and look down at her in earnest concern.
“You’ll be well,” Mienthe told him. “You’ll find something to do, even if the Wall breaks.” Her tone sounded odd even to her own ear, midway between a plea and a command.
Her cousin said swiftly, “Of course I will. And you’ll be safe here.”
That
was a command, to the world if not to Mienthe. She nodded.
“I’ll send you news if I can, if there’s any to send. And I’ll return as swiftly as I may,” Bertaud told her. “Mienthe—” He stopped.
Mienthe waited.
“If Kairaithin comes here, if he comes to you,” her cousin said, and paused again. Then he said quickly, “If he comes, I think you should probably trust him. Especially if he says he comes from me. If he says so, it will likely be true. Do you understand?”
“No,” Mienthe said honestly. “I don’t think I understand anything. But I’ll remember.”
Her cousin barely smiled. “Yes, well. Very well. Remember, then, and that will do. I doubt he’ll come. I’m sure he’ll have no reason to come here. All the trouble will be in the north.” He hesitated another moment, gazing at Mienthe as though he wanted to be certain he’d be able to recall her image perfectly, forever. Then he released her and spun to stride after Iaor.
Mienthe watched him go. If this were a romantic epic, she would disguise herself and sneak along with Bertaud and the king. Of course, if this were a romantic epic, then Erich and she would be certain to have amazing adventures and save Feierabiand—or more likely,both Feierabiand and Casmantium. They would fall in love and part tragically, he to be King of Casmantium and she to be just another Delta lady. They’d never see one another again because, no matter how good the road between the two countries was in the real world, that was how romantic epics ended: tragically.
Mienthe sighed. There was no point in counting over the thousands of reasons it wouldn’t work out like that even if she did sneak herself into her cousin’s party, which, of course, she couldn’t.
Even though it was so late, Mienthe thought she might just slip past Tan’s room quickly and assure herself he was safe and well. He would be asleep—she knew that—but she was somehow uneasy and knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep herself until she’d glanced in and made certain that he was well. She didn’t understand this. But she knew it was true. She didn’t even go to the window to watch Bertaud and Erich and the rest ride away. She went straight to Tan’s room.
The hallway outside the room was empty, but Mienthe didn’t think anything of that; she’d forgotten that Captain Geroen had been told to have his guardsmen attend Tan. It wasn’t the absence of the guardsmen that alarmed Mienthe. Yet she abruptly became certain, even as she walked quickly toward the door, that something was wrong. She took hold of the doorknob with a peculiar sense that the door might not open to Tan’s room at all—that it might open to anything and any location
except
that room. But when she swung it cautiously back, there was the room after all. The sheets of paper and jars of ink were still laid out in good order on the bed table, but the bed was empty. The whole room was silent and empty.
Or not quite empty. Geroen’s young guardsmen were sitting on the floor, against the wall, pale and insensible. But Tan was not there.
Yet Mienthe found she knew where he was, just as surely as she knew, without looking, which way was down or where her own hands were.
She knew Tan was unconscious. She knew he was nearby, but getting rapidly farther away. She knew he was heading west, toward the river and Linularinum. And she knew something else: that she would never manage to persuade Geroen she knew anything at all.
She was right about everything but the last.
CHAPTER 3
T an, smiling, pulled the bed table nearer to hand and riffled through the stack of paper a servant had brought, along with a very good
“You’ll be well,” Mienthe told him. “You’ll find something to do, even if the Wall breaks.” Her tone sounded odd even to her own ear, midway between a plea and a command.
Her cousin said swiftly, “Of course I will. And you’ll be safe here.”
That
was a command, to the world if not to Mienthe. She nodded.
“I’ll send you news if I can, if there’s any to send. And I’ll return as swiftly as I may,” Bertaud told her. “Mienthe—” He stopped.
Mienthe waited.
“If Kairaithin comes here, if he comes to you,” her cousin said, and paused again. Then he said quickly, “If he comes, I think you should probably trust him. Especially if he says he comes from me. If he says so, it will likely be true. Do you understand?”
“No,” Mienthe said honestly. “I don’t think I understand anything. But I’ll remember.”
Her cousin barely smiled. “Yes, well. Very well. Remember, then, and that will do. I doubt he’ll come. I’m sure he’ll have no reason to come here. All the trouble will be in the north.” He hesitated another moment, gazing at Mienthe as though he wanted to be certain he’d be able to recall her image perfectly, forever. Then he released her and spun to stride after Iaor.
Mienthe watched him go. If this were a romantic epic, she would disguise herself and sneak along with Bertaud and the king. Of course, if this were a romantic epic, then Erich and she would be certain to have amazing adventures and save Feierabiand—or more likely,both Feierabiand and Casmantium. They would fall in love and part tragically, he to be King of Casmantium and she to be just another Delta lady. They’d never see one another again because, no matter how good the road between the two countries was in the real world, that was how romantic epics ended: tragically.
Mienthe sighed. There was no point in counting over the thousands of reasons it wouldn’t work out like that even if she did sneak herself into her cousin’s party, which, of course, she couldn’t.
Even though it was so late, Mienthe thought she might just slip past Tan’s room quickly and assure herself he was safe and well. He would be asleep—she knew that—but she was somehow uneasy and knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep herself until she’d glanced in and made certain that he was well. She didn’t understand this. But she knew it was true. She didn’t even go to the window to watch Bertaud and Erich and the rest ride away. She went straight to Tan’s room.
The hallway outside the room was empty, but Mienthe didn’t think anything of that; she’d forgotten that Captain Geroen had been told to have his guardsmen attend Tan. It wasn’t the absence of the guardsmen that alarmed Mienthe. Yet she abruptly became certain, even as she walked quickly toward the door, that something was wrong. She took hold of the doorknob with a peculiar sense that the door might not open to Tan’s room at all—that it might open to anything and any location
except
that room. But when she swung it cautiously back, there was the room after all. The sheets of paper and jars of ink were still laid out in good order on the bed table, but the bed was empty. The whole room was silent and empty.
Or not quite empty. Geroen’s young guardsmen were sitting on the floor, against the wall, pale and insensible. But Tan was not there.
Yet Mienthe found she knew where he was, just as surely as she knew, without looking, which way was down or where her own hands were.
She knew Tan was unconscious. She knew he was nearby, but getting rapidly farther away. She knew he was heading west, toward the river and Linularinum. And she knew something else: that she would never manage to persuade Geroen she knew anything at all.
She was right about everything but the last.
CHAPTER 3
T an, smiling, pulled the bed table nearer to hand and riffled through the stack of paper a servant had brought, along with a very good
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