“Nails and the like?” I’d heard Ryshad bemoaning their lack often enough. “Whose bright idea was this?”
“Grandsire D’Alsennin’s apparently. Seems this was his rule when the House had properties scattered over half Dalasor.” Halice, ever the warrior, had her own notion of necessities. “I’d suggest bow staves and a wagon load of arrows myself
“I’ll write to Charoleia,” I said without enthusiasm.
“She’ll be turning all this news to advantage first.” Halice surveyed the landing site. No trace of the stockade remained and Ryshad’s involvement meant the properly built wooden huts replacing the debris of the pirates’ brief occupation already had a determined air of permanence.
“She’s plenty of titbits to tempt the right folk to open their purses.” I looked over to the empty gibbet black against the sky. The last of the hanged had been cut down and thrown to the sharks. “How do you think the Inglis guilds will react to news of Muredarch’s death?”
“Temar will be writing to their council.” Halice looked amused. “Claiming the bounty on Muredarch’s head as well as setting out the concessions on tariffs he expects for doing them such a service.”
“That’s certainly what Charoleia would recommend,” I laughed. “Whose idea was it?”
“Sorgrad may have given him a hint but the lad’s getting the bit between his teeth good and proper.” She looked around for Temar. “We’d best keep an eye out for him tonight. He’s a fair few unpleasantnesses to drown and this is the first chance he’s allowed himself.”
“The double full moon’s as good an excuse as any.” It was a solid gold certainty this was Halice’s idea, to give us all a night to eat, drink and forget the tribulations of this past half season. Those that could be were reunited; those bereaved could share their grief. What property could be restored had been and Temar had made handsome restitution for the losses from Muredarch’s coffers. Tonight, the moons, greater and lesser could shine down on some uncomplicated fun and then Halcarion would show us all a new path to follow. All of us, every last one of Kellarin’s people now that Guinalle had roused the last of Edisgesset’s sleepers with the artefacts we had brought back.
I realised Halice was looking askance at me. “What?”
“Will you be crawling inside a wineskin and tying it closed behind you?” Halice challenged.
“No,” I told her firmly. “It’s not worth the morning after, even drinking D’Alsennin’s finest.”
Still, splitting headaches and a sour stomach had been small price to pay for the oblivion I’d won from liquor scrounged from the mercenaries on our return. Ryshad had convinced Halice to leave me be, put me to bed when my words slurred into incoherence, found me cold water, dry bread and a shady place to regret my folly the following day. He had understood the paralysing fear of going to sleep only to find myself back in the confines of Artifice, terrified that waking would find me still locked within my own head, someone else ruling my limbs. Halice nodded with satisfaction and poured me more wine.
“Has he said anything about Ingella?” I asked.
“Temar?” Halice shook her head. “He did well there, when it came to it.”
“Justice is a Sieur’s duty.” I glanced involuntarily at the gibbet. “Mind you, I don’t think it did him any harm, for people to see how reluctant he was to hang a woman.”
“Not as long as he went through with it.” Halice’s voice was hard. “She was condemned beyond question.”
Ingella and the other survivors of Muredarch’s scum had faced Temar’s assize. He’d judged them with grim-faced authority, impressing us all. Unsavoury duty done, he deserved all the wine he wanted to blot out memories of the condemned struggling, weeping and cursing their way to the gallows.
“It’s not for us to look out for Temar,” I pointed out to Halice. “That’s Allin’s job these days.”
Halice chuckled into her cup. “That news in the right quarter should be gold for Charoleia.”
I raised an eyebrow at her. “How do you think the noble Houses of Toremal will react to a wizard as maitresse to Temar’s Sieur?”
“We’re the other side of the ocean and there’s nothing they can do about it,” said Halice with considerable satisfaction.
“They’re wedding at Solstice?” I asked. “Here or in Vithancel?” That would forestall any prince wanting to make trouble but I couldn’t help feeling Allin deserved better than such a rushed affair.
“No, it’ll be autumn Equinox,” Halice told me. “With all honour to Drianon in the old style, all the Sieurs and their ladies and esquires invited to Vithrancel.”
“And to bring their best bid for the new trade,” I continued for her.
“And breaking their journey here, just so they see these islands are well and truly claimed,” concluded Halice. “Anyone out to argue the point can expect magefire scorching their toes.”
“Not that anyone would be so crass as to say so. This could be an interesting place, given a year or so,” I mused.
“Even more so when Usara brings word back from Hadrumal,” agreed Halice. “Have you seen Guinalle today?”
I shook my head. “Not that I recall.”
“You’re avoiding her?” Halice’s words were halfway between question and accusation.
“She’s been making sure Pered looked after the wounded properly while she was away.” I could hear the unconvincing defiance in my protest. ”Or she’ll be debating magical congruences with Usara.”
“That’s what they’ve been doing, is it?” Halice grinned. I wondered how long it would be before the demoiselle realised the cheerful satisfaction on Usara’s face of a morning made such excuses irrelevant. In the meantime, Halice wasn’t letting me excuse myself. “She deserves a drink before all the good wine’s drunk. Find her and give her this. I’m going to get some food.” She handed me the wine, walking off before I could protest.
I swung the fat-bellied bottle by its long neck and considered giving it to someone else. Pered and Shiv were arm in arm by the dancing ground, joking with careful kindness among those who’d survived the pirates and were trying to make merry as best they could. Guinalle would be comforting those with memories too raw and painful to be danced away. Halice was right, curse her. The demoiselle deserved a drink and if she had her mouth full of wine, she couldn’t be asking for my thoughts on the Elietimm Artifice she’d dragged me into. It was time Guinalle accepted I had no opinion, beyond determination never to get caught up in it again. Walking up the slope towards the woods, I found I was holding the bottle in a manner more suited to a tavern fight. I changed my grip; I was hardly about to hammer the truth into Guinalle’s head with it. I’d have a quiet word with Usara when he got back and ask Ryshad to drop a few hints.
I heard talking inside the canvas-roofed hut where Guinalle was living and halted, just out of sight beyond the doorway.
“Everyone says they know how I must feel.” Naldeth’s voice was bitter as gall.
“How can they?” Guinalle was unemotional as usual. No, that wasn’t fair, I’d seen her smiling latterly, colour in her cheeks it was a safe bet Usara had put there. “Though I was severed from the life I’d known as surely as your leg was taken.” I was surprised to hear Guinalle be so blunt. “If you can learn from my mistakes in trying to cope, you may save yourself some grief.”
“You make is sound so easy.” The mage’s reply was barely short of insulting.
“It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” retorted Guinalle. “But the only alternative is despair and you’re no more a coward than I am.”
“I don’t have your strength, my lady,” Naldeth choked unexpectedly.
“Then take strength from those willing to offer it,” said Guinalle softly. “Don’t repine for what’s lost and agonise over what cannot be changed. Don’t shut out those who would help you. If that’s the cost of closing the door on pain and regret, it’s not worth paying.”