Upon the Flight of the Queen Page 14

  Everyone parted for her “uncle” Crenahr, waiting politely with a huge grin. Her mother’s cousin had been a steadfast if somewhat remote presence all of her life. At first she’d thought him stern, only realizing as she matured that he’d always been painfully shy.

  She opened her arms and they embraced.

  “It’s so good to see you,” he said, then, beaming, stepped back to take the hand of a small woman with a gap-toothed smile cradling an infant somehow sleeping through all the ruckus. “This is my wife, Mahra.”

  Of course—she’d received his letter announcing the date, astonished the old bachelor would settle so late in life. She’d always thought of him married to his job, overseeing the windmill-powered pumps that brought water from the deep aquifers below the city.

  “And our son,” the graying man said proudly, “Reynahn.”

  She teared up at that, and hugged him once more, for Crenahr had honored Elenai’s mother by choosing the male form of her name.

  There then came a blizzard of greetings from younger cousins, all far taller than she recalled. Her father was the oldest of five children, making her the eldest of her generation in that family. She scarcely recognized some of her cousins, or they her, and the youngest goggled at her.

  And then her pretty aunt Irehna, only four years her senior and something like an older sister, took her by the hand out into the courtyard where her father and uncle were putting finishing touches on a slew of baked goods. A second table was arranged out here, in the sunlight, and various of her father’s friends were either helping set up or standing in little groups talking. These shouted her name and raised hands in greeting.

  Her father looked up from his work over the stove, beamed at her, turned his utensils over to a handsome, graying brunette Elenai didn’t recognize, and came toward her with open arms.

  Jenahl Dartaan still had a thick shock of black hair, still threaded naturally—though it looked theatric—with strands of silver. He had a square, open face lined with laugh and care. His embrace was even tighter than it had been last night.

  “By the gods it’s good to see you.” He held her close and then thrust her apart, looking hard at her while he gripped her shoulders. “Last night you looked a little like a frightened wild animal.”

  She’d felt like one. She and the other warriors had hastily cleaned up, but the cheering throngs had been too reminiscent of the crowding Naor, eager for her blood, and she’d been tense even with those she loved. Her father must have noted a similar look now, for he turned and used his penetrating director’s voice: “Give her some room! Don’t smother, for goodness sake!”

  They laughed a little and faded back, and then her father steered her past a rack of trout suspended over coals, and brought her to the handsome brunette woman overseeing some blue and green peppers split open on searing hot rocks.

  The stranger was waiting with an expectant smile, and Elenai’s father put his hand to the woman’s arm while still touching Elenai, as if being in contact with both somehow brought them closer.

  “Elenai, I want to introduce you to my … to someone I’ve been seeing. This is Kelindra.”

  “It’s such a delight to finally meet you,” the woman said.

  Surprised both by the woman’s name and by what was apparently an important relationship she’d heard nothing about, Elenai hesitated too long. After the awkward silence she strove to explain her reaction. “I’m sorry—one of my friends is in love with a woman named Kalandra, and it caught me off guard.” Realizing that sounded foolish because most people had heard of Alten Kalandra, she added: “I mean, Alten Kalandra. My friend, Kyrkenall, the alten, is desperate to find her … it’s a similar name. Of course, different people can have the same name, or similar ones…” She stuck her hand out as if to ward away the inane babbling that probably sounded like name dropping. “I’m so happy to meet you.”

  Kelindra clasped arms with her cautiously, still seemingly uncertain what to make of her. Elenai didn’t blame her. She’d sounded ridiculous.

  Her father laughed and squeezed her shoulders from behind. “I’ve managed to render my daughter speechless. I’m sorry, my dear. I didn’t mean to surprise you.”

  “No, it’s fine.” Elenai looked back to smile at him, and then turned her head to share it with Kelindra. “I’m happy for you. Did you meet in the theater?”

  “I’m an old friend of Crenahr’s,” the woman said. “He introduced us. I’m afraid I’ve dreamed of your father from afar for ages.”

  “What do you think of that?” her father said with a laugh, and a shoulder pat.

  Elenai managed to sound almost normal as she turned to greet her father’s brother, and then worked her way through her father’s friends, wondering the while where her sister was.

  This was all made clear when Caslia turned up with two more cousins, each carrying baskets of fresh baked bread from a nearby bakery.

  What a difference three years had made. No longer was her sister hunched defensively. Now she held her head high, even if that meant she was a handspan taller than nearly everyone. Once gawky and stork-like, Caslia had filled out a little, but more importantly, moved with assurance. If not classically pretty, she radiated charm and confidence that was attractive in itself, something Elenai hadn’t noted during their brief conversation the night before. But then she’d been a little overwhelmed by the reception and distracted by the crowd.

  Once the food was ready, her father clapped his hands and called for attention, then hopped up on a bench with the dexterity of a younger man. His voice, often deployed on the stage, had no trouble reaching everyone in the courtyard and living areas beyond. He commanded everyone to fill their cups, and once this was done, lifted his goblet.

  “Now I know all of you are almost as eager as I am to throw yourselves at this food.”

  Elenai felt a little pang of regret, for she was still mostly full from the governor’s breakfast.

  “So I want to say a few words before they’re drowned out by the babbles and mastication!”

  This elicited a few chuckles.

  “The last time I saw my eldest daughter, she was a quiet squire newly risen to the third rank. She never said it to me, but I knew she worried whether or not she had the mettle to keep on rising. I knew. I think most of us always knew. Now she’s returned to us, not just an alten with a field commission, but as one of the saviors of our very own city. My dear, I am so proud of you, and only wish your mother could be here to see you now!”

  “Hear, hear!” a male voice at the rear echoed.

  Elenai felt tears welling and managed not to cry. Nor did her father, though she saw him struggling. “Welcome home, Elenai. We are all grateful for your service and your presence in our lives. Here’s to your health, and to the Altenerai! Long may you both prosper!”

  He raised his goblet, and the answering chorus of relatives and guests cried, “To your health, and to the Altenerai!”

  She drank, feeling her face flush a little at all the attention.

  “Now,” her father said, “let’s get to the eating!”

  With that, the uncomfortable moments were mostly over. The food was as excellent as ever, and family stories and old jokes and the mundane trials of daily life were exchanged around, about, and with her. The courtyard felt almost like home, and at least familiar. The affection was real, and not the mindless adulation she’d been seeing in the eyes of the squires.

  Over the course of the afternoon, she fielded occasional questions about the battle, and the Naor, and what she thought would happen next. Her answers downplayed the violence and played up the hope. Younger children wanted to see her ring light, and ask about the bizarre magical storms she’d witnessed in the deep shifts, and hear the tale of Kyrkenall vanquishing the kobalin Vorn. She followed that up with tidbits about steadfast Ortok and his friendship with N’lahr.

  More than a half-dozen children of relatives and friends were gathered at this point, in a half circle before t
he old wooden chair she’d taken in the corner. Her aunt Irehna had wandered up to listen. “So what’s N’lahr really like?” she asked.

  Elenai saw an amused glint in her aunt’s dark eyes, and remembered in a flash how she’d once confided her interest in the great swordsman to Irehna. That was mortifying.

  “Did he really come back from the dead?” a little redheaded boy asked. She’d lost track of who he was, apart from being the son of one of the theater hands.

  “He wasn’t really dead,” she said. “He was trapped in a huge crystal and sealed in a tower. Kyrkenall and I rode nearly to the world’s end to free him.”

  That pronouncement was absorbed with wide-eyed wonder.

  “Children,” Irehna said as she stepped carefully through them, “I’m going to borrow Alten Elenai for a little while myself.”

  There were a few disappointed sighs as Irehna dragged Elenai up by the hand and headed for the stairs. She’d slid off her sandals earlier, as was Irehna’s habit, and padded barefoot up the steps to the balcony ringing the courtyard.

  She managed to be showy even in bright loose leggings and off-shoulder blouse, for she was wide hipped and small waisted, a woman secure with her own appearance so that she was beautiful however dressed. She sat down in the shadow of the awning near Elenai’s old room, her legs hanging out through the gaps in the slats supporting the balcony rail, and passed over a wine bottle as Elenai sat. Her smile was mischievous. “So I finally have you to myself for a little while,” she said.

  Elenai drank deep. All that talking had been thirsty work.

  “How are you, really?” Irehna asked.

  “I’m not sure, really,” Elenai confessed. “I was afraid I wouldn’t belong anymore. But it’s still home, even if it feels different.”

  Irehna brushed back her mane of curling dark hair, her eyes fixed upon Elenai. “Is that because you’ve grown up, or because of what you’ve seen and done?”

  “A little of both. I mean, I think I’ve grown up because of some of the things I’ve seen and done.”

  Irehna took another pull and, at Elenai’s demur refusal, sat the bottle between them. “Remember when we used to sit here in the evenings?” she asked. “I had such a crush on that actor Oramahn. What was that play?”

  Elenai laughed, remembering how her aunt had worked so hard to get the young man’s attention. But Oramahn had always remained politely distant. “The Rise of Myralon.”

  “That’s the one! Do you know, he came by the furniture store last year to look me up. He’d decided the stage wasn’t for him, and does tile work or something.”

  “What did he want? Was he still handsome?”

  “Oh yes. He apologized for avoiding me those years ago. Here I’d been thinking he was only interested in men. But he said he hadn’t wanted to date the director’s sister!”

  “That wouldn’t have stopped most.”

  She smiled. “Some use it as an introduction.”

  “So did you get together with him?”

  “No. He’s married. And he’s a little dull, so it’s all for the best. Now tell me truly—you used to dream about N’lahr. How has that worked out?”

  She should have known her aunt would come back around to that, but she was still surprised. “Oh. There’s nothing going on. He’s my commander.”

  Irehna might actually have decided upon restraint, for her next question wasn’t teasing. “Is he really as humorless as everyone says?”

  “No. I mean, he’s direct, but he’s … he’s really a very nice man, and a sad one. And I’m not sure I’ve ever met anyone as intelligent. He’s always focused clearly on what he needs for the objective, but he’s also paying keen attention to what’s happening moment to moment. He’s planning ahead but not missing anything at the same time. I don’t know how he does it.”

  “And what about Kyrkenall?” Irehna asked. “What’s he like?”

  Despite herself, Elenai flushed a little, and Irehna laughed.

  Elenai quickly held up a palm. “There’s nothing like that between us, either,” she said.

  “But you wish there was?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “By the gods but he’s a beautiful one.”

  “I could introduce you,” Elenai said. She rather thought Kyrkenall would enjoy meeting Irehna. Probably most men would, and many women. “But he’s in love with Kalandra, and she’s missing.”

  “I’d love to help him try to forget her,” Irehna jested.

  “He’s a handful,” Elenai cautioned.

  “I like a handful,” Irehna said with a laugh, then reached out and patted Elenai’s wrist. “But I think my niece has first claim.”

  Elenai shook her head, for she had no claim upon Kyrkenall. And she didn’t think she’d want to claim him. How might she convey her conflicted feelings about the brave, reckless, cunning man, haunted and deeply loyal and a little mad? Maybe he couldn’t really belong to anyone, which was why it might be best that he’d given his heart to someone who wasn’t really there.

  Her aunt recognized her change in mood and wisely shifted from talk of relationships. “What’s next for you? There are rumors the Altenerai have to move out soon. People say Alantris may be under attack.”

  It certainly hadn’t taken long for the news to spread. “They are. And a lot of the Vedessi Guard is leaving with them.”

  Irehna was no fool, and read between the lines. “But you’re not?”

  “I’ve another mission.”

  “A secret mission?”

  “It’s secret so long as I don’t tell anyone.”

  Irehna chuckled. “Is Kyrkenall going with you? Ho ho! I see from that blush he is!”

  “It’s not like that,” Elenai said, wondering why her body was reacting like this to her aunt’s prodding. Perhaps knowing Irehna had always been a creature of strong sexual appetites, spending time beside her put her in mind of her own.

  “If your relationship ends up being less like you think and more like you wonder about, make sure you’ve the proper protections.”

  “Always,” Elenai said, a little aghast she should be talking about such things, much less considering the possibility of them happening on an urgent mission into the deeps. With a kobalin nearby, no less. She worked to change the subject before it grew more embarrassing. “Tell me about father. Is it a good match?”

  Irehna frowned a little. “He seems very happy.”

  “You don’t like her?”

  Irehna sighed. “She’s nice enough. She wants to change things around the house, though, for no real reason. She’s changing the way he dresses, too. Making him over a little. But maybe it was time for a new wardrobe,” Irehna admitted. “Every woman wants to put a little bit of a stamp upon her man, I suppose. But she seems just a little fussy. He’s fine with it, though.”

  “And what do you think of my sister’s match?”

  “Oh, they’re young still, but they’re good for each other. Ahzelia has a pretty singing voice. And she just dotes on Caslia. But then Caslia’s really blossoming now. Her last play was something to see. She based it on an unfinished play your mother had written.”

  “I didn’t know,” Elenai said. Her mother, a talented actor and gifted singer, had been dabbling with playwriting in the years before her death. Her sister had been determined to follow in her absent mother’s footsteps from a very young age, but Elenai hadn’t known she’d worked on anything their mother had written. Much less that any of Caslia’s plays were more than trial pieces.

  “It debuted two weeks ago,” Irehna said. “It’s this dreamy swashbuckling fantasy with moments of high humor and mixed identities and love. It was all anyone was talking about until, well, the Naor turned up.”

  Elenai looked down across the crowd and saw her sister in the midst of a group of laughing people, the center of attention as she shared a story.

  “No wonder she looks so confident.”

  “She has a lot of talent for someone so young. But she grew up surrounded by won
derful stories, so any kind of natural knack was going to get fertile ground.”

  That made sense. She was happy for her sister, and a little sad, too, for the gulf that had long been between them. “Her girlfriend says Caslia’s told her all about me.”

  “You sound skeptical.”

  “We never really got along.”

  “You were sort of an impossible older sister, though, weren’t you? Good at everything and pretty and successful?”

  “That’s not how I remember it.” She recalled years of frustration and struggle.

  “That’s because you were constantly striving to better yourself. Caslia was painfully jealous.”

  “It hadn’t felt like jealousy. I think ‘hateful’ is the word you’re looking for. You can only hear ‘I wish you were dead instead of Mom’ so many times before you start to think she might really mean it. I know she loved me, sometimes, but I never got the sense she liked me.”

  Irehna nudged her. “Think how she felt. Always younger and worse at everything than her pretty, accomplished sister, who had five years more experience. And she was competing with you for the attention of a distracted, grieving father. I know Jenahl’s a good man, and he tried, but he can be absent even when he’s there. And he missed your mother so terribly. He built her up so much your sister practically worshiped her memory. It’s no wonder she set herself up to follow in her footsteps, is it?”

  “It sounds like she’s done it. I guess she gets the love of theater naturally.”

  “Probably so.” She nudged Elenai again. “I don’t know how to explain you; though your father’s strong for his size, he’s no athlete. I guess you’re determined.”

  “I’m just stubborn. And maybe too stupid to give up.”

  “I don’t think there’s anything stupid about you, Elenai. I never have. I’m very, very proud of you.”

  “Thank you.”

  Irehna then asked a question outside her usual interests, and it sounded odd to Elenai’s ears, perhaps because she was being consulted as an expert, not a relative. “Do you think you can save Alantris?”