Trianal a wife. Even better, no one on the Council could possibly object if father and Sir Jahsak both approve of it. And you know Sir Jahsak would always support Trianal as his father-in-law!”
“You see? You truly are your father’s daughter. Leaving aside the undoubted political and tactical advantages, however, I think it would be a good idea because whether they realize it yet or not, they’re both in love with each other. Which, oddly enough, brings me back to you, my dear.”
“It does? How?” Leeana’s voice was wary, and her mother snorted.
“You have been listening to me for the last, oh, half hour or so, haven’t you? Trianal and Sharlassa? You and…someone else? You wouldn’t happen to see any parallels emerging here, would you?”
“Well, yes, actually,” Leeana admitted.
“Well then. Do you want my advice or not?”
“Of course I do,” Leeana said, mostly honestly, and Hanatha smiled.
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to be direct, love,” she said. “Possibly very direct, because I think you can trust him to come up with at least a thousand perfectly plausible reasons why it would all be a dreadful mistake and somehow a betrayal of your father’s hospitality and friendship. Not to mention a political disaster.” She cocked her head thoughtfully for a moment, then shrugged. “Actually, the ‘political disaster’ idea is probably his best argument against it, so if I were you, I’d take steps to avoid or neutralize it as early as possible. I understand war maids can be shamelessly forward in matters like this. Is that true, my dear?”
“I’ve…heard it said, yes, Mother,” Leeana replied primly.
“Good. A frontal attack, that’s the ticket. A surprise assault,” Hanatha’s eyes gleamed with what Leeana realized was genuine humor, possibly even delight. “An ambush, before he can get his defenses erected.” She gave her daughter another very direct look. “Was that approximately what you had in mind?”
“Something very much along those lines, actually, Mother,” Leeana admitted, feeling the blush heating her cheekbones.
Her mother considered her for several moments, then smiled.
“Good,” she said again. “And now that that’s settled, my dear, would you care for a little more lemonade?”
Chapter Eighteen
‹ No, she hasn’t told me why she’s here.› Walsharno’s long-suffering mental voice didn’t sound particularly surprised, Bahzell noted. ‹ She never tells me why she does things. Why should she? I’m only her older brother. Only a champion of Tomanak. Why in the world should she worry about telling me why she does things? I can tell you this much, though-she’s got some kind of secret that has her just absolutely delighted with herself!›
“Well,” Bahzell replied, his own tone rather more pacific and consoling than his companion’s as Walsharno moved smoothly up the approach road towards Hill Guard, “I’m not so very surprised as all that, I suppose. I’m thinking there’s never a sister been born as didn’t think her brother was after poking his nose where it didn’t belong. Not a one of mine ever did, any road.”
‹ I’m a courser,› Walsharno pointed out. ‹ We’re supposed to poke our noses into each other’s business! It’s one of the traits we share with the lesser cousins.›
“And mighty handy I’m sure you find that when it’s time to be pestering Gayrfressa,” Bahzell observed shrewdly. “And not so much when it’s time for her to be pestering you.”
‹ You’re supposed to be on my side, you know, Brother.›
“Ah, but himself wouldn’t be so very pleased if I were to take it into my head to be starting to lie just because the truth’s one as you’re not so very fond of.”
“My mother,” Brandark remarked to no one in particular from where he rode at Bahzell’s side, “always told me it was impolite to have a conversation in which not everyone present had the opportunity to participate.”
“Did she, now?” Bahzell looked down at the Bloody Sword with a smile.
“Yes, she did.” Brandark tilted his head back to look back up at his towering companion. “Of course, now that I think about it, I believe she also mentioned something about Horse Stealers’ ideas about politeness and manners in general being just a little backward.”
‹ Tell him I’d be perfectly willing to include him in the conversation if I could only figure out how to hammer a thought into his brain,› Walsharno said tartly. ‹ Of course, first I’d have to find it!›
“Now, that I won’t,” Bahzell told his companion, smiling at Walsharno’s mobile ears. “If it’s an insult you’re mindful to give him, then I’m thinking you should figure out how to do it yourself and not be dragging me into it. I’ve insults enough for him of my very own.”
“Oh, you do, do you?” Brandark’s eyes glinted. “Well, I’ve got some for you that I’d considered trotting out, but I thought better of it.”
“ You thought better of it?” Bahzell flattened his ears, regarding the Bloody Sword incredulously.
“Yes, I did,” Brandark said virtuously. “I was inspired by something Vaijon pointed out to me before he left with Yurokhas, actually.”
“Aye?” Bahzell’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “And what would that have been?”
“He simply pointed out that it’s both unjust and unfair to challenge an unarmed man to a duel.”
“Did he now?” Bahzell glanced up at the curtain wall and towers beginning to loom before them and his expression turned speculative. “I’m wondering how high someone would bounce if someone else was to be tossing him off the main keep’s battlements?”
“Lady Hanatha would be very upset with you for making such a mess in the courtyard,” Brandark said severely.
“Aye, there’s that,” Bahzell acknowledged. “Still and all, I’m thinking she’d likely consider why it might be I’d gone and done it, and she does know you. Taken altogether, I’ve no doubt she’d be willing enough to forgive me as long as I promised to be cleaning up the mess my own self.”
Brandark laughed, conceding the round, then cocked his head inquisitively.
“Still, I have to admit the two of you have managed to pique my curiosity. Should I assume Gayrfressa’s been up to something?”
“In a manner of speaking.” Bahzell shrugged. “I’ve no more idea why than Walsharno, you understand, but she’s taken it into that head of hers to be paying us a visit.”
“She has?” Brandark reached up and rubbed the tip of his truncated ear thoughtfully. “All the way from Warm Springs.”
“Aye. I thought as how I’d caught just a trace of her yesterday, but it wasn’t until this morning Walsharno and I were sure of it.” Bahzell flipped his ears. “Not that she’s said a thing at all, at all, about why it might be she’s here.”
“She’s always struck me as fairly independent-minded for a courser,” Brandark observed.
‹“Fairly independent-minded”?› Walsharno repeated, and tossed his head with a superb snort. ‹ Well, I suppose that’s accurate enough. Just like saying “It snows a little on the Wind Plain each winter!”›
Bahzell chuckled, but Brandark and Walsharno had a point. A very good one, in fact. Gayrfressa was a courser, with the innate sense of corporate identity they all shared. Individuals, yes, all of them were that. But they were constantly aware of themselves as a component of their herd, as well. Yet Gayrfressa had…not less of that awareness, but a stronger sense of her individuality to set against it. She was far more likely to go her own way than any other courser mare Bahzell had ever met, and he certainly knew her well enough to realize that.
Any wind rider became accustomed to the shapes and patterns of courser personalities, yet Bahzell was even more aware of them than most. When he’d healed the survivors of the Warm Springs courser herd, a part of him had… merged with them. That was the only way he could describe it, and none of the other wind riders he’d discussed it with-and it wasn’t something he discussed even with many of them-had ever heard of it happening before. As nearly as he could tell, he’d acquired the herd sense-the awareness of every other member of the herd, whenever he was within a few leagues’ distance-which set courser herd stallions apart from all other coursers. And his link with Gayrfressa was stronger and richer than with any other member of the herd, perhaps because she was Walsharno’s sister, or perhaps because she was the first of the survivors he’d healed.
‹ And perhaps because she loves you so dearly, › Walsharno murmured in the back of his brain, and Bahzell
