Heirs of the Blade_ Shadows of the Apt_ Book Seven - Adiran Tchaikovsky [214]
‘Did he know?’ Varmen asked hoarsely. ‘I spoke with the man . . . with your Prince Felipe. Did he know?’
‘I would not be at all surprised,’ Lowre Cean stated.
‘Bastard,’ said Varmen vaguely, and then, ‘And yes. Yes, I will.’
But when Tynisa returned to Leose, Alain was gone, and instead she found herself summoned to meet Salme Elass. The princess received her in the same formal room as when she had first recruited Tynisa to her cause, where servants set out kadith and sweet cakes for them, everything in elaborate order. Elass finished writing something on a scroll laid out before her, her calligraphy elegant and unhurried, whilst Tynisa fidgeted and shuffled.
‘I have need of you, you must be aware.’ The scroll was finished with, apparently, for Elass handed it to a new servant whilst yet another bore away the pen and ink.
Tynisa said nothing, which the princess apparently took for acceptance.
‘When I host my fealtor nobles, when they come to partake of our celebrations, they must see you here – especially those who were lukewarm in sending aid. They must see the fabled Spider Weaponsmaster. Perhaps you could challenge some of their champions? Or give some display of your skill, certainly. It shall be part of the entertainment.’
An ugly scene was called glaringly into Tynisa’s mind’s eye: an arena, tiered seats packed with baying Wasps. Her father.
‘Where is Alain?’ she asked quietly.
Elass made a dismissive snort. ‘He was getting fractious penned up here, so I gave him an entourage and sent him off to chivvy my guests along.’ She eyed Tynisa, calculating. ‘He will be back before long.’
‘Before long’ is unacceptable. With a start Tynisa realized that she had reached the end of her patience with the games of Salme Elass. Whilst they helped her towards her prize, giving her an opportunity to display her skill and to woo Alain, then she had played along at being the obedient tool of the Salmae. She had accomplished her purpose now. She had Alain. He had lain with her. He was hers. She did not need to waste her time with this woman any more. Her duty was to secure Alain and take him somewhere he could become the man she wanted him to be. Suon Ren, perhaps? After all, there was precedent.
A distant part of her, the part that had talked to Lowre Cean and listened to Salma’s ghost, was aware that she was utterly out of control now, and that Salme Elass had no idea of this. The face that Tynisa showed the world was still unblemished. All the cracks – so many cracks – were still on the inside.
‘While you wait, I want you to report to my armourer,’ Elass told her. ‘It is fit that you dress like a warrior of the Commonweal. There is no time to fashion something to your measurements, but no doubt the castle has some spare pieces that may serve. You should be seen wearing my colours: the red and blue and gold.’
And Tynisa smiled quite naturally, knowing that she would never put on that yoke, and she sought out Lisan Dea as soon as the princess had finished making her doomed plans.
The steward was busily overseeing the castle’s servants in frenzied preparations for the festivities to come. Once she saw Tynisa, however, she perhaps read the girl better than her mistress did, for she sent the remaining attendants away and retreated into a storeroom where they might not be overheard.
Tynisa wasted no time. ‘Where is Alain?’ she demanded. ‘You know all the comings and goings of this place. Where has he gone?’
The Grasshopper-kinden stared down at her with a curious fascination. ‘And am I now obliged to answer to you?’
Tynisa’s hand was at her sword-hilt. ‘Or else I will kill you. I will cut you until you tell me, and then I will kill you. If you tell me now then you will live, but only then.’
‘Have we come this far?’ the steward wondered, showing no fear. ‘Is your metamorphosis complete, now? Just a killer and nothing