseult had decided that they were princesses, but wasn’t going to insist on full state just now. The soldiers thumped the butts of their guisarmes as well, then used the shafts to open a lane for them, and Yseult nodded in reply. Another sign that she was being eased into her new status; and that she was shining in the light of Huon’s reflected glory. It was certainly more agreeable that being a pariah under suspicion, but. .

No, I must avoid bitterness. I have become cynical and reluctant to trust. My confessor is right; these are tasks I must work on. And these are nice girls who have suffered badly. My mother betrayed us, but at least she didn’t kill our father, as their brother did. Take up your cross, Yseult Liu.

“It’s good of you to volunteer to work so soon after such a terrible journey,” she said, as they climbed the spiral staircase of the donjon tower. “Everyone is putting state aside and doing what they can.”

Their mother and sister-in-law were off making appearances where they told the truth about what Martin Thurston did, which was why she’d been set to shepherd and chaperone the girls. It had already started producing results that the High Queen was pleased with. None of them were getting much rest; the girls were still moving a bit stiffly, even after being able to rest on the railcars for the last two days of their headlong trip from the Wild Lands. The troubadours were already fitting it into the songs.

Shawonda groaned and made as if to rub herself rather indelicately. “Those Dúnedain are made of iron,” she said.

“They’re very hardy warriors,” Yseult agreed; she didn’t add anything about their morals or, for most of them, their religion.

“They’re cool,” Janie added. “I want to be one! Don’t you, Shawonda?”

Shawonda looked a little troubled. “I’ve always loved the books, the Histories they call them. It was like being in the books to travel with the Dúnedain. But. . and I don’t know if I want to be a soldier. It was wonderful what the Hiril Astrid did, but. .”

She shuddered. “The fight was so horrible. And I saw her die. It was awful, and she did it to save little Lawrence, or even Juliet, and it was so brave but. . terrible.”

Be fair about the Rangers, Yseult told herself. Some of them are good Catholics. Besides which, that was a glorious and knightly deed that Lady Astrid did, the rescue and the way she put herself in the way of the bolt. We all die soon or late, but Lady Astrid’s name will live while honor’s praise is sung, and God loves those who imitate Christ by sacrifice, even if they don’t know Him. I will pray for her; surely she’s in Purgatory.

“Well, they’re not all knights-errant,” Yseult said aloud.

She’d had a few romantic dreams about Mithrilwood herself; most girls did, for a little while at least, and some young noblemen. The old grudges had died away over her lifetime.

“There aren’t any Ranger peasants,” she went on. “But they have. . oh, troubadours, bards they call them, and armorers, and healers, and craftsfolk. And they own ranches, and hunt and do forestry, and have houses in towns, and things like that, so some of them look after their properties.”

They came to the chambers that had been turned over to the Thurston family; the set above were for Juliet Thurston and her son. She’d noticed how strained relations still were between Mrs. Thurston and her daughter-in-law, largely smoothed over by the grandson. That this suite was theirs alone was a mark of favor given how crowded Castle Goldendale was, even if it did mean the two girls were sleeping on truckle beds in this sitting room.

It was a pleasant enough chamber, shaped like a wedge of pie since it was in a circular tower, with plastered walls painted in hunting scenes. The location also made it easy to guard. There was no way in except through the outer gate, the keep gate, and then a guarded portal at the base. None of the windows were big enough for even a very small and lithe assassin to climb through.

The staff had set out a cold collation for them; regular dining in Hall had gone by the board, with everything upset by the mobilization. She’d heard someone grumble that they were all grazing like a herd, wherever they found a moment.

“Oh, good,” Shawonda said. “I’m starved, but in weather like this a regular cooked meal makes you feel so logy and stuffed afterwards.”

Yseult flipped off the white linen cloth. “Let’s eat!” the sisters said in chorus, and took off the covers.

There was sliced ham, roast quail, potatoes done with garlic and herbs, a salad of roasted peppers and sweet Walla Walla onions and cauliflower dressed with oil and vinegar, another of greenstuffs, along with good manchet bread and a big apricot tart with cream. The girls waited while she said grace, then ate with what she recognized as good manners of a very old-fashioned sort, and enthusiasm.

Janie grinned and rubbed her hands after she’d loaded her plate. Yseult poured them all a glass of white wine. Janie paused and looked at hers a little dubiously.

“Am I allowed to drink wine?” she said.

“Well, some,” Yseult said, surprised again.

Wine was what you drank with food, unless you had beer, which was slightly plebian. This wasn’t anything special, just ordinary drinkable wine decanted from a cask to a carafe and sent up from the kitchens.

I knew they were from a different country, but it’s like they’re from a different time. I knew Boise clung to the old ways, but I didn’t expect so much.

“Why not?” she asked.

“Because I’m sort of young?” Janie said.

“You’re what. . eleven?” Yseult said.

“Since June.”

“Well, I started drinking wine when I came out of the nursery. . when I was six. Watered at first, of course. But don’t worry, I won’t let you get drunk!”

Janie nodded a little dubiously, sipped, made an interested sound but switched to the cool water instead.

“And it’s exciting to be in a real castle,” she said. “Pass the mustard, please. . A castle with knights and everything! It looks just the way I imagined!”

Shawonda nodded and jointed one of the little birds, a little more restrained as befitted a maiden in her mid-teens.

“It’s really interesting. But I don’t want to have a banquet and everything all the time, not yet at least,” she said.

Yseult blinked as she broke a piece of bread and buttered it.

What’s odd or special about a castle? And castles are where knights live. Well, and manors. It’s no more strange than finding a horse in a stable or a monk in an abbey.

“We don’t have banquets all the time,” she said instead. “Well, it’s a little different at Court, naturally they keep more state than anyone else and entertain more, and this is a royal castle. But normally we. . ordinary Associate nobles and our retainers. . just eat in Hall, you know.”

“What’s that mean?” Janie asked.

Yseult blinked again, forced to think how to explain something she’d taken for granted all her life.

“Well, in Hall. . you’ve seen the Hall here?”

Shawonda nodded. “The great big building with the dais at one end and that marvelous huge fireplace and the stained-glass windows down one side and the tapestries? And the lovely coffered ceiling.”

Janie nodded. “Yes, we saw that when we came here. Mathilda. . I mean, the High Queen. . met us and gave a sort of speech, and there were a lot of people. But wouldn’t that be for banquets? It’s awful big for just a dining room.”

“You don’t have Halls?”

“Not like that,” Shawonda said. “I mean, the capitol building in Boise has a big place where they have meetings, and sometimes special dinners. If you have dinner in a Hall, isn’t that a banquet?”

“Well, no, it’s used for banquets too, but those are special occasions. Banquets are different, it’s mostly guests then, sometimes everyone’s a noble. But a Great Hall has to be big because all the Castle people eat there, except some of the extra troops if there’s a call-up, and it’s where you have dances and things, and music and performers and maybe mystery plays, and a lord may sit in judgment there for his manor court or the Court Baron, and you play games in winter or sew there at times in the summer if the solar gets too stuffy. A Hall will be a bit smaller in a manor house than a castle but it’s the same thing really.”

“Everybody in a Castle or a manor eats in the hall?” Janie said.

“Most days. The family and any noble guests at the head table, and then the Associate retainers, and then the commons down below the salt, from the highest-ranking servants down to the stable hands and that sort. We don’t all eat the same food, of course, or use the same tableware, but one reason common people want to serve in a castle is that they eat better than what they would get at home in their family’s cottage.”

Shawonda returned to the subject. “So you eat in this Great Hall place every day?”

“Not every day, especially not breakfast or luncheon, sometimes a lord will eat en famille with his wife and children or a few select guests in a solar or ladybower, but it’s. . well, people will think you’re odd and, ummm, sort of. . what was the old word. . antisocial if you do that all the time. It’s good lordship to sit at meat with your folk. Though it’s nice to be private now and then, like this.”

Shawonda looked down at her plate and realized it was empty except for a few clean-picked bones. Yseult thought she blushed, though it was a little difficult to tell for sure with the brown complexion.

“Go ahead,” she laughed. “You’ve been on short rations, I know. Here, have some of the ham this time. The honey glaze is excellent.”

“We were eating jerky and these hard biscuits and cheese and not much else while we rode so fast,” Janie said. “We were so tired we didn’t realize how hungry we were until we got to Ashland and we could sleep in a bed again!”

Her sister nodded. “Everything sort of blurred together after the first couple of days. I think there were bandits once and I didn’t even notice because I was so tired and sore and half-asleep.”

Silence fell for a few minutes; Yseult felt a bit amused at how the two made up for lost time, and restricted herself a little, passing over most of the red meat. Even if her time as an oblate was fading, it wasn’t quite over yet, and the Rule of the Sisters called for moderation. Yseult poured them all more wine, red this time, and sliced the tart and handed round the honeysweetened cream.

“You’ve heard all about us, Lady Yseult,” Shawonda said.

“Please, let’s be Yseult and Shawonda and Janie in private? You know, you’re actually princesses, so I should be the one who goes after. I’m just a baron’s daughter. Sister, now.”

“We are?” Janie said. “Princesses? Really and truly?”

Her sister looked at her. “Remember what Mathilda said back when they came to our place? I thought she was joking but now I think she really meant it. But don’t start calling yourself a princess, Janie. It might cause trouble, people at home wouldn’t like it.”

She looked at Yseult. “But we don’t know what happened with you, just that the CUT. . got at. . your mother the way they did at. . Martin. Would you tell us? It. . it would make us feel less alone.”

“Like we’re part of an army, not just people something bad happened to,” Janie said.

She’s no fool. Neither of them are, Yseult thought as she sipped her wine. Maybe I should. We do have this in common. And. . not to be cynical, but they are princesses. I like them, and it certainly can’t hurt to be friends. You need friends in this world. Friends, and strong allies. And you can’t have friends unless you’re prepared to be one yourself.

“Well, my mother was arrested, when the Lady Regent found out what she’d done,” Yseult began slowly. “Everyone suspected Huon and me, too.”

“That must have been awful,” Shawonda said

“Were you locked up in a dungeon?” Janie said, with the ghoulishness of her age.

“Not quite! What happened was-”

CASTLE TODENANGST, CROWN DEMESNE

WILLAMETTE VALLEY NEAR NEWBURG

(FORMERLY WESTERN OREGON)

PORTLAND PROTECTIVE ASSOCIATION

SEPTEMBER 27, CHANGE YEAR 23/2021 AD

Her quarters at Todenangst were not quite a cell. There was a room that was small and whitewashed within and furnished with a plain bed with equally plain but adequate sheets and blankets, a small cupboard and a commode. There was a Spartan sitting room next to it, with a table and chairs and an étagère. The place smelled of soap and wax and, very slightly, of concrete still curing after all these years; a maid came through and cleaned thoroughly every day.

There was no need for her do to anything menial, no dérogeance, but it was very bleak.

She rose each morning when the sun came through the high slit windows, dressed in her riding habit, waited for the door to open and was escorted by an unspeaking squire with an equally taciturn middle-aged duenna to the stables and rode for two hours, in a walled tilt-yard of the Protector’s Guard, under instruction and ward of the Master of the Stables, Sir Henri Gallardo.

Castle Todenangst was more than a castle; you could have lost Castle Gervais in it a dozen times over. It was a palace and a city in itself, the inner keep here alone a vast labyrinthine complex of towers and courtyards, little hidden gardens and terraces, armories and barracks, offices and halls and galleries, archives and libraries and chapels and quirking passageways. Some of it was bleakly plain like her rooms; some parts she traversed were stunningly beautiful and decorated with things new-made by the Protectorate’s most skilled artists or plundered from half a continent. All of it had a faint air of menace that might be her imagination. After days she still felt she’d be hopelessly lost if she took one wrong turn, and almost grateful for the constant escort.

Sometimes late at night she thought of its building, twenty thousand men laboring through five years of hunger and brutal toil just for the main framework, some leaving their bones in its mass concrete bulk and most in the nearby graves. From the bed, if she stood, she could see the Black Tower glittering with the crystal inclusions in its dark granite sheathing. That had been the Lord Protector’s lair, and of him men still spoke with awe and dreadful fear.

After riding she went to confession-brief ones, where every day was the same-and Mass in an astonishing Lady Chapel that was like being inside a jewel, sitting between her guards of the day. Then the guards escorted her to the sitting room and a late breakfast, plain but adequate. After that she was free until her lessons and the escort to the baths where she was always the only occupant.

Free, she thought as she paced, after a time that seemed to stretch out forever and flick by in instants, both at the same time.

Free to do absolutely anything I can do in these two rooms! Free to pound my head on the walls!

Her books, brought from Gervais, she placed beside her bed; she arranged a little prie-dieu in her sitting room and spent hours trying to pray. A lute was brought at her request, and she was allowed to borrow, through Virgilia, any book she wanted out of the Todenangst libraries. That was one good thing, because they seemed to have all the books in the world. Virgilia gave her lessons from three to seven. The very first day the older woman told her bluntly that there were eavesdroppers, and her skin crawled at the thought that eyes might be on her at any moment of the day or night, and how the whole castle might be honeycombed by secret passages. The Spider had designed it, after all.

After that she kept her mind strictly on her lessons when Virgilia was there.

Each day she came back to the bare little room and tried to focus on a short list of tasks. She worked at making the hours pass by assigning to each one a different task. For the most part, she paced; unable to focus on any one task as raw worry gnawed at her balance.

Odard, she thought. Where is he now, out in the barbarian lands? Huon. . is he still a page at Mollala? Mother. . Fen House. . people whisper about it. Better than the dungeons, but. . and will I ever leave here? What happens if I start to scream at the walls?

She paced four quick steps one way and the seven at right angles, over and over as noon crept to one and Virgilia arrived to distract her. The fourth day as she sat and picked up a new piece of embroidery she’d started in hopes of focusing her attention once again, the door opened and Huon walked in.

The fine linen cloth with the pattern of yellow roses growing on it went flying as she sprang up. For one long second she stared at him and then they rushed together. Strong arms went around her and his tears fell on her shoulder. They swayed together, laughing and crying.

Huon had been a good three inches shorter than she when he left to go be Lord Chaka’s page. Now he stood just slightly taller, and he even smelled different; clean, but with an overtone of smoke and leather and horse, and his hands were rougher with callus. When their spate of tears had passed she found herself sitting in the little window seat, still in his arms.

“Tell me,” he said urgently, his rough voice breaking into a boyish treble. “Tell me what happened and how?”

“But I don’t know!” she exclaimed, sliding her eyes towards the door and the wall she suspected of a spy hole.

Huon shook his head impatiently.

“Don’t worry about them eavesdropping on us, Yseult. The Spider knows much more than we, and we cannot hurt ourselves any worse than Mama has already done. Our only hope is truth and mercy.”

“Then. . you know.”

“Lord Chaka told me. What did you learn?”

“Goodwife Romarec said Mama and Uncle helped the men who came last year to Sutterdown and endangered the Princess.”

“Tried to kill everyone in that building including the Princess. And including Odard. He fought for her. . fought beside her, and killed several of them at the risk of his life. I think that’s why we were left alone for as long as we were. Mother was getting a second chance that he bought us with the sword and his blood. And look what she did with it!”

His voice had changed too, deeper and rougher, and there was a different look in his eyes. They said he looked more like their father than anyone else in the family, and suddenly she believed it. Her father had been a hard man; never unkind to her, and she remembered him affectionate with her mother, but a very hard man in very hard times. People had been frightened of him; commoners never talked much about him in her presence. The Lord Protector had used him like a dagger held up the sleeve.

“But before she could tell me any more, Sir Garrick arrived and took over the castle,” Yseult said.

“Start at the beginning, then, Ysi. You and I are all of House Liu left here and we have only each other. You must tell me everything or I won’t know what to do or say.”

Yseult searched her brother’s eyes. He was the only one of them to get ones of their father’s dark blue, but with their mother’s open lids.

He’s only a boy! she thought, with a stab of remorse. I should. .

She spoke aloud. “You’re my little brother! I should be protecting you!”

Huon laughed suddenly. “And if we had a kitchen or a solar, you’d be bustling around doing all the womanly things, taking baskets to the poor and supervising the weaving and getting the winter supplies done and the herbs put up and the accounts balanced. And doing it right!”

“Listen to the bearded knight!” she said gaily, then hugged him again. “Oh, this is good. I thought I’d go crazy. . how have you been, over there in Mollala?”

Enthusiasm glowed from him; he was still only thirteen. “It’s great! Lord Chaka and the knights and their squires are strict, but they’re fun too, and the other pages are mostly good guys. I thumped a couple and a couple thumped me and we all know where we stand.”

Boys are weird sometimes, she thought, not for the first time. He went on:

“We train really hard and study, but there’s lots of hunting, they’re right on the edge of the Cascades there you know, and I’ve got a horse of my own and I’ve started again with the lance. And Lord Mollala says I’ve got a good seat and eye!”

“It does sound like fun,” Yseult said enviously.

She should have been a lady-in-waiting; for a year or more now. Learning skill and courtesy and the ways of another great house, with a kindly noblewoman to oversee her, and parties and hawking and some carefully chaperoned flirting, and seeing new places and people and making friends among the girls who’d be close to her all her life and link the families together the way page service and being a squire did the boys.

Huon grinned at her obvious thought: “And if we were under siege you’d be counting chickens and eggs and firing those deadly little darts of yours at the invaders.”

Yseult suddenly smiled. “I’m even better than Alex with the crossbow! Oh!”

“Alex? Vinton? He came back? I heard, but nothing definite.”

“I think so. .” Yseult thought carefully and then told Huon everything.

It took some time, but she didn’t mind. I want the Spider. . the Lady Regent. . to know the truth! The truth is I didn’t know anything about treason! Neither did Huon!

It might not make all that much difference. The law spread guilt for treason throughout the kin. More than an hour later Huon said, very softly:

“Par le bon Dieu!”

Yseult nodded, letting her head fall back onto his shoulder. In the keyhole opening of the neck of his shirt she could see the little medal of St. Valentine Huon had always worn. There was another medal next to it.

“What’s that?” she asked.

Huon looked down and fingered the medallion. “Well, the Dowager Mollala gave it to me. It’s a Michael; the archangel, you know. Grand Constable of the Heavenly Host. Said if I wanted to be a warrior I needed a saint that could do more than just be a target and end up a holy pincushion.”

Yseult nodded. “Bernadette and Lourdes have been a great help to me.” “You always loved them.”

She nodded again, suddenly tired. All the tension that had been holding her together for the last five days drained out of her body and surprisingly, she found herself very sleepy but content as she hugged her brother. It seemed like a long time later when a thought floated up in her exhausted brain.

“I. . it’s horrible, but I was. . not glad, but, but, I wish I knew what words to use. . when I saw Uncle Guelf’s body in the courtyard, I wasn’t angry he was dead. I felt like he’d deserved it and I was safer with him dead. How awful is that?”

Her brother sighed. “We probably are much safer with him dead and Mother under house arrest somewhere. They say to get out of a pit first you have to stop digging, and now he’s buried himself and Mother can’t do anything to make things worse. Where is Fen House? People just whisper about it when some noble really screws up and disappears.”

“Sir Garrick said we didn’t need to know. Do you know Sir Garrick?”

Huon looked down at her and shook his head. “The Protectorate is a big place, bigger than I realized. There’s a lot more empty space between the baronies than I realized, too. The Betancourts live in Bethany, up near Portland, a little west. It’s prime farmland, I think they have about a dozen manors, and vineyards in their demesne, too. A rich estate. But all the kids are a lot older than we are. Roderick and Garrick are the grandsons. I think old Lord Betancourt, the first of the line, is either dead or dying; though I might not have heard. They were Society people like Mother, but on both sides.”

Huon was quiet for a time. Then: “I can understand your not being sad that he died. I’ll bet the headless body gave you a shock, though.”

Yseult shuddered. “I don’t think it was the body. I’ve seen executions, after all. I think it was the unexpected sight, and knowing him. And he never used his head for anything but a helmet-rack anyway.”

She knew that the words were just bravado, but Huon laughed in approval and hugged her and she relaxed.

I’ve missed him; missed being able to share my feelings and thoughts. Missed it so much.

Huon pulled her closer. “It could be. He just knew he was smarter and better than Mother was and that he was supposed to be the regent for Odard, even though he loved Mother. And Mama loved Guelf, but she hated it when he tried to tell her what to do. I went to Loiston to be his page, remember? It was just for three months and I was only seven. Mother made me come home when I swore at her. And she and Guelf had one of their fights over his teaching me bad language.”

Yseult gave a watery chuckle. “The kind where we were scared they’d pull each other’s hair out by the roots? I remember that fight!”

“I do, too. But I saw that he truly loved Layella and cared for Aunt Theresa. He was really hard on Terry and Odo, but then I realized that he was really stupid about how he showed how much he cared, but he really cared. So, I understand your not being unhappy he’s dead. But I’m sorry; he did love us. I wish I knew what happened, that he abandoned his post.”

“Did he? Did he really? He ran away?”

That shocked her to the very core. You could forgive an Associate most things except cowardice.

And treason, her mind added.

“Yes, but that’s all I know. Walked out on all the men; just left them and headed back home. . I don’t think it was cowardice, really. He was a fighter, at least. Everyone agrees he fought like a lion at Pendleton! Why?”

“I was really sorry for Aunt Layella. I don’t know if she cared for him, but she was a good aunt to us and Châtelaine for him.”

She licked her lips; she was dancing around the most important question of all:

“Huon, why did Mama do this? What made her so mad all the time? She hates me. She’s always after me, always irritated, always angry. And Uncle’s. . was. . so much worse than he used to be, too.”

Huon started, eyes focusing on her again. “But she didn’t hate you!” he protested. “Mama loves you so very much. Don’t you remember the silk violet dress with the eyelet surcoat she made for you that Easter you led all the girls into church? And the flowered drapes and hangings for your bed she embroidered. . all your ‘special’ flowers?”

“Oh,” breathed Yseult. “I’d forgotten.”

Remembering Mary’s tender hands dressing her and carefully braiding her hair in a complicated pattern. She’d been eight and so proud to be old enough to lead the girls with their baskets of flowers up to the altar.

“She did the white work herself. I still have it, carefully put away. Or, I did. She changed. She changed. . when?” she asked, puzzled.

“Some when our father died, Lord Chaka says. I was just a baby. He told me she became obsessed with revenge. But it was the fortunes of war, for heaven’s sake! He wasn’t slain by treachery, that would be grounds for a feud. He died sword in hand with his face to the enemy. What better can you hope for? A man drops it once the war is over. But she was just a woman widowed and grieving.”

“Hummmphf!” Yseult snorted, and Huon waved it aside. “Then, then Uncle Jason died in Corvallis and she had to struggle along with just Sir Richart Reddings to help her besides Guelf, and he kept thinking he should be in charge. And Sir Harold’s father; but he was already old and sick. And he didn’t like her very much.”

“Was it then?”

“Later, I don’t know. I know that she wouldn’t let me leave to become a page, again. There were at least five offers that I heard of, good ones, Houses it would be smart to have links to, but she wouldn’t even discuss them. That was three years ago, but I never knew why. I think, I think that was the start of a. . a. . worse change, but even Lord Chaka didn’t know the true answer. He only had guesses.”

Yseult pondered, picking at the crusty scabs on her cheek, before giving up on the conundrum.

“I wish I knew. It hurts to think of Mama being a traitor. It hurts the honor of House Liu and I don’t know how we’re going to make it clean.”

Huon nodded. “Yes. But she never really accepted that the Lady Regent was her ruler. She felt. . I’ve heard her say. . that Gervais was an independent Barony, or should be, after the Lord Protector died.”

“But that’s nonsense! We’re tenants in chief, we hold directly from the Crown, and that’s an honor, it makes us equals of the Counts even if we’re not rich. It was the Lord Protector himself who gave Gervais to Mama to hold in ward for Odard after Father was killed. We were there at court with Mother when he made the decree!”

Huon shook his head. “I would have been, what, under two? I don’t remember it. We’ve been to court enough that it’s all a blur that far back for me. But why couldn’t Mother just be happy that the estates weren’t put in Crown wardship until Odard came of age? What more did she want?”

“Oh, I know when that happened!” exclaimed Yseult. “It was a year or so after the war. Everybody’d lost a lot of peasants with the new law that they could move if they wanted to. And we hadn’t. Somebody noticed and told on us. The Lady Regent sent a couple of spies. Mother and Guelf and Sir Czarnecki, the older one who died a couple of years later, had all blocked the ’tinerants from coming in and letting people know and they were keeping people against their will. And Mother was still running tolls on the highways and roads.”

“She did what?” Huon pulled away from Yseult. “I am certainly learning a bit more dirty laundry than I thought was in the basket!” He shook his head in disbelief. “That was part of the peace treaty! And Gervais is really too close to Mount Angel and the Bearkillers and even the Mackenzies to risk any accusation of bad faith.”

Yseult laughed, a catch in her voice. “Oh, Huon. I’ve never thought things out, just watched them happen and never questioned. Mama was called to court and given strict orders. Sir Czarnecki and Uncle Guelf were fined. So was Gervais, but the Lady Regent told Mama that she was fining everybody who should have known better. She never forgave it.”

Huon sighed. A discreet tap at the main door panel announced their dinner.

“Two o’clock? I’m famished!” said Yseult. Huon nodded. The fare was very simple but filling and they ate quietly.

“I’d forgotten how happy we were once,” Yseult said. “Before it changed. I feel sorry for Mother almost, but she. . made it all go bad.”

She picked at the crusty yellow scab again and Huon made a wordless sound of impatience and took her wrist.

“Leave your cheek alone! You’ll scar if you pick at it! What happened?”

“I fell onto the embers. My wrist still hurts, too.”

Huon scowled and released it at once. “Has the chirurgeon come?” he asked.

“No, why? I haven’t asked for him. Do you think. .”

The thirteen-year-old boy strode to the door and pounded on it.

“Ho-la!” he yelled, his voice deep and then cracking. “Guard, to me, to me, the Guard!”

The door jerked open and two feet of steel poised its point on Huon’s breastbone.

“What?” asked the man-at-arms, gruffly, his face hidden behind the visored sallet helm.

“My sister was injured and nobody has bothered to send a chirurgeon to her. Her wrist and her face need attention! And put that blade down and your visor up! Don’t you know better than to draw on a gentleman, and in the presence of a lady, you mannerless barking dog?”

Yseult held her breath as the barely visible eyes studied her brother and then her. Abruptly the steel was withdrawn and the man showed his face before the door slammed. There was no doubt that Huon was brave!

He turned, frowning. “Sister, tell me again about Mama and what they did to her when they took her prisoner.”

When she was done he began to pace, frowning; some corner of her mind noticed that he took fewer strides to cross the strait confines of the room.

“Laudanum?” he said, half-incredulous. “A straitjacket? And she never used to have hysterical fits. I wonder. .”

The chirurgeon came, a middle-aged man with a short grizzled beard. He clicked his tongue angrily when he saw the neglected burns and wrist.

“The wrist will need exercises. I’ll talk with Gallardo; he can add it to your morning routine. I wish he’d told me, he’s supposed to report on your condition.”

“I didn’t tell him, it’s not his fault,” said Yseult. “I didn’t know it mattered.”

The chirurgeon snorted. “Any injury that doesn’t heal is a problem, and it gets worse if untended, young mistress. The face is a problem now. It’s impetigo. Luckily we don’t seem to have brought any serious diseases like MRSA through the Change but it’s not good. I’m going to soak it, gently debride it and then paint it with Gentian violet. You will wear gloves all day, and keep your hands completely away from your face. Young Master Gervais, will you go to your chamber?”

Huon jerked out of his reverie. “Why?” he demanded imperiously; the man was a commoner.

“Because this will hurt your sister. I can’t have you hit me because I hurt her,” said the chirurgeon impatiently.

Huon glared at the chirurgeon and sat down next to Yseult and put his arms around her. “Hold on to me, sister, we’ll weather this together.”

“Oh, that was awful!” Shawonda Thurston said.

Yseult jerked a little, wrenched back across the years. She used an exercise one of the Sisters had taught her, thinking about a candle burning before the altar, to relax her mind; the muscles of her shoulders followed, and the pain in her knee faded.

“What happened after that?” Shawonda said.

“Do you want that last piece of the apricot tart?” Janie added.

Yseult laughed at her angelic expression. I wish I’d had some sisters. We were always such a small family, just the three of us youngsters, and I was the only girl. She realized that she was going to enjoy being a lady-in-waiting again, once things settled down. It had been the first time in her life she could be one of many of her own sex and age, and she wanted that again for a while.

“Go ahead,” Shawonda said. “What happened?”

“Then. . then I saw the Lady Regent, a few weeks later.”

“Weeks?” Shawonda said indignantly. “How could she be so cruel to you, leaving you in that little hole? For weeks!”

“It wasn’t so bad after Huon came. I knew he was all right. And I had my books and. . well, the Lady Regent isn’t cruel.”

“She’s kind?” Shawonda said ironically.

“No. She’s, this is with ordinary people, you understand. . she’s neither. She’s just. . clever. Patient, and very very clever.”

The elder Thurston girl shivered a little. “Sounds scary.”

“Oh yes,” Yseult said, her mind traveling back. “You have no idea.”

CASTLE TODENANGST, CROWN DEMESNE

WILLAMETTE VALLEY NEAR NEWBURG

(FORMERLY WESTERN OREGON)

PORTLAND PROTECTIVE ASSOCIATION

OCTOBER 15, CHANGE YEAR 23/2021 AD

Yseult struggled with the cote-hardie. The voluminous folds kept getting hung up. Three weeks of physical therapy and exercises had helped her arm, shoulder and wrist. But she still didn’t have the full range of motion back. With an annoyed exclamation she ducked her head down and bent her body, shaking herself and wishing for Carmen Barrios or Virgilia. The slubbed silk slowly slid off her arms and over her head.

Huon knocked on the door. “Ysi, Ysi, what’s taking you so long? It’s almost time!”

She looked at the pools of sunset orange silk on the floor, hesitated for the tenth time and then set her lips.

“Huon, please come help me. I can’t get the dress on with my arm still injured.”

“Help you!” Huon suddenly squeaked, a thirteen-year-old boy again, not a man impatient with female fripperies.

Yseult caught her breath on a sudden laugh. “Huon!” she chided. “I’m wearing the chemise and underclothes. I could get those on and laced up by myself. It’s just the court cote-hardie. It’s so tight and I can’t lift my left arm enough. I’m perfectly decent.”

She opened the door to the sitting room and looked at Huon and approved.

“You’re going to be as much of a popinjay as Odard!” she said. “That looks really good on you. Now come help me keep up the reputation of House Liu!”

His cheeks were as red as the crimson shirt under his plain gray houppelande of fine merino wool. It was belted over parti-colored hosen in black and a darker crimson. The belt, with its empty dagger sheath, was one of Odard’s; an elaborate affair of fifteen five-inch-wide black enameled plaques in a filigree pattern, set with lapis lazuli cabochons. It had a matching state chain over the shoulder that picked up the dark sea-blue of his eyes, like the Pacific off Astoria on a sunny day.

“I approve,” she said. “Where are the shoes and hat?”

He waved a hand aimlessly at the window and said, “Shouldn’t I send for a tirewoman?”

“We don’t have enough time. . and, Huon?”

He looked at her, inquiringly. She hesitated and shrugged.

“I think this is a test.”

“Test?” he frowned. “Of what?”

“Resourcefulness and ability to think on our feet? Who knows; do you want to get into a who’s-the-clever-one contest with the Spider?”

“St. Michael, no! I’m thirteen!”

“I don’t either, and I won’t when I’m thirty!”

A startled expression crossed his face. “I never thought of that! And, in that case, will you help fix my stuff, too?”

“Of course! I wouldn’t have let you out of the room like that!”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

She giggled, suddenly. “You might be heading towards brother Odard’s dandyism, but you’ve got a long way to go yet! It’s all in the details. I’ll take care of it in a minute.”

She picked up and shook out the sunset-colored cote-hardie. “I’m going to crouch a bit and you throw it over my head and get my hands into the sleeves. Then you have to help coax the sleeves up each arm and make sure the skirts fall without getting tucked up at the waist.”

Huon looked appropriately solemn as he carefully cast the many yards of raw silk slub over her head and they worked together on coaxing the tight sleeves into place.

“Your chemise is showing,” he fussed.

She waved a hand at him. “No, it’s supposed to show. I’m too young to be showing off my pitiful assets. It needs to be absolutely even all around, though.”

She shrugged and lifted the collar of the complex dress while he walked around and around and carefully tucked and tugged at the delicate pink silk chemise. Then she reached under the skirts and deftly pulled the hem of the chemise. The wrinkles at the neckline slowly vanished. The chain and saint’s medal were lightly outlined by the silk, but that was acceptable. She shook herself making sure the gown moved freely and moved into the sitting room and studied herself in the better light. Huon followed her out, carrying the rich caramel-colored sideless surcoat.

“Wouldn’t it have been easier to just unbutton the buttons and then do it up?”

“The buttons are just for show,” she said absently, carefully pulling the seams of her sleeves straight.

The obsidian buttons were burin-carved in a cloud pattern, each one slightly different; they marched their way up to the elbow.

“And the front ones-if I did that it would button up all crooked. Some of the court ladies wear theirs so tight they actually have to sew themselves into them. Buttons would gap, do gap, these are for show, too. . It looks very, very. . ummm, when they do them too tight.”

She felt her cheeks heat up. Huon laughed a small laugh that reminded her he was old enough to start looking at women that way.

“I’ve seen it. Like they painted themselves in silk, and nothing left to the imagination.”

She nodded, still a little pink. Huon shook out the sideless surcoat, found the front and flung it over her head. It settled neatly around her and a few tweaks set it in place. The front and back had been cut out, too, and then lightly laced, to show off the cote-hardie itself.

“Where are your jewels?” asked Huon.

“Under the prie-dieu.”

He brought out her belt and state necklace, pearl set copper, and helped her get them set just right. She swallowed a bit at the sight of the empty dagger sheath at her belt. She and Huon wore the sheaths as tokens that they were Associates; they were empty in token of the accusations against them.

She found the veil, gauzy wild pink that picked up the brilliant color of her dress. Huon carefully combed the disordered strands of her braided hair smooth and draped the veil. The copper and pearl diadem fixed it on her head.

“Doesn’t this make your skin go green?”

“No. It would, but it has a lining of silver on the inside. That might make my skin go black. But it’s a lot slower to tarnish than copper. . Huon! I’m so scared!”

She saw his throat work and was sorry she’d spoken. “But, you’re with me. We’re House Liu! We can do this.”

Huon’s face firmed. “Right, Ysi. Our father came out of the Change a baron. There’s strength in our blood.”

“Come here and let me straighten out your houppelande and state chain. . no, first put on your shoes and hat! Let me comb your hair. .”

Fussing over Huon steadied her and she saw her brother relax and smile a bit and relaxed herself. The clash of spears thumping the hall warned her that it was time. She walked, quickly, but carefully back into her bedchamber, holding up her skirts. She gulped and touched the porcelain of Bernadette and the picture of the Virgin.

“Give me strength, but also, give me smarts. This is going to be very scary!”

She slipped the rosary under her belt and heard the door open. She walked out and gasped. Jehane stood there between the spearmen, lord Chaka’s youngest sister, and looking very grown-up now, her smooth brown face inscrutable.

Oh! I wish I could smile and dance up to her and hug her like I used to do. She was always so nice to me; but she looks. . so, so. . magnificent and so solemn! And she’s the Lady Regent’s amanuensis, now. I have to be careful. Some days I wish I didn’t have to grow up. Life was simpler back then.

Jehane nodded with regal calm. “Come then, young mistress, young master. The Lady Regent will examine you in this matter of the treason of House Liu.”

Yseult shot a quick look at Huon and straightened her back. Her fingers pinched a small fold of the sideless surcoat and the cote-hardie under it and lifted it, a scant inch from the floor. She glided forward and followed Jehane out of the room.

Two large men-at-arms in black armor stood at the door like the legendary metal men of the ancient world except for the faces under their raised visors, others beyond, in the corridor.

Things may have seemed simpler in bygone days, thought Yseult.

Even then she couldn’t help admiring Jehane’s magnificent pale green ermine-trimmed cote-hardie with the elaborate dagged sleeves faced in silver silk, black marks echoing the ermine. Either she had perfect taste, or the Lady Regent did and insisted on it for her immediate staff, or both. Probably both.

But they weren’t, not really. I just never noticed what was going on over my head. Mother has been intriguing for years, and so has Uncle Guelf. What an inheritance!

Probably her father had as well, and her mother had helped. It was the play of great lords, the game of advantage.

The audience chamber to which they were escorted in the Dark Tower was an uncomfortable room despite the handsome stone of the floor and walls and the roof of carved plaster arabesques. Harsh light from the bare high windows fell in spears on the spot before a large desk of carved walnut on the slightly raised dais. The Lady Regent sat there, wrapped in a great cloak of priceless black-and-white ermine. Two Associates’ daggers lay on the desk before her, points towards the accused, their bright edges glittering against the dark silky wood.

Yseult sank into a deep curtsy and held it, as Huon did his bow.

“Rise, and approach,” the Regent said.

Yseult took a deep breath as they did, and let her eyes take in the room.

It was large and chilly, with a great medallion of the Lidless Eye set in the wall behind the desk, jet and niello and obsidian and raw gold. Yseult looked for the hot-water radiators. They were there; bronze pipes running in through the classic cast-iron radiators.

So the Spider wants us to be cold and uncomfortable. Did she think I wouldn’t notice and would just be frightened, or did she expect me to notice? Or is she testing to see if I do notice, and just caught that look at the radiators? Oh, yes, that’s it.

Hard wooden chairs ranged in an arc before the dais, but Yseult and Huon were not offered a seat. Jehane sank in a deep curtsy to the Regent and sat quietly next to a girl about her age; she took up a little blond-wood writing desk on her lap and dipped a pen ready in the tiny bottle of ink built into it.

Standing beneath one of those glaring windows was the Grand Constable, Baroness Tiphaine d’Ath, in dark elaborate male court dress and an ostrich plume in the clasp of her chaperon hat. Yseult shuddered under the cold gray gaze.

Quietly Yseult identified some of the others. Chaka, Lord Mollala, young and burly and chocolate dark like his sister Jehane, with a frown on his scarred and bluntly handsome face. Sir Garrick Betancourt, and Lady Delia de Stafford, in subdued formal dress much less fanciful than what her reputation as a leader of fashion would make you expect.

Ranged along the back and sides were the faceless, black-armored men of the Protector’s Guard. Two flanked the Lady Sandra, their naked long swords over their shoulders.

In the Lord Protector’s day they would have been behind me and Huon. Ready to take off our heads. Lord Chaka’s father stood like that once, after the Princess was kidnapped by the Mackenzies while she was visiting with him. He was pardoned, though.

The Regent studied them from behind the desk in a silence that stretched. Yseult looked up into the dark brown eyes under the cream-silk wimple with its platinum band. She’d heard of drowning in someone’s eyes, usually in bad love songs, but never like this. Such an ordinary face, smooth and slightly plump and middle-aged. .

For an endless time all was still. Then Sandra spoke, her contralto voice quiet and emotionless as water of rocks in an ornamental garden.

“This investigation is convened. Let it be noted that We-”

She used the royal pronoun, a sign that the business was very, very official. Jehane’s pen scratched and scritched steadily on the paper. She wrote quickly and neatly in shorthand, a little silver clip holding her sleeve back from the ink.

“-are not sitting in Star-Chamber.”

Yseult’s eyes went up involuntarily. Star-Chamber did have stars on its arched ceiling, or so rumor said. Sessions of that court were strictly secret. Sometimes even the sentence was never announced, just carried out.

“Let Huon Liu and Yseult Liu be sworn.”

A smooth-faced priest in a black robe brought out a great Bible in a tooled-leather cover, and a silver-gilt reliquary. Yseult put her hands on them and swore:

“. . by my hope of salvation and in the sight of God the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

Everyone crossed themselves; she kissed her crucifix as well. And I mean to tell the truth!

The Lady Regent joined in the gesture. She was a petite woman in her fifties; a gray cote-hardie showed beneath the ermine robe, buttoned by steel-gray Madras pearls and silver.

All these powerful lords, Yseult thought. And Lady Death, whose name is fear, and the Regent dominates the room as if she were a giant made of fire.

She had wielded unquestioned power from the Willamette to the Yukon and inland to the Rockies for twenty-three years; fourteen of them all by herself, this little woman in silver and gray. The Lady Regent didn’t blink for a long count of five.

Then: “We are gathered here to hear and ponder the matter of the children of the House of Liu. These are Yseult and Huon Liu, children of the late Eddie Liu, well loved by my late husband, and Mary Liu. . not so well loved by myself.”

Yseult swallowed. The brown eyes studied hers, moved to her brother, and a very small smile showed.

“I suspect that despite natural piety, you are not well pleased with her right now yourselves, children. She has been so stupid. Ambition can be dealt with; it’s even useful. Against folly and self-deception, even gods contend in vain at times.”

The very slight tinge of playfulness leached out of Sandra Arminger’s voice. Something like the metal on the edge of a razor replaced it.

“Your mother is guilty of high treason. This is not in doubt. Her actions, her letters, the testimony of Castle Gervais staff; the actions of Guelf Mortimer, her brother, and Alex Vinton, who she made privy servant to your elder brother, all speak unambiguously for themselves. She intrigued with our enemy, the Church Universal and Triumphant and its Prophet Sethaz. She intrigued with them long before we became aware of their focus on our lands and people. She could have warned us; and we would have been much better prepared in September-but she didn’t. Many good and loyal vassals have died because she didn’t.”

Yseult made herself breathe and forced her eyes to stay open. She wouldn’t have done all this just to kill us. We’d simply be dead.

“Thus, the one hand. On the other”-one small, beautifully tended hand reached out and tapped a stack of letters on the desk, bound with a purple ribbon-“if these are to be believed, your brother is the pattern of a gallant and loyal knight. And they are from the Princess Mathilda, and Rudi Mackenzie, and Father Ignatius of the Order of the Shield of St. Benedict. My daughter is naturally of a more kindly nature than I, but she is nobody’s fool and neither is Rudi Mackenzie or the knight-brother, and they all sing the praises of Sir Odard’s courage, his skill at arms, his steadfastness, and his cleverness. Yes?”

Yseult took a deep breath. The praise for her brother and through him for her family and House made the blood rush back to her face and gave her strength; she could feel it curling up from her stomach into her heart and mind.

She blurted: “Odard. . Odard is a true knight. And he truly loves the Princess Mathilda, my lady Regent. He would die for her.”

“Absolutely true,” Huon said with respectful firmness. She suspected he was also praying hard that his voice not break in midsentence. “He’s deeply in love with her.”

“Or in love with his expectations should he marry her,” the Regent said. “That would provide a strong motive for his heroics, if true. Many men are brave in their own service. But more to the point, Rudi Mackenzie says quite bluntly that he and all the rest would have died if Odard had betrayed them, which he had opportunity to do. . and had opportunity to do in ways which would have been undetectable, and which would have furthered any ambitions he may have had with respect to my daughter. I have great respect for the Mackenzie tanist’s judgment and long close experience with it. Nor is he such a friend of Odard’s that he would shade the truth in such a matter.”

Silence fell for a long time; the room grew a little darker, and she could hear rain beating down on the windows. The Black Months were at hand here in the Willamette, drizzle and slate-colored skies and short fugitive days. The Lady Regent moved one finger slightly, and the gaslights were turned on by the guards, each with a small pop. The mantels began to glow behind the frosted-glass fronts, and the mirrors behind cast the light.

Yseult struggled to read the Regent’s smooth face and opaque eyes, and swallowed. Anything she said could kill her and Huon; but to stay silent was a hideous risk as well.

She’s always been so closed. It’s part of why she’s so dangerous.

Yseult fought for balance. Huon’s hand on her shoulder helped. What does the Regent want? she wondered. Shall I grovel? Will it help? Or retire to a convent and make a vow of chastity?

Then: No. It wouldn’t help. I can’t guess what she’s thinking but I can think clearly and use logic myself. And she’ll respect that, respect boldness and clear thought.

She nerved herself to speak evenly and quietly, her fear drying her mouth. “Lady; may we follow the pattern of our brother in courage and honesty. But also, not in the matter of frankness. Odard always played his cards close to his chest. I ask you openly, why are we a risk, two minor children?”

Another of those slight chilly smiles rewarded her, and a very small nod.

At least if we’re killed, it will be after we’ve gotten a little respect!

Sandra gestured, turning her hand palm-down and then palm-up. “It is my policy always to punish treachery, and likewise always to reward good service. Which leaves me with something of a dilemma with respect to you twain; I can scarcely reward Lord Odard and then wipe out his family. Accordingly I will take no hasty or irrevocable actions; but neither will I take unnecessary risks. Ultimately this matter may well have to be settled by the Princess when she returns. I am, after all, Regent for her.”

Yseult swallowed against the sudden tears. “Yes?” she heard the Lady Regent ask.

“Why are we a risk?” Huon said; it was the question she’d have asked again if she had dared.

The Regent turned both hands up. “At the very least, minor children may grow up into dangerous adults who have been secretly resentful for a very long time. Love for a mother is strong, even if she’s an idiot. And there is more than politics at work here. Lord Betancourt, your report, please.”

“My lady Regent.”

The hard young captain she remembered in a suit of plate was dressed as a court dandy today, in shades of green and silver. His dark skin glowed against the silver rolled brim hat with the silver scarf trailing down. He came forward and made an elaborate leg to the Regent.

He was pretty scary that day at Gervais. He scared me, anyway. But, thought Yseult, I don’t know if I like him looking so dandified. Odard dressed like that, but it distracted people from what he was really doing. Garrick is handsome, but, I think, too direct for the clothes to be a smoke screen. And his hair is wavy, but not as curly as Lord Chaka’s.

Yseult focused on his words, hearing his side of the day of her arrest. “Sir Guelf came out of the stables just as we arrived. He clearly knew what was forward and charged me with drawn blade and made no attempt to parley. It was suicide; and he was dead, very quickly.”

Yseult controlled a shudder, remembering the body and the pool of blood among the straw and cobbles and horse dung.

“Around vespers, we finally ran the fox to his earth and Alex Vinton was arrested. He was sent to the Interlachen prison immediately.”

“Thank you, Sir Garrick. How does the demesne under your stewardship?”

“Quietly, Lady, quietly. The people were not happy to hear of the arrest of the children. It is my sorrow to inform you that Lady Layella did die two days ago. The coroner’s findings are attached to my written report.”

Yseult gasped, a sad exhalation of woe escaping her. She fingered the beads on her rosary and promised to dedicate one hundred Hail Marys to her soul. Sir Garrick turned and bowed, a regretful expression on his face.

“I had sent for a midwife doctor from the Sisters of the Angels in Mount Angel. She cared for the lady, but her fate was written in the stars. She had a massive stroke; I understand a known, if not so common, risk of a difficult childbirth with a prolonged laying in afterward. Her sister, Theresa, was taken to McKee house to be with her surviving brother, Odo, under the guardianship of Sir Czarnecki’s mother. She has been helping to nurse the man.”

He turned to the dais again. “The people of Gervais have taken heart from hearing that their Lord Odard protects the princess. And enjoys your full confidence. May I at this point request that I be returned to field duty?”

This time Sandra looked amused, though not in any way Yseult could have described. “No, my lord, you may not. Men combining competence and complete honesty in a situation where sticky fingers would be so easily deployed are not as common as one would like. Request denied.”

Sandra looked at Yseult and Huon. “The ‘full confidence’ is in fact, very true. He was injured, quite seriously, when the prisoners were liberated, protecting Mathilda.”

Yseult curtsied again, trying to control her relief. She wants us to be scared-and I am, at least! — but she’s really not going to kill us or attaint the land. I will dedicate a candle the length of my arm to St. Bernadette and Huon will do likewise!

“Now, Sir Stratson, how does it go with my prisoners?”

“My lady Regent,” said a grizzled man, standing.

Yseult thought he looked like a tired old horse, with his long face and long yellow teeth and bulging dark eyes. His dark brown court clothes fostered the impression of an ancient, weary bay. He bounced slightly on his toes and chewed his drooping mustache, like a horse cribbing his bit.

“Prisoner, I fear, my lady.”

Sandra’s face hardened. “Not an escape, I presume.”

“No, my lady. I’ll explain. Lady Mary had recovered from the laudanum by the time she arrived. The instructions were quite explicit. We escorted her to her cell in the maximum security block. I left the interrogation to the Baroness d’Ath who arrived a few days later.”

Maximum security block? I thought Mama was under house arrest at Fen House!

Huon pressed her shoulder and Yseult snapped her mouth shut before she could blurt anything; once again she caught that indefinable sense of amusement. It was said the Regent doted on her Persian cats. Apparently they had something in common with her besides wearing long silky white fur coats.

Sir Stratson went on: “Vinton, however, I was instructed to break and given a series of questions to ask. This we did in the main block. We could not cross-check his answers later in the process. Vinton bit out his tongue about forty-five minutes into the questioning and aspirated his blood while his head was underwater, so that we didn’t detect it until too late. He was dead in less than twenty minutes; we couldn’t control the bleeding even with a cautery.”

Yseult winced slightly, though the treatment was perfectly legal for a commoner in a treason investigation. Stratson bounced thoughtfully, and rocked a time or two on the balls of his feet in a gesture that was probably utterly unconscious.

“According to my chirurgeon, actually biting one’s tongue out completely is an impossible deed.”

“It is, unless the man is drugged,” Tiphaine d’Ath said, in an interested tone. “I’ve seen it tried several times, and it never succeeds. Marvelous are the works of God. My lady,” she concluded, bowing to the dais.

Stratson cleared his throat and continued:

“What answers Vinton gave us suggested that he was recruited by the Lady Mary or Lord Guelf sometime in the last two years and was their intermediary from the beginning of that recruitment. He gave us no information on who recruited them. However, his answers were not consistent with the evidence that was sent to me. Some of the letters were dated as much as five years ago and mentioned him as our well-loved and trusted Alex. We have the names of five Associate holders of fiefs-in-sergeantry in Gervais, Mollala, Hood River, Boring, and several farmers in Bend he claims constituted the chain of contacts. Rigobert Gironda de Stafford, Lord Forest Grove, is in charge of that part of the investigation. He told me that he felt nothing would turn up; that they were red herrings.”

Sandra’s eyes went to the Grand Constable. She nodded thoughtfully.

“Probably, my lady. A man determined enough to bite out his tongue would undoubtedly be coherent enough to lie under the water treatment, at least initially. You need to continue it for days or even weeks with these hard cases, and use very skillful interrogations to catch contradictions so that you can gradually break them down. I’m afraid much of what was gotten from this man will be worthless, and it will be very difficult to separate the pearls from the pig. . dung quickly.”

Sir Stratson rocked a few more times and then sat at the Regent’s nod.

He must be a very stolid man, Yseult thought. He just confessed failure in an important case to the Lady Regent. She thought for a moment. Though trying to fudge would be even worse, I think. You’d have to be very stupid to do that and I don’t think she puts stupid men in important positions.

D’Ath spoke from her spot by the window. Yseult frowned at the shiver that ran down her back. What is it I sense? She’s not an evil person; just odd and rare; but. .

“Lady d’Ath?” the Regent said.

“I got very little information from Lady Mary. She was her usual irritating self; complained about the accommodations, the food, the constant watching.

“She refused to say much about her work with the CUT. She did insist that she was only trying to improve the fortunes of House Liu. She was very clear that what she did was not, in her mind, treasonous.”

“What passes for her mind,” Sandra Arminger said dryly. “A world of its own, where every action of Mary Liu is wise and righteous.”

Tiphaine inclined her head and continued. “She named her initial recruiter as Guelf and stated that Alex Vinton had recruited. . she used the word ‘converted’ them; Guelf first and then herself. Vinton, she claimed, came to the castle some two or three years after the death of the late Baron Liu, with passwords Lady Mary recognized. He’d been one of Eddie’s embedded spies in the lands where Eddie had tried to set up Duke Iron Rod for us, years ago. Out in northern Idaho.”

“There’s nothing in the records, but there wouldn’t be, if he was running the operation personally,” Sandra said. “We were a little scattershot in those days, scrambling to seize fleeting opportunities while things were fluid. Go on, Lady d’Ath.”

“Lady Mary said that gave him the position of valet to Odard who was just coming of an age to need a manservant. For his consequence, I suppose, and because this Vinton was a competent bodyguard. Odard would have been ten at the time.”

Sandra’s eyes went to the young Lius. Yseult nodded and confirmed it:

“I remember him first coming to Gervais. He became our dancing master, too.”

Huon bowed. “I don’t remember it, I’m afraid, my lady Regent. I was very young, he was a fixture as far back as I can think.”

“Dancing master? What an odd profession for a spy,” Lady Death said coolly. “Of particular interest to me was her stated ultimate reason for treachery. She blamed both the Lady Regent and myself personally for not rescuing her brother, Sir Jason, in Corvallis just before the Protector’s War, and for the shaming Theresa Reddings received being pregnant at the time and betrothed to Jason, who was assassinated by parties unknown.”

Yseult cringed slightly as d’Ath turned to look at her, and then forced herself to stand firmly erect.

“Is that true?” the Grand Constable asked.

“Yes. They were betrothed, but Theresa was very young and Sir Richart had imposed a long betrothal. Theresa delivered of a son that May. He died less than a month later of jaundice. She was ruined and could never marry.”

D’Ath shook her head. “The things one learns. Beyond that, I am fairly sure Mary was lying; but about what and how is harder to determine and, as per your instructions, my lady, I did not use rigorous methods. Much of her motivation appears to have been an effort to balance the books as she saw fit.”

“Spite is a luxury,” the Regent said thoughtfully. “Like sweets, one should control one’s indulgence for the sake of health.”

The Grand Constable nodded. “I wish that Alex Vinton had not died under interrogation. I suspect he is. . was the key to our twined two conundrums. Is this a religious conversion or an opportunistic using of tools to hand, and did they seek the CUT or did the CUT seek them?”

“It might well have started as opportunism and segued into something else,” Sandra said. “That often happens; we wear a mask, and the mask becomes our face.”

The Grand Constable fell silent and relaxed against the wall.

The Regent tapped her foot thoughtfully. A waiting silence fell over the chilly room. Yseult shifted her balance minutely and felt Huon’s hand come to hold hers, hidden by the voluminous folds of her wool sideless surcoat.

“The problem,” the Regent said suddenly, “is, as the Grand Constable says, twofold. While we have nominal freedom of religion in the land of the Association. . since the Protector’s War and the peace treaty. . the Church is very much part of our identity and we tolerate the other religions not least because they remain inconspicuous and do not openly proselytize. What the CUT seems to have in mind here is invasion by conversion, followed by conversion after a successful invasion. It is possible. It has happened. Even if it fails of its main object, it is a formula for civil war, and that I will not tolerate.”

She looked at Huon and Yseult. “Religion is as real as rocks, as a political factor. And yet. . there is the little matter of the blown special operation last month in Pendleton. All the reports I’ve received suggest something more than simple logistics and superiority of forces were in play.”

“Yes, my lady,” Tiphaine said; she’d been in command of the Protectorate’s contingent there. “And the Prophet Sethaz was personally present when the Dúnedain attacked the Bossman of Pendleton in his stronghold during that party. The reports indicate that the operation would have been completely successful except for his presence, and that he did some. . quite remarkable things in his own person. We are still analyzing those aspects. I’d find them very difficult to believe except that Lord Alleyne Loring was the author of the report. And he’s extremely realistic, usually.”

The as opposed to his spouse, who refers to her enemies as orcs and may very well see them that way went unspoken.

The Regent tapped her fingers a few times on the desk; her equivalent of pacing and lashing a tail. When she spoke it was to Huon and Yseult:

“Your mother told the Grand Constable that Alex Vinton ‘converted’ them, she and Guelf. Did your mother ever speak in a way that made you think of another religion? Names of saints you’d never heard before, blessing that sounded different, preachers that looked or acted in ways you’d never seen?”

“My mother is a good daughter of the church! She was Catholic long before the Association existed!” Huon said, not shouting but very firmly.

Yseult was silent, remembering a missing rosary, a locket of the Annunciation that wasn’t around Mary’s neck and a gleaming white cloth with white on white counted cross-stitch embroidery. She raised her right hand to touch the medal that Odard had given her. It felt warm, and comforting to the touch.

“Daughter of Gervais?” Sandra said, the voice of implacable power.

“I, I. . I was embroidering an altar cloth for Mama. The day we were arrested, she was very angry with me because I was sloppy and said she wouldn’t have poor work placed on the. . I can’t remember just how she said it, but it sounded to me like the altar in Castle Gervais.”

“So, you think your brother is right?”

“It’s, it’s. . the design. There were symbols I’ve never seen on it. It was very complicated and all counted cross-stitch. Mother would tell me the pattern to embroider and I’d do that piece; but she never gave me the whole thing, or explained. Mother should still have it. Goodwife Romarec, the housekeeper packed it in with Mother’s stuff.”

“Ah. That is information of some value, which must be looked into. But she didn’t teach you anything, bless you, present you for baptism in an unorthodox cult?”

Yseult shook her head. “Nothing like that.” She hesitated. “But that day. . that day I noticed she didn’t have her rosary hanging from her belt. I’d, I’ve spent hours trying to remember when was the last time I saw it. . and it was the day my brother left. She took it off after leaving chapel and. . sort of spilled it from one hand to the other before tucking it into her pocket. And I can’t remember seeing it ever again. Or her locket of the Annunciation that Papa gave her, years and years ago.”

Huon turned to Yseult. “Really?” he asked, his voice cracking, “Really? She wasn’t a good daughter of Mother Church? She was so proud of being a true. .”

His voice fell to a half sob. Yseult squeezed his hand, but shook her head sadly.

“And so,” said the Regent. “I still do not know who sought out who. This is crucial. If CUT agents are actively recruiting, we must seek them out and take them in custody; and we may have a very serious problem with opportunistic treason. And winning battles will not win us the war. If, however, Mary sought them out, we probably have many fewer disaffected people to worry about. You children, then, are a problem. Are you hidden agents? What were called ‘sleepers’ in the language of my youth, or are you innocent children? Could Mary have placed some hold on you that will erupt through you at some point, will you-nill you? My decision on your destiny today rests on that question.”

Yseult sighed and rubbed one hand over her forehead. It gave her a headache just trying to think like that.

Huon let go of her hand and stepped forward. “Madame, I am your loyal subject, and through you, that of the Princess my brother honors above all women. What oath would you require of me? I will swear whatever you wish with as many priests and witnesses as you feel necessary.”

Yseult felt her heart swell with pride and love for her brother. “Yes, Madame, yes. What do you require of us?”

The Regent’s face was smooth, bland; only her eyes, those dark chocolate eyes, held emotion. It was something cold and bitter and distant.

“The problem with that,” she said dryly, “is that a traitor will, by definition, swear false oaths. A capable traitor will do so convincingly.”

Yseult felt her mouth drop open slightly. But. . but if oaths have no power, the world would fall apart! she thought, appalled. What was lordship and vassalage if not a network of oaths?

“I believe you are sincere now,” Sandra said. “I flatter myself that I am something of a judge of people, and you two are vastly less experienced than I in the ways of the world. But should your mother come and beg of you to hide a ring, pass on a message or put powder in my soup or tea. . what would you do then?”

Yseult opened her mouth and paused, hesitated and looked at her brother.

“Instruct us, my lady. Whatever you require of us, I will swear to do. Do you require us to forswear our mother?”

Huon’s voice was firm, but he paled. She trembled, reaching for Huon’s hand. Bitter tears rose and pooled under her lids.

Mama! How could you? You have destroyed us! How can we make ourselves clean?

She gripped Huon’s hand harder. He brought it out and patted it.

The Regent considered for a moment and moved a finger. The priest brought out the Bible and relics again, and Yseult put a trembling hand on the holy things.

“Do you swear on oath, on your soul and hope of salvation, that you believe your mother the Lady Mary Liu, Dowager Baroness Gervais, to be guilty of conspiracy against the Throne and hence of High Treason?”

“Y-” Yseult cleared her throat. “Yes.”

Huon echoed her, misery in his tone.

“Do you swear on oath, on your soul and hope of salvation that for this your lady mother deserves death?”

A second, and then they both answered: “Yes.” The word blurred as their voices overlapped.

“Very well,” Sandra said. “That is unequivocal enough. Let it be so recorded.”

The Grand Constable spoke: “You are taken in ward by the Lady Regent and will be assigned guardians who will stand in loco parentis to you.”

Her voice was like winter water running over river stones. Yseult frowned at her, again.

Cold, she’s so cold. Brrr! I wonder how Lady d’Stafford can bear to be her Châtelaine? She’s so pleasant, and such a good mother.

Huon asked, his voice suddenly deeper. “We understand. And I do see why you must doubt us, my lady Regent, my lords, my ladies. Do we stay here in cells?”

“No,” said the Lady Regent, leaning back slightly in the high carved chair, and putting her hands under the cloak. “I need you out of the way, hard to find, and constantly watched. On the other hand, should this all be resolved and we defeat the CUT and Boise, then I wish you to be able to take your place in society without having to compensate for years imprisoned.”

“Thank you!” Yseult blurted, and then hastily added, “My lady Regent. We thank you for your gracious courtesy and mercy to us.”

The Regent smiled and shrugged. “If we are defeated, then I have no interest in what follows. I will be dead.”

Yseult shivered. “Don’t, my lady! Don’t! We must trust the Princess and the Mackenzie to bring the Sword of the Lady to rescue us in time.”

The Regent started to move her hand and then paused, looking as if she were struck by a sudden thought.

“You know, child, you may very well be right. Marvelous are the works of God. Very well. Mollala, will you and your mother harbor Huon, knowing that he might be a Trojan horse?”

The heavy-shouldered dark-skinned man stood and bowed.

“Yes, my lady Regent. I have grown fond of this boy, Gervais. I’ll keep him in ward and teach him well, and watch his very deeds and words. My mother spoke with me before I came here. She also will swear to watch this boy. Right now, she’s a little tied up with the hospital.”

Huon stood straighter; it occurred to Yseult that he’d been nerving himself to be brave as he was led away to something like her own imprisonment, possibly for years.

Mollala is going to have one very loyal page. And one very loyal friend in years to come as Baron of Gervais, she thought. That makes me feel warmer. That’s how the world is supposed to work!

The Regent turned to a quiet woman sitting next to Jehane. “Countess Anne, will you take the girl in ward?”

“Gladly. My sisters will be happy to have a companion close to their age. Yseult comes to us, moreover, with a reputation for fancy stitching. We will look to learn from her.”

The Regent nodded to Yseult, who frantically scanned through her knowledge of the Protectorate’s nobility.

Countess Anne? Tillamook! It’s very remote. . it’s a poor county on the edge of nowhere, and there are raids from the Haida along the coast, but the Countess won’t be wearing wooden shoes!

She bowed her head; then she met the Regent’s eyes, seeing there a chilly approval.

I don’t envy the Princess, she thought. Not if she’s always on trial like that! Or is it different with those two?

Aloud she said, “Thank you, my lady Countess. I will try to be a good maid-in-waiting to you, and hopefully will learn of cheese making and preserves and perfumery.”

“You must understand,” said the Regent, “you are sent to Tillamook because I believe Countess Anne will detect treason very quickly, having had personal, close experience with one of the agents of CUT, previously.”

Anne, Countess of Tillamook coughed. “My lady Regent! I never said. .”

This time Sandra smiled openly. “No, you didn’t, my lady Countess, and I admire your discretion, but rest assured that I know a good many things people do not tell me.”

D’Ath spoke from her place by the window. “You didn’t say, but I did ask. I was ten days in your demesne. . dealing. . with that treasonous priest.”

Dealing? Yseult asked herself. Priests were supposed to be judged by ecclesiastical courts under canon law. Then: There are things I just don’t want to know.

“I had ample time to hear just what was happening and how you dealt with it.”

“Which was very well,” Sandra said graciously.

“Neat job,” d’Ath confirmed. “Very professional.”

Anne of Tillamook was looking slightly stunned.

Even a coastal castle, far from the center of civilization was preferable to the bleak cell and silent treatment.

“My lady Countess, I understand and I submit myself to this. I also thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for accepting my service. Sharing a prison cell with my mother would not be my choice,” Yseult said.

Sandra came down from the dais, a sign that the session was near its end.

Yseult looked at her. “And I can’t absolutely swear that I can’t be fooled into doing something foolish if my mother were to ask, my lady Regent.” She curtsied and then knelt. “You are my Liege and I will obey you of faith and all earthly worship.”

Huon knelt next to her. “Yes, my Liege. Gervais is yours and so are we.”

They held their hands out, palms pressed together. Sandra Arminger took them between hers, and then raised each of them and presented her cheek for the ritual kiss. It was an acknowledgement of homage, and Yseult’s heart leapt.

“Rise.”

The Regent’s smooth voice had a satisfied sound to it, and everyone else did.

“Take them, Jehane, Anne, Delia. Give them a meal in some pleasant but secluded place. They are not to speak with anybody else and must be returned to their cell.”

She looked at Yseult. “But this is for the present in the interests of discretion, to keep the enemy as ill-informed as may be. Enjoy the rest of the day. Mollala, when you leave, take Master Gervais with you. Anne, you take Yseult. When do you plan to go?”

Yseult stood and then sank, trembling, onto one of the hard chairs she had not been allowed earlier. Action swirled around her. When Delia beckoned, she went without a murmur, only pausing to curtsy, once again, to the Regent.