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unstained, unpierced tunic. He stretched, and scratched his beard, and smiled
around, the very picture of a man arising from a refreshing post-luncheon nap.
Except that he had eaten nothing . . .
His servant scurried back, to help him pull tabard and sword baldric over his
head. The little man supplied a light gray linen vest-cloak as well,
elaborately embroidered with gold thread on the margins, and adjusted the hang
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to a pleasantly lordly swing about Arhys's calves. A lazy-voiced order or two
sent his people to work making their cavalcade ready for the road once more.
The acolyte rose to gather her things and pack them away. Ferda passed by,
heading for the horse lines.
Ista softly called him to her side.
She stared away. In a deliberately uninflected voice, she said to him, "Ferda.
Look into my right palm and tell me what you see."
He bent over her hand, straightened. "Blood! My lady, did you take an injury?
I'll fetch the acolyte "
"Thank you, I am unhurt. I merely wished to know ... if you saw what I saw.
That's all. Carry on, please." She wiped her hand upon the blankets and
extended her other arm for him to help her to her feet. She added after a
moment, "Do not speak of this."
His lips pursed in puzzlement, but he saluted and continued on his way.
The second portion of the ride was much shorter than Ista had expected, a mere
five miles or so up over the next ridge and into a somewhat wider watercourse.
The road switched back and forth a few times, angling down the steep slope,
then ran beside the little river. Arhys moved up and down along the column,
but fetched up toward the end by her side and Ferda's. "Look, there." He
pointed ahead, an expansive wave. "Castle Porifors."
Another walled village, much larger than the last, nestled by the stream at
the foot of a tall rocky outcrop. Along the outcrop's crown, commanding a long
view of the valley, an irregular array of rectangular walls loomed, broken
only sparingly by round towers. The blank walls, pierced by arrow slits and
capped by crenellations, were of fine-cut stone, palest gold in the liquid
light. Elaborate twining carvings, running in bands of contrasting bright
white stone around the walls, marked it as the best
Roknari masonry work of a few generations back, when Porifors had been built
to guard Jokona from
Chalion and Ibra.
Arhys's upturned face held a strange expression for a moment, drinking in the
sight, at once eager and tense, longing and reluctant. And for the briefest,
lid-squeezed flash, weary beyond measure. But he then turned to Ista with a
more open smile. "Come, Royina! We're almost there."
More of the baggage train split off at the village, and most of the soldiers.
Arhys led his remaining troop and Ferda's past those lesser walls and up a
narrower road, single file, winding across the slope. Green bushes clung
dizzily to the rocks with roots like grasping fingers. The horses' haunches
bunched and flexed, pushing them up the last breathless incline. Cries of
greeting rang down from above, echoing off the boulders. Had they been
attackers, arrows and stones would have fallen on their heads just as readily.
The cavalcade circled the walls and approached a drawbridge lowered over a
sharp natural cleft in the rocks, its downward plunge adding another twenty or
so free feet to the wall's height. Arhys, now at the head of his troop, waved
and gave a great whoop, then cantered his horse through the archway with a
clatter like a drum roll.
Ista followed at a saner pace, to find herself in what seemed a sudden other
world, a garden gone amok.
The rectangular entry court was lined with big pots of blooming flowers and
succulent shrubs. One open wall was covered with an array of more pots,
secured in wrought-iron rings driven into the walls, exploding with
color purple, white, red, blue, searing pink dripping with green vines
trailing down over the pale severe stone. A second wall boasted an espaliered
apricot tree, grown immense across it, twining with an equally ancient almond,
both in bloom. At the far end of the court, an arcade of harmonious stone
pillars held up a balcony. A delicately carved staircase descended like a
white alabaster waterfall into the court.
A tall young woman, her face glowing with joy, fairly flew down the stairs.
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Black hair was braided up from her temples, framing her rose-tinted ivory
features, but was freed to ripple like flowing silk over her shoulders. Light
linens graced her slim body, and a pale green silk robe with wide gilt-edged
sleeves fluttered about her, billowing like a sail as she descended. Arhys
jumped from his dappled horse and flung his reins to a groom barely in time to
open his arms to the impact of her frantic, fragrant embrace.
"My lord, my lord! Five gods be praised, you are come back safe!"
The young soldier had appeared at Ista's horse's head and stood ready to help
her dismount, but his head turned to mark this play with open, if tolerantly
amused, envy in his eyes.
"What an incredibly lovely young woman," Ista said. "I did not realize Lord
Arhys had a daughter."
He managed to look back around to her, and hurried to hold her stirrup. "Oh,
my lord's daughter does not live here, Royina . . ."
She came about from her dismount, upright on her feet, as Arhys strode up to
her, the young woman clinging to his arm.
"Royina Ista," said Arhys, breathless with pride and a long kiss. "May I have
the pleasure and honor of presenting to you my wife, Cattilara dy Lutez,
Marchess of Porifors."
The black-haired young woman dipped in a curtsey of surpassing gracefulness.
"Dowager Royina. My household is honored beyond all deserving by your presence
here. I hope I may do everything possible to make your sojourn with my lord
and myself a memorable delight."
"Five gods give you a good day, Lady of Porifors," Ista choked. "I'm sure you
shall."
CHAPTER TEN
FLANKED BY TWO SMILING LADIES-IN-WAITING, THE YOUNG marchess led Ista through
a cool, dim archway under the balcony and into an inner court. Ferda and
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