2
DRAGONS, CROWS,
AND DOVES
Aly walked in to find a much larger room, with a counter along two walls and a series of cupboards along the wall shared with the outside passageway. A number of chairs of all shapes and sizes filled the open floor. Six of them were occupied by the women of Aly's pack. All looked up at her: Boulaj, the plump sisters Atisa and Guchol, pert Kioka, lovely Eyun, and little Jimarn.
Guchol grinned at Aly. “Oh, good! Duani's here.”
Atisa slipped to the floor to stretch her legs in a split. “Does that mean we may go home now?” Her black hair tumbled over her face.
Aly plumped herself into a chair. “If you want to go home, you may, my ducks, but you'll miss using the training I beat into you this winter. Where are the lads?”
“Here,” a man said as seven of them entered the room. Junai closed the door as they traded greetings with the women and found places to sit.
“Gods bless us,” Aly began as they quieted. “Our pack is reunited and the stakes have gone up.” All of them nodded. “I trust you've been good lads and lasses and kept up your exercises when you were not under my eye?” She raised a brow as she looked around the room.
“We've been checking the backgrounds of all the new people in the house, those that weren't chosen by Ulasim before our ladies' exile,” Yoyox said, smoothing his mustache. He was nearly as fine a pickpocket as Aly. “And using the gossip network set up before the family got exiled. It's good. Quedanga, the housekeeper, she's supposed to just pass messages along, but she's experienced at collecting gossip from the common folk. She gets word from servants, slaves, artisans, priests—and they're everywhere.”
“Then we'll leave Quedanga to send messages and manage the people she knows best, since we'll be dealing more with the palace and the military,” Aly said. “She knows she's to pass on what she gathers to me?”
“Yes, Duani,” Yoyox said so meekly that Aly had to laugh. “To add to our ranks”—he waved an arm to include his comrades—“we have fifteen men we've been training the way you want. Most are in this house. Some belong to households on this street, so no one will think anything if they visit us often. And we've the tunnels under the house for when we don't want to draw attention to our comings and goings. Every man has been approved by Quedanga and Ysul, just like everyone who lives here.”
“We have another eleven women,” Jimarn added. “All in this house for the present. We have started to teach them codes, searches, and theft.”
Aly nodded. This was also what she'd trained them for. Each of them had been examined by Ulasim and Ochobu before he or she was allowed to study with Aly, and she had educated them all winter. One of those series of lessons had been about choosing and teaching new recruits. Aly could not constantly look over people's shoulders here in the city, when she would have to spend most of her time gathering and studying information. She had to depend on her trainees' judgment. Now school was done, and her pack had their own work to do.
“How are your recruits doing?” she asked.
“Well,” said Yoyox. “Very well.”
Everyone nodded. Aly had learned that the raka already understood the demands of being a spy. In a land governed for three hundred bloody years by strangers, they had lived like spies to survive. Aly had simply taught her pack a number of new tricks, while they taught her their old ones.
“And what of Lady Nuritin's servants?” she asked. “How safe are they?”
“Safe,” replied Olkey, one of the men. “Her maid is a luarin, a cousin, and devoted to Nuritin. Stays by her side, doesn't snoop. The other woman, Jesi, is more of a clerk, and writes all the lady's letters and notes. She belongs to the conspiracy.”
Aly nodded. That was another worry she need not have. “Good,” she said. “I'll take reports in here during the afternoon resting time. If you need me to meet one of your recruits, bring her, or him, in.” As they nodded, she looked them over. “Playtime's over, children,” she said with a grin. “Nice job on the Example pier, by the way. There were soldiers screeching at each other as we sailed by.”
Her pack smiled or looked down, depending on their natures. Jimarn met Aly's eyes steadily. She was in charge of the Example operation.
Aly took a deep breath. “What do you have for me?”
Once her people had brought her up to date, Aly ate her cold pasty and went to the kitchen to beg another from Chenaol. As she ate that, the older woman settled in for a good talk. The cook had been Aly's first friend in the household. In her mid-fifties, plump and wickedly humorous, Chenaol had some gray in the black hair she wore in a long braid. She could flip any kind of knife or cleaver and send it straight to the center of a target faster than watchers could see, and could tell good steel from bad at a glance.
They were discussing the missing tax collectors when a messenger boy came into the kitchen. “Her Grace is wishful of you both coming to the ladies' sitting room,” he told Aly and Chenaol. “She's got a cloud on her face.”
Winnamine must be about to pop, wondering how we paid for all this splendor and why Nuritin is here, Aly thought as she and Chenaol followed the boy.
The room where the family relaxed during their leisure time was light and open, overlooking the flower gardens and the courtyard pool. The cushioned chairs and couches were elegant but comfortable. Nuritin sat in an armchair, facing Winnamine and Sarai, who shared a couch. Dove had taken her usual position, off to one side. Aly slid into her spot behind Dove as Chenaol, with a nod from the duchess, took a chair. Ulasim took his post next to the main door, the consummate footman. Ochobu entered and closed the door behind her.
“Aunt, I don't believe you know Ochobu Dodeka,” Winnamine said. “Lady Nuritin Balitang, Ochobu.” The two older women looked each other over thoroughly as Winnamine explained, “Ochobu joined the household at Tanair. She is an excellent healer and mage, so we are honored to have her. Ulasim is her son.”
Aly crossed her fingers. Ochobu did not always deal well with full-blood luarin, but she would have to if Lady Nuritin was living at Balitang House. Ochobu's stony gaze was not promising. Though barely five feet tall, she gave the impression of being much taller. Her long nose always looked as if it held a sniff, particularly when she looked on luarin.
If Ochobu's stare disconcerted Nuritin, the noblewoman showed no sign of it. Instead she turned her attention to Winnamine. “You will find that many things have changed from last year,” Nuritin said. Like Ochobu, her Gift showed in Aly's Sight, though Nuritin's was glowing embers compared to Ochobu's fire. Nuritin continued, “I have explained everything to the people you sent ahead”—she nodded to Chenaol—“and they certainly understood how things will be different.” She looked at Sarai. “Stand up and turn around, girl.”
Sarai obeyed with a pout. Nuritin looked her over as she might a horse. With satisfaction she said, “We'll have to take in the gowns I've had made. It's just as well I had Ulasim here escort the seamstresses to your rooms during lunch. You lost weight out there in the wilds—very good.”
“Aunt!” cried Sarai, fiery roses appearing in her cheeks.
“And black makes you look sallow,” Nuritin told her, adding insult to injury.
Aly ducked her head to hide a grin.
“Dovasary,” Nuritin said, an actual smile on her thin lips. “Black is not your color, either, my dear.”
“It is mourning, Aunt,” Dove explained. “I don't think you're supposed to look becoming in it.”
“That is one of the things that has changed,” Nuritin said crisply. “Her Royal Highness the princess regent ordained five months ago that full mourning was disrespectful to the Black God, who takes our dead to the Realms of Peace. She ordered that all the court put off full mourning for Kings Oron and Hazarin. The only mourning permitted to any member of the court is a discreet black armband, and perhaps black embroideries or trim. No black gowns. No black tunics. No black veils. We are to wear colors that rejoice for the peace of the dead.”
“Meaning Imajane looks dreadful in black and won't wear it if she doesn't have to,” Sarai remarked with spite.
Nuritin nodded. “Naturally. But it is a royal decree, with the king's seal attached. You must all put off black at court, or for that matter, anywhere that the regents may appear. It has been suggested that they will regard mourning as a sign of rebellion.”
“Aunt,” said Winnamine quietly. Everyone looked at her. The duchess stood, arms folded. “You said you had dresses made up. You sent seamstresses up to our family rooms. And there are these.”
She indicated two open chests. One was filled with money and topped by a clutch of parchments. Aly sharpened her magical vision to read the first of them: it was a letter of credit, issued to the duchess. Next to it was a much smaller chest that bore the crest of the duchess's own family, the Fonfalas. It, too, was open. It held jewelry: gold chains, necklaces, eardrops, and strings of colored pearls. Most were in old-fashioned or broken settings.
“The Fonfalas sent those,” explained Ulasim. “They gave their permission for us to melt down the pieces and sell the stones, but we thought we should wait for you to decide.”
“And the servants?” asked Winnamine, glaring down at Nuritin. “Where did they come from?”
Ulasim cleared his throat politely. Everyone looked at him. “Many of our new servants come from Lady Sarai and Lady Dove's grandfather, the baron Temaida. The servants are paid by the Temaidas, and clothed by them.” He met Winnamine's startled look with a reassuring one of his own. “This is family policy among the raka nobles, Your Grace. When a Temaida girl comes of age at sixteen, she receives a staff of her own, because marriage alliances mean so much to the raka nobility. They want their daughters to appear to advantage.”
“Very sensible,” said Nuritin with a nod of approval. Slowly Winnamine sat again.
“Your Grace, you were Lady Sarugani's best friend,” Chenaol added, referring to Sarai and Dove's mother. “You should remember it is the custom.”
Ulasim continued, “They were unable to manage it last year, so they fulfill their duty to their kinswomen this year. The baron sent his regrets that he will not be coming to the city for some time, or he would call on you personally, but he knows that you will treat his granddaughters well.”
Meaning last year they were afraid to help the Balitangs when they were out of favor, and this year they don't want to draw attention to their presence, Aly thought. Who can blame them? I wouldn't want to belong to the raka nobility of the Isles. It's like living with a knife at your throat. And Ulasim can't tell Her Grace that the Temaidas know Sarai may be queen soon. They're the ones who secretly carried the Haiming royal blood for three centuries, to give it to Sarugani, and then to Sarai and Dove.
Aly hand-signaled Fesgao, out of the Balitang ladies' line of sight: These new people have been investigated? Her pack would have checked them, too, but Aly was cautious.
Fesgao replied with a nod and signed, All hand-picked. Aly relaxed. Ulasim would have made doubly sure no one suspicious came into Balitang service.
“I can't possibly accept all this,” said the duchess, sitting down once more. She was pale. “I can't ever repay it.”
“You are not a fool, Winnamine,” Nuritin said flatly. “Don't act like one.”
The duchess frowned. Her chin came up.
“You will take all this, and you will deck this house and your children in the finest you can buy,” Nuritin informed the duchess. “I am sorry—I mourn my nephew's murder, too.” She smoothed a braided black armband with fingers that shook. “But politics doesn't wait, and there is work to be done quickly. I had clothes made for all of you, but they must be fitted properly today. Tomorrow you are commanded to present yourselves to His Majesty and the regents at court. I believe Her Highness may have intended to humiliate you by summoning you immediately, so she could make fun of your appearance in outmoded clothes. Well! She may be regent, but she cannot be allowed to toy with her nobles in this fashion. I intend for her to fail.”
“Who cares if Her Highness plays games with us or not?” Winnamine's gaze was still adamant. “I certainly did not return to accept charity.”
Nuritin sniffed. “My dear young woman, has the highland air made you stupid? It is an investment.” When no one spoke, Nuritin sighed. “You must build a power base for King Dunevon's heir, goose. Elsren is next in line for the throne. He will need friends and support. Our families agreed that setting you up is worth whatever we might dredge from our coffers.” She looked at Sarai. “Men will hare after you to forge an alliance with our family. I expect you to remember your family, and the interests of your family. Flirt with those men, learn their minds, and promise them nothing.”
Sarai's mouth trembled. “I have not done so well in my flirtations lately,” she replied softly. “If you haven't heard, my last lover killed Papa. And where were the Balitangs, and the Fonfalas, and the Temaidas, when we were in danger?”
Nuritin's thin eyebrows snapped together. “Your last lover? Do not tell me you forgot what you owe to the family by tumbling Bronau.”
Sarai gasped in indignation. Winnamine rose to stand with Sarai. Dove did the same. “Sarai would never disgrace us by bedding a man of whom her father did not approve,” said Winnamine, while Sarai's cheeks turned a beet color.
Nuritin's eyes were on Sarai. “Bronau deserved to die,” she said, her voice flat. “You and your sister did the realm a service by killing him. You also saved his brother the embarrassment of paying an executioner.” She looked at the duchess and at Dove. “Is she a fool? Better to lock her up than have her ruin things for us at court. It is not the place to stumble, not after this winter. The regents have proved to be less than patient.”
“She is no fool, Aunt,” replied Dove. “She just thinks the family's drawing back from us was wrong. Winna and I understood—Papa understood—the family had to save themselves from the taint of our disgrace. Sarai just hasn't made her peace with it.”
“Then make your peace,” Nuritin said tartly. “You have a duty to Elsren and to your stepmother, if you don't care for the duty you owe to our royal blood.”
“I never had to worry about that before,” Sarai retorted, her mouth mulish.
“Before there were several heirs between your family and the throne. Now there is only one. You will marry to your brother's advantage, which is the family's advantage.” Nuritin inspected the faces of those before her. Then she nodded. “Come upstairs. We need to get your new clothes fitted this afternoon. And I want to see Elsren.”
The afternoon dissolved in a flurry of fabrics and flashing needles. The Balitang clan had mustered an army of seamstresses to work on the ladies' new wardrobes all winter long, using Nuritin's precise memory for the Tanair Balitangs' height, weight, and measurements. The old woman was surprised to find that everyone, not just Sarai, had to have their clothes taken in. Winter had been lean.
Aly, Boulaj, and even the duchess's personal maid, Pembery, found themselves elbowed out of the way by women who sewed at a speed they could not match. Aly finally slid out and spent the remaining daylight hours inspecting the house and grounds.
Out in the garden an open-sided square pavilion glowed with extra-powerful spells against eavesdropping. Inside it, Aly could hear nothing, not even the artificial waterfall that hissed over rocks beside it. It was perfect for secret conversations.
“Come to me,” a familiar voice said behind her. “The air is dead under that roof.”
Aly turned and smiled. The new arrival was nearly six feet tall, with skin the color of dark sugar syrup. She hadn't seen Nawat Crow in five days, and as always when they'd been apart, she realized that she had missed him. Everything about him made her happy. He appeared to be about nineteen or twenty, with glossy black hair. His deep-set brown eyes were alert to any movement around him. The young woman who didn't follow him with her eyes when he passed was rare. The women who lingered when they got to know him were even more rare. Nawat's grasp on humanity was light, to say the least. It was perfectly understandable: despite his apparent age, Nawat was three years old as a crow and had spent only a year as a man. More often than not, he acted first as a crow might, then only belatedly and occasionally as a human.
Their friendship had begun when he was a crow teaching her the crows' language at Kyprioth's request. During those lessons Aly had fascinated Nawat so much that he had changed himself into a human, something he told her that all crows could do. Seeing him made her pulse quicken as she left the pavilion. He wore clean clothes and he'd finger-combed his damp, crow-black hair back from his face. His feet were bare. “You forgot shoes,” Aly reminded him. Resting her hand on his chest, she stood on tiptoe for his kiss.
Nawat stepped back.
Aly stared at him, her hand dropping to her side. She felt almost as if he'd slapped her. “No kiss?” she asked, keeping her voice light. “I'm crushed.”
“You said I must not kiss you in front of people,” he reminded her. “You said they will think you are frivolous if we are kissing.”
“But we're not in public,” she explained patiently. “Listen. No one's outside. We could go behind a tree—Nawat, it's just a kiss.”
She took a step forward, reaching for his jacket lapel. Nawat took another step back. “I have been thinking,” he said. “You will let me kiss you and preen you, but you will not mate with me. I think you are a mixed-up human. You think that mating is not important if you have kisses and preening. If I do not kiss you and preen you, I think you will want to mate with me. To have nestlings. To be with me all our days.”
Aly rubbed her temples. Sometimes it was very hard to get a former crow to see things properly. “I didn't say I won't mate with you because we kiss and preen,” she said patiently, remembering how close to mating some of that preening had gotten. “I can't be distracted. It's going to be a dangerous spring and summer. This is a horrible time to mate. We can't risk it.”
“All life is a risk, Aly,” he told her soberly, reaching a hand out to her, then hastily lowering it. “At any moment an archer may shoot you, or a hawk break your neck. A forest fire or a volcano will burn you. A Bronau will stab you. Risk will not end if the god gets his islands back.”
Aly sighed. “No, but my task will be done, and then we can mate.”
“And what if you are killed?” Nawat wanted to know. “What if I am killed? What if a Bronau steals you away?”
Sometimes a crow cannot be argued with, thought Aly, feeling a little impatient. Sometimes you only give yourself a headache if you try. He'll be stealing kisses again soon enough.
Changing the subject, she asked, “What was that display this morning? It looked as if all the crows in the Isles had decided to draw attention to our arrival.”
“The crows came to win our bet with the god,” Nawat replied.
Aly raised an eyebrow at him. “I thought that bet was just with the Tanair crows, and just for last summer.”
Nawat shook his head. “Not just with my cousins at Tanair,” he explained, his dark eyes following a Stormwing high overhead. “He wagered with all the crows of the Isles.”
Aly stared at him. “All of them?”
Her friend nodded. “While you are here, they will help to guard Sarai and Dove. Only when Kyprioth rules again may we collect the wager, if you are still alive.”
“That must be some wager, for you all to risk so much,” Aly remarked. “You know, I would be so much more cooperative if I knew what the prize actually was.”
Nawat gave a bird shrug, a lift of his shoulder blades more than his shoulders. “You would not like it,” he said dismissively. “It is for crows.”
For the third time that afternoon Aly felt as if she'd been slapped by someone who had never even frowned at her. In a tiny voice she asked, as she had heard girls she despised ask, “Are you angry with me?”
Nawat closed his eyes as if asking for patience. Then he cupped her face in both hands and kissed her mouth softly, lingering, holding them both absolutely still, as if only this connection between them existed. At last he released her. For once Aly could think of nothing to say.
As she stared at him, he answered her. “Never. Never, never, never.” Then he turned and walked away.
Slowly everyone settled. The ladies ate with Nuritin, then retired upstairs. Before she joined them, Dove dismissed Aly for the night, reminding her that she could still take off a simple gown herself if she wanted to go to bed. Aly took a last walk around the grounds, knowing that her fellow conspirators would have to wait until most of the household had gone to bed before they could meet.
At last Aly strolled into the kitchen and down the hall to the meeting room. Nawat was there already, as were Chenaol and Ulasim. Except for Nawat, who perched on a countertop, the others had taken comfortable chairs. They shared a pitcher of the liquor called arak and bowls of nuts and fruits. They knew better than to offer the potent arak to Aly. She never drank, fearing liquor would loosen her tongue.
As Aly slumped into a chair, Fesgao arrived, then Ochobu. She brought with her a slender, young part-raka with ears like jug handles. In Aly's magical Sight he, like Ochobu, blazed with his magical Gift. This would be the mage who had laid all the fresh spellwork on the house.
“Aly, this is Ysul,” Ulasim told her, pointing to the new man. “Another mage with the Chain. He will live here, to help keep our ladies doubly safe.”
“He is mute,” Ochobu said tartly as she sat. “King Oron's torturers did that when he was small. So don't go trying to talk his ear off just because he's defenseless.”
Aly shook her head. She'd known wolverines with more diplomacy than Ochobu. Then she grinned. Ysul was using military hand-sign code to say I'm not defenseless.
Don't tell Ochobu, Aly hand-signed back, her movements concealed by the arms of her chair. She's happy because she thinks she just insulted me.
Ysul nodded gravely and settled on the floor beside one of the cupboards. The room was supposed to be a linen storeroom, but that was only in the daytime.
“Where's Quedanga?” Fesgao asked, looking for the housekeeper. “Now that we're all in Rajmuat again, she ought to join us.”
“She's keeping watch,” Ulasim replied. “One of us must stand guard for a third of every night, to take reports and deal with the unexpected. I have the time around midnight, and Chenaol gets the time from false dawn to sunrise.”
“I'll always take that one,” Chenaol said comfortably. “I have to start the bread anyway.”
Nawat ate nuts, cracking them with his fingers before devouring them. As Ulasim handed Aly a pitcher of guava juice and a cup, Ochobu spoke a word that set magical signs ablaze throughout the room. They faded slowly until they were all but invisible.
Ulasim leaned in his chair. “It is good to see you all again,” he remarked.
“Is it?” snapped Ochobu. “How could you allow that old woman to move in here, Ulasim? She will ruin everything.”
Ulasim sighed, running his hand through his long hair. “Mother, one does not forbid Lady Nuritin Balitang anything,” he explained with resignation. “She is, as far as all Rajmuat is concerned, the head of the Balitang family with the death of His Grace. Technically this is the Balitangs' house, not Her Grace's. It is Nuritin's signature that makes anything to do with this house possible.”
“How can we keep anything in this house secret with that woman and her servants at our heart like a luarin tumor?” demanded Ochobu.
Chenaol grinned and poured out two cups of arak. She offered one to Ochobu, who ignored it. The cook gave a “Suit yourself” shrug and drank from her own cup, setting the other within reach. “Just as easily as we keep our secrets with tradesmen and messengers coming in and out all day, old woman,” she told the mage. “It's far easier to do in a house like this than it was up in our mountain aerie. You let us worry about Nuritin and her servants. She's good to have on our side—connected to every family of the luarin nobility, and to one in three families among the raka nobles.”
“It would draw attention we cannot afford to keep her out, and it would not be easy to arrange,” added Ulasim. “Topabaw would think we had something to hide.”
“Speaking of hiding . . . ,” Aly began. Everyone looked at her. “I admire the way you've concealed the magics on this house. I noticed them, but fortunately, the Sight is the rarest aspect of the Gift. You did beautiful work here.”
Chenaol looked Aly over. “Since when do you know what's magic and what isn't, mistress?”
Nawat offered Aly a nut. She took it and looked at Ochobu. “You never told them?”
Ulasim snorted. “You spent a winter cooped up with my mother and didn't see it?” he wanted to know. “She never tells anyone anything. She makes clams and oysters look slack-jawed. What is it?”
The old woman grumbled under her breath and tugged her jacket around her shoulders.
Aly popped the nut into her mouth and chewed it thoroughly. “I have the Sight,” she told them. “I can see magic, or death, or sickness, or godhood. I can see poisons in food. If I concentrate a little differently, I can see distant things clearly, and tiny things in complete detail.”
“So those liar's signs you told us to look for were not real?” Fesgao asked. “The looking aside, the blinking?”
“Oh, no!” Aly reassured him. “A blink, a fidget, a change in body position, those are all perfectly good measures of a lie told by an amateur.” She smiled wickedly. “I just have a little something extra.” She looked at Ochobu. “I spent the whole winter thinking you'd told and they didn't care.”
“I don't care,” Ochobu snapped. “It is foolish to rely on magic, any magic, including the Sight. The Rittevons have that much right, at least—they know too many people use magic as a crutch, and they are wary of it.”
“So says the mage,” grumbled Ulasim.
“And who would know the truth of that, if not a mage?” demanded his mother.
Nawat cracked a nut by slamming it on the counter. Everyone turned to stare at him. “Are we done with all the scoldings?” he wanted to know, his face as open as always. “Because I wish to know what use I will be in this oversized, befouled nest you call a city. I could see plain enough when I came. You have more arrow makers here than you will need.” At home in Tanair, he had made arrows with special fletchings, arrows that would kill mages and arrows that flew straight despite the wind.
“But there is need for the crows,” Chenaol said.
“No,” replied Nawat flatly. “You have your human crows in the palace and the city and the households, picking up whatever news they have. My people cannot enter houses, and there is very little food for us here. We are here to win our wager with the god, not to sit about preening ourselves.” He glanced into Aly's upturned face and away. “I am here to do more than preen myself.”
Ulasim nodded. “He has a point,” the big raka admitted. “At Tanair the crows were our watchers and patrols.”
“We'll find something for him to do,” Aly said impatiently. The thought that Nawat might leave made her chest go tight. “Gods help us, we only arrived today.”
No one else commented. Nawat was considered to be under Aly's command. The rebel commander had agreed that winter to make their subordinates and work areas separate for the most part, though they would share any news and special requests at the nightly meetings. On occasion some areas might need to work with different ones, but those cases would be determined as they arose. It was a rebel's way to fight, rather than the way a government would do things. If the Crown captured some of them, the rest of the movement would still be able to continue the rebellion.
Aly looked at Ulasim. She knew it was pathetic to change the subject to get rid of that tight feeling near her heart, but what she had to say was important. “In the meantime, may we now bring Sarai and Dove in on this? The country is trembling on the sword's edge—we could all feel it on the way here. It's the girls' destiny at play.”
Ochobu made a face. “To risk all on the discretion of a pair of girls . . . Not yet.”
“I agree,” Ulasim replied. “At least, not as regards Lady Sarai's discretion.”
Someone rapped on the door. It could not be a stranger to the household, since the servant's wing was kept under watch. Ulasim stood to open the door and admitted Dove.
“Sorry,” she said, finding a vacant chair. “It was hard to get away from my chess game. I had to let Aunt Nuritin win. I'll never hear the end of it now.”
Ochobu glared at her son. “You could have said she knows.”
Aly hid a grin as the big footman shrugged. “She came to me after supper to tell me,” he explained to his mother. “It seemed only reasonable to ask her to come here.”
“It's so obvious Petranne could see it,” Dove said wearily. “The way the raka watched us all the way to Tanair and back, the crows, a household with all the servants but Aly who are raka full- and part-bloods, servants who used to work for the Temaidas. . . . My mother belonged to some branch of the Haiming clan, didn't she? A small one that escaped the luarin's eyes. It explains a great deal.”
Fesgao smiled at her. “You are right, my lady, it does.”
“The timing makes sense,” Dove continued. “We have only two people with a claim to the Rittevon throne left. Dunevon is a child; his regents make Stormwings look tenderhearted. But do you mean to kill Elsren? Because Sarai and I will never permit that.”
“We shall ford that river when we come to it, my lady,” Ochobu said. “For the present we gather allies, identify our enemies, and look for the regents' weaknesses. There is unrest all over the Isles. It will be war by summer's end.”
“Then don't tell Sarai or Winna,” Dove advised. “It's quite possible Winna will have Elsren swear a blood oath not to try for the throne. She hates it at court.” Dove looked around at the raka's faces. “You were going to tell Winnamine, weren't you? Or is she supposed to die in the fighting?”
“We have made no decision in that area, either, my lady,” Fesgao said with grave respect. “Many things must take place before we shall be forced to consider such choices.”
Dove leaned back in her chair. “Tell me,” she ordered.
Aly watched as the raka straightened, new life and purpose in their eyes, even Ochobu's. One after another they explained how things stood. Dove's arrival had given them something real to look at. She might have been only their future queen's little sister, but she had the same blood in her veins and the same quick wits.
When they had finished, Dove massaged her temples. “It's so much bigger than I could have imagined,” she murmured. They all waited for what she would say next. Finally Dove took a deep breath and asked, “Have we a symbol? Some ordinary thing, so the common people and the middle classes will know that our country is changing?”
She's good, thought Aly with appreciation. Right to the heart of the matter. I hope Sarai does half as well.
“A symbol?” inquired Fesgao. “Like a kudarung?”
Dove shook her head. “Something more subtle. Something that looks like a message, that can be put in places where officials won't notice it.”
“Something to shake the regents up,” murmured Aly.
“If the regents are shaken up,” Fesgao pointed out, “they will not take it kindly, I warn you.”
“No, I suppose not,” Dove acknowledged. “But they're already behaving stupidly. I saw all the new checkpoints in the city. It's the way the Crown chooses to deal with mindless hooligans. You know what the luarin nobility says—the raka get restless every thirty years, and have to be kicked down. We need to tell them this is no clump of restless raka. This is a movement.”
“If we make the regents angry,” Chenaol said, “they will slam our folk with more laws, more taxes.”
“More arrests,” added Fesgao. “More punishments. More executions.”
“They cannot arrest what they cannot find,” Nawat pointed out. “When the People, animals, claim a territory and drive rivals from it, they mark it. What if you find a way to mark your territory for all to recognize?”
Ulasim rubbed his neck as if it ached. “Please do not tell me we must go out and piss on every street corner,” he said, a faintly pleading note in his voice.
“Then only the People will know it is your territory, not the Crown,” Nawat replied reasonably.
“A symbol,” Dove told them. “Scratched into plaster, written on a proclamation that's been nailed up, dug in the dirt, painted on a door or a shutter. Something easy—”
“An open shackle with a few links of chain attached,” suggested Chenaol eagerly. “For freedom.”
“Harmless enough,” Ulasim admitted slowly. “Easy to spread, easy to set folk talking.” He looked at Dove. “We'll do it.”
“Aly?” Dove whispered in the darkness of her bedroom. Junai was still downstairs with her father.
Aly had not been asleep. She'd been expecting this. “We'll go outside. There's a pavilion the mages fixed in the garden. It's shielded from just about everything inside the walls as well as outside.”
Dove and Aly wrapped themselves in robes and padded downstairs. Once outside, Aly led her mistress to the open-sided building where she had talked to Nawat. The girls sat for a moment on the couch, enjoying the cool, damp spring breeze.
At last Dove looked at Aly. “I wish you had told me.”
“In all honor, I couldn't,” Aly explained. “They expected me to keep my silence, and it is their plot. I am a newcomer.”
“But the raka, the people not of our household, they know, or they guess,” Dove pointed out. “It's why they always turn out to see Sarai and me. Not because our mother was raka, but because they believe Sarai is the promised queen.” She rubbed her mouth with her thumb. “I'm surprised the regents haven't tried to kill us already.”
“It will come,” Aly said. “If they know their business, they will try nothing in the confines of the palace. They'll try in the city, if they can't get inside these walls—”
“And they can't,” Dove interrupted, her words half a question.
Aly considered this. At last she said, “Not without a frontal assault, I think. And on the city streets . . . The raka have been planning this rebellion for decades. We have more allies on the streets than the regents suspect. Naturally, I'm going to do my best to make sure of what they suspect and what they don't.”
“Alone?” Dove asked.
“Now you're fishing,” Aly said, not in the least alarmed. “I have help, and that's all you need to know for the present. When exactly did you put it together?”
Dove began to braid a lock of her hair. “Around Midwinter, I think. Oh, Sarai and I knew the raka believed Sarai might be the promised queen before that, but it took me some weeks penned up in Tanair to see that there was an actual conspiracy among our upper servants, not the usual mutterings of hotheads. Here in the city, it's even more plain.”
Aly looked aside for a moment, to do the mind trick that allowed her Sight to work better in the dark. She wanted to see the expression on Dove's face. The younger girl seemed composed, but a corner of her mouth quivered.
It is one thing to guess, and another to know, Aly reflected. She's starting to see the cost in blood.
“I have been trying to steer them away from a massacre,” Aly said, deliberately adopting the tone of an elderly aunt who had convinced the children to behave. “And they have been listening. Even Ochobu, who hates the luarin more than the rest, sees that there's no profit in killing all the full-bloods, let alone anyone who's a part-blood.”
“I feel so much better,” commented Dove.
“And so you should,” Aly replied comfortably, “seeing as how their queen candidate is a part-blood herself.”
Dove laughed in spite of herself. “So the luarin's future is just a tiny obstacle, not cause for a bloodbath. You are an optimist.”
“I do have a happy nature,” Aly replied. “It is often remarked upon.” More soberly, she added, “It will be easier with you knowing. They'll listen to you.”
“But you and I need to sort out a few things, Aly,” Dove told her. “The god you serve isn't really Mithros.” She did not say it as a question.
Aly winced. “Um . . . ,” she said, her brain racing. She had warned the raka conspirators that Dove was sharp.
“Why would my dear brother care what happens to the raka?” Kyprioth winked into view on the bench opposite them. He lay sidelong on it, his head propped on his hand. His usual motley assembly of jewels, brooches, and charms glittered in the light he cast. “And could we use actual names as little as possible? None of us will rejoice if we catch my family's attention, believe me.” He smiled cheerfully at Dove. “Hello, little bird. I'm Kyprioth.”
Aly had forgotten the god's effect on those with raka blood. Dove slid out of her chair and onto her knees, where she bowed so deeply her forehead touched the floor. Despite her awe, she muttered to Aly, “We are in such trouble.”
“Nonsense,” said Kyprioth. “We are getting out of trouble. Do sit up. You're distressing Aly.”
Dove met his eyes. “There are probably dragons who don't distress Aly. Weren't you banished, or some such thing?”
Aly grinned and relaxed. Dove would let no one walk over her, not even a god.
“Details,” said Kyprioth, waving away Dove's question. “A mere fluctuation of the balance of power in this part of the world. It's time to amend that.”
“Don't you think you should be talking to my sister, then?” inquired Dove, very matter-of-fact for a girl on her knees. “She's the one the people love.”
“I need you both,” Kyprioth retorted. “She will be charming no matter what. We can leave her to make worshippers of this city. But you, my calculating dear, must be convinced.” He threw up his hands. “Question away.”
“Actually, your appearance answered the last of my questions, for the time being,” Dove told him. “I always was puzzled that your great brother would choose Aly to speak for him. But she's been speaking for you. As your choice, she's absolutely perfect.”
“Thank you, I think,” Aly murmured.
Dove glanced at her. Aly noted the quiver of a barely concealed smile on the younger girl's lips before Dove returned her attention to the god. “You also explain the crows, since they've always been as much your children as the raka. One thing you don't explain, though. What happens when someone does attract your brother's attention?”
Kyprioth tapped his toe for a moment before he answered. “I will need all the victories my people can gain, to give me the strength to defeat my divine brother and sister. As the raka succeed, so will I.”
“And if your brother and sister return early from their little war on the far side of the world, our collective sheep are roasted.” Aly inspected her nails.
“Don't say things like that,” retorted Kyprioth. “Whose messenger are you?”
Aly smiled brightly at the god who had been making her life interesting for the past year. “Sarai's,” she told him. “Dove's. The duchess's. The raka's. And on down through a great, long, complicated list that ends with you.”
“I'm hurt,” protested the god. “After all I've done for you, giving you proper scope for your talents.”
Dove cocked her head to one side. “For a follower, she's very rude.”
“I wasn't even his follower. I was his conscript,” Aly told her young mistress. “He press-ganged me from a dreadful pirate ship.” She sniffed for effect.
“You may thank me later,” Kyprioth said cheerfully. “If you're alive.” He vanished.
Dove tried to rise from her knees and squeaked. She had gone stiff. Aly helped her to her feet, then back to the couch, where Dove slumped with a grateful sigh. “Does he come and go like that all the time?”
“Only when he thinks he's losing the argument,” said Aly. Lips surrounded by a short, bristly beard brushed her cheek in a kiss.
Behind them Aly heard a tapping sound. She released the sheath for one of the wrist knives she wore even when she slept. The tapping approached Dove from behind. Suddenly a small, young, winged horse, known in the Isles as a kudarung, jumped up into Dove's robed lap.
“Hello,” Dove greeted the newcomer softly. There was a tenderness in her voice she reserved only for animals and her immediate family. “Where did you come from?”
The tiny creature fanned his wings, then folded them awkwardly and nibbled at Dove's nightgown where it poked through the front of her robe. “That's not edible,” Dove scolded, gently removing the cloth. “Aren't your parents going to wonder where you are?”
A whicker from atop a beam supporting the roof answered that question. The adult pair glided down to the floor with grace and ease. The foal watched with envious eyes.
“You'll be that good one day,” Dove reassured the youngster. “You just need practice.” Still keeping her voice soft, she said, “Wild kudarung in Rajmuat. Miniature wild kudarung. Aly, if the Crown finds out they're here, they may have to kill us.”
“Ochobu and Ysul have shielded this house and the air above it. The Crown will have trouble getting a spy inside. Ulasim has cleared Nuritin's servants, and I don't see Nuritin herself sinking to that level.” Aly considered this. “They'll really want at least one spy in this house,” she murmured.
They admired the winged horses in silence until the parents got the foal to return to the beams with them. Brushing horsehair from her robe, Dove asked softly, “What are the rebels' chances to avoid a massacre throughout the Isles? And don't lie to me, please.”
“I wasn't going to,” Aly replied quietly, shaken from her thoughts about Crown spies. “It depends on how devoted they are to Sarai. If they love her completely, they will respect her wishes not to kill wantonly because they can.” Aly bit her lip. She hated to voice unpleasant truths, but Dove would think less of Aly if she tried to give them a sugar coating. “Will there be fighting, and killing? I believe so. The conspiracy can't even control the conduct of the Rajmuat raka, let alone folk all throughout the Isles. We must simply pray that their love for Sarai will make them want to obey her rather than seek revenge. It will be tricky.”
“You talk as if this rebellion were already set in stone,” Dove pointed out.
“But it is,” Aly replied, startled that Dove couldn't see it. “It was set in stone long before I came. With your approval or without it, the raka will rise. They've waited too long, and they are short on queen candidates. They've got the taste of hope in their mouths. That taste is dangerous. The only way we can limit the damage is to keep a firm grip on the rebellion. Even so, we won't be able to control everything.”
“That's what I thought,” said Dove quietly. “Thank you for telling me the truth.”
Aly leaned forward and braced her elbows on her knees. “It is necessary,” she explained. “Sarai can command the raka, or enough of them to make a difference, but young as you are, you have influence over Sarai and Winna. They rely on your intelligence. They'll listen to you. If you are to advise them well, someone must advise you well, and I think that someone must be me.”
Dove sighed. “It was easier at Tanair.”
“Oh, yes,” said Aly, with a sigh of her own.