Read Online The Other Lands by David Anthony Durham - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: David Anthony Durham
Tags: 01 Fantasy
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crimson and orange, of brown and silver that shimmered like sun on water.
Dariel found it somewhat garish, really. He almost remarked once that the colors suited the flamboyant tastes of a Sea Isle brigand outpost, but he had held his tongue, sure that Corinn would not care for the comparison. Still, garishly clothed or not, Acacia had weathered the changes of human fortune with quiet resilience. He wondered if the island itself would outlive all empires and go on in its beauty long after humans ceased clamoring over it. The sea would surround it then just as now. The sun would rise from one horizon and set in the other, just as now. In a way this notion of a lonely Acaciawas a pleasing thought, though Dariel was not sure why that should be so. He should want his people to rule here without end. He did, of course. But a person, he had come to believe, can want two conflicting things at the same time.
After the councillor had vouched for his identity, Dariel left Rialus at the entrance to Corinn’s offices. Entering the inner chambers, the prince was aware of a scent in the air that he often detected around his sister. It was something other than the fragrant concoctions that bubbled quietly in small pots throughout the room, something other than the blossoms from the flowering bushes kept in great basins on her balcony. He thought it an essential oil she must wear dabbed somewhere on her person, a scent all her own. Strange that, because he did not exactly find it a pleasant smell, sharp and dry as it was.
Corinn waited for him. She was alone, standing with her arms clasped at her waist, her face composed as if she had anticipated the exact moment of his arrival. She had developed a tendency toward always seeming completely ready, never surprised. It was yet another small thing about his sister that left him uneasy. The grin that lifted her cheeks could not have been anything but genuine, though, spontaneous. That was another characteristic he had become more aware of in the last few years. She could shift from her aloof composure to girlish familiarity and back again so completely that when she was in one state it was impossible to imagine her in the other.
“What a sight you are, Dariel!” she exclaimed. “You come to poke fun at me. Is that it? Look at you!”
“You sent me out to work among the people like a slave,” Dariel said, raising his arms and spinning so that she could take his clothing in, “and so I return to you looking the part.”
“Aaden is desperate to see you, you know? But if you walked in like that, he’d likely draw his sword and challenge you.” She moved forward, stepped into the embrace of his uplifted arms, and hugged him briefly. Pulling back, she studied him. “Let us sit and talk.”
A moment later, the two reclined in soft leather chairs, sitting across from each other, a carved stone table between them. In the center of it a small fire glowed, giving off considerable heat. A servant set two tumblers of mulled wine on the table and then retired.
“Tell me,” Corinn said, taking up a tumbler and warming her hands around it. “Did you accomplish what you wished?”
He nodded. He had his own question to ask and felt it should be dealt with first. “What word from Mena?”
“Mena is well. She has nearly completed the work I asked of her. Melio is well also, and Kelis. They have performed admirably at their tasks. I know part of you wished to be with them, hunting the foulthings, perhaps protecting your sister—but Mena needs no protection. You were right when you brought this charity work proposal to me. Now tell me of it.”
Dariel reached for the wine, inhaled the spicy scent, and fell into a detailed response to her query. For the past year he had found a sort of joy in daily labor that he had never known before. It came about because he was so very fatigued with war, with piracy, with violence, with seeing his loved ones die. For several years after the war with Hanish
Dariel found it somewhat garish, really. He almost remarked once that the colors suited the flamboyant tastes of a Sea Isle brigand outpost, but he had held his tongue, sure that Corinn would not care for the comparison. Still, garishly clothed or not, Acacia had weathered the changes of human fortune with quiet resilience. He wondered if the island itself would outlive all empires and go on in its beauty long after humans ceased clamoring over it. The sea would surround it then just as now. The sun would rise from one horizon and set in the other, just as now. In a way this notion of a lonely Acaciawas a pleasing thought, though Dariel was not sure why that should be so. He should want his people to rule here without end. He did, of course. But a person, he had come to believe, can want two conflicting things at the same time.
After the councillor had vouched for his identity, Dariel left Rialus at the entrance to Corinn’s offices. Entering the inner chambers, the prince was aware of a scent in the air that he often detected around his sister. It was something other than the fragrant concoctions that bubbled quietly in small pots throughout the room, something other than the blossoms from the flowering bushes kept in great basins on her balcony. He thought it an essential oil she must wear dabbed somewhere on her person, a scent all her own. Strange that, because he did not exactly find it a pleasant smell, sharp and dry as it was.
Corinn waited for him. She was alone, standing with her arms clasped at her waist, her face composed as if she had anticipated the exact moment of his arrival. She had developed a tendency toward always seeming completely ready, never surprised. It was yet another small thing about his sister that left him uneasy. The grin that lifted her cheeks could not have been anything but genuine, though, spontaneous. That was another characteristic he had become more aware of in the last few years. She could shift from her aloof composure to girlish familiarity and back again so completely that when she was in one state it was impossible to imagine her in the other.
“What a sight you are, Dariel!” she exclaimed. “You come to poke fun at me. Is that it? Look at you!”
“You sent me out to work among the people like a slave,” Dariel said, raising his arms and spinning so that she could take his clothing in, “and so I return to you looking the part.”
“Aaden is desperate to see you, you know? But if you walked in like that, he’d likely draw his sword and challenge you.” She moved forward, stepped into the embrace of his uplifted arms, and hugged him briefly. Pulling back, she studied him. “Let us sit and talk.”
A moment later, the two reclined in soft leather chairs, sitting across from each other, a carved stone table between them. In the center of it a small fire glowed, giving off considerable heat. A servant set two tumblers of mulled wine on the table and then retired.
“Tell me,” Corinn said, taking up a tumbler and warming her hands around it. “Did you accomplish what you wished?”
He nodded. He had his own question to ask and felt it should be dealt with first. “What word from Mena?”
“Mena is well. She has nearly completed the work I asked of her. Melio is well also, and Kelis. They have performed admirably at their tasks. I know part of you wished to be with them, hunting the foulthings, perhaps protecting your sister—but Mena needs no protection. You were right when you brought this charity work proposal to me. Now tell me of it.”
Dariel reached for the wine, inhaled the spicy scent, and fell into a detailed response to her query. For the past year he had found a sort of joy in daily labor that he had never known before. It came about because he was so very fatigued with war, with piracy, with violence, with seeing his loved ones die. For several years after the war with Hanish
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