“We find your need to massacre each other in order to express a diversity of opinion somewhat frightening,” Rhillian said coolly.
Sasha nodded vigorously. “Indeed. Me too. But here, in this city, you've picked the one issue that might unite the people. Faith. North or south, rich or poor, Dockside or Backside or Riverside, they're all Verenthane. Not as many distrust the archbishop as ought to, for he's been held in check for so long by the stalemate of priesthood neutrality. The issue of the day is Saalshen and its occupation of holy sites. The Enoran High Temple, no less. You intervene and support Maerler to maintain a balance. But your very engagement in such a debate only works to the archbishop's advantage. You are serrin. You are pagan. With your presence, your interference, however well-intended, you only prove him right.”
“And your alternative is that we retreat, cease our influence and allow Steiner to win anyway?” Rhillian's stare was disbelieving.
“Rhillian…” Sasha leaned forward, elbows on knees, her soup bowl suspended in one hand. “If Maerler concedes to Steiner's power and gives Steiner command of the Army of Torovan, as the archbishop surely wishes, it would be a negotiated settlement. These are merchants. They would make a deal. Such is the way of power here-threat, violence and bluff, followed by a negotiated deal. But all such deals are temporary, and difficult. Maerler would remain a power and a threat, if Steiner should falter. Patachi Steiner knows this all too well, I think. It would be a nightmare for him. There are worse situations for you, Rhillian. For Saalshen.”
“You have no idea of my nightmares,” Rhillian said quietly. “I see the war reaching Saalshen. I see a slaughter for which none of my tongues have yet devised words to describe.”
“Perhaps you try for too much,” Sasha pleaded. “If you support Maerler now, Steiner may feel he has no choice but to attack. Perhaps some of the dukes will follow him. By forcing the battle, you could destroy one or the other and force a final solution. The balance of power would end, and that would be a tragedy for Saalshen.”
“And if I do nothing, Maerler may back down and Steiner may win, and the Army of Torovan marches to slaughter my people. Are you saying that is now unavoidable?”
Sasha hung her head. “I don't know. Maybe. We tried, Rhillian. But already the balance has shifted too far with the archbishop choosing his side.”
“Perhaps he has not.” Rhillian's voice was calm now. Distant as she contemplated the horizon and the rigging of moored ships. “The priesthood has just now seen one rebellion. Perhaps there will be others.”
Sasha gazed at her with dawning dread. “Rhillian,” she said softly. “Please don't do anything you might regret.”
“There is nothing in this life,” said Rhillian, “that I may choose to do that I might not possibly regret.” She sipped at her soup and glanced sideways at Sasha, the slant of a lovely eyebrow beneath her hat. “Have you bedded with Errollyn yet?”
Sasha blinked at her, caught completely off guard. “Bedded?”
“A strange concept, I know. It happens sometimes between men and women. Surely it never crossed your mind.”
Sasha took a deep breath and straightened, seeking dignity. “I've been rather busy.”
“I wouldn't have thought it would take a whole afternoon.” Rhillian's humour, like her stare, and her swordwork, was utterly merciless. “He insists it was his conscience that led him in this direction. I think perhaps it was his groin.”
Sasha snorted, trying hard not to blush. She was not often prone to embarrassment. “Like I'm such a catch,” she murmured. Rhillian grinned, then nearly laughed outright. Sasha scowled at her. “What?”
“You think yourself unattractive?” Rhillian's entire manner had changed. Now, her eyes shone with fascination. Spirits she was beautiful. Beside her, Sasha felt like a mule beside a purebred desai mare.
“No,” Sasha retorted defensively. “I'm just…different. Like always.”
“To a serrin, there are few combinations more intriguing than dark hair and dark eyes. There is subtlety, you see.” She peered at Sasha's face, searchingly. “You see, the shading, so faint, so varied.” She made a form with one hand, fingers shifting. “Serrin colours are so obvious, so bright…the shades of human form are such res'ahl en, the mystery of the than'ath rheel darkness, that shapes the ash'laan of…”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Sasha said in Lenay. “I'm lost. Stop. I make it policy never to talk arts with serrin, especially not in Saalsi. My head will burst.”
“Really?” said Rhillian, now back in Torovan, all bemused innocence. “I wasn't even speaking dialect.”
“And of course you're terrible with languages,” Sasha added, exasperated.
“Absolutely awful.” It was an old joke. And by serrin standards, not so untrue. “Sasha, every serrin man I've heard remark on the issue thinks you're gorgeous. I'd be absolutely astonished if Errollyn felt differently.”
“And you serrin spend lots of time sitting around talking about whom you'd like to bed?” Sasha asked incredulously.
“Every spare moment. Sasha.” Rhillian straightened and looked her very firmly in the eye. “As your friend. You live a very dangerous life. I'm delighted that you've survived this far. Time may be short for all of us. Take the man to bed. I assure you, it's worth the effort.”
Sasha stared a moment longer. And her mouth dropped open as she realised the implication. “You…you mean…you and Errollyn have…?”
Rhillian outright laughed, a pleasant, warm sound. “Oh, and that surprises you? We're serrin! We have no morals, Sasha, and when we die, we're all going straight to the hells!” Sasha wanted to reprimand her that she really shouldn't joke about such things, but her mouth would not cooperate. “I have thirty-eight summers, Sasha, I've bedded rather a lot of men. I recommend it. Errollyn in particular.”
“But you hate each other!” Sasha burst out.
Rhillian laughed again…and nearly lost control of her bowl of soup. She saved it just in time. “Oh no,” she sighed. “Not at all. I…look,” and she held up her free hand helplessly, “I can't explain it, it's just a serrin thing. I don't hate Errollyn. I'll never hate Errollyn.”
“Because he's serrin?”
“No, that would be prejudice, you shan't trap me that easily.” Very amused. “Are you really sure you want to go down this path with me? We could be here until sundown.”
“No, right, forget it,” Sasha said sarcastically. “Sanity before curiosity.”
“Just trust me. On serrin matters at least, I'm quite sure I know what I'm talking about. I hope I haven't made you jealous. I'm quite certain I don't intend to marry him.”
Sasha saw the amusement on Rhillian's face at that prospect. She had to laugh. “No. Bloody hells. It just seems that everyone's having sex except me.”
“And who's fault is that?” Rhillian retorted expansively. “Take the man to bed, Sasha!”
Sasha sighed in disbelief and shook her head. She didn't know what she felt, or whether she'd take the advice. Everything was so complicated. She envied the serrin. In some things, they were endlessly complicated. But in others, the simple pleasures, they were so attractively simple.
“You know,” she said, “I once thought Errollyn was the strangest serrin I'd ever met. But now I think it's probably you.”
Rhillian smiled, not at all offended. “Well, you're easily the strangest human I've ever met,” she returned playfully. “I suppose we're even.”
The fields beside the road into Algery were barren after the harvest, and men pulled ploughs behind teams of oxen to loosen the soil. The cart rattled over pavings, here on the gentle downslope into town.