Persephone frowned. She didn’t want to be sucked into the same old argument. Mostly because she was starting to think Nyphron might be right.
Initially, the gleaming Fhrey lord had terrified her, but over the last year she’d come to depend on him for so much. Unlike the clan chieftains, Nyphron, in fact all the Fhrey, hadn’t showed the slightest concern with her being both a military leader and a woman. She knew that, until recently, the Fhrey had been ruled by a female fane named Fenelyus, who led them to victory against the Dherg. Nyphron in particular had been very supportive. Persephone found it odd how she felt more comfortable with, and accepted by, a member of another race than she had by her own husband, which made resisting Nyphron’s counsel all the more difficult. “How many more prisoners are there?”
“You’re changing the subject,” Nyphron told her.
“She can do that; she’s the keenig,” Moya said while smiling innocently. Persephone was certain she had the only Shield capable of wielding her eyes as a deadly weapon.
“And good Shields are supposed to be silent,” Nyphron replied.
A year ago, such a comment would have terrified both of them. Instead, Persephone braced herself for the inevitable reply. Moya always had a reply.
“And Fhrey are supposed to be gods.” Moya shrugged. “Isn’t life just full of disappointments?”
Moya’s mouth! Persephone had mentally turned the phrase into a curse. The three of them had spent nearly every day of the winter together, planning and organizing. At first, Persephone was certain Moya would get them both killed. She loved the girl to death, but Moya could make difficult situations impossible. Then, by the first snows, she realized Nyphron invited attacks. He appeared to enjoy her barbs. By midwinter, the two were regularly greeting each other with scathing insults. To aid her, Moya had Tekchin teach her Fhrey profanity.
“How many more prisoners?” Persephone asked again.
Nyphron continued to look at Moya a moment longer, then shifted over. “A little more than a hundred.”
“A hundred? Why so many?”
“I thought Instarya never disobeyed their superiors,” Moya jabbed again.
Moya!
Thankfully, this time Nyphron ignored her. “Petragar and Vertumus are the only Fhrey down there.”
“You have humans imprisoned?” Persephone asked.
“No,” he replied, as if the question was ridiculous.
“Dwarfs?”
“Why would we imprison dwarfs?”
“I don’t know, but what else could there be?”
“We use the duryngon as holding pens mostly. Patrols sometimes capture goblins, welos, or bankors. We even had an ariface once, and for a few years, we had a white bear that we named Alpola, after a Grenmorian legend of a snow giant.”
Persephone didn’t know what most of those words meant but imagined a menagerie of mystical creatures, a terrifying collection of nightmares underneath her feet.
“What do you do to them?”
“Study, mostly. We learn weaknesses and strengths, attitudes, motivations, and languages if applicable.”
“Are we done here?” Moya asked. At midday, she taught the bow to a hundred would-be archers.
“Looks like it.” Persephone was getting the nod from the door guard, who closed the chamber on that side.
“Then I’m off to belittle and humiliate this month’s crop of manhood.”
“How are they doing?” Nyphron asked as he stood up and they headed toward the judge’s door.
“Very well—but don’t tell them that. This is part of the same group I had back in autumn, and I’m pleased to find they’ve kept up with their practice.”
“Any standouts?” Nyphron held open the door for the two women.
Moya nodded. “A kid named Tesh is the best. He loves challenging me.”
Nyphron was nodding. “Sebek has the same problem with that boy.”
“He’s a natural, very athletic and driven. I’ve seen him practicing in weather so cold that stone cries. Made himself a pair of gloves without fingertips on his right hand so he could better feel the string. And he’s the only one, besides me, who can hold five arrows in the draw hand. The rest of my trainees hold them in their bow hand, which slows them down. Tesh isn’t accurate enough, and he’s not thrusting the shot with his bow hand, but he can loose three arrows faster than you can say your own name.”
“He’s been asking for armor.” Nyphron closed the door behind them. “Wants to get used to the weight and balance. They keep telling him he’s not done growing, but that hasn’t stopped him from asking.”
“He’s Dureyan, you know,” Moya said as they entered the Kype’s main hall, which was dominated by the huge doors and dangling chandeliers. Not a shaft of sunlight entered. The Kype was the fortress within the fortress; the only windows were four stories up and very narrow. “Explains why Raithe appointed him as his Shield. Well, that and great foresight on Raithe’s part. That kid is going to be a killer one day.”
* * *
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