There was nothing quite so lonely, Sasha thought, as sitting watch at camp after a battle. The log beneath her was hard, the air far colder than a summer night had any right to be, and there was no light but the brilliance of a billion stars. From about the camp came the sound of men snoring, or a horse snorting. Alone in the dark, a watchman's thoughts were his only company. And his memories.
A twig snapped. Sasha stared into the darkness, hands grasping the sword by her side. A rustle of pine needles. “M'Lady Sashandra? Are you there?”
Jaryd's voice. She could see him now, very faintly, a shadow in the blackness. She wondered if he would go away if she remained silent. “I'm here,” she said instead. “Sitting down, on the log.”
The shadow approached. She did not know why she'd invited him over—like most Verenthane nobles, Jaryd Nyvar was a pain in the neck. Perhaps, she thought wryly, she was just as much the fool as those idiot noble girls who giggled and whispered at the tournaments. Sitting alone on guard watch, even a demon of Loth might be welcome company if his eyes were handsome and his shoulders manly.
The log shifted as Jaryd settled beside her, wrapped tightly like her beneath cloak and blankets. “I couldn't sleep,” he explained. He spoke in little more than a whisper, but in the vast, empty silence, it seemed as loud as a yell. “Damn but it's cold!”
“Northerly wind and no clouds,” Sasha replied, standard knowledge for any Lenay who lived in the wilds. “Westerlies can be even worse, the wind comes straight off the mountains. Some Goeren-yai say unseasonal weather means the spirits are disturbed.”
Jaryd hissed through his teeth, rubbing hands together beneath his cloak and blanket. “Well, the stars are beautiful,” he admitted. “Don't the Goeren-yai believe that stars are lucky?”
Sadly, it was too dark for Sasha to see either his handsome eyes or manly shoulders. This conversation, then, would rest entirely upon the strength of his personality. She nearly laughed. “Aye,” she agreed.
“Did you make a wish?”
“No.”
“Then what were you thinking of?” Jaryd pressed.
Sasha sighed. “My mother,” she said quietly.
“Ah, Queen Shenai.” As if he'd known her personally. Jaryd was perhaps only a year older than Sasha—he couldn't have been more than six when the queen had died, in childbirth to Sasha's youngest sibling Myklas. Sasha nearly snorted. “She was very beautiful. My father says she was a wonderful queen.”
“I knew her only a little,” Sasha admitted.
“I can recall the days of mourning,” Jaryd continued, very much in love with the sound of his own whisper. “My family all wore black for seven days. My mother also died young, in childbirth. So sad a thing…and yet so noble, to die whilst giving life. A far more Verenthane end, I fear, than most warriors shall meet—dying whilst taking life.”
“Perhaps if the priests would allow Verenthane women to use the serrin's white powder,” Sasha remarked, “all these women needn't die young at all.”
Though his face remained unseen, Sasha could sense Jaryd's consternation. “But it is against the gods’ will!”
“It's against the priests’ will,” Sasha retorted. “Serrin women can fight, play music, make arts, conduct trade…all the things that men do. It's far easier when you're not pregnant all the time, I gather. I wonder what amazing things Lenay women would discover they could do if given the opportunity.”
“M'Lady…” said Jaryd, appearing to fight down an amazed smile, “what is a woman, if not the opposite to a man?”
“Should a woman then not walk?” Sasha replied. “Not breathe? Not talk and think? You do all of these things, yet you are a man, so surely I cannot be a woman, because I do them too. I think, Master Jaryd, that the only state in which a woman can meet the Verenthane ideal and not mimic any of your manly deeds is in death.”
Jaryd shook his head. “You truly are a strange girl. The serrin spread strange notions from Saalshen.”
“Do they frighten you?”
“Frighten? M'Lady, I assure you…I do not frighten easily.”
“Yet you disapprove of me. Why? Why wish me to be something else, unless you feel threatened?”
Jaryd did not reply immediately. Somewhere in the forest, an owl hooted. “I was raised to be a good Verenthane,” he said then. He sounded troubled. “Yesterday, at Perys, I saw you do things with a blade that…that I had not thought possible for a woman. Barely possible for most men, in fact. I admit, I am confused. I would like to think that had it been me in your place, I would have acquitted myself as well. I am one of the best swordsmen in Lenayin, I know this with all my heart…and yet the artistry with which those men died was…truly amazing.”
Spirits help him, Sasha thought, he was trying. What he admitted was surely no easy thing. “The serrin know many ancient arts,” Sasha told him, somewhat more gently. “The svaalverd is not invulnerable by any means, but when taught by the very best to a capable pupil…well, I have options in a fight that my opponents do not.”
“I said your ways do not frighten me, and I mean it,” Jaryd said determinedly. “I am a swordsman, I can only admire such talent, however unexpected. But I should warn you, M'Lady…I know others who feel differently.”
“I know…” Sasha began, but Jaryd had not finished.
“Noble men,” he said, “my relations amongst them. They have long resented Kessligh's influence with the king. And they speak ill of serrin and Nasi-Keth alike.”
“Kessligh has little enough influence with the king these days,” said Sasha. “And noble Verenthanes have always resented or disliked me for one reason or another. But thank you for the warning. Is there some particular reason I should be worried?”
Jaryd's silence did not help her nerves. Events were in motion, and clearly the lords saw an impending war as an opportunity for self-advancement. War against the serrin would sever all the king's remaining ties with Kessligh and the Nasi-Keth. If it was a chance to get rid of him, then it was surely a chance to get rid of her. She recalled Kessligh's grim warning at the Steltsyn Star, and suffered a shiver that had nothing to do with the chill night air.
“A part of me looks forward to this war,” Jaryd said. “The holy war to reclaim the Saalshen Bacosh from the serrin. You would feel differently, I suppose?”
“Saalshen took that land because they were attacked,” Sasha replied. “They never started the conflict, they only finished it. The Saalshen Bacosh is formidable because it is defended by armies of humans and serrin. Most humans seem happy there, and they fight ferociously to defend their lands from the so-called liberators. If Lenayin went, we'd be just another bloody invader. Is that what you want?”
“Those lands are holy,” Jaryd countered, though he sounded less than certain. “I am Verenthane, and the places where the faith was born are occupied by those who do not belong. Any young man wishing for adventure would welcome the chance to ride on such a crusade. And many Goeren-yai I've spoken to said they would welcome a great war, Lenayin has always been a land of warriors, but the Liberation brought peace. Too much peace for many, I think.”
“Serrin did not travel as much to western provinces like Isfayen,” said Sasha. “Goeren-yai to the west may have no trouble fighting serrin, but the story is different here.” She paused. “But you said only a part of you. What of the other part?”
Jaryd sighed. “I've never been interested in the things that my father and uncles love. Wealth and power, more lands, more taxes. They complain endlessly that the nobility has little true power and that the king saves all the authority for himself, and they expect me to be equally outraged…”
He shook his head, gazing into the dark. “And now my father is dying. He sent me to the Falcon Guards when he found out. He said I might learn something. I have the Great Lordship of Tyree waiting for me and…and I can't find it within myself to care.”
Sasha stared at him in astonishment. She hadn't suspected that at all. “You and your father aren't on good terms?” she guessed.
“Never,” Jaryd said darkly. “I try to feel sad for him, truly I do. But it's difficult.” From somewhere distant, there came the mournful howl of a wolf. Another answered. Some people disliked the sound. Sasha had always loved it. Such a cold and desolate beauty.
“I know the feeling,” Sasha said quietly.
Jaryd glanced at her. “The king seems…distant. Though it is said he became far more so, after Prince Krystoff died. He loved Prince Krystoff dearly, as did you.”
“He loved his heir,” Sasha muttered. “All kings must love their heir, the same way a priest must love his robe, or a princess must love her father. It's an obligation, nothing more.”
“He retreated into temple after Prince Krystoff's funeral and rarely comes out to this day,” Jaryd objected. “The first place my father would visit if I died would be the stable, to reclaim my horse.”
“My father desires the faith of the gods above all else,” said Sasha. “It is said he loved my mother, but I don't know how anyone could prove it. He's a humourless, uncaring statue of a man, and for the life of me I couldn't describe to you his smile, for I've never seen it, before Krystoff died or after. He prays for Krystoff because he thought the gods had slapped him in the face by taking Krystoff from him. That upset him; Krystoff himself he barely knew.”
“Do you see him often?” Jaryd asked. He sounded a little surprised…but only that she was telling him this at all, she reckoned.
“A perfunctory meeting when I travel to Baen-Tar. Nothing more.”
“Fathers,” Jaryd said distastefully.
“Fathers,” Sasha agreed.
They sat together in the cold for a while and listened to the vast silence. The wolves were quiet once more. Jaryd then seemed to smile in the dark. Then repressed a laugh. Sasha stared at him, wondering what could possibly be so funny.
“It's just…you mentioned the serrin,” Jaryd said eventually, with restrained mirth, “and I always think of this when anyone mentions…”
“What?” Sasha said impatiently.
“My little brother Tarryn,” said Jaryd. “Such a cheerful little fellow. He liked to stride about everywhere with this big, wooden sword that tripped him when he marched or turned. One time when he was around four my sisters thought it would be grand for him to lead a ceremonial presentation for a visiting serrin scholar. So we're all sitting down in the grand hall, with banners on the wall and tables loaded with food…and in comes little Tarryn, all dressed in these…this little tailored collar and vest and golden buttons…all bold and beaming at everyone, just a wonderful, cheerful little boy…and he comes down these grand steps before the crowd, with everyone admiring, and he's loving the attention so much that he catches the heel of his shiny new boots on the last step and falls smack right on his face on the floor.”
Jaryd nearly doubled over with laughter, trying desperately to keep from waking anyone. Sasha's first thought was that it was a very mean thing to find so amusing. Then she remembered a time when her favourite dog had gotten loose, jumped on Alythia and knocked her face first into a waiting row of pastries. And suddenly, she was doubled over in near hysterics.
After a while of laughing through his nose, Jaryd straightened and tried again. “And…Tarryn started to cry, while me and my other brother Wyndal are falling out of our chairs laughing, and our…our sisters are glaring at us. And Father just…just sighs and puts his head in his hand.” He took a deep breath and tried to recover himself. “But the serrin scholar was nice, he got up and went to Tarryn, picked him up, sat him on the edge of the table and suddenly it didn't matter any more. Serrin don't get ruffled very often, do they? I still remember that man, he was…he was nice.”
Sasha rearranged her blanket and cloak, and wiped tears from her eyes. It was like this, sometimes, after a fight. The smallest thing set off the wildest emotional responses. But she greatly preferred this train of thought to those previous.
“Where is Tarryn now?” she asked.
“He's at Baen-Tar,” said Jaryd. “He's eleven now, Father sent him for a bit of sophisticated education. He has some cousins there…it's been nice, the past few months, being posted to Baen-Tar with the Falcon Guard. I could see him nearly every day.”
“I put a lizard in Alythia's bed, once,” said Sasha, aware as she said it that it might not be proper to share such things with Jaryd…but her mouth was away now, and when that happened, her mind had a struggle to catch up.
Jaryd blinked at her, his disbelief clear despite the blackness. “You…in Princess Alythia's bed?” Sasha nodded, biting her lip. “Why?”
“She's my sister, I don't need a reason why,” Sasha retorted. “She was being a pain. Besides, it was Krystoff's idea.”
“What happened?”
“We hid around a corner near her chambers…we had to shoo a guard away, he just shook his head and smiled, we were always pulling pranks. Then we heard a loud scream and Alythia came running out in her night gown. She knew who did it, she's a pain but she's not stupid.
“But she killed the lizard. She threw it at us, all dead and limp. I was upset, I yelled at Krystoff and went off to cry in my room. Krystoff came up and made silly jokes until I forgave him.”
“Over a lizard?” asked Jaryd.
“I've always loved animals. Horses, dogs, lizards, birds, bats. Some of my best friends have been animals. They're always honest and they never betray you.”
“True,” Jaryd agreed. “The first thing my horse master told me—it's never the horse's fault. If he makes a mistake, it's the rider's fault for not communicating properly.”
“I agree. I've often thought that if more rulers went about their rule as they're taught to go about their riding, most lands would be far better places.”
There was another silence, longer than the last. “Well, M'Lady,” Jaryd said eventually, “I must admit, you're nothing like the person that I'd thought you were. It seems that I've been told lies about you.”
Sasha gave a silent laugh. “And you're not so bad yourself, for a self-important, preening Verenthane noble,” she replied.
“I'll admit to preening,” Jaryd suggested, “if you'll admit to a sharp tongue.”
“Admit? How could I deny it?”
Jaryd smiled. “It must be near time for your watch to end. Say…it's a cold night. Two bodies are warmer than one, and there's plenty of room in my bedroll…”
“Oh no,” Sasha laughed, “you'll not find me quite that easy a mark, Master Jaryd. I've admitted that I no longer wish to break your skull with a blunt stick, but the distance from there to where you're suggesting is a long one indeed.”
“A pity,” Jaryd sighed, utterly unperturbed. “The short hair is an acquired taste, but I think I was beginning to acquire it…”
“Truly.” She was amused, in spite of her better judgment.
“It does rather draw attention to your lovely eyes, I feel.”
“It's dark. I can barely see you, how can you possibly notice my lovely eyes?”
“How could I not? And truly, you must be built like a rock to produce the swordwork you showed in Perys with such speed and balance…”
Ah, so that was it. “I'm sorry, Jaryd,” Sasha told him, smiling, “if you wish to indulge that particular curiosity, I'm sure you could ask a visiting serrin lady very nicely and she'd be happy to indulge, as serrin often will. I'm sure she'll show you all of her muscles in all the most interesting places.”
Spirits help her, she thought later as she lay snuggled in her own bedroll, she was almost tempted. Unlike Verenthane ladies, Goeren-yai had little worry about using the serrin's white powder, so pregnancy was no issue. She always carried a little on such rides, not in the expectation of an amorous encounter, but as a final guard against the unpleasant prospect of being taken prisoner. She had no illusions about the superior morality or sexual virtue of women—Verenthanes might believe that, and Goeren-yai to a lesser extent, but the serrin placed the concept somewhere between amusing and ridiculous, and in this, Sasha took her teachings firmly from the Nasi-Keth.
But it was a pricklish thing, for her. Serrin might leap from bed to bed with carefree abandon, but she could not. She was human, after all, and lust alone (for her at least) was not quite enough. Besides which, there were enough unpleasant rumours about her dubious morality already in circulation throughout Lenayin—she had no wish to add to the lies with facts. If she was going to risk such a thing, then the man would have to be damned impressive to make it worth her while. Jaryd might well be a decent man, and was certainly a handsome one, but that was still somewhere short of her requirements.