Green Wild (Thrones of the Firstborn Book 2) Page 10

  The next person in line to see Jerya was her own cousin, Gisen, and Gisen’s Regent Yevonne. Both of them quivered with excitement.

  “Hi, Jerya!” said Yevonne. “Guess what?”

  Dryly, Jerya said, “If you’re going to go through all the trouble to stand in line to talk to me, the least you could do is call me Your Highness. You goose.”

  “Gisen said it wasn’t fair to cut off people who waited all day, even if we had news you’d really, really want to hear. I thought maybe we should consider priorities and all, but what do I know? I’m just the Regent. So we had to wait in line.” Yevonne elbowed Gisen, then pointed at a few people waiting respectfully a few yards away. “But those people let us cut in line. I knew they would if we asked. I mean, I know we’re short but she’s still the Blood! And I gave them some of the money the Chancellor gave me.” She waved at the waiting supplicants who waved back in bemusement.

  “Yevonne,” sad Jerya patiently. “What is your news?”

  “Oh! We were out exploring the Old Wall, you know, on the east side of the city? Near Woolmadding Market? We climbed all the way up to the top—that was my idea, not Gisen’s, so blame me if you want to yell—and guess what we saw?”

  Jerya’s mind raced ahead of Yevonne’s story. East. There was one thing she dreaded more than any other in the east. “Vassay troops?”

  Yevonne’s face fell. “You guessed!”

  Standing up, Jerya said, “How far?”

  “It was hard to see them at first because there were these clouds in front of them. Like fog, you know? So we didn’t realize it was them until they were pretty close. They’re probably in the city by now.”

  Jerya ran her hands through her hair and looked around for one of her people, then sent an eidolon to find Yithiere. Gisen’s sense of fair play was sometimes excruciating. “Gisen, next time listen to your Regent! Some kinds of information are more important than others!”

  Gisen shrugged and said, “It’s not an army.”

  “It’s not,” Yevonne corroborated. “It’s a bunch of wagons, mostly.”

  “It doesn’t have to be an army to be an invasion,” said Jerya crossly. “I want you two to come with me to meet them. Ask lots of questions. Be adorable at them.”

  “Ooh, all right,” Yevonne twinkled. She was twelve, and adorable was her stock in trade.

  “And Gisen, I need a horse. I want to be as impressive as possible.”

  The city folk enjoyed the spectacle, at least. Jerya had quickly changed into her best remaining outfit: golden riding tights under a spotless white tunic encrusted with meticulously embroidered golden and viridian thread, with a golden tiara delicately studded with emeralds and a cape dyed to match the embroidery. Her maids had been hard at work packing for her while she’d been helping Shanasee save the city. They’d packed more expensive and more elaborate outfits too, but this she could be comfortable in. She didn’t trust herself with more elaborate garb with Iriss still in a coma.

  Lord of Winter, she missed Iriss.

  She rode a rainbow eidolon mare summoned by Gisen, two of Yithiere’s wolves paced beside her, and an eidolon hawk rode her shoulder. It was showy rather than functional; Gisen’s horses were only safe for others to ride when she was present and not under any stress. But Jerya wanted to appear like something out of a storybook to the visiting Vassay ‘engineers’. A tiny eidolon fledgling perched on Gisen’s shoulder, as cute and sweet as she was, to be Jerya’s ears as the little girls poked around: the secret in the storybook.

  They moved casually down the city streets, following in the wake of the Vassay convoy. Jant stayed behind, of course, but the rest of her family was on hand: Seandri beside her, Yithiere behind, and the little girls skipping ahead. The whole city seemed to have suspended both business and recovery to watch the parade, and they cheered the Blood’s appearance and their finery.

  Jerya wasn’t pleased, though. Seandri rode beside her on a stag of his own making and she reached over to squeeze his hand nervously. She was following in Vassay’s wake, going to visit the Justiciar’s Court, and that was an image she couldn’t change, only polish. But they weren’t going to come to her, that much was clear.

  When they approached the Elant, the new home of the Justiciar’s Court, Jerya realized it would take more than some nice clothes and a few passive eidolons to get in. Vassay had indeed come with wagons, over a dozen large ones, and many of them were still in the streets waiting for a final destination. The great draft horses—larger than any horse Jerya had ever seen—had been unharnessed. What seemed like hundreds of foreigners milled around in the streets, laughing and talking and staring around. They wore strange clothes: billowy loose pants and vests on top of their shirts. Some of the women wore the wispiest skirts Jerya had ever seen: alternately lifting in the lightest draft and clinging to their legs. Many of them wore spectacles, which Jerya found as exotic as the strange clothing, especially given how young most of them were.

  Several of them handed out candy to the city children, talking to them about the city and their toys. Without any urging from Jerya, Yevonne and Gisen ran up to join the throng. They didn’t get their candy, though, because the Vassay handing it out stopped to gawk at Jerya, their eyes rounding.

  Jerya stopped her mount and lifted her chin, looking pointedly past the visitors at the Elant. If they tried to keep her out, a troop of Royal Guard marched behind Yithiere. The Justiciar’s Guard was barely in evidence amidst the throngs of Vassay and it would just be a matter of exerting her authority—

  But that line of thought was wasted because as soon as she shifted her weight, the Vassay started shouting at each other to get the wagons out of the Queen’s way. They moved into clusters and began pushing the wagons this way and that, until they cleared a path to the great doors of the enclosed Elant courtyard.

  The doors themselves gaped wide; one of the wagons had been parked halfway through until the Vassay pulled it out of the way. Inside many more people mingled and talked loudly: more Vassay and many of her own people as well.

  Seandri leaned over. “It’s a bit like we’re late to a party.”

  “Uninvited guests, more likely,” she said back, then shifted her weight to send her spectral mare into the courtyard. Seandri and his stag followed behind. The Vassay within joined in with the staring.

  Three of the Justiciars, flanked by their guards, stood at the entrance to the inn on the far side of the courtyard, welcoming the leadership of the Vassay contingent. Their expressions were delicious, worth the trouble of arranging the visit. Both the sneer on Lord Warrane’s face and the look of irritation from Lord Aubin were especially fine. Then the man who had been clasping Lord Warrane’s hand extracted himself. He strode toward the Blood, a broad smile on his face.

  He was a big, bald man, well muscled even under his loose clothing and somewhat older than her father had been. He was certainly much older than any of the other Vassay Jerya had so far seen.

  “Hello!” he called. “Hello!” He wore a short cape pinned with a series of large brooches: a quill pen, a sequence of interlocking bronze, gold and silver rings, and an open hand. He fingered the last brooch as he said, “Hello!” a third time. Then he looked around, possibly for backup.

  Jerya regarded the top of the man’s skull. Lord Jasper, the youngest and least antagonistic of the Justiciars present, strode after the possible dignitary and said, “Your Highness, may I present Ambassador Smith of Vassay?” Jerya inclined her head fractionally again and Lord Jasper went on. “Your Excellency, her Royal Highness the Crown Princess Jerya, accompanied by Prince Seandri.” Lord Jasper scanned Jerya’s retinue but chose not to introduce the rest of the Blood present, since neither Gisen nor Yithiere were paying any attention to him. “He has come to aid us in the reconstruction, bringing some of Vassay’s legendary engineers with him.”

  “My students, yes,” said the big man, smiling. “I’m delighted to finally meet you. The reports—” He caught himself and stumbled
, then changed direction. “We’re eager to get to work. We were discussing some ideas as we came through your city. The bridges—” and then a young woman tugged at his elbow. “Oh yes. Must introduce Landry and Cutter, my assistants.”

  Jerya stared at them in amazement, wondering at the temerity of assistants who inserted themselves into their ambassador’s first introduction. Landry was a tallish girl with big eyes, a long nose and an expressive mouth. She smiled absently at Jerya before her gaze drifted over to Seandri and stayed there as she said, “So pleased to meet you.”

  Jerya promptly forgot to notice what Cutter looked like. She didn’t like it when young women paid too much attention to Seandri. She never had, but it was especially bad now, with Tiana gone, Iriss lost, and her world teetering on the edge of chaos. She needed something she could rely on. One day Seandri would have to be given up to another woman. One day, but not any time soon. She couldn’t afford the distraction.

  Frostily she said to Ambassador Smith, “Good afternoon. Have the Justiciars been doing a pretty job of welcoming you?”

  The ambassador chuckled. “Pretty enough, indeed. They’ve mentioned a feast but I don’t know about that. It seems inappropriate under the circumstances.”

  “Maybe if we offset any shortages from our own wagons, sir?” said Landry brightly. “We have more coming over the next few days,” she confided in Seandri’s direction. “This is most of our people but we’ve brought, oh, all sorts of stores to help the evacuees.”

  Neither Seandri nor his stag mount shifted beside her, and it was only that rock solid stability that kept Jerya from displaying her own agitation. This friendly informality was too strange and too unexpected. She thought she’d have to shove her way into a conversation with the Vassay leadership, but here he was, abandoning the Justiciars to talk to her. It was wrong, somehow. She had to make unexpected decisions quickly. And this assistant girl was staring at Seandri like he was a dessert she’d been anticipating for a long time.

  “Let them welcome you,” she told the Ambassador. “It will make them feel useful. They do like their pomp and ceremony.” The Ambassador laughed again, as she went on. “If you come to my Court tomorrow, I will explain how you can most benefit the city.”

  “Eh? Excellent, we’ll do that.” He looked around again. “Not all of us. My assistants and I. And my clerk. That’s him over there.” He gestured at a thin man around his own age who had stayed beside the Justiciars and was now talking with Lord Aubin. “Scriber Stone. That all right?”

  “As you see fit,” said Jerya graciously. As his annoying female assistant guided the Ambassador away with Lord Jasper, it occurred to Jerya that perhaps she was the equivalent of a Regent. That didn’t make ogling Seandri any more acceptable, but did explain the way she kept inserting herself into the Ambassador’s conversation. It was odd, even so. She’d never heard anything about Vassay using any kind of Regency system.

  She watched them return to the conversation she’d interrupted with her arrival, then she cultivated her most dignified look and let her attention drift to the fledgling still on Gisen’s shoulder. It was close enough that she could hear what it heard if she concentrated.

  Gisen and Yevonne skipped between the wagons and Vassay within the courtyard, staring openly at everything that caught their interest.

  “What’s that?” Yevonne asked, pointing at a wagon’s contents.

  “Wood for bridges, houses,” said the young man sitting on the wagon side.

  “Oh,” said Yevonne. “What’s that?”

  “Fabric for tents, clothing.” The young man’s accent was terrible.

  “Oh. We have wool and silk, you know. And linen. We have trees, too.”

  “You don’t have fabric like this,” said the wagoneer positively.

  “Show me,” demanded Yevonne.

  The wagoneer eyed her. “Not right now. You’ll have plenty of chances to see later.”

  “All right.” Gisen immediately moved to a different wagon, where three girls sat together on the driver’s seat. They spoke rapidly in their own language. Jerya had studied the Vassay tongue but couldn’t follow them through the fledgling. Gisen apparently could, because when Yevonne went to move on, she caught her hand and they lingered.

  “Jer,” said Yithiere, and she focused back on herself. Her uncle stood at her knee, his eyes darting around. “Don’t do that here. There are assassins in this throng, I’m sure of it.”

  “That’s why I have you, uncle,” said Jerya sweetly. “Can you point them out?”

  “I’m looking,” he said grimly.

  “Did you have a moment to observe the ambassador? Wasn’t he odd?”

  Yithiere snorted and shook his head, like a dog that scented something unpleasant. “He’s a decoy. Oh, he probably believes he’s the ambassador. But the one behind the mission is the scribe, or clerk, or whatever he said he was.”

  Jerya looked again at the man identified as Scriber Stone. He didn’t have the deference she expected in a clerk among nobles. But she’d already noticed few of their guests seemed to think much about relative rank.

  Still, she thought she could see what had set her uncle off. Scriber Stone’s gaze roved the crowd as he chatted with the Justiciars. Nothing seemed to escape him. Gisen certainly didn’t; his gaze lingered on her so long that Jerya felt her temper rising. But when he realized Jerya was staring at him, he lowered his eyes and suddenly he was very much a clerk.

  She leaned over to Seandri. “I’m saying something trivial and funny. Maybe I’m making fun of their clothes. Aren’t I funny? Let’s laugh.”

  Seandri said, “I think their clothes are charming, but their wagons are very strange. Not a scrap of decoration.” And Seandri laughed, rich and deep, as if genuinely amused by her, so that her laugh was genuine as well.

  But she watched, too. Scriber Stone raised his gaze when she directed her gaze elsewhere, but he didn’t look at her. She followed the direction of his gaze and found herself looking at an ordinary-looking man moving a crate on a wagon.

  “Him, yes,” said Yithiere, following her gaze. “He’s been moving the same boxes since you arrived. I’m trying to spot the others. There’s something odd about the girl assistant but I don’t think she’s a killer. Noble born, though.”

  Seandri pointed out, “But they don’t have nobles in Vassay anymore.”

  Yithiere snorted. “Hah. Privileged, in any case.”

  “She’s certainly not trying to avoid notice,” said Jerya tartly, then slid off her mount. As soon as she did, it dissolved into an invisible vapor that trickled back to Gisen. Seandri dismounted his own stag and the eidolon burst into golden motes around him.

  Then he held out his arm to Jerya. “Where are we going?”

  “To mingle with our guests. If they want to be friendly, we should let them.”

  “Ward yourself, Jerya,” Yithiere growled.

  “I’m prepared, uncle. Ward my back.” She watched the man moving boxes, walking slowly in his direction. She offered faint, vague smiles to several of the Vassay, and said to one nervous looking young woman, “Be welcome here.” None of them were as friendly as Ambassador Smith had been, but they all stared at her with varying degrees of undisguised interest and curiosity.

  Except for the man moving boxes. He never looked up at her even once. He was as muscular as the Ambassador. Most of the contingent wasn’t, she noticed. Most of them were on the scrawny side.

  She asked a man with a strawberry blond ponytail, “Have you no guards? How did you protect the convoy from bandits as you crossed the border?”

  The young man gave her a startled, wary look. “Many of us are wordweavers. Logos-workers? We weave various protections tied to the caravan. And our colleagues at Home monitor us. They are able to lend a hand from a distance, yes, if we encounter any kind of problems, sending their own words. That can be very helpful!” A grin flickered on his face. “Though not for any bandits.”

  Jerya tightened her hand o
n Seandri’s arm and she thought distantly, I must control myself. Say something nice. “Ah. Like a mother cat watching as her kittens creep from the nest. That must be reassuring.”

  The young man smiled brightly, as if relieved. “Yes indeed.”

  Jerya inclined her head and pulled Seandri on. The initial shock faded, replaced by fear. For a moment she couldn’t see anything, her inner vision awash with the horror of what had just driven into the heart of her city. Magic all the way from Vassay could follow these visitors? They didn’t fear bandits because of that magic? It was hard to breathe calmly. When she looked up again, she was in front of the alleged assassin’s wagon, and he was looking down at her.

  His face was smudged with dirt, but he had a fine bone structure and swarthy skin underneath. His eyes were deep brown, with a striking fringe of lashes and sweeping eyebrows. They were utterly without expression: no surprise, no curiosity, no humor, no trepidation.

  “Did you lose something? You keep moving boxes around,” Jerya blurted, then cursed silently. She sounded just like Tiana and the little girls: no self-control, saying the first thing that popped into her mind. She couldn’t focus. Magic from another country could reach into her city.

  He stared at her for a long moment. Then his mouth quirked up, although the expression didn’t touch his eyes. “Yes.”

  Was Vassay watching her through those eyes? Jerya nodded, squeezing Seandri’s arm. “I hope you find it.” She spun around quickly, her anxiety growing into panic. The idea that Vassay magic could reach into the heart of Ceria was too much. She couldn’t talk anymore; she’d ruin everything. She couldn’t be here with all these people, either. She wanted the phantasmagory, and Iriss. She had to get away before she lost control and started shouting at all of them, or worse.