Tigana by Guy Kay (novel24 txt) 📕

added, ‘I should probably have taken Scelto away from you a long time ago. You both learn too much, too quickly.’

She opened her mouth, but no words came out. What could she say? She had asked for this. For exactly this.

But then, glancing out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Brandin was smiling. An odd smile, and there was something strange about his eyes as he looked at her. He said, ‘As it also happens, Scelto would have been right this morning, but his tidings are wrong by now.’

‘What do you mean?’ She felt the stirrings of a genuine uneasiness. There was a strangeness to his manner this morning that she could not lay a finger on. It was more than tiredness though, she knew that much.

‘I rescinded yesterday’s orders after my ride,’ Brandin said quietly. ‘Camena is probably dead by now. An easy death. Exactly as word has been put about.’

She discovered that her hands were clutching each other in her lap. She said fatuously, without thinking, ‘Is this true?’

He only raised his eyebrows, but she felt herself flush deep red. ‘I have no need to deceive you, Dianora. I told them to arrange for witnesses among the Chiarans, so there would be no doubt. What would confirm it for you: shall I have his head sent to your rooms?’

She looked down again, thinking of Isolla’s head bursting like a smashed fruit. She swallowed; he had done that with a gesture of his hand. She looked back at the King. Mutely she shook her head. What had happened on that ride? What was happening here?

Then, abruptly, she remembered what else had occurred to him yesterday. On the mountainside, at a place where a grey rock stood beside the runners’ track. One man sees a riselka: his path forks there.

Brandin turned back towards the fire, one leg crossed over the other. He laid the point of the iron down on the hearthstone, leaning it against his chair.

‘You haven’t asked me why I changed the orders. That’s unlike you, Dianora.’

‘I’m afraid to,’ she said, truthfully.

He glanced over at that, his dark brows level now, the grey eyes intimidating with their intelligence. ‘That’s unlike you as well.’

‘You aren’t very . . . like yourself either this morning.’

‘Fair enough,’ he said quietly. He looked at her for a moment in silence, then seemed to consider something else. ‘Tell me, did d’Eymon make things difficult for you just now? Did he warn you, or threaten?’

It wasn’t sorcery, she told herself fiercely. Not mind-reading. It was only Brandin being what he was, aware of all the nuances that affected those in their orbits around him.

‘Not directly,’ she said awkwardly. Once she might have seen this as an opportunity, but the mood this morning was so strange. ‘He was . . . upset about yesterday. Afraid, I think, of balances shifting here at the court. Once word is safely out that it was Neso who saved your life I think the Chancellor will be easier. It won’t be a difficult story for him to spread; things happened very fast. I doubt anyone saw it clearly.’

This time, Brandin’s smile as he listened was one she knew and cherished: equal to equal, their minds sharing the track of a complex thought. But when she finished, his expression changed.

‘I did,’ he said. ‘I saw it clearly.’

She looked away and down again, at her hands in her lap.

Your path is clear now, she told herself as sternly as she could. Remember that. She had been offered a vision of herself in green beside the sea. And her heart was her own now after last night. There was a stone holding it there, safe within her breast.

Brandin said, ‘It would be easy to tell the Neso story, I agree. But I did a great deal of thinking last night and then on my ride this morning. I’ll be talking to d’Eymon later today, after we watch the runners come home. The tale that goes around will be the true one, Dianora.’

She wasn’t sure she had heard him rightly, and then she was sure, and something seemed to reach a brim and then spill over a little, like an overflowing wineglass inside her.

‘You should go riding more often,’ she mumbled. He heard. He laughed softly but she didn’t look up. She had a very strong sense that she couldn’t afford to look up.

‘Why?’ she asked, intent on her interlocked fingers. ‘Why to both things, then: Camena’s fate, and now this?’

He was silent so long that eventually she did glance up, cautiously. He had turned back to the fire though, and was prodding it with the iron. On the far side of the room Rhun had closed his book and was now standing beside his table looking over at the two of them. He was dressed in black, of course. Exactly like the King.

‘Did I ever tell you,’ said Brandin of Ygrath, very softly, ‘the legend my nurse used to tell me as a child about Finavir?’

Her mouth was dry again. Something in his tone, the way he was sitting, the discontinuity of his reply.

‘No,’ she said. She tried to think of something witty to add, but failed.

‘Finavir, or Finvair,’ he went on, not really waiting for her response, not looking over at her. ‘When I grew older and looked in the books of such tales it was written either way, and in one or two other fashions sometimes. That often happens with the stories that come from before the days when we wrote things down.’

He leaned the iron against the chair arm again and sat back, still gazing into the flames. Rhun had walked a little nearer to them, as if drawn by the story. He was leaning against one of the heavy window draperies now, kneading a bunched fold of it in both hands.

Brandin said, ‘In Ygrath the tale is sometimes told and sometimes believed that this world of ours, both here in the southern lands and north