Read Online Path of the Sun: A Novel of Dhulyn and Parno by Violette Malan - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Violette Malan
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welcome.”
Cleona held out her hand, and Parno smiled. She had learned something about the customs of her new land, it seemed. Berena Attin blinked and took the offered hand.
“Is it the custom here, as I have read of, that the Steward of Keys cannot leave the House building of which she is Steward? So that you cannot even walk across the courtyard?”
“It is, my lady Princess,” the Steward said, somewhat taken aback.
“And it pleases you?”
“It does.” Berena Attin smiled, and after a few moments Cleona returned it.
“Very well,” she said. “If my servants can be shown to the stables prepared for my horses, I would be pleased to attend the Tarkin now.”
Tahlia Listra snorted. “Tell Falcos to be patient,” she said. “I’m sure the princesses would rather see their rooms, rest, and unpack before seeing the Tarkin. This evening is soon enough.”
“We rested well on the ship, thank you, Mother’s Sister,” Cleona said, using the formal term in Arderon for a ranking female relative. “And such a short ride cannot exhaust us. Until our chests arrive from the ship, we cannot unpack, and so we will meet with the Tarkin in the meantime.”
“In that case, my dears, I will take myself away and leave you young people to it. I am an old woman now, and all this riding about in the heat of the day is quite enough for me.” She smiled, revealing remarkably good teeth for the old woman she claimed to be. “Welcome to both of you,” she reiterated, kissing first Cleona and then Alaria on the cheek. “Sun, Moon, and Stars bless you.” And with that she was stumping away, leaning heavily on her cane and leaving her guards to catch up.
Parno glanced at Dhulyn and saw that she, too, was stifling a smile. Cleona was surely beginning as she meant to go on. Dhulyn signaled him with her left hand, and he edged closer to her.
“Interesting he wants to see her so soon. Is he anxious to be rid of us?” she said, barely parting her lips.
“Who’s being paranoid?”
The right corner of her lips lifted in a smile, but Parno knew what she was thinking. Better cautious than cursing.
Berena Attin dispatched a page with a quick gesture before turning back to them. “You Mercenary Brothers will of course leave your weapons here at the gate.”
Princess Alaria spoke up before either Dhulyn or Parno had a chance to reply.
“At the moment these Brothers form the Princess Cleona’s personal guard. You would not ask your Tarkina’s personal guard to disarm.”
Parno saw Dhulyn shoot the younger princess a sharp look out of the corner of her eye, and he relaxed, knowing that neither of them need say anything.
Though her lips were pressed tight, the Steward of Keys gave a bow of acknowledgment, and she led them through the grand entrance hall. Dhulyn stepped quickly to take up position behind her, in front of the princesses, and Parno fell in behind them, neither surprised nor alarmed when six of the Tarkin’s own Guard formed a guard square around all of them. They could have passed as escorts, to someone less experienced, but Parno knew precautionary measures when he saw them. They might be allowed to carry weapons into the presence of the Tarkin, but they wouldn’t go unguarded, and unwatched. The Steward of Walls, though he had made no personal appearance as yet, had trained his men well to take no foolish chances.
The room they were led to was clearly the Tarkin of Menoin’s private audience chamber. The floor was a pleasing pattern of russet tiles offset with small squares of brilliant blue and purple, and the walls were covered with mosaics depicting vines and flowering shrubs growing around and out of sharply rendered urns and stylized lattice. A man, his back very erect, his dark hair curling over the collar of his tunic, stood with his back to the room, looking out of the left-hand window. Between him and the door was a grouping of four chairs of time-darkened wood, very likely from the pine
Cleona held out her hand, and Parno smiled. She had learned something about the customs of her new land, it seemed. Berena Attin blinked and took the offered hand.
“Is it the custom here, as I have read of, that the Steward of Keys cannot leave the House building of which she is Steward? So that you cannot even walk across the courtyard?”
“It is, my lady Princess,” the Steward said, somewhat taken aback.
“And it pleases you?”
“It does.” Berena Attin smiled, and after a few moments Cleona returned it.
“Very well,” she said. “If my servants can be shown to the stables prepared for my horses, I would be pleased to attend the Tarkin now.”
Tahlia Listra snorted. “Tell Falcos to be patient,” she said. “I’m sure the princesses would rather see their rooms, rest, and unpack before seeing the Tarkin. This evening is soon enough.”
“We rested well on the ship, thank you, Mother’s Sister,” Cleona said, using the formal term in Arderon for a ranking female relative. “And such a short ride cannot exhaust us. Until our chests arrive from the ship, we cannot unpack, and so we will meet with the Tarkin in the meantime.”
“In that case, my dears, I will take myself away and leave you young people to it. I am an old woman now, and all this riding about in the heat of the day is quite enough for me.” She smiled, revealing remarkably good teeth for the old woman she claimed to be. “Welcome to both of you,” she reiterated, kissing first Cleona and then Alaria on the cheek. “Sun, Moon, and Stars bless you.” And with that she was stumping away, leaning heavily on her cane and leaving her guards to catch up.
Parno glanced at Dhulyn and saw that she, too, was stifling a smile. Cleona was surely beginning as she meant to go on. Dhulyn signaled him with her left hand, and he edged closer to her.
“Interesting he wants to see her so soon. Is he anxious to be rid of us?” she said, barely parting her lips.
“Who’s being paranoid?”
The right corner of her lips lifted in a smile, but Parno knew what she was thinking. Better cautious than cursing.
Berena Attin dispatched a page with a quick gesture before turning back to them. “You Mercenary Brothers will of course leave your weapons here at the gate.”
Princess Alaria spoke up before either Dhulyn or Parno had a chance to reply.
“At the moment these Brothers form the Princess Cleona’s personal guard. You would not ask your Tarkina’s personal guard to disarm.”
Parno saw Dhulyn shoot the younger princess a sharp look out of the corner of her eye, and he relaxed, knowing that neither of them need say anything.
Though her lips were pressed tight, the Steward of Keys gave a bow of acknowledgment, and she led them through the grand entrance hall. Dhulyn stepped quickly to take up position behind her, in front of the princesses, and Parno fell in behind them, neither surprised nor alarmed when six of the Tarkin’s own Guard formed a guard square around all of them. They could have passed as escorts, to someone less experienced, but Parno knew precautionary measures when he saw them. They might be allowed to carry weapons into the presence of the Tarkin, but they wouldn’t go unguarded, and unwatched. The Steward of Walls, though he had made no personal appearance as yet, had trained his men well to take no foolish chances.
The room they were led to was clearly the Tarkin of Menoin’s private audience chamber. The floor was a pleasing pattern of russet tiles offset with small squares of brilliant blue and purple, and the walls were covered with mosaics depicting vines and flowering shrubs growing around and out of sharply rendered urns and stylized lattice. A man, his back very erect, his dark hair curling over the collar of his tunic, stood with his back to the room, looking out of the left-hand window. Between him and the door was a grouping of four chairs of time-darkened wood, very likely from the pine
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