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ult, sitting back down and pouring ale into all three tankards. ‘Let us drink, and in silence – such as we can manage here – bemoan the cruel misuse of horsehair, wood and glue.’
Rancept squinted at the siblings, and decided he liked them both. He reached down for his tankard.
* * *
Families were sordid things, Lady Hish Tulla reflected as she looked upon the uncle she had not seen in decades. The curse of estrangement burned like a brand when its subject made a game of sudden, unexpected appearances, bearing an expression of amusement and expectation, as if past crimes could settle like sand. In the moment of seeing the tall, thin form of Venes Turayd, however, as he brushed snow from his furs just within the entranceway, the storm within her ignited with all the fury of its shocking birth.
An uneasy truce had been achieved in their protracted dance of avoidance in the managing of family lands and interests. Although, upon belated consideration, Hish Tulla realized that this meeting was inevitable. Venes commanded a considerable element of her Houseblades, and she would need them for the battle to come. Her summons had made no provision against his attending.
Berating herself, she stepped forward. ‘Venes, have you brought the company?’
‘Ensconced nearby, milady. The summer high pasture camp upon the slopes of Istan Rise.’ He paused, and then said, ‘If not for my many spies, I could have hoped to find you with your new husband at your side. Gripp Galas, who once stood upon one flank of the First Son of Darkness, less a sword than a dagger, I gather. But then, the court of the Citadel was always an insipid, venal place. You reached down far, dear niece, to win Anomander’s favour.’
‘Oh, Uncle Venes, how it stings you to find yet another man between us. How fares the old wound in this long winter? Do you greet every morning aching deep beneath that scar? I trust it burns you still.’
‘As does your perennial regret, milady, that your blade missed what it sought.’ He drew off his gauntlets, glancing around. ‘The others?’
‘In the dining hall. We’ll consider you the last and begin immediately.’
His smile was hard and cruel. ‘If votes are tallied, I will oppose you.’
‘On principle.’
He nodded. ‘Just so.’
‘I will have your company nonetheless, as is my prerogative.’
‘My dogs are now wolves, milady. Consider yourself warned. More to the point,’ he added, ‘I will twist your every order.’
‘Come to my room tonight, Uncle, and I can finish what I started, and to announce my satisfaction I will nail your severed cock above the door.’
He laughed as he tucked the gauntlets into his sword-belt. ‘Drunken appetites had their way with me in my youth, but no longer. As for past regrets, I believe I can continue to rely upon your discretion.’
‘Oh?’
‘If you hadn’t been discreet, surely Gripp Galas would have found me by now. Dagger or sword? The former, I should think, as my prowess with the latter has not diminished with the years.’
‘Nor his.’
Shrugging, Venes moved past her. ‘This house … as cold as ever.’
She followed her uncle into the dining hall.
* * *
Under the baleful glare of Rancept, Sukul Ankhadu collected a goblet and poured some wine; then, nodding to the castellan’s two companions at the kitchen table, she made her way out into the dining hall.
The vast hearth crackled and spat sparks, flames fiercely devouring the split logs of pine. Smaller braziers squatted in the corners and flanked every entranceway leading into the huge chamber. Lamps hung from hooks high on walls and from ceiling rafters, turning the smoky air amber. For an instant Sukul searched among the dozen or so dogs scuffling here and there, seeking Ribs, but then she recalled, with a pang, the animal’s loss.
Not dead, thankfully. The boy, Orfantal. They’re in the Citadel now. I would have liked him under my wing, that boy. To learn the art of being unseen. It was not so displeasing, too, his obvious adoration of me. There was so much I could have done with that.
And might still. We are sworn to each other, and Orfantal’s not one to cast aside such promises. Future alliances will see sweet fruition, when it is us who stalk the halls of power.
Water-pipes had been set out, adding spice to the bitter woodsmoke and the acrid taint of wine that had been spilled on the table’s wooden surface. Sukul sauntered closer, eyes upon a hunting hound that had accompanied Lord Baesk of House Hellad. The beast looked as old and grey as its master, but its eyes were sharp as they tracked her.
Lady Manalle was speaking, her tone defensive and somewhat despairing. ‘Infayen’s treachery is a family matter, and we should think no better of her daughter – none of us has seen Menandore since Mother Dark’s investiture.’
‘Infayen will see you ousted should the Legion triumph,’ said Lord Trevok of House Misharn in his cracked voice. The scar on his neck, running from beneath his left ear down to the breastbone, was livid, making a track for the sweat that seemed to plague the man even in the cold. ‘Urusander will see us all replaced, by lesser cousins and the like – all those disaffected from our own class who flocked so eagerly to his banner in the wars—’
