“It isn’t actually fair.” His tone reminded her that most of his friendships were among the workers of Orison, rather than among the lords and ladies. “But the way King Joyse runs the country puts more wealth back than it takes out, so his privileges don’t do any harm.” He seemed to be urging her to accept Elega’s offer.
She made an effort to collect her scattered wits. Really, she ought to be accustomed to surprises by now. They were becoming the story of her life. And when she thought about it, she found that she was excited.
“Thanks,” she said to the lady. “That sounds like fun. I was just telling Geraden I wanted to get out of this room. I’m about to start screaming.”
Elega smiled. “I know just what you mean. I have felt that way for years at a time. When would you like to go?”
Terisa glanced at Geraden, but his features were composed into a neutral mask. “How about right now?”
“That suits me admirably.” Elega looked pleased.
“If you will take my advice from the start, however,” she continued, “you will change your garments before we go. The seamsters who serve the ladies of Orison are accustomed to gowns. I suspect that they have scant acquaintance with” – she searched for a graceful description – “the styles of your world. If you wear a gown and carry your own clothing with you, you will be able to leave it for the seamster to use as a pattern. Then they should be able to match it.”
Although Terisa wasn’t at all sure that she wanted shirts and pants instead of gowns, Elega’s advice seemed too reasonable to ignore. “Just give me a minute.” From the wardrobe in the bedroom, she quickly fetched her demure gray gown. Then she retreated to the bathroom to change.
“Dress warmly,” Elega called. “And be prepared for mud.”
As soon as she had worked her way into the gown, Terisa located the thick sheepskin coat and boots that Geraden had supplied for her tour of Orison’s battlements. In a few moments, she was ready to go. She carried her old clothes under her coat. Her heart was beating like a schoolgirl’s.
“Will you accompany us, Geraden?” inquired Elega. “I doubt that choosing fabrics and studying styles will be of much interest to you. But it is unwise for ladies to go unescorted to the shops.” To Terisa, she explained, “Despite Castellan Lebbick’s best efforts, the bazaar attracts any number of rude fellows – pickthieves, gypsies, clowns, and ruffians. The guards maintain good order, but they cannot prevent all small crimes.” Then she addressed Geraden again. “If you would like an escape from your routine duties, I will be happy to pretend that I have commanded your attendance.”
“Again you are too kind, my lady.” Behind his deference, he was laughing. “But the King’s daughter’s pretense is probably as good as a command. I’ll go with you, of course.”
Elega smiled at him as though he were an amiable child. “Then perhaps you should get a coat.”
He was taken aback: he seemed almost suspicious, as if he thought the lady might have some ulterior motive. He swallowed his concern, however. “That’s a good idea. Which door are you going to use? I’ll catch up with you.”
She told him.
Bowing to Terisa, he left.
Brightly, Elega asked, “Shall we go?”
Terisa wasn’t sure what she was doing as she followed the King’s daughter out of the room.
Chatting easily about trivial subjects, Elega led her around through Orison to the northwest end of the castle. Along the way, she spotted Ribuld and Argus. The two guards were loitering in the hall as if they were off watch and had no better use for their time.
Her eagerness began to change color. What had started as a simple case of spring fever was becoming yet another gambit in the plots and schemes that surrounded Mordant’s need.
She accepted this. At the moment, all she really wanted was to get out of her recent depression.
Then she and Elega reached a door that gave access to the courtyard. With its massive timbers and thick iron bolts, it was made to be sealed; but it was open, and its guards stood outside, watching the crowd that spilled out of Orison to swirl and mill around the shops and tents.
Geraden was already there: he had been running again. Now, however, he had a coat to keep him warm.
Just for a second, his face showed a relief he couldn’t conceal. Apparently, one of his fears had been proved groundless. Then he greeted the two women with a smile.
Terisa inhaled the spring-like air deeply and plunged with her companions through the downpour from the eaves out into the mud.
Once again, she was struck by the size of the courtyard. Hidden in its own shadow, the eastern edifice of the castle was dark against the fathomless blue sky; but to the west Orison’s whole inward face held the sun and reflected the browns and grays of its stones, making the atmosphere around her warmer than the weather. In this light, the erratic pile of the castle seemed protective, rising high on all sides to keep what it enclosed safe. Windows caught the sunlight and flashed; from oriels and poles and projections among the balconies and walkways, clotheslines had been strung, and drying laundry decorated the walls in particolor; up on the towers, pennons made tiny by distance fluttered and gleamed.
The mud wasn’t as bad as she had expected. In this end of the courtyard, away from the area where the guards exercised their horses, gravel had been strewn over the dirt. That didn’t solve the problem, but it did make the inevitable muck less deep and cloying. The hem of her gown became soaked and stained immediately, but she was able to walk with unanticipated ease.
Doubtless inspired by their own species of spring fever, the people of the courtyard had flung wide the wooden fronts of their shops, decked their tents with ribbons, brought out carts loaded with refreshments which no one would have braved the cold to enjoy yesterday. They had put on their gay clothes and declared the day a spontaneous festival. Terisa heard the music of pipes and lutes punctuated by tambourines. Somewhere, there was probably dancing. Cooking smells and spices followed the tang of woodsmoke which drifted along the slight breeze from tin chimneys in the roofs of wooden structures, from smoke holes at the tops of tents, and from open fires crackling frequently in the gaps between the buildings.
For no reason except that she suddenly felt wonderful, she began laughing.
Geraden shared her mood. And Elega smiled, although the assessing quality of her gaze suggested that her pleasure was more complex. Terisa grinned at both of them and made an effort not to hurry.
“Here!” Passing among the shops and the crowds, Geraden presumed on his apparent stature as a friend of the King’s daughter to dash over to a cart and capture some of its wares, which were charred chunks of meat on long cane sticks. “This is my favorite food in the whole world.” The vendor bowed again and again like a bobbing cork as Geraden carried his booty triumphantly back to Terisa and Elega. “It’s called ‘treasure of Domne.’ The meat is just lamb, but it’s basted with a sauce that will melt your heart.” With a flourish, he offered a stick to each of his companions. “Eat! And grieve that you weren’t born in the Care of Domne.”
“I think,” Elega murmured without malice, “we would be more likely to grieve if we were born in the Care of Domne.”
Juice ran down Terisa’s chin as she bit into the tender meat. It was spiced like nothing she had ever tasted before. Stale coriander? Cumin that hadn’t been stored properly? For Geraden’s sake, she finished the piece she had in her mouth, then tried to think of an excuse not to eat the rest. Luckily, he savored the treat so much himself that he was temporarily deaf and blind to his companions. Elega deftly handed her stick to the nearest passerby. After a momentary hesitation, Terisa did the same. A bit self-consciously, she wiped her chin.
She and Elega walked on. The crowd made too much noise for quiet conversation. People were laughing gaily, shouting rowdy encouragements and insults at each other, greeting friends and hawking merchandise. But she didn’t want to talk – she wanted to see everything and absorb it all. The loud bustl
e seemed entirely unlike the frenetic activity of the city streets with which she was familiar. These people weren’t thinking about making fortunes or losing their jobs or fighting off muggers or being evicted from their homes. And they also weren’t thinking about war with Cadwal and Alend, the ethics of Imagery, or their King’s inexplicable decline. Their minds were on more important things.
Geraden rejoined her, grinning a little foolishly. With Elega, they took the path of least resistance through the throng.
Everything here had been set down or built up unsystematically, without a thought to such questions as ease of access or advantageous display – and with very little concern for sanitation. Apparently Castellan Lebbick’s authority didn’t entirely rule this little village which had sprung up to serve the demands of Orison. Rickety wooden buildings that looked too tall for their underpinnings, and too hastily hammered together to be more than semi-permanent, leaned against each other, often making it difficult for prospective buyers to find the entrances to the shops. Some of the tents assertively overfilled the available space, with the result that they couldn’t be passed except by squatting under or straddling over the ropes. Cooking fires sent up sparks dangerously close to weathered planks and dry canvas. Terisa was jostled so frequently that she began to be glad she wasn’t carrying any money.
Around one corner, she and her companions came upon a mountebank selling nostrums from a brightly painted wagon. His shirt was several sizes too small for him; his trousers, far too large. And both had been worn to tatters. But he had made a virtue of necessity by tying himself up from neck to ankles in ribbons of all colors, so that his tatters looked like a deliberate part of his costume. His mustache was as tangled as his hair, which had the added attraction of being streaked with ash. More ash stained his swarthy skin; his eyes rolled feverishly.
His nostrums were contained in crooked little glass bottles, large and uneven clay pots, and baskets woven of reeds. He advertised them with a high-pitched cry like the whine of a half-wit. If he had worn a red sign around his neck that said CHARLATAN, he would have appeared no less reliable than he did now. Large numbers of people showed interest in his wares, but he didn’t seem to have many buyers.
“Where does somebody like that come from?” Terisa asked Elega. “I can’t believe he sells enough to keep himself alive.”
“You have never been beyond the walls of Orison.” The lady’s tone and expression were cool: she obviously didn’t share Terisa’s curiosity. “Do not let your experiences among us paint a false picture. Away from the Demesne – and, to a lesser extent, from the principal cities of the Cares – Mordant’s people include a predictable number of simpletons and gulls. Fellows such as this often live better than you might guess.”
Nevertheless Terisa thought the man was fascinating. In fact, she found him more fascinating than she could explain. Something about the way he rolled his eyes and leered made her suspect that he knew what he was doing – that there was cunning in his performance. Was it all an act? Did he disarm suspicion by making himself so plainly untrustworthy?
Her companions wanted to go on, however. After a moment, she let them draw her away.
Shortly, Elega raised her voice and pointed. “All the fabric and tailor shops are there. They have been set almost one on top of the other. It is not usually a quiet place. I think they are often more interested in stealing custom from each other than in attracting buyers. But they will restrain themselves as long as I am with you.”
Terisa was tempted to reply, You seem to have that effect on everybody. She bit her tongue, however, and said nothing.
They passed a cart selling what looked like fried bread. Another offered the sort of trinkets that a guard might buy for a serving girl. In an open area where no one had yet built a shop or pitched a tent, a juggler in a voluminous black robe handled sharp, silver pieces of metal shaped like stars as if they were plates or ninepins. His robe whipped and spun around him like a whirl of midnight. Then Terisa and her escorts were near enough to the tailors and cloth merchants to see swaths of material draped invitingly out windows and over doors, and to hear men with measuring tapes around their necks and pins stuck in their clothing haggling over the passersby.
Suddenly, Geraden let out a yelp of surprise and pleasure and took off at a run, splashing mud.
Terisa and Elega stared after him. “I swear to you, Terisa,” the lady said, “that man becomes more like a boy every year.” Despite her tone, she looked perplexed – perhaps even a little worried. “Surely he knows that it is neither courteous nor wise to abandon us?”
Terisa watched him dodging recklessly through the crowd and held her breath, afraid that he would fall. But he didn’t. Instead, he came to a stop as suddenly as he had started.
“Let’s go see what he’s doing.” Without waiting for agreement, she headed in that direction.
Elega sighed audibly and joined her.
Geraden hadn’t gone far. They found him with another man, who appeared to be considerably less than delighted by the fact that Geraden had spotted him.
“Terisa,” the Apt announced as she and Elega reached him, “this is my brother Nyle.”
Then he began babbling.
“Artagel told me you were here, but I almost didn’t believe him. I haven’t been able to find you. Where have you been hiding? It’s great to see you. Why are you here? The last I heard, you were in Houseldon for the winter. You were trying to talk yourself out of – well, never mind that. Is everyone all right? How is Father? And Tholden? How about—”
“Let him answer, Geraden,” chided Elega firmly. “I am sure he did not come out of ‘hiding,’ as you call it, specifically so that you could drive him to distraction.”
With an effort, Geraden cut off his rush of words.
Unabashedly curious, Terisa studied Nyle. She would have known him as Geraden’s brother anywhere. He had Geraden’s hair and coloring, Geraden’s build, only an inch less than Geraden’s height. And he would have had Geraden’s face, if his features hadn’t been set for brooding instead of open-heartedness. He looked like a discontented version of his younger brother, a man whose basically serious nature had curdled.
It was clear that he took no joy in meeting Geraden.
Stiffly, he bowed to the two women. “My lady Elega.” He and Elega didn’t look at each other. “My lady Terisa. I’m glad to meet you” – Terisa heard no pleasure in his voice – “even though my brother hasn’t bothered to introduce us.”
Geraden started to apologize, but Nyle cut him off. “You haven’t been able to find me because I’ve been busy with my private affairs.” He glared at Geraden, and his tone was acid. “They don’t have anything to do with you, so there’s no reason why you should be involved in them.”
“What do you mean, ‘private affairs’?” snorted Geraden. “I’m your brother. You don’t have private affairs. Even Stead” – he laughed shortly – “doesn’t have private affairs, and he needs them more than you do. Half the husbands in Domne flinch every time he walks into the room. What can you possibly be doing that doesn’t involve your own family?”
A muscle in Nyle’s cheek twitched; however, he kept the rest of his face still. Turning from Geraden, he bowed again to Terisa and Elega. “My ladies, I hope you enjoy your outing. We’re lucky to have this weather.”
With his shoulders squared and his back rigid, he strode away between the shops.
Terisa shot a look at Geraden. His face was knotted: for an instant, he seemed on the verge of chasing after his brother, shouting something. Then he swung toward Elega. “My lady” – he bit down to keep his voice steady – “is this your doing?”
She wasn’t taken aback by the accusation. Watching Nyle’s departing figure vividly, she murmured, “It may have something to do with me. I should speak to him. Excuse me.”
Pulling up her skirts, she hurried after him.
Geraden moved to follow. Instinctively, Terisa put a hand on his arm. Hadn’t she
heard Elega mention Nyle once? When was that? Oh, yes. When Elega first took her to meet Myste. Nyle is more to my taste. Geraden looked at her to see why she had restrained him; she asked, “How could it be her doing?”
Elega caught up with Nyle and stopped him. Their faces couldn’t be seen clearly: too many people intervened, moving in both directions. And of course what they said was inaudible.
Distantly, Geraden replied, “He’s been nursing a passion for her for years, but he thinks it’s hopeless. He thinks—” He frowned in vexation. “I don’t understand it. He thinks he isn’t grand or special enough for her. He hasn’t done anything dramatic in the world. He knows she’s ambitious, and he’s sure she won’t have him. I think it galls him that I was the one who was betrothed to her – and I let her get away.
“He told us he was going to stay in Houseldon all winter to talk himself out of asking for her hand.”
“So you think he came to Orison to see if she’ll have him?”
Geraden nodded. His face was tight with empathy. “But I guess he hasn’t asked her yet. If he did, and she turned him down, he wouldn’t stick around. So she must have done something to hurt him before he got his courage nailed down tightly enough to actually propose. He can’t leave because he hasn’t done what he came for. But he’s in too much pain to do it.
“Blast her.” He glanced at Terisa. “I’m guessing, of course. But look at them. Whatever it is, she knows what’s eating at him.”
The glimpses Terisa caught through the crowd seemed to confirm Geraden’s opinion. Elega was talking to Nyle – pleading with him? – as though she knew what to say. And his answers – brusque as they were – suggested understanding, even approval.
Because she didn’t know how to comfort Geraden, Terisa changed the subject. “What did you think of that mountebank? The man in the ribbons and tatters.”
At first, Nyle and Elega held Geraden’s attention. With an effort, however, he dragged his gaze back to Terisa. “What did you say? I didn’t hear you.”
“The mountebank we passed a little while ago. What did you think of him?”
The Mirror of Her Dreams Page 54
