Bardian's Redemption_Book Four of the Guardian's Vambrace Page 10

  -10-

  Making Ready the March

  Of all Kir's clan brothers in Ithinar Steel, Lyndal seems to be my toughest competition on

  the field of the female pursuit in Hilihar. His youthful charm is practically a match for my

  own sophisticated allure. His singing voice is quite superb, though not seasoned and honed.

  He only surpasses me physically, in the sculpture of his warrior's torso, which I have,

  perhaps thankfully, failed to achieve in bulk. Put together, he is a formidable opponent.

  I look forward to advancing the game at his side.

  - Excerpt from the journal of Guardian Toma Scilio

  Kir helped Lili pack the last few articles, which were whisked away for sale. Flashy gowns and foofy ornaments would only add to the weight of their trip. Kir wouldn't need them in Hili, anyway. They probably wouldn't bring in the kind of lorans they were worth. At least it would be less weight on the saddle and more in the coffer. She kept her Hilian outfits and the special gown that Ulivall had commissioned for her. It almost felt good, to shed ownership of the heavy Empyrean frockery in favor of something that fit her better.

  Lili returned holding a stack of folded fabrics. It looked to be an outfit in various shades of blue, mostly Kir's clan colors of navy and indigo. “I have something new for you to try. Gressie cut it together this past week with donations from the Karmines.”

  The fabric unfurled into several pieces that fit Kir perfectly. There was a flowing pantskirt, a common Hilian fashion that Kir had come to appreciate. It looked like an ankle-length skirt, but the seams hidden by the loose leg material made them function as pants. A layered robe tunic with long, loose sleeves crossed in the front and tied inside for closure. It was cut to mid-thigh and secured at the shoulder by a broach with the Ithinar Steel crest embossed on its face. Completing the outfit was a lengthy, sleeveless outer vest. Lili slipped it over Kir's shoulders and secured a wide belt around the waist. The vest was so long, the front banner panels stretched to the knee. The final piece was a half-cape sash that clipped to the vest above the left shoulder and collar, draping down her back. Kir wasn't a fan of capes in battle (they tended to be ready handholds for the opponent) but she couldn't deny they looked pretty snazzy. All put together, the outfit reminded Kir of an hourglass, with the broad shoulders implied by the upper vest tapering to the belted waist, and flaring out with the billows of the pantskirt.

  “Now when you twirl in battle, you'll become the Little Whirlwind that you are,” Lili noted with a grin.

  Kir spun in a tight circle. The outer folds of the pantskirt and lower vest bloomed like opening petals. It was a visually artistic display that made her look as much like a floral suggestion, or an effect on the stage, as a warrior. The deep blues brought out the ice of her eyes. The Dimishuans sure did enjoy working hints of nature into their surroundings, be it bathhouses or battlefields.

  Aside from the downright comfort, durability, maneuverability and just plain likeability of the Hilian designs, wearing them was Kir's subtle way of celebrating the Hilian adoption of her life. It was also a way to publicly exchange the highborn idea of beauty in opulence for the Hilian idea of beauty in simplicity.

  “I haven't fussed over how I looked in years. Suppose it's part of my job now. Gotta thank Gressie—she's got a keen eye. I like this whirlwind effect. Hili is bound and determined to make a spectacle of me,” Kir chuckled.

  “Presentation is important for a royal. You're walking on a different manner of battlefield now. On this field, appearances can be their own weapon. But you don't have to concern yourself with how you look. That's my job,” Lili offered with a sly wink.

  With Kir gussied, they turned back to their last tasks, taking extra care in packing Scilio's tabard, journal, longbow and quiver. For safe measure, they were included in Kir's personal dunnage.

  Lyndal sidestepped in the hatch as the last of the packages were hauled through by busy attendants. When the path was clear, he glided into the stateroom.

  Lyndal had been chosen as Vann's decoy. Ulivall and Eshuen had come to the conclusion that it was the perfect assignment for him. Lyndal had been training under Eshuen since boyhood and while he was a talented warrior, he had a bad habit of jumping into a fray headfirst, with no thought or evaluation. It was a tendency that needed squashing. Eshuen figured decoy duty to be just the task for Lyndal to practice his focus. Being forced to sit still and quiet, senses keen and alert, was a good training mechanism and good experience.

  “Time to step into Vann's robes. Think you can do it?” Kir asked, trying not to smile. She was glad the decoy would be Lyndal. He had this way of cheering her up without even trying. Even though he wouldn't be talking or interacting in the public eye, it was refreshing to know that a jovial sort would be sharing her tent.

  “Easy as blusterberry tarts,” Lyndal said. “I'm not much of an actor, but this empty role shouldn't be all that difficult...” The reality of the statement furrowed his brow, and he instantly dissolved his grin. “I'm sorry, Highness. I didn't mean to make light of His Majesty's—”

  Kir waved it off. “Don't. I know you didn't mean nothing by it. If we can't find the light side of anything we... well, can't find the light side of anything, I reckon...”

  Lyndal seemed to understand what she was trying to say, even if the wording was awkward. He still looked apologetic through his lopsided grin. “So what do I need to do?”

  Kir fished Vann's alterlet from the pouch at her belt and slipped the cord over Lyndal's neck. “This will make you Vann to anyone looking. It's just an Illusory spell inlaid into the alterlet, so it won't change you. Only changes what people will think they see.”

  “So it's like Consul Ferinar's hue pendant?”

  “That's exactly what it is. Elder Trenen gifted this one to His Majesty last year at the welcoming feast.”

  “I've used one before,” Lyndal smirked mischievously. “Me and some of the boys got our hands on Counselor Mendahm's hue pendant once and played a prank on Ulivall. We all passed it around and had him thinking we were Elder Trenen. Each one of us gave him a different order, contradicting the one before. Had him all backward and discombobulated. It was classic!”

  Kir allowed an indulgent chortle.

  Vann's light blue tunic and dress robes were laid out neatly on the mattress. Kir held them to her nose, taking in the ghost of his scent. She ran her fingers over their silkiness reverently before handing them to Lyndal. “Even though you'll be under cloak of the alterlet, it's best to wear the costume anyway. Gets you into character. You'll wear Vann's skin anytime you're in the public eye, so be sure to keep up the act. I'll be with you most of the time—just do exactly as I tell you. You saw firsthand how Vann's movements were sluggish and clumsy, but he could follow basic directions. Act him how you saw him. In the privacy of our tent, you can take the robes off and be Lyndal again. If you're very careful, you can slip out in the evenings, since any suspect eyes will see Vann enter the tent and think he's in for the night.”

  “Should be an easy scheme,” Lyndal said.

  “This role won't be as easy as you make it out. You're gonna have to kill that high energy or we'll never be able to keep up the charade. Vann's a puppet. An empty vessel. Dunno how you're gonna drain that bottomless well of charm you got. Make sure you keep up the act.”

  Lyndal nodded seriously. “I won't let you down, Highness.”

  “It's time you start calling me Kir. Or Saiya Kunnai's fine, either one. I know warriors are all about the formality but you're my clan brother. Besides, you've got the most dangerous job of anybody here. I think you'll be earning the right to be informal with me. You've seen the way the Karmines—people I've known my whole life—treat me. I need someone who doesn't act like I'm planted on a shiny throne. So I got a second job for you. Play Vann in our public time and make me smile in our private time. Otherwise I may really go cuckoo like everyone expects.”

&nb
sp; “Ulivall gave me the same mission. He's worried for you and wanted me to keep your spirits up. But don't worry—if you do go loony, I'll probably join you. Sounds fun to be a little crazy.”

  “Crazy is my sanity,” Kir admitted.

  Lyndal stripped down to his pantling and replaced his tunic with Vann's. When he was fully robed, Kir smoothed the wrinkles at his sleeves like she used to do for Vann.

  With a casual blink, the Lyndal before her morphed into a perfect imitation of Prince Vannisarian. His corn silk blonde hair was pulled back into the high ponytail that was so favored in the noble classes. His blue eyes twinkled, and Kir had to look away. Lyndal was too good a doppelganger. It refreshed the weeks-old well of hurt to see Vann standing there, knowing it wasn't him.

  “We're docked and ready, Saiya Kunnai,” Ulivall reported from the door. “Everything is in order for departure.”

  “Proceed,” Kir ordered in Dimishuan. She was trying to practice at every opportunity; somehow it felt like speaking in the language would mask her sense of unease.

  Kir followed Ulivall to the deck to watch the party file off. There were more than a few relieved faces. They didn't have room to breathe freely just yet, but the first leg of their trip was over and sturdy land, with no thunderstorms or unruly kaiyo, probably felt safer to them.

  Ulivall directed the first round of anxious disembarkees down the gangplank.

  “Your pardon, Grand Master,” Vittie barked sourly. “For a General, you certainly need some proper schooling in queuing theory for the most efficient method of order.” Her commanding voice began organizing the line.

  Vittie had always been gifted at leadership and direction. She had been the forewoman of the Westlewin Manor where Kir had grown up. Her pig-headed willfulness lent to her skill in running the household. Kir had faced down all manner of kaiyo, mages and dragons, yet she still cowered under Vittie's reproachful glare. The forewoman was the one thing in the world that Kir dared not cross.

  Ulivall cocked his head, watching Vittie with more than casual interest.

  “She's tough as nails, that one,” Kir commented, unable to read his face.

  “That she is,” he said breathlessly.

  “Ulivall?”

  His cheeks almost betrayed a ripening. “Yes, Kir?” There was a feigned innocence in his tone that betrayed him where his cheeks failed.

  Kir bit back a snicker. If Vittie was in Ulivall's sights, Kir wasn't going to lodge her sayings, one way or the other. He was a brave man to have taken a fancy to the likes of that beast of a woman. “Oh, nothing.”

  When it seemed like Vittie and Ulivall had things in order with the disembarking procedures, Kir made her way to the stall where Sorrha, her Westlewin Karmine stallion, was contained for transport. Copellian and Melia were prepping him for departure. They hadn't heard her enter, so Kir hung back and watched them work. They moved like a perfect cogs in a fine Havenlen timepiece, comfortable with their roles and expert in their tasks. They shared light banter back and forth, much more intimate than they were in public company.

  Finally, Kir cleared her throat to announce her presence. “Looks like he's ready to take flight.”

  “At your convenience,” Copellian said, adopting his usual stiffness.

  Kir nickered at Sorrha as she approached. He perked and immediately lowered his head to nuzzle her neck in affection. Reaching out with Naturals, Kir established her connection and they shared a moment of basking in the warmth of each other's spirits, heads pressed together. “You've been a good boy, all cooped up and tolerating. Just wait a bit. When we hit dry land, I'll run you 'til we both grow wings.”

  “I doubt Ulivall will approve that,” Copellian cautioned. “He'll want you under heavy guard, riding with a contingent of warriors surrounding.”

  Kir sniffed, wrinkling her nose at Sorrha comically. “Let 'em try to catch us. Them and their miniature ponies.”

  Melia giggled. Kir studied her, satisfied that she was looking markedly better in color. Before, Melia had been almost as pale as the opalescent lumanere collar around her neck. She hadn't really gotten her sea legs, but her stomach had finally mastered Bertrand's potions, or his potions had mastered her sickness, at least.

  “You were always getting Sorrha in trouble,” Melia joked.

  “Me getting him in trouble?” Kir said, with mock innocence.

  “Like the time you and Mirhana took him out to watch the sunset and you didn't come back until the wee hours? I think it damaged poor Sorrha's honor to be accused of improper escort.”

  “I remember that,” Kir said nostalgically. “Mir and I laid out a blanket to watch the sun set, but we fell asleep before it even tweaked the mountain. Sorrha didn't bother to wake us up. He just stood there, chomping grass and watching us, probably laughing at our sorry neeyahs. It was all his fault.”

  Sorrha snorted, as though he understood the sentiment and the insult to his good name.

  Since Melia knew the story, Kir illustrated for Copellian. “I was supposed to be home for an evening sociable, which I forgot. When Her Ladyship found I wasn't keeping my appointments, she was livid. Vittie lit out after me with a split rail to impart some punctuality upon my backside. Probably still have the splinters.” Kir tried to twist, to get a view of her rump and the inflated memory of Vittie's lashes of reprimand. Copellian harrumphed and Melia laughed.

  “Don't cross her, Cope. I'm telling you. The bravest warrior has curdled under Vittie's menace. That woman was born of branding irons and grit.”

  “Some of the boys have taken to calling her Momma Warhorse,” Copellian supplied. “Seems they've gotten the bad end of her temper recently, too.”

  “Not the worst end, though. You'll know it when they do. They won't be able to sit down for a week. Ulivall doesn't know what he's getting himself in for.”

  “Ulivall?”

  “I don't know it for betting, but it sure looks like he's taken a shine to her. He may be the High General of Hili, but Ulivall's a laid-back sort. As easy-going as he is, Vittie'll eat him alive.”

  Copellian raised his eyebrows. “I've never known Ulivall to take interest in courting. He always claimed no time, for the army life consuming it. This may be an interesting development.”

  “If Ulivall survives the attempt and he ends up with Vittie, that would make her our clan matron,” Kir shuddered. “I might have to jump ship to Corban's clan and save myself regular poundings. I'm not as couth as I used to be.”

  “Join my clan? You'd be welcome,” Corban said from the far door. He'd obviously heard that last part. He crossed the hold in long strides and tugged Kir to his side.

  Corban had always been an overly affectionate person. Kir's newfangled title hadn't put a stopper on his enthusiasm. He was a man with little restraint on his emotions and he didn't seem to mind wearing them on his sleeve. She hugged him back.

  “Not for now, Corban. I was just cutting up with Cope and Mel,” Kir assured him, just to make darn sure he didn't take her literally and go running to Ferinar with the news. “Is the larder packed?”

  “I have my hands finishing now. As soon as the final passengers disembark, we'll begin to unload the supplies. We are low on a number of staples. I'll restock when we've secured a proper chow wagon in town.”

  “Malacar has a bottomless pit. Should'a warned you to triple your figures to account for his appetite,” Kir quipped. “It's a comfort to know we'll be feasting with you helming the fires, Corban. My Master Kozias always used to say he'd rather share a fire with a cook and his onions than a King and his gold.”

  Corban's chin rose an inch at the praise.

  “Things just haven't been the same without you these last years, Highness,” Melia said warmly. “Even though the nepenthe blooms stole away our memories of you for a time, I recognize the loss now in retrospect. I've missed you in my heart, even if my mind didn't know it.”

  “Y'all been on my mind every single day, Mel.
It's a little surreal that all us Karmines are here in Aquiline. Never expected fate would find us on our way to Hili together. I'm mighty proud to be taking part in it.”

  They all shared a silent moment of sinking in at the sentiment. It was such a profound moment that Kir decided to take it a step further by offering more warm fuzziness.

  “I did have another purpose for coming down, not just to check up on Sorrha,” Kir said finally, directing to Melia. “As a royal, I'm supposed to have a big flashy entourage. Problem is, I only took one Second Lady before. They're supposed to be trusted confidants, closest friends. There's only one person I could think of fitting that description in my mind. I know you're already occupied with horses-and-husband, but since Cope's agreed to be the royal Horsemaster and you're in our clan now, this extra job won't take you away from him. Mainly, you'd be filling in the gaps where Lili needs it. So, would you? Be my Second Lady, I mean?”

  Melia stared at Kir like she was facing a herd of stampeding kaiyo. Suddenly, her eyes glossed and fountained like Kir had kicked her in the nose. Her hands covered her face. Corban instantly moved in, beating Copellian to the save. Melia buried her head into her father's chest.

  Kir balked at the unexpected reaction. She squirmed uncomfortably. “Don't do that, Mel. You don't have to if you don't want to...”

  “Oh, Highness. It's not that I don't want to.”

  Corban's chest muffled the sound of Melia's voice. He soothed his daughter with tender back pats.

  Kir glanced to Copellian, who looked about as awkward as a malcraven wearing underdrawers. She gestured toward Melia and he answered with a shrug of bemusement. Kir scratched her head like a baffled character in one of the novels she and Vann had loved to share.

  “Whatever it is, you can tell me,” Kir said, trying to make her voice coaxing and consolatory at the same time.

  Melia inhaled a stuttering breath and mastered herself. Corban produced a handkerchief that he used to wipe her cheeks. When she was composed enough, Melia took Kir's hands.