The Sun Sword - The Broken Crown Part 17

"I realize it is unusual," Serra Teresa said, "but it is not without precedent. It is not the clansman, but his wife, his sister or his mother, who procure-and bargain for-the women of the harem."

Sendari gazed at her with narrowed eyes. "Teresa," he said at last, "there is something that you are not telling me. No, don't waste your breath with nicety and graceful comment; speak frankly, if you will waste my time speaking at all. I have one day beyond which the test of the sword waits. If you believe that you can maneuver around this healer-and by extension, the clan-I will trust you."

"I see that the moon has not left you, Ser Sendari," she said, speaking as frankly as was her wont when so commanded. "Oh? Then you see with night eyes, Serra Teresa. We have obviously received no reply from Adano," he added crisply, "but Marente cannot move if Caveras desires no interference."

"It was not unexpected."

"No." He turned. "A seraf from Caveras is waiting by the fountain."

"Has he been waiting long?"

"A matter of hours."

"Good. And our time?"

"We have until sunset, Teresa." His gaze fell to rest upon the contemplation patterns he had

etched into the wood of the floor by dint of his personal flame.

"I wish your dispensation, brother."

"To do what?"

"To deal, in this matter, as I see fit."

"You deal, dearest sister, as you see fit without my dispensation." Grudgingly, he added, "but for

form's sake, I will grant it." Silence descended awkwardly around him, a shroud and a defense against Serra Teresa's gift. Her curse. He turned on his cushions, upsetting the goblet that rested at his feet. Water spilled, spreading a wet darkness across the mats before he could stop it.

But she was gone; the door-the only solid door in the quarters-was closed upon both Teresa and their conversation. He would have liked to start it again; to speak like a civil man. To tell her that he knew that she could hear the rawness of the day and the night in his voice. That he hated to be so vulnerable. Especially to her. Because she knew it, anyway, but it would give him the pretense of choice in the matter.

Grinding his teeth, he tried to force his thought to conform to the channels of the Widan's art. He would not seek her absolution.

And not because she was merely a woman; there was nothing, in the end, that was mere about his sister, and he knew it. It was because Teresa's hands and Teresa's lap were the cradle of comfort for Alora's dying. Not his.

He would send her back to Adano. Alana en'Marano could run his harem without his sister's interference. And he would find a new wife. A real wife.

Alora.

Fire blackened and scorched an uneven circle around him, a barrier of flame.

Ramdan and four of the Marano cerdan accompanied the Serra. She chose Karras di'Marano because he was so very straight and narrow that he could not be intimidated; he chose his companions. They did not need to know where Ser Laonis made his dwelling within the Tor Leonne because his seraf led them quickly through the spa.r.s.ely populated streets, winding ever upward until Teresa realized that he was leading them to the Tor Leonne proper. She paled slightly, although her complexion, kept from the harsh grace of sun by veil and hat, hid it well.

It was good that the serafs sent to find a healer had been sent on the night of the Festival Moon. Such intrusion, such effrontery, on any other night would have marked Marano. But of course, it should not have surprised her; if Caveras was not a clan of import, Ser Laonis was still worthy of the attention of Tyrs-and worth that respect to those who might, in future, need the gift the Lady had granted him.

The cerdan that guarded the gates were no ordinary cerdan, although their posts made of them less than the legendary Tyran of the Leonne clan, the oathguards who, alone in the Dominion, were considered completely trustworthy by the Tyr'agar. Few were the men who were invited to take that oath, and even fewer were the men who, once invited, accepted. The oathguards were tested under the eyes of the Lord, and those who were found wanting did not survive.

Or so it was said.

The Serra Teresa di'Marano bowed at a discreet and respectful distance as her cerdan approached the gates. They were stopped by cerdan who bore both the crest of the rising sun and naked blades as evidence of their pride in their office; they were richly attired, but more, perfectly composed. Training was something that the Serra Teresa appreciated.

"Who seeks to pa.s.s?"

"The Serra Teresa di'Marano."

"For what purpose?"

"She is summoned by Ser Laonis di'Caveras."

"And who will bear the responsibility for her pa.s.sage?"

"Ser Laonis di'Caveras."

"You may pa.s.s."

The cerdan bowed to each other, their swords glinting as the blades caught and held the sun's face a moment. Serra Teresa di'Marano rose slowly, her eyes upon the perfectly tended road that led, if one followed it from start to finish, to the presence of the Tyr'agar himself.

Ser Warn kai di 'Leonne, she thought, as she made her way past the cerdan who stood now at respectful attention, will one day be in need of a wife. At eight years of age he was an awkward boy, but he would, if he survived, be Tyr'agar, and as heir to that position, he was already much sought after by women who wished to be the wife to the largest harem in the land.

Many of these women were Serra Teresa's age; a few were older. She had no desire to join their ranks, thinking it unseemly, if not unwise. But Na'dio was four, and Na'dio was already in grace and elegance a child who far surpa.s.sed the gangly kai di'Leonne. It was perhaps time that Serra Diora di'Marano began her training in earnest. Time that the attention of the young Ser Illara's ill.u.s.trious mother was drawn to a child of such exquisite seeming with a few carefully placed words.

For if such a family made such an offer to Adano or Sendari, they refused it at their peril. Yes, even if Sendari suspected-or knew-he would still be forced to give his child to the Leonne clan. Diora would be safe from her gift.

"This way, Serra," Ramdan said, speaking so softly his words might have been the rustle of the tall-stemmed flowers that grew in such restrained numbers to either side.

She did not acknowledge his words; indeed, no one did, which was as it should be. He was a shadow, something the light cast down across the path the Annagarians chose to walk.

The lake of the Tor Leonne lay like the very mirror of the Lord, placed so that his power might seek it in contemplation, and the Serra Teresa stopped to quietly admire not the light across its surface, not the play of the waves, not the grand but small boat which floated serenely beside the single dock, but rather the sound of the lapping water against rock and sand and reed. She loved this part of the Tor Leonne best of all for its aural illusion of peace.

And it was an illusion; as she listened, she could hear the bark of a familiar voice. Ser Laonis was ordering his cerdan and his serafs to prepare for the guests that were coming. The supplicants. She allowed herself a small smile. At this distance, she could hear the chaos beneath his barely controlled words-the anger, the fear, the impatience.

Ten thousand soldi.

Had he first ascertained the relative modesty of Sendari's worth before making such a demand? She thought he must have-for had Sendari the money, he would have paid it without demur. One did not, could not, anger a healer; they were rare.

If Sendari paid, that would be the end of it.

And not the end, she thought, that Ser Laonis desired.

They walked until the building came into view. It was sudden, the view, as if trees, like curtains, had been pulled back by a deft and expert hand.

A seraf waited upon the platform that served as the entry for honored guests. She was very young, and obviously trained for her presentation, for she was exquisitely lovely. Gold adorned her ears, her throat, her slender, birdlike wrists; she wore pale blues and greens, although she was of an age where a full sari was considered too adult. Soon, Teresa thought, she would be a sub-wife in a harem. Perhaps even Laonis'.

Ramdan bowed once to his Serra and then crossed the perfectly placed stones that led to the platform. He mounted it and knelt at its edge, bowing in turn to the girl who waited.

"Serra Teresa di'Marano has come to speak on behalf of Ser Sendari di'Marano."

The girl's brows rose, and Teresa frowned; the look spoiled her composed delicacy.

"Tell Ser Laonis that Ser Sendari felt that it was a matter of the harem, and not the clan-but that should Ser Laonis wish it, Ser Sendari will come himself."

The seraf rose and stepped back, sliding the screens only wide enough to allow her room to step between them. Rauidan continued to kneel; the wait was long.

But the girl returned, and this time she was perfect; her face betrayed nothing. "Ser Laonis will speak with Serra Teresa in the chamber of contemplation."

He was an older man. The past night had been as unkind to him as years to another; his hair was streaked with gray, his face lined, his eyes dark. Serafs had taken care to disguise the look of malaise, but it lingered, obvious to anyone of Serra Teresa's perception.

He sat before a small table, and upon it there were fruits; grapes so pale they were almost white, and a wine so dark it seemed black in the confines of the slender, silvered goblets. Cushions, orange, red, and yellow, were heaped in a circle around the table; Ser Laonis sat upon them, and he sat heavily, although he was not an overly large man.

"Please, Serra Teresa." He gestured, and she walked- with grace, with care, with perfect decorum-to the cushions. Kneeling, she took her place across from him, the small table a symbolic wall between them.

"Wine?"

"Thank you." She touched the slender stem of the goblet and lifted it a moment to her lips; it was cold, although no ice, no hint of that Widan's trick in this clime, was in evidence. Then, as if fortified, she lowered her head, hiding her eyes beneath the fan of her lashes. "Ser Laonis," she said, her voice soft, "I do not wish to be unseemly or overly bold. But as this concerns a matter of the harem, perhaps you wish me to discuss this with your wife?"

"I have no wife," he told her quietly. "You have come to discuss matters of the harem, and you are, no doubt, much like my own mother in such an... arena. I would not have you hampered, and I will not judge you poorly."

"You are gracious, Ser Laonis di'Caveras."

"I can afford to be."

Silence a moment. "I spoke, this morning, with Lissa."

He turned to his cerdan, and the young seraf who stood in attendance. "Leave," he told them curtly. It was clear that they were used to such commands, for they obeyed without demur-and with great speed. "I would ask you to dismiss your own cerdan. And your seraf."

"Done," she said softly.

One man and one woman in a small quiet room.

"What," the man said, "did she say?"

"Very little," the woman replied. "She is well-schooled."

His face was pale, and grew paler still; he lifted his goblet, raised it to his lips, and set it aside

untouched.

"We received your summons," she said.

"My summons?"

"Yes. Accept my apology for our tardiness. Ten thousand soldi is a sum that is not inconsiderable

for our family."

"Indeed."

Silence.

"Ser Laonis."

"Serra Teresa."

"May I begin again?"

"Please do."

"I did not know, when we summoned you, that you would heal my Lissa." She raised her goblet

and touched the beaded drops of water along its sides, their chill more attractive to her than the

wine. Stony silence.

"I did not know-nor did Sendari-that some stranger on Festival Night would come, speaking with such a voice." She paused. "I wish it were night, now."

"But it is not."

"No." She, too, set the goblet down; this rise and fall was a type of breath for both of them. "You know that we do not have ten thousand soldi." She raised a hand before he could reply.

His acquiescent silence was shocking in a clansman. "Because we do not have the ten thousand, we cannot afford to save Lissa's life."

At that, a smile touched his lips, albeit a bitter one. "I think it late for that," he said dryly, showing a hint of the man that he might once have been, and might become again when this shadow left him. If it did.

"I chose her," she said abruptly. "I chose her when she was a child the age of your lovely young seraf. I have trained her well, but I have protected her against much, and she is not yet wise." She watched his face, the lines of it hardening.

Grudgingly, Ser Laonis said, "I doubt that Lissa will ever be completely wise. She is not you, Serra Teresa, and she will never be so, no matter how much she admires you. Yes," he added grimly, "I do know how much she admires you. And why."

"This is not a simple matter of pretense," Serra Teresa said softly, "although perhaps my guileless Lissa would say otherwise. You are not a boy, Ser Laonis, but a man- a clansman."

"And a clansman should know how a proper Serra behaves-how she must behave, whether inclined that way or no?"

"Indeed."