Sasha

and gleaming helm. 'M'Lady,' he said, with a very faint bow. 'You must surrender your weapons to enter the king's presence.'

Sasha eyed the horses tethered further up the road. They were splendid indeed, and several were of various shades of white or grey, a colour favoured by breeders from the royal stables. 'No Lenay commander yet has come to parley between armies without weapons,' she replied to the lieutenant.

'M'Lady, it is the king,' the lieutenant replied sternly. 'You must disarm.'

Sasha repressed a snort of disgust, and gave a signal to her companions. Together, they turned about and began to walk back to their horses. 'M'Lady!' From behind there were footsteps and mutterings of consternation. The three were halfway back to the horses when there came another call from behind. 'M'Lady, we have reconsidered!'

Sasha stopped, turned about, and gave the gathering of soldiers a very displeased look. 'Told you it would work,' she murmured from the side of her mouth at Jaryd, as they began their walk back.

'M'Lady is truly insightful,' Jaryd muttered. Sasha gave him a worried look. Probably it was not a good idea to have him here. But then, such talks required the presence of the most senior and, with Tyrun dead, that meant Jaryd. Lord or peasant, he was still Commander of the Falcon Guard.

Sasha allowed Jaryd to take the lead up the stairs. There were flowerpots at the cottage entrance, where several more Royal Guards stood at attention. Several long-stemmed flowers were bent. Sasha stepped across to them, with a disapproving cluck of the tongue at the guardsmen.

'We are guests in these houses, gentlemen,' she said sternly, straightening the flowers. 'Kindly look after their property as you would your own. Or else the house spirits will become upset with the mess, and haunt your sleep.'

And with that, she walked inside, satisfied with the disquiet on several faces at that last remark. Even Verenthanes could become superstitious of Goeren-yai spirits, in the land of the Udalyn.

The house was plain and simple like the many others that dotted the valley. Men stood about a dining table and turned to observe the new entrants. Sasha saw her father, slim and dark in a black cloak against the morning's chill. He wore mail beneath, with leather shoulder guards and heavy boots. Sasha's gaze lingered. She could not recall the last time she'd seen her father in mail, with a sword at his side. A childhood parade, perhaps.

Koenyg, of course, was similarly attired. A king in waiting. Damon leaned against the far wall, a cup in hand. While the others looked grim, Damon's expression was sour. From his posture and expression, and his place at the back of the room, Sasha guessed that he did not feel himself to be in good company. She hoped he'd been making a pain of himself.

Of the others, well… here was Great Lord Kumaryn, stiff as a poker. Spirits knew why anyone thought him important enough to include in this gathering. And there was Great Lord Rydysh of Ranash no less. Also present was Lord Arastyn of Tyree… no, Sasha corrected herself, Great Lord Arastyn of Tyree. His handsome gaze, fixed on Jaryd, held a curious, expressionless intensity.

The last two great lords were Lord Faras of Isfayen and Lord Parabys of Neysh. The south, Sasha thought darkly. The other large piece of the Verenthane puzzle. The south had harboured Verenthanes long before they became popular in the rest of Lenayin.

'My Lords,' Sasha said by way of greeting. She did not, she was surprised to realise, feel particularly anxious. There were nearly seven thousand men under her command. Her forces could be destroyed if attacked, but the catastrophe would not be hers alone. Hers was a position of power. However her father and Koenyg might desire it, she would not grovel or plead. 'We are all known to each other, I'm sure. Shall we sit?'

King Torvaal gazed at her for a long moment. Everyone awaited his command. Koenyg, Sasha noted, seemed to be grinding his teeth. As Commander of Armies, and protector of the realm, surely it grated to be outranked in such a setting. Even by his king. The tension in the air felt different than she'd expected. Men held their tongues and their tempers. They stood with a faintly awkward manner, as if uncertain of their standing. King Torvaal had not needed to ride forth from Baen-Tar and deal with a military matter for quite some time. Since the Great War, in fact, when he'd been barely more than a lad. No doubt the lords wondered if the king was truly up to the task.

Well. Sasha wondered herself.

'Sofy is with you?' Torvaal asked.

'Concerned, were you?' Sasha nearly remarked, but refrained. 'She is,' she said instead.

'Did she discover the wedding plans?' Sombrely.

Sasha stared at him for a long moment. 'You don't sound surprised.'

'It was necessary,' said Torvaal, closing his eyes briefly. 'It remains nec essary.' The eyes opened and fixed on her directly, with more than their usual impassivity. Brooding. 'The marriage remains as arranged. It shall proceed because Lenayin requires it. On this point I shall brook no argument.'

'Sofy tells me she no longer objects,' Sasha replied. 'You make no decisions for her. She goes of her own free will.' At the back of the room, Damon stared at his boots. Great Lord Rydysh of Ranash looked severely agitated.

Torvaal indicated to the table. There were only two chairs set, one on either side. Sasha nodded and stepped to her seat, waiting first for the king to sit. Then sat, directly opposite her father. It occurred to her, looking at him now, that they had never sat together like this before. Krystoff, Koenyg or Damon might have chanced a moment with their father, but the girls did not warrant such attention.

The old anger resurfaced, cold and hard. Tempered now, by the circumstances, but real enough. He'd ignored her before, all her views, values and opinions. Now, finally, she would not be ignored.

There was a pitcher of water and two cups on the table. Torvaal took the pitcher himself, and poured into both cups. Raised his cup to his lips, inviting her with his eyes to do likewise. 'Don't drink it, M'Lady,' said Jaryd from behind. 'There's poisons that can be put on the cup, not in the water.'

Torvaal stared up at the young man with genuine anger. 'Master Jaryd,' he said coldly, 'I would never poison my own daughter.'

'Then you'd be the only man amongst you who could say that for truth, Highness,' Jaryd said darkly.

'You have no standing here, Jaryd,' Lord Arastyn told him, very coolly. 'You are a traitor to Tyree. Family Nyvar is no more, all its properties and titles are barren. I have no idea why Sashandra brought you, you are less than a landless peasant.'

Sasha hoped Captain Akryd would restrain Jaryd before he tried anything stupid. But she made certain that her chair remained a suitable distance from the table, her feet braced upon the floor, rehearsing in her mind a fast grab for her blade.

'I am Commander of the Falcon Guard,' Jaryd replied. There was no apparent tension in his voice, which only made it all the more ominous.

'And I just told you that you are not,' Arastyn replied.

'The men of the Falcon Guard tell me I am,' said Jaryd. 'There are men of the Tyree White Talons who say so as well, and will tell any others of the commonfolk in Tyree who care to listen. How long will the noble families of Tyree survive should both their vaunted companies and most of the commonfolk, Verenthane and Goeren-yai, decide that you have outlived your usefulness?'

'Your Highness,' Lord Rydysh broke in angrily, in heavily accented Lenay, 'this is madness! You bargain with traitors! Look, this whelp threatens insurrection even now!'

'Any enemy of the Tyree nobility is an enemy of the Valhanan nobility too,' Lord Kumaryn added, ominously, looking hard at Jaryd. 'Should our noble friends in Tyree be threatened, all of Valhanan shall ride to their aid.'

'All of Valhanan wouldn't ride to your funeral, Kumaryn,' Jaryd retorted. 'You don't speak for all of Valhanan any more than I speak for all of Saalshen.'

'Silence!' Torvaal shouted. From either side of the table, the lords glared at Jaryd and Akryd. Behind them, Damon took another sip from his cup, apparently disgusted. 'I shall not have arrogant fools destroy these talks before they have even begun.'

'Talks!' Lord Rydysh snorted. 'She's your daughter! Bring her to heel like a true Verenthane lord, show her her place with the back of your hand!'

'You watch your mouth with the king!' Koenyg snarled, turning on the northern great lord.

'Bah!' Lord Rydysh waved a dismissive hand. 'Southerners have no balls. Your Highness, I tell you again-let me raise my forces and we'll ride through these traitors like a scythe through wheat!'

'She has seven thousand to command,' Lord Parabys of Neysh came to his king's defence. 'Don't be a damn