Wanir

CHAPTER ONE

Irilayne, Executive Princess of Xanara, was in a melancholy mood. She sat in the window seat in the main room of her apartment high in the palace in Wanir and stared down at the royal garden, where gaily-dressed courtiers rivalled the flowers in their colour and vibrancy as they enjoyed the early summer sun.

That, however, wasn’t what Irilayne was seeing right now. In her mind’s eye, she saw a tiny village, nestled at the foot of the hill on which Lord Brena’s keep was situated. There was little enough of vibrancy there. The single street was merely dirt, the houses of native stone and unpainted, weathered wood.

The dress of the inhabitants was rough homespun, drab from repeated washing and hard wear, a far cry from the rich, glowing silks and satins of the court; and the only flowers to be seen were the wildflowers that dotted the pasture beneath the orchard trees.

But, drab as it was, the village called to her as nothing in Wanir did, because it called to her with the voice of home. She’d lived there with her friend Dron for the happiest eighteen months of her life, and she’d hoped to live there always.

But that choice hadn’t been open to her.

She had arrived in the village after running away from the palace. Her father, the King, had wanted to betroth her to a lord named Griblon, for some reason known only to himself. Griblon was almost three times Irilayne’s age and had a reputation as a greedy, arrogant man who thought other people existed merely to serve him. Irilayne couldn’t stand him. So, when tears and pleas failed to move her father, she had run away to Dron, an old soldier who, along with her brother Arion, had virtually raised her after her mother’s death.

No one, apart from Dron and Brena, had known who she was. She’d lived with Dron in his house, and as far as the rest of the village knew she was just another peasant woman. It had been a hard life after the palace. She’d had to learn how to cook and keep house. She’d had to carry water from the well, wash the clothes, feed the chickens, and collect firewood, just like everyone else. She’d loved every moment of it.

She’d always felt like a misfit in the palace. The Xanarans were a people much attached to tradition, and the Xanaran court, in particular, was rigidly controlled by tradition and protocol. What the royal family did, what they said, even what they wore, was mostly dictated by custom. The free-spirited Irilayne had found life in the palace restrictive and suffocating. The village had been a revelation.

Yes, she’d had to work hard and wear rough, homespun clothes, but she’d felt free for the first time in her life. She’d felt, in her own words, real. In the palace she’d felt like a doll, something to be dressed up and paraded for everyone to look at. In the village, she’d been able to be herself, been able to live a real life and feel like a real person, and to her, that was worth any amount of sacrifice. She’d sworn she’d never return to the palace.

She’d told herself that she didn’t care about her father, about Xanara. But then someone had assassinated her father and her brother Arion, heir to the throne, had disappeared. That same Lord Griblon was claiming that he was betrothed to Irilayne, and was trying, on that basis, to coerce the Royal Council into giving him the regency until such time as the rightful ruler appeared. He even had a betrothal document to prove his claim. A document Irilayne knew she had never signed.

It appeared that it was Griblon who had engineered the King’s death, and he intended to use marriage to Irilayne as his stepping-stone to the throne. That meant her brother must be in very real danger. It also meant that the country would have a ruler who cared nothing for its people except in so far as he could use them to enrich himself.

Suddenly, Irilayne was uprooted from the village and her happy life there and on the run, trying, on the one hand, to avoid being forced to marry Griblon, on the other to find her brother before something fatal happened to him and help him gain his throne.

Quite apart from her own horror and sense of danger, quite apart from her fears for her brother, Irilayne had discovered that she did care about Xanara. She cared passionately. This was her country, these were her people, and she would die before she saw them destroyed to feed Griblon’s greed and lust for power.

Whether she wanted to or not, she suddenly found herself committed to returning to the life she hated. Her brother would need help to establish his rule. The murder of their father had destabilised the nation. Not only did it upset people and make them nervous, which had all sorts of repercussions, not just social, but also financial and political, but Griblon had helped the political destabilisation along by bribing as many of the Royal Councillors and top officials as he could manage.

Those people would have to be weeded out, and of course, they were now busy trying to cover their tracks and avoid prosecution. That meant the government was in disarray, and certain portions of it would be hostile to the new regime.

It would take time and effort to get things on an even keel again and ensure peace, and she would have to give up the life she loved to help her brother, to help her country. It was a painful decision, but one she had made willingly in the end, because she loved Xanara and its people, because she had to do whatever she could to help them.

Which brought her neatly back to why she was sitting in the window brooding on a lovely day in early summer instead of enjoying the fine weather. It wasn’t her brother Arion who was now king, it was her eldest brother Morion, who had been thought dead, but the rest of the scenario was the same.

A month ago, they had arrived in the capital to the acclaim of the people, and all Griblon’s plotting had gone for nothing. Morion had his crown, and Irilayne didn’t have a betrothal, thank the Goddess. Since then, she had worked just as hard as Morion to establish his rule and get things running smoothly again. Morion had acknowledged his need of Irilayne’s help by creating a new title for her, Executive Princess.

He had given her executive powers only slightly less than his own, making her de facto co-ruler of Xanara. There was such a lot to be done that he wanted her to have the authority to make decisions on her own without recourse to him. Not only was there the instability caused by their father’s assassination to overcome, but also years of mismanagement.

Fawdlan had been an adequate king, but his management skills hadn’t been the best, and the infrastructure of the country was in urgent need of repair. The roads, for instance, were a disgrace. That had dire repercussions because it meant producers had trouble getting their goods to market.

That meant that trade suffered and that in turn meant that the tax take was down. Morion inherited a country that was, while not exactly broke, certainly not as wealthy as it might be. There’d been a great deal of work to do.

Now, Morion was in a meeting about the arrangements for his coronation, and Irilayne had some time off. She’d meant to spend a few quiet hours by herself just relaxing, maybe reading a book, but she’d sat down here in the window for a moment, and something about the scene outside, she couldn’t even say what, had made her think of the village and the life she’d left behind.

She’d been assailed by a sudden wave of homesickness so intense it was almost physical. She absently brushed away a tear as she struggled to shut those feelings away in their box. She didn’t have time to wallow in self-pity. What was the point, anyway? She had duties. Her brother needed her. Her country needed her. She was doing the only thing she could do. Well, the only thing she could do if she wanted to be able to live with herself later, anyway. Crying about it wouldn’t change that, so it was just a waste of time.

So she told herself, but she wasn’t listening. Damn it, it hurt. She missed the village and the friends she had made there. She missed the life she’d had to give up. She could rationalise it all she wanted, but when you lost something precious, you had to grieve for it. That was just the way it was.

The scene outside the window swam and dazzled as more tears joined the first, welling up and overflowing in a silent stream of grief. And somehow, her father got mixed up in it, and before long she was crying for him, too. She’d spent her life fighting with him, but it wasn’t until he was dead that she realised she’d never really known him.

She’d thought he didn’t care, but she’d learned later that he’d known all along where she was living. He hadn’t told Griblon, but he had quietly provided for her safety and then left her alone to work things out for herself. Surely, he wouldn’t have done that if he hadn’t cared, if he hadn’t understood just a little bit.

She was so absorbed in her private grieving that she failed to hear the door open.

There you are, Laynie! Mella said. I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Laynie? Mella’s tone changed to one of concern as she came further into the room and saw her childhood friend’s tear-streaked face.

Oh! Irilayne said, trying vainly to mop up the mess. I didn’t hear you come in.

Laynie, what is it? Mella said. She disappeared briefly into the bedroom and came back with a handful of handkerchiefs. What’s wrong? she asked as she handed them over.

Oh, nothing. I was just thinking about the village where I lived with Dron, and Daddy, and everything. Irilayne sniffed back the last of her tears and began the process of mopping up.

Mella didn’t say anything. She just reached over and hugged her friend.

Sorry, Irilayne said at last.

Don’t be silly. You miss it horribly, don’t you? Mella said gently.

Irilayne nodded. It was home in a way that this never was. She looked around the spacious apartment that had been hers ever since she was old enough to have her own place. I hate this place. I always have. Daddy got in some decorator from the city and had it done up for me when I wanted my own place, but it’s never felt like home.

They both stood looking around the living room. The general atmosphere was one of ponderous gloom. There was a dark carpet on the floor, so old that whatever pattern it had started out with had disappeared into a background of dark reddish-brown. The walls were panelled in dark wood, and the drapes at the windows were also dark, a deep brownish red the colour of dried blood, with heavy gold fringing.

The furniture was good quality, but the style was old-fashioned and the overall effect was heavy, dark, and rather overpowering, even though the room was spacious and the ceiling high. It was an older man’s room, perhaps. It certainly wasn’t a young woman’s room.

Ghastly, isn’t it? Irilayne said with a shudder. Daddy meant well, but I hate it. I didn’t choose any of this stuff. It’s not mine. This isn’t my place, if you know what I mean.

So, make it yours, Mella shrugged.

What?

I said, why not make it yours? Why don’t you have it redone the way you want it, choose your own colours and your own furnishings and make it into something that’s yours?

Irilayne blinked. I never thought of it.

Mella rolled her eyes skyward. Then she began to laugh.

What’s so funny? Irilayne demanded grumpily.

You are. How many years have you had this apartment? And you’ve hated it all that time, and yet it never occurred to you to do anything about it? Honestly, Laynie! And Mella went off into another bout of laughter.

Well, I couldn’t really, while Daddy was alive, Irilayne said defensively. He was so pleased with it. He would have been upset. He really thought he was doing something nice for me.

But he’s not here now, is he? Mella said. So, you’re free to do what you like. If you have to live here, why not at least make it your own place? With a bit of thought and effort, you could make it into a real home, somewhere that you want to spend time, that’s your own little escape from the world. She looked around. All right, she said in a businesslike voice. What would you do to the place if you had the chance? Forget about cost and obligation and everything else. If you could do just what you wanted with this apartment, what would you do?

CHAPTER TWO

Irilayne turned on her heel, looking at her home with new eyes, trying to see it as she would like it to be.

Get rid of those horrible drapes, for a start, she said, waving a hand at the heavy draperies of deep red velvet that hung at each window, reaching to the floor. I’ve always hated them; they make the place look like a mausoleum.

They are a bit gloomy, aren’t they? Mella agreed. Especially against those dark walls. And all that fringing is so old-fashioned. What would you put there instead?

Blue silk, Irilayne said after a moment’s thought. A nice light blue, like a summer sky.

That would be nice, Mella said, nodding. Nice and fresh and cheerful. It would look really good against the dark panelling. What about the carpet?

I’d get rid of that, Irilayne said at once. It’s so old and dingy you can barely see the original colours. It’s worth a lot of money, actually, it’s a tribal carpet from Evvris, but I still hate it. Maybe I’ll have it cleaned and then sell it.

She pursed her lips thoughtfully. I don’t think I’d replace it, you know. These floorboards could look lovely with a bit of scrubbing and waxing. I think I’d just scatter white sheepskin rugs about instead of a carpet.

Oh, that would be lovely, Mella said enthusiastically. Especially with the blue curtains. And a really enormous one right in front of the fire, big enough to lie on. And maybe white and blue silk cushions on the chairs?

And a couple of fairly bright pink ones, I think, Irilayne said. Or maybe orange. Or red. Something warm and bright, anyway, so it doesn’t end up looking too cold.

Ooh, yes. And you could maybe use that colour in the bedroom, too, to sort of bring the two rooms together.

The two women spent a happy hour going through the apartment, discussing what they could do with it, and by the time they finished Irilayne had forgotten all about being homesick and was beginning to show real enthusiasm about planning her new home.

Mella watched with a little sigh of relief. Ever since she arrived back in the city, Irilayne had been broody and miserable. With a bit of luck, making over her apartment into something that really felt like a home might go some way to mitigating that. If she had to live in the city, it was important that she at least felt that her home really was her own place, was somewhere that she enjoyed spending time in.

That would be more than half the battle. Mella could quite understand that Irilayne would be depressed to have to live in this apartment. She knew it would depress her. And with everything else her friend had to be depressed about, that wasn’t healthy.

Finally, they finished their inspection and Mella crossed to the bell pull to ring for refreshments while Irilayne, now thoroughly inspired by the idea of change, got out pen and parchment and began to make some notes.

When do you have to go back to work? Mella asked as she came to sit down.

I just about have time for a cup of tea and something to eat before I have to meet with the Kloynian ambassador, Irilayne grimaced.

No time to go shopping today, then, Mella said. Will you have some free time tomorrow? We could go then.

I thought the Mistress was starting for home tomorrow? Irilayne frowned.

She is. But that’s what I was coming to tell you. I’m to stay behind.

Are you?

Mella nodded. The Mistress has decided that you need someone to support you and to help you train. I’m to be it, since we already know each other. She thought that would be better than just appointing someone from the local temple.

Oh, Mella! Impulsively, Irilayne embraced her friend. I’m so glad. She pulled away suddenly. You don’t mind, do you? I mean, it doesn’t seem very fair that you don’t get to go home to Vinda.

"It’s fine, Laynie. If the Mistress thinks I can serve better here, then that’s all right with me. The Mistress is pretty shrewd, you know. I think she knows how lonely it’s going to be for you. She doesn’t just worry about our vows and things, she tries to take care of all our welfare.

"I think she wanted you to know that you have at least one friend in the city, someone to talk to if you need it. Besides, my parents are here in the city at present, and it’s nice to be able to spend some time with them. I haven’t been home since I joined the Devoted Women.

"And I’m to join the lessons with Pel, too. The Mistress and Lord Klonis have it all worked out. She wants what we can learn from the intelligence service, but she doesn’t want the sisters exposed to them more than necessary. Therefore, she’s going to send just a few women to learn from Pel, and I’m to be one of them.

I can quite understand her reasoning there. You saw my sisters when you were with us, so you know that some of them are rather too innocent to be associating with people like Pel and his fellows. Lord Klonis’ people have to walk on the seamy side of life because that’s their job, but many of my sisters wouldn’t be able to cope.

Oh help, talk about a corrupting influence! Irilayne giggled. I can’t imagine what some of those women would make of the spies. Some of your – our – sisters are rather scatty, aren’t they?

That they are! Mella laughed. It’s not altogether their fault, of course. They’re generally the ones who come to us as soon as they turn sixteen, and they haven’t really had any experience of life.

You don’t seem to have done so badly. You joined at sixteen, didn’t you?

Well, yes, but I was the daughter of nobles, so my life hadn’t been as restricted as some of theirs. Some of them have never been outside their home village before they come to us. Those ones probably respond better than I did to the structured life of the order, but as soon as something happens to disrupt that, they come unhinged.

And give an accomplished imitation of a flock of demented hens, Irilayne giggled, having once witnessed such a display. Or hysterical geese, as Vorma would say.

Mm, Mella agreed, also giggling. Embarrassed as I am to admit it, that is a pretty fair description.

Mella was a Devoted Woman, one of the women who dedicated their lives to the Veiled Goddess, patroness of the poor and the principle god of Xanara. During her flight from Griblon, Irilayne had taken refuge with the Devoted Women and had ended up taking vows and joining the order herself.

The Devoted Women had had something she needed. That something was magic. Griblon had hired Athreeli magicians to help him and was known to have studied magic himself. If he wasn’t to have an unassailable advantage, their side would need magic, too. The Devoted Women had offered to teach her. Irilayne discovered that she was a highly talented magician, but there was one catch.

The Devoted Women absolutely refused to let anyone outside their order share their secrets. They were dedicated, like their goddess, to helping the poor and the dispossessed, and they were afraid that if the knowledge of their magic got out they would never have any peace to do their work.

Not only would people be forever wanting magical fixes for their problems, but they would almost inevitably be drawn into politics. That was something they were not willing to do, although Morion, impressed by the Mistress’ strength and decisiveness, had managed to persuade her to become a member of the Royal Council.

But before she could gain access to their magical knowledge, Irilayne had had to join the Devoted Women and swear never to tell anyone, not even her brother, about her magic. She had been given certain dispensations so that she could belong to the order and still carry out her royal duties, but on this one point, the Devoted Women were immovable. The magic had to remain secret.

It had been a difficult decision, but in the end, Irilayne had been glad to join the order. For among the Devoted Women she had found a sense of belonging and family to replace what she had lost. Once she realised that, the decision had been easy.

However, Irilayne had barely been a Devoted Woman for two days before Pel, one of her companions and also one of Lord Klonis’ most skilled intelligence agents, discovered her using magic.

It had seemed like a complete disaster at the time, but the intelligence service used magic too, and Lord Klonis had been able to convince the Mistress that, as the only two institutions in Xanara to use magic, it was in both their interests to share their knowledge. He had also persuaded her to allow Irilayne to be taught some of the more offensive spells that his people had at their disposal. The whole point of her learning magic in the first place, after all, had been so that she could use it to help her brother defend the realm against Griblon and his magicians.

The Devoted Women, being who they were, did not include offensive magic in their collection. Although Irilayne had been able to turn a few of their spells to a more aggressive use than they were designed for when it had been necessary, she really needed a repertoire of spells that could be used offensively without extensive thought or modification.

So, anyway, I’m to stay with you, so it’ll be the old team together again, Mella said. Well, almost.

It will, won’t it? Irilayne said. I imagine Pel will be pleased. She had the satisfaction of seeing Mella blush.

When she had been on the run from Griblon, Irilayne’s companions had been Morion, Dron, Pel and Mella. Morion, of course, was now busy being king. But he had insisted that Irilayne had to have at least basic protection. There were the palace guards, of course, if there was trouble, but for personal protection she needed someone to be with her all the time.

Or, so Morion insisted. So, Dron and Pel were now her personal assistants and bodyguards. Dron had decided not to return to the village, and Pel would be reassigned now that Irilayne was no longer there, so it all worked out nicely. Between the crusty old soldier and the wily secret agent, she figured they wouldn’t miss much.

On their travels, a friendship had begun to grow up between Mella and Pel. Devoted Women were able to marry and have families, and Irilayne thought the relationship had possibilities. There’d been a slight flicker in Pel’s normally cheerful façade since they arrived in the city. Irilayne was willing to bet that the information that Mella was to stay in the city would cure it.

Oh, by the way, Vorma’s coming to the city, too, Mella said.

She is?

Well, she is our magic instructor, so it makes sense for her to learn the spells Pel’s going to teach us, Mella said.

Of course it does. Sorry, I’m not thinking.

I’m hoping she might bring Janira with her, Mella said.

Is that likely?

Well, she’ll have to bring someone. Devoted Women don’t travel alone, and a Devoted of Vorma’s rank would bring an assistant anyway. It might be Janira. She’s assisted Vorma before, and she’s a good magician, so it would make sense for her to learn the new spells, too.

That would be nice. I’d like to see Janira again. She’s a good lady. But anyway, where are you going to live? Irilayne asked Mella now. Do you have to live in the temple compound, or can you stay here in the palace?