Dalya sends word that she would like you to be there.”
“I bet she does,” Jaryd muttered. “Just so long as her precious banquets and dances are not disturbed, I'm sure her little brother's murder won't bother her a bit.”
“Will you attend?” Aeryl was nothing if not persistent. He'd assisted Jaryd with his studies, when the words and symbols had refused to make sense. The fifth son of Family Daery, he'd always been quiet and studious, excelling in studies, while having much less interest in Jaryd's passions of swordplay and horsemanship. In all their studying together, he'd never voiced exasperation or contempt at Jaryd's complete inability with letters. He'd just made him repeat the same phrases, again, and again, and again. Jaryd had found his attention span with such tedious things astonishing.
“No,” he answered. “I've no interest in seeing the last of Family Nyvar abolished before my eyes.”
“And so you mean to live out your days here?” Aeryl looked about. “A fair place…but something of a fall, wouldn't you say?”
“It was enough for a Lenay princess. Besides, I'm not planning to sit here for long.”
“You plan revenge,” Aeryl said flatly. Andreyis came from the kitchen and sat beside Aeryl, placing a plate of sliced bread and a bowl of hashal on the table between the chairs.
“I mean to kill them all,” Jaryd said darkly.
“That's real smart, that is,” Andreyis announced, dipping some bread in the bean paste. “Tell them all about your plans. That'll improve your chances no end.”
Aeryl looked incredulous. “Jaryd…there are a hundred and seventeen noble families in Tyree alone. They have allies and family through marriage with many other provinces. All have accepted Great Lord Arastyn. How can you possibly think to best them all?”
Jaryd said nothing, and stared at the flames.
“He has a death wish, that's what,” said Lynette, coming from the kitchen with bowls of grapes and plums. She pulled up another chair. “He's too damn stubborn to imagine an alternative.”
“If I killed you,” Jaryd said, “would your father be any different?”
Lynette snorted, tossing her wild hair back. “If you killed me, most of Baerlyn would chase you to the ends of the world. But you're all alone. No one came with you, Jaryd. You've no allies, no support, no army. You'll die, it'll be messy, and it'll be a great waste.”
“I used to hear all these great stories from the men in the Falcon Guard,” Jaryd muttered. “Stories of Goeren-yai heroism. Now I arrive here, I find they're all cowards.”
“I'd think twice before using that word around here.” Andreyis said warily.
“What else would you call a people who dissuaded me from taking revenge against those who murdered my eleven-year-old brother!” Jaryd shouted.
“Your honour is your own,” Andreyis said. “What you choose to do with it is your concern. No man in Baerlyn will stop you should you choose to continue this path. But neither will we assist or approve if you give us no cause to.”
“Listen to your friends, Jaryd,” Aeryl pleaded. “They're young, but they speak with great wisdom.”
“Growing up in Kessligh's shadow will do that,” said Andreyis. Lynette rolled her eyes a little. Now that Andreyis was a warrior, blooded in battle and successful in his Wakening, she thought him far too big for his boots.
“Jaryd,” Aeryl tried once more, “Great Lord Arastyn does not want your head. He's willing to grant you a pardon, if only—”
“The only reason he no longer wants my head is that he's not entitled under the king's law to punish a Goeren-yai who has in turn challenged himto a duel,” Jaryd snarled. “My challenge stands, and so long as it stands, his claim and my claim cancel each other. It shall stand until either he accepts, or one of us dies.”
“For you to challenge a Verenthane great lord to a duel will require a lord of similar stature to endorse your challenge!” exclaimed
“I bet she does,” Jaryd muttered. “Just so long as her precious banquets and dances are not disturbed, I'm sure her little brother's murder won't bother her a bit.”
“Will you attend?” Aeryl was nothing if not persistent. He'd assisted Jaryd with his studies, when the words and symbols had refused to make sense. The fifth son of Family Daery, he'd always been quiet and studious, excelling in studies, while having much less interest in Jaryd's passions of swordplay and horsemanship. In all their studying together, he'd never voiced exasperation or contempt at Jaryd's complete inability with letters. He'd just made him repeat the same phrases, again, and again, and again. Jaryd had found his attention span with such tedious things astonishing.
“No,” he answered. “I've no interest in seeing the last of Family Nyvar abolished before my eyes.”
“And so you mean to live out your days here?” Aeryl looked about. “A fair place…but something of a fall, wouldn't you say?”
“It was enough for a Lenay princess. Besides, I'm not planning to sit here for long.”
“You plan revenge,” Aeryl said flatly. Andreyis came from the kitchen and sat beside Aeryl, placing a plate of sliced bread and a bowl of hashal on the table between the chairs.
“I mean to kill them all,” Jaryd said darkly.
“That's real smart, that is,” Andreyis announced, dipping some bread in the bean paste. “Tell them all about your plans. That'll improve your chances no end.”
Aeryl looked incredulous. “Jaryd…there are a hundred and seventeen noble families in Tyree alone. They have allies and family through marriage with many other provinces. All have accepted Great Lord Arastyn. How can you possibly think to best them all?”
Jaryd said nothing, and stared at the flames.
“He has a death wish, that's what,” said Lynette, coming from the kitchen with bowls of grapes and plums. She pulled up another chair. “He's too damn stubborn to imagine an alternative.”
“If I killed you,” Jaryd said, “would your father be any different?”
Lynette snorted, tossing her wild hair back. “If you killed me, most of Baerlyn would chase you to the ends of the world. But you're all alone. No one came with you, Jaryd. You've no allies, no support, no army. You'll die, it'll be messy, and it'll be a great waste.”
“I used to hear all these great stories from the men in the Falcon Guard,” Jaryd muttered. “Stories of Goeren-yai heroism. Now I arrive here, I find they're all cowards.”
“I'd think twice before using that word around here.” Andreyis said warily.
“What else would you call a people who dissuaded me from taking revenge against those who murdered my eleven-year-old brother!” Jaryd shouted.
“Your honour is your own,” Andreyis said. “What you choose to do with it is your concern. No man in Baerlyn will stop you should you choose to continue this path. But neither will we assist or approve if you give us no cause to.”
“Listen to your friends, Jaryd,” Aeryl pleaded. “They're young, but they speak with great wisdom.”
“Growing up in Kessligh's shadow will do that,” said Andreyis. Lynette rolled her eyes a little. Now that Andreyis was a warrior, blooded in battle and successful in his Wakening, she thought him far too big for his boots.
“Jaryd,” Aeryl tried once more, “Great Lord Arastyn does not want your head. He's willing to grant you a pardon, if only—”
“The only reason he no longer wants my head is that he's not entitled under the king's law to punish a Goeren-yai who has in turn challenged himto a duel,” Jaryd snarled. “My challenge stands, and so long as it stands, his claim and my claim cancel each other. It shall stand until either he accepts, or one of us dies.”
“For you to challenge a Verenthane great lord to a duel will require a lord of similar stature to endorse your challenge!” exclaimed
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