Marta Randall by The Sword of Winter

Author:The Sword of Winter [Winter, The Sword of]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-05-31T13:18:31+00:00

“Yes,” he said.

She sat back against the side of the pool. Water lapped at her nipples.

The towel slipped out of place and she took it off, twisted her hair, and knotted it behind her neck. Tendrils drifted from her temples to float in the water, rich brown and auburn; as she watched them the sense of unreality took her again. She shook her head gently.

“Tell me.”

Steam wreathed his face as he leaned back and reached for his wineglass. “Gambin knew he was dying long before he let it be announced.

He sent for Culdyn privately and told him. The old man wants his son to succeed him and Culdyn finds the idea enchanting. Gambin’s not stupid, and he knows that if he chooses Culdyn publicly, his enemies will see that Culdyn never takes the sword.”

Lyeth turned her face away, bound to silence by her oath. Water moved as Torwyn shifted on the bench.

“Gambin thinks he knows a way around that,” Torwyn continued. “He wants you made to pledge to oath to Culdyn, either before Gambin’s death or immediately after.” He paused. “I assume that’s what Gambin wanted to tell you, that you were to support his son.”

Lyeth picked up her wineglass. Expensive, imported, delicate, rare, like the wine in it, like much of Torwyn’s life. “Spies?” she said.

“Of course.”

“Because Syne’s back?”

“Lyeth. I serve my Lady in her presence and in her absence.”

Of course he would, she thought. She was an idiot to feel surprised.

“Assuming you’re right,” she said carefully, “what good would it do? I hold no power save through my guild; the Riders will serve the Jentesi Lord exactly as they serve any other provincial lord.” She paused. “It makes no sense.”

“On the surface. But consider: Gambin’s power, now, rests on control of the network, of the ferrets. No one knows who they are, where they are—an invisible terror. They report, Gambin studies, and when he wishes sends a Rider.” Torwyn leaned forward. “The Rider, Lyeth, is the visible terror, the symbol of Gambin’s power—and all perfectly within the rulings of your guild—”

“Not in spirit—”

“Which has nothing to do with it.” Impatience edged his voice. “If you

pledge to oath to Culdyn Gambini, it will indicate conclusively that Culdyn has inherited the entire network. It makes for a very simple choice.

Support Culdyn, or spend the rest of your life waiting for a Rider to knock on your door.” He smiled. “Brilliant, isn’t it? It cuts right through all the politicking, the bribing, suborning, everything. The delegates will vote for Culdyn as soon as they know about the pledge, and the other possible heirs will withdraw because”—he leaned closer to tap her shoulder—“because with the ferrets and the Riders behind him, no one is safe. No one. Not Syne, not Coreon, not Maranta.”

“Not you,” she said.

He nodded. She held her wineglass out silently and when he refilled it she leaned back, watching him. He regarded her calmly, blue eyes steady over the worked silver rim of the glass.

“If I refuse…“she said slowly.

“Culdyn will try to force you.

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