SfS ch19
Medulla Isles retaken.
Peace stipulation: betrothal with Inchotan. Agreed.
Courage; patience, my princess.
Alanna stared unfocussed across the bustle of the Sharim travelling camp shaking down for the evening, absorbing the message she had just decoded. Slowly she unclenched her jaw, watching the trader's porter who had signalled the words while he worked out the kinks in his body. Slowly he padded into the dusk around the traders' campfires, heading for the tents of his nominal employer. He was free to go.
Calm down
, she told herself, teeth gritted.
The first two sentences had been in Kjell; news from her father's network. The last line in Tahlm'ese, and from Xanir.
Xanir, who had signed a betrothal with the Sianese Princess. Yet he still called Alanna his. Patted her on the head, told her to sit tight and wait. Again.
A faint fluttering inside her, and Alanna's hand lifted automatically to her belly, covering the tiny mound. The fear was new to her. Before, it had all been an scary but exciting adventure, this temporary exile from her home, sparring increasingly happily with Xanir, playing her role, flirting with the dangerous shadows and trying to make sense of them. When he had been in the palace, it had all seemed like a game. Then he had left. For war. Five months, only one night with him, and the fear had grown as the shadows deepened. That fear had exploded weeks ago, when he had repudiated her and sent her into the desert with the Limaq. The stakes were too high to play.
Gently she stroked her stomach, trying to contain the shaking anger driven by the fear.
That wasn't nearly enough information
.
It was becoming more and more difficult to sit here, waiting, cut off from all the inner workings of both the palace and the wider conflict. A sitting duck. But her husband -- former husband -- just told her to sit tight, keep safe, had promised to make this up to her once he had sorted out the peace in the South and rooted out the remaining vipers in the palace - the palace that was too dangerous for her now she was pregnant.
Was there no danger here? Sitting by the entrance to the wide, low women's tent, eyes unfocussed, Alanna stared to scan the faces turned her way for more news. Around the bowl of the oasis, the camp was setting up for another evening of horse races followed by poetry and singing around the fires; living with the desert tribes was fascinating, despite the loneliness of being a pariah. Maintaining dignity in the face of cold hatred was exhausting, although the shunning had become less overt in recent days. She had sensed something in the air, a subtle change in the attitude toward her, but hadn't been able to read it. She shivered.
Face after face after face, discussing horses, saddlery, the last embers of the uprising, weapons, horses, women, farts -- the evenings were her main opportunity to pick up extra news, although lip-reading the desert dialects was chancy at best. She often misread -- wait a minute.
One of the desert riders, the
ghelber
, had quietly been sharing the latest titbit with a fellow tribesman: rumour had it that Xanir Tahl had not been in Jaifa throughout the siege, traders from the Medulla Isles were claiming that he had been with the very first warships that had harried the Sianese fleet and then out-raced them to Jaifa to raise the siege.
And if the Tahl had been on those ships, then he must have ridden secretly from Jaifa to meet them on the Coast. Which would have taken him though the capital four months ago.
Both men glanced her way.
This was why.
Alanna sat frozen, staring past them at the melee where hundreds of tribesmen were eagerly setting up lanes and betting stations for the races.
"The Great Tahl has almost finished stamping out the last embers of the uprising," said the second rider. Both were still facing her, as though she was no longer the most shameful object in camp, to be ignored at all costs. "Maybe he will return here with our Lord Sharim."
Alanna blinked.
"The traders also say that Alt Limaq confessed to his adultery in front of the whole crew," contested the first.
"Alt Limaq would have said anything to safeguard our Tahl. Or his child," countered the second.
Both looked at her again. The interminable tears beaded Alanna's eyes.
That sounded like the Limaq she had known
. Alanna squeezed them closed.
She had so hoped that he wasn't dead.
The hope had died when she had been permitted to accompany the family and prepare him for cremation, after Limaq's body had been returned here, to Lady Sharim. She shivered, eyes flickering left. Limaq's mother and unwed sisters were calling out greetings and luck to the tall, slender youth striding past. Alt Kurim, Sharim's youngest son and Limaq's brother, waved, smiling while he replied on his way to the evening races. Alanna no longer attempted to join in politely. The twelve-year old never looked at the woman who had brought his beloved older brother to betrayal.
Quietly she wiped the tears for her former bodyguard.
One of the warriors following behind the young lord murmured to his companion, "How much longer do we have to watch her weep?"
Alanna yanked her eyes away, heart burning.
That was what she was used to
.
They fell on a young chestnut colt suckling at his dam and she half smiled. The enthusiastic youngster was a miniature of her horse, Rigal, who had apparently been in great demand as stud throughout his year here. Her eyes lifted to seek out the sire, being led through the crowd at the far end of this bowl in the sand towards the starting ribbons of the riderless races; her lucrative dowery had followed her with the handover of responsibility. Her lips twitched. Rigal was, as usual, staring right back at her.
Win, my friend
, she urged him silently. Unnecessarily. Rigal won, every time they entered him. Unless they tried, as they had occasionally, to enter him with a rider -- very few of those had stayed in the saddle beyond the starting gates. A little smile lilted her mouth.
