Lirren way: If an outsider tried to ravish or romance a Lirren woman, one of the men of her family would face that outsider in a duel to the death. Usually, the sebahta men won—or, more often, the threat itself was enough to keep Lirren women safe from the attention of interlopers. Not this time. Heffel Coravann had killed his bride’s father and carried the woman off to his estates at Coravann Keep.
Normally, that would be the end of it—the woman would have been lost forever to the sebahta-ris . But somehow Heffel had managed to earn the respect of his wife’s relatives and had forged a durable relationship with them. There was visiting and some commerce between them, across the Lireth Mountains. Ellynor was not sure exactly how it had all unfolded, but she knew that Heffel was the one who had suggested the Lumanen Convent as a place to send the wayward Rosurie. He was a devout man, a follower of the moon goddess, and he had described the convent as both safe and holy.
And so here they were.
“I would like to go to Coravann someday,” Ellynor murmured as Rosurie’s voice drifted to a stop. “Wouldn’t you?”
“No. Why?” her cousin demanded.
“To meet the man who stole a Lirren woman from the clans.”
Rosurie sniffed. “He did not steal her. They let him take her.”
“He killed her father!” Ellynor reflected a moment. “Although her father wasn’t very well liked and maybe wasn’t such a loss.”
“That’s what I mean. The sebahta allowed it.”
“I’d still like to meet him. I’d like to meet his daughter— you realize we have a cousin who is only half Lirren?”
“Two,” Rosurie corrected. “She’s got a brother.”
Ellynor nodded in the dark. “So I’d like to meet him, too. And I’d like to see Coravann. Oh, I’d like to see any part of Gillengaria! Ghosenhall or one of the Twelve Houses! I’d like to be free to roam anywhere I wanted to. Wouldn’t you?”
“No,” said Rosurie, turning over on her bed and twitching her blankets up to her chin. “I’m happy where I am. Except I miss the Lirrens. I miss the sebahta . If I could, I would spend half my life on this side of the Lireth Mountains, and half on the other side.”
Ellynor sighed. “I miss the sebahta , too,” she said. “If we were home right now, we’d be planning the baking for the high harvest—”
Rosurie chimed right in, describing the recipes they would be selecting, the spices they would be mixing into the pies and soups. It was a game they played often. If we were home right now . . . Ellynor could not decide if the exercise made her more homesick or less, but she did know that she could remember every detail, every scent, every color, every name. She did not think she would ever forget any of them, if she lived at the convent until she was a hundred.
Her whole life, she had wanted to run away from the clans. But she had always wanted to be able to go back home. Once she left the convent, she would be able to return to the Lirrens. But if she left on her own? Slipped away in the night, or chose a rash lover and eloped? She would never be able to return. She would forfeit the Lirrens forever.
IN the morning, after they had attended the first set of devotions, Rosurie asked Ellynor to dye her hair. “I’ m baking today,” Ellynor said. “I’ll be free in the afternoon, and I can do it then. And you can do mine.”
So shortly after lunch, they returned to their room and set about the time-consuming but pleasurable task of marking their hair with sebahta patterns. A few of the other girls who lived on their floor had always been fascinated by this particular ritual, so Rosurie had invited them in to watch. When Ellynor arrived in the room, buckets of water in hand, she found Rosurie sitting on a stool in the middle of the room, hair unbound and
Normally, that would be the end of it—the woman would have been lost forever to the sebahta-ris . But somehow Heffel had managed to earn the respect of his wife’s relatives and had forged a durable relationship with them. There was visiting and some commerce between them, across the Lireth Mountains. Ellynor was not sure exactly how it had all unfolded, but she knew that Heffel was the one who had suggested the Lumanen Convent as a place to send the wayward Rosurie. He was a devout man, a follower of the moon goddess, and he had described the convent as both safe and holy.
And so here they were.
“I would like to go to Coravann someday,” Ellynor murmured as Rosurie’s voice drifted to a stop. “Wouldn’t you?”
“No. Why?” her cousin demanded.
“To meet the man who stole a Lirren woman from the clans.”
Rosurie sniffed. “He did not steal her. They let him take her.”
“He killed her father!” Ellynor reflected a moment. “Although her father wasn’t very well liked and maybe wasn’t such a loss.”
“That’s what I mean. The sebahta allowed it.”
“I’d still like to meet him. I’d like to meet his daughter— you realize we have a cousin who is only half Lirren?”
“Two,” Rosurie corrected. “She’s got a brother.”
Ellynor nodded in the dark. “So I’d like to meet him, too. And I’d like to see Coravann. Oh, I’d like to see any part of Gillengaria! Ghosenhall or one of the Twelve Houses! I’d like to be free to roam anywhere I wanted to. Wouldn’t you?”
“No,” said Rosurie, turning over on her bed and twitching her blankets up to her chin. “I’m happy where I am. Except I miss the Lirrens. I miss the sebahta . If I could, I would spend half my life on this side of the Lireth Mountains, and half on the other side.”
Ellynor sighed. “I miss the sebahta , too,” she said. “If we were home right now, we’d be planning the baking for the high harvest—”
Rosurie chimed right in, describing the recipes they would be selecting, the spices they would be mixing into the pies and soups. It was a game they played often. If we were home right now . . . Ellynor could not decide if the exercise made her more homesick or less, but she did know that she could remember every detail, every scent, every color, every name. She did not think she would ever forget any of them, if she lived at the convent until she was a hundred.
Her whole life, she had wanted to run away from the clans. But she had always wanted to be able to go back home. Once she left the convent, she would be able to return to the Lirrens. But if she left on her own? Slipped away in the night, or chose a rash lover and eloped? She would never be able to return. She would forfeit the Lirrens forever.
IN the morning, after they had attended the first set of devotions, Rosurie asked Ellynor to dye her hair. “I’ m baking today,” Ellynor said. “I’ll be free in the afternoon, and I can do it then. And you can do mine.”
So shortly after lunch, they returned to their room and set about the time-consuming but pleasurable task of marking their hair with sebahta patterns. A few of the other girls who lived on their floor had always been fascinated by this particular ritual, so Rosurie had invited them in to watch. When Ellynor arrived in the room, buckets of water in hand, she found Rosurie sitting on a stool in the middle of the room, hair unbound and
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