Dar'Nethi women were given a patronymic just as men were, their family connections designated by their fathers' names, not by their fathers' estates as we did in Leire. So D'Arnath's daughter should have been listed as D'Sanya yna D'Arnath. Zhulli wasn't even a name; it meant . . .
"Excuse me, please," I said to a refined-looking woman who sat in an adjoining nook of the bookshop leafing through a large folio of drawings. "What does it mean when zhulli is used in a name, such as T'San yna Zhulli?"
The woman glanced up briefly from her book. "Means exactly what it says—daughter of no one. Means the girl has been disowned. Have you lived all your life in a cellar?"
Fires of heaven!
Dar'Nethi kinship was more elastic than family relationships based solely on blood. Gerick had been acknowledged as the successor of D'Arnath's Heir and would have inherited all powers reserved for that Heir, because he was the son of the man whose soul occupied D'Natheil's body, even though he was not born of Prince D'Natheil's own flesh. Ven'Dar was now the Heir of D'Arnath because Karon had acknowledged him as his spiritual successor in a ceremony that paralleled Dar'Nethi adoption. Family kinship was a matter of spirit as well as blood and flesh, and Dar'Nethi inheritance involved much more than titles or land or blue eyes. Inheritance was talent for sorcery. Inheritance was capacity for using power. In some families, inheritance meant property or land or wealth. In the royal family of the Dar'Nethi, inheritance was the Bridge.
I leafed rapidly through the book to the page indicated and found the passage relating to D'Sanya. It was brief, detailing the date and place of her birth, the participants in her coming-of-age celebration at twelve, a list of her childhood accomplishments—riding, drawing, singing—and the popular perception of her: a child blessed with bright virtue and a sweet cheer who brought joy to all . She had been tutored alongside her brothers, but in the author's view had not been merely equal with them: For after the Catastrophe made grim the days, the King's favor rested upon his youngest heir above all others in his realm for the solace she brought him and the hope for the future .
In a few short paragraphs Mu'Tenni sketched out the story of her rebellion and abduction, much as Gerick had reported it. But here the author revealed the rest of the story—a dreadful miscalculation on the part of the High King of Gondai.
. . . The very structure of the Bridge was to be forged of D'Arnath's power and blood so that he and his three heirs would be the supports on which it rested, bound to each other by oath and enchantment, their fates forever linked, their power shared and grown and passed on to their children, a mighty shield for Gondai and its mirror world beyond the Breach of chaos. When the time came for this link to be forged, his sons had come into their own power, and they had learned to wield their father's enchantments as would be their right and duty when the King was dead, one following the other in orderly succession. The girl child, though, had not yet come into her own gift, yet the King would not leave her out of his design. To proceed before she was ready was a risk, yet he believed her joyous spirit would give birth to talent beyond his own and was confident that her good heart would grow into the mature power essential to his plan. But he hid the girl away, depriving his own heart of her sweet company, to keep her safe until her power should arise, lest the design of the Bridge be compromised .
On the day the Lords lured his daughter from her hiding place, D'Arnath's great gamble was lost. He could strike no bargain to free her, for her price was the safety of two worlds. And after two failed attempts, his weakened kingdom could afford no more lives to steal her back. Yet the King dared not allow the Lords' captive to inherit his power and the fate of the Bridge. Indeed her talent had come mightily as he had foreseen, and she had become a sword in the Lords' hands, striking at the very soul of the Dar'Nethi. Came the day when D'Arnath saw the vile neck binding the Lords used to enslave his people and reive their souls, and knew that his own child had devised it, he wept bitter tears for that child of his heart and struck her name from his life and descent forever.
All this have I learned from Prince D'Alleyn on his deathbed, revealed when I asked him of the girl child lost in the great war. He called on an aged serving woman to
reveal the girl's name, refusing himself to speak it. Thus even in death the child remains outside the embrace of family. May holy Vasrin maintain the Heir and his successors forevermore.
Only the girl child had not died. She had remained a sword in the Lords' hands . . . just as they had intended.
I bundled the ancient book in its wrapping and dashed out of the bookshop into the rain, heading back the way I'd come. Ven'Dar and the Preceptors had to know that D'Sanya was not the legitimate Heir of D'Arnath. If need be, I would unhitch one of the carriage horses and ride to the palace to deliver this news. Fortunately, Qis'Dar and the carriage materialized out of the rainy night before I was halfway to the corner.
"We must return to the palace," I said to the lad. "To the western gate, I think. I'll explain later. We've no time to waste."
"Whatever you want, ma'am." The sodden youth gave me a hand up into the cab and climbed back to his seat.
We took a different route back through the city, avoiding the mob at the Sillvain Bridge. Though the weather had not relented, and the hour was late, even more people were abroad.
The western gate was smaller and more private than the grand southern entry to D'Arnath's palace. Friends, family, and close associates of the prince and the Preceptors would enter here, people well known to the guards. Yet even as the carriage rolled to a halt, I wasn't sure how I was to gain admittance. I had no assurance Ven'Dar had returned to answer the Preceptors' summons, and too many questions at the gate would cause more delay. Aimee had too little influence to get me inside, and to explain my presence to the Preceptors or any other influential person would take far too long and betray Ven'Dar's confidence besides. Only one person I knew would have the influence and willingness to get my information in front of Ven'Dar quickly and would know who could be trusted if Ven'Dar was not here.
"Tell the gate guard that Commander Je'Reint's mother is here on a critical matter and will see no one but him," I told Qis'Dar when he popped his head in the window to get my instructions.
I knew Je'Reint was in the palace tonight because Aimee had been expecting to work late with him, mapping out supply routes for the coming battle in the north. As I watched Qis'Dar being shuttled from one guardsman to the next, I clutched the book and prayed that Je'Reint would forgive my impertinence at impersonating his twenty-years-dead mother. That lifetime ago when he had stayed with us at Windham, he had joked that I was very like her.
"They've sent a messenger inside, ma'am, so we just have to wait," said Qis'Dar, propping an elbow on the carriage window. "The guard is tight here tonight, I'll say. Thought they might strip me naked just so I could give a message. It helps that I'm sizable. I had to bluster a bit." He examined me quizzically, his round face reminding me in that moment of his uncle, Aimee's ebullient father Gar'Dena. "You're not really . . ."
Though avowing that her young cousin was trustworthy and discreet, Aimee had not told him anything of our secrets. I managed a smile. "No, I'm not Je'Reint's mother. And anyone who sees me in the flesh won't believe it for an instant. But I've discovered something that Prince Ven'Dar must know right away, something I can't trust to just anyone, and I think Je'Reint will help me deliver the news. Once I've done that, we'll be back on our way to Gaelic."