R’shiel had no idea who Luc Janeson was either and in the crowd of red jackets in the fading light, was hard pressed to tell one Defender from another. She glanced at Junee who laughed at both of them. “You’d better get a look at him soon, R’shiel. She’ll be in love with someone else before dinnertime.”
“Don’t be so cynical!” Kilene declared with a wounded look. “I will love him until I die.”
“Or until someone better comes along.”
“So what’s so special about... what’s his name?”
“Lieutenant Davydd Tailorson,” Kilene said with a reverent sigh. “He’s in Intelligence.”
“He’s very intelligent, too,” Junee agreed with a wink at R’shiel. “He avoids Kilene like the pox.”
“He does not! He’s been away, that’s all.”
“With you panting after him like a bitch in heat, it’s a wonder he didn’t volunteer for the southern border.”
Kilene loftily ignored Junee and stared across the Arena at her idol for a moment before clutching R’shiel’s arm painfully. “They’re coming over!” she gasped with a mixture of terror and delight.
R’shiel finally spotted Kilene’s object of adoration walking toward them with two other lieutenants, weaving their way between the dancers and the helpful souls dragging several large logs toward the bonfire. The sun was almost completely set, and shadows concealed the faces of the Defenders as they approached. Kilene’s champion, when he finally drew close enough to be seen clearly, was a young man of average height with a pleasant but unremarkable face.
“Would you ladies care to dance?” he asked, with an elegant bow. “It’s too cold to stand around gossiping.”
Kilene was on the verge of fainting with happiness. “Yes, please!”
She stepped forward eagerly and was immediately whisked away by the officer standing on Davydd’s right, her face crestfallen as she looked back over her shoulder toward the object of her affection as her partner pulled her into the crowd. The young man on his left grabbed Junee with equal enthusiasm, and they too rapidly disappeared.
R’shiel realized she had been very effectively cornered. “Nice maneuver, Lieutenant. Do they teach you that in the Cadets?”
“Actually, they do,” he replied. “It’s called Divide and Conquer. But fear not, my designs on you are completely honorable.”
“Is that so?”
“Tarja wants to see you.”
“My brother is in the north.” She’d heard her share of lines from dozens of Cadets and Officers, but nobody had ever tried using Tarja before.
“He arrived back earlier today. We both did. With the Karien Envoy.”
“Where is he, then?”
“In the caverns under the amphitheater. He asked me to take you to him.”
R’shiel studied him for a moment before deciding he was telling her the truth. She let him lead the way toward the tunnel, more curious than concerned, wondering why Tarja wanted to see her.
“Keep watch,” Tarja ordered. The lieutenant nodded wordlessly and vanished into the shadows. She looked around curiously. The last time she had been in these caverns, Georj had died fighting Loclon, and she had fainted from the onset of her menses.
“You look a lot better than the last time we met,” he told her, taking her hand and leading her deeper into the caverns.
“I can’t say the same for you,” she remarked, pulling away from him to study him more clearly. He looked exhausted. “In fact, you look like you haven’t slept in days.”
“I haven’t,” he agreed wearily, “so that probably accounts for it.”
“Are you in trouble again?”
“Not yet,” he assured her with a faint grin. “But the night is young.”
“I’d laugh, except I have a bad feeling you’re not joking. Why all the secrecy? If you wanted to see me, you didn’t have to send your lackey. You could have just come to the party, you know.”
“I’m not in a party mood.” He walked further into the dim cavern. In the distance, R’shiel could hear the faint sounds of a couple giggling and urging each other to silence. They were not the only ones seeking privacy down here tonight.
“So you sent for me? I’m not one of your troopers, Tarja. You can’t just order me around like a Cadet.” R’shiel knew she sounded angry, and it was hardly fair to take it out on Tarja, but the closer the Gathering came, the more she fretted over what would happen when Joyhinia set her plans in motion.
Tarja didn’t seem to notice. He studied his boots for a moment, which were scuffed and dusty with wear, then took a deep breath and looked at her. “I have to tell you something, R’shiel. It’s going to be difficult for you to hear it, but you have a right to know.”
“What are you talking about?” She could not imagine what he could say that warranted such a warning. Tarja was not normally so cryptic.
He took another deep breath before he answered. “Joyhinia is not your mother.”
She stared at him. “What?”
“You’re not Joyhinia’s daughter.”
“That’s ridiculous! Of course I’m her daughter! Where would you get such an idea?”
He stood leaning against the wall, his arms crossed. “Your mother was a girl named J’nel Snowbuilder. She lived in a village called Haven, up in the Sanctuary Mountains west of Testra. She died giving birth to you.”
“That’s absurd!” She walked to the back of the cavern. “I know I was born in Haven. Mother never hid that from anyone. She was pregnant when she left Testra.”
“No, she wasn’t,” he said. “Although it’s true that she wintered in Haven that year. You were born to a girl in the village. She took you back to Testra in the spring, claiming you were hers. But you are not her daughter, R’shiel.”
The whole idea seemed too bizarre to be real. “If that’s true, why hasn’t Lord Jenga ever denied me?”
“I’ve no answer to that, I’m afraid,” he said. “Perhaps you should ask him.”
R’shiel sank down against the wall, until she was sitting on the sandy floor, her chin resting on her knees. Tarja stayed where he was. She could not read his expression in the dull light.
“Then who is my real father?”
“Your mother, your real mother, refused to name him. You had an aunt there, your mother’s older sister, but no other family, from what I know.”
R’shiel felt numb. “Where is she now, this aunt of mine?”
“The whole village is dead, R’shiel,” he told her. “Joyhinia had them killed three years ago, when your aunt threatened to expose her.”
R’shiel looked up at him. His voice had the ring of certain truth, but it was too dreadful a truth to acknowledge. She thought it odd that she felt nothing. No anger, or hurt, or even surprise. “How did you find out?”
Tarja kept his distance, leaning against the bare stone wall, studying her with an unreadable expression. “There were a few survivors. Children, mostly. And a Blue Sister. I met her while I was in the north. She spurned the Sisterhood after it happened.”
“Why?”
“I suppose she considered the Sisterhood—”
“But why did Joyhinia lie about me?” R’shiel interrupted impatiently.
“She wanted a daughter,” Tarja said with a shrug. “I don’t think she ever forgave me for being born male.”
“Then why not simply have another child?”
“And go through all that pain and discomfort with no guarantee the child would be a girl? Come on, R’shiel, you know Joyhinia well enough. You figure it out.”
A heavy silence settled over the cavern as R’shiel digested the news. Suddenly the feeling she did not belong
