“I’m certain there is something there to learn, magister,” she said. “Now is not the time to dismiss lesser magics.”
“Of course, high matron,” he said with a wink. “We are always willing to learn.”
Gishna sighed, exhausted by battling him. She tried to stifle a deep cough. He must have noticed because the smirk left his face and he stood to brew more of his remedy. When he offered it to her, his fingers rubbed hers tenderly. Such a strange man!
“If you have any trinkets that would allow those of my line who are not Harahn to dwell near the black rock, they might come sooner, high matron.”
She sipped the tea and gazed at him over the rim of the cup, through tiny peepholes in the white curtains.
“I might have one or two,” she said. “If not, I can trade for them… or make new ones. There are still those who can craft them.”
“Not sayin, though, high matron. They must be vaiyin.”
She nodded once and set the cup on her lap. So, there were at least two of his kind willing to come. Now, finally, they were getting somewhere.
“I have tried to convince my sons not to use sayin, but alas!” She hunched helplessly. “They tempt the goddess with youthful defiance.”
He didn’t seem bothered by it. “It is your original power, high matron. Still deep within. But for us, for our work, it must be vaiyin. Others follow Sayin’s light, but we are not them.”
She nodded like she understood. She’d share it with Thensil later and rattle information from his old brain. The diviners hoarded their knowledge as she hoarded her bloodlines.
Kandah fidgeted with his cup, staring into it like the Dark’s void.
“I must be certain,” he said softly, “that you will adhere to our rules.”
“Of course, magister.”
“They will not come otherwise.”
He said it all so seriously, like a matron discussing the state of her house.
“You have my word,” she said, matching his tone. “When will they come?”
“I will send word, but they will not cross the Moon Sea until all is ready.”
She squinted. They must be important, but they were so far away still. She’d hoped they’d crossed already and were at least in Baikal territory.
“They will bring their families, high matron. Their houses.”
“Families?”
He let a faint smile build on his pale face. “And children.”
Her heart soared. All her plans were coming together now! Her valley would house the keystone of her work.
He winced again at the pain in his side. There must be more to this wound; things he didn’t share with her. There was time enough to draw them out. Yes, once his own people depended on her, became subject to her, then she’d know it all. The unrest in Uthkaea must be great indeed.
“Can you guarantee their safety?” he asked. “What with so much unrest brewing?”
“What unrest?”
“This new champion and the court. Lands changing hands in the south valley. And in the east. The influx of nomads and other barbarians.”
The trouble didn’t seem new or that worrisome. Was she missing something? If it wasn’t for her secret work, she’d fire Thensil and his lot.
“Your people will go around to the east valley,” she said. “We can provide instructions. There are paths over the border, through the mountains. Your people needn’t trouble themselves.”
He nodded, satisfied, but clearly in pain.
Her jaw clenched. She’d not let this green-eyed demon have the last word by dying. Once the valmasin were in her power, she’d give Vakayne and Roturra—and Zauhune—reason to follow her lead.
And then the balance of power in Vaidolin would change again.
32
It had taken little convincing for Ryldia to issue the command, and her house moved to the east valley estate. Taul had sent word to Silla Lor’Vamtrin so that she may visit and provide some comfort to his consort. Silla had accepted and sent a coterie of valley priestesses to make the estate ready. These women would provide a more wholesome and helpful gathering of priestesses—not like the vultures of the Halkamas estate.
Xura and the rest were more subdued. Their knights guarded the estate, their squires ran messages and scouted, and their women spied as only women can. They recognized the threat to themselves and their future as the Toshtolin matron. First, there had to be a Lor’Toshtolin to rule. So, for now, they whispered behind his back, but obeyed every command to his face.
Taul refused to blame himself for the high matron’s reaction. He was right. He’d done all things according to tradition.
From the roof of the valley estate, through a dense, wet haze, he could make out the boundaries of the various houses that divided up this part of the valley. The Lanassin, one of four narrow rivers cutting the east valley, snaked down from the black and white-speckled peaks of the northern range down to the southern range, a line of jagged gray mountains. Nestled between the ranges was the true wealth of Ilor’Hosmyr, their special sorcery: a patchwork of terraced fields, groves, vineyards, and orchards which should not be able to grow here at all, but somehow did.
As a boy, it had filled him with pride to know he was part of this. This day, it felt distant, but it had always been here, waiting for his return.
The last of the carts entered the gates, and he motioned to Valtos, Ryldia’s nephew, to take charge of guard duty. The fast action, the command, thrilled Taul. It also exhausted him as the rest of his problems clamored for attention. He turned to the ancient orchard on the other side of the estate. From here, Zeldra looked like an enormous field of dark green chased through with lighter green, the recent growth. He gulped down the heavy, water-logged air and his body tingled, both with excitement and anticipation.
Guards were at their posts, the house secured. He’d sent Xautan with a squad of knights to escort their matron out of the crater. This would be the opportune time for another house to take advantage. It was not the hour of assassins, but he’d not take any chances with their matron. Things were going well despite the threat. This is what it felt like to be a prime consort, to be in command of the security of his house. He shoved aside the thought that he should have told Ryldia everything, that he edged close to being insubordinate. He had a perfectly good explanation: the defense and protection of his matron.
