The Ships of Air (The Fall of Ile-Rein) (13 page)

Tremaine nodded. “He’s a Chosen Vessel.” Gerard just looked thoughtful but Ander stared at her again. “What?” she demanded. “We knew that. Did you think they were making it up?”

Ander snorted in annoyance and stamped away. Tremaine followed, feeling like she had somehow gotten her revenge for that comment of his on the docks but not quite sure how.

Ilias met them at the door to the lawgiver’s house, where he had been pacing with his arms folded. He looked like he had rolled in the dirt a few times but otherwise wasn’t the worse for wear. “How is it going?” Ander asked him, keeping his voice low.

“I think they’ve convinced Nicanor,” Ilias replied, with a glance back over his shoulder at the open door to make sure he wasn’t overheard. “Now they have to convince Visolela.”

“Oh, lovely,” Tremaine commented under her breath. Visolela was Nicanor’s wife, the head of his household and a major power in the city. On their last visit she hadn’t even wanted Nicanor to speak to his scandalous relatives and their wizard guests where anybody could see him.

Ilias gave her a rueful glance in acknowledgment as he led the way inside.

A rather dark stone-walled foyer opened into a broad portico around an atrium, which Tremaine realized must be standard for large Syprian houses. It was bigger than the one at Andrien House and had less of the kitchen garden look about it. The trees were cyprus, their roots poking up into the formal flower beds, and there was a square reflecting pool down the center.

In a room opening onto the portico, Giliead, Halian, Nicanor and Visolela sat on low chairs and couches with brightly woven cushions. Halian nodded in greeting as Gerard and Ander stepped in. Giliead looked up with a slight smile. Nicanor, broody and thoughtful, glanced at them but said nothing. Visolela, stone-faced, didn’t glance.

Ilias stopped at the entrance to the room, standing back against a stone column painted with red-and-black bands. Tremaine stopped with him, a reflexive habit she had picked up from following him through the caves and the underground city on the island. He gave her a gentle push on into the room.

The floor was all mosaic, with stylized waves along the border and flowers and vines entwining through the center panel. Wine cups and a carafe of some delicate white pottery stood on a low table, but no one was drinking.

Nicanor was Halian’s son from his first marriage. He had long dark hair, and the family resemblance showed in the shape of his face and eyes, though Nicanor wasn’t quite as tall as his father. Visolela was a beautiful dark-haired woman with a heart-shaped face and, Tremaine saw now, ice-cold eyes. She wore a light sleeveless dress of dark red, a silk stole with black-and-gray square designs looped over one arm.

Looking at Visolela, Ander cleared his throat. “This is Gerard, and Tremaine.”

Nicanor actually looked at her this time, with an appraising expression. Visolela’s jaw hardened, but she still didn’t look. Nicanor asked, “You agree to speak for us to your people?”

It took Tremaine a moment to realize he was speaking to her. “Uh, yes.” She started to add
Until you find someone better
but realized in time that it wouldn’t exactly engender confidence.

Nicanor accepted that with a glance at Visolela for confirmation. “It won’t be easy to convince the council,” he said. “And if we do, it will still have to go to the Matriarch’s council in Syrneth.”

Halian nodded. “Karima could speak for us there. Her cousin Ilyandra is still influential on it.”

Her voice hard, Visolela said, “When she tells them that Ixion still lives, I doubt any amount of influence will matter.”

Tremaine saw Ilias’s gaze go to Giliead. Giliead, fortunately, said nothing, though a muscle jumped in his cheek.

Nicanor flicked a thoughtful glance at Giliead as well, but said, “They will have to be made to understand that the alliance is necessary.”

Visolela grimaced, and for an instant the hard lines in her face were visible, the ones that would become permanent evidence of bad temper as she grew older. “If Karima fails to convince them of that, then all of Cineth could end up ostracized. And even if she does, when the Hisians and the Menelai learn we have made a treaty with wizards, they will stop sending their trading ships. The trade with the Chaeans isn’t enough to make up the difference. It might not matter to us at first, but people will starve in the smaller towns along the coast.”

Halian let out his breath and rubbed his eyes. Tremaine sympathized. It would have been easier to argue with Visolela if she was wrong, but Tremaine suspected that wasn’t the case, and they all knew it.

“If the Gardier invade, there will be no trade, no cities or towns to starve.” Gerard spoke quietly, and they all looked up, startled. “You saw what they did in your city today. They can’t be appeased, because they don’t ask for anything. All they seem to want is territory, and people to turn into slaves so they can build more weapons to take more territory. We’ve found out from Gardier prisoners that they won’t make Syprians into slaves because they can’t or won’t learn your language and they know you consider their tools cursed and will die before you use them. So they’ll destroy this coast just to get you out of the way.”

Visolela didn’t look at him, but her mouth set, and a flush crept up the olive skin of her cheeks. She stood abruptly, gathered her stole with a sharp gesture. “I must speak to the portmaster and the trading guilds.”

As she strode out of the room, Nicanor looked after her with a frown. He said, “She’ll agree. She just…doesn’t like the necessity of it.”

Tremaine saw Giliead flick a dry look at Ilias. She strongly suspected it represented a repressed sardonic comment that would have undone all Halian and Ander’s careful work. With that out of his system, Giliead sat forward, telling Nicanor, “I’ll have to go with them, to make sure of Ixion.”

Nicanor nodded slowly, tapping his fingers on the table. “They agree to this?”

Giliead looked at Gerard, who cleared his throat and said, “We were hoping you would send some representatives with us. If all goes well, we’ll be rejoining the government of Ile-Rien in exile, and they will want to establish formal relations. It will be an exceedingly dangerous journey.” He shook his head with a slight rueful smile. “But I know you’re all very aware of that.”

L
ater, Tremaine paced out in the plaza. It was early afternoon, and the last remnants of the storm streaked the sky. Ander and Gerard were waiting there too, though most of Ander’s men had gone back to the
Ravenna
.

Nicanor had gotten Visolela to agree to Giliead going with the
Ravenna
to keep an eye on Ixion, and also that she would receive representatives from Ile-Rien’s government as soon as they could be brought here. Now they just had to convince the rest of the Syprians at their council meeting, where Tremaine would have to be present to answer questions. At least she wouldn’t be stuck in the large town assembly, but in the much smaller council chamber that was part of the lawgiver’s house.

Coming up to pace next to her, Ander said, “You have to make it clear, we can’t sign a formal treaty with them. Only the government-in-exile in Parscia has that authority.”

Parscia, their ally to the south of Ile-Rien. It had been under attack as well, and now that the Gardier had overrun Ile-Rien, it was sure to be next.
Maybe they’ll stop to destroy Bisra and buy us some time
. “Yes, I know,” Tremaine said. “As long as we don’t promise anything stupid, the government-in-exile will probably ratify our agreement. If we make it back there before they’re all dead too.” She grimaced and glanced up at Ander’s exasperated face. “I’m sorry, that part wasn’t supposed to be out loud.”

He swore under his breath. “Tremaine, you have to take this seriously. Don’t you understand—”

“I am serious! God, what does it take?” she shouted. She saw Giliead beckoning to her from the portico. “I’m going now. If you’re so convinced I’m going to wreck this, then you can always shoot me.”

Leaving him glaring after her in frustration, she stamped across to the lawgiver’s house, stepping up onto the portico.

“Are you ready?” Giliead asked, managing to sound more encouraging than concerned. Ilias was looking past her at Ander, frowning slightly, and she knew the argument hadn’t escaped either of them.

She nodded, feeling the tension start to gather in her chest. “Karima told me all the rules. And she said Halian would help.” From what she understood it wasn’t necessary to get the council to vote, as it would be in the Ministry of Ile-Rien; all they had to do was answer the objections of any council members and hope that any objections they couldn’t answer were shouted down by the others.

Giliead frowned slightly. “Well, Halian isn’t good at speaking to the council.” At Tremaine’s inquiring look, he added, “He gets angry.”

“He was better as the warleader,” Ilias put in.

“Oh.” Tremaine rubbed her brow, wondering if it was too late to run screaming. “That’s good to know.”

Giliead led the way along the portico to a large double doorway. Tremaine darted a look past him to see a short hallway leading into a round high-ceilinged room that seemed to be completely crammed with people. Tiers of benches circled the room all the way up to the mosaic ceiling, where little square windows let in light and air. From her earlier briefing, Tremaine knew the lower levels were occupied by the male heads of household and the younger sons and daughters. The female heads of the household sat up on the top tier. Men, even the male heads of household, couldn’t speak without the female head of household’s presence. Giliead, as Chosen Vessel, was the only one exempt from the rules.

As they entered the room, everyone stopped talking and stared at Tremaine. Somehow she hadn’t quite expected that. Ilias nudged her with his arm, not trying to get her attention, but in a Syprian way of showing support. She saw Karima, seated on the top tier and wrapped in an azure stole, wave at them.

Tremaine followed them to the only empty space left, a couple of tiers up where Halian was already seated. She shuffled into a spot next to him as Giliead elbowed room for himself and Ilias on the bench just above. People started to talk among themselves again, but more softly. Then, across the room, Nicanor got to his feet.

He spoke well, making the events of the past two days into a story for his rapt listeners. Listening to him describe Vienne and Port Rel through Ilias’s eyes almost distracted Tremaine from the nervous clenching in her stomach. But hearing herself depicted as some sort of hero made her deeply uncomfortable.

The moment when he revealed the fact that Ixion was still alive distracted her from her own concerns. The room went deadly still, the horrified silence seeming to stretch forever. Wincing in sympathy, Tremaine sneaked a look over her shoulder. Giliead’s expression was as revealing as a brick wall, but Ilias looked angry and defensive enough for both of them.

When Nicanor finished, Tremaine tensed, her stomach cramping with stage fright, knowing she would be called on next. Then at least ten people leapt to their feet, each clamoring to express an opinion.

“This is impossible. They are wizards.”

“They’re like the Chaeans, their wizards aren’t mad.”

“That’s no recommendation, we’ve fought with the Chaeans for decades!”

“The light-keepers saw that giant thing, run by curses!”

“They saw it destroy our enemies!”

Repeat until blind with boredom,
Tremaine thought sometime later. Visolela and Karima had both answered some serious questions posed by a few of the female heads of household, all the while warily eyeing each other. Nicanor only occasionally interrupted the confusion on the lower floor, to correct a point of fact or to slap down a particularly outrageous statement, but mostly he kept his seat with a politely interested expression. Tremaine’s respect for him as a politician increased; this was taking forever, but nobody would be able to claim afterward that they hadn’t gotten a chance to have their say. Halian, on the other hand, looked bored and annoyed and made an irritated huffing noise whenever anyone said anything too stupid. Giliead was wearing his closed, impossible-to-read face; it would have looked more daunting if Ilias hadn’t nodded off and slumped over against his arm. The air in the room was warm, and Tremaine was starting to drift a little herself.

Then across the room a tall spare man with the lean face of an ascetic stood up. Several of the others standing and waiting to speak immediately sat down.

Halian sat up, suddenly alert, and leaned over to whisper, “That’s Pella.” Giliead didn’t react as far as she could tell, but he must have tensed, because Ilias sat up abruptly, blearily awake.

The real opposition,
Tremaine thought, eyeing Pella.

He surveyed the room thoughtfully, waiting until he had everyone’s attention. Finally, he said, “What guarantee do we have that these wizards will deal with us as equals?”

“We don’t.” Nicanor got to his feet, unhurriedly but without implying that he was stalling for time. “There are no guarantees in any alliance, any agreement, between strangers.”

Pella lifted a brow, managing to give the impression that he was reluctant to correct the lawgiver. “Between strangers, yes.” His expression hardened. “But all here know that those who make themselves wizards don’t think of us as strangers, but as cattle.”

Tremaine was on her feet, saying, “Excuse me,” before her wits caught up to her. The room was deathly quiet, and everyone stared at her expectantly. She realized she had inadvertently taken the floor from Pella, something only a woman could do in this council. Having the entire room’s suddenly riveted attention was not a pleasant experience, but instinct told her she should field this question. Nicanor couldn’t argue in abstracts forever, no matter how good a rhetorical speaker he was, Visolela was disinclined to argue at all, and Karima knew nothing about Ile-Rien except the little she had been told.