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“That’s sort of what the Voice said at the Temple when I was at Quaysar last fall,” Tharnha said. Everyone looked at her, and she shrugged just a little defensively. “Well, she did!” she insisted.
Leeana blinked. She’d heard of the Temple of Lillinara at Quaysar, though she’d never been there. But she’d never heard of a Voice getting involved in secular affairs unless the very lives of women were involved and the situation was close to desperate.
“The Voice said we should stand up to Lord Trisu more strongly?” Garlahna said in a voice which showed she’d found the idea as disturbing as Leeana had,
“Not in so many words,” Tharnha admitted. “But she did say she was concerned. That the Mother’s daughters should always oppose and fight people who try to make all women victims, and who else do you think she could’ve been talking about right now?”
“Voices don’t send people off to war, Tharnha,” Soumeta said. “Or not very often, anyway. She probably just meant we should stand our ground.” The guardswoman snorted. “A Voice can’t go around telling us to push back even harder than he’s pushing us, whatever she might want to say. Not without provoking all kinds of complaints from every lord warden—every male lord warden—in the Kingdom, anyway. Which doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be a good idea, of course. Just that a Voice is a little too visible to tell people that.”
“Maybe not, Soumeta,” Eramis said, “but you know the Voice thinks we shouldn’t let anyone push us around the way we always have before. You know that.”
“I never said she didn’t,” Soumeta replied. “I just said she has to be careful about any official position she takes because of who she is. If you want me to admit she’s given her support to people like Saretha and her supporters on the Town Council, then I will. I’m just saying that she’s smart enough and subtle enough to do it in ways that aren’t going to drag her, the temple, or the Mother into open conflict with a lord warden.”
“You’re probably right,” Tharnha agreed. She didn’t sound as if she really did agree, but she smiled and shrugged anyway.
“In the meantime, though,” she said more brightly, “did any of you see that good looking blond armsman who rode in with the wine merchant this afternoon? Yummmmmm!“
She batted her eyes at the others, and Eramis giggled.
“I wouldn’t mind getting to know him a little better, I can tell you that!” Tharnha went on with a cheerful leer. “Look at that arse of his—and those shoulders! You know what they say about puppies growing up to match the size of their feet?” She leered again, harder. “Well, if certain other portions of his anatomy have grown up to match those shoulders—!”
Chapter Thirty
Lord Warden Trisu’s office was on the third floor of his family’s somewhat antiquated keep. Kaeritha had been surprised when she discovered that, since his father had built a much more palatial suite of offices into Thalar’s relatively new Town Hall. Once she saw it, however, her initial surprise faded as quickly as it had come. The choice was part and parcel of the man’s entire character, she realized. Its narrow windows—the glass which had been added later couldn’t disguise the fact that they’d been designed as archery slits, as much as a way to admit light, when they were built—looked down on the city of Thalar, below, letting him survey his domain whenever he chose. Besides, one look at the office itself, with its spartan, whitewashed walls decorated without softening with shields and weapons, made it clear no other place else could possibly have been as comfortable for Trisu, however much more spacious it might have been.
The armsman who’d ushered her into Trisu’s presence, withdrew at his lord’s gesture, and the office door closed quietly behind him. Sunlight spilled in through the diamond-pane windows behind Trisu’s desk, and for all its trophy-girt walls, the square, high-ceilinged room did have a certain airy warmth.
“Good morning, Dame Kaeritha. I trust you slept well? That your chambers were comfortable?”
“Yes, thank you, Milord. I did, and they were.” She smiled. “And thank you for seeing me so promptly this morning.”
“You are, of course, welcome, although no thanks are necessary. Duty to my liege lord—and to the War God, as well—requires no less.” He leaned back in his high-backed chair and folded his hands atop one another on the desk before him. “At the same time,” he continued, “I fear Baron Tellian’s instructions, while clear, were less than complete. In what way may I assist you?”
“The Baron was less than specific,” Kaeritha conceded. “Unfortunately, when he wrote those letters, before I set out, neither he nor I were certain what I would discover or what sorts of problems I might find myself dealing with.”
He raised an eyebrow, and she shrugged.
“Champions of Tomanak often find themselves in that sort of situation, Milord. We get used to dealing with challenges on the fly, as it were. Baron Tellian knew that would be the case here.”
“I see.” Trisu pursed his lips as he considered that. Then it was his turn to shrug. “I see,” he repeated. “But may I assume that since you’ve sought me out and presented the Baron’s letters, you now know what problem you face?”
“I believe I’ve discovered the nature of the problem, at least, Milord.” Kaeritha hoped her tone sounded more courteous than cautious, but she was aware that his obvious prejudices had awakened a matching antipathy in her and she was watching her tongue carefully. “It involves your ongoing … dispute with Kalatha.”
“Which dispute, Milady?” Trisu inquired with a thin smile. His response was just a bit quicker than Kaeritha had expected, and her eyes narrowed. “Several matters stand in contention between the war maids and me,” he continued. The words “war maids” came out sourly, but Kaeritha would have expected that. What she didn’t care for was something else in his tone—something which seemed to suggest he anticipated less than complete impartiality out of her.
“If you’ll forgive my saying so, Milord,” she said after a moment, “all of your disputes with Kalatha —” she carefully refrained from using the apparently incendiary words “war maids” herself “— are the same at the heart.”
“I beg to differ, Dame Kaeritha,” Trisu replied, his jaw jutting. “I am well aware that MayorYalith chooses to ascribe all of the differences between us to my own deep-seated prejudices. That, however, is not the case.”
Kaeritha’s expression must have revealed her own skepticism, because he gave a short, barking laugh.
“Don’t mistake me, Milady Champion,” he said. “I don’t like war maids. I wouldn’t say that I dislike them as much as, say, my cousin Triahm, but that’s not saying a great deal. I think their very existence is an affront to the way the gods intended us to live, and the notion that women—most women at any rate—” he amended as Kaeritha’s eyes flashed, although his tone remained unapologetic “— can be the equal of men as warriors is ridiculous. Obviously, as you yourself demonstrate, there are exceptions, but as a general rule, the idea is ludicrous.”
Kaeritha made herself sit firmly on her temper. It wasn’t easy. But at least the young man sitting across the desk from her had the courage—or arrogance—to say exactly what he thought. And, she admitted after a moment, the honesty to bring his own feelings openly to the table rather than attempt to deny them or dress them up in fine linen. In fact, and although she found herself hesitant to rush to assign virtues to him, that honesty seemed to be an integral part of his personality.
Which undoubtedly makes him even more difficult to live with, she thought wryly. But it also makes me wonder how he can be maintaining his position so strongly now, when he must know inside that he’s in the wrong. Unless his prejudices against war maids are strong enough to overcome that i