Elenia made no effort at all to stop from glaring. “Is that what you want?” Risking Arymilla’s displeasure for a brainless question! The thought of risking Arymilla’s displeasure, the thought that Arymilla’s displeasure was something she needed to avoid, made her snarl. “You know as much as I, Naean.” Tugging at her reins, she was already turning her mount away when Naean spoke again, with just a hint of heat.
“Don’t play the simpleton with me, Elenia. And don’t tell me you aren’t as ready as I am to chew off your own foot to escape this trap. Now, can we at least pretend to civility?”
Elenia kept Dawn Wind half turned away from the other woman and looked at her sideways, past the fur-trimmed edge of her hood. That way, she could keep an eye on the men crowding around the nearest fire, too. No House badges displayed there. They could belong to anyone. Now and then one fellow or another shielding bare hands in his armpits glanced toward the two ladies on horseback, but their real interest was on shuffling near enough the fire to get warm. That, and how long it was going to take for the beef to boil down to something approaching mush. That sort seemed able to eat anything.
“Do you think you can escape?” she asked quietly. Civility was all very well, but not at the expense of remaining here for all to see any longer than absolutely necessary. If Naean saw a way out, though… “How? The pledge you signed to support Marne has been posted across half of Andor by now. Besides, you can hardly think Arymilla will just allow you to ride away.” Naean flinched, and Elenia could not help a tight smile. The woman was not so untouched as she feigned. She still managed to keep her voice level, though.
“I saw Jarid yesterday, Elenia, and even at a distance he looked like a thundercloud, galloping fit to break his mount’s neck and his own. If I know your husband, he’s already planning a way to cut you out of this. He would spit in the Dark One’s eye for you.” That was true; he would. “I’m sure you can see it would be best if I were part of those plans.”
“My husband signed the same pledge you did, Naean, and he is an honorable man.” He was too honorable for his own good, in simple fact, but what Elenia wanted had been his guide since before their wedding vows. Jarid had signed the pledge because she wrote and told him to, not that she had any choice as matters were, and he would even repudiate it, however reluctantly, if she were mad enough to ask it. Of course, there was the difficulty in letting him know what she did want at the moment. Arymilla was very careful not to let her within a mile of him. She had everything in hand – as far as she could in the circumstances – but she needed to let Jarid know, if only to stop him from “cutting her a way out.” Spit in the Dark One’s eye? He could take them both to ruin in the belief he was helping her, and he might do it even knowing it meant their ruination.
It required a great effort not to allow the frustration and fury suddenly welling up inside her to show on her face, but she covered the strain with a smile. She took considerable pride in being able to produce a smile for any situation. This one held a touch of surprise. And a touch of disdain. “I’m not planning anything, Naean, and neither is Jarid, I’m sure. But if I were, why would I include you?”
“Because if I am not included in those plans,” Naean said bluntly, “Arymilla might learn of them. She may be a blind fool, but she’ll see once she’s told where to look. And you might find yourself sharing a tent with your betrothed every night, not to mention protected by his armsmen.”
Elenia’s smile melted, but her voice turned to ice, matching the frozen ball that abruptly filled her stomach. “You want to be careful what you say, or Arymilla may ask her Taraboner to play cat’s cradle with you again. In truth, I think I can guarantee as much.”
It seemed impossible that Naean’s face could grow any whiter, yet it did. She actually swayed in her saddle, and caught Elenia’s arm as if to keep from falling. A gust of wind flung her cloak about, and she let it flail. Those once-cold eyes were quite wide, now. The woman made no effort to hide her fear. Perhaps she was too far gone to be capable of hiding it. Her voice came breathy and panicked. “I know you and Jarid are planning something, Elenia. I know it! Take me with you, and… and I will pledge Arawn to you as soon as I can be free of Arymilla.” Oh, she was shaken, to offer that.
“Do you want to draw more attention than you already have?” Elenia snapped, pulling free of the other woman’s grasp. Dawn Wind and the black gelding danced nervously, catching their riders’ moods, and Elenia reined her bay hard to quiet him. Two of the men at the fire hurriedly put their heads down. No doubt they thought they saw two noblewomen arguing in the graying evening and wanted to attract no part of that anger on themselves. Yes; it must be only that. They might carry tales, but they knew better than to get mixed in their betters’ arguments.
“I have no plans to… escape; none at all,” she said in a quieter voice. Drawing her cloak close again, she calmly turned her head to check the carts, and the nearest tents. If Naean was frightened enough… When an opening presented itself… There was no one close enough to overhear, but she still kept her voice low. “Matters might change, of course. Who can say? If they do, I make you this promise, under the Light and by my hope of rebirth, I will not leave without you.” A startled hope bloomed on Naean’s face. Now to present the hook. “If, that is, I have in my possession a letter written in your own hand, signed and sealed, in which you explicitly repudiate your support of Marne, of your own free will, and swear the support of House Arawn to me for the throne. Under the Light and by your hope of rebirth. Nothing less will do.”
Naean’s head jerked back, and she touched her lips with her tongue. Her eyes shifted as though searching for a way out, for help. The black continued to snort and dance, but she barely tightened her reins enough to keep him from bolting, and even that seemed unconscious. Yes, she was frightened. But not too frightened to know what Elenia was demanding. The history of Andor contained too many examples for her not to know. A thousand possibilities remained so long as nothing was in writing, but the mere existence of such a letter would put a bit between Naean’s teeth and the reins in Elenia’s hands. Publication meant Naean’s destruction, unless Elenia was fool enough to admit to coercion. She could try to hang on after that revelation, yet even a House with many fewer antagonisms between its members than Arawn, many fewer cousins and aunts and uncles ready to undercut one another in a heartbeat, would still break apart. The lesser Houses that had been tied to Arawn for generations would seek protection elsewhere. In a matter of years, if not sooner, Naean would be left as the High Seat of a minor and discredited remnant. Oh, yes; it had happened before.
“We’ve been together long enough.” Elenia gathered her reins. “I wouldn’t want to set tongues wagging. Perhaps we will have another chance to speak alone before Arymilla takes the throne.” What a vile thought! “Perhaps.”
The other woman exhaled as if all of the breath in her body were leaking out, but Elenia went on about turning her horse away, neither slowly nor in haste, not stopping until Naean said urgently, “Wait!”
Looking back over her shoulder, she did just that. Waited. Without speaking a word. What needed to be said had been said. All that remained was to see whether the woman was desperate enough to deliver herself into Elenia’s hands. She should be. She had no Jarid to work for her. In fact, anyone in Arawn who suggested that Naean needed rescuing likely would find herself imprisoned for thwarting Naean’s expressed will. Without Elenia, she could grow old in captivity. With the letter, though, her captivity would be of a different kind. With the letter, Elenia would be able to allow her every appearance of complete freedom. Apparently she was bright enough to see that. Or maybe just frightened enough of the Taraboner.