There was such biting contempt in Aewult’s tone that Anyara understood for the first time just how difficult Coinach’s new role might be for him. He was doing as his Thane commanded, yet there could be no glory – precious little credit, even – in being shieldman to a woman. He was more likely to harvest mockery than admiring glances.
She eased Coinach to one side, feeling his reluctance in the stiffness of his frame. She lifted her chin and met Aewult’s gaze directly.
“I’ll leave it to him to decide how best he should carry out his duties,” she said.
“Ha!” Aewult slapped his thigh in sudden, harsh merriment. “You’ve enough bite about you that I wouldn’t have thought you needed some boy-warrior to watch over you. Anyway, my question’s still unanswered. Where’s your brother? And what does Taim Narran intend to do with the men he’s led out? Surely the Lannis Blood hasn’t forgotten who commands this army, this campaign?”
“Oh, still your tongue, for everyone’s sake,” Ilessa snapped from the table. “Your tantrums will not win you any friends here.”
“It’s not friends I’m looking for,” Aewult replied.
There is danger in all of this, Anyara thought. Haig thinks so little of us, and of Kilkry, that even the most trifling argument can be a fertile seedbed for strife. And this might not be the most trifling argument.
“Ah, so this is where everyone is.”
Every head in the room turned to the doorway. Mordyn Jerain stood there, smiling as if in quiet satisfaction at solving some minor puzzle. His hands – smooth, elegant – were clasped in front of him. He wore a heavy coat of brushed velvet, a sheen of gold embroidery at the cuffs and hems and collar. A single long pace brought him into the room. That simple movement was enough for him to take possession of the space, make himself its focus.
“I thought I heard familiar voices,” he murmured, looking from one face to the next. “From quite some little distance away, in fact.”
“The Bloodheir was just expressing his disappointment at Orisian oc Lannis-Haig’s absence,” Ilessa said. Her voice, Anyara noted, was now utterly expressionless. There was no hint of the command she had used against Aewult.
Mordyn Jerain nodded thoughtfully, as if Ilessa’s explanation satisfied every possible query he might have, and turned his dazzling smile on Anyara. She had to fold her arms to stop herself fidgeting with her dress. How foolish, she thought, to be so easily unsettled by this man’s attention. She was not much given to discomfiture, yet all the Bloodheir’s fury had not troubled her as much as the Shadowhand’s clear, intelligent gaze.
“Disappointing, yes,” Mordyn said. “A small misunderstanding, I’m sure. Your brother is brave, to strike out on his own when such danger is abroad. The Bloodheir is naturally concerned, as am I. As is everyone, no doubt. The Lannis-Haig Blood cannot afford any more misfortunes.”
“Orisian can take care of himself,” Anyara said as confidently as she could.
“I dare say he can.”
“The question is not whether he can take of himself, but whether he remembers his duties and responsibilities,” muttered Aewult nan Haig.
“Duties?” Anyara asked the Bloodheir, preferring the idea of more harsh words from him to that of more blandishments from Mordyn Jerain.
“To my father, and the True Bloods. If there are battles to be fought, I command the army that will fight them. Not your brother. Not Taim Narran.”
The Chancellor held his hands up, still smiling equably. “Well, the battles are not here, and not yet. And it is up to a Thane how he conducts himself in time of war, of course. Orisian will learn how these things are done in time. Tell me, though, Anyara, it does seem strange that Taim Narran should have led your army off in one direction and your brother gone in another. If I understand rightly, Orisian left by the Kyre Gate, heading east. That’s a strange way to make for Kolglas.”
“Do leave the girl alone, Chancellor,” said Ilessa before Anyara had time to respond. “She’s tired and worried. We were discussing more important matters than her brother’s whereabouts before we were interrupted.”
“Of course. You must forgive us. Come, Bloodheir, let us leave these ladies to their deliberations.”
Aewult nan Haig’s anger was almost amusing, Mordyn Jerain reflected. It was built on foundations of disbelief: the Bloodheir was astonished that the child-Thane of the Lannis Blood would presume to leave Kolkyre without so much as a moment’s discussion. One thing both Aewult and his brother Stravan had picked up from their mother was a pronounced, but sometimes shallow-rooted, sense of their own importance. Any sign that others did not share their own high opinion of themselves tended to cause great offence, and to Aewult’s way of thinking what Orisian had done was no doubt tantamount to turning his back and walking away in the midst of a conversation.
Almost amusing, but not quite. Ilessa oc Kilkry-Haig had not been wrong to call it a disappointment. Everything had seemed to be coming together, but Orisian’s sudden and unwonted display of independence had at a stroke unpicked some of the pattern that Mordyn was trying to weave. And now he had to deal with an angry Aewult.
All of the stairways in the Tower were narrow and cramped. Whatever forgotten people had built it, they had cared little for elegance or comfort. Aewult was distracted by his simmering fury and half-missed a step. He stumbled and might have pitched forwards down the stairwell if he had not fallen against Mordyn, and the Chancellor had not seized his arm. The Bloodheir threw his hand off as soon as he had recovered his balance.
“You’re too gentle with them,” Aewult muttered as they resumed their descent. Almost falling, and doing so in Mordyn’s presence, would not help his mood.
“Hardly. I suspect Anyara nan Lannis-Haig is not the sort to crumble easily beneath threats or demands. I know Ilessa is not. You’d be better off finding a dog to beat if you want to disgorge your anger.”
“Don’t tell me what to do, Shadowhand. My father told me to listen to your advice, not take your orders.”
“Well, my advice is not to waste your time on shouting at women. We have to make some quick decisions, and I’ve often found that’s best done over a good meal. There’s a fine roasted duck awaiting me – and you, if you’re willing – in the Steward’s House. Pallick had many faults, but he did at least have the sense to build and staff an excellent kitchen. Lagair’s kept it going since he took the office over.”
Aewult did not look enthusiastic, but he accepted the invitation. In the event, the promised duck was not yet ready. Lagair Haldyn’s wife apologised effusively and disappeared to berate the cooks. The Steward himself was absent. He had taken some of the captains of Aewult’s army hawking, if Mordyn remembered correctly. The Bloodheir planted himself in a chair by a fire and sat there in determined silence. Mordyn sat at a table and pretended to study some papers. He had already read them – he was consistently waking before dawn these days, and had many cold hours to occupy – but he judged it best to give Aewult’s mood a chance to soften.
The Chancellor’s mind wandered. It had always been a part of his nature to believe that everything mattered. The smallest of events, of details, could have some import when seen as a thread in the broader tapestry. That was partly his Tal Dyreen upbringing expressing itself: the island of his birth had always bred sharp minds and keen eyes. Had the Tal Dyreens been as collectively ambitious as they were greedy, that island could have been the world’s great rising power, instead of the Haig Blood. Then, of course, Mordyn might not have been inclined to abandon his roots; he might now be a merchant prince himself, instead of Gryvan oc Haig’s Shadowhand. But he was not. He served Gryvan because – he understood this about himself – he was drawn to power, to the mysterious, intangible process by which it was cultivated and used. He craved its proximity.