Banshees vengeance, p.9
Banshee's Vengeance, page 9
Within the salle, she found Allyndev working through the first of the exercises she had taught him to do before one-on-one practice would begin. It still amazed her that he was thought to be aloof and cold. He is shy, yet proud—and that pride has kept him from realizing that many failures at learning a task does not make it impossible, merely difficult.
Without any trace of arrogance, Allyndev applied himself to her teachings, and in so doing, began to show some early signs of skill. This was because Azhani had wisely tailored each lesson to improve his weakest areas first, giving him tiny boosts in his confidence. She had hopes that later, when the harder skills took longer to master, he would still feel as if he were progressing. This was how Master Delaye had taught her, and indeed how most martial skills should be learned, but Azhani knew from experience that one or two bad teachers could make any student prone to failure.
Observation of Lyssera’s sword masters had shown her why Allyndev had been unable to learn anything from them. The arrogant men and women who served the queen seemed only to care about what Azhani liked to call the “theater of the sword” and not about keeping their students alive in a real battle. Six or seven fast, flashy moves might do well enough in a duel, but against an opponent whose only goal was to kill, they would be less than useless. What she was teaching Allyndev wasn’t intricate or filled with flips and foolish twirls, but it would bring him home from a battlefield. Rimerbeasts wouldn’t care how many times you could cartwheel around them—but they would die if you gutted them.
After almost a week of lessons, Allyndev wasn’t ready for a true fight, but he was showing improvement. For whatever reason, this seemed to have drawn and audience and now, there were others tucked away in the shadows, watching him practice. Azhani hoped they would hold their peace, else she’d have to exercise her authority in a way she hoped to avoid this early in her tenure at Oakheart. Silently, she lamented the fact that no matter how well-trained Allyn became, many Y’Syrans would never offer him—or her—the respect they deserved.
Generations of peace would have to stretch out between Y’Syr and Y’Dan before those who’d spent their lives staring at the border, hating the other side, would forget their ire. Most of the nobles understood why it was so important the kingdoms be allies, but get far enough away from the halls of Oakheart and Azhani suspected that the elves living near the border would take one look at her human—and obviously Y’Dani—heritage and have a hard time not spitting at her feet. Her elven nature would earn her the same distrust in Y’Dan. Only her status as warleader had earned their respect and now, even that was gone.
Pausing at the entrance to the salle, Azhani spent some time watching Allyndev exercise, noting where he had improved as well as where he needed further instruction. He was clumsy still, but as long as he was patient, clumsiness could be trained away.
“It’s really too bad he’s got that damned Y’Dani blood in him,” a woman standing nearby muttered to her companion. “He’d be not bad to bed, otherwise.”
The young man with her grimaced. “Eh, I don’t mind a hint of human in my lads. The Y’Marans, in particular, have got lovely curly hair and all those freckles...”
She snorted. “’Tis not the human I mind, but the stink of Y’Dan. Makes his face look like he got smashed with a cake platter. And them damned narrow eyes—they’re creepy, if you ask me! Thank the Twain that delicious bit of muscle the Queen just hired has more than a little bit of Y’Skan in her bloodline to temper the Y’Dani blight.”
Startled, Azhani started to say something to her but was arrested in her motion when Allyn missed a move and stumbled, tripping over his own two feet. She hurried over to rescue him, pulling him upright before he could face any ridicule from the gathered watchers. “Good, very good, Allyn,” she said loudly. “Your cross turns are better today. Be mindful of the second phrase, though. You need to set your balance first, then step into the thrust.”
Panting heavily, he nodded. “Aye, thanks, Master Azhani. Shall I begin again?”
“Please,” she said, stepping off the mat to watch. The gossiping duo had left, though, so she could not address their comments about her origins. It is of no matter, she decided. So my blood comes not just from Y’Dan, but Y’Skan as well. Father did say that his great-grandfather had traveled across all the kingdoms in his youth and that his great-grandmother had come from one of those kingdoms… She did, however, agree that Allyndev was handsome, which might cause some troubles as he continued to improve. There would always be those in the court who would ignore his Y’Dani blood for the chance to crawl a little closer to the crown. If that involved seducing a pretty young man, she suspected the task would be seen as that much more pleasant.
Conversely, there would be those who wouldn’t go near a young man whose father had such controversial origins that his very name was a state secret. Even Azhani did not know who he was.
In the short time she’d had to come to know Allyndev, however, Azhani had come to like the solemn young man. He felt familiar and comfortable in a court full of strangers. She hoped her lessons might help him step out of his shy world of clumsy diffidence. Kyrian will like him, too, I think.
Thinking of Kyrian filled Azhani with guilt. That is, if she doesn’t decide to tell me to go away and never bother seeking her company again! Damn me! I’ve got to stop hiding! Today must be the day I go get her!
CHAPTER FIVE
As the temple bells rang noontide, Gyp raced into the shop. “She’s coming, Mistress Tellyn! The queen is on her way!”
Tellyn glanced up from the herbs she was grinding and shared a quick smile with Kyrian. “Yes Gyp, I know. A page came to inform me of her visit this morning.”
Kyrian scowled. “Why would she come here? Does she not have an apothecary in Oakheart?” It was no use wondering if the queen’s visit portended anything for her. She’d had plenty of time to hope and pray that Azhani would walk through the door, and each day, she was greeted only by disappointment.
At first she’d been angry, but now all she could summon was a sick sense of hurt. We didn’t mean as much to each other as I thought. It was a lament a jilted lover might have spoken, but Kyrian could claim no such role, only that of a spurned friend. As such she could only feel saddened by what she was losing.
Tellyn curled one shoulder into a lazy shrug. “She is the queen. Like all those in power, she is often taken by fancy. Her page informed me that she wished to purchase certain restorative teas for which I alone am known.” Smiling then, she said, “However, I suspect there is a secondary reason for her coming, as the page could easily have fetched said teas. No, I believe she wishes to meet you, my young friend. After all, everyone is now aware that Azhani Rhu’len serves her, and if I know our queen, she will have learned every detail of Azhani’s journey thus far.” Scooping the herbs onto a sheet of parchment, she folded it into an envelope and sealed it with candle wax. Afterward, she cleaned her mortar and pestle and chose a new batch of herbs to grind. Thoughtfully, she studied Kyrian, who could hardly meet her gaze, taking more time to stare at a bunch of dried leaves than she did in looking at the person talking to her. “And it may also be that a certain mule-headed warrior has recalled that she is not merely our queen’s new favorite nursemaid, but also a friend to a lonely stardancer.”
Absorbing this information, Kyrian just stood there in silence. Almost two weeks had passed. All Y’Syria knew of Azhani’s arrival and subsequent pardon. Most citizens gossiped about it for a few days, then moved on to the latest scandal of the court. Others would stand in the shop for candlemarks, loudly speculating about the various reasons Azhani had chosen to come to Y’Syr over heading straight for Y’Mar.
Forced to put up with it or go mad, Kyrian had chosen to barricade herself in the room she should have shared with Azhani. It was a testament to her self-control that she had not destroyed her friend’s gear in a fit of pique.
That she had slept every night in one of Azhani’s tunics was an admission of a far greater level of emotion than she cared to speak on, though Tellyn had tried to goad it out of her more than once. It was far too upsetting to talk about it. She could have sent a messenger, at the very least! Anger flared again, and once more Kyrian debated whether or not she should just take her things and go. Y’Len was nearby. There was a temple of the Twain in the city—it would be easy just to collect her stipend, a few supplies, and return home.
It was the oath of friendship she’d given that kept her rooted in Tellyn Jarelle’s shop, teaching Gyp how to bind wounds and offering the occasional bit of medical advice to desperate customers. Swallowing back bitter words, Kyrian merely returned to her task and said nothing of the feelings worrying at her heart. She would stay in Y’Syria as she promised, and help Azhani any way she could—even if that help was simply filling the army’s orders for wound bindings.
The source of some of her mixed feelings was no surprise, not when Lyssera was Ylera’s twin. There was not a soul born in Y’Syr who was blind to the fact that their queen had been Twain gifted with her own physical mirror, so the reason why Azhani wanted to spend time with her over Kyrian was easy to deduce. Ylera told me once that she and Lyssera were absolutely alike in so many ways. How could Azhani not want to be close to her? How could she not hope Lyssera might…want her?
She nearly jumped out of her skin when something thumped against the front door in a heavy, rhythmic knocking. Gyp leaped to his feet and raced out of the stillroom to greet their visitors, breathlessly announcing their royal guest just moments after the door was opened.
“I present the grand and beautiful Lyssera of House Kelani,” he sang out, his voice breaking just enough to make Tellyn wince. “Twain’s grace to thee, my queen!”
With a sigh, Tellyn set aside her pestle. “Some hard-learned advice, stardancer. Never stuff your patient’s heads with heavy-handed praise, even upon those who command respect, else they demand it of you always. Treat all equally and leave the fawning poppycock to those with no sense of honesty.” Then, she took up her walking stick and limped into the foyer.
Chuckling at the sour, if apt, words, Kyrian dumped another handful of herbs into her mortar and attacked them with a vengeance.
“Mistress Tellyn.” Lyssera grinned happily as she embraced the older woman. “It’s been far too long.”
“Peh,” Tellyn said cantankerously. “If those idiots in your court would drag their heads from their posteriors, you’d have far more time to visit, Lyss.”
Lyssera’s warm laughter filled the room as Tellyn then turned to greet the others in her party. “You haven’t changed, Mistress.”
Grabbing hold of Allyndev’s face, Tellyn gave him a shake. “Allyndev, by Astariu’s golden breasts, boy, you’re looking well! Ye’ve color to those half-bearded cheeks of yours! And ye look as though ye’ve done a something a bit more strenuous than swing a hatchet for a few candlemarks.” She narrowed her eyes knowingly. “Has someone finally dragged ye away from weeding the damned garden that is Y’Syria?”
Blushing, Allyn replied, “Aye, Mistress. Master Azhani has been tutoring me. It’s been a most illuminating experience.” Then he grinned. “I’ve never felt so invigorated!”
Spotting Gyp, he released Tellyn and ran over to the younger boy. “Gyp, I’ve got to show you this move Master Azhani taught me! Beast’s bones, but it’s tough! I never thought I’d get it, but then today, it all just happened and you have to see—it’s like magick!” Babbling a mile a minute, both of them hurried outside, Allyn half-drawing his sword on the way through the door.
“Mind the plants, you two, else I’ll tan ye good!” Tellyn called after them in warning.
Lyssera watched them go and then chuckled. “I expect your plants are safe enough, Tellyn. Allyndev, if not Gyp, is perfectly aware of their dearness to you.”
“He’d best be, for he’s not too high above me that my cane won’t reach his backside,” Tellyn replied as she gave the third person in the room a long look.
Standing just a pace behind Lyssera, Azhani had the grace to appear nervous as she quietly asked, “Where is Kyrian?”
“It’s good to know we were missed, old friend,” Tellyn replied sharply. “And Stardancer Kyrian is working in the stillroom.” With that, she turned to Lyssera and handed her several parchment envelopes. “I believe this is what you’ve come for?” At Lyssera’s bemused nod, she added, “If you’d care to stay a bit, I might be persuaded to find something for us to drink while Azhani visits with her friend.” There was a subtle stress on the word that made Azhani wince, but Tellyn merely smiled. “In fact, invite your men to join us. I’d rather not have them cluttering up my porch with their armor.”
“Of course.” Lyssera wondered if she would have to prod Azhani in the butt to get her to go into the stillroom. When the other woman didn’t move, she softly said, “You’ll not be tendering any apologies from here, you know. And I highly doubt Mistress Tellyn cares to wait until the beast season begins for you to remember how to be polite.”
Azhani’s cheeks reddened as she mumbled, “Yes, of course, Highness,” before slinking off toward the stillroom door.
Once she was gone, Lyssera invited her guardsmen into the house. They marched in, stationed themselves along one wall, and stood there like mail-coated statues, faces seemingly carved from stone.
Tellyn grimaced. “Are ye sure the captain of your guard isn’t whittling down a forest for the sticks he rams up their backsides?”
With a loud cackle, Lyssera replied, “Oh, Tellyn, you really wouldn’t do well in court, would you?”
“Of course not,” she said. “I’m too bloody honest for that gaggle of babbling geese. Now come along. I think I’ve got a bottle of Y’Maran fire brandy around here that’ll curl your nose hairs.”
“I’m not certain I’d like my nose hairs curled, but I do quite enjoy Y’Maran brandy. Please, lead the way,” Lyssera said with a fond smile. “And tell me all about my city.”
Tellyn sighed. “If I must. Let’s start with the waterfront. I hear the rats are uglier and meaner this year.”
“Oh dear. I’ll be needing more of that tonic of yours then, won’t I?” Lyssera replied affably.
“Of course.” The door closed behind them.
Squaring her shoulders, Azhani took a deep breath, steeled herself, and opened the stillroom door. A thousand thoughts flew through her mind as it swung inward. Chief among them were, Be honest. The lies you told will make her think all words from your tongue are poison. Best to give her facts she can discover on her own. Don’t attack—she is the one wronged, not you.
A plethora of scents filled the room. For a moment, she was transported to a world redolent of springtime pastures and mountain gardens. It was the mint that brought her back to the moment, for its crispness made her mouth water in longing for a cup of Kyrian’s sweetened tea.
Words clamored on her tongue, but she could not speak. All she could do was stand there, staring at her friend’s tunic-clad back and admiring the play of muscle over her shoulders and down her arms. Stalling for time, Azhani tried to think of something to say. Instead, she counted the ringlets in Kyrian’s red-gold hair as it swept over the fabric of the perspiration-soaked shirt.
Suddenly, she ceased stirring whatever was in the pot and wiped her face on the back of her arm.
Swallowing quickly, Azhani moved forward. “Here, try this... it might help,” she said, and offered her a skin of wine.
“Thank you.” Kyrian’s tone was dryer than the Y’Skani desert. Tipping her head back, she drank deeply of the wine, then returned the skin.
At least she didn’t spit in my face. That’s something, right? Azhani waited silently, unsure of what to say in the moment.
Licking her lips, Kyrian said, “Not bad for dungeon swill.”
Inwardly, Azhani winced. I deserved that. Still, she did not speak.
Faint laughter from the other room echoed around them. Kyrian glanced toward the door, then fixed Azhani with a hard look before saying, “Our queen sounds rather jubilant for someone on her way to a hanging. At least she allowed you to say goodbye first.” There was no anger in the words, though they struck like the sharpest of knives.
Goddess, she’s…she’s more than just a little upset, isn’t she? It dawned on Azhani that she might have made a terrible mistake in the way she’d treated Kyrian. It must seem that she’d thrown away what the other woman had offered because of her own damnable honor. How do I repair this? I don’t want her to hate me. I don’t know what I would do if…if she didn’t want to know me. “Kyrian, I…” She tried to speak, but the words just sat there, digging claws of fear into her tongue, forcing her to stand there like a mute idiot, helplessly staring at her friend.
Kyrian crossed her arms over her chest. “Yes? Was I wrong? Have you come for another reason? Perhaps you require a tonic? Or an unguent? Surely you would not need such a thing if you were on your way to the gallows.” She began to pace around the room, her cheeks growing redder the more she spoke. “Or perhaps you are here to talk? This must be one last conversation with the stupid stardancer who saved your life before you’re hauled back to wherever they tie you down at night? Because otherwise, you’re telling me that you weren’t a prisoner. Which means the only reason you didn’t come back for me was that you didn’t want me around!” Venom dripped over her words like honey. “I notice your hands aren’t broken—though I’ve had visions otherwise. For surely that’s why my friend couldn’t send me a message telling me why-why-she…she…” Tears swam in Kyrian’s eyes. She looked away. “Just go, Azhani. You obviously don’t want to be here, else Queen Lyssera wouldn’t have had to drag you along on a trip a page could have made.”
