Hawkmistress! by Marion Zimmer Bradley Page B

hardly be understood. Darren laughed, set Rael down and came to take Romilly into his arms.
    “You have grown, sister, you are almost a woman.”
    “It’s her birthday, Darren, what did you bring her?” Rael demanded, and Darren chuckled. He was tall and thin, his red hair clustered in thick curls over his eyes, his face had the indoor pallor of a winter spent among the snows of Nevarsin.
    “I had forgotten your birthday, sister - will you forgive me? I will have a gift for you at Midsummer,” he said.
    “It is gift enough that you have come today, Darren,” she said, and pain struck through her; she loved Darren, but Ruyven was the brother to whom she had always been closest, while Mallina and Darren had always shared everything. And Ruyven would not come home, would never come home. Hatred for the Towers who had taken her brother from her surged within her, and she swallowed hard, nicking away angry tears.
    “Father and Luciella are at breakfast,” she said, “Come up to the terrace, Darren; tell the condom to have your saddlebags taken to your room.” She caught his hand and would have drawn him along, but he turned back to the stranger who had given his horse to the groom.
    “First I want you to know my friend,” he said, and pulled the young man forward. “Alderic of Castamir; my oldest sister Romilly.”
    Alderic was even taller than Darren, his hair glinting with faint copper through gold; his eyes were steel-grey, set deep beneath a high forehead. He was shabbily dressed, an odd contrast to the richness of Darren’s garments - Darren, as the eldest son of Falconsward, was richly clad in rust-colored velveteen trimmed with dark fur, but the cloak the Castamir youngster wore was threadbare, as if he had had it from his father or even his grandfather, and the mean edging of rabbithorn wool was coming away in places.
    So he has made a friend of a youth poorer than himself, no doubt brought him here because his friend had not the means to journey to his home for the holidays. Darren is always kind. She put kind welcome, too, and a trace of condescension, into her voice, as she said, “You are welcome, dom Alderic. Come up and join my parents at breakfast, will you not? Darin-” she beckoned to the steward, “Take my brother’s bags to his room, and put dom Alderic’s things in the red chamber for the moment; unless the Lady Luciella gives other orders, it will be good to have him close to my brother’s quarters.”
    “Yes, come along.” Darren linked arms with Romilly, drew Alderic with them up the stairs. “I cannot walk if you hang on me like that, Rael - go ahead of us, do!”
    “He has been missing you,” Romilly said, “And-” she had started to speak of their other brother, but this was to bring family matters out before a stranger; she and Darren would have time enough for confidences. They reached the terrace, and Darren was enfolded in Mallina’s arms, and Romilly was left to present Alderic of Castamir to her father.
    The MacAran said with grave courtesy, “You are welcome to our home, lad. A friend of my son has a friend’s welcome here. Are you akin to Valdrin Castamir of Highgarth? He and I were in the guard of King Rafael before the king was most foully murdered.”
    “Only distantly, sir,” said Alderic. “Knew you not that Lord Valdrin was dead, and his castle burnt about his ears with clingfire because he sheltered Carolin in his road to exile?’
    The MacAran swallowed visibly. “Valdrin dead? We were playfellows and bredin,” he said, “but Valdrin was always a fool, as any man is a fool who meddles in the affairs of the great folk of the land.”
    Alderic said stiffly, “I honor the memory of the Lord Valdrin for his loyalty to our rightful king in exile, sir.”
    “Honor,” The MacAran said bitterly, “Honor is of no use to the dead, and to all of his folk whom he entangled in the quarrel of the great ones; great honor to his wife and little children, I doubt it