“It picked itself.” And had, as far as Jenn knew.
Riss smiled and briefly bent to touch a petal, her unbound hair rippling across her back like a red satin cloak edged in white. “I should have guessed. That’s how it came to Marrowdell in the first place.” At Jenn’s expression, she chuckled. “Have you not heard the story? Of Melusine and this rose?”
The two had been close friends before she was born. Had the Ancestors listened? Jenn wasn’t sure they did anything more than that, but it did seem remarkable to immediately find someone who could answer her questions.
“Not that one,” she said eagerly. “Aunt Sybb told us how mother had to flee Avyo, because her family didn’t approve of our father.” Jenn hesitated, but it had been secret only from her and Peggs. “And about Uncle Horst.”
Riss gave her a keen look. “He couldn’t love you more. You must know that.”
Jenn nodded, warm inside. For some reason, the sun grew a little brighter and warmer, as if it had slipped from behind a faint, high cloud. In the glade, it felt more like midsummer and perfume from the rose filled the air.
“Ah, the rose.” Riss paused for an appreciative sniff. “Say what you will about them, the Semanaryas had a gift for roses. They grew them everywhere on their estate. This one climbed the wall outside Melly’s bedroom. Handily so.” She chuckled. “Before they were married, she’d nip out her window and down its trellis to meet your father, with none the wiser.”
“So that’s why she brought the rose,” Jenn concluded happily. Could it be more romantic than this? “As a sign of their love.”
“Not exactly.” Riss’ eyes shone. “She didn’t bring the rose. The rose chose to come.”
“Pardon?”
“You’ve heard Melusine’s family tricked her into coming home that night, locking her in her old room?” At Jenn’s nod, she continued, “Melusine packed what she could carry—having little Peggs, as well—and nipped out the window neat as could be. Only it wasn’t a simple thing, climbing with such burdens and in formal dress, and she slipped. The roses caught her.” A dimple showed. “Melly said the worst of it was trying not to swear while she pulled herself free of the thorns. Someone might have heard, you see.”
Jenn winced in sympathy, having pricked herself more than once.
“She met your father and they fled through the gates,” Riss went on. “It wasn’t until they were well away from the city that Radd had a chance to tell her she had twigs tangled in her hair. Melly claimed the rose had escaped with her, and deserved a new home too. A better home. They certainly grew well. We all loved them.” Her face grew thoughtful. “They were something of home.”
Riss had been young then. Young and beautiful, with suitors and prospects and a full life ahead. Until that same night. “Have you been happy here?” asked Jenn without thinking, then blushed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t—”
“Dear Heart, you should.” Emphatically. “Sometimes we talk about the past as if it matters more than the present, and it doesn’t.” Riss grinned. “No matter what my beloved uncle claims.”
Remembering parrots, Jenn grinned back.
Riss lifted her face to the sun and half closed her eyes. “Marrowdell, you won my heart long ago—”
“Marrowdell, was it?” said the man stepping into the ossuary.
Jenn’s eyes widened. Riss, a blanket, and . . . Uncle Horst?
She couldn’t have uttered a word if she tried.
His smile altered ever so slightly when he saw Riss wasn’t alone, though it was no less warm. “Fair morning, Jenn. And to you, Riss,” A small bow.
She inclined her head. “Indeed it is, Sennic.”
Uncle Horst had a first name?
He carried a pair of the snips used for hedge trimming, which might have made sense except that he was supposed to leave for Endshere today. Worst of all, he wore a clean, if faded, linen shirt instead of his usual leather, and looked to have recently bathed.
Jenn realized she was staring when his smile faded. He looked down at Melusine’s name and the rose. Twin spots of color appeared on his cheeks. When he looked up again, his face might have been carved from stone. “My apologies for the intrusion.” Another, quicker bow, then he turned and strode away.
“Sennic—” Riss let her outstretched hand drop to her side. For an instant, disappointment curved her shoulders.
“I’m sorry.” Jenn could feel her own skin flame. “I—I didn’t know.” Not that she knew now, but really, it couldn’t be much plainer. “I’d have gone home,” she finished lamely.
“Don’t worry, Dear Heart.” Riss sighed and shook her head ruefully. “It’s not your fault. Sennic usually watches to be sure no one’s come to visit the Ancestors, so he can slip through to my yard with none the wiser, but few are here this early. You took us by surprise, that’s all.” She spoke as if they discussed tapestries and not what they were, to Jenn’s embarrassed dismay, apparently discussing.
She swallowed, determined not to ask.
The other woman gave her a knowing look. “Why do we meet in secret?”
Jenn blushed.
“We always have. Come. Sit with me.” Riss put the blanket aside and drew Jenn with her to the bench. “It’s a longer story.”
“You’ve been told what happened at your birth,” she began soberly. “Ancestors Witness, it was hard for all of us, losing Melusine. How your father stayed strong . . . but the two of you needed him, so what else could he do? Your lady aunt stayed as long as she could. And Sennic. He stayed too.” She took Jenn’s hand. “Not that we made him welcome, at first. Only your father—and my uncle, who understood such men—were kind to him. It was Uncle who suggested I give my home to this grim stranger, because it was close to the mill and your family, and as far from the rest of the village as could be.”
Riss had lived in Uncle Horst’s house? Which was, Jenn corrected herself hurriedly, the wrong way around. Wait till she told Peggs. “That was kind—”
“Not of me. Understand, Jenn. I wasn’t the same person.” The older woman sighed. “You asked if I’m happy here, and I am. But I wasn’t, not at first. I was terribly angry, at everyone and everything. I hadn’t wanted to leave Avyo. Why would I? Melusine left for Radd, but everything I had—it was there. I tried to stay—” Riss let go of Jenn’s hands, and clasped hers together until their knuckles went white. “When the rumors started, I sought my Rhothan friends. Friends.” The word was bitter. “They shunned me, afraid to be tainted by my Mellynne blood.”
“Oh, Riss.”
“There’s worse. I’d no pride left,” the other admitted softly, “only desperation. I went to suitors I’d once spurned. Offered myself to any who’d have me. I quickly learned that without the Nahamm fortune, no one would. I was sent on my way, to leave Avyo with my family and come here.”
A rueful shrug. “Where I was no good company, Jenn, nor good neighbor. If Melly hadn’t befriended me, I don’t know what would have become of me. When the stranger came . . . when she died . . .” Riss took a ragged breath. “I flew into a rage. I blamed him for Melly’s death. I blamed him for everything that had happened to me. I said things, horrible things. Give him my home? Never! My cousin stood by me.” She dug her toe into the moss and looked where sun and sigil spilled the name “Riedd Morrill” on the ground. There were soft creases by her eyes and mouth, the sort left by a lifetime of kind smiles. She wasn’t smiling now. “Uncle wasn’t proud of us, but even he couldn’t change my mind. I refused to look at the stranger, let alone speak to him. I shunned him, as I’d been shunned.”
Aunt Sybb regularly pointed out that temper was more easily lost than kept, but Jenn had trouble picturing calm, pleasant Riss ever angry with anyone, let alone Uncle Horst. “You like him now,” she ventured shyly.
Riss smiled. “I most certainly do.” Her smile faded. “Then? It took a great deal to open my eyes to see the man he was. It took that winter, our worst. Day after day of howling winds and bitter cold. Everyone struggled. To care f
or their own families. To keep the livestock alive. Uncle took poorly after the Midwinter Beholding, so I stayed with him. Most days, we couldn’t see another house through the snow; every night seemed likely our last. I might have despaired, Jenn, but each morning I’d wake to find water waiting and charcoal for our fire. There’d be a fresh hare or squirrel ready for the pot.”
“Uncle,” Jenn guessed.
“Yes, the stranger I hated. He cared for your family as his debt to Melusine; I couldn’t understand why he helped us too. I didn’t know him as I do now. As we all do.”
Jenn nodded. If anyone in the village needed help, Uncle Horst was the first to realize it and act. Hadn’t he been the one who’d heard Mimm Ropp’s desperate cries? “He saved Cheffy from drowning,” she remembered out loud, then shivered. The son, but not the mother. Mimm’s name was on the ground, not far from their feet. She felt the prickle of tears. “It was Melusine all over again, wasn’t it?”
“It almost broke him,” Riss said. The words were blunt; her voice, gentle. “It would have, but for you, Jenn. You’ve held his heart since the moment you were born. You’ve kept it whole.”
And came close to breaking it herself. Jenn sighed. “I shouldn’t have doubted him.”
“He’s never made it easy for us.” Riss shook her head. “When the thaw came and Uncle improved, all I could think was how we wouldn’t have survived on our own, how selfless Horst was. How wrong I’d been.”
“You apologized.”
“I certainly tried. He’s a proud man. After what I’d said to him about Melusine? I might not have existed. He wouldn’t so much as look at me. I moved my things into Uncle’s house and left mine empty for him, hoping he’d understand the gesture and forgive me, but it took your father to convince Horst to move from the mill and take it before mice went rampant.” Riss tilted her head, her smile wistful. “Maddening man. I’d listen to him laugh with you, and hear him chat with Radd or Davi or anyone in the village. Not with me. He’d spend his free time here, planting flowers and training the hedges, humming as if he didn’t know full well I could hear him from my yard.”
Jenn leaned forward. “What did you do?”
“One summer morning, I’d had quite enough of being ignored and hummed at, thank you. I cut a hole in the hedge and surprised him. Right here. With a kiss.” Her smile deepened. “Let’s say he surprised me back.”
It was, Jenn decided, as romantic a tale as any heart could wish—except for the part where it concerned Uncle Horst, who she couldn’t possibly imagine as romantic. Riss, yes. She was lovely and kind and, until this moment, Jenn, like Peggs, had been more than half convinced by Aunt Sybb that their father not only should, but would court “that Nahamm woman” once Old Jupp had moved on, which would have been wonderful. Riss and their father, not, she thought with some guilt, losing Old Jupp.
Uncle Horst and Riss must truly be a secret if Aunt Sybb, who was usually infallible about people, hadn’t guessed. “I don’t understand,” Jenn admitted. “After so long, if you and—” she swallowed and continued, “—why aren’t you together? Why still meet like this?”
“I asked him to live with me years ago. To marry, if he wished. I told him everyone would be glad to see him happy. He said, everyone but him.” Lightly said, making it worse to hear. “He believes that, Jenn. We steal moments together, hide our love, because to do otherwise would mean he’d forgiven himself for Melusine.”
“I have,” Jenn declared fiercely. “We all have.”
“Yes, Dearest Heart. We have.” Riss patted her hand, her eyes on the empty path and sad. “But he can’t.”
How hard could it be?
Bannan hefted the scythe and lifted its wicked curved blade high overhead, a grin spreading across his face. He’d seen the familiar implement used in fields all his life. One gripped, so, and cut with a bold swing. “Prepare for your beheading!” he warned, curling his upper lip at the chest-high grass between him and his garden. A few quick strokes, and he’d have a path through. And hay in the making.
Being alone at his first effort was not only more fun, but likely prudent. There was, Bannan was sure, a trick to it. Those with real skill made their tasks look easy, he’d discovered. Given time, and trials, he was sure he’d get the knack.
Swing!
The scythe swept down and across with gratifying power and speed. “I have you now!” Bannan crowed.
The grass bent aside, then sprang back up, unharmed. A bird landed on a stem, and began to peck at seeds, one bright eye regarding him.
“I can see that, sir. Cowering it is.”
Bannan threw down the scythe and whirled. “Tir!” He rushed forward to take his protesting friend by the shoulders, searching his face. “Did you sleep? You look rested. Better. How are you?”
“Better, sir, than your grass cutting.” Tir shook his head. “That’s just embarrassing.”
The eyes above the mask danced with life. Bannan gave him an affectionate shake then let go. “About time you got here,” he said, making no attempt to hide his relief. “I might have cut off my foot. Show me what I’m doing wrong. I need to be superb at this by the harvest. To help the villagers,” he added, to deflect any comments about impressing Jenn Nalynn.
“Don’t bother with the scythe, sir.”
Bannan shook his head. “I can learn—”
“Anything’s possible, but doesn’t change matters. I’m told this isn’t usual grain.”
“How so?”
“Doesn’t need cutting.” Tir gestured at the field beyond. “Falls over once it’s ripe.”
“‘Falls over?’” The truthseer burst out laughing. “You expect me to believe that?”
“The miller swore to it himself.”
Bannan’s brows knitted together. “Radd’s pulling your leg, Tir.” Which would be a change. His friend’s pranks were legendary in the border guard.
“I’ve not your knack with the truth, sir, but I believe him. Besides,” a sly look, “I checked every barn and shed. Counting this’un, there’s but three scythes in Marrowdell. Even if these tinkers bring theirs, that’s too few for such fields.”
Water, always fresh, from their wells. Davi’s forge, heated by a single large stone that never cooled. Grain that grew without pest or weed, only to harvest itself. Marrowdell’s wondrous gifts, Bannan thought uneasily, couldn’t have been better chosen to keep people here. Why?
And peril. He mustn’t forget that. Scourge, sent to guard the road. The path to the Spine. The turn-born. He should tell Tir.
Who’d only just begun to sleep without nightmares.
While Bannan argued with himself, Tir continued, “There’s no magic going to help us cut this, sir.” His friend scowled at the overgrown farmyard. “That’ll take sweat. But, first things first. I bear gifts.” His hand went inside his jerkin and whipped out a creamy envelope with a grand flourish.
Driving off any thought of peril or magic. “Is that . . . ?”
“A letter from a certain farm maid? Most certainly it is, sir.” As the truthseer reached eagerly for it, Tir pulled the oh-so-enticing envelope away. “For the dragon.”
The truthseer let his hand drop. Of course it was for Wyll. Why would it be for him? “He’ll be back for supper,” he said, doing his best not to look disappointed.
“Ancestors Foolish and Fooled. You should see your face.” Chuckling, his friend pulled out a second letter. “Here.”
“Heart’s Blood, Tir!” The curse was absentminded, Bannan’s attention all for the somewhat crushed envelope now resting in his hand. “She wrote to me?”
“Aie. And best you read the thing now and get it over with, before I teach you to cut grass.”
The truthseer, already walking away with the unopened letter in both hands, didn’t bother to answer.
Bannan sat on the branch to study the envelope. The Lady Mahavar’s exquisite stationery, no doubt. His name wasn’t on the front, but he trusted Tir not to mix the letters.
A careful slip of his finger broke the teardrop of wax sealing the back. He pulled out a small piece of paper, also creamy linen. The script was embellished at every opportunity with curlicues, but neatly done and easy to read.
To Bannan Larmensu, Salutations.
I regret to inform you that I will not be able to help unpack your kitchen. Under the kind and knowledgeable direction of our lady aunt, my sister and I have much to accomplish in the coming days, in addition to our accustomed tasks attendant to the tinkers’ arrival and the harvest.
May the Ancestors grant you good health and spirits,
Jenn Nalynn.
Easy to read, and as warm as ice. He read it again and was just as discouraged. Yes, she hadn’t wrenched his heart by mentioning her upcoming wedding, but that was simply her kind nature.
With a sigh, Bannan went to put the letter in its envelope. He stopped. What was this? More writing on the back, hurried and slanted, as if added in a rush.
I hope your new stove works as well as it looks. Uncle Horst says new doesn’t mean better, but he doesn’t even own a stove.
You need more pebbles for your house toad. Ask Tir.
Thank you for sending Scourge. He chased away the dragons. How did you know?
“Well and well again.”
The hopeful little bird by his feet looked up.
“It’s a letter, not crumbs,” he told it. An honest, wonderful letter. A letter like her hand in his. Bannan nodded to himself as he folded the precious paper and tucked it carefully in a pocket. He’d use the envelope again. Hadn’t she asked a question?
His face fell. If he answered truthfully, he’d have to admit Wyll had sent Scourge to the village and he, Bannan, hadn’t a clue she’d been in trouble, from dragons or otherwise, and worse, that as a man, he’d be of no help whatsoever against dragons, other than, as Wyll said, to embarrass them with a broomstick. So much for her gratitude and good opinion.
Not to answer would be as good as a lie, something he couldn’t and wouldn’t begin; every word he put in her dear hands must be trustworthy. Trustworthy and interesting. Trustworthy, interesting, and draw her heart closer to his.
A Turn of Light Page 47
