The Silence of Medair

"You truly believe that, don’t you?" she managed, her voice a strangled whisper. "You’re not even trying to be provoking. You speak as if repeating established fact."

"And so I do," Adlenkar said, eyeing her now as if he suspected some infirmity of the mind.

"A theory, Adlenkar," admonished Mylar. "One of many. No proof at all, no way to judge."

"A popular theory," Surreive offered, in an idle, dangerous voice. "Tell me something, Medair ar Corleaux. Ileaha has assured me, in one of her futile attempts at peacemaking, that you have repudiated any association with Medarists, that you have not taken your name as a banner of war. Why, then, does this old, tired saga cost you so much? Why do you look at me with hate in your eyes?"

"Is that what you see?" Medair asked, in a too-high voice, knowing herself to be on the edge of hysteria. "Hate?"

"Medair?" Avahn, fatally, reached a hand to touch her arm and she jerked from his fingers. Her chair clattered backwards onto the floor and the hall fell into interested silence. Dozens of White Snakes were watching the scene play out, enjoying this Farakkian interloper being overset in their conquered domain. Medair gulped back a harsh breath, and closed her hands into fists, not allowing them to send her scurrying wholly defeated from the hall.

"That is," she said, slowly, "the first time anyone has suggested to me that your Niadril Kier was without honour. It is a point I believe I shall have to ponder further."

Medair took another heavy breath, in the shocked hush which followed this piece of heresy. Then, head held high, she walked with a ragged assumption of calm from the hall, through the tower, all the way back to the room which had been given to her. She locked the door firmly behind her, lay down on the bed, and allowed herself to weep.

-oOo-

The view of the city from the balcony had eventually proven more of an attraction than snuffling into her pillow. She stood leaning on the cool stone, sheltered by night, thinking about everything but the distant past. Everything but–

Biting her lip, she shied away from the thought, but there was no escaping what she had heard that evening. Stupid over-reaction on her part, really. It was not as if it had never been suggested before. Two years of war, endless games of marrat with Kier Ieskar. More than one person among the beleaguered defenders, not knowing of constant attendants, not knowing the laws which governed the Kier, had made suggestions. But none of them had actually believed it!

To question a Herald’s honour was no small thing. To
suggest–! Jennet had knocked down that fool Soven, when he had asked Medair if it were true that Ibisians had blue spines, and even that had only been provocation, not accusation. Medair was an Imperial Herald. One of the Emperor’s Mouths, as the Dukes had been his Hands. A Herald spoke the Emperor’s words, acted as the Emperor’s ears, was unmolested even in the midst of battle. A position of great trust, attained by a rare few. Medair had served Palladium with all her heart, and now, it seemed, people believed she had gone to the enemy’s bed. A popular theory, even among Ibisians.

Ieskar had been compelling. Brilliant. Frighteningly observant. An attractive, willowy young man whose pale eyes could cut you to the core. Medair had hated him. Loathed him for destroying her world. She had no idea how she would have felt, if she had known him as other than invader. It was impossible to divorce the person from his deeds.

It was probable, she supposed, that he had liked her. He had after all commanded her company. She had long refused to think of it that way, to think of him as a man at all. Had he known of that popular theory, or had it only grown in force after his death? Had he ever heard that song? She could not understand how it was that the Ibisians tolerated its subject. Not only did it depict them as the enemy, and close on the hope of rescue, but it suggested that their revered Niadril Kier had done something which broke their precious laws and was also incredibly dishonourable. Seduce the Herald of the enemy? Had they forgotten that he was forbidden any touch?

But what Adlenkar had claimed might not have been how the song was regarded at the time. She could not imagine any of the Ibisians who had fled Sar-Ibis even momentarily believing that Kier Ieskar would cast off the restrictions which bound him, however obsolete those laws had become with the destruction of Sar-Ibis.

Today – it was only a song, and a popular theory, established by long centuries of speculation by people who no longer lived to the strictest rule of Ibisian culture. Who laughed over their meals, and said pettish things and looked directly at strangers. Did Surreive and Adlenkar even understand what they had suggested?