Sasha

'You young Verenthane lords put words in your own mouths,' Sasha retorted, 'and scarcely a thought before putting them there. Remember whose guest you are. They're far too polite to say so. I'm not.'

'Shut up, both of you!' Damon snapped before Jaryd could reply. The young man fumed at her, all trace of cool demeanour vanished. Sasha stared back, dark eyes smouldering. 'Please excuse my sister, Master Jaryd,' said Damon, with forced calm. 'Her tempers are famous.'

'And her allegiances,' Jaryd muttered.

'Oh pray do tell us all what that means?' Sasha exclaimed, as Damon rolled his eyes in frustration.

'I have many Goeren-yai friends, M'Lady,' Jaryd said, levelling a finger at her for emphasis. 'None of them admire Lord Krayliss even a jot. You, on the other hand, seem all too pleased to rush to his defence.'

'I've heard those stories too,' said Sasha. 'The Hadryn and their cronies have never been friends to either me or Kessligh. They accuse me of sedition, of plotting against my father.' She put both hands upon the table with firm purpose. 'Are you accusing me of sedition, Master Jaryd?'

Jaryd blinked. Sedition, of course, was punished by death, with no exceptions. A person so accused, without reasonable proof, had obvious grounds for an honour duel. Those, also, ended in death. With very few exceptions. Jaryd started to smile once more, disbelievingly. No man about the table seemed to share his humour. Jaryd Nyvar, tournament champion of Lenayin, seemed barely to notice.

'No,' he said, offhandedly, with an exasperated raise of his eyes to the ceiling, as though he felt his dignity severely pained to have to tolerate such dreadfully silly people. Fool, Sasha thought darkly. 'Of course not. Your tempers delude you, M'Lady. I have nothing but admiration for so great a Verenthane beauty as your own.'

'Tell me, young Master Jaryd,' said Teriyan, leaning forward with evident amusement, chewing on some bread. 'Have you ever sparred against a warrior trained in the svaalverd?'

'As a matter of fact, no,' Jaryd said mildly. 'The only two people so trained in Lenayin, I believe, are Kessligh Cronenverdt and his uma. And the visiting serrin, of course, but they never enter a swordwork contest, even though I have often seen them at tournaments.'

'And have you ever wondered why the serrin don't enter swordwork contests?' Teriyan pressed.

Jaryd smirked. 'Perhaps they are afraid.'

'Not afraid, young Master,' said Teriyan. 'Just polite.'

Damon strode angrily along the upper corridor, the Star's old floorboards creaking underfoot, as the sounds of merriment continued from below. Sasha followed, conscious that her own footsteps made far less noise than her brother's, and that their respective weights were only half the reason why. When they reached his room, Damon ushered Sasha inside, closed the door and threw on the latch.

It was a good room, as Lenay accommodation went. Four times larger than most of the Star's rooms, its floorboards covered with a deer-hide rug, and small windows inlaid across the stone walls. Against the inner wall, two large beds, with tall posts and soft mattresses beneath piles of furs and fine, lowlands linen. Between the two beds, a fireplace, crackling merrily, and a small pile of firewood in the wicker basket alongside.

'Why do you have to go and do that?' Damon demanded at her back. Sasha walked to the space between the two beds, where heat from the fire provided some comfort.

'Go and do what?' she retorted.

'And this!' Damon exclaimed, striding over, reaching with one hand toward the tri-braid upon the side of her head… Sasha ducked away, scowling at him. 'What in the nine hells is that?'

'It's a tri-braid, Damon. One braid for each of the three spirit levels. Don't they even teach basic Goeren-yai lore in Baen-Tar any more?'

'Why, Sasha?' Damon demanded, angrily. 'Why wear it?'

'Because I'm Lenay!' Sasha shot back. 'What are you?'

'Cut it off. Right now.'

Sasha folded her arms in disbelief. 'Make me!' she exclaimed. Arisen from the dinner table, there was a sword at her back now, and more weapons besides. Damon, unlike Master Jaryd, knew better.

'Good gods, Sasha,' he exclaimed, with a sharp inhaling of breath. He put both hands to his head, fingers laced within his thick dark hair, looking as he would never wittingly appear before his men-utterly at a loss. 'A year since I've seen you. A full year. I was almost looking forward to seeing you again… almost! Can you believe that? And this is the welcome I get!'

Sasha just stared at him, sullenly. Her temper slowly cooling as she gazed up at her brother. Not all the Lenayin line were blessed with height-she was proof enough of that. But Damon was. A moderately tall young man, with a build that spoke more of speed and balance than brute strength. He would be very handsome indeed, she thought, if not for the occasionally petulant curl of his lip and the faintly childish whine in his tone whenever he felt events going against him.

He was the middle child of ten royal siblings, of whom nine now survived. With Krystoff dead, Koenyg was heir. Wylfred would be next, had he not found religion and committed to the Verenthane order instead, with their father's blessing. Then came Damon. Second-in-line now and struggling so very hard beneath the burden of expectation that came of one martyred brother who was already legend, and an overbearing stone-head of a surviving elder brother.

'I'm not a Verenthane, Damon,' Sasha told him, firmly. 'I'll never be a Verenthane. You could cut my braid, stick me in a dress and feed me holy fables until my mind dissolves from the sheer boredom, and I'll still not be a Verenthane.'

'Well that's all fine, Sasha,' Damon said, exasperated. 'You're not a Verenthane. Good for you. But you have a commitment to our father, and that commitment includes not making overt statements of loyalty toward the Goeren-yai.'

'Why the hells not?' Sasha fumed. 'Goeren-yai are more than half of Lenayin last I looked! It's only you lordly types that converted, and the cities and bigger towns… most of Lenayin is just like this, Damon! Small villages and towns filled with decent, hard-working folk who ask nothing more than good rulers and the right to continue being who they are without some shavenheaded, black-robed idiot strolling into their lives and demanding their fealty.'

'Sasha, your last name is Lenayin!' Damon paused, to let the impact of that sink in. Wiser than to rise to her provocations. That was new. 'The family of Lenayin is Verenthane! It has been for a century, since the Liberation! Now, whether your arrangement with Kessligh means that your title is officially 'Princess' or not, your family name remains Lenayin! And while that continues to be so, you shall not, under any circumstances, break with the continuity of the line of Lenayin!'

Sasha waved both hands in disgust and strode across the floor to lean against a window rim. Looking northeast up the valley, small lights burned from the windows of the houses that lined the road, then the dark, ragged edge of the upper treeline, separating the land from the vast expanse of stars. Hyathon the Warrior sat low on the horizon, and Sasha's eye traced the bright stars of shoulder, elbow and sword pommel raised in mid- stroke.

'Sasha.' Damon strolled to her previous spot, blocking the fire's warmth. 'Master Jaryd speaks the truth. There have been rumours, since the call to Rathynal, of Krayliss courting your approval…'

'The nobility talks, Damon,' Sasha retorted, breath frosting upon the cold, dark glass. 'Rumour is the obsession of the ruling class, everyone always talks of this or that development, who is in favour with whom, and never a care for the concerns of the people. That's all it is-talk.'

'Just who do you think you are, Sasha?' Damon said in exasperation. 'A champion of the common people? Because I will tell you this, little sisterit's precisely that kind of talk that breeds rumours. Krayliss and his kind cannot be dismissed so easily, they do have a strong following amongst some of the people…'

'Vastly overstated,' Sasha countered, rounding on him. She folded her arms and leaned her backside against the stone windowsill. 'The ruling Verenthanes simply don't understand their own people, Damon. And do you know why that is? It's because there are so few Goeren-yai among the ruling classes. Krayliss is the only provincial lord, and he's a maniac!'

'A maniac who claims ancestry with the line of Udalyn,' Damon said sharply. 'You of all people should know what the Udalyn mean to Goerenyai all across Lenayin. Such appeals cannot be taken lightly.'

'I of all people do know,' Sasha said darkly. 'You're only quoting what Koenyg told you. And he knows nothing.'

Damon broke off his reply as the door rattled, held fast against the latch. Then an impatient hammering.