Only Inside the Castle
“Even if it brings dishonor, wouldn’t it be better not to kill him?”
Turvena shrugged.
“In any case, I’m trusting you with my son’s life inside this castle, so mind how you conduct yourself. Step beyond the walls, though, and you’re on your own. Whatever you do out there falls on Ilesin, for having trusted you. You only need to behave yourself in here.”
Artila’s mouth fell open. So long as Turvena herself never found out, anything else was apparently fine.
“And Ilesin.”
“Yes. Please, speak.”
“I’ll say this now. What happened in the south… everyone here has decided it’s your fault. They mean it’s a matter you alone must answer for. Do you think so too?”
“If it helps settle things, I’ll accept that.”
“It won’t help in the slightest, of course. They’ll dust off their hands and shove you forward to take it.”
“And what is your opinion, Mother?”
“I don’t believe it was your fault. Anyone with ordinary sense wouldn’t nurse a grudge over losing a match that was fairly fought, nor eat himself up with regret for taking second in a tournament of that standing. He was the one who flung away a life that would have turned out decently enough, even if it fell short of what he’d hoped. You were also right to judge that his master was Grand Duchess Nivella. She may have been the Duke of Anhar’s wife, but there isn’t a soul anywhere who regarded the two of them as equals.”
Artila had heard the couple’s story from Hisnil as well. Grand Duchess Nivella had rescued the Duke of Anhar from his uncle and married him. Marriage was a generous word for it: the Duchy of Anhar, together with the duke himself, had simply passed into Nivella’s dominion. They bore one daughter and lived unhappily, until Nivella was murdered by the duke’s illegitimate son and the whole affair came to its end.
“Ilesin, Grand Duchess Nivella is the one who ought to bear the blame for all of this. What we face now is a misfortune for those born into the same age as Fillion, not something you called down by your own wrong. I believe we should stand with Pobern and hold back Moravik’s demons.”
It was a sound judgment, though Artila doubted many would agree with it. The truth was always cumbersome and unwelcome.
“And yet they all think that if they merely click their tongues, the matter will pass of its own accord sooner or later. Convenient hope is more seductive than clear-eyed despair. Never mind that it has no worth beyond feeling pleasant for a moment.”
Just then a knight in the same cloak as Ilesin came hurrying over. At the sight of him, Turvena said:
“We’ll have to leave it here for now, Ilesin. I’ll see you at the banquet. You as well.”
“Yes.”
Artila bent one knee, caught her skirt in one hand, and let it fall open in a curtsy.
“It was an honor to meet you.”
Turvena shook her head, as if the girl were past reforming.
“Ilesin, that mage of yours must have served someone very high indeed. Every word out of her mouth is far too reverent.”
“She was a farmer.”
“Hm?”
“Originally, she was a farmer.”
“A farmer?”
“Yes.”
Turvena looked at Artila.
Artila nodded at once.
“What Ilesin says is true.”
“And the magic?”
“I learned it in Pobern.”
“You mean she was sent into real combat two months after she began to learn?”
“Yes.”
“…So either you came here with your life on the line, or this mage is a genius.”
“She’s a genius.”
Turvena was left with nothing to say. A knight of Ilesin’s house came up beside them, greeted Ilesin and Turvena, and then spoke quietly.
“Lady Turvena, the Lord of Findrak is calling for you.”
“Right. I understand. I’ll be going. See you at the banquet.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Turvena left with the knight, and the moment they were gone Artila burst out in dismay.
“Why did you say it like that?”
“It’s the truth, isn’t it?”
“Then you’re taking an enormous risk for the sake of a farm woman who’s been studying magic for all of two months. What do you mean to do if I betray you?”
“You’ve done well enough until now.”
“And will I keep doing well?”
“I can only judge by how well you’ve done so far.”
Artila pressed a hand to her brow, utterly at a loss. She couldn’t possibly leave it at that.
“Ilesin, you know as well as I do that I’m a woman out of her mind. I don’t even know how I lost it, so how can you trust me with your life?”
“The person herself telling me not to trust her—that hardly seems right, does it?”
“I’m grateful because I am that person. If you did the same with someone else, I think I’d be angry.”
She was thankful he believed in her when she had nowhere else to turn, but trusting her this far when she was out of her mind seemed, in itself, a kind of madness. Ilesin only shrugged, as if it were nothing of consequence.
“Think about it later. Thinking now won’t get you an answer anyway. Put it off, then forget it entirely.”
“Yes. Given how things stand, that really is the only way.”
Artila heaved a long sigh.
“Let’s just wait for the banquet. We’ll eat our fill and go home.”
“When does it start?”
“Around noon. We only have to wait a little.”
“It starts early.”
“And it ends early. It’s a rule laid down by the first Lord of Findrak. Begin early, drink a little, eat a great deal, then go to bed early.”
“Why did a rule like that come about?”
“Because it’s such a dreary region. The rain comes all out of season; the air turns cold without warning, then one day it’s suddenly hot. Every tale handed down ends in something dank or grotesque, and every pond and boulder is rumored to house some devil or evil spirit, so no one stays out late.”
“Then why on earth did the first Lord of Findrak settle in a place like this?”
“For one thing, the sea is close, and there’s a bay, so it has one of the few proper harbors on the northwestern coast. Broad pastures good for sheep and cattle, and land where potatoes and wheat grow well—Findrak’s revenues have always been ample.”
“It has a great many good points.”
“No fun, though.”
“Can everything be good? The first Lord of Findrak needed a crossroads linking the grainlands to the sea, with a reasonable amount of rain. He didn’t need entertainment. And look—even yesterday’s banquet was splendid. Where there’s plenty to eat, there are plenty of delicious dishes.”
Artila was only reasoning it out, but she had come very near the truth. The first Lord of Findrak had been a warrior among warriors, renowned as an honest and fair man. Time spent with a Lord of Findrak, however, was duller than chewing stones, so whenever he hosted a banquet himself, everyone had to steel themselves three days in advance.
When the castle was built, comfort and warmth were the only considerations. Findrak Castle therefore cut a remarkably poor figure, yet once you were inside and could no longer see the exterior, it was genuinely pleasant. Knights and soldiers could reach the training yard and their posts with ease, and the bedchambers and private rooms were as snug as nests.
The hearths and chimneys had been made so efficiently that the cooking fires burned hot, while smell and smoke vanished without a trace and left the air fresh. It was so cozy that everyone who stayed grew reluctant to go home. The lordly house of Targal, who lived in a castle famous for being lavish and uncomfortable, had once lingered more than a month before they were driven out.
Well before noon, people came pouring in and the place grew rowdy. Food and drink were laid out early in the banquet hall: fried bread stuffed with cheese, thin sheets of dough filled with finely minced meat and fried crisp, with grilled fish and fresh fruit alongside. After a while the musicians came out and struck up a tune, and amid the crowd’s cheers the guests of high rank entered.
Ilesin handed Artila a goblet of wine.
“Over there. That man is the Lord of Findrak.”
Where he pointed, a man well on in years was seated. Beside him sat Turvena, in the middle of a conversation. She nodded at regular intervals, but she was only pretending to listen; her gaze had stopped somewhere in the empty air. Next to them were a young boy who looked to be in his early teens, a grandmother who seemed well past a hundred, and a lanky, gangling young man. Ilesin indicated the youth.
“There’s talk of a match between Beni and that fellow. The moment she heard he was coming, she fled on the excuse of going out on patrol.”
“He isn’t a friend of yours, is he?”
“Why would I be friends with a man like that?”
“He looks a bit full of himself.”
“Not a bit. A great deal.”
Whenever the young man spoke to someone, he lifted his chin and swayed. Then his eyes met Artila’s, and he shrugged and raised his cup toward her. Artila smiled brightly and lifted her own. Ilesin stared, incredulous.
“What are you doing?”
“My body moved before I knew it. It isn’t that I like him. He looks much younger than I am, and I don’t want him.”
“He’ll think he’s caught your fancy, though.”
“Oh dear. If they hold a ball later, you absolutely have to come rescue me.”
“Turn him down yourself. Take responsibility.”
Ilesin’s voice was thoroughly sulky.
“If that man comes near me, my fist will fly on its own and I’ll be arrested on the spot. If I’m arrested, you get arrested too.”
“Then why did you smile at him?”
“It’s a polite reflex. I’d do the same for that hundred-year-old grandmother. If she smiled at me, would that be my fault?”
“…No.”
“See? So it isn’t my fault. As for that man, for now…”
Artila looked at him again, then shook her head.
“He isn’t the sort Beni would find endearing enough to indulge, and he’s already too old to hope he’ll improve.”
“Hopeless. Beni can’t stand him, so Mother will refuse on her own.”
“I hope the next groom is a decent man.”
“He ought to be, but there isn’t a passable fellow in this castle, and that’s the trouble. Look elsewhere, and the decent ones won’t come here, while the ones willing to come aren’t decent. I’m worried she’ll end up picking some strange man, the way Mother did.”
Turvena, who had indeed picked a strange man, rose and called for Ilesin. The Lord of Findrak looked at him with an expectant face. Ilesin sighed, then nodded at Artila’s cup.
“Mind if I borrow that?”
“What? The wine?”
“Yes.”
Ilesin took the cup, drank about half, and handed it back.
“You can finish it, if you like.”
“No. I still have to speak with Mother, so I can’t drink that much. I’ll come get you out of it before that fellow arrives, so don’t throw a punch. Wait.”
“All right.”
“And don’t talk to them, either.”
Where Ilesin pointed, a whole crowd of young girls had gathered.
“What are they?”
“Girls in their late teens.”
“And?”
“Teen. Age. Girls.”
His voice was as grave as if he were naming some immense demon.
“The moment your eyes meet, they’ll swarm you and start shoving forward every boy they know.”
“If they’re boys those girls know, wouldn’t they be far too young for me?”
“Refuse them for being too young, and next they’ll shove forward men they consider grandfathers.”
“Turning them all down would be exhausting.”